I never knew this day would come

Not many of you know that my job involves the analysis of stool specimens from infants, which basically means I study the shit from babies. To secure a steady supply of stool samples for the use of practising/testing techniques (because my boss is finicky about me using the project's very very preciooouuussss samples), I had to ask a fellow colleague for her infant's "donations" on a monthly basis. It involves me passing her a collection container, she returns it after the following few days with the "donation" and I process it.

When it came to collecting it for this month, I was told I had to wait slightly longer because her child was suffering from diarrhea. I was getting slightly anxious as the days passed with no "donation". Finally, I received news that I would be getting it the next day, I was overjoyed and I can remember exclaiming to my colleague, "YES! Her child doesn't have diarrhea anymore!The shit is coming tomorrow!". Then it hit me. Never in my life have I been so happy about receiving shit.

A FML moment.

I'll neglect posting any entries now as I'm focusing on my secret project and slight tweaking of the blog layout (as you can see).

I return to blog

So the swine flu is still persistently here and it's only after a few weeks after news of its outbreak, we were given:

Which was kind of weird (and in a way inefficient) when we had to log in our temperatures every day online since a few days after the outbreak. For the most of us who do not personally own a thermometer, we employed the age old method of just feeling our heads and self-declaring, "Doesn't feel like 38 degrees celsius to me!". Somehow I think slapping on a doctored photo of a baby inserting the thermometer into his own mouth is rather disturbing, because he could choke on it (not that it will happen). Anyway, it does bring back memories of owning a digital thermometer during the SARS period, where we all had to measure and record our temperatures at every morning assembly.

Oh! And there was this joke I heard over the radio that goes like this:

"People said that if a Black man were to ever be elected into office, pigs will fly. Just 100 days after Obama was elected President, swine flu (flew)."

On my recent trip back home in JB, my father was in the midst of gathering old books to sell off and I came across a book of nursery rhymes that was given to my brother when he was born. Some of them didn't make any sense or were familiar but some, because of being older and wiser now, can be read in a different context like this one.

Among the many treasures that I came across was this photo of my mother taken 20 years back.

Now you know where I get my slightly non-Chinese facial features from. "Look at this goondu," my mother exclaimed with a face you make when you get nostalgic, as I showed her the photo.

Oh...and this is my favourite advert at the moment because the lady in pink is absolutely hilarious with the "Gah! I'm must grab that bag before she beats me to dead!"-look. Another thing is that the lady wielding the umbrella has an uncanny resemblance of my boss. Hmm...

Numb

I am numb.

I can't feel anything or rather I don't know what to feel, neither this nor that. My heart just can't decide on an emotion from the many that has been laid out in front of it, like a spread of cards. It's like I'm drifting in outer space without my five senses, can't make out where I am or how long I've been like this. Empty.

I need to feel something because this indescribable something is keeping me from moving on. That nagging feeling that there is something there but you don't know what. Or will it hit me later in waves? Will I find myself overwhelmed with emotions?

Or perhaps I am indifferent? But to be indifferent is terrifying because that would make me inhuman.

Electricity in my Eyes

"You always rolls your eyes!"

"Well, you see, I have turbines installed in the sockets of my eyes and when I roll them, that's how I generate electricity to power my sarcasm."

They say...

"Don't judge a book by its cover", so I judged it by its title, the little summary behind and the selective quotes from reviewers printed all over.

I'm sort of overwhelmingly immersed in reading novels, ever since its resurrection on my To-Do list, that I have to whip out a book every time I'm on a locomotive. So anyway, I'm always looking for humourous literature (especially those that have a play on words or a twist in pop culture/media references) and they tend to have quirky illustrated cover with equally quirky titles.

What? Stop looking at me disapprovingly. There's no way a book (for example) titled 'The Pea 'with a photo of a single pea on its overly white cover could contain a plot where hilarity ensues. But then again...(here I go, contradicting myself) the cover could be just a play on minimalism and 'The Pea' is actually an autobiography (albeit a fictional one) of the pea in the fairytale 'The Princess and the Pea', where the life of the pea is chronologically followed to the time he (or she, for all you feminist) finds himself suffocated under the pile of mattresses. Of course, hilarity ensues before his fate crossed with those mattresses. Authors and Illustrators, they play with our minds!

Anyhoo...These are just some of the novels that I hope to get my hands on and start digesting them with my mind. If you literally take its title as it is, you may find it has nothing to do with the cover design. But, the summary will make you understand how they are related, like how that girl you like so much in class is actually your half-sister through some torrid affair many years ago.

I was sold with the 'The comedy debut of the year' review quote from the Sunday Times. I'm so gullible.

A nursery rhyme crime story? How could I resist?

Thought it might be worthy to check out other books from Jasper Fforde.

And a little something controversial. Always wanted to read what he has to say.

On the 106 home

Two individuals sat beside each other but yet separated by an aisle.

One was haggard middle-aged man with clothes crumbled like (but thankfully, not smell like) kiam chai on. He sat with his legs wide-open, palms resting on his knees as if He was drawn toward something but didn't want to slouch. The other was a frisky young boy and had his t-shirt securely tucked into the elastic waistband of his mauve pants, as if to preemptively protect himself from any cold chills attacking him at the middle. he comfortably assumed the fetal position (upright), where his knees occasionally met his chin when he bobbed his head. They were visibly different from each other but yet, had something common shared between them. Their hands were doing the talking for them.

"Father/Son? Grandfather/Grandson? Who is the handicapped one, or both of them are handicapped? Perhaps it's a game invented and played by only them? "

Questions buzzed in my head as I observed from behind my novel the conversation that was taking place.

His hand gestures were forceful and unreserved, that if He were able to speak, He would sound like any other uncle commonly found in a kopi tiam discussing about soccer at the top of his voice. he, on the other hand, was nimble and precise just like any other boy at his age would be. They talked about anything, from what was happening outside the bus as it drove passed (He would point exaggeratedly to arouse his attention), to him showing off his EZ-Link card printed with his Primary School details and Him telling him to keep this bag properly by his side.

The conversation never stopped as the hands were constantly animated, taking flight in the stale cold air. Nothing could distract them, as if there was this protective bubble encapsulating them, forming their own private world. It made me ponder on how the some of us who have the gift of speech/hearing, hardly ever speak/listen to anyone.

I alighted the bus feeling a warmth that was calming, like a hot cup of tea in a frenzied office with the thermostat set very low.