It was baffling to me as to when the odious task of cleaning up my room has evolved from removing dust off the floor and shelves to sorting papers, receipts, bank statements, boxes and shopper bags of various sizes. I am not a shopaholic and certainly has not picked up the rabbit hoarding habit, but looking at the different manifestations of papers around me, I couldn't help but wonder since when have I permitted papers to intrude into my private life.

In fact, I should have realised that sorting paper has indeed become an indispensable and rather annoying trouble after I bought my very first paper shredder earlier of this year. It was a cheap purchase. However, between my stinginess and practicality, I had debated a long while before justifying the worthiness of the purchase. And now, I'm finding myself shredding more and more papers - out-dated bank statements, receipts from groceries and shops, unsolicited credit card and TV license applications which bear my name and address, etc! And I can tell you that this definitely is not after purchase self-reassurance trick I am performing on myself!

Not to mention are also the paper bags from clothing stores, the many hardcover boxes for accessories, including mobile phones, wallets, glasses, perfumes, cosmetics products, and the many sizes of Amazon delivery boxes! Simply listing all of these is an exhausting task itself!

Receiving papers and bags and boxes is one thing, processing them is another. Very often I question myself if a piece of paper is important? Do I need them for reference or the unlikely refund in the future? Can I recycle these bags and boxes for gift wraps even though I have not bought more than 5 gifts in the past 5 years? Surprisingly, the answers to these questions have almost always been "yes" "yes" "yes" and "yes"!

I really am tired of processing these papers. If I were at least amateur enough to develop an app by myself, I'd have started smashing my keyboard writing a programme which, regardless of which retailer I purchase a goods from, will always store the original receipts and statements, perhaps in the cloud, and which will then allow me to simply wipe the face of a any shop assistant (yes, not even printing it out!) with the required proof of purchase stretched on a my massive smartphone screen  for any potential refund/clarification/argument/dispute!

The next phase will then involve writing a system which links the entire banking system, credit card companies, internet and phone service providers, visa processing embassies, or simply any organisation/club/fun house etc who requires your latest 3-month bank statements "in paper" before they start considering your application, which at this stage, should be electronic. Wouldn't it be a genius invention if one can simply click into a button, sign in somewhere with a secure password maybe 80-character long which combines letters, numbers, and the weird symbols on a keyboard, or even with biometric information, for examples, finger print, or eyeball scan, to then attach your bank statement, payslips, signature, passport information, etc etc, without the need to have all these, ahem, shitty printed documents?

And then we still have the packaging dilemma! When technology advances to a threshold beyond human imagination, perhaps we would then have the ability to transmit/deliver goods, not physically, but through the cloud? I'm not certain what would be the mechanism, although I'm almost certain it involves vaporising all goods to nano- or even smaller sizes which will then magically resemble itself when we get home.

Okay, maybe the last suggestion was a tiny bit unrealistic, but surely the first two are possible! Why have no one thought of this before, or are they just too happy to pick up all the papers and keep them in place? Or do they just don't care? I, certainly am no longer finding the need the deal with papers amusing.

Back to sorting and shredding papers, unhappy! :-(

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What do the following have in common? Sex and the City, Friends, How I Met Your Mother and Desperate Housewives? Apart from their soaring success throughout the entire life span of the shows, okay maybe not the last one, these popular TV programmes which each has had a vital role during the different phases of my life, had always seen a close circle of friends gather at a common place – Central Perks of Friends, the fictional coffee shop where the girls eat and talk in Sex and the City, the MacLaren’s Pub on How I Met Your Mother, and Gaby’s house for the weekly poker game in Desperate Housewives – and at such regular intervals, chanting the juicy experiences in their lives.

Chinese has a saying. Drama resembles life as much as life resembles drama. The wonderful picture these shows have painted in my imagination about how it is possible, even at the most ethnically crowded, traffic congested, junk food and rubbish piling metropolis in the world, one would be able to find a few close friends whom he/she can always depend on, when all else fails to supress the loneliness of living independently in a big city, has not really materialised after all these years of living abroad all by myself. I couldn’t help but wonder, is this just the idealism fictional TV programmes deceive us to believe in, or have I just been unlucky? Could it even be the case that I am just lazy?

No, it is not that I don’t know, or have not met random people, or regular acquaintances for unplanned or scheduled activities, but these sort of time filling agendas are different from gathering with close friends and talk about anything, literally. Yes, I am not alone, but I am lonely. And having friends boarding on the flight of relationship one after another hasn’t helped alleviating the issue either.

It’s the time of the year where the Chinese celebrates mid autumn festival, a celebration which normally sees the reunion of friends and family. I am spending mid autumn festival alone again for another year, but I don’t think there is much I can do about it. Until I gather sufficient close circle of friends to regularly meet up at a cafe somewhere in town, I think I will just have to go down to the shop in China Town, buy myself a mooncake, and happy mid autumn festival alone, but fabulously.


Here, sharing a funny video which I think fits this post interestingly...

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Let me tell you what I have done in the past 60 minutes before I started writing this.

- I told myself that I *have* to update my blog, because after my recent reading of The Rules of Wealth, I realised how important it is to cultivate a skill that you enjoy and which no one can take it away from you. Writing was the first skill that popped into my mind. I am by no means a writer material, but writing has always been a great resource of pleasure. I care very little if anyone is actually reading or following my blog. It’s just something I enjoy doing.

- So I have decided to write and stick to it, but inspiration was finding it hard to reach my door, at least for today. So I went blog-shopping. I started with my friends’ blogs, and thought it is a great channel to keep myself abreast with the latest development in their well-beings too. However, it seemed like their blog-spheres are drying up. Is it because they are busy and happy with their lives and thus eliminating the need to obtain attention via the virtual world? This thought led me into questioning if I am happy?

- And so I googled “happiness” and arrived at an essay which quoted a survey that says: If you are younger than 33, the chances are you have not experienced true happiness. It made me wondered if it guaranteed that we will find happiness after 33, with crying baby every night, school kids and their academic performances to worry about, thinning hair or receding hair line, metabolism slowdown which rapidly expands waistline, not generating sufficient income for retirement, mortgage debt, etc. And why does happiness has to be associated with age?

- Having thought about the list of unhappiness, which I can go on and on and on about forever,  I was horrified with all the gloomy possibilities. So I quickly went to Amazon and searched for “Happiness in books”. I was inundated by the sheer number of choices – The How to Happiness, Happiness: Lesson from A New Science, Instructions for Happiness and Success, The 18 Rules of Happiness… There are actually instructions and rules to be happy? I am not convinced that I will be happy after reading these books, although I am pretty certain these authors are happy seeing their bulging pockets by selling all these theories to lost souls.

- As I was browsing through the never ending booklist, I remembered an argument I had with my friend this week. Ironically,  it was also about happiness. He associated happiness with the city he lives in, while I associated happiness to work and things we do and the people we spend time with. But we eventually concluded that the people surrounding us play the most critical role in determining our level of happiness. So if we have a close circle of friends, a person we deeply in love with, we should feel happy eventually.

- In the end, I thought happiness could be a great essay topic. As I approached my laptop and started writing, I realised the time which I have allocated for writing had depleted greatly. I was surprised and wondered if I really had just spent an hour thinking about what to write instead of actually writing? But one thing I have known for sure, if I were still suffering from writer’s block, I could have written about better time management the next time.

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Seeing the final blog entry of 2010 still manifesting itself on the main page of my blog is an embarrassing testimony to my failure in meeting targets, especially when it comes to improve writing skills. Despite having a great year at work, only one out of 5 goals has been fully achieved, which is to secure a job, and it is now sponsoring me a longer term visa to remain in the UK, and to reach saving target, despite the latter being a short-lived achievement due to unforeseen circumstance. 

Without dwelling on the details of these failures generated in 2011, I would like to move towards deriving a clear, and hopefully a winning strategy, that would steer 2012 into a even greater year than 2011.

My experience in writing resolutions in the past two years has made me realised that there is a need to distinguish between things I want to do and a mission statement that serves as a guidance to achieving goals.

While my focus in the past – listing things I want to do, for instance, number of countries I want to visit and number of books I want to read - has actually helped my otherwise less-disciplined time management to become more properly structured and properly utilised, this approach hasn’t vastly exploited my individual potential.

Joining my company in the past year and having the opportunities to work with many of my colleagues whose first jobs are with my company, I came to observe that these younger generation is more inclining to committing personal financial suicide than me and most of my peers back home who are now mostly into their 3rd or 4th year of employment. Worse, to be informed that some are still depending on parents’ financial support occasionally was beyond my comprehension. I don’t think it is the age factor, but the upbringing background and the society seasoning have definitely equipped myself with a better personal finance management.

Witnessing my co-workers chasing luxury and the in-my-opinion non-necessities, plus demanding high quality of living is not an issue. It is the sadness that the pursue of  indulgences is based on an inadequate level of income. And the most devastating sight was the complaints that came after. I blame the society and the working environment which have corroding the virtue of modesty that would potentially lead Confucius to confusion.

Fuelled by the growing hunger for greater spending, an influence of my surrounding, and the witness of my financially trapped colleagues, I come to derive my own personal statement: To increase personal net worth by identifying and expanding indirect income sources and to reduce personal liabilities through careful financial planning.

There are still things which I want to do, but keeping this mission statement in mind should steer clear of any unsolicited temptations that would deviate from this central motto, and help consolidating all efforts in the things I do for greater personal achievement. And here are the list of things I want to do:
1. Travel: Home, India, and 2 more to improve life experience and photography skills;
2. Create and maintain photo-blog: improve photography skills and serve as additional income;
3. Improve financial knowledge, for greater career prospect and personal investment;
4. Saving target; and
5. Read.

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An American friend now residing in Canada complained the rent and property prices in Vancouver. I questioned her rent-salary ratio, she quoted 1:4.5. Astounded by the low ratio despite the complaint, I, also currently paying 1:4.5 pre-tax (1:3 post-tax) on my rent, honestly think that her apartment deal as compared to my room deal, is brilliant.

The conversation reminded me of a Japanese colleague. I immediately frowned upon after learning that she was considering to spend near 1:2 for her rent. Despite her constant reassurance that “it’s okay”, I, based on her online shopping frequency, was convinced that a long term financial struggle is brewing.

Speaking from personal experience, I have in the past been famous among my Starbucks colleagues for my profligate spending on rent. At the record’s worst, my rent-salary ratio was 2:3, an unsustainable level which my colleague crassly commented as “no-life”. I, advocated the comfortable living idealism, resented the statement for far too long before I started realising that he was actually right.

How had it changed?

Half a year ago, due to the dire situation in securing a promising employment in London, I, abandoned my ideal living desire, finally caved in to the many procrastinated obligations – remit money back home, saving for travel and return ticket back to Malaysia – and reluctantly moved from a double room in a Victorian house to a 7m2 single room of an ex-council flat alike. As you would have imagined, the limited space found its way to allow misery to creep in.

However, the improved food affordability, the rising social activities and the rapidly increased saving reservoir that followed the effective reduction of rent-salary ratio from 2:3 to 1:3, offset the misery in no time. For a very long time, I was delighted to be living a more comfortable life with money to spend on things I desire.

The paradigm shift in my definition towards a room was so profound that I realised a healthy mentality towards rent is to never make it a priority, but to only consider after other obligations have been fulfilled. Otherwise, you are on course to self-imprisonment, only in a nicer room.

The question: How much rent should you pay before transforming yourself into a (renting) mortgage slave?

Holding to the aforementioned principle, the answer is to calculate the maximum rent affordable after fixing other spending allocations. For instances, allowance to satisfy the enormous appetite for shopping; incentive for dining out and trying out new restaurants enthusiasts; remit money back home; and savings for rainy days.

You must realise that all these “spending” are variable costs. They are not fixed and you have the complete power to adjust them according to your financial needs at any given time. For instance, if there is a planned holiday in Spain in two months, you know it is time to rack up the savings, perhaps from fewer dining outs and reduced shopping.

Rent, and transport if you are a travel pass purchaser, on the other hand, are fixed costs. Like it or not, these are the obligations you must fulfil every month. And this is the chief reason why they should be the last priorities, because you have no power of control on them once you have signed up the contract.

Using the same Spain holiday example, if you are already on a high rent-salary ratio, how do you see yourself saving for the pleasure of travel? Are you going to skip dinners or refraining from shopping, even for travel essentials?

It may sound identical to some people that regardless how much rent you pay, you will still need to save money by reduce spending on shopping and dining to fund the holiday. You are almost right. The key here is, however, the power of adjustment. If you were already on a high rent-salary ratio, spending allocation in other areas are relatively less than if you were on a low rent-salary ratio. This means that even if you reduce spending in the same proportion in both cases, the absolute monetary saving could be vastly different.

Let’s plug in some numbers to illustrate the situation clearer. Considering in both cases A and B, the monthly income is £2000 and 20% allocation in shopping and dining each, and the target is to save money for a planned holiday in Spain in two months.

Case A (rent-prioritised): Rent (good living condition) is the priority and after falling in love with a place, willing to fork out £900 rent/month. This translates to a combined £440/month allocation for shopping and dining.
Case B (allocation-prioritised): Rent (decent living condition) ranked the lowest and after careful budget planning, the maximum rent affordable = £600/month. This translates to a total of £800/month allocation for shopping and dining.

As both dining and shopping are adjustable (variable) costs, if I halved my dining and shopping for two months just to save for my upcoming holiday, Case A and B would return £440 and £800 respectively. If your holiday budget is £1000, it is now clear that an allocation-prioritised budget will bring you closer and faster to your target compared to rent-prioritised budget.

To summarise, the idea is if you are paying high rent, your spending power in other areas will be restrained. By the time when spending adjustment is needed, it will be less effective for rent-prioritised individuals. Therefore, it is crucial to define current and expected spending before finalising the maximum rent affordable. More importantly, is spending that extra on rent really make a significant difference?

My personal experience told me no, and that is my opinion on how one should measure how much rent to pay.

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According to Chinese proverb, the success of wealth or financial management on a micro and macro level respectively lies behind two keys – resourcefulness and austerity (Mandarin: 开源节流). Briefly explained, the Chinese believe that financial discipline avoids profligacy and contributes to deficit reduction, whereas the diversification in income sources sustains massive spending appetite, and more importantly help steering a financial state from toxic to healthy, commonly known as growth.

To any Chinese language learner, Chinese proverbs are famous for the attentiveness in construction. In the aforementioned proverb, the Chinese prioritised resourcefulness over austerity because they believe the former is a more effective financial management tool.

Now, when we look at the West currently engulfed by the abundant misery supplied by the sovereign debt crisis, we also see that apart from the United States, governments in the troubled areas have resorted with a vain hope to financial discipline, or the clichéd austerity, to improve their credibility and then to stimulate the much needed financial support from market to fund their ever ballooning debts.

The Chinese proverb certainly disagrees with the austerity focus. However, I am not discrediting the intelligence of policy makers in the beleaguered countries. It’s no easy job at this economic tough time. Potential financial pipelines everywhere have been so firmly shut it is now near impossible to diversify income sources.

Bearing in mind also is that with individual finances so tightly squeezed, no political party struggling to receive devoted support would ever fire the most powerful financial ammunition of a government – raising tax. Nonetheless, the dire economic situation has forced governments to tactfully experiment this instrument with caution. One domestic example would be the VAT rise by the UK government.

And recently, there was a new addition to this tax raising episode – the Hungarian government is considering the introduction of  Hamburger Tax.

My personal scepticism and general public consensus reckon that the introduction of a fat tax like this is more than just the Hungarian government’s concerns over its citizen health issues. It essentially is a new form of budget revenue. It is a legally intolerable deprivation of personal freedom. And frankly enough, it is indirectly speaking to its citizens that they are not intelligently capable in distinguishing what is harmful to them.

However, buzzing apart, in this example, like it or not, the Hungarian government’s approach has demonstrated the spirit of our Chinese proverb perfectly – generating alternative (tax) income via the introduction of new tax and at the same time driving the population to a healthier living that would eventually reduce the monstrous national health care expenses. Brilliant!

Given the intricacies in implementing such tax – which food to tax, how much to tax, people’s reaction (through the ballot boxes) – I very much doubt its future success. However, if miracle does occur, I am almost certain the UK government would be the first follower.

The number of people severely overweight has tripled over the past thirty years in the UK. This has prompted a costly revamp on the ambulance fleet in the country to up to a whopping £90,000 per fleet so that obese patients could be ferried safely. No kidding! If you were the government policy maker, surely this would be an attractive incentive for the imposition of similar Hamburger Tax.

Forget about whether this is a long term solution to a long term obesity problem or a short term solution to a medium term insolvency hardship, I personally do support such tax to a certain extent. It’s challenging to punish individual’s misbehave as it’s very subjective, especially when it involves liberty right. But if this really does raise the awareness on the health risks associated with obesity, then perhaps this shouldn’t be interpreted as an extreme tax harvesting deception. And if we still remember our Chinese proverb, it could induce saving at micro level too.

Nevertheless, like my friend suggested, I still want to be able to pick up a pack of crisps when I want to, without having to feel guilty, or worry financially.

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Yesterday seen a panoply of dismal expressions to a rather discouraging 2010. Strangely enough, there were actually friends who had liked the entry. Thankfully the likeness was generated upon empathy and not the quenched thirst for sadism through a chain of dejected events happened to me.

Despite a less than perfect last year, it proved to me that motivation could indeed be generated through the establishment of clear goals. Riding on the success from last year, I am again setting out goals which I desire to achieve in 2011:

1. Enter 5 photo competitions. Practices in 2010 have indeed improved my skills tremendously. However, I often find it challenging to motivate myself to carry the heavy camera gear around to take photos. So for this year, with clear objective in mind, I believe the motivation would be escalated;
2. Secure job and achieve saving target. The same goal set for the third year in a row. Sounds naive especially given my visa status. What I believe in, however, is not the evident obstacles to find a job, but is my own determination to never give up regardless of the situation. Moreover, from this year onwards, I believe the universe will conspire to help me;
3. Visit Greece and Spain. 2011 is potentially my last year in Europe. My travel map reminds me that the Greece and Spain must be on the travel list this year;
4. Read four books. Goal set at similar level as last year; and
5. Improve writing. Writing ability had cost me a job in 2010 and I will not allow the same issue to once again jeopardise my career prospects. I set to write an article a week and have it corrected.

Now, these are not exactly goals but some wishful thinking: an iPhone 4 for birthday, a relationship, a win in lottery. Haha!

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Despite years of strenuous efforts and self-discipline to refrain myself from being victimised by the numerous Facebook applications, I, motivated by curiosity, had recently succumbed to Top Status 2010.

A year is a long time, especially in an era when status update has become as frequent as every other hour, or even minute through self-broadcasting platforms, including the famous Facebook and Twitter. A tool which brilliantly analyses the statuses based on popularity and then generates a list of top ten statuses thus becomes an intelligent application which everybody is frantically wow-ing about.

After having much fun with the application, I wondered with much greed, if there is an application that broadcasts the top ten events which happened to us? However fancy, I then swiftly realised that unless every single event was digitally recorded by a permitted stalker throughout the year, it is almost impossible for this genre of personal broadcast to become successful.

Therefore, until this state-of-the-art technology makes its presence, I resorted to the traditional channel through this entry. In conclusion, it wasn’t a particularly good year despite some consolations. I will, however, endeavour to avoid magnifying on the negative events, despite the lack of overwhelmingly upbeat events. So here is a summary of the important events which happened to me in 2010:

• An eventful year at work which forced me to change work location. After much efforts to prove that I am a worthy candidate, I finally received the severely delayed promotion which I deserve very much. Nevertheless, the hunt for an ideal job remains fruitless;
• The year started by seeing a chain of arguments with someone I had emotionally attached to. The relationship then turned toxic and finally ended in mid-year. Soon after that, a knight appeared and generously showered attention and kindness I almost forgot I deserve. However, the knight deserted me emotionally, not physically, after a flash presence, right at a time when I started to attach myself emotionally. It is left unanswered if I am capable of leaving it behind;
• My reliable external harddisk drive decided to betray my trust after dropping on the floor. I thus lost my university works and most importantly, photos which documented the two most precious years of my life – my master’s study;
• Early of the year, I moved into a lovely flat with a guy who I thought was a nice bloke. It turned out that he was a selfish, self-centred bastard who broke his own promise to our shared-dwelling agreement. Despite my frustration and hatred, I chose to compromise and lost half a grand financially; and
• My health condition was very good until the very last month when I was diagnosed with having skin disease. Even when I know it was a punishment to my own conduct, it indeed was an unfortunate end to the year.

Not very exciting from the above for certain. However, when looking at the goals set out for 2010, it actually was positive and affirming. Here are the goals and their respective verdicts:

• Secure job and achieve savings target – Verdict: Failed, despite some promising interviews;
• Two trips: Home and Egypt – Verdict: Achieved. A visit to Sahara Desert really was the highlight of the year;
• Read four books – Verdict: Achieved. Books read include Rough Guide: Egypt (Well, it is a book!), Travel Photography by Steve Davey, A Little History of the World, The Alchemist (A superb and inspiring gift from Fiona, thanks!);
• Revamp Sambal Delivery Post – Verdict: Achieved. It really made me proud when an IT friend complimented on the website. Read here: http://sambaldeli.blogspot.com; and
• Develop Photographic Skills – Verdict: On course. My most favourite picture of the year:

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A shocking revelation of someone’s true age, as contrary to his profile age, has brought me to question if I, and many of you from the era when age discrimination is a crime, have become ageist.

He was a guy I met a few months ago. He has a pair of lips constantly moisturised by lip guard and a body skin definitely softer than mine. I thought his profile age was an overstatement until he revealed that he actually was 5 years older than his virtual projection. Disbelieved. Is this even possible? And most importantly, what is the secret?

Let me briefly explain the term ‘profile age’ before we dwell on the topic. In our current time span when relying on friends to introduce their other single and available friends in the vain hope of finding love has become exponentially challenging, we resorted to the convenience of internet and have become heavily dependant on dating websites. Filling up the age column in a personal profile, genuine or not is evidently another topic, has become inevitable, if not mandatory, on many of these sites.

From personal observation, if someone is out of the socially regarded premier age group, or the 20s, a standard discount – five years younger – is what he will do to ensure a wider popularity and higher scoring chances. And for the record, I have met with people who skewed to the extreme of 10 years. No question, honesty is undoubtedly out of the menu. And yes, everyone wants to date a younger one: 30s prefer 20s, 40s prefer 30s (and 20s), 50s prefer 40s (and 30s and 20s), etc.

Nevertheless, my personal experience has convinced me that the disguises of these cyber liars are utterly undetectable. Well, that of course if we eliminate the idea that my stupidity in guessing one’s age is unbeatable. However, based on the recent revelation and my subsequent reaction, I couldn’t help but wonder, if I have known his real age, will I even consider meeting him in the very first place? And if I didn’t, does it make me an ageist?

I paused, recollected my memory, and then questioned myself: How many people have I turned down based purely on age? Many. And speaking from personal experience, filtering down the list of personal profiles and (subconsciously) associate a person’s age to a certain pairs of words has never become a strenuous task: young, energetic and unwilling to settle down for the 20s; mature, sexy and experienced for the 30s; experienced, romantic and seriously-looking for the early 40s; partially giving up, slightly desperate, and horny for the late 40s; perverse, desperate and rude for the 50s onwards.

Have you seen the downwards trend of the description? No wonder most people lied. Even though my aforementioned description may have been hinting a slight opportunity that I am perhaps an ageist, there is, as always in the rule of universe, exception – when someone looks good. And the guy we have been talking about on here, is definitely one of these exceptions.

When in discussions, while some (older) friends confessed they could hardly imagine themselves dating people older than 40, I questioned on why even though not preferred, I had always ended up with the 40s. Was it because I fell into their cyber lies? Maybe. Was it because I admired their maturity, gentleness and sex appeal? Probably. Or was it simply because I was horny and desperate? Idea rejected – in my defence, I have dated many youngsters too.

While my experience has taught me that as long as the preservation and maintenance are good, age normally doesn’t come in as an issue. However, the more serious underlying concern is, will we even share a mutual conversation topic, which is uber important in a long(er) term relationship? It will be funny to imagine myself talking about Lady Gaga while the other one is telling me about Sunset Boulevard, no?

Nevertheless, I have learnt from experience that despite the obvious fact that two people are from different generations, a relationship could work. The key to success is common interests that are of course independent of age factor. For examples, interests in photography, cooking, travelling, sports. When two people share an activity, for instance, going on a photography tour, they bond stronger together. Failing this, I reckon only magic could make things work.

What’s the conclusion? It’s clear that I am defending that we, well at least me, are not ageist. Or at least I would argue and advocate that we follow our hearts in most occasions. And I believe if you truly like someone, age will never become a topic of concern. (But err, maybe not too much?) Of course, good look never hurt! But then again, who can guarantee an eternal youth? And we certainly do not want to evolve from being ageist to ‘facist’ , do we?

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“I am on my lunch break but I don’t have money to buy lunch.” It was a shocking revelation from not a predictable homeless figure, but a friend working in financial services industry who earns a what would be an estimated 2.5-fold of my present annual income. 

What has gone wrong? I asked curiously, not intended to pry. Deposit, rent, council tax, gas, flight ticket to Egypt, amongst other items which their presence are deemed absolutely normal and familiar in anyone’s financial list. Alright, maybe not the last one. Bewildered, I wondered have prices shoot up uncontrollably like they never should be due to the persistent inflation rate at worrying level?

Having discussed the issue with my other friends, whom of all are receiving considerably bigger paycheck than me, I discovered that having personal finances going astray is apparently not uncommon, and is certainly independent of one’s earning level. I am aching to uncover the root of the problem. After several discussions, it was dawn on me that all the patients of finances health problem share a common attribute – the endless desire to spend (carelessly) and the derisory determination to save.

Sounds like a cliché I know and I am convinced that you would probably argue that everybody knows this. You may even fight and complain who doesn’t want to save but our earning is just unfairly less and disproportionate to today’s basic expenses. But then again, who doesn’t want a big pay check, bigger bonus, and the smallest tax?

Everybody likes to spend, including myself. However, being brought up in a financially deprived family, I learnt as the first lesson in my life, if you fail to take charge of your personal finances, you are destined to fail. However, to my delight, I also learnt that the key to successful personal finances, or more accurately the secret of successful spending, is no myth and surprisingly simple. It all lies in the state of mind and is resembles to the simplest and most primitive form of trade – barter system.

It is not as intelligence-demeaning as simply comparing prices among similar items, for instance, the difference between tuna from two different brands, although I would definitely argue that price comparison is the fundamental step to successful spending. As we compare prices, we become smarter in familiarising ourselves with marketing and packaging deception. And listen to me, if your tongue can’t distinguish the taste between two seemingly identical products, go for the cheaper one.

Back to the barter system, it requires one to achieve a paradigm shift in their mind when he/she spends, it educates one to distinguish between needs and wants, and most importantly, it frees up individuals by eliminating their desire to purchase and make them recognise the potential of not spending.

Sounds vague, let’s look at an example. Say you walk into a supermarket and pass by the juices aisle. Pick up a carton of orange juice, start asking yourself: Do I want this juice or do I need this juice? The answer is most definitely want. Now think of what you can buy if you swap the orange juice with something else? A loaf of bread which you probably need to make sandwiches for lunch. You will be amazed if you repeat the exercise throughout the entire shopping session and come back home realising that you have bought only what you need but not what you want.

Stretching the paradigm shift to beyond grocery shopping, walk into a fashion store, styling yourself with a £30 blouse or a £50 pair of jeans. Now start questioning yourself do you want or need them? The fact is you want them. Now think of not buying the clothes, what could you spend on using the money? That is one-fifth of a return flight ticket to Egypt. Now the real trick kicks in, weighing between a new piece of garment and an Egypt travel, which one is more enticing to you?

If you choose the former, go for it. There is nothing wrong in wanting a pair nice jeans instead of travelling to Egypt because that is what you want. The example I am giving here is for you to recognise what is the potential of your money, or in other words, the value of your money. It is imperative that we appreciate the value of our money and not its face denomination – the key to barter system.

We save ourselves from purchasing certain items because we realise we don’t need them. At other occasions, we save ourselves from purchasing certain items because we recognise the money is valuable for something that will supply greater satisfaction to us, although it could mean a repetitive exercise before the goal is finally achieved. But the ultimate winning recipe to successful spending control is to save, and recognise how often the word save has appeared in this paragraph.

Possessing a conservative mind, I am a firm believer of saving before spending. My ultimate advice to my fellows: Save at least 3 months, although it would be better 6 months, of your current salary before you start spending. This would serve as a crucial financial buffer if things go sour. And if could achieve a paradigm shift through barter system, congratulations, you are on track to your own finances recovery.

Note: Advice given above is based purely on personal experiences.

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Fiona, my best friend in London, challenged me to post an entry without the assistance of a dictionary or thesaurus. Instead of accepting the challenge with an open arm, I went on instantaneously wondering her discovery. Was it the bombastic words heavily deployed in my recent updates that revealed a rather forceful English composition? Or has she secretly installed a pin-size camera in my room perversely obtaining pleasure through spying on my every activity? Well, at least I am flattered if it was the latter.

Her comment, however, weighed more heavily than a silly spying  joke. It reignited a particular concern I have had recently – the lack of proficiency in written English, which unfortunately has cost me an employment offer I have longed for. And as the comment came amid my concerted effort to improve on my writing via frequent practices, it sparked my worry that perhaps I have gone overboard and become trying too hard.

Nevertheless, I accepted the challenge eventually. As I began thinking of my options, my first thought, a skilful trick to bypass the challenge with an one-sentence-entry which probably says “Fiona, this is my update without the use of a dictionary,” entered my mind with an evil grin. Even when I think the entry is unquestionably eligible for the challenge, it wouldn’t do me a glorious favour. And so it was aborted.

My second option, based on Fiona’s profound interest to unveil my not so secret talent to (frequent) random hook-ups, was to reveal the raunchy conversations I have had with my rapidly changing sexual partners. While I started recollecting the images of these people through a lighting speed image flashing, the thought of me being stabbed to death by not one, but the many former brief encounters, after a potential detrimental public humiliation to their openness in sex-hunt via the revelation of supposedly discreet conversations, cooled my sharing excitement.

Moving on, I pondered if it would be more appropriate in this particular circumstance, where English language itself is the focus point, to adopt a more formal channel by sharing my limited experience in English literature. I can and will of course draw your attention towards the only short story I have remembered from my high school English literature classes – The lotus eater. I believe when the discussion developed, I would probably dwelled into the simple but effective style of writing and bla bla bla, which will undoubtedly encourage you to close this window at the soonest with just a click on the finger. 

After careful consideration to keep this post slightly amusing, I, still revolving around the English language, was inspired to discuss the inability of most Malaysians to pronounce the last alphabet of English words, which of course has inevitably landed me in many humiliating occasions. And I will most likely share with you one of the most classic examples of my personal experience – a grocery shopping in a Norwegian supermarket with my European and other Asian friends when I have had to spend half a day explaining my desire to purchase half a dozen of egg. The obstacle I faced in pronouncing the ‘g’ in the simplest English word has literally made me spelt the word out before my bewildered friends were finally enlightened with hysterical laughter.

Just when I thought that this indeed could be a potential blog entry for this English challenge, I realised the thought process itself has utilised the words limit I normally allocate for an entry. Despite my keen desire to continue, I conclude my current entry prematurely with massive regret by saying: Voila Fiona!

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Directed by David Cameron and supported by the coalition production crew, with Theresa May as the lead female verbal puppet, set off by muted Nick Clegg in the name of comprises-made-to-coalition-government, together had presented the latest episode of the long-winded austerity drama, Cut in what most business leaders and political correspondents are at odds over – the immigration cap (on highly skilled and skilled workers).

They claimed it as a vital approach to curb the country’s rising unemployment rate currently stands at 7.9% or 2.5 million and a patriotic move to return British jobs to British workers. They further emphasised the imposition will duly reduce the pressure exerted on immigration-related social welfare including schools, hospitals, council housings and other public services, which will ultimately helps the coalition government to achieve its target on fiscal tightening policies.

Undeniably the Tory has been charged with the duty to materialise what it promised in the general election – to reduce net immigration. But, in my opinion, the proposition serves not as an effective formulation to deal with successfully the upward spiral of immigration but merely a brainchild of political gimmick.

Firstly, the cap was ill-targeted. A friendly reminder to my dear readers, the cap is aimed at reducing the admission of non-EU economic immigrants under the Tier 1 (highly skilled) and Tier 2 (skilled) points based system, which represents a derisory 27,000 out of all the massive 406,000 approved visas, or 6.5% in the first three months of 2010 (Source: ONS). I am bewildered. Just how significant the impact of a cap like this will have on improving the jobless figure and on easing the pressure of public services? Neither.

Under the point based system invented by the Labour government, Tier 1 visas are granted to migrants without a guaranteed job because they are likely to generate wealth and expand the economy. And my profound confusion expands uncontrollably over the logic to restrain workers of this type to enter the country and to stimulate the growth of, if not rescue, the economy from the aftermath of an unprecedented economic disaster. And for no other reason, highly skilled workers are imported for a good cause – to fill up the talent fissure the country has failed to seal. The saying on returning British jobs to British workers is thus simply ill-founded and unjustifiable.

And the ability of these talented individuals to secure employments leads me to question on why they are blamed as the parasitical recipients of social welfare including social housing. If we scrutinise the provision of social housing and other welfare benefits currently burdening the indebted government, it is not challenging to realise the claimants are, of course the British, and an enormous population of Eastern European moved from their respective countries under the European Free Trade Agreement after being enticed by the UK’s generous welfare system. And in fact, immigrations within the EU forms more than a third of the total immigration into the UK each year.

But then of course, many would argue since British are allowed to purchase assets and take up employments in mainland Europe, it is only fair if their European counterparts enjoy similar privilege. Moreover, for jobs which the British deemed themselves to be too conceited to commit, for examples, construction, cleaning, or even in coffee shops, which in my humble opinion are all British jobs, the reliability of their European peers is indisputable. So will tossing them back when you are in the midst of a crisis sound a tad inglorious?

On the topic of an effective (cost) cut, I compare it with domestic cost saving and corporate restructure. If you want to save on domestic expenses significantly, you do no bet on reducing the purchase of food that supplies you with immense energy to work, you move to a simple and crude house in tinier size. If you plan on downsizing an organisation, you do not only reduce the amount of workforce, but also make non-contributory departments redundant via corporate consolidation. And if you are BP endeavouring to contain oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, you know in the long run, the more effective and permanent solution is not to capture oil spilled through containment cap but to seal the source with relief wells.

So now, if you were the leader of the coalition government, and you were determined to reduce net immigration, are you going to eat your own words and go around violating your own promise for the creation of an open business environment  that would help stimulate economic growth, by limiting the import of highly skilled and skilled workers this country badly needs? Will you revolve around the peripheral of immigration border? Or will you contemplate a more radical reform that may allow a generous chuck of unmanageable immigrants?

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The roasting summer heat currently permeates the streets of London accentuates the obscenity of remembering the prolonged winter blizzard just a couple of months ago. And just when my body is teetering on the brink of a complete melt, the merciless human-induced heat wave originated from down under engulfed my struggling effort to stay intact and had completely liquefied me.

In just a night, my already cruising prevailing neighbourhood was bombarded by the most blatant and effective advertising agenda I’ve ever witnessed. And just when I confined the coverage to the vicinity of my gay-dominated village, Aussiebum, the international underclothing manufacturer from Australia famous for its broad gay fan base, and evidently also the mastermind responsible for this sexually unreserved campaign, has erected identical advertisement literally across the entire London town. 

Leaving aside the discussion on whether the company has pushed the boundary too far to challenge the legal allowance for public display of raunchy images, I doubt if anyone has failed to notice, let alone to resist the erotic temptation to follow the hunky model’s chiselled chests down to his washboard abs before reaching at the dangerously skimpy black swimming trunk that houses almost unsuccessfully his well-endowed manhood that is screaming noisily to escape from its casing. Ugh, I need a napkin to wipe the saliva drooling down my chin off!

Despite of all the careful nurture of conservative oriental virtues, I give no reprimand to this unpretentious marketing campaign. In fact, for no other reason, I welcome it with open arms for it has at least motivated me to go out from my house more often than I would be. A minor but significant gesture that might help trimming away my body fat and fit myself into one of these trunks.

But do I want to rush my head to the departmental store immediately for an impulsive and lustful purchase? As much as I am lubriciously seduced by the model, I remain adamant that there is ought to be mega body sculpting construction before my confidence braves me for an equally impactful public showcase of my own shell.

Nevertheless, I suspect there are already plenty of advocates. And to be honest, I can’t wait the sights for sore eyes. Summer days are too warm to stay indoor but we all need a reason to stay out. And if there is no other reason, perhaps a vain hope in meeting a guy as in the advertisement who will make you scream out: f**k me!

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“I can see you have changed a lot: from enthusiastic those days to dull at present,” a recent count from my ex-course mate which had stunned me greatly.

Something which I hate to admit, but the nasty politics at work that threatened my existence, the stress to excel in the only job interview from more than 100 job applications, the pressure from an expiring visa and the stringent requirements for an extension, the envy of peer success, the uncertainty in my future path, and the 5 break ups with the same person in 6 months have really worn me down.

I am exhausted and now I want to return to smiles, joys, energy and ambitions. It is time to change for good.

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I wondered if I’d just ventured on the well-trodden path of everyone living in London, or was I just a greedy-guts who was never contented with what was presented. Regardless of the examining result, it has now become my strongest devotion to believe that if you are not committed to one of the three searches – the search for the perfect apartment, the search for the perfect job, and the search for the perfect Mr/s. Right or Mr/s. Right-now – then you are not exploiting the immense opportunities this city is offering.

After having hunted on the snowy properties wilderness for an entire bitterly cold winter, after battling my physical and mental endurance against the frequent bombardment of disappointing photo-decent-reality-disastrous apartments, I was eventually rewarded with a sparkling property jewel at an ideal location, excellent transport links and reasonable space with high ceiling – a property nirvana.

However, the search for the perfect apartment wasn’t an easy stroll along the journey. Firstly, it of course has to be tailored on my seemingly shrinking financial physique, or more accurately, the generosity of my flatmate to make up the missing rent not affordable by me, which unfortunately in the eyes of many estate agents, was impossibly derisory for our specifications.

Right, earning a shameful emolument that is only one-third of my flatmate, I must endure the guilt for exacerbating the already challenging flat-hunting spadework crucial to the construction of a shelter we both would like to call home. But believing (that our budget wasn’t an insane optimism but a sane possibility) was the key to success, although it was righteous to say that I had unwillingly pushed my budget to the brink of landing myself on a socially paralysed and financially handicapped future living.

Nevertheless, the satisfaction when I was welcomed by an impeccably cleaned apartment during check in was absolutely insurmountable. I knew, despite all the cumbersome requests to gather sufficient financial references, the numerous unsolicited phone calls that interrupted my work and the intrusive questioning into my background more stringent than applying for a visa from the Home Office, it was worth it.

However, as uncomfortable as securing the flat, the check in process was an equally eye-popping experience. A non-exaggerated hour was required to run through the three-page long inventory list that was so detailed and precise up to the point where a magnifying glass was literally deployed to spot a less than 1mm thick scratch mark at one foot from the bottom left corner on the chest drawer, which of course had been clearly defined on the list.

Undoubtedly, the carefulness of the landlord with regards to the inventory and maintenance of the property deserves esteemed compliment if not a ceremonious gold medal. But the surmounting pressure to maintain the flat in its upmost pristine condition is now inevitable if not overwhelmingly excessive, otherwise the risk of losing a handsome deposit is surely going to escalate wildly, which of course is not desirable.

But then again, believing is the key to success. With two perfectionists living in the same flat, I am confident that maintaining the flat would be a cakewalk. However, two-perfectionist living also entails complication of harmonious living. But that of course belongs to another entry.

In conclusion, from Canada Water to Oval, from Southeast to Southwest, from Southwark to Lambeth, from SE16 to SW9, I am now officially in my second lodging along my London adventure. Time to say: Welcome home baby!

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They didn’t come when I was dismissively rejected on Friday.

They didn’t come when I received your final words on Saturday’s morning.

Three hours later, it marked the end of your mourning when you moved on to the infamous source started looking for alternative. They still didn’t come.

They were absent on Sunday, and Monday.

But this evening, after finished reading the little history book, I unconsciously picked up the book again and flipped to the page where you left the message. Staring at your handwriting, I could no longer restrain my disturbed emotions.

They – the tears – came.

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Dear you,

Sitting in front of the cold non-interactive laptop whilst I am supposed to meet a talkative responsive you. The word “no” is still thundery lingering at the back of my ears. It is still challenging to digest the unsolicited visit from the “no” again.

Juxtaposing to the astounding surprise, I found myself bizarrely sitting down calmly, reminiscing our almost year-long journey. 

My first confession blurry floating. I couldn’t really recall the exact detail despite it was a painstaking virgin heart break.  But I vividly recalled the overwhelming embarrassment. You told me I was not the person you wanted to meet often when I was self-indulgingly and actively arranging meetings with you. “Everything was single-sided”, you said. I felt like my exposed heart was stepped mercilessly.

I constantly reminded myself not to repeat the mistake since then so I deliberately kept a distance from you.

But you consciously or unconsciously wanted to step closer. You miraculously made an effort to visit my place; shocked me with a public kiss which you purport to reject so profoundly; you confessed your love for me.

Too much. It was too much for my little head. I was exploded in naiveté, blindly presented my uncovered heart for your delight, once again. I failed miserably and inundated you with emotion too immense for you to handle. You retrieved and harshly commented: “I don’t love you, never loved you, will not love you”. You told me I was the one begging you to say you love me.

Humiliated. Just why did I think the new year had magically relieve the loving facet of you? Just why did I believe the grand gestures meant something different?

But I couldn’t pull the emergency stop button just yet to exert an irreversible end to our relationship. Nevertheless, I finally realised the necessity to divert my attention on other people. So I started organising congenial meetings with new fellas.

Your possessive nature soon prevailed, questioning about these new fellas, commenting them, even their names when you didn’t even know who they were. And then you started the cycle again. “Please don’t leave me, don’t ever say goodbye to me, allow me to be the person who is always be there for you”, you begged (of course you would deny the choice of word here).

The moment I read the sentence, I burst into tears, and not at one occasion, but three nights in a row. I cried wasn’t really because I was touched. Instead, it was mainly due to the disappointment towards your selfishness and the fear of upcoming misery. Everytime, your kind gesture will entail an inevitable crass remark. I wondered in horror what was going to happen after the begging. I was being careful not wanting to get hurt, for the third time.

And from tonight incident, I have finally realised, you indeed had not changed – your heart has never opened (to me). You are still the same old dog, only with new tricks. I could accept tiredness as a reason to cancel meeting. But what I missed to fathom was why didn’t you care to inform me earlier regarding your intention for cancellation? Why waited until I was all prepared then only you decided to say no and expected a tacit compliance? Even if you want to take back, why couldn’t it be more diplomatic? I couldn’t help but wonder: Am I not deserving an information even when I am not wanted to be seen?

I felt like an unwanted order you hesitate-lessly returned. I felt like a toy you think you could caress or dismiss at your wish. I finally accepted that the “A little less you, a little more us” (even when it is for friendship) is impossible. You care too much about yourself to really consider me.

Perhaps my sweetness has led you into believing I will grant your commands with complete compliance. But perhaps I wasn’t clear about how surprisingly easy-going I was when it comes to you when in fact I am a real difficult character.

Perhaps you do really adore (a word you deliberately adopted to substitute love) me. But perhaps I wasn’t clear that my desire to be respected with dignity and self-esteem is actually overwhelming the need to be adored.

Perhaps you meant it when you told me you do care about me in your own little way. But perhaps I wasn’t clear about how your alternating gentleness and churlish treatment had confused me so often. And on this occasion, you simply care too little. Or perhaps I am too insignificant to deserve even an information.

I know I am in no position of demand and I don’t want to stamp on my feet arguing, like you would call it. I know tonight’s incident was something really minor. But I think enough is enough. I don’t want to worry about the hidden heart-breaks behind your every grand gesture. I don’t want to be taken for granted. I want to be respected. I want to regain the freedom of my heart. I want my love to be appreciated if not responded reciprocally. Unfortunately, I could no longer imagine their possibilities with you.

And therefore I have finally decided – I want to call an end.

It was really nice, or even amazing to have met you. But for now, goodbye.

J.

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“I’m looking forward to reading your 2010 outlook,” expressed by a friend.

After reading the sentence, how is it possible to kid myself thinking it was a flattering concern from a friend whom I reckon to be very hardworking and goal oriented, and not overwhelmed by the inevitable and insurmountable pressure exerted by it?

Following the conversation, I therefore questioned myself: How was your 2009?

In retrospect, it has been a busy year (what a cliché?!) – exams and master thesis, permanent and temporary job applications, the gigantic move to London which included the exhaustive perfect lodge hunting, visa application and work.  

However, comparing the goals which I have set last year with the “results”, the force of juxtaposition was so imaginably great that I felt like I had just been pushed to commit a reluctant suicide by driving in a car with malfunction brakes, along a treacherous hill road on a rainy night.  I asked myself: How could it be so utterly disastrous? The diagnosis returned the following embarrassing results.

Goal #1: To secure a permanent employment and double my savings (Failed)

Not only I have failed to find a proper employment after months of endless trying, with the latest splurge on a shining new camera today (oh it is so pretty!), my saving is officially one-third lesser than the beginning of the year. Any reasons (or excuses)? I was both income- and job-less for two months after graduation. And yes the money splashed out for the hot air balloon treat to celebrate me turning a quarter of a century old (But it was spectacular and memorable experience which deemed to be priceless). And of course, the camera! (Excuse me, a camera when you are broke?!) Oh my god! It is time to spend money home again! Damn Chinese New Year! (!@#$%^&* and an unhappy teary face)

Goal #2: Learn French and sit for DELF A2 exam (Failed)

I really did set out an immaculate learning schedule and I started studying, for, err,  two weeks. You probably are saying: Eh, okay…

Goal #3: To get involve in a relationship (Failed)

Well yea, silly. But under peer pressure I was forced to make this ridiculous goal with my friend. Well, good for her as she did get a French boyfriend for three months. And me? I started the year promiscuously sleeping around, trial-ing potential candidates. But was struck by an ambiguous interaction with a promising someone soon before I realised. Experienced the most amazing period of my life for months, but also communication breakdown for a good few weeks. And now on course to celebrate our one year anniversary of ambiguity. Not too shabby, right? (Oh pathetic!)

Goal #4: Read a book per month (Failed)

Books read include The 7 habits of highly effective people (c0mpleted) and A thousand splendid suns (one-third), The photographer’s eye (completed), Turkey travel guide (completed). Does Ikea catalogue count? I spent a lot of time reading it! (Oh whatever!)

Goal #5: To obtain my post-study work visa (Achieved)

Yay! Finally a fulfilled goal! And it was after months of hard work collecting documents and letters, maintaining cash fund and months of worry. And yes, a £500 fee! Think I should add that to the Goal #1. See, I am not spending lavishly on unnecessary items. (Speaking with head held high, very high.)

In conclusion, 20%! A grade bad enough to be categorised as failure! But the past was the past. Time to move forwards.

So what are there for 2010? Needless to say, no more stupid relationship joke. But of course, resolutions could be fun. And fun means including travels and hobbies.

1. Secure a decent job by September and to achieve savings target as in 2009
2. Two trips: Back home trip and Egypt.
3. Read four books (guess this is more reasonable and achievable for me).
4. Develop photographic skills and post-processing knowledge through weekly photo trip
5. Wanted to run for London Marathon, but they accept no more participant.
6. Revamp Sambal Delivery Post and make it a pure travelogue.

Okay. Now that they have been publicly announced, it is only fair that the visitors (you) be the watchdogs and gauge my progress. So I am going to put them down on the right hand side panel and update the progress. Need to be a bit harsh and strict to myself otherwise nothing will happen, right?

Happy New Year!

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The immaculate image where tables of classic English ladies and gentlemen gather in a tea house on a typical morning, sipping their well-travelled English tea, sampling over the crispy almond biscotti, while exchanging words in the perfect manner intended to minimise disturbance to their neighbouring diners has, sadly, been substituted with the following scene:

Queuing beyond the point-of-sale in one of the international coffee chain giants with either a (bunch of) friend(s), or a cell phone, or a newspaper, or a handheld gadget with internet access, a young and trendy 21st century hip Brit is either talking and laughing hysterically to his/her friends with the tone intended to broadcast the entire conversation or to inundate his/her neighbouring conversation, ignoring the waiting from the cashier and the queue behind, or communicating on the mobile with the same condemnable manner, or concentrating on the newspaper or handheld gadget while placing his/her order without even bothered to place a precipitous glance at the cashier.

It is agreeable that life is hard and sometimes harsh in London. However, has the haste and hassle of London resulted in the deterioration of the pristine and complimentary classic English manner which we all have learnt from English literature? Deserving better attention is the question that even if busy life does impose pressure on keeping the plausible manner, is it acceptable at all?

One interesting observation is even when London is a genuine metropolis and a humongous social melting pot of numerous cultures, it still baffles me to learn that this loud conversation is actually a particular attribute of the Y-generation, or the young generation of British. And in the generation where females start to dominate males academically, the females have not failed to overwhelm the crowd in the realm of annoying conversation. Bravo gentlemen! Well, the slightly more gentleman young British boys.

Excuse me for making all the brouhaha about the loud noise surrounding my every presence in London. In my shallow opinion, it may be lovely to watch Alesha Dixon laughing uncontrollably while judging celebrity dancers on Strictly Come Dancing for, let me emphasise, ONCE a week, it is pretty intolerable to be constantly bombarded by the identical English young girls chit-chat sessions gossiping the, guess what, X-factor, girl friends-boy friends and bitchy talks.

It is your freedom to talk whatever you desire. But perhaps it could be carried out in a more respectful manner? And what is with the attitude that you think the people working in a coffee shop is less superior than you so you can ignore an eye contact while placing order?

In conclusion, this entry is not intended to make young British realise how the good manner maintained by their parents has slowly paving to extinction. It is posted as a relaxing humour for non-British. And this is what we are saying:

Let’s face it. The classic English manner has now been transformed to the X(tra loud) Factor!

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Again, I lost control of the situation and had put up a hard time for you.

I understood what you meant when you told me this evening that I have to make a decision and quickly. I wanted to rush myself for a decision. But I knew, the decision time is not yet here.

All I could do is to give you a hard time no more, stupid questions no more, and just enjoy the current moment. I am no longer having any expectation, imagination, or dream. I admit I had been away with the fairies. But I believe time will eventually fade the feeling away and we could be normal.

What you may already know is I didn’t text you to come online for a hard time. But what you didn’t know is over those sleepless nights, I kept measuring myself against your love for your ex.

Wanted to be around him a lot; sharing amazing intimacy; always think that he is cute and intelligent; wanted to be him at times.

Amazing bedroom fun, and the cute and smart impression,  I think I have achieved them. But a wall was erected instantaneously when I learnt that I wasn’t a figure you wanted to meet often. I knew the feeling wasn’t reciprocal. But it still had created some uneasy ripples in my heart when I was honestly informed.

And life inspiration? I couldn’t help but kept waking up at those sleepless nights, asking myself what could I offer as a boy making coffees behind the bar? Inferiority inundated my sleepless nights.

I used to think this isn’t one-sided. I used to believe you were trying to avoid what you felt for me. But standing in front of your love for someone else, I couldn’t help but feeling so naive, so immature, and so insignificant. I felt so, small.

You were always so nice to me. But I’d finally realised, I shouldn’t confuse kindness with anything else.

I, as much as I would like to maintain my infamous stubbornness, was really very thin-skinned. I was embarrassed. Embarrassed by my own naiveté.

I am doubtless that you do care for me. But I knew, it wasn’t anything significant. Nothing comparable to what you have shown to others.

I-don’t-love-you, I heard you said. I accept defeat.

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