I was planning on maintaining my account balance to this certain amount for every month, starting with my March's salary. To actually success on this matters is never easy. I need to keep my appearance at the nearby fashion shops as minimum as possible.
That is to say that I need to be attentive. I must plan of my cash flow on every breaths I am breathing. I must go for what I need rather for what I've wanted. And so I go with the plan.
I went to the golden triangle, fetched a beautiful watch with a considerable price for my girlfriend, it was her birthday, with my mom's coming. Everything and everything was according to my plan untill...
Now on FTSNC,
I was there again, in the heart of the golden triangle. My March's salary is just a week old. I withdrew the automated-teller-machine card from my wallet, slowly insert it into the slot and carefully key in the six digit combination numbers.
I work with numbers; date, time and money during my eight hours at the office. For most of the minutes, I am either being sick looking at them numbers or maybe got myself confused by their complexity. But one good reason is that I suddenly became aware of the people around me. You know occasions like, my brother's wedding anniversary, my first time losing my virginity to even my ex's birthday.
Or so, I guess.
Today was another ordinary afternoon under the heat of March and and the cold of my office air conditioner. And I kept on smiling every time that I bumped into that number.
I went to another event last saturday and finally catching up with few of my facebook buddies that I barely met.
Sounds interesting but believe me, it's not.
The problem with me is that I usually stuttered when meeting new peoples. I don't know what to say and that habit is kinda took the best out of me for the time being. I was like stucked but trying to act as cool as I possibly can to make sure that they didn't sense my nerveousness.
For most of the time that I think I'm going to cherish the moment, I failed. Miserably.
One of the few reason is because me, I don't actually know how to start a fucking conversation. Yes, you can easily find me woohooing people on facebook and other part of social networking site but in truth I sucked pretty damn much. Especially when it comes to a table full of unfamiliar faces. Even when they are guys.
Gays, I know.
But believe me, once I hit my fucking keys, you'll begged for me to stop talking. Cheers!!
I am from Pahang, the southern part of it. I've been living there for a couple of decade now. My mom and my elder sister was still there, enjoying their life. I've got lots of friend from Kuantan. From schoolmate to university classmate to a hi-hi-bye-bye-mate.
One of them is my diploma's classmate named Mohd Syazwan Karim. He is about five feet seven tall with a muscular body, big arms, a set of workout calves and a dark brown skin. All the characteristic that you would expect from a rugby player, nowadays.
But one thing I don't expect is him turning green the next time I made a joke about his love life. Or him joining the X-men.
When government decided to hike up the salary of their servants, I am thinking that it might be another cheap politician craps practiced by them. It happens before, no? Now that we are so close with the next pilihanraya umum.
I previously and honestly thought it was only going to reflect those whom whom payment was insanely low. You know the likes of non-ranks soldier and the nursing peeps whom monthly income was merely a thousand. Or maybe some kindergarten teacher.
Not some fucking dickhead who make thousands per months by just attending meeting and another meeting. And then claimed on almost everything.
I got siblings and friends whose working hours finished as early as 1.30pm everyday. I watched how they start to plan for their future shortly after the bells rang. They need to attend an after-school tuitions to earn some cash. Become a land-car-house broker, an insurances agent, MLM, you name it.
They had to go to the bank to make loans to buy a fucking bike, to own a goddamn car and worse; to get marry.
One of the few reason is because the interests offered by the bank was superbly low and another is that they don't actually entitled for a big bonuses as those from the private sector would have enjoyed. But the main reason must be because they simply can't afford it;
Having said that, I can't stop but wondering how hard it must be for those who have no government supports on their backs? A fucking three digit per month salary, a two bedrooms PPR flat, three primary kids to feed on everyday, a full time housewife and another unborn in progress.
Ah, the SPM result is out. No wonder those motivation-fucker can't stop laboring their magical words to the kiddos on their facebook. I'm giving mine too now, here.
Truth is, no biggies kiddos, because right after you graduate from your high school, with whatever result that you've managed - who fucking care of the A's? -, you can actually ended up in a local university considering that you are Malaysian by the certificate. Money shouldn't be a problem since we did have lots of certified ah long in this country.
They'll give you, let say, RM2200 per semester, sound good enough for you to renew your monthly BIS, a return bus fare to KL on every weekend and a pair of sneakers. You'll even got a meal allowance.
What you need to do is come to class, submitted some paper work, get to know some horny chicks, took a couples of 3gp clips for the memory, passed the final exam and graduated.
Then you'll jump into the working environment which is completely different from what you've previously taught in the university. Then only you realized that life's suck, you quit your job, become a government servant, got married and then, died happily.
The worst thing being in a working environment is that you will take order from people who are actually stupider than you. A person who achieved his level of authority on a seniority basis. That even if you ask him to do the simplest calculation, he will surely fucked up and die.
I really don't mind a new adventure but to get my ass shifted away from my comfort was the least that I prefer. There's a lot of times when I think myself as another boasted and stupid jerk, pretending that I was happy with all the setup I have around me.
I did and I think I am.
The fact that I am living in this unhappy environment with a smile on my face was pretty amazing. I guess I need time. We all need time, don't we?
That even to fall in love with a woman, requires time. You don't just passes a girl and fall in love. You'll take a few second to stare at her to realize that it's a love at your first sight.
All the gloomy morning, shitty tasks and late night work, I got used to it now.
In one whole day, the only time that my handphone would be on the ringtone-mode is when I was having a long night sleep. That is for my girlfriend to wake me up; to make sure that I won't be late to either go to work or outwith her for a dinner. But it's usually for the second reason.
No, then it should be on the silent mode, with a vibration and even on the weekends.
I don't enjoy ringtones and to bump with this short music airing from your outdated phone while I was in a fucking conversation or when we shared the same taxi is a fucking disturbing experience. A pain in the ass. Yes, my ass, off course.
And this is from the bottom of the heart of an IPhone user.
Beside love, ones level of patriotism is another thing that is considered as subjective.
I didn't really get along with all the nationalities issues played by those ultra-dickhead especially when it comes to football term. I mean to simply claim an individual as not being patriotic just because he didn't stand up during the national anthem was played, left before a match is finished or if they choose to air an abroad football league rather than the local match; is pure bullshit.
Lets say, if you were given two choices, that is to either fuck Maria Ozawa or Najwa Ampang, who would it be?
How subjective can love be is determine by how many time that the individual got laid. First, third, second, ninth or cockth. Yup, the highest level should either be cockth for a girl or cunth for a guy. I mean, this included if you were doing an orgy or you just had a twelve hours creamy night with your partner.
Every drops count.
More and you should go find a fucking psexchiatrist.
I remember during my induction with Kudsia Kahar when she said that I and few of my colleagues who shared the room were from the Y generation. I don't quite understand what's the Y generation is all about and neither did she bother to explain.
But she did mention of the 80's generation. The year of our birth, maybe.
I'm not so sure because as far as I concerned, I am from this generation who read a newspaper from its back to the front - stopped half way down - and continued reading it on the next time when we used that piece of paper to bed our lunch. Who barely care what's the tomorrow headlines will be.
Whom language at mamaks should either be about football or of a hot chick passing by.
I went home last weekend and with the pilihanraya is coming, my mom can't stop reminding me to get my ass back home to perform my responsibility. I nodded reluctantly at every time she brought up the issue.
I don't care, to be honest.
I think that until god decided to turn this world upside down, then only people will start doing the good things. A few bucks to the victim, a big cheques to the society and a few pages of company's corporate social responsibility.