What for

I miss the times when I only had one option to go at the end of the day. When I didn't have to ask myself which house am I going home to today, when will I be sleeping over at the other? How I wish I didn't go back. I hate this house.

Working full time, I am obliged to give my parents money which is what I have been doing, albeit the fact that my father rejects it because of his ego, hence I always gave his share to my mom instead. But the longer I keep giving her money, the more she asks me and the less she bothers to ask her first son.

Her first FUCKING precious son. The motherfucker who leaves his plates to rot at the side of the sink the whole day because he doesn't know how to wash them; the motherfucker who hasn't given a single cent to our parents after like 5 years of working full time; the motherfucker who keeps showing to the world how he "loves" his family but in actual fact treats them like fucking shit. THE MOTHERFUCKER WHO IS STINGY, USELESS, AND A HYPOCRITE ALL AT ONCE. AND ALSO A MENTALLY RETARDED FUCK. WHAT A RECORD!

What am I even working so hard for? What the hell do I even want to save 10 fucking thousand for? To have it all robbed away by a couple who doesn't even appreciate me? The mother who is taking all the money I am giving her for granted, the father who is too egoistic to even regard me even after 8 months?

They've forgotten me anyway, that pair. They've replaced me with my niece, calling her the things they used to call me. Is it because I'm 21 and too old for that? Is it because they don't love me anymore, or grown to see me as invisible? Is it because I'm not forgiven for losing my own?

What am I working so hard for? I'm gonna fucking die anyway. This family has no point, all this saving money has no point, even my relationship has no point. Why should I even fight for anything when I can't be bothered to fight for my own life?

Letter to beloved

I have lost interest and I want to leave.

When I first laid eyes on you, I liked you.
I got to know you, and I wanted to stay with you.
I saw all your flaws, and I accepted you.
I loved you, your beauty that nobody else appreciated.

But all that is gone.

I don't miss anymore the way you kiss me on my face the few times you were there when I woke up.

I don't love anymore the way you make my heart beat fast.
The way you mess up my hair.
The way you make my tummy ache with butterflies.

I don't see my future with you anymore. I don't see any purpose of staying. I hate your flaws so much, and I don't love you anymore.

I tried so hard to get you to love me back but you choose to give your love to everyone else. I'll give you up to them, these people that don't even accept you.

You are the sun, the wind, the waters, the trees. You are long gone, and I don't want to stay anymore. The people that you harbour are ruined, not only do they not love you but they don't love me either. They don't love each other. They don't love what you give them.

I hate you for not giving me what I've given you and I am waiting for the perfect moment to leave. There is nothing for me to stay for anymore.

This is my letter to this world that I've lost interest in and don't love anymore.

Her

Why
should
you
be
happy
when
you
stole
the
one
thing
that
I
wanted
and
got,
only
because
you
didn't
want
it?

Her.
because
you
didn't
want
HER.

Who am I?

Are you happy?

I think we're really fake.

I don't think I'm important to you.

After all my sacrifices,

to which you've just said

"what sacrifices? you call that a sacrifice?"

you don't even notice me.

You don't realise my existence,

what more my importance.

I don't feel like I belong with you.

Your friends don't accept me now

your family won't accept me future.

Even I don't accept myself.

Who am I to you?

I don't belong to you.

Or more so you don't belong with me.

You should go free

for you are the wind, after all.

You shouldn't be with me

and I need to let you go.

I thought I belonged, but I didn't.

Cheering competition, apology won hearts over

A gifted camera, sweat-soaked PE shirts, soccer

2012, half left behind, groups falling back

2013, own paths, no effort to contact 

I thought I belonged with 4/2 2011,
and 5/1 2012,
but I didn't.

First day of school, in the auditorium, shy

Sitting in a circle, awkward, block 5

Age, race, country of origin, different

They moved forward and I didn't

I thought I belonged with 1A1 2013,
but I didn't.

People never met, like a family from the start

Random name that grew on our hearts

Singing happy birthday, in baju kurung, midnight

Bad blood with one, with all I am not right

I thought I belonged with Heroine,
but I didn't.

5 years of high school past, promises made

2015, making plans, no replies, nothing said

She with her projects, she with her art, she with her dancing

Photo of 7 girls, just the same as nothing

I thought I belonged with my secondary school best friends,
but unfortunately
I didn't.

April first, to earn money for what I don't want

Opening up after a day, a week, month

Laughter spread, anger shared, sadness felt

Loved, accepted, hope for this candle not to melt

I thought I belonged with my colleagues at Popular,
and I did.

I do. 

Taking a break from you

I

don't

understand

how

you

can

treat

me

like

this

It's

clear

how

less

you

love

me

than

you

think

On the nights I search for you

I

don't

think

we

are

meant

for

each

other

I 
think
my
soulmate
is
not
you
but
my
daughter

Found on a Gelare receipt

I

am

sorry

for

stealing

you

from

your

friends

I 

am

sorry

they

don't

even

say

hi

to

me

when

we

bump

into

them

I 

am

sorry

for

not

being

society's

standard

of

pretty

I

am

sorry

for

not

being

your

mother's

standard

of

perfection

for

you

I

am

sorry

I

find

myself

ugly

I

do

not

believe

your

words

what

you

see

in

me

Found on an Auntie Anne's wrapper

There

is

this

mechanism

in

me

that

will

always

feel

relieved

when

I

meet

the

little

flower

for

he

was

the

very

first

person

I'd

set

eyes

on

after

being

suffocated

by

a

ghost.

Found on a flower

Remember

when

your

little

flower

asked

you

"does

he

ever

use

force

on

you"

and

you

said

no

because

you

were

just

defending

the

person

you

call

your

other

half

I didn't realise I was in so much pain

I don't love my niece the same way I did when I first saw her.

She isn't as cute anymore. She can't compare to you.

I'd sacrifice my own parents just to be with you if I could.

I am working so hard for you but you're gone.

You're dead and I only have a black and white picture of you.

A screenshot from my first and last ultrasound scan of you.

I gave you up for people who couldn't care less about me...

I am the ugliest person on earth.

You were the only one who could have gone your whole life believing I was the most beautiful.

I threw you away.

For people who couldn't care less about me.

I have three photo frames of many different people looking down at me,

and none of them are even here for me.

It hurts in my chest, physically, and I wish it didn't.

My breathing gets harder each time.

And when I say something, my other half only laughs and mocks me for it.

I'd sacrifice him to be with you if I could, too.

Every song reminds me of you. Every night I hear you. Every dream, I see you.

I miss you so fucking much and I'd burn the world down just to be with you if I could.

And no one understands.

I am this close to putting myself into oblivion.

I don't do it because the only thing still pulling me together is my job.

"You're not alone", but really, I am.

Because who else could be there even if they wanted to?

Just fucking kill me already. 

Please stop visiting.

I do not want to blog anymore. Then again how many times have I done things I didn't want to?

Been feeling really moody today, and I wish it was as simple an explanation as PMS. Which my body still hasn't gotten used to again.

I've been getting irritated with little girls lately, and I got home today to see my bulletin board wrecked by my niece.

It was my first time in life placing my head in my hands from the stress. I thought they only did this in movies.

When she was born, I told myself I would be the best aunt ever. Now I'm terrified of being the aunt whom you never get to see at all, who avoids family gatherings because of her own emotional problems.

I heard of girls who cut their hair short as a symbol of their just breaking up with someone precious. I cut mine for a loss infinite times worse.

And then I traded this loss for ink, etched onto my tummy, the very spot where your head once was. I don't care that it is permanent, because so is your death.

You would have been a September girl, just like me.

I'd give up the world for you. I'm willing to see the world end, if it means I get to hold you for a minute or even less.

I miss you always, but I wish you would stop visiting. I love you, but I'm really tired.

Not blogging anymore

I see no need of keeping this page, so I am not gonna write in anymore.

Maybe I will come back in the future, maybe not. Either way, I'm not going to delete any posts or this blog itself because there're too many memories dear to me.

I loved doing this, I really did and perhaps I still do, but for now there is no purpose in me putting finger to keyboard. For now, it is either pen to paper or key to lock, feelings kept in a box.

I know one person I will be making sad, and I hold true my word of never forgetting anyone, good or bad memories shared with them.

Shall stop here. Don't love this world to ruins.

Having a daughter and losing her

No, I don't doubt that people don't read my blog anymore. Two years ago I was desperate to be well known as a blogger, always shoving my page into people's faces, trying to get them to read my stories. I know better now. Maybe I have guts to write this post right now only because I know my other half is the only one who reads it still.

I'd gone through a lot last year, all of which I will never forget, be it the events or the people. There was a period in my secondary school days when I remembered dates really well, whatever happened on the exact day itself. These days, I find myself losing track of time easily, sometimes forgetting even what year it is.

I can't tell whether time is going too slowly or quickly. Sometimes I go through certain things that make me feel tired and old; other times I realise hey... I'm only twenty...? I just can't decide whether I have more time before this very moment or after.

A month into 2013, I found the love of my life.

A month into 2014, I lost him, but we reconciled 6 months later, leading the both of us to believe we were meant to be.

A month into 2015, I still had the same person, but I was blessed with another love of my life.

I didn't even realise I had her--we had her--until March, and even then it wasn't me who noticed her existence. It was my sister-in-law, who told me I was having the same symptoms she'd had.

Yes I did realise I was late for 2 months, and a few days before we'd gone on a road trip to Kuala Lumpur, the whole time of which I'd been nauseous, vomiting out whatever I'd eaten. But I just didn't think twice of it.

Her existence was proved to me in the form of a faded red line. Surprisingly I wasn't panicked or anything, just too weirdly calm on the outside, probably like how you'd react when you get the final bill at a restaurant, one part internally screaming at how expensive it was, the other merely mumbling an Oh shit it's so expensive. Either way, you deal with it, smile to the cashier and pay anyway.

I made my decision on the spot. Reasons were simple; it was for the sake of my other half and my parents. I'd already disappointed them by engaging in the act that got me there in the first place, and I just didn't want to throw the fact straight onto their faces.

What's more, the announcement of my niece last year was unexpected enough, and I knew they didn't need another grandchild made out of wedlock. Not for them to take care of, not for them to think there was something wrong with the way they raised their children.

It was another one of those rare times where I was grateful for being skinny. Nothing showed through my belly, not even when I was 19 weeks through. Whatever physical changes my body was forcing me through, I had to deal with it myself because it's not like any of my best friends would've understood.

Out of the 6 girls, I only managed to confide in one of them; the one who's been in relationships before and who was definitely the only one who would understand the feeling of giving a boy your everything. Even she knew that the others would have secretly thought I deserved it if I talked to them.

My whole life, my mom has always brought me to the clinic. The day I fainted at work in late April, I brought myself to the polyclinic, and to tell the truth I was scared because it was my first time talking to a doctor myself. Maybe that's when I realised I was growing older.

Being in a polyclinic by myself was scary enough; imagine how much more terrified I was when I went for my ultrasound scan at the women's hospital.

The weeks leading to my appointment, a part of me thought that maybe I wasn't pregnant after all. That maybe I had some sort of cancer or whatever. My mind made up all kinds of shit, but when the lights turned off and the screen overhead the bed lit up, I knew I just had to face the fact.

It took me some time to process it, all I could do was just stare at the screen, the shot panning in harmony with the probe that the nurse was moving along my tummy.

I couldn't believe that something so amazing was growing inside me. That very moment, I stopped feeling scared, telling myself I was nothing but lucky. And I was, because for 19 weeks, I was able to be the most amazing thing in the world: a mother.

For a moment, I lost sense of reality when the nurse told me it was a girl. I was struck with happiness for about 5 seconds before remembering I wasn't able to keep it. Her. My daughter.

I had to go through three counselling sessions, the first being at the polyclinic and the others being on the day of my scan. They were all the same, trying to get me to change my mind about the termination. I hadn't cried in all of them, but it was only after the counselor talked about my mom in the last session did I shed a few tears.

She asked me, this I will always remember: Would you rather hurt your mother or hurt your baby?
I answered without hesitation, this I will also always remember: My mom is more important.
She nodded, and I cried.

I got admitted the Monday after, my other half's hand in mine. The day of my scan, the counselors and nurses told me that at 19 weeks, they couldn't use the vacuum method anymore. Instead, I had to be admitted, have pills inserted into me from below, to contract my womb, forcing the fetus to slide out of it and out of my body.

Just after I was warded, they had a counselor talk to me. Again, she tried to change my mind, as did the doctor just before she inserted the first pill. I'm going to insert the pill right now, but it's still not too late to change your mind. Are you sure you want to do this?

I had nodded, but by the time the doctor and nurses left my bedside, replaced with my other half and my one best friend I confided in, I was bawling endless tears. From the physical pain or the emotional, I couldn't tell.

They had to insert a pill every 5 hours for a maximum of 5 times, hoping it would drop out during one of those times. The insertion was really painful, I was asked awake every hour or so to check my blood pressure, I had needles probed into me here and there... It was horrible.

By Tuesday night, all five pills were in and yet, nothing was happening, so they had to bring in the 'more painful method'. This time, a stick-like object was put into me from below, apparently to hold my womb open instead, wide enough for the fetus to drop out. I was really weak by then, I didn't really pay attention much, to what they were saying or doing to me...

They weren't kidding when they said this was super painful. My belly was as hard as stone, and every ten minutes a sharp jolt of pain would hit at me from the inside. All I could do was grab at my other half's hands with my trembling ones, squeeze with whatever little strength I had left.

It just got worse after visiting hours, when he had to leave the ward. I couldn't sleep at all, I wasn't comfortable enough to even lie down, and even the painkilling injection the nurse gave me faded after a few hours. I just wanted to die, for God to take my life and just end my suffering.

Emotional pain can't compare to physical pain. You won't know the true feeling of wanting to die until your body is in great and terrible suffering, not your heart.

The pain was at the highest peak at 4 in the morning, and all I could do was desperately claw at the emergency call button. The nurse came over and drew the curtains over my bed, and I couldn't find any humanity left in me to talk, but she asked: Is it painful?, and seeing that I obviously was in pain, she actually exclaimed, Good!

It was just the same as giving birth, and I was in labour for one and a half hours. I probably woke the whole ward up with my screaming. Out of the pain or the fear or both, I don't know.

My girl was out at 5.30 in the morning; I felt her wet, bloody, undeveloped body against the skin of my ankles. By this time I had difficulty breathing, but lacking a few breaths can't compare to the fact that my daughter had taken her last at that moment.

And that's just another experience to add into the list of things I've survived. It doesn't make it 'my story', because all these things that happen to me don't make me on their own. They're all puzzle pieces that make the whole picture that is me.

When I walk in a crowd, I wonder what all these other people have gone through or are going through. For a moment I would tell myself I'm sure they have it worse than me, but then again, it doesn't matter, because I am not living their lives. I'm living mine, and my story is all that I care about. I have the rights to feel whatever pain or sadness no matter how good I have some things compared to others.

Some things make me feel older than I am, and this is another. I was pregnant, I chose to lose my child, and I didn't even have the balls to tell my own parents. It's still not over, because I'd only just started feeling the depression slowly coming in, and I have some physical problems, no doubt after-effects of the termination.

When my other half told his friend that has never liked me, that accused me of cheating and the child of not being his; when our most trusted friend spilled the secret to the classmates from their secondary school; when this post is being read by unknown eyes; I'm aware tongues will wag and I know some of the things that might have already been said... But I'm too tired to care anymore.

My over-enthusiasm with books

As you must know by now I work at Popular, my happiest place on Earth since childhood. I love books, but unfortunately, being in the Multimedia/CD-Rama department, I don't work alongside them much.

I do get to interact with books, namely the times when there's nothing to do and no customers to serve. It's not my department, but I can't stand looking at the messy shelves. At the same time I rearrange them, of course I'd thumb through some books, read a little here and there.

There are some days when only one out of the two English books department staff are working. Those days, when they're on their break and the cashier pages for English department staff, I'd go and see what's up.

Well I can say I do have potential to be in this department, heh. However it's not good for me, because sometimes I tend to get a little too excited.

When a customer asks for a book that I've heard of, I get excited.
When a customer asks for a book that I myself have been wanting to read, I get more excited.
When a customer asks for a book that I have already read, I get even more excited.

I tend to be over-enthusiastic. The other time someone asked my colleague for help, who in turn came to me, handing me a piece of paper with the book the customer wanted. It was The 5th Wave! I just read it in February, and I loved it, and of course I got excited when I saw it.

And not only that but I knew exactly where to find it. Because I knew the author is one thing, but I knew because I've spent about 80% of my free time walking through the shelves of the English books, and I've seen every book in every nook and cranny. *proud smile*

It was worse when the customer asked me about the book; "This is the first book right? There's a second book?" I straightway answered "YES! The second one is called The Infinite Sea, and there's also the third book coming out later this year," blah blah blah. I just can't help it.

Another time, this kid kept coming to me and asking about books, and I was more than excited to help him. I love it when kids read books, heh. When he got the 3 books he wanted, I asked him if there was anything else I could help him with.

"I think that's it, I have 3 books already," and the temptation to say "THREE BOOKS ISN'T ENOUGH, KID" was just too high. I loved that kid already, the way he clutched his books to his chest.

That same day, a father came to me with his son, asking about Captain Underpants. I exclaimed a very excited "Oh! Let me show you," to which the father said, "See, she immediately knew what was Captain Underpants!"

I couldn't have said it more excitedly: "Of course I know, it's my childhood!"

This over-enthusiasm can be a little embarrassing sometimes though. Just like yesterday, a customer came asking about The Kite Runner. I've read that, I loved it, the main character shares the same name as my other half... Of course I knew where to find it.

After passing it to her, she asked for another book. "A Thousand..." she started, but I straightway took out A Thousand Splendid Suns, by the same author as The Kite Runner, and shoved it in her face. But no, it wasn't the book she was about to say, and that was just embarrassing.

I really do love my job and gathering all these moments to share. My colleagues have called me crazy after I said I wanted to work here until the day I die, heh *sheepish grin*

Whitesands has destroyed my places of childhood, the Popular outlet and the library. But here I am working in a Popular as a teenager, and I would love to bring this legacy along into my adulthood as well. Who knows, I might be a manager in the future ^^

A mother is still a mother

Today I wondered, would Singaporeans give up their seats on the train if they see a heavily pregnant teenager? Or would they just judge her and punish her for her actions by letting her stand? Something silly to ponder about, as usual.

When I was young there were many kittens at the coffeeshop below, as well as the wet market when it wasn't a Shengsiong yet. I always caught one and brought it home, played with it for a day before sending it back at night.

This one day I saw some people gathering around a box, and I looked in to see a kitten which eyes and ears hadn't even opened yet. Me being an innocent kid who didn't know anything, I brought it home like I did with the other kittens.

I'm not sure why but I didn't bring it back that same night, and instead made it a bed out of a box and kept it overnight. It meowed the whole night, loudly and shrieking, and my mom told me to bring it back downstairs the next morning.

So what I remember happened is this: a cat had overturned all the beer cartons at the coffeeshop, frantically looking for the newborn I had brought home.

I recognised that particular cat as the garang one, as my little brother and I always called her, because not only was she sombong as heck but she was good at glaring and hissing at whoever came towards her. She was a million times more untouchable without her baby.

Something I read somewhere before; a cat can have different coloured kittens at once, because she can still get pregnant by other male cats when she already is. A litter of kittens have the same mother, but not always the same father.

Cats going through fires to save their offspring; lionesses fighting their partners, the very king of the jungle, to prevent them from eating their cubs; your own mother saying she's full even when she's not, to let you have the last bit of her food.

Tomorrow is my sister-in-law's first Mother's Day being a mom. Something happened along somewhere that made me envious of mother-daughters instead of couples, and I can't help thinking all the time what it'd be like to have a little girl I can call mine. I have found the perfect other half, I can't help thinking of having the perfect second me.

That's all I have to say about Mother's Day. It's not just about my own mother, but also my grandmother, and any woman who's had a life growing inside her womb.

A mother is a mother, whether it's a four-legged animal whose babies are from different fathers, or a young girl who mistakenly gave her body to someone she thought loved her.

Customers, love them or hate them

Good evening from Elias Road, your reporter for today is none other than E'indah Nadhirah, the girl with 6 cats and an addiction to bread.

Today is labour day, and seeing how I haven't been blogging for a really long time, [my fingers are feeling a bit more awkward and unnatural than usual typing on my laptop] I'm gonna write something related to today... I think.

From 2011 to now I've worked 5 part-time jobs, my current being Popular bookstore. Today also makes it a month since I started working there, so why not share my experiences thus far?

So first of all, I consider this a dream come true. Well, one of my many dreams to be exact. It isn't exactly Kinokuniya, which is honestly my most favourite big bookstore in Singapore, but I guess we all start somewhere.

I'm not even taking care of books in Popular though. My first 2 weeks or so, I was put in Stationery department. I treated the stationery like my children; put them up nicely when new stocks came, made sure they're put where they belonged if they strayed, dusted them whenever I could.

In actual fact I wanted to mess everything up because I can't stand neat things if you remember, but for this case I was almost developing OCD for stationery. I always got frustrated when I returned back to work after y l2 days off, because my children--stationery--were always in a mess.

If you go Popular you might hear the announcement bell and a voice saying: Paging for stationery staff, please proceed to cashier counter, thank you. or anything that goes like that. They do that to call certain staff when a customer queries at the counter about something in that respective department.

When I first started off at Stationery I didn't like to go because I was new and was afraid I wouldn't know what the customer would be looking for. That changed along the way, I started to get excited when they paged for stationery, and I always volunteered to go.

I love having something to do at work, even more so if there's so much to do that time flies by without me even realising it. I get really sleepy if there're no customers or new stocks to do.

Customers are really great sometimes, I mean when they're nice and especially when they say thank you. I automatically like you if you say thank you; it makes serving you worthwhile and sincerely a pleasure. I get a little broken inside when I can't help someone find something they need, mostly because we don't have it or they don't like what we have.

However I've found quite a few bits about customers that quite irritate me. First is when they not only ask rudely, but they also don't say thank you. But that's fine because I forget it in a while.

Second, when customers show me a specific pen and asks me "Do you sell this pen?" it's worse if they show me just a picture. We have hundreds of pens, you really can't expect me to know all of them. At most I can do is search for them physically, which they can do themselves.

Third, when I'm serving someone already and another customer pops out of nowhere and starts asking for help. I'm not mad that you asked me for help, it's just that I'm clearly helping another customer already, and all customers are equally important so you're putting me on a spot.

Fourth is something that is not only irritating, but sometimes hurtful, sometimes both. Back when I worked at the bakery customers were always mistaking me for a Chinese girl, Chinese people speaking really fast Mandarin to me and Malays speaking really awkwardly because they can't find the English word for something. They were always surprised to know I am Malay.

I've had a few similar racial problems here at Popular too, the most common one being Chinese people suddenly coming to me and rapping in their language about something they're looking for. Sometimes I don't have the heart to interrupt, so I try to catch a few words I understand. If not, I feel worse if I have to tell them they just wasted their breath because I didn't get a single word.

The thing that hurts most from Chinese customers is when they immediately just walk away when I say, "Sorry, but can you speak English?" I've gotten this a few times. They don't even say nevermind, it's okay, they just walk away and look for my other colleague. I understand that they can't speak English but they don't have to be so mean like that.

There was this one woman whom I was serving for the previous 5 minutes or so, answering her many questions about a product. In the midst of my explaining, my colleague from Text/Assessment department walked by and she immediately left me hanging and went over to him and asked him about that same product.

The same with suppliers; this one incident, the suppliers for the copier paper arrived and asked me in Mandarin, which I understood, whether "The boxes can put here?" I said in English, yes yes can put here. They asked again, clearly not understanding a single word of English, so I just repeated but with hand motions this time.

They just looked at me with their blank stares, looked almost irritated, and one of them opened the office door and asked my colleague in Mandarin, "The boxes can put here?" and then he looked at his colleague and said, yes yes can put here. I almost wanted to scream THAT WAS WHAT I FUCKING SAID TWICE!!!!

As for my own race, I find it really rude when Malays make comments about someone standing beside them, whether or not that said person understands what they're saying. If someone looks like Chinese, it does not mean they are Chinese, and even if they are, it does not mean they don't understand Malay. You don't just make comments about the way someone looks or dresses or smells when they're right in front of you.

This one time I was sitting right at the back of the store on the floor, checking stocks that just arrived, price tagging and all that stuff. These 2 Malay guys caught sight of me, and one of them commented right beside me in this rude sarcastic tone: "Kesian eh, mesti penat dia kerje." and they both laughed like it was the funniest thing ever.

By the time I looked up I only managed to glare at one of them, and he said, "Eh janganlah dia marah oi," still laughing, to which his friend yelled over the aisle, "Sorry!" in that really insincere joking tone. It may seem small to you but if you were in my shoes... ):

And then came that horrible day when they took me away from my children...
when they transferred me to Multimedia/CD-Rama department.

Even til now I'm still learning a lot about Multimedia, especially all about the products. There're only 2 people in this department, which are basically the HOD and me.

The thing that irritates me the most about this department... when customers ask me questions as if I use every single product there is. I know just as much as you do, which is what's stated on the box or cover of the item. Just because I'm selling it doesn't mean I've used it before or am using it myself; whether or not I am new to this department, you can't expect me to know anything beyond what's written on the packaging.

So far I've only had 3 customers that almost got to my nerves while in Multimedia, two of which just happened yesterday: the man who kept asking me about the range extenders knowing he wouldn't buy any, getting pissed when I said truthfully I wasn't sure the answers to his questions; the woman who wanted to exchange a bag that had a tiny tear, one minute saying she wanted this next minute saying she wanted that and was so sensitive and indecisive.

The last one being this woman who stood at the edge of one of the Multimedia aisles, asking my colleague something. Because she is from Chinese books department, my colleague came over to me and asked for help about what the customer was looking for.

She stood at that exact spot, at the edge of the aisle, the whole time, even when I came over to her. She asked if we had those remote controls used to change slides during presentations. Because I'd never seen them and it was just a few days being in Multi, I just said so confidently oh no... we don't sell that. without realising we do, and they were right next to me.

The woman saw them first, that moment when I saw the look on her face change. She looked at me with that are you fucking kidding me/are you fucking stupid face and pushed past me to look at the blasted remote controls, which I just realised were there.

I laughed and said "Oh yeah they're here I didn't realise..." tried to make a joke out of it and explain that I was new, and she just completely ignored me. She thought I was stupid for not realising they were right next to me, but who was the one who just blindly stood at the edge of the exact aisle which contained the things she was looking for? Shove those remote controls up your xoxo

This just turned into a rant about customers.
I think it's long enough to make up for the entire month I didn't blog, so there you go.

Why I will not read Harry Potter

I've been wanting to read the Harry Potter books for a while now. Everyone who's read it has loved it and I know hardcore HP fans everywhere, so I thought I'd give it a try myself.

I thought of buying the entire boxset of the 7 books but I wasn't willing to pay full price, and when I saw someone selling it for 50, I immediately asked about it but it was on reservation. The books aren't so easy to find at the library either because they're always on loan.

However after some thinking as well as some reading of other series due to the hype around it, I decided that I am not gonna read Harry Potter after all, and I'm not going to try either. I've come up with 3 valid reasons so if you're a fan and you're reading this, please don't get mad at me.

1. It's not exactly my favourite genre.
In fact it's probably my least favourite. According to Wiki, the Harry Potter novels fall under the category of fantasy literature. They contain a few aspects of other genres but they're mainly categorised as fantasy. Never been exactly my thing.

I've liked books since I was a kid, and the HP books have been around since forever, even before the time I first started reading. There must have been a reason why I didn't pick it up despite it being everywhere; why my mother bought me all kinds of books that I liked but never Harry Potter. We both just knew it wasn't my thing.

And to tell the truth, wizards and witches don't exactly appeal to me. I'd read about werewolves, sure, and even a little sprinkle of vampires is okay but witchcraft and wizardry... Nah. [I watched the first film and was dragged to the fourth with my cousin, both movies of which I just did not enjoy.]

2. They're best read growing up. 
I know a few Booktubers who read the books in their late teens and even early 20's. The most common complain they have is always "I should have read the books as a kid."

As someone who's turning 20 I don't think I should be reading middle grade books anymore. I read Percy Jackson last year, and while I enjoyed them a part of the experience was a bit spoilt due to the main characters being 12.

The main characters in HP grow older and wiser in the books, that I know, but I don't find myself relating to growing characters if I don't grow up with them. Is it just me? For now the youngest a character should be for me to enjoy the book would be at least 16.

3. I know a lot of what happens. 
With fans and fan accounts everywhere there are spoilers every corner of Twitter. I know who dies, what who secretly is, who betrays who, yadda blah. Personally I wouldn't read a series I've been spoilt for; there won't be any emotional impact because I'd be expecting and waiting for it to happen.

The HP fandom is a strong one, to the extent that it's spoilt me on too many accounts. I got spoilt for The Mortal Instruments series quite hard, and that's probably why I'm not enjoying it even though I loved The Infernal Devices.

So no, I am not gonna read a series where I know exactly what's gonna happen here, there, and in the end.

Nephew, one day old forever

Unknown number flashing across the screen;
"E'indah, where on earth have you been?"
Cat lying in the sun witness to that phone call;
I, tears streaming down like a waterfall.

Lifting her cats lovingly in the air;
Putting powder down my back after pushing aside my hair.
Crosses borders for her first grandchild at the instance;
My grandmother, witness to his pale face in a halo of radiance.

Her tin of food never going unfed to any cats;
Staying up late at her table, sewing booties and hats.
"It's going to be a boy!" once she excitedly says;
My aunt, the one to bury, last to kiss his cold face.

His motorcycle adventures once on the newspaper;
Years ago, telling his stories with bits of dry humour.
There in support of her, to rid of her tears and bile;
My cousin and his wife, the loss of their first child.

Pushing out of her womb, one month short of nine;
Not even a struggle to escape, not a single cry.
To walk, to grow, to play with my niece, never;
My nephew, one day old, forever.

Cousins

I don't remember the first time we talked,
the first time we laughed,
or even the first time we met.

We've just always been together.

I don't remember when we stopped being awkward or if we ever were,
when we started to look for each other immediately after we arrive,
when we became so comfortable with each other.

We've always been best friends.

You and the rest,
how I loved spending time with all of you,
being moody when it's time to go home,
imagining my action figures were all of you on the days we didn't meet.

The older ones would bring us to the void deck,
lit sparklers for us which we pretended were big fireworks.
The period when heelys were the trend,
all of us had our own pair and there we went,
zipping all over the place in our wheeled sneakers.

At least one of us would always have a deck of Uno cards,
and Stress was our favourite game,
how proud I'd been to be beating everyone at it.

I had so much stamina as a kid, running here and there,
trying to escape from the 'catcher'
or hiding from the seeker.

I was always talking non-stop, my mouth going on like a rocket,
all of us bouncing with chatter and laughter,
our gathered voices all around the house until the adults scolded us.

Sleepovers were of no exception.
I wasn't so independent as a kid and I didn't like to be far from my parents,
but I always wanted to stay over your house when invited.

Your neighbour from the 6th floor which you always gossiped about,
the pineapple playground which was your then crush's favourite spot,
making you stay awake to conjure up stories for me,
I remember them and more.

Being with all of you,
family gatherings like such,
were what gave me life back then.

But then,
like what everyone does eventually,

you all

grew

up.

Everyone was becoming more vain and self-conscious,
constant worrying about their hair, not wanting to wear baju kurungs anymore.
We'd go down not to play with sparklers anymore,
but to buy cup noodles, blast rap songs, smoke cigarettes.

I was slower than all of you.
I didn't care about being forced to wear baju kurungs,
while all of you showed up in jeans and shirts,
even you, my only girl cousin.

I became shy, not interacting much with adults or the younger kids,
much less all of you.
Everyone was singing the same songs,
talking about the same things,
remembering the same inside jokes,

except me.

I was probably the only one
who didn't know what all of you were talking about or singing.

I was gone for 2 years, vanished from all family gatherings,
and I come back as if I've survived a kidnapping and have had my tongue cut.

Now, on the few times I see you,
you would greet my parents and kiss their hands in respective greeting,
I would look at you, hoping you'd notice me,
because I want to smile at you and wave,
despite the fact we don't talk anymore.

You'd greet them, and walk away.
You don't even make eye contact with me anymore.

I'd sit on my own or with my own family,
while all of you are gathered together and still interacting with one another.
I'm glad you're all still talking, even though I'm not part of it,
and I wish not to be,

because cousins or not,
I think it's a fact that I don't fit in,
and that I have my own place to go.