Christmas in KL is fun! I just never noticed because in most years, the highlight of my Christmas is dinner and presents at someone else’s house. I don’t go to church for midnight mass, I don’t do the whole tree-and-tinsel bit. Very unfestive, I must say.

This year, my aunt who regularly hosts Christmas lunch went overseas, so there goes the focal event of my Yuletide. That doesn’t mean I didn’t have fun, though!

For Christmas Eve, my family went to Nichii Fashion City. Despite the Japanese pretensions of its name (which usually doesn’t bode well for the selection inside), it’s really a very nice place to buy clothes. Probably has something to do with the fact that there are 2 floors of clothes, shoes and accessories to browse through, and that they have thoughtfully provided chairs, benches and vending machines to keep children, spouses and significant others happy while the ladies spend time and money oiling the wheels of the Malaysian economy.

Later that night, it was movie time. Somehow my sister suckered me into watching “Mean Girls” for, like, the 3rd or 4th time. In its entirety. I know the whole story, I know every twist and witty comeback, but I can still sit through the whole thing. Don’t ask me why. That teenage romp into girly bitchiness ended at midnight, so it was fitting that the next movie was Tim Burton’s “The Nightmare Before Christmas”, a classic of stop-motion animation that preceded “Corpse Bride”. I went to bed after this, but I didn’t dream of sugar plums or nutcrackers – they’re not really elements of a Malaysian Christmas.

It still didn’t really feel like Christmas. I took Jun out for a drive, my family packed into the car to head downtown, and we spent 40 minutes in our wheeled oven, roasting in the midday heat while waiting out the jam at MidValley. Low Yat Plaza barely acknowledged that it was Christmas season, and besides we were more interested in getting a good price for our PC stuff. On the way out of Low Yat, my mum gave us each a RM10 gift certificate for Starbucks, so despite my moral objection to that soul-eating conglomerate, my sis and I got a frappuccino each. Well, if I can’t have a snowy Christmas, at least I can have an icy one.

It would have been a really great Christmas Day if Bentley Music had been open, but when we got to the shop, it was closed. All I could do was look sadly at the instruments in the display window and make plans to return another day. Hey, the Holy Family got turned away at the inn, so this is no big deal.

After dinner I looked up a song I’d heard on the radio, only to find out I apparently had really bad musical taste. The music video pretty much confirmed that this song is not destined for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. So sue me for being out of touch, the song is Hinder’s “Lips of an Angel”. The aforementioned music video had me slightly flummoxed for a while, before I decided not to take it seriously and just laugh at the bad acting. Can someone please explain to me why the vocalist’s wrists flop in that very un-rock-star manner? But I have to admit, the song does appeal to me on an emotional level.

After that downer, I had to end Christmas day with something happy, and that came in the form of 3 yummy Hong Kong boys named Stephen, Sam and Edison, in a vapid but enjoyable actioner. Hey, I’m not watching it for the storyline, I watched it to admire Stephen Fung’s amazing anime-style hair and to laugh at Sam Lee’s wackiness.

So much for Christmas 2006. Walking around Bukit Bintang with Starbucks in hand, admiring fine genetic specimens of my dialect group, shopping on my parents’ dime, and making countless left and right turns with my dad as a backseat driver. I told you I had fun.

It was another of those days where it starts raining and never seems to let up. Sometimes it makes me wonder where the clouds get all that vapour from, surely they have to run out sometime? Just when you think they’re done with their deluge, they come up with another round. What an apt metaphor for the barrage I’ve been under.

It’s been a semester of self-doubt for me. Many things that I’d taken for granted were yanked out from under me with all the subtlety of Arthur pulling the sword out of the stone. I’m not as good at some things as I thought I was, and I have close to no chance of achieving what I thought I could. I’ve had to seriously question my motivations, and ask myself what kind of person I am, who I’m becoming and whether that’s what I really want.

I realised I am practically pitch-deaf and can’t be trusted to sing harmony, short of giving me an in-ear monitor (which would be cheating!).

I also suck at writing term papers. Apparently among the brain cells I killed with alcohol, some of them were in charge of critical thinking.

I am a crappy leader and organizer. I don’t relate well to my subordinates, and I can’t chart a clear course for them to follow. Learn to lead, or learn to follow, I said. But I’m a hypocrite, because I can’t do either. I’m too intent on blazing my own path, without caring that it’s too idiosyncratic to be useful to the rest of the committee. Take a look around you, jester. They aren’t laughing with you, but at you.

My conscious mind has finally accepted what my subconscious has known all along: That my efforts to learn new things, while admirable, have sadly fallen short. Pilates has not broken me of my slouching habit, salsa has not made me a better dancer, band has not made me a better musician. And the fault in all these lies entirely with me. In the end, I couldn’t achieve the underlying change in mindset needed to improve. I thought I could change, but apparently my willpower isn’t what it used to be.

I thought I could still push for a First Class Degree, but now I’m struggling to stay in the Second Upper band. Looks like that dream is dashed once and for all.

I have come to the realization that, perhaps, I really don’t have a heart. I am bored, blase, jaded, because I feel nothing deeply. Everything is superficial. Pain lasts only momentarily, happiness rarely outlasts the flitting smile.

So I was pondering my long list of failures this semester, as the rain beat against the windows of the bus. Perhaps I was feeling a little masochistic. Maybe I needed a ritual cleansing. Probably I wanted some time alone. Whatever the reason, I eschewed the shelter of the umbrella for wet hair and washed-off makeup.

I have to admit, I rather enjoyed it. Both the sensation and the symbolism. The rain was cold and refreshing, and it came from above like a benediction from the heavens. But the symbolism is what mattered to me.

Instead of fearing the rain, I embraced it. Instead of avoiding it, I approached it. And I felt so free, so alive, so myself. I didn’t have to care about what others thought, I could be that lunatic laughing at the rain because I knew I had what I needed to survive it.

I may never make the Dean’s List, date a rock star or do four consecutive salsa turns. So what? Let the deluge continue. I’ll survive. And at the end of it all, I’ll emerge, soaked, but free.

It’s been smoking ominously ever since my shopping spree at Orchard last Friday, the last day of exams for NUS.

A quick comparison of expenditures:

For the month of November, I spent $269.95. This includes my phone bill, ez-link top-up, a couple of online purchases, groceries, and that madness one Saturday at IKEA.

It’s midway through December now, and I’ve spent $968.65. This doesn’t mean that my total expenditure for December will be double this figure! Unless I go seriously insane, or buy a guitar. Which may both be the same thing.

I actually had to get my statement and figure out where all the money went, because I’ve been NETS-ing so much left-right-and-centre that I can’t even remember some of the things I’ve bought.

On Friday at Orchard, I bought one Topshop sweater (I love their basic tops), one Esprit camisole (that was all I could afford from that place), and a CD for my Il Divo-enamoured mum.

On Sunday I was at Orchard again, but this time I was more a victim of circumstances, because I had to meet my friends there. I think I showed amazing self-restraint in buying only one CD ($11.90 for James Morrison’s Undiscovered) and a bar of chocolate. Unfortunately, the self-restraint doesn’t extend to the eating of the chocolate.

For Monday I can proudly claim that all my NETS purchases were for necessities, although some may point out that I could certainly live without them. Live without my moisturiser and wax strips? Look, I don’t think the world is ready for a hairy, parchment-skinned monster as yet.

On Tuesday I had another shopping spree, although it was milder this time. Egged on by the offer of cheap perfume, and the luxurious feeling of my friends’ fleece jackets, I went to Holland Village, Lucky Plaza, The Heeren, Pacific Plaza, and Wisma Atria. My extensive legwork doesn’t show up in the statement, because I saw nothing at Holland V, The Heeren, or Pacific Plaza that I particularly liked. I did buy ridiculously cheap perfume at Lucky Plaza (if it’s fake, Lucky Plaza ripped me off; if it’s authentic, Sasa, Tangs, Robinsons, etc. are ripping us off). Then it was off to the Gap store at Atria to buy the hoodie I’d been eyeing since Sunday. It’s not as edgy as the Volcom hoodie I tried on – that one had paint splatters and appliques – but it has the advantage of being bright red, so I can play Red Riding Hood.

So yes. New jacket, new tops, new socks even (but I paid cash for those, so they’re not responsible for the melted ATM card), new perfume, new CD. Delicious chocolate for my senses, and toiletries to combat any resulting zits. This has to be the best Christmas I’ve ever given myself.

Everyone needs a soundtrack for wallowing in self-pity and misery. Nothing deepens an already dark mood like emo music. After a while of listening to and singing along to emo songs, you start to feel pretty silly, like “why the hell am I whining so much?” then you shut it off and turn up the Bon Jovi instead.

But there are some songs that really, truly put into words and music the pain and shitty feelings you’re going through. Every time I hear these songs, I’m reminded of sadder times, of the emotional turmoil I was going through when I first heard them and realised they applied themselves perfectly to my situation then. And because I never learn from my mistakes, history repeats itself and the songs continue to be applicable.

Garbage, No. 1 Crush

How did this song end up on the Romeo+Juliet soundtrack? Must be something about the “I would die for you” line. If you catch me listening to this track, chances are good that unrequited love is in the air again. Keep away the penknifes and razors, this song somehow makes me want to slash myself.

No Doubt, Don’t Speak

Everyone knows what this song is about. It hit the charts about the same time that I hit a patch of emotional turbulence, conditioning me to form a strong association between the emotions and the song. Every time I listen to this song, I’m reminded of what a naive, romantic idealist I was back then – and probably still am. You know what they say, a cynic is just a disappointed idealist.

Damien Rice, The Blower’s Daughter

This is my ‘generalized depression’ song. Sports team lost? Term paper got a bad grade? Stylist gave you a bad haircut? Someone stole your chocolate from the common fridge? Wallow in the puddle of misery with Damien Rice!

All Saints, Never Ever

Breaking up is hard enough, without all the unresolved issues hanging over your head. We need closure to get on with life. No, we’re not calling you to beg you to take us back. We just want to understand where it all went wrong. You know women. We’re prone to over-analyzing everything and driving ourselves nuts over it, so just answer our questions and we can all move on.

Chantal Kreviazuk, Leaving on a Jet Plane

If you’ve ever been separated from the one you loved, or been in a long-distance relationship, you’ll know why this song is on the list. Oh babe, we all hate to go.

Everclear, Wonderful

This is the perfect song for denial. Hide in your shell, and wait for everything to go back to normal. Close your eyes and count to ten, everything will be wonderful again. I wish!

James Blunt, Goodbye My Lover

Enough said.

Soul Asylum, Runaway Train

I’ve been listening to this song since I was seven. For when I need to question the purpose of my existence and the futility of continuing to strive. Man, I was a disturbed kid.

Zhou Chuan Xiong, Huang Hun

Yes, I do listen to Chinese music! This song is a classic. Something about saying farewell, driving along the highway and looking at the horizon as dusk falls. I think. The best performance I ever saw of this was on Astro’s Talent Quest. I know it was good because I wanted to cuddle the poor guy afterward, he seemed so forlorn while singing this song. You’d have to be a robot to not be moved.

It’s nearly 5am and I haven’t slept a wink since 12.25pm this afternoon. That’s 17 hours on the go. Quite impressive, considering what I’ve put myself through today.

Woke up at 8 to have breakfast, only to go back to sleep after that. Sat for a 1pm paper. After that paper, my brain immediately declared itself out of commission so I went to find some company to hang out with instead. I dragged 2 guys to the gym with me (isn’t it usually the other way around?) so I could use the exercise bike, but then one of them had a brainstorm and we ended up at the swimming pool.

I must confess, I’d never been to the NUS pool before. Reason #1: I can’t swim. #2: I am very, very shy about being seen in my swimsuit by people who might share lectures and tutorials with me. It’s just really, really awkward, you know? I didn’t want to make a massive fool of myself in public. Add to that the fact that my only swimsuit is a bikini, and I think you see the cause of my apprehension.

Well, I actually had fun. Even if I didn’t swim more than 3 metres away from the edge, because I have issues about going out of my depth. I can’t tread water, so sue me. The only thing I really didn’t like was that the water pressure in the showers was so high, I felt like I was being blasted clean.

After dinner we just sat around, until it was time to absolutely get going for our movie. We went to watch Tenacious D in “The Pick of Destiny”. I laughed until my face hurt, seriously. It’s very cliched, but so earnest and eager-to-please that you just can’t help laughing. And after the movie, one of us helped himself to some promotional material from the cinema. I.e., he took a standee. I don’t know why everyone was so astounded with his audacity, I mean, the shopping mall was empty and there weren’t any cinema employees around. Seems like the perfect getaway to me.

We hit a bar after that, to get drunk and celebrate the end of exams. Someone got a blowjob, I was the originator of some scandalous behaviour that was captured on camera (albeit blurrily – dang!) and we stayed until the place closed – which is not difficult when they have a 1am closing time.

Actually 1am is a pretty early time to be getting back from a night out, all things considered. I don’t usually come back from clubbing until 3 am. One change of clothes later, I was found sitting outside the band room with a bottle of vodka, like a homeless alcoholic. Which, in a sense, I think I am. We drank some more after that, and my buzz, which started in the taxi back, increased. But still not to an interesting level. My sense of balance was compromised, and I was starting to slur my words, but my mind was still lucid. That’s why I can be sitting here blogging all these.

Actually, I don’t think I’m any fun when I’m drunk. My rule of thumb is that people are usually the opposite of themselves when they’re drunk. I’m hyper when sober, so when drunk I’m usually very mellow, and sometimes depressive. That’s when I get to thinking about all the deep stuff that I usually try to ignore. Add to that the fact that this is kind of a year-end bender, you start evaluating what you’ve done with your life thus far.

I said I’d learn salsa this semester, and I have. I wanted to learn Pilates, and I have. I fell in love with something I’d only been admiring from afar, and now I’m committed. I fulfilled a childhood dream, and now I’m hooked on the feeling. Where extracurricular achievement is concerned, I’ve done brilliantly.

But I also flunked my term papers, grappled with the resulting depression, swore left-right-centre at every little thing, and now it feels like I’m fighting a losing battle against the monster that wants to vanquish my soul. I think personality-wise, I’ve deteriorated. I’ve become much more self-serving – I don’t do anything pro bono anymore. There has to be something in it for me. And I’ve developed a negative relational style – there’s much more sarcasm and negative humour in my daily conversation now.

Probably the worst thing is that I’ve become extremely superficial. Someone said something today, to the effect of “Are you just a pretty face with nothing underneath?” Now I know that’s not true, I have lots to offer under the surface. But is that how other people see me? Maybe because for the better part of my 22 years, I’ve only been admired for my brains and not for my looks. So now that the ugly duckling has turned swan, I keep emphasising my looks because I’ve heard enough praise for my intellect. I’m tired of being recognised as a ‘scholar’, a nerd and an achiever. I just want to be “pretty” or “hot”, simply because these are compliments I never thought I’d get.
What do you do when you don’t like the person you’re becoming, but you’ve outgrown the person you used to be?