the backstage epiphany

where reality is so subjective it's entirely optional

Monthly Archives: August 2010

Prongs 2

Found this on someone’s Tumblr, as part of my new hobby, and I was so tickled by it I had to repost it too:


(Never mind that electronics can’t function inside Hogwarts)

like order of the phoenix.

harry could have called sirius and been all

“hay bro, you okay?”

and sirus would just be

“oh hey james harry. just chillin wit mah betches.”


sirius totally has harry in his contacts as “Prongs 2” by the way.

and harry could be calling dumbledore whenever he’s away from hogwarts to keep him up to date on the whole HOLY SHIT SORCEROR’S STONE IS UNDER ATTACK.

and when the entrance to 9 and three quarters sealed harry could have went “HEY WE R LOST CAN U PICK RON AND I UP. THX” to dumbledore

during goblet of fire he could of just texted fleur when he was with the mermaids and been all “hey. u OK? ur sister is here.” and instead of waiting and getting last place, she could of just been all “LOL GOT ATTACKED BY GRINDLOWS I’M OUT.”

also, bellatrix would have a fucking ball with a camera phone. she’d be sending nude pics of herself to voldy and trying to impress him and he’d be all


and snape probably sent pictures of his dick to lily after she married james with the caption “YOU’RE MISSING OUT ON ALL OF THIS, LIL.”

i can see sirius and remus sexting non stop.

and deathly hallows?

snape wouldn’t have had to fuck around with the whole LETS PLACE THE SWORD IN THE BOTTOM OF A LAKE AND HOPE HARRY FINDS IT. he could have just texted him from an anon number and been all “hey dumbass, go three feet west and get that fucking sword. BRING A COAT.”

when ron got lost he wouldn’t have to screw with the deluminator. he could have just texted harry “IM LOST CAN U TELL ME HOW TO GET BACK.” and bam, we wouldn’t have hermione crying or anything.

they would totally prank call voldemort too. “HEY UR MOM IS A WHORECRUX, TOM. LOLOLOLOL.”

and the luna missing thing?

“luna what can you tell us about Deathly Hallows.”

and she could have just told them and stuff without them getting nearly killed. again.

and those answering places where you text a question, hermione would be using that all the time. and ron would be asking them how to pick up babes.



Happy Tumbl(r)ing!

Because I like looking at pretty things, and I don’t have much to write about anything these days except the fact that I hate my job and love my boyfriend, I am now spending some time here:

You’ll be amazed how looking at pretty things can lift your spirits even just the tiniest bit. So bear with me while I go through what seems to be another bout of writer’s block. I will still post here when I have something of significance to say, or when I just need to find a place for the ever-snowballing effects of my job to crash into, but for now, I’m a right happy little Tumbl(e)r.

Life cycle, perhaps interrupted

One of the bad things about being in a relationship is age. Consciously or otherwise, we allow it to determine for us what stage of a relationship we should be at. At age 12, we are supposed to be much too young to have even heard the word. At age 15, we are told that we are not old enough to understand what the word really means, let alone experiment with it. At age 20, we are thought to have far more important things to do and accomplish than add one more name to our list of conquests. At age 26, we (especially the women) are warned that time’s a-tickin’ and we should start thinking about settling down before the eggs are taken off the shelf.

I will stop here, because at age 26, I will also be told that I am supposed to know no better.

Of late, when people hear that I am in a serious relationship, the question they like to ask next is: “So when are you getting married?” My reply depends on whom I am talking to — acquaintances get the noncommittal shrug, friends get a slightly more privileged “I don’t know” or “I haven’t thought about it”, and close friends get as much of the truth as they can. But the general response from those who absolutely must know or quash their curiosity is “But… don’t you want any children?” My answer is usually met by surprise, bewilderment or sometimes outright dismay: “Well… I guess… but I don’t have to. I can always adopt.”

I have nothing (much) against children — except those who resemble Jake from Two and a Half Men and who feel the need to scream, cry and vomit in full view of the public (hello, Madam Kwan’s KLCC!) — and have very occasionally considered taking my eggs (and age) a little more seriously. But, in an attempt to be as pragmatic as my age (there’s that word again!) — and perhaps society — will allow, I also have to embrace the very real possibility that I may never have children of my own. The beauty of this acceptance is that, after I told myself I may never anyone to will my bags and jewelry to and did not end up leaping out the window, I realized I could survive being childless, which may have made me a slightly rarer commodity to men whose biggest fear is the pressure of having to get married and reproduce.

I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t want to be too old when I try to have children. Not only will I not be in a position to support anyone but myself for a very long time, but I don’t want to be struggling at age 60 to put my children through college (when, let’s face it, I could be sitting at a mahjong table). Also, my scary age for childbearing is 30, which I have resolutely stood by ever since I watched my best friend back in Buffalo suffer pre-eclampsia at the age of 29 and my godson spend his first two weeks of life in intensive care because he was born several weeks early. It was nobody’s fault, but having seen for myself and knowing what I know now about the risks and dangers (and there is so much more than just pre-eclampsia that we may not know about) that come with having babies past a certain age, I could never risk putting my own baby through all that, or worse, rendering it motherless.

As for the adoption part, I have no doubt in my mind that I would consider it when the time comes. With so many orphaned children in the world, every case in which one (or even more) of them is accepted by a family or single parent is counted as a blessing, and dear knows this world could use as many blessings as it can get. I sincerely believe it is every bit as possible to love an adopted child and a biological child the same way, because at the end of the day, they are all children, untainted by sin and only trying to grow up among people who love them.

Who knows, two years down the road, I may actually have a change of heart and decide I simply must have a child to validate my existence, but for now, I’m perfectly happy owning a puppy — or a rabbit — and buying cute things for my friends’ children. Besides, sometimes it’s really not about what others think you should and shouldn’t do or what you think is the right, expected and accepted way of life, but about what will be good for yourself and the people around you who matter the most.

I should probably also tell you right now that before you even think of the nastiest name to call me for  not having a maternal bone in my body and having the cheek to put all this down in writing, you may want to go here.

Quarter after one

At some point, we just need to tell ourselves when enough is enough.

Picture-perfect memories scattered all around the floor
Reaching for the phone ’cause I can’t fight it anymore
And I wonder if I ever cross your mind
For me it happens all the time

Another shot of whiskey, can’t stop looking at the door
Wishing you’d come sweeping in the way you did before
And I wonder if I ever cross your mind
For me it happens all the time

It’s a quarter after one
I’m a little drunk and I need you now
Said I wouldn’t call
But I lost all control and I need you now
And I don’t know how I can do without
I just need you now

– Lady Antebellum, Need You Now

All in


I pray for the courage to do what I must
I pray for the faith to do what I trust
I pray for the strength to do what I can
And the rest I commend, God, into Thy hands

I pray for the wisdom to win my own fight
I pray for the hope that it will be all right
I pray for the love to help get me through
These troubled times, Lord; I’m praying to You


Mabuhay Boracay

Boracay is like an all-day, 2.5-mile-long, beach party, something I don’t remember from my last trip there, either because it was so long ago (give and take a decade, perhaps) that my younger eyes failed to see what my current eyes — old, it seems, in every sense of the word — saw, or because that many years ago the party hadn’t started yet. With hundreds of stores, bars and restaurants all lined up along the beachfront, with as many small stalls peddling massages,  sunglasses, watersports, henna tattoos and cornrows (which I would have gotten if I didn’t have an office to come back to), Boracay is like a seaside version of New York City. And yet, for all the activity and crowds there, the busyness was more pleasant and laidback than, say, Phuket, which is a seaside version of Kuala Lumpur.

Some of the key things I’ve deduced from this trip:

1. Diving has spoilt me rotten. I tried swimming further down from the surface, remembered that if I inhaled it would be seawater, and not air from a tank, zooming into my lungs, and panicked. Suffice to say, I came away from snorkeling feeling a little cheated.

2. Unfortunately, Filipinos are just like Malaysians in one way: they will accept bribes and tips for any and every damn thing — from swatting flies away from your food (50 pesos), to carrying your luggage 70 feet (20 pesos per bag), to getting you into the airport ahead of everyone else because you’re about to miss your flight (RM10 if you’re out of pesos). And if they sense your reluctance or ignorance of this custom, they won’t hesitate to remind you either: “Don’t porget, Ma’am! Don’t porget!” Those who budget and record their expenses may want to widen the Miscellaneous Expenses column.

3. The best form of exercise in Boracay is not swimming, but running. With so many street peddlers trawling the beachfront, it is impossible to walk 15 paces before being ambushed by racks of sunglasses and flyers for massages. In the end I concluded that the only way to avoid them must be to run so that they won’t get the chance to stop you.

4. Filipinos are also like Malaysians in that they don’t tell you everything you need to know all at once. They will tell you that your flight may be diverted to another airport because the plane can’t land in the assigned airport due to bad weather. And unless you ask, they won’t tell you that your flight has been delayed, but they don’t know for how long. Then when you wait to ask again, they will tell you that your flight has been canceled instead and they will give you a new boarding pass. And just as you are about to board the van for the hour-odd journey to the other airport, they will tell you to pay 175 pesos (per person!) for the transfer.

5. I need to stop deluding myself into thinking that SPF 130 sunscreen would be all I need to prevent getting tanned. There can be no denying that it was really the long-sleeved rash guard and knee-length board shorts that preserved my lily-white skin every time I went diving, and this time around, with naught but the required life-vest that I wore for parasailing and jetskiing, I’ve come back to Malaysia at least three shades darker.

Nevertheless, it was still a wonderful trip, and as I sit here thinking about the past week, knowing that it will be a very long time before I am able to go on another vacation like this, I realize that this trip has achieved what I had hoped it would. It has renewed my faith and my gratitude for everything I have now, and reinforced the beliefs I’ve been harboring for the past few months. And now that I’m back, I’m more aware than ever of what I have to do in order to set my life right and to start doing something for myself.

Shopping for a cause

Yesterday was the Mikka Green Eco Bazaar, held at Kaiyisah’s home, to raise awareness and promote environmental-friendliness. Despite the heat and fatigue of having just returned from Boracay the night before (plus an extremely blond moment which had me wondering aloud what in the wide world a TMP was and which Afham dispelled with a patient “It stands for Tengku Mahkota Pahang — I think”), we got ourselves out to Taman TAR, Ampang, to join the festivities.

The effort that went into the planning and setting up of the entire event was beyond commendable. From sorting out old clothes, shoes, jewelry and books to be sold for or donated to charity, and hunting out other organizations that work towards promoting environmental awareness to aid in the event, to just putting that much passion into a cause that will always have to be kept alive down through the generations, Kaiyisah and her friends really started off with a bang to be heard all around.

By the end of the day, I came away with two very cute organic cotton T-shirts, some pretty jewelry, cupcakes made by Raindough Desserts, and the Mikka Green eco bag. If there were ever a good excuse for shopping, this would be it.