20/02: 20!
In case you're wondering what the above numbers mean, they simply mean that I have, rather recently, ceased to be a teenager. Rather depressing prospect, but one can't escape the truth. Especially not when one has that truth drummed into one as often as I have.
...I have been rather neglectful, haven't I now? But I'll try to make it up. If nothing else, I certainly have the ability to spew out words while actually saying nothing new. (It looks like a lot of politicians and other people in authority have the same skill. At least the Cue Ball certainly does.) And what's more, I'll try to do it chronological order. How's that? (Then again, I always do this is chronological order anyway...)
Hmmmm. What do I say? In the past... 18 days since the RBS ended, there have been three reunions that I know of. Apparently we all really miss each other: but I've only attended one of them so far. In my opinion, it takes time to miss people. And really, it takes all the spirit out of it if we keep running into each other. If you want to miss somebody else, I say you can't do much better than to avoid them for the next few years while meditating on how much you liked this or that about them, and all the wonderful stuff you did together or the hysterics you put each other into or something. Then maybe you have a chance of sincerely telling 'em you missed 'em. As it is, there's an average of what, 6 days apart? between meetings. Quite absurd. The most you can really say at that kind of thing is that you really enjoy meeting 'em again.
I prefer meetings like the ones I have with Wolf. Granted, those occur about once a week when we can make it; but then you see, we don't think of them as reunions. At least I don't. But the point of those meetings is just to chitchat about whatever we want, watch a movie, go through books, that kind of stuff. We had what might be the last meeting of that sort, the Thursday before last. (In my family we call that "last last Thursday". It tends rather to confuse outsiders.)
We watched Ghost Rider, which unfortunately fails to deliver: it's got nice special effects, I stand in awe of the CGI and the image quality and all that, but the problem is the plot is terrible. So amazingly cliched that I can't remember when plots of its sort were new to me. Besides, its theology is questionable at best. Plus the action scenes don't deserve the name: basically you have fingers pointing and a clacking jaw before the bad guy starts screaming. Sometimes you even get a swinging chain or burning eyeballs thrown in, but... the closest the film gets to "action" is the motorbike stunts. Which, in themselves, are terrible too. And the bad guys don't even last more than 5 seconds or so each!
It was disappointing, but we got plenty of conversation out of it: mostly because I was obsessed with the niceness of the graphics (so sue me, Ghost Rider looks cool) and Wolf was obsessed with pointing out all the defects.
...oh, and I spent more on dinner that night than I've spent in a long time. Because, you see, both of us have finished our courses in KL--but from now on, we're going to be walking rather different paths. Wolf goes to Patience tonight, and he'll probably be there until he goes to Japan. I, on the other hand, plan to work in KL until maybe June or July, when the universities begin to send word about offer letters or the like. And after that, I'm not likely to end up in Japan... And also, that was the last Thursday before the Chinese New Year began, so it looked like the last time we'd be having these meetings. So we splurged and went for the Chilies Bar Grill something something Mexican restaurant.
(They're so full, we had to wait about half an hour to get our seats. So we went in very hungry. Fortunately they leave a copy of the menu outside, so we were able to place our orders relatively quickly, since we'd done all the menu-scrutinising beforehand.)
It was also the first time I've ever ordered a bottle of beer to accompany my dinner. But it was OK, the food was really good and we had excellent conversation. I'm going to rather miss all this, I think. Or more appropriately I'm going to rather miss him. *stops self from becoming excessively maudlin* I think I'm going to have to start emailing him more regularly: but he doesn't appear online much, drat his habits. Plus I think Japan operates on a different time zone and all that. Very annoying. Oh well, we'll see.
What else happened?... oh yeah. Chinese New Year. It's a story all in itself... let's see now, I wonder if I should put all the details in or just enough to send you into a stupor? Never mind, better overloaded than underinformed, that's what I think. So we'll begin on that tale on the... hm, I think it was the Friday, week before last, that I should start at. Which would make it the... drat, I'm bad at calculating dates. Ah, yes. The 16th, I believe. But then again the date doesn't matter, really.
So that Friday (the 16th and the day after I met Wolf), I and my sister went down to So Hour by bus. It was quite a long journey, by my common estimates anyway. Generally I take the 8.30am bus and arrive around 1pm, just in time for lunch. This time, my sister bought the tickets and we got the 9-something bus, and we arrived at 3pm. Of course, we made more stops; but I'd have preferred the earlier and faster bus. For one thing, most buses smell unpleasant.
(I'd brought plenty of mints and some Vita-C to mask that this time. The Vita-C had been bought the night before to mask my beer breath too. But I wasn't drunk. Somehow I don't think 325ml of... I think it was 7.5%-or-something-alcohol beer can cause drunkenness in me. I have a quite good alcohol threshold, I think.)
The other annoying thing about buses is that they have very little leg room. It's not too bad for most people (the Malaysian population tends to be on the short side), and I don't mind it usually. Except when some idiot in front of me decides to recline her seat to the maximum, upon which I get a lovely view of the top of her head. The other and more pressing issue (literally) is that the space in front of me, where I usually put a backpack or something to block the air-conditioning (it gets very cold after a ferw hours), is halved, upon which the backpack or something is squished against my chest. Fortunately my chest is not very big--a good reason to avoid bodybuilding.
This is why I try to keep breakables out of my backpacks.
I had to recline my seat backwards to breathe. Fortunately the person behind me was either asleep or very small or something, so they didn't complain. Otherwise I might have set up a domino effect or something and we'd have a whole row of reclined seats in the bus.
But anyway... we arrived at my grandparents' place, in one piece, and without breaking much more than was necessary. Which means we broke nothing.
The reunion was completed later in the evening, when my parents came back from the bus depot with my big little brother from Singapore. He's gone and become a good example in the last few months, and boy I'm still trying to get rid of the aftereffects. Not that I'm likely to be able to do that if I keep contact with my parents. For one thing he's gone and got his hair cut to a grand length of 2cm for free (by a classmate). Also he's got somewhat fitter (or fatter) and so has broader shoulders than before. Apparently he plays tonnes of sports. Plus he's keeping his grades looking pretty.
All of which, of course, do not apply to me. For example, my last haircut cost RM20 and it left my hair at about 8 or 9cm long. (My parents don't like me keeping "long" hair.) And my grades certainly aren't pretty. And so on.
...I suppose if I were to be honest, I'd call it a very stressful holiday indeed. In between rushing to relatives' houses to visit and harvest angpows, my parents were laying into me about my university applications and possibly getting a job or something for the next few months and about my apparent lack of enthusiasm about either prospect. And believe me, it was tiring.
I think the thing that annoyed them most was my lack of enthusiasm about their plans... but then I didn't want to fake it, and anyway I didn't have the energy to do that. Maybe this would stand out as a time when it'd have been wiser to pretend and make 'em happy, rather than be brutally honest about not liking whatever they were planning. But... I don't know. I'm sure they want the best for me... I just don't know what their definition of "best for me" is. And somehow I don't quite trust their judgment when it comes to finding work anymore. Must've been the Mart experience.
Besides, they're both morning people--and I most emphatically am not a morning person by any means. And the problem, I think, was that they brought up the issue about five minutes after I woke up--sometimes they woke me up with the issue itself--which, obviously, would not have been conducive to getting it over with. I suppose they wanted to get it over with as soon as possible: but I wish they'd waited a bit until I'd properly woken up first.
In any case we ended up with lots of scolding on their parts and frozen silence on mine. Because, really, what does one say in times like these? If I'd had anything to say that I thought might please both them and myself, I'd have said it. But as it was, nothing came to mind. It was a great pity, because I do wish I could have given them better memories of me. As it is they've probably gotten a very negative impression of me as regards my future plans... or rather, the plans they've laid for my future.
And I do wish they wouldn't turn themselves into monomaniacs on the subject of studies... practically the whole time I spent with them was destroyed in one-way discussions on that. More accurately, they discussed with each other while I listened and tried to find something good in their speech. It isn't nice to have people glaring at one while spitting out sentence after sentence on how one should be more proactive in whatever one should be doing, or one should be more mature, or more studious, or whatever. What does "mature" mean anyway?
It continued all the way until we came back to KL. Quite likely the next few emails will be full of that too. In fact I have a nagging feeling that we won't finish arguing about it until I graduate with a doctorate or something... and even then they're quite likely to hunt up some cousin or other who did some other course and poke me in the ribs and murmur, "Don't you wish you'd done that?" And of course they've got other items on my to-do list. Like my marriage. Or my future job. Or my country of residence. Or the company I should work with. Or...
Wouldn't it be nice if I could just figure something out on my own? But of course they have 20+ years more of experience and I'm still immature in the extreme and of course they want the best for me and anyway if it doesn't work out the way they planned, I can still try and live my life the way I'd originally planned and see if it turns out any better and...
I don't want to think about it any more. I'd just give myself a headache. Through all this, I know we love each other and all that. We're family, after all. It's just that we all show it so differently... still, they recently bought that LaHaye book on temperament and personality. (Trust them to buy a self-help book for entertainment.) Hopefully it'll do something. Or God'll do something through it...
And, of course, things have pretty much gone downhill since I turned 20. I don't like birthdays. At least not my own...
I used to like my birthdays. I remember I used to be quite enthusiastic about them. You know. Hunting cakes, waiting for the day, counting down the seconds, the whole thing. Now? Now they're almost an inconvenience to me... I think I disillusioned myself around 16 or 17.
You see, I really enjoy comics and manga, that kind of stuff. My parents hate it--my mom went through a phase, when I was young, in which she ripped up every single comic she found in the house. That's probably the root of my interest in drawing: since I couldn't buy 'em, I drew 'em. My siblings simply did without. And I pored over the comics in the newspaper... the serial ones, I remember the Sun used to run the X-Men series. And I still remember plenty of dialogue from there. (In fact, I remember using my allowance to buy newspapers just so I could read the comics in 'em... my parents didn't buy the paper regularly.)
And of course, in comics, the heroes get their powers in the teens. I suppose it's because the artists want the developing-hero thing, all the crazy hormones and stuff... but I took it literally. I suppose it's one of the bad effects of pseudoscience, since it almost seems believable sometimes... well, logically I told myself it was impossible. But I kept on hoping. Obviously, I was badly disappointed when I woke up on my 13th, 14th, 15th, and 16th birthdays to find myself still unable to read minds or walk on walls or pull doors off their hinges or whatever. Even the "sweet 16" myth got busted.
And all through it, I found myself swamped in more and more things to do. More homework, for one thing. For another, my parents kept raising their expectations of me. Probably they expected me to grow up and become more mature, whatever that means. Whatever it was, I must've disappointed them loads. (If I ever have kids, I am so going to keep them as young as possible and then get rid of them the moment they can define the word "mature". Send 'em to my parents or something.)
Anyway... now I'm 20. Even the hope that my acne would end with my teens has got busted... and instead, now I find myself having to look for places to do my tertiary education and find a temporary job and in the middle of it all, develop maturity. I hate that word. No, "hate" isn't strong enough. I loathe, execrate, and despise that word. If I could I would ban it. Make the usage of it a hanging crime or something... For one thing, no two people define "maturity" the same way. Apparently it's just something you have when you have it--a definition worthy of expectoration! *breathes deeply* And now people all over the place are telling me I'm 20, I've got to grow up, stop being young...
You know what? I refuse to grow up. I absolutely, uncategorically, refuse to become like the rest of the world and expect everybody to reach a certain standard of behaviour before they qualify for whatever. Maturity, in my dictionary, will forever be a purely biological term, as will be adulthood, and my definition of it will forever be "being fully biologically developed". If becoming mature means I have to stop liking anime and manga, or stop laughing too loud, or start developing wrinkles from worrying about work or school, or stop jumping in puddles and stop laughing when the rain comes down, if it means I mustn't play in the rain or whatever else you might expect the "normal adult male" to do or not do--well then, you can take your definition of "mature" and keep it out of my hearing. In any case I've generally ignored most people's definitions of "mature" unless I thought they were particularly good ones.
I like the one from Rudyard Kipling, for example. It's in the poem "If", and it's one of the better things about the Literature component in the SPM English syllabus. So far I've tried to stick to that. I also like the ones in the Bible--they may be more difficult to apply, but for some reason, "Do unto others as you would have others do unto you" is a much better benchmark of maturity, and much easier to stomach, than anything else I've heard. If I must become mature, I shall do it according to some better definitions. Like maybe these...
Right now I'm still wondering what job to do... there're two possibilities that seem attractive. One is working as an intern in my uncle's company: no nepotism there, apparently, he's decided that I have to go through the whole interviews-and-stuff rigmarole before getting in, but if I do it I'll have to live with him and maybe go back to Melawati on weekends. The other is to work at TAR in some temporary capacity, in which case my food will be much cheaper, I think; but the transport will be more expensive. I've already turned down an offer of replacement teacher in a primary school, because teaching little kids drives me crazy. At least I wouldn't know who'd go mad first, myself or the kids.
So I'm still wondering.
...I have been rather neglectful, haven't I now? But I'll try to make it up. If nothing else, I certainly have the ability to spew out words while actually saying nothing new. (It looks like a lot of politicians and other people in authority have the same skill. At least the Cue Ball certainly does.) And what's more, I'll try to do it chronological order. How's that? (Then again, I always do this is chronological order anyway...)
Hmmmm. What do I say? In the past... 18 days since the RBS ended, there have been three reunions that I know of. Apparently we all really miss each other: but I've only attended one of them so far. In my opinion, it takes time to miss people. And really, it takes all the spirit out of it if we keep running into each other. If you want to miss somebody else, I say you can't do much better than to avoid them for the next few years while meditating on how much you liked this or that about them, and all the wonderful stuff you did together or the hysterics you put each other into or something. Then maybe you have a chance of sincerely telling 'em you missed 'em. As it is, there's an average of what, 6 days apart? between meetings. Quite absurd. The most you can really say at that kind of thing is that you really enjoy meeting 'em again.
I prefer meetings like the ones I have with Wolf. Granted, those occur about once a week when we can make it; but then you see, we don't think of them as reunions. At least I don't. But the point of those meetings is just to chitchat about whatever we want, watch a movie, go through books, that kind of stuff. We had what might be the last meeting of that sort, the Thursday before last. (In my family we call that "last last Thursday". It tends rather to confuse outsiders.)
We watched Ghost Rider, which unfortunately fails to deliver: it's got nice special effects, I stand in awe of the CGI and the image quality and all that, but the problem is the plot is terrible. So amazingly cliched that I can't remember when plots of its sort were new to me. Besides, its theology is questionable at best. Plus the action scenes don't deserve the name: basically you have fingers pointing and a clacking jaw before the bad guy starts screaming. Sometimes you even get a swinging chain or burning eyeballs thrown in, but... the closest the film gets to "action" is the motorbike stunts. Which, in themselves, are terrible too. And the bad guys don't even last more than 5 seconds or so each!
It was disappointing, but we got plenty of conversation out of it: mostly because I was obsessed with the niceness of the graphics (so sue me, Ghost Rider looks cool) and Wolf was obsessed with pointing out all the defects.
...oh, and I spent more on dinner that night than I've spent in a long time. Because, you see, both of us have finished our courses in KL--but from now on, we're going to be walking rather different paths. Wolf goes to Patience tonight, and he'll probably be there until he goes to Japan. I, on the other hand, plan to work in KL until maybe June or July, when the universities begin to send word about offer letters or the like. And after that, I'm not likely to end up in Japan... And also, that was the last Thursday before the Chinese New Year began, so it looked like the last time we'd be having these meetings. So we splurged and went for the Chilies Bar Grill something something Mexican restaurant.
(They're so full, we had to wait about half an hour to get our seats. So we went in very hungry. Fortunately they leave a copy of the menu outside, so we were able to place our orders relatively quickly, since we'd done all the menu-scrutinising beforehand.)
It was also the first time I've ever ordered a bottle of beer to accompany my dinner. But it was OK, the food was really good and we had excellent conversation. I'm going to rather miss all this, I think. Or more appropriately I'm going to rather miss him. *stops self from becoming excessively maudlin* I think I'm going to have to start emailing him more regularly: but he doesn't appear online much, drat his habits. Plus I think Japan operates on a different time zone and all that. Very annoying. Oh well, we'll see.
What else happened?... oh yeah. Chinese New Year. It's a story all in itself... let's see now, I wonder if I should put all the details in or just enough to send you into a stupor? Never mind, better overloaded than underinformed, that's what I think. So we'll begin on that tale on the... hm, I think it was the Friday, week before last, that I should start at. Which would make it the... drat, I'm bad at calculating dates. Ah, yes. The 16th, I believe. But then again the date doesn't matter, really.
So that Friday (the 16th and the day after I met Wolf), I and my sister went down to So Hour by bus. It was quite a long journey, by my common estimates anyway. Generally I take the 8.30am bus and arrive around 1pm, just in time for lunch. This time, my sister bought the tickets and we got the 9-something bus, and we arrived at 3pm. Of course, we made more stops; but I'd have preferred the earlier and faster bus. For one thing, most buses smell unpleasant.
(I'd brought plenty of mints and some Vita-C to mask that this time. The Vita-C had been bought the night before to mask my beer breath too. But I wasn't drunk. Somehow I don't think 325ml of... I think it was 7.5%-or-something-alcohol beer can cause drunkenness in me. I have a quite good alcohol threshold, I think.)
The other annoying thing about buses is that they have very little leg room. It's not too bad for most people (the Malaysian population tends to be on the short side), and I don't mind it usually. Except when some idiot in front of me decides to recline her seat to the maximum, upon which I get a lovely view of the top of her head. The other and more pressing issue (literally) is that the space in front of me, where I usually put a backpack or something to block the air-conditioning (it gets very cold after a ferw hours), is halved, upon which the backpack or something is squished against my chest. Fortunately my chest is not very big--a good reason to avoid bodybuilding.
This is why I try to keep breakables out of my backpacks.
I had to recline my seat backwards to breathe. Fortunately the person behind me was either asleep or very small or something, so they didn't complain. Otherwise I might have set up a domino effect or something and we'd have a whole row of reclined seats in the bus.
But anyway... we arrived at my grandparents' place, in one piece, and without breaking much more than was necessary. Which means we broke nothing.
The reunion was completed later in the evening, when my parents came back from the bus depot with my big little brother from Singapore. He's gone and become a good example in the last few months, and boy I'm still trying to get rid of the aftereffects. Not that I'm likely to be able to do that if I keep contact with my parents. For one thing he's gone and got his hair cut to a grand length of 2cm for free (by a classmate). Also he's got somewhat fitter (or fatter) and so has broader shoulders than before. Apparently he plays tonnes of sports. Plus he's keeping his grades looking pretty.
All of which, of course, do not apply to me. For example, my last haircut cost RM20 and it left my hair at about 8 or 9cm long. (My parents don't like me keeping "long" hair.) And my grades certainly aren't pretty. And so on.
...I suppose if I were to be honest, I'd call it a very stressful holiday indeed. In between rushing to relatives' houses to visit and harvest angpows, my parents were laying into me about my university applications and possibly getting a job or something for the next few months and about my apparent lack of enthusiasm about either prospect. And believe me, it was tiring.
I think the thing that annoyed them most was my lack of enthusiasm about their plans... but then I didn't want to fake it, and anyway I didn't have the energy to do that. Maybe this would stand out as a time when it'd have been wiser to pretend and make 'em happy, rather than be brutally honest about not liking whatever they were planning. But... I don't know. I'm sure they want the best for me... I just don't know what their definition of "best for me" is. And somehow I don't quite trust their judgment when it comes to finding work anymore. Must've been the Mart experience.
Besides, they're both morning people--and I most emphatically am not a morning person by any means. And the problem, I think, was that they brought up the issue about five minutes after I woke up--sometimes they woke me up with the issue itself--which, obviously, would not have been conducive to getting it over with. I suppose they wanted to get it over with as soon as possible: but I wish they'd waited a bit until I'd properly woken up first.
In any case we ended up with lots of scolding on their parts and frozen silence on mine. Because, really, what does one say in times like these? If I'd had anything to say that I thought might please both them and myself, I'd have said it. But as it was, nothing came to mind. It was a great pity, because I do wish I could have given them better memories of me. As it is they've probably gotten a very negative impression of me as regards my future plans... or rather, the plans they've laid for my future.
And I do wish they wouldn't turn themselves into monomaniacs on the subject of studies... practically the whole time I spent with them was destroyed in one-way discussions on that. More accurately, they discussed with each other while I listened and tried to find something good in their speech. It isn't nice to have people glaring at one while spitting out sentence after sentence on how one should be more proactive in whatever one should be doing, or one should be more mature, or more studious, or whatever. What does "mature" mean anyway?
It continued all the way until we came back to KL. Quite likely the next few emails will be full of that too. In fact I have a nagging feeling that we won't finish arguing about it until I graduate with a doctorate or something... and even then they're quite likely to hunt up some cousin or other who did some other course and poke me in the ribs and murmur, "Don't you wish you'd done that?" And of course they've got other items on my to-do list. Like my marriage. Or my future job. Or my country of residence. Or the company I should work with. Or...
Wouldn't it be nice if I could just figure something out on my own? But of course they have 20+ years more of experience and I'm still immature in the extreme and of course they want the best for me and anyway if it doesn't work out the way they planned, I can still try and live my life the way I'd originally planned and see if it turns out any better and...
I don't want to think about it any more. I'd just give myself a headache. Through all this, I know we love each other and all that. We're family, after all. It's just that we all show it so differently... still, they recently bought that LaHaye book on temperament and personality. (Trust them to buy a self-help book for entertainment.) Hopefully it'll do something. Or God'll do something through it...
And, of course, things have pretty much gone downhill since I turned 20. I don't like birthdays. At least not my own...
I used to like my birthdays. I remember I used to be quite enthusiastic about them. You know. Hunting cakes, waiting for the day, counting down the seconds, the whole thing. Now? Now they're almost an inconvenience to me... I think I disillusioned myself around 16 or 17.
You see, I really enjoy comics and manga, that kind of stuff. My parents hate it--my mom went through a phase, when I was young, in which she ripped up every single comic she found in the house. That's probably the root of my interest in drawing: since I couldn't buy 'em, I drew 'em. My siblings simply did without. And I pored over the comics in the newspaper... the serial ones, I remember the Sun used to run the X-Men series. And I still remember plenty of dialogue from there. (In fact, I remember using my allowance to buy newspapers just so I could read the comics in 'em... my parents didn't buy the paper regularly.)
And of course, in comics, the heroes get their powers in the teens. I suppose it's because the artists want the developing-hero thing, all the crazy hormones and stuff... but I took it literally. I suppose it's one of the bad effects of pseudoscience, since it almost seems believable sometimes... well, logically I told myself it was impossible. But I kept on hoping. Obviously, I was badly disappointed when I woke up on my 13th, 14th, 15th, and 16th birthdays to find myself still unable to read minds or walk on walls or pull doors off their hinges or whatever. Even the "sweet 16" myth got busted.
And all through it, I found myself swamped in more and more things to do. More homework, for one thing. For another, my parents kept raising their expectations of me. Probably they expected me to grow up and become more mature, whatever that means. Whatever it was, I must've disappointed them loads. (If I ever have kids, I am so going to keep them as young as possible and then get rid of them the moment they can define the word "mature". Send 'em to my parents or something.)
Anyway... now I'm 20. Even the hope that my acne would end with my teens has got busted... and instead, now I find myself having to look for places to do my tertiary education and find a temporary job and in the middle of it all, develop maturity. I hate that word. No, "hate" isn't strong enough. I loathe, execrate, and despise that word. If I could I would ban it. Make the usage of it a hanging crime or something... For one thing, no two people define "maturity" the same way. Apparently it's just something you have when you have it--a definition worthy of expectoration! *breathes deeply* And now people all over the place are telling me I'm 20, I've got to grow up, stop being young...
You know what? I refuse to grow up. I absolutely, uncategorically, refuse to become like the rest of the world and expect everybody to reach a certain standard of behaviour before they qualify for whatever. Maturity, in my dictionary, will forever be a purely biological term, as will be adulthood, and my definition of it will forever be "being fully biologically developed". If becoming mature means I have to stop liking anime and manga, or stop laughing too loud, or start developing wrinkles from worrying about work or school, or stop jumping in puddles and stop laughing when the rain comes down, if it means I mustn't play in the rain or whatever else you might expect the "normal adult male" to do or not do--well then, you can take your definition of "mature" and keep it out of my hearing. In any case I've generally ignored most people's definitions of "mature" unless I thought they were particularly good ones.
I like the one from Rudyard Kipling, for example. It's in the poem "If", and it's one of the better things about the Literature component in the SPM English syllabus. So far I've tried to stick to that. I also like the ones in the Bible--they may be more difficult to apply, but for some reason, "Do unto others as you would have others do unto you" is a much better benchmark of maturity, and much easier to stomach, than anything else I've heard. If I must become mature, I shall do it according to some better definitions. Like maybe these...
Right now I'm still wondering what job to do... there're two possibilities that seem attractive. One is working as an intern in my uncle's company: no nepotism there, apparently, he's decided that I have to go through the whole interviews-and-stuff rigmarole before getting in, but if I do it I'll have to live with him and maybe go back to Melawati on weekends. The other is to work at TAR in some temporary capacity, in which case my food will be much cheaper, I think; but the transport will be more expensive. I've already turned down an offer of replacement teacher in a primary school, because teaching little kids drives me crazy. At least I wouldn't know who'd go mad first, myself or the kids.
So I'm still wondering.
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