laundry

I'm sleepy, very. Yesterday I hung out at Fateyn's and slept at 2. Woke up at 7. But I can't sleep now, because I'm doing the laundry. No, technically the washing machine is doing the laundry. I'll have to wait for 20 minutes, get the clothes outta the machine and hang it. Damn I wish the machine comes with a dryer. Than I wouldn't have dry em under the hot sun. And considering the rainy weather. Better still, if the machine comes with something to fold the clothes, or iron them. 


there you go, nurul syuhada abdullah-attarmizi sounding like a lazy bum.

the lazy bum who hates doing laundry

oh wait.


5min
4min
3min
2min
1min


done the laundry. damn i think it's more than 20 minutes ain't it? someone has took the clothes outta the machine for me, thank you a lot, and put in hers. i've hang them up on the clothing line, and damn the girl who lives upstairs for the water from her panties *ewww* are dripping on my clothes. sucker!


now i've gotta wait for them to dry, because it looks like it's going to rain. *yawning*


man i hate doing laundry. maybe i should marry the son of a laundrette owner. now can i please get some sleep?

i'm whining about SMS

i'm hanging around in my room, listening (read: jumping) to the beats of We Don't Speak No Americano and googling on jellyfish and EIA. oh wait.

you have a new text message.

From: Celcom.

*f! I knew it*

Delete unread message?

*Oh crap for God sake just delete it.*

Celcom must've love me enough to send me those kind of messages every day,. I received on average 5 of them each day. Some promotes about free 20% talk time upon using RM48 and some promotes on surfing the net for RM5 a day..and..some are deleted without me reading it even. seriously, that sucks a lot.


i have a little confession here. i get excited when my message alert rings. well not like really excited, but whenever it rings i always wish it were....him. him who apparently, never texts me anymore, and never will again.

can you imagine the despair, devastated feelings you get when you wish for something real badly and what you get is something that annoyed you to bits, irritated you to death? its like, you wish for a BEN TEN sport shoes and Mom get you a Barbie. 


i rolled my eyes and cursed at Celcom for such messages, for it gives me the kind of suspense. like, oh, which cute guy texts me this time? haha naturally cute guys dont really text me. never mind. oh sorry guys, i'm not saying that the few of you  who text me arent cute. tapi kalau puji kata aku ada crush plak, susah manusia ni!


oh and oh! lately theres this dude who texted me outta the blue. he got my number from a relative. well naturally he didnt get it from her; he stole it. and he sucks, cuz he texts me a lot, all ignored by me. but he's very persistent, so he keep texting and me ignoring. as much as i love texting, i dont at all text with people who steal my number. you suck!


worse still; he uses rempit language. they went like, 

"aq skunk dekat cafe. unk katnew?" 

or something like that. i wouldnt know much really, because i dont use that language. another one would be the so-called cute language. I COULD DIE. 

"yunk, u da mam? i ta mam g. u titow dulu ye"

mind you, it's from a guy. a 20-year-old guy. like, grow up people! he was a nice guy, not bad looking, and well, i guess he's ok. but i personally believe that text messages tell a lot about a person. and using cute baby language is a BIG NO-NO.


haha, me? i suck at texting, too, because of my eyesights, and my phone. i tend to send messages to the wrong person. i called someone sayang, a guy! and it was dead embarrassing!!! and oh, the time when i was gossiping about a real cute guy and was supposed to send it to a bestie when it reached a male friend. lol.


the first guy i texted was Joash. that was in Form 2. i was barely 14 and he put his number on a notice board. he was also, hot. now that sounds flattering. but he was like the hot stuff at school--3 years my senior, genius, gifted, cute..etc--and girls loved him. i was "girls". i still remember it, how i texted it to ask for some sort of activities (ok, it was like, kill two birds witha stone, i know) and i didnt get what he meant by tat. it's that, silly schue. 

of course i used ummi's phone.

now thats a confession ummi, on why your credit balance kept disappearing. 

syg

SYG.

how i miss that acronym. and how i miss calling someone that way, too. i miss how we go, let's eat syg, mornin syg, hi syg, goodluck syg..you get the idea. 


generally i like syg more than any other names, like baby, darling, and love. i've tried darling, but it's kinda old, like some kind of a married couple or something, but very sweet. baby? very manja. too manja, i guess? but its kinda cute too. oh dear why am i giving a review on this?


i call my girl friends with names like that. names like sayang, dear, sweetheart, honey...some people think it's pretty homosexual, which is weird for them to have thought it that way, and they feel that you only address that way to members of the opposite sex, like boyfriends. i guess its the TESL thing, TESL girls call each other with adorable names. 


i once called a girl "dear", and she told me she's a girl. lol aint that obvious already?


never mind. 


i miss using the word syg. i called someone (read: a guy) syg yesterday. i was supposed to send the text to a good friend, and i sent it to someone else. it was really...embarassing. cuz i wouldnt know how he would think of me. gatalnye! maybe he said that. or, ewwwwwww. and *puke puke*


never mind. smells like teen spirit. 

YOU

i need you.

please love me. again

it's been a long time, hasn't it? we talked a little, occasionally. i don't only miss you. i need you. i need you to love me again. like the good old days. like our good old days. i'd say no to all of them, if there were any, because i don't want them, i want you. only you.

there's no one in the world, who could replace you.

i'm alone and helpless.

i'll figure this one out

they say old habit dies hard. they were right. there's a lot of old habit that i cant seem to shake off, like the fact that i spent too much time online, no matter how much i tried. and of course sleeping in class. no that's not an old habit. i just developed that one quite recently, in a linguistic class.


old love dies hard, too.

very hard, especially when after a while they came back, gave you hopes and promises. and after a great battle with withdrawal syndrome you tried hard to resist from being addicted to the drug again. it's tough, it's difficult. i understand. i went through the same thing. going through the same thing. 


never mind. i'll get over it. i promise. 


i'm having a really difficult week. tomorrow's BIG, all the way till Friday. and BIG sucks big time. damn ignore the pun.


after that i'm south bound for home, and i doubt if i'll be updating my blog, since we'll be leaving for Port Dickson for some family reunion or stuff. it'll be a drag, i know, and i will miss you guys. i will miss blogging.


i will blog some time, but i cant promise. i've got no lies to tell. no more. 

O+

It's Wednesday, and after the House meeting I went to the library, and read newspapers. Man I sound old. A Malay daily wrote,

"Get money for donating sperms"

So I told Agnes and Nadia about it, because I was always the excited one, without realizing that there was a  lecturer near us, worse still, a male lecturer. So what?


That was something else.


I donated 300ml of my blood today. It wasn't my first time, in fact; it was second. but i felt pretty excited, i felt the butterflies in my stomach the moment before the medical officer plucked the little needle into my middle finger. It felt like being hit by a stapler. I've never been hit by a stapler. 

I wanted to skip Philosophy class. But the long queue and the heat at the hall was practically killing me so I went back to class, thinking that I'd rather endure a tedious Philosophy class reading a Mandarin novel.


Well, I missed one "drama swasta berbayar". never mind. i missed the live telecast but I managed to catch the "siaran tertunda", i mean the delayed. Nah just some gossips.


I went back at 2pm, after class and all, and donated the blood, giggling. Laughing. Like a maniac. Very hyperactive. I was very uneasy when the nurse told me to get bed rest, and can't wait to get off the bed and walk away. 


Hyperactivity. Don't ask why.


and this is so stupid. a text message conversations of Ali* and Abu*

"i think i wanna be a sperm donor next time"

"you'll make money. i read in yesterday's paper."

"where? haha"

"lol, that sounds like selling sperm, not donating"

"yeah, like, hey, can i buy your sperm?"

"yeah, RM2 per gram. How would you like it? Take away?"

" or Would you like it here or take away? Extra gravy?"

"%%^%^*)(*(*(&*#;*@#@@@@"

p.s. 
i broke the rule today! finally. i trespassed (that's the word i guess) RECSAM to get into the cafe. mind you, i was dead hungry, i was about to donate blood and so i should grab a bite,  and i am not supposed to take food that taste like Chlorine. I also smuggled foods for Syera and Fatin: contraband. Lol. 

Rules are meant to be broken. 

*bukan nama sebenar/name changed due to privacy and protection.hahaha

mengamuk

hari ini tanpa segan silunya aku umumkan aku mengamuk.

nenek rock, aku mengamuk

aku dah janji taknak whining banyak-banyak kat sini, sebab aku rimas, and korang pun lagi rimas baca. tapi aku sakit hati okay. seumur hidup aku tak pernah aku terasa begitu deprived sampai camni sekali. 

mula-mula elektrik takde. aku boleh sabar. baru berapa hari masuk new year dah buat hal tapi aku boleh sabar. kononnya aku nanti nak mengajar kat kawasan pedalaman, haruslah endure this kind of things. takleh fb pun takpe. handphone takde battery takleh gayut oun takpe. aku sabar.

bila elektrik takde, air pun takde. awek-awek Canadians tu mengeluh and cakap yang they never ran out of water all their life--aku pernah la sekali dua--tapi aku sabar. aku pergi mandi kat blok lain. aku tak kisah. walaupun aku kena bangkit seawal 5.30 pagi (and mind you, hari lain aku bangun 6.45), sangat awal okay, pastu perghi dari blok ke blok, panjat tingkat ke tingkat, semua haram takde air, aku relax je. 

last-last after an hour aku jumpa bathroom yang available, aku mandi alakad je takde kata nak wat ala-ala spa sbb org len pun dok beratur gak nak mandi. aku bertimbang rasa. aku sabar. aku boleh tahan.

fb kena block time office hour, aku akur.

elaun tak masuk-masuk, aku terima.

kelas floating pindah-randah, aku tempuh.

macam-macam masalah, aku paham. aku buat relax je. aku tahu kengkawan aku kat campus len lagi tragis, macam kat kampus Syaz. 

aku count my blessing kata omputeh.

tapi sekarang diorang layan aku dan rakan seperjuangan aku macam banduan, macam inmates, yang laki pakai tie yang pompuan pakai baju kurung, haruslah kan aku mengamuk.

kunci gate dari 8 hingga 2pm. kitorang diharamkan keluar dari college untuk ke kafe, kedai and apa2 je yang ada kat luar kampus, kununnya2 time waktu kuliah.

takleh pergi kedai nak photostat or print assignment.

takleh nak pergi intai-intai headline paper kat kedai one stop kat recsam tu.

takleh breakfast pagi-pagi sambil cuci mata

takleh nak makan nasi lemak mami. roti jala pun sodap.

takleh aku nak beli nasi goreng cinta dah.

takleh aku nak wat macam-macam lagi

lapaq gila weyh. tapi takpe aku relax. waktu kuliah la katakan. harus la kot dia wat cmtu walaupun agak fishy but never mind. kalau langgaq kang kena akta plak.

tapi bila kuliah aku habis pukul 1.30 and gate untuk ke kafe yang relevant hanya dibuka pada jam 2, memang mintak kena sembur dengan aku la kan. half an hour yang sangat precious dah terbuang disitu. and, aku lapar gilak, ang tak paham ke. makanan kat cafe bawah tu tak cukup sial, habis. sikit. ayaq rasa klorin. cafe dah la jauh yang amat. ade ke patut kelas aku kat atas puncak bukit, dia expect aku nak turun ke kaki bukit untuk makan. memang fcuk la kan.

aku tak nak kaitkan benda ni dengan business hampeh apa-apa korang tu, tapi please la, jangan jadikan aku mangsa keadaan.

aku lapar and aku nak makan yang berpatutan. yang okay. aku ni bukan anak orang kaya. aku nak makan biar kenyang, biar puas. orang len kaya kalau makan kat cafe tak puas bleh order pizza ke ape ke. aku tak. aku just depend on the meal yang aku makan tu je. kalau aku ade transport sendiri, bleh gak makan kat sardon ke, payung ke. 


aku nak makanan yang sesuai dengan tekak aku.

aku lapar. sangat lapar.

kalau mak pak aku tahu maktab dera aku sampai kebuluq camni, habeh la korang. 

p/s: ummi, walid, if you read this, please help.huhu

I Want To Know What You Think

assalamualaikum. hello peeps.

contrary to popular belief, i write this blog not entirely for myself. i write it for you too, yes, you,

chrissie my bestie ever (down under), 

agnes another bestie (up here),

rina roommate,

min zhi my since-primary-school-mate,

arep,

aqilah yang pinjam iPad aku,

bloggers-gang, I4P gang, classmates, coursemates,

fateyn tiz zaqyah,

samuel who thinks pink+guy=gay,

ameelia suke gelak,

zul emi doctor to be,

aslam the photographer yang amek gambar smart, 

kak ainnul comel yang dapat 4 flat,

kak anis same floor yang suka panjat gunung,

syarina bubblee,

syazliana hazyan,

liys liyana saidi,

and every single one of you. and you too, the cute guy in green shirt who's smiling in front of your laptop reading this. adorable. sometimes i cant believe people been reading my blog until they pointed out. feel famous. woohoo. okay, you too, kak azie, anwar, er, etc etc who drop by occasionally.

thanks a lot for reading my blog. it means so little to you and yet so much to me. i love you guys to bits. so why this touchy-touchy post huh?

well, this is because i want to know what you guys think about my blog. some people couldnt care less bout what people think of theirs, but i'm not some people. i care, i do a lot. and i love to have you all here. 

i write this blog for you. remember that.

however, my blog is getting boring now. i don't know, but the number of followers remain the same and i get less than 100 viewers per week.

i'm not one of them beautiful girls who can upload beautiful pictures of themselves on their blogs. i dont have a good DSLR and awesome photography skills either. neither am i a girlfriend of the national football team player. i don't have the right skills in wearing scarf, shawl, whatever you call them, so having a tutorial video on that one is out. oh, and i can't have recipes on my blog either. cupcake, plate-cake, periuk-cake, i suck cooking big time. i don't even sell the latest fashion here. so i'm going to do what i do best.

language.

My rice-cooker.

you know i'm learning sarawakian malay now. it's so tough, cuz its entirely different from the malay we speak. But all thanks to the adorable bloggers who start some sorta Sarawakian dictionary in their blogs, i would say i am learning, getting better. thanks peeps.

And oh please, i am learning sarawakian because i wanna go there end of the year, and i wanna teach there. and no i aint got a sarawakian man except Noh Hujan. Hehe. =)

So how about a Spanish class here? I learnt spanish since Form 4. Mine aint really good, so i need to brush it up with you guys. How about that, huh?

A spanish lesson.

Please drop in a comment and tell me what you think. or just LIKE. hopefully I will start a spanish lesson here, ehem ehem, if you like the idea. hehe.

You woke me up. Now wake up darling.

She’s a friend. A friend, not just someone you know in Facebook. Not someone you only know their names and that’s it, and nothing else. Not just a college-mate either, because many would fall into that category. Many that you know nothing but their first name and never talk to.

She’s my friend.

We live in the same building, study in the same college. We smile when we see each other. Sometimes we would say something like, “done class for the day?” or “going home this weekend?” that kind of thing.


Once I remembered we talked a lot. It was during this silly Independence Day celebration at the Parliament. Walking together, I found out that we were both KL-born, to Negeri Sembilan fathers.

We were not close, but when something happens to someone who has been a part of your life, no matter how small the role they play, you feel it. You feel the missing sort of feeling. A sense of feeling unspeakable of.


I saw her last Friday. She was walking from the library with her best friend, who now uncontrollably weeps when reciting Yassin for her.

I saw her again today.

It's depressing, because it was only a few days ago you saw her walking, smiling, and now she's lying weak on a bed, with tubes, wires, machines.

she was involved in an accident on the way back to college from home. her father died in the accident, and she's now in a coma, broke her right leg, damaged one of her kidneys and had three operations.

Her face, as always, looks very clean. Pure.

If u whisper something she might hear you, but she wouldnt be able to response. I dont know what to say. I dont know what to do either. So I came close to her ear and whispered,

"Ummirul, you woke me up. Now wake up".

Let's all pray for her, for the end of her sufferings, her pain. insyaAllah.

Schue Le Miserable

I couldn’t sleep last night. It was hard because I lied awake thinking, tossing.
I looked at walls and ceilings, and wondered if they all could speak to me.
What would they say? Would they tell me that I’m one stupid foolish girl? Would they consult me, talk to me; tell me that everything is going to be alright? Or would they yell at me and have a go at me? Maybe they would whisper to my mind some crazy ideas to get away from this misery. That would have been preferable. Now I sound schizophrenic.

Welcome to the lifestyle of the young and hopeless,

 Schue Le Miserable.

Nothing to do with the book (Les Miserables), which is a good one, suggested to me by a friend. I will read it Sam, thanks. I will read it one day, maybe in the year 2020. Because knowing myself, I can’t even bring myself to read a book now, let alone that one. And no, Kak Ainnul, even headbanging, with your hair wet in the shower singing to Avenged Sevenfold, or even SOAD'S Chop Suey doesn’t work. Neither is singing Gloria I-don’t-know-what’s I Will Survive, Abg Rashid.

I am miserable already. Very.

It’s about study. Always study, always academic. Well, not for me, at least. Right since kindy, school, college, matriculation, foundation years, everything has been alright for me. I consider myself pretty lucky because I am not the bury-your-nose-in-books type. But still I managed to get along. Still I made it through. I don’t know how.


Maybe it’s my rezeki. Must be the answer to my parents’ prayer every day after solat.

Undergrad years are tough. Way too tough, too hectic, too miserable. We’re the first batch of a ridiculous programme called PISMP B. Ed TESL, and the big guys who make big bucks, I mean the authorities or whatchamacallit are treating us like we’re some bunch of guinea pigs.

7 subjects to deal with; and only 2 of them are English. I don’t know how I will pass the likes of Child Development and Philosophy, because they’re to me, drier than the sand on a desert. And know what’s drier than sand of the desert? CD and Philosophy. Haha.

Let’s face it, I’m not smart. I’m don’t really study hard either. I might have passed the foundation with a pretty decent result all without studying, but that’s different. That was English. It was supposed to be okay.

And now, undergrad years, I feel so stupid already. I feel messed up; miserable; like I’ve made a wrong decision somehow. I have no interest in all these psychological stuffs. You’ll know, when you can’t even digest the page from Wikipedia on psychoanalysis or whatever that means.

So the walls that spoke to me this afternoon told me one solution. (now i will make this sound like an experiment report in Chemistry SPM Paper 3)

1. First, Get outta your bed.
2. Dress prettily (Looks to Kill) !!
3. Now, Go hang around Platino condominium, where one UNIT would cost up to 0.8 million bucks. (RM800,000)
4. Next,Hook up with some rich dudes with mega big bucks who lives there or something
5. Make them pay for the RM130,000 to MOE for breaching the contract signed in Foundation years
6. Get outta this hell!
7. Finally, What am I going to do next?

It’s not a bad idea after all.

But sadly I don’t have the looks that kill, whatever that means. It’s highly unlikely that I will hook up with rich dudes. For all you know I might “ter-goda” the Bangladesh workers there. Gruesome! And I wonder if even that works up to number 6, what’s the answer for 7?


I love teaching. I want to serve people, help them, play my part in eradicating poverty, promoting world peace, now i sound like i'm in a beauty pageant.
 
i will love teaching, i promise i will. i know i will. i'm sure i will. it runs in the genes.

it's the teacher training that i seriously dread.

Love yawll. Thanks for reading.

It's the inside that counts, not the outside.

Angel-A, movie

I watched a really funny episode on 3rd Rock from the Sun a couple of weeks ago. It’s a really funny sitcom about these extraterrestrials that posed like humans and came down to Earth. They called themselves the Solomon--- Dick, Sally, Tommy and Harry.


So one day Dick Solomon went crazy about his identity, you know, the race and ethnic group thingy. So he went like doing a research and stuffs on who are what and what not, and he was wondering what he and his kind is. Dick tried Italian because it was sexy, and Harry was beaten at school for saying that he was a Korean.


In the end, they found out from their landlady (I think), that they were Jewish. Dick Solomon asked her how she knew.

“It’s your name, Solomon.”

She said, and left.

“Who would’ve known that Solomon was a Jewish name? I picked that one up from a truck.”

Dick said, and Tommy went like,

“Imagine this; we could have been the Walmarts.”

********

identity searching. races. ethnic group. skin colour. bullshit. i don't know why, but i think that all of us are pretty much the same. it's just the colour, the eyes, the nose, the physical appearance, that's all. and it's the inside that counts.

Last year we had a Raya celebration for TESL students at some hotels. It was a good one, I looked good, everyone else did. Many turned up for the function, but some didnt. Some refused to. Some because they were broke. Some were, never mind.

I was the emcee for the night. My co-emcee was an Indian girl, Shalini. she's a nice lot. i asked her, do i look alright. and she said i looked beautiful. awwww that was sweet. and i said, you look pretty too, shalu.

then she said it.

"you're supposed to look pretty, Schue. this is an event celebrating you. for you, and your kind. not me."

it never occured to me that Shalu would feel that way, because I never did. because in her tone she sounded like she felt left out. kamon la sista!

Back then at  school I didnt. we had this pre-CNY celebration every year. we had lion dance and a lot of oranges. i never felt like the celebration wasn't mine.

It's saddening, because all along I never realised that we are all different.

I mean,

yes, we may be "different". physically. in the language we speak. in our belief. in our culture. in what is taboo and what is norm. and the list goes on.

but i wouldnt like to think of it as "differences", because you have to compare and contrast to see the differences, and we shouldn't. we shouldnt compare.

It's not differences, it's variations. that's what makes us beautiful.

I am a Minangkabau-Arab-Malay girl with Chindian look. As a toddler I grew up in an Indian family. I spent 13 years of schooling in Chinese school. I speak Mandarine and a little Kantonese. I dated an Indian who looked like Bront Palarae, and another Christian named Christopher George. Simultaneously, haha. I would like to serve in Borneo. Somewhere in Sabah or Sarawak. I would like to date a French one day. I am being ridiculous. I love Malaysia.

 

tinggal 207 minggu lagi.

minggu pertama berlalu.

minggu pertama sebagai undergrad. bajet hebat je. undergrad you, buat degree okay. buat ijazah ataupun izazah kata ex director aku Mr Rijeng Jahet.

so,

there, entah betul ke atau tak maths aku. time skolah maths cukup-cukup makan. kat matrik kelas maths aku menung sebab tak paham, pastu kena plak marah dengan Puan J sambil dia kata aku ni kawen lagi bagus.

menurut calculation aku, 207 minggu lagi baru aku nak habis course ni. bunyik cam sekejap je kan. sekejap tok hang! sekejap apa kalau first week, baru first week, baru seminggu aku datang maktab ni aku dah rasa macam sebulan. haa cuma korang bayangkan kalau 207 minggu mesti aku akan rasa macam 207 bulan. lama nak mati.

lambat lagi lah aku nak kerja mcm ni, lambat lagi la aku nak jadi kaya, nak pegang duit, nak kawen. nak beranak cucu, nak pencen, nak tua, nak masuk rumah orang tua tua dan sebagainya. haih tak sabarnye aku nak berambus dari institut perguruan purba serta pulau pinang ini.

takpe,

penantian hanyalah waktu, sayang.

memang la penantian tu waktu. tak kan nama tempat kot. tu Penanti. kat Bukit Mertajam.

Harris and his handsome (horrible) haircut

Bang.

I heard somebody slammed the bathroom door, followed by another sound of the door being kicked. Aliff, my brother was outside the bathroom, right in front of the door. I had been lying flat in my room, my tiny little bed, reading a page from The Girl from the Coast.


I walked to the bathroom and looked straight into Aliff.


“What haircut did you give him?”


I asked, with my arms folder, feeling bigger than Aliff, who at 15 is 170cm tall and about 60kg, makes me feel frail all the time.


“I just gave him the haircut Dad asked me to.”


He answered, giving me the look that said, “What are you going to do about it?”


The night before, my father told Aliff to give my brothers Harris and Nabiel a haircut. Well, school’s going to start next week and my parents want the boys to be neat and tidy. Their hair looked like they were sick.

So, my father ordered Aliff to give them a crew cut.


“Shave ‘em bald,”


I heard my dad said the night before.

 So that was what Aliff did, or so he told me. Knowing Aliff, you can’t really trust him, because he’s a big bully in our family. For all you know he gave a hideous haircut to poor Harris. You know, something that probably resembles Ronaldo in 2005 World Cup.

 I knocked on the bathroom door.


“Harris, you ok?”


I asked, which was downright useless. I could do nothing to comfort a boy who just had an awful haircut. Nobody could, not even our own mother, so I left him alone and pulled Aliff away.


“Let him just stay in the bathroom waiting for the hair to grow back.”


Aliff whispered to me and gave a boisterous giggle. I nudged him, before disappearing in my chamber of secrets.


After a while I heard my mother called my name. She just came home; she was at a friend’s house helping with her daughter’s wedding preparation.


“Where are your brothers?”


She asked me. Right then it occurred to me that my job was to mind my brothers and not read The Girl from the Coast.


“Oh, and who’s in the bathroom?”


Then I gasped.


“Oh my God, mother!”


“What?”


“It’s Harris.”


I whispered and she grinned at me, as if saying, that’s nothing new, and sighed.


She knocked on the door and called Harris. All to no avail. We tried pushing the door. Not working, either.


Then, a couple of minutes later, Harris opened the door.


Bald.


“I looked like a brain patient.”

He said, and just then it reminded me of David Beckham. He used to spot a crew cut, too, right? And it was super cute.

 I tried telling that to Harris. Not even close.


“He’s David Beckham. He can make his hair looks like Dr Rozmey and still look cute.”



maybe not, Harry!



Harris said sulkily, before leaving to his room.



That night, like usual, mom sewing clothes and dad reading newspaper, I told Dad about what happened.

“How long did he lock himself in the bathroom?”

My mother asked. I bit my lips, thinking.

“Maybe about an hour.” I said.



Both my parents laughed.

“I wonder how many centimetres of his hair did grow in that one hour.”

Dad said, and we all laughed again. Oh dear, I love my family.



Well honestly I think Harris looks better now. He is, after all, the handsome boy in our family.



p/s: I don’t write crap in my blog. I mean, not all the time. I write stories. Of the people I love, so you’ll love them, too. One day when I’m 2 hours drive away from home, hungry, broke and missing them like crazy, I’ll just check in to this blog and smile. Love.