Did you know?

That I've worked here for almost a month now.

That I've been throwing myself into work so much, I rarely have time to read and write?

That I'm pulling my hair out just to get ideas for ad campaigns?

That I don't know if I'm contempt with how I am now?

That I'm actually thinking of going to Miami Ad School to further my Masters Degree? Only after a month working in an agency?

That I can't afford Miami Ad School?

That I'm a sissy when it comes to handling my emotions?

That I crash on my bed as soon as I get home?

That I work like the energizer bunny if I'm at work?

That I've no idea how to relax anymore?

Sigh.

Sad. :(

I promise I will write more. I'm so swamped with work, I can't write anything any more. I think I need the time off and find my muse again.

If I have any loyal readers out there, I'm sorry, don't hate me.

Stay with me, okay.

*puppy-dog-eyes*

Writing Assignment #1

Here's a writing assignment I had to do for my job evaluation. Let me know what you think. HAHAHA. I find it very weird.

A Fruit with Attitude.

I would stand out in the crowd, but what most of you think about me is pretty generic. Who are you to judge me with that limited knowledge of yours? There are selective people who appreciate my curviness, my boldness, my distinctive taste.

I bring life into dull ingredients. I sometimes even become one of the key ingredients to your life! If you think I’m pretty dull, boring and just another lump in the market basket, think again.

Why would Fool’s Garden write a song about my origins? Why would Passion write a song inspired by what I can do, how I can affect people? Yes, I might have a little attitude problem, but that’s what that keeps me interesting, a kick in your mouth, the zing in your taste buds.

Oh Hi, I’m Mandy. I’m yellow, and I come from a family of smooth skin and bumps. I sort of skipped the introductions there, didn’t I? I’m a lemon, a member of the citrus family, no I’m not as vibrant as the orange, and I’m not as exotic as the grapefruit. But listen to this;

I might look average on the outside, like any other fruit in the market. But have you actually seen my insides? I’m juicy, you can tell by just slicing. I have intricate pulps, a juicy flesh, and oh boy I’m full of Vitamins!

Lemons are different from Limes and Oranges, you want to know why? Though we all have that sour bit in our juices, lemons just kicks ass. If you didn’t notice, English folk uses us in their tea, they don’t use oranges. American people drink us during hot summer days, not lime juice. Don’t ask me why we’re oh so fabulous, but we’re just built that way.

Thanks to us, the human kind have been blessed with our acidic features and decided to use us, and our components to make their lives easier, our juice can be used to remove stains on your clothes. The oil that we produce? It’s being used in your perfumes! It is our pleasure to tighten your pores, and bleaching your freckles.

Our essences and flavors now becomes a vital part in the culinary industry, our flavors can be found in poultry dishes, desserts, meat marinating flavors, and to get everything going on? We even can get it on with liquor. Yes, liquor, not liqueur. Us lemons are pretty useful and handy, eh?

See, who says lemons are generic and boring? I say otherwise. We’re the fruit with attitude.

in that instant, she became infinite with who she is.

she stepped into the icy cold room, with her head held high, and sat down with confidence. she never felt at peace as how she felt then. her work described who she is, how she acted, defined her very being.

being at her cubicle clarified a lot of things for her, the new company she makes, the endless firsts that she endured.

but when her work time is over, she is dead. she kept to herself. she locked herself if her room. she didn't eat. she didn't have anything to drink. she knew she has depression, but nothing can really cure her from that. she looked forward to working everyday. on the weekends, she's rarely at home. she goes out, she parties, she gossiped, she talked, she ate. none of that which she did at home.

home is where the heart is, so they say, and she found that to be true enough for her understanding. she didn't grasp the concept of making her house a home for her. for her insecurities, her emotions, her feelings, a sanctum for her true self.

her house was a two bedroom apartment in the bustling city of Damansara. but she didn't find that as a luxury for her. she always comes back to an empty house, a silent night, to the creaking noises the door made, the sound of honking cars outside her window.

she never had the chance to make it her home. she didn't want to, not since the last time she tried.

you see, Mandy used to be jovial, fun, bubbly, everything positive, you could say. but one thing robbed her personality away.

that one night where she was awaken by the sound of footsteps in her old apartment in Cheras. she was living with her bestfriend back then, so she just thought it was her bestfriend's boyfriend sneaking in, so she ignored it. but then she remembered that her bestfriend is in Jakarta for the week, she got up to see who it was, and saw Jason, Penny's boyrfriend, drunk and walking into the bathroom. little did she know, Jason had planned this very night.

Jason knocked on Mandy's door, and not suspecting anything unusual, she called out that the door was unlocked, so Jason crept in, being influenced, he dragged his footsteps. Mandy thought Jason wanted to talk to her, but boy she was wrong.

Freezing Hands, Jittery Emotions.

.......And I don't know what to blog about. Sigh.

Nicotine stains have nothing to do with this post.

Wow. It's been a while since I updated here.

Well, for starters, I've finished my internship program at Krakatua. Twas a good experience overall, made some quirky friends who curse a lot, so yeah, you can just guess if my cursing habits have decreased or increased.

So, I have unofficially graduated from my Advertising degree. Well, good riddance, I say. I shall miss my studying days.

And if you ask me what am I currently doing with my life? I am working. Yes, I am. I made up my mind, and finally accepted a job as a Junior Copywriter in an advertising agency. I'm in my second week, and the people here are superb! Not a Malay-dominated agency, mind you.

As for my personal life, I've nothing to update. HAHA. I'm still in a rut, I have no friends to hang out with, (not entirely true, but you get my drift). I work late almost everyday, so I'm pretty much beat when I get home, and on weekends, I run errands and sleep. Basically, that's pretty much it.

OHHHHH. I LOST WEIGHTTTTTT. I'm at my ideal weight, I'm not going to disclose the details here, but let's just say I have more confidence now, and my ego? Well, its practically my best friend now. I'm so much stronger, I kid you not.

Other than that? Na-da.

Will update when I have random thoughts and stuff like that. *Refrains myself from using the word with the synonym of poop here*

I'm getting boring by day. Pffffft. *rolls eyes*

Diamond in the rough; you should date an illiterate girl.

found this on tumblr, and thought it was worth sharing and spreading.

You Should Date An Illiterate Girl, by Charles Warnke.

Date a girl who doesn’t read. Find her in the weary squalor of a Midwestern bar. Find her in the smoke, drunken sweat, and varicolored light of an upscale nightclub. Wherever you find her, find her smiling. Make sure that it lingers when the people that are talking to her look away. Engage her with unsentimental trivialities. Use pick-up lines and laugh inwardly. Take her outside when the night overstays its welcome. Ignore the palpable weight of fatigue. Kiss her in the rain under the weak glow of a streetlamp because you’ve seen it in film. Remark at its lack of significance. Take her to your apartment. Dispatch with making love. Fuck her.

Let the anxious contract you’ve unwittingly written evolve slowly and uncomfortably into a relationship. Find shared interests and common ground like sushi, and folk music. Build an impenetrable bastion upon that ground. Make it sacred. Retreat into it every time the air gets stale, or the evenings get long. Talk about nothing of significance. Do little thinking. Let the months pass unnoticed. Ask her to move in. Let her decorate. Get into fights about inconsequential things like how the fucking shower curtain needs to be closed so that it doesn’t fucking collect mold. Let a year pass unnoticed. Begin to notice.

Figure that you should probably get married because you will have wasted a lot of time otherwise. Take her to dinner on the forty-fifth floor at a restaurant far beyond your means. Make sure there is a beautiful view of the city. Sheepishly ask a waiter to bring her a glass of champagne with a modest ring in it. When she notices, propose to her with all of the enthusiasm and sincerity you can muster. Do not be overly concerned if you feel your heart leap through a pane of sheet glass. For that matter, do not be overly concerned if you cannot feel it at all. If there is applause, let it stagnate. If she cries, smile as if you’ve never been happier. If she doesn’t, smile all the same.

Let the years pass unnoticed. Get a career, not a job. Buy a house. Have two striking children. Try to raise them well. Fail, frequently. Lapse into a bored indifference. Lapse into an indifferent sadness. Have a mid-life crisis. Grow old. Wonder at your lack of achievement. Feel sometimes contented, but mostly vacant and ethereal. Feel, during walks, as if you might never return, or as if you might blow away on the wind. Contract a terminal illness. Die, but only after you observe that the girl who didn’t read never made your heart oscillate with any significant passion, that no one will write the story of your lives, and that she will die, too, with only a mild and tempered regret that nothing ever came of her capacity to love.

Do those things, god damnit, because nothing sucks worse than a girl who reads. Do it, I say, because a life in purgatory is better than a life in hell. Do it, because a girl who reads possesses a vocabulary that can describe that amorphous discontent as a life unfulfilled—a vocabulary that parses the innate beauty of the world and makes it an accessible necessity instead of an alien wonder. A girl who reads lays claim to a vocabulary that distinguishes between the specious and soulless rhetoric of someone who cannot love her, and the inarticulate desperation of someone who loves her too much. A vocabulary, god damnit, that makes my vacuous sophistry a cheap trick.

Do it, because a girl who reads understands syntax. Literature has taught her that moments of tenderness come in sporadic but knowable intervals. A girl who reads knows that life is not planar; she knows, and rightly demands, that the ebb comes along with the flow of disappointment. A girl who has read up on her syntax senses the irregular pauses—the hesitation of breath—endemic to a lie. A girl who reads perceives the difference between a parenthetical moment of anger and the entrenched habits of someone whose bitter cynicism will run on, run on well past any point of reason, or purpose, run on far after she has packed a suitcase and said a reluctant goodbye and she has decided that I am an ellipsis and not a period and run on and run on. Syntax that knows the rhythm and cadence of a life well lived.

Date a girl who doesn’t read because the girl who reads knows the importance of plot. She can trace out the demarcations of a prologue and the sharp ridges of a climax. She feels them in her skin. The girl who reads will be patient with an intermission and expedite a denouement. But of all things, the girl who reads knows most the ineluctable significance of an end. She is comfortable with them. She has bid farewell to a thousand heroes with only a twinge of sadness.

Don’t date a girl who reads because girls who read are the storytellers. You with the Joyce, you with the Nabokov, you with the Woolf. You there in the library, on the platform of the metro, you in the corner of the café, you in the window of your room. You, who make my life so god damned difficult. The girl who reads has spun out the account of her life and it is bursting with meaning. She insists that her narratives are rich, her supporting cast colorful, and her typeface bold. You, the girl who reads, make me want to be everything that I am not. But I am weak and I will fail you, because you have dreamed, properly, of someone who is better than I am. You will not accept the life that I told of at the beginning of this piece. You will accept nothing less than passion, and perfection, and a life worthy of being storied. So out with you, girl who reads. Take the next southbound train and take your Hemingway with you. I hate you. I really, really, really hate you.

Damn!

I'm soooo addicted to tumblr its not even funny.

BUT my blogspot will always be my portal of rants and rambles.

To Work or Not To Work.

I just got a call from a friend of mine, well okay, my brother's girlfriend. She told me that her client from work is looking for new staff at his advertising agency. Daaaamn. Sounds tempting. Its near, and He's kind of a big shot. But am still not sure what to do, like submit a resume, or just relax and take my time when looking for a job, but then, if I don't start looking for a job now, I don't think I would have the opportunity to look for a job in September. Pffft. I have no idea. I'm graduating in Early May, so, what the hell should I do now? Work in an agency? Work events as a freelancer? Become a lazybum till September? Helppp! GAHHHH

Blur

I have no idea what to write nowadays. Probably due to all the writing I've been doing at the office. Gahhh.

Someone splash me with Ice Cold water and slap me please. I need to wake up. I need thrills and chills. I hate my cookie-cutter routine life. Sighh.

Oh yeah, and my depression phase? Its definitely here to stay, for now.

I need inspiration, hope and faith.