tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25101762694637387452024-02-19T11:32:56.877+08:00Snuzing My Way through Life ...Comments and observations of a sloth on two feet.Snuzehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09712374144317934980noreply@blogger.comBlogger776125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2510176269463738745.post-62946139828150484002022-04-23T10:44:00.001+08:002022-04-23T10:44:07.501+08:00Words unsaid<p>It's amazing how much hands can express and evoke emotions. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/WVcDBAyRHSE" width="320" youtube-src-id="WVcDBAyRHSE"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p>Snuzehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09712374144317934980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2510176269463738745.post-13767531184701764332021-10-26T00:08:00.002+08:002021-10-26T00:08:36.387+08:00Bathe me in the saltiest of tears<div>Like most old coots, I sing along only to the songs of my youth, but when my nibling introduced me to this song, I am compelled to warble it.</div><div><br /></div><div>I love bright pop-py songs with dark shades in their lyrics.</div><div><br /></div><iframe frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/wfYHKDbDjec" width="480"></iframe>Snuzehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09712374144317934980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2510176269463738745.post-74663735230331265782021-04-12T22:31:00.007+08:002022-03-21T19:05:35.403+08:00Are you sure the devils are all tied up?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFr2IzcJvxYst6nJTj3YFEnpQggAAWcWiN5zpEEmRnplgf6Qu5nPy8-gHslQI0tMw40VLzQEwTzZQ4YnPh-Wg2EaAWf-fOL3DtjEVANh3GZeam92qKR-sedq-sKjIJ9ZsBHW6gpvNrXck/s2543/20190330_180824.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2543" data-original-width="1236" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFr2IzcJvxYst6nJTj3YFEnpQggAAWcWiN5zpEEmRnplgf6Qu5nPy8-gHslQI0tMw40VLzQEwTzZQ4YnPh-Wg2EaAWf-fOL3DtjEVANh3GZeam92qKR-sedq-sKjIJ9ZsBHW6gpvNrXck/w310-h640/20190330_180824.jpg" width="310" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Afghani food I tried in Bonn</i></div><br /><div>I began fasting at seven years old, purely out of peer pressure. I had thought to start fasting at puberty, just like my Daddy. Alas and alack, I was shamed out of going to the canteen during Ramadan and thus, it was easier to just fast.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was more challenging when my school was in afternoon session. The heat made you drowsy and the day seemed endless. When I took the schoolbus, it was worse because the evening congestion often meant that I reached home after Maghrib, by which time I was dehydrated and ravenous. Luckily for me, my Mum began driving when I was ten so I no longer had to deal with that.</div><div><br /></div><div>For all my ignominious start to fasting, I have always enjoyed Ramadan. I rarely went back to sleep after sahur; I used to spend it playing computer games on our enormous home PC using the large floppy disks, or watch the one Disney cartoon that my Daddy bought on VHS, and as I grew older, just reading. </div><div><br /></div><div>Theoretically, fasting is only for those who are physically capable and is not an obligation for children, the old, and the infirm. It was only recently that my eyes are opened to other invisible infirmities when it comes to fasting. <a href="https://www.mohani-niza.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Mohani Niza</a> wrote a lovely piece examining what <a href="https://www.mohani-niza.com/articles/neuro-atypical-muslims-speak-what-ramadhan-is-like-for-people-with-debilitating-medical-conditions/?fbclid=IwAR3tx84c_xLemuxSH-_twrpz7OZi2ylNV8A1efZekoOhIxM78DkfkoOYr4w" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Ramadan is like for those with debilitating conditions that are not always apparent</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZJuPOcL64OAyNv3z-s4MN11DZYz4UE9BTjRc1lkWlpiZvirQdm-sObkiEPmtrIWoEL5oB4ot51T0ghdb09Ht73ynCCm82v_LszCpVz1qtVNHEoJuNT5m-Jyt-UX1pys8W5KzBTE3gmEQ/s1056/Neuroatypical+ramadan.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1056" data-original-width="816" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZJuPOcL64OAyNv3z-s4MN11DZYz4UE9BTjRc1lkWlpiZvirQdm-sObkiEPmtrIWoEL5oB4ot51T0ghdb09Ht73ynCCm82v_LszCpVz1qtVNHEoJuNT5m-Jyt-UX1pys8W5KzBTE3gmEQ/w495-h640/Neuroatypical+ramadan.jpg" width="495" /></a></div><br /><div>I hate it that we police fasting in this country. Fasting is an obligation between the devotee and Allah; no one else is part of the equation. It is detestable that we have a criminal act under the syariah law that enforces <a href="http://www2.esyariah.gov.my/esyariah/mal/portalv1/enakmen/Federal_Original.nsf/b3ac9c218c8efdc4482568310022d8b3/05ebfe9c60cfb3954825707c000c2aa9?OpenDocument" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">respect for the month of Ramadan</a>. How on earth does a month have feelings?! How is fining people and if they can't afford to pay, stuffing them in prison for not fasting Islamic? Not to mention that the ones who get punished are usually those from the lower socio-economic bracket; the lofty bangsawans get away scot free.</div><div><br /></div><div>We need to go back to the core of fasting. Fasting is supposed to remind us of those who are less fortunate, and help us reflect on our spirituality when we stop feeding our body. It is supposed to give our bodies a rest from the usual abuses we heaped on ourselves and reprogramme how we manage our time. </div><div><br /></div><div>No one should be punished for not fasting, whatever their reasons may be. Let us take this time to reflect on the blessings that we have received to improve our thoughts, words, and deeds. Because some people's behaviour sure makes me think that the wrong devils are tied up during this month.</div><div><br /></div>
<div><div><iframe frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/EItKaP0zJSY" style="background-image: url(https://i.ytimg.com/vi/EItKaP0zJSY/hqdefault.jpg);" width="480"></iframe></div><br /></div><div>Ramadan Mubarak to those observing!</div><div></div>Snuzehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09712374144317934980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2510176269463738745.post-50810365232915149722021-03-10T12:13:00.005+08:002021-03-10T12:17:22.087+08:00Adding insult to injury: impacts of the COVID-19 pandemic on women living under discriminatory Muslim family laws<iframe frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/9QzKjusWlmA" width="480"></iframe><div><br /></div><div>The COVID-19 pandemic bodyslammed pretty much everyone on every continent, including the frozen wasteland of Antarctica. <a href="https://asiapacific.unwomen.org/en/digital-library/publications/2020/04/policy-brief-the-impact-of-covid-19-on-women">Women are disproportionately affected</a> by the COVID-19 global seismic shift on all fronts; be it <a href="https://www.unwomen.org/en/news/stories/2020/9/feature-covid-19-economic-impacts-on-women">economic</a>, <a href="https://www.frontiersin.org/articles/10.3389/fgwh.2020.588372/full">health</a>, <a href="https://www.unwomen.org/en/news/in-focus/in-focus-gender-equality-in-covid-19-response/violence-against-women-during-covid-19">safety</a>, and <a href="https://www.bmj.com/content/372/bmj.n129">general well-being</a>. </div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://www.musawah.org/">Musawah</a>'s study shows <a href="https://www.musawah.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/01/Musawah-Survey-Findings-on-Impacts-of-COVID-19-brief-1.pdf">how Muslim women subject to discriminatory Muslim family law has to deal with greater stresses</a>. Many conservative Muslims claim that Islam has been a boon for women; but it seems that this truism may be true in 7th century Arabia, but not the Muslim world in 21st century. </div>Snuzehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09712374144317934980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2510176269463738745.post-42707216542594296502021-02-10T12:26:00.000+08:002021-03-10T12:29:05.801+08:00Let's Love Everyone, and Let Allah Sort It OutIf you are born a Muslim in Malaysia, chances are you grew up being told that homosexuality is evil and gay people should be punished/killed/fixed. That indoctrination starts as early as seven years old and if you're lucky, stops when you are seventeen. <div><br /></div><div>Yup, I'm talking about the religious study classes that are mandatory for all Muslim children who attend government schools.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was no different, and what's worse, I grew up in the 1980s at the height of the AIDS epidemic. I was a precocious reader, material-wise, and had begun devouring the broadsheet by the time I was nine years old. So imagine being told that the people of Lot is evil, and lo and behold! They are dying in the most terrible ways all over the world.</div><div><br /></div><div>I went to an all-girls school so statistically speaking at least 1 out of 10 of my friends is gay. There was a transwoman in my parents' social circles; but everyone seemed to accept her as a woman although there may have been sniggers about whether a woman's wudhu is invalided after shaking hands with her.<br /><div>
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As the majority, it behooves us to be aware of the lived experience of the minorities, which include those of the LGBTQIA community. Understanding can only create empathy and acceptance, unless you are a pathological sociopath. As said by Mahatma Gandhi, <span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 16px;">“A </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">nation's</b><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 16px;"> greatness is </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">measured</b><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 16px;"> by how </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">it treats</b><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 16px;"> its weakest members.”</span> </div></div>Snuzehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09712374144317934980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2510176269463738745.post-11065300350679776242020-07-26T20:30:00.000+08:002020-07-29T13:38:42.518+08:00Not for those who suffer from pollen allergy<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/QJjvKfmnmMU" width="480"></iframe><br />
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Pine flower cake from scratch for those who are against processed food.<br />
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<br />Snuzehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09712374144317934980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2510176269463738745.post-17993507719395140902020-07-26T15:42:00.000+08:002020-07-29T12:43:01.588+08:00Decadence in times of trauma<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/E07s5ZYygMg" width="560"></iframe><br />
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Many are going through<a href="https://www.who.int/emergencies/diseases/novel-coronavirus-2019/events-as-they-happen" target="_blank"> this pandemic </a>with <a href="https://www.insider.com/people-have-skin-hunger-after-months-without-touching-anyone-2020-6" target="_blank">severe hunger of the skin variety</a>. This video is a paean to a time that many long for; when we can reach out to embrace each other without paranoia or guilt of the non-cheating variety.<br />
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Stay safe, everyone.<br />
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Wash your hands.<br />
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Keep your distance.<br />
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Wear a damn mask when you are out and about.<br />
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<br />Snuzehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09712374144317934980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2510176269463738745.post-65825596262688638612020-07-26T12:34:00.000+08:002020-07-29T12:36:22.795+08:00Comfortable echo chamber<br />
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<div style="background-color: #efefef; border-width: 0px; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 19px; padding: 0px 0px 15px;">
I'm listening to Jeff Buckley's Grace for the 8th or maybe 12th time today. For some reason, his eponymous hit never really hit my radar as a teen except for his cover of Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah.</div>
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The chords of the opening trills are distinctive of songs written and produced in the 90's. His varying octaves flowed effortlessly as he sketched a tale of farewell. His enunciation leaves much to be desired, but there's no mistaking the visceral passion that passes on through the vibrating sound waves.</div>
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How magical it is that sound can still touch your soul even after the emanator is long dead and gone.</div>
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Grace's melody triggered reminiscence of my teenage years. It was a time when I lived comfortably inside my head, with no urges to spill my latest thoughts and ideas across social media. I never even had a proper diary. I sometimes wonder why I'm compulsively sharing ideas and information as I do now, when I once was quite happy keeping them all to myself.</div>
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My head is a comfortable echo chamber that filtered intense emotions through books and music. It is powerful protective mechanism; perhaps one of the reasons I have been accused of being dispassionate and untouched by base emotions. The echo chamber made distancing myself from things that can hurt me reflexive.</div>
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But this comfortable echo chamber has another side effect: it made me more empathetic.</div>
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It's hard to hold on a good grudge when you can pretty much put yourself in your antagonists' shoes and understand that their lashing out at you isn't personal but rather driven by feelings of rage, impotency and fear caused by someone or something else.</div>
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I'll still look on it as a blessing.</div>
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<div style="background-color: #efefef; border-width: 0px; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px 0px 15px;">
"Grace"<br />
by Jeff Buckley</div>
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There's the moon asking to stay<br />
Long enough for the clouds to fly me away<br />
Well it's my time coming, I'm not afraid to die<br />
My fading voice sings of love,<br />
But she cries to the clicking of time<br />
Of time</div>
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Wait in the fire...</div>
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And she weeps on my arm<br />
Walking to the bright lights in sorrow<br />
Oh drink a bit of wine we both might go tomorrow<br />
Oh my love<br />
And the rain is falling and i believe<br />
My time has come<br />
It reminds me of the pain<br />
I might leave<br />
Leave behind</div>
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Wait in the fire...</div>
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And I feel them drown my name<br />
So easy to know and forget with this kiss<br />
I'm not afraid to go but it goes so slow<br />
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First posted on <a href="http://cowbird.com/story/116000/A_Comfortable_Echo_Chamber/" target="_blank">Cowbird</a>.</div>
Snuzehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09712374144317934980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2510176269463738745.post-64640506137249545562019-07-17T18:04:00.000+08:002019-07-17T18:06:10.559+08:00Just Love and JoyA beautiful tribute by<a href="https://twitter.com/blkfootwhtfoot?ref_src=twsrc%5Egoogle%7Ctwcamp%5Eserp%7Ctwgr%5Eauthor"> Brittany Howard</a> to her Daddy.<br />
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If you still have your Daddy, please cherish him. Those like me can only count the minutes for our energies to reunite in love and joy one day.<br />
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I also like how the video showcased beauty in the mundane, joy in the ordinary, and a slice of black Southern life that isn't about drug, violence, or racism.<br />
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One more ear candy goodness from her for the road.<br />
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<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/nin-fiNz50M" width="560"></iframe>Snuzehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09712374144317934980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2510176269463738745.post-19123183114012794082019-06-14T13:40:00.000+08:002019-06-14T13:44:32.450+08:00Sisyphean on a Titanic scale<span style="background-color: #333333; color: white; font-family: , "blinkmacsystemfont" , "roboto" , "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 18px;">“The only mode of attack is to deal with a heavy decrease in the production of plastics, as opposed to dealing with them after they’ve already been created,” she tells the group. “Your consumer behaviors do not matter. Not on the scale of the problem ... It’s the cessation of production that will make the big-scale changes.” </span><br />
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*sigh*<br />
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<a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/video/index/591640/recycling-plastics/">Stolen from here</a>.Snuzehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09712374144317934980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2510176269463738745.post-35066226513477055132018-10-03T01:42:00.000+08:002019-05-31T13:51:52.958+08:00Marked intimacy when killing your enemyLong ago in Borneo, you can only tattoo your hands if you have successfully completed a ngayau (headhunting) expedition. You need to get up close and personal with your enemy, breathe in his last breath, and feel the sprinkle of his hot blood as you severed his head to take home before raising your phalanges to be inked.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSvFaih0E_z2MziQ1_6WT2kCZ_WqB9OsAg-bm2wcxrNhc1LSBT93iK1ncMaicV6fH3tNNtYTcfA2vSpBPcfDMN8BE3CUzoNn9sdPVpUP-492ZEka6oAR3H3iLEjpdT9J5BKWAElmJZ-4o/s1600/Tat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSvFaih0E_z2MziQ1_6WT2kCZ_WqB9OsAg-bm2wcxrNhc1LSBT93iK1ncMaicV6fH3tNNtYTcfA2vSpBPcfDMN8BE3CUzoNn9sdPVpUP-492ZEka6oAR3H3iLEjpdT9J5BKWAElmJZ-4o/s1600/Tat.jpg" /></a></div>
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<i>Marked warrior(1)</i></div>
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More than just a trophy, the severed head is a talisman against evil to protect your longhouse and its occupants against enemies and disasters. The heads are placed at the highest points in the house, to have a vantage view of all within. And during feast days, the heads are brought down, cleansed and smoked in a ritual as old as mountains, accompanied by the chantings of wizened wise women.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvLIZX2yY_aGXWygR9kOpM_HwnrIgRSZyhNcQmj5jjkPKVBifztGT9gt664l_QDLTLYXuuvNi_wPt3dai-CiyJEN1trbnGGo_QNbtj6GttLtzZuoPPS4mh87sCI1k9MTbmqKGiyxtbx50/s1600/tattoos1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="348" data-original-width="504" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvLIZX2yY_aGXWygR9kOpM_HwnrIgRSZyhNcQmj5jjkPKVBifztGT9gt664l_QDLTLYXuuvNi_wPt3dai-CiyJEN1trbnGGo_QNbtj6GttLtzZuoPPS4mh87sCI1k9MTbmqKGiyxtbx50/s320/tattoos1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Hands of a master weaver(2)</i></div>
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It takes a great deal more skill and power to kill your enemies with a bladed weapon. A will of steel to steady your hands when needed. A dying art of war immortalised in museums and books, little more than ink and paint on paper. The heart of the tribe is now transformed.<br />
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The West are better killers, of course. With their phosphorus bombs, high calibre projectiles, cluster munitions, and drones. Now they can kill aseptically from thousands of miles away, viewing death from high tech lenses, spewing bullets and explosives like a child with a PlayStation in the den. Never feeling the gut-wrenching fear of dealing with your enemies face to face, not caring of their names or faces, armed combatant or otherwise.<br />
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Nowadays, who earns their tattooed phalanges honestly? Are there still any?<br />
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Note: Cross-posted from my social media account.<br />
(1) <a href="https://steemit.com/art/@allaboutarts/the-uniqueness-and-meaning-of-the-dayak-tattoos">https://steemit.com/art/@allaboutarts/the-uniqueness-and-meaning-of-the-dayak-tattoos</a><br />
(2) <a href="https://dayakwithgoldenhair.wordpress.com/2013/08/17/the-tattooed-man-is-the-perfect-and-sacred-man/">https://dayakwithgoldenhair.wordpress.com/2013/08/17/the-tattooed-man-is-the-perfect-and-sacred-man/</a>Snuzehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09712374144317934980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2510176269463738745.post-33915637053495199882018-09-20T01:33:00.000+08:002018-09-20T12:14:07.036+08:00Tears Running Dry<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/oMIS5aJA2tQ?list=PLKPMtzfvL0h7WG5lzMKrSM6q5YEUveUEL" width="560"></iframe><br />
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As I type this entry, my nose is still blocked and my eyes are sore from what tantamount to 2 hour and change of weeping. <br />
<br />
Thanks to <a href="http://asianwiki.com/Nagasaki:_Memories_of_My_Son">Nagasaki: Memories of My Son</a> (N:MMS).<br />
<br />
It has been ages since I wept through out a film. The first film that ever made me cry was <a href="https://www.themoviedb.org/movie/414216">Story of a Mad Woman</a>, a Taiwanese film that glorified insane sacrifices for love and filial piety. I was eight years old and it was the first time that a tale moved me to tears. Not easy for someone with 'hati kering' like me.<br />
<br />
The Japanese are no slackers at crafting tearjerker melodrama and below is my reaction to this insanely evocative and sentimental post WW2 film.<br />
<br />
Beware! Spoilers ahead! <br />
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<a name='more'></a><br />
N:MMS opened with black-and-white scene of Koji bidding his Mum farewell and reminding her to take her blood pressure medicine. The young man was a student at the Nagasaki Medical University and he died at 9:10 am, the morning Nagasaki was hit by Fat Man, the only other nuclear bomb deployed during war time.<br />
<br />
The atomic explosion was stylised by the melting of the ink bottle on Koji's desk and the deafening silence that accompanied it. The tale then unfolded about the life of Koji's Mum, Nobuko, three years after his death.<br />
<br />
If ever there was a character designed to illustrate the effect of war on civilians, it was Nobuko. Widowed early when her husband succumbed to tuberculosis, she lost her children directly from the war. Her elder son died in Burma while serving in the Japanese Army and her younger son died in the bombing, leaving her to continue her life as a midwife in their small village.<br />
<br />
Her solitary existence was broken up by visits from Machiko, Koji's girlfriend, who shared her grief over his loss, and her neighbours: the Man from Shanghai, and Mrs. Tomie. Although a Christian, she has an altar dedicated to her sons and husband. She kept a running conversation with Koji, until one day, his ghost appeared and spoke back to her.<br />
<br />
They reminisced about their life together, examining the impact of Koji's death on Nobuko, Machiko and Koji himself. Although there were many sweet and humorous moments in their conversation, but a darker overtone was never far away.<br />
<br />
Koji's recollection of the teenage love he had for Machiko and the unresolved sexual tension between them underscored the unfulfilled potential of his life. For all his grins and laughter, there was a tinge of darkness and anger in his reactions. He physically disappeared whenever he was overcome with sorrow; for himself, his mother and Machiko.<br />
<br />
Machiko had matured and moved on to become a school teacher, but she was caught up in an emotional stasis as well. Her longing for her life with Koji kept her apart and alone, devoting herself to her work. She recounted, off-handedly, of a colleague who cried when listening to Mendelssohn, the song that he last heard before leaving for his deployment. Nobuko detected unexpressed attraction in her undertones, and although she ended up encouraging Machiko to explore the relationship, she bitterly resented the fact that Machiko was moving on without Koji. <br />
<br />
Koji observed with some jealousy of the banter between her mother and the Man from Shanghai. Like most male children, he did not like the idea of his mother developing any attachment to any men other than his father. He discouraged her from buying black market goods from the man, even though she needed some of the items in her job as a midwife. He willfully ignored that with his death, his mother had los companionship and grandchildren to continue their family line. <br />
<br />
I had naively thought that the fall of the Berlin Wall marked a new era of peace for the world. Perhaps what those beauty contestants' collective wishes had come true.<br />
<br />
Well, that was what comes when you were fed a steady diet of bull crap by Hollywood and Pinewood Studios.<br />
<br />
The reality is that war will never go away. So long as there is money to be made from instability and conflict, war will be our constant companion till the Sun blows up into a supernova a few billion years from now.<br />
<br />
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<br />Snuzehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09712374144317934980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2510176269463738745.post-9779215279756385962018-07-08T12:34:00.000+08:002018-07-11T12:58:34.377+08:00Mars and Venus in oneHave you ever thought what it's like to live as the opposite gender? I occasionally dreamed I am a man; boy, those dreams were fun. There are no drawbacks to being stronger, taller than other people; no one complained when I dominated the conversation.<br />
<br />
This is an interesting viewpoint of someone who has experienced living as both a man and a woman.<br />
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<iframe allow="autoplay; encrypted-media" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/lrYx7HaUlMY" width="560"></iframe>
<br />
Welcome to being mansplained, Paula.<br />
<br />Snuzehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09712374144317934980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2510176269463738745.post-67123122630319252272018-03-02T00:09:00.000+08:002018-03-03T00:17:59.782+08:00If This World is Wearing Thin and You're Thinking of EscapeDonald Trump's election into the White House felt surreal to me after 8 years of Obama administration. How or why he won, well, them's the break.<br />
<br />
But truly, the only defense in the age of Trump is humour.<br />
<br />
<iframe allow="autoplay; encrypted-media" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/uDmSZX_zVuQ" width="560"></iframe>
<br />
<br />
<i style="font-size: small;">Post title came from the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YCYaALgW80c">first line of this song</a>.</i><br />
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<br />
<br />Snuzehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09712374144317934980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2510176269463738745.post-71005781907558514092018-03-01T23:41:00.000+08:002018-03-01T23:42:41.558+08:00RunningRun, run, baby<br />
Run, run<br />
Til your heart gives out<br />
And your knees break apart<br />
Like a child's toy at the end of childhood<br />
<br />
Run, run, baby<br />
Run, run<br />
Out of the cage of hope and denial<br />
Black blue flesh hidden under thick skin<br />
Craving the kiss of misery<br />
<br />
Run, run, baby<br />
Run, run<br />
Til the end of the round Earth<br />
Ending up where you began<br />
Writing secrets with your tears<br />
<br />
Run, run, baby<br />
Run, run<br />
Breath has deserted you<br />
Deflated lungs scrying your death<br />
Essence of the stars returning homeSnuzehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09712374144317934980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2510176269463738745.post-2734469204803016922018-01-26T03:17:00.000+08:002018-01-26T03:17:12.000+08:00What Lies BeneathI liked watching beauty through the decades videos because it gives us a glimpse of how things once was like.<br />
<br />
Of course those are limited to:<br />
1. Western beauty ideals; and<br />
2. Beauty ideals that were set by the wealthy (because they can afford it).<br />
<br />
These videos underscore how no matter how much things change, some things remain the same. Women are expected to look a certain way (and suffer to get it if they didn't win the genetics lottery) to be considered beautiful. The beauty standards are often arbitrary and fickle; thick eyebrows one decade, pencil thin the next.<br />
<br />
Here is another such video with an interesting twist. (Stolen <a href="http://www.refinery29.com/2015/11/97071/real-beauty-through-decades-video?utm_source=tumblr.com&utm_medium=post">from here</a>)<br />
<br />
<iframe allow="autoplay; encrypted-media" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/t__RhUyZMDM?rel=0" width="560"></iframe>
<br />
It's a good refresher. Women are forever being erased from the history books as though half of the world's population have no historical value or did anything interesting enough to be noted. It is important to remind ourselves that women are not just vainpots primping in front of the mirror; they move the world as well.Snuzehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09712374144317934980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2510176269463738745.post-5290175320418351912018-01-15T14:46:00.001+08:002018-01-15T14:46:25.232+08:00Going ViralHow does a word that used to denote disease now becomes the buzzword of communication tech? People in marketing are now always on the look out for ways to make their campaign reach the widest possible audience, and today the most visible marketing currency is video.<br />
<br />
Watch Sarah Wood, COO of Unruly Media, explain what it takes to make a marketing video go viral; it's a little chilling how what you think is an organic online interaction really is orchestrated by algorithms crunched by unseen people a world away.<br />
<br />
*video is stolen from Wired.<br />
<br />
<script async="" src="//player-backend.cnevids.com/script/video/53ac443469702d41ee000000.js?iu=/3379/wiredcom.dart/share"></script><br />
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<br />Snuzehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09712374144317934980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2510176269463738745.post-17575519645540372222018-01-10T22:09:00.000+08:002018-01-10T22:09:06.461+08:00Haunted by Sea MaidensThis song is used as part of the spiritual healing ritual based on the tale of the fisherman who lost his heart to the sea princess. Traditionally this was used for treating what now would be called post traumatic stress disorder; to revive the spirits of someone who has had a traumatic experience.<br />
<br />
In other words, traditional Malay medicine use music and song and dance to heal psychological illness. Pretty progressive, don'tcha think?<br />
<br />
<iframe allow="autoplay; encrypted-media" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/inqLY39ynUw" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
Enjoy.Snuzehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09712374144317934980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2510176269463738745.post-1069887565492602018-01-07T16:55:00.000+08:002018-01-07T17:04:54.845+08:00Breaking Up is Easier than Breaking a HabitEvery new year (be it the Islamic or Gregorian calendar), I'd tell myself to cut my electronic umbilical cord AKA the smartphone.<br />
<br />
Or at least, put it far enough away from me during off times so I'd be more productive -- write more, make inroads in my avalanching to-be-read pile, finish embroidering my kebaya ...<br />
<br />
Alas, I still fail. I'd manage maybe 2 or 3 days, and then I fall off the wagon again. The phone is also where I keep track of my email - work and personal - so even when silenced, I still reach for it every so often.<br />
<br />
Watching this is pretty sobering, I must say.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.theatlantic.com/video/iframe/515355/" width="640"></iframe>
<br />
<br />
Freakin' scary. Especially since I'm in the middle of reading <a href="http://www.nicholascarr.com/">Nicholas Carr</a>'s <a href="http://www.powells.com/book/shallows-what-the-internet-is-doing-to-our-brains-9780393339758">The Shallows: What the Internet is Doing to Our Brain</a>.<br />
<br />
I can feel my brain being rewired.<br />
<br />
Frankly, I have no idea how I'm going to wean myself off of the phone. I am a reading junkie; my phone plays a HUGE role in feeding my habit. I use it for reading my e-books and it's where I keep my <a href="https://www.kobo.com/">Kobo</a> account. Heck, I'm reading Carr's book on my smart phone, small screen notwithstanding.<br />
<br />
It's ever harder to put the device far away when so much of our social interactions - be it family or friends or professional relationships - is controlled by that rectangle of silicon and circuits.<br />
<br />
By making itself indispensable, the smart phone controls our lives beyond what we should be comfortable with. With the Internet of Things, one day we may not even have to carry the smart phone anymore; it may be grafted under our skin, with retinal implant to display the screen. Forget being afraid of Big Brother's surveillance; we already take Big Brother everywhere we go on purpose and eagerly.<br />
<br />
If you wanna know more, <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2017/oct/05/smartphone-addiction-silicon-valley-dystopia">read this</a> and let me know if it made your hair raise as it did mine.Snuzehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09712374144317934980noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2510176269463738745.post-69697724788418103882017-08-21T13:39:00.000+08:002017-08-28T13:40:01.824+08:00Dressed to KillYou can never dress alone ...<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/UpnwWP3fOSA" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
... if your clothes are this complicated.<br />
<br />
This sort of fashion was probably the reason why very few European ladies follow their husbands when they go pillaging in the tropics in the 18th century. The suffering when your scapula began to itch; how on earth do you reach that annoying spot?<br />
<br />
I don't imagine the garment is terribly comfortable; the boning of the corset looks like sheer torture. Keeping the spine erect is one thing, but the squashing of boobies is another.<br />
<br />
Thank God this style is no longer in fashion, no? Although those pockets are really kind of sweet.<br />
<br />
*stolen from the<a href="http://blog.liverpoolmuseums.org.uk/2016/08/getting-dressed-in-the-18th-century/">Liverpool Museum blog</a>.Snuzehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09712374144317934980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2510176269463738745.post-51688418485443691292017-04-10T22:18:00.001+08:002018-07-27T16:20:47.919+08:00A for ...A for alma mater.<br />
<br />
A for Assunta!<br />
<br />
And yes, this is an ode to my halcyon school days.<br />
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<br />
If you live in Petaling Jaya, the name Assunta is synonymous with gung-ho all-girls school. I was privileged to attend the Assunta Primary and Secondary School up to the year I turned 16.<br />
<br />
There is nothing quite like life in an all-girls school. It was easy going, loud (my 2nd and 3rd form class was declared as the noisiest in the school, naturally) and chock-full of stress and fun.<br />
<br />
One awesome thing about attending an all-girls school is that you don't need to be ladylike (or control ayu) because you have no one to impress. You get to let down your hair, express your inner demonic tendencies and just totally be yourself.<br />
<br />
When I attended a co-ed school, I found out the hard way that such liberties are not common.<br />
<br />
We also had the best canteen food. In a time when upscale mall food courts are non existent, we get to choose from noodles (laksa/curry/soup/fried) to rice, to burgers, buns (sweet/savoury), roti canai and even mini donuts, on a daily basis. Visiting other schools where you queue for the same dish everyone else is eating brought forth the kind of sympathies reserved for starving children in Africa.<br />
<br />
The racial mix at Assunta means that everyone speaks a little bit of a lot of languages like Hakka, Tamil, Cantonese, Malayalee, Javanese, particularly the swear words. The lingua franca was broken English peppered liberally with Malay. It is an important contributor to our fluency in the colonists' language.<br />
<br />
It was also the time and place to make lifelong friends whom you fight with and defend against all comers come hell and high water. After all, in a school of over 2000 people, the odds are good that you could find someone who would click with you.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>We may not meet often, but when we do, it's like we just saw each other last week.</i></span></div>
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Of course the school has changed tremendously since my days long past. The Thinking Pool has been replaced. The Cow Shed and Woodlands are now part of the food court-like canteen complete with LCD screen. The Music and Art Block has been revamped to add another storey to accommodate an art gallery. The Basement of the Mutiara Block has been converted into 4 classrooms.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Stained glass deco for the school hall is sick.</i></span></div>
<br />
However, the more things change, the more they stay the same. For all the cosmetic changes the years have wrought, the school spirit remains the same. All the voices raised in joy to sing the school song are inculcated with tenets of loyalty to the school and Country, determination to realise their dreams and camaraderie of the sisterhood.<br />
<br />
Ad veritatem per caritatem!<br />
<br />
#AtoZchallenge<br />
<br />Snuzehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09712374144317934980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2510176269463738745.post-12353502208925052482017-03-21T03:10:00.000+08:002017-03-21T03:10:23.391+08:00Sepsis and How I Almost Punched My Ticket to the Afterlife <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Last night, I was watching BBC's Trust Me, I'm a Doctor when I realised how lucky I am to still be alive today.</div>
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<br />
In 2004, I had what I thought was a bad case of flu that lasted for over three weeks. I sought treatment at the nearby clinics several times, took the meds (yes, I finished my antibiotics), but I never seemed to be able to shake it off. I'd get better for a couple of days, and then then I was knocked down again by the fever, body aches, runny nose, cough etc.<br />
<br />
I didn't think much of it, just thought that I got "lucky" and was infected by different virus strains in a row. One day at the lab, I felt so cold that my teeth was chattering. Strangely, it didn't occur to me that I was in a bad shape. My supervisor dropped by to ask something, took a look at me a la death warmed over, and told me to go home.<br />
<br />
Off I toddled at 3 pm, driving home in a car that's been baked under the sun for hours with the windows rolled up and I didn't turn on the aircond. The temperature in the car was likely to be above <a href="http://m.mynrma.com.au/motoring-services/education/children/hot-cars.htm">50 degrees Celsius </a> and for the first time in weeks, I felt comfortable. Yes, broiling alive in a car felt wonderful. It was only later that I realised I barely sweated even though the day was scorching.<br />
<br />
I drove like how I imagined someone who's had a spectacular liquid lunch would be like behind the wheel. Miraculously, I got home without incident.<br />
<br />
Once the gate closed behind me, I sat in the broiler that was my car in a stupor, until my Daddy came outside to check on me. I should have realised by then that something was seriously wrong with me, but I just hurt all over and it felt like the heat leached the ache that was bone deep. I mumbled to my parents that I felt horrible and I stumbled to my room to sleep it off.<br />
<br />
I was rudely woken at about 6 pm when my Mum told me that they're taking me to the hospital. I protested feebly, thinking that I just needed more rest and I'd be better soon. But Daddy put his foot down. He said there was something wrong with me that made me sit in a hot car for ages, and I needed to get that sorted NOW.<br />
<br />
I sulked during the drive to Assunta Hospital, furious that they didn't let me go on sleeping. After the registration, I sat with my parents, making desultory conversation until I was summoned to the examination room.<br />
<br />
To my surprise, the nurses took no time at all to insert a cannula into the back of my hand and they told me that I'm being held overnight for observation. They told me that my temperature was over 40 degrees Celsius and I could go into convulsions if I don't get treated.<br />
<br />
I wanted to protest, but I couldn't marshall my thoughts. I felt like crying; what kind of a weakling am I to need hospitalisation for a mere fever? Totally forgetting that fever can be dangerous and I learnt all the ways a fever can go south in my general pathology class.<br />
<br />
I was taken in a wheelchair to the ward. It was so weird being wheeled about, and it finally struck me that I was really, seriously ill. My Mum looked like she wanted to cry when she looked at the cannula on the back of my hand, patting it gingerly as though she was afraid it would hurt me. Daddy was blasè, as though his child being warded was nothing out of the ordinary. His stiff upper lip hid a lot.<br />
<br />
Once I was settled with a saline drip installed, they went home with an admonishment to mind the nurses. I felt bereft. My ward mates were all hidden behind the drawn curtains and I was at loose ends. The cool saline coursing through my feverish body made me antsy, and I fell into a restless sleep.<br />
<br />
Less than an hour later, my Sis and BIL came with clothes, toiletries, books (yay!) and a burger from the corner stall for dinner. We chatted while I ate, and then they left. I changed into my pajamas by myself, no mean feat to manoeuvre around the drip, let me tell you, and settled for my first night in a hospital.<br />
<br />
Throughout the night, the nurses came periodically to take my vital signs. I was so lethargic that it didn't bother me much until sometime at 3 am, they popped my anal cherry. Apparently, my fever refused to subside and they had to resort to a suppository antipyretic. Lucky for me, they were experts and after a mild disconcerted moment, I fell back to sleep.<br />
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The differential diagnosis for my case was sepsis although my blood culture was inconclusive. I suspected that the culprit in my case was the germ I was working with, <i>Chromobacterium violaceum</i>. I was fortunate to have responded to treatment fairly quickly considering the mortality rate for <i>C.violaceum </i>is pretty dismal.<br />
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Trust Me, I'm a Doctor reported that sepsis kills more people per year than 3 of the major cancers combined. Considering I had 4 of the 6 criteria for identifying septicaemia per the discussion on the show, I was extremely fortunate that my parents insisted that I get treated.<br />
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Slurred Speech or confusion<br />
Extreme shivering or muscle pain<br />
Passing no urine (in a day)<br />
Severe Breathlessness<br />
“I feel like I might die”<br />
Skin mottled or discoloured<br />
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At least 2 of the survivors interviewed in the show has had amputation to remove necrotic limbs. It was chilling to hear that all of them had symptoms similar to mine and the number of people who die of sepsis every year because they weren't treated in time.<br />
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Don't take your health for granted. Even a minor cut can fell you. With greater number of antibiotic resistance, we may not have much options for treating sepsis if we don't develop new antimicrobial soon.<br />
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Read more about it at:<br />
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http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/articles/1JKdvV3tP67FxzY1gKRNbvw/what-is-sepsis-and-how-can-i-spot-it<br />
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<br />Snuzehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09712374144317934980noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2510176269463738745.post-10904217503682643842017-01-29T00:41:00.001+08:002017-01-29T00:41:56.997+08:00The Billionaire and the Pauper?<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23566506-trade-me" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="Trade Me (Cyclone, #1)" border="0" src="https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1449233225m/23566506.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23566506-trade-me">Trade Me</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2906892.Courtney_Milan">Courtney Milan</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1894807172">5 of 5 stars</a><br />
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The few young adult novels I've picked up left a horrid taste in my mouth, but this one was SPECTACULAR. All right, I've yet to read anything by Courtney Milan that I didn't enjoy, but this one was such a fabulous ride from page one until The End (for the time being; there's more in the series).<br />
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The rest is under cut for spoilery stuff. <br />
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I loved that the characters came across as super realistic and darn enjoyable. I loved how well fleshed out Tina was: a minority student who have to work thrice as hard to catch up; struggling financially; being embarrassed of her family the only way children of 1st generation Asian immigrants can understand; her internal conversation rang true for her ethnicity and background. Her snark, double thinking (what she want to and what she had to), ingenuity, loyalty, intelligence, make Tina someone you want to root for. I love her character development as reflected in her relationship with Blake and her mother; we should all aspire to grow up emotionally so well.<br />
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Blake ... so easy to detest him. The super rich kid who drive the best toys, was the public face of his Dad's tech company since he was a toddler, handsome, brilliant etc etc. He is the first male character I've read with an eating disorder; it was handled so well, without preachiness or any yucky aspects. Stupendously done. His growth was also something that made the book so much fun to read.<br />
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The book is redolent with fun, zany characters who make you wince, grin, and just enjoy the heck out of them. I am looking forward to reading more in the subsequent installment of books.<br />
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As diversity goes, this book hits it out of the ballpark. Transgender, ethnic minority, homosexuality; you name it, it's being mentioned in a way that doesn't sound preachy or special snowflake-like. Just so cool. When I grow up, I want to write brilliant books like this.<br />
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Female protagonist: 5/5 stars<br />
Male protagonist: 5/5 stars<br />
Pacing: 4/5 stars<br />
Storyline: 5/5 stars<br />
Repeat reading factor: 5/5 star
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/3995195-suzainur-k-a-r">View all my reviews</a>
Snuzehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09712374144317934980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2510176269463738745.post-44419777056204710752016-12-10T02:02:00.003+08:002016-12-10T02:23:45.157+08:00Waterworks Serenade<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/xZmxVf31KqY" width="480"></iframe><br />
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Did you ever notice how thin and breathless your voice gets when you have spent the better part of a month coughing your lungs out? In the fantastic acoustics of the shower room, this vocal defect is amplified mercilessly to the auditory torment of your neighbours. Complete with canine and feline accompaniments.<br />
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Never mind. I'm still singing this at the top of my lungs during my morning shower, depressing notes bedamned.Snuzehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09712374144317934980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2510176269463738745.post-84552909094696017192016-06-14T13:01:00.002+08:002016-06-14T13:01:46.059+08:00Mellow yellowIt's Ramadan. No eating candy in daytime (for those observing it) but no one said anything about ear candy, right?<br />
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For those who like psychedelic, Beatlesque groove, have a try.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/nxH8Bc0cHok" width="560"></iframe><br />
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Wondering what on Earth did you just watched? Get some <a href="http://www.npr.org/sections/allsongs/2016/06/03/480451184/all-songs-1-sean-lennons-surreal-ode-to-michael-jacksons-pet-chimp-bubbles?utm_source=npr_newsletter&utm_medium=email&utm_content=20160603&utm_campaign=music&utm_term=allsongs">explanation here</a>.<br />
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I've got a thing for Julian Lennon since this song came out when I was in high school. Evocative, mellow, heart rending.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ql1EnjVYrZM" width="420"></iframe><br />
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Enjoy.Snuzehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09712374144317934980noreply@blogger.com0