The Necklace
“So I’ll see you here on the 15th at 6:00pm?”, she said.
“Ok. Ermm.. could you come over here for a second.”
“What is it?”
My subtle attempt at persuading her to come stand next to me was somewhat.. subdued. We were walking towards the main entrance to the departure lounge and she already got her boarding gate pass out. I walked over to the side, not wanting to block the other passengers from going in. I wanted to tell her something before she boards her plane.
I took the morning off so I that could send her to the airport and see her off. I didn’t sleep the night before. I stayed awake all night and helped her re-packed her luggage. They were too heavy before. It was her who suggested that we don’t sleep that night, since it was only another four hours before we have to get up again. I agreed thinking she would rather get some sleep on the plane, only to discover that she had fallen asleep right there on my sofa.
I was always fond of watching her sleep. Her face gets so warm and peaceful; it’s like watching the glowing sunrise over the sea horizon.
The morning rush-hour was a usual.. horrendous. We purposely missed breakfast to save ourselves some time. By the time we got to the airport, our bladders were about to explode. Believe me, getting stuck in London traffic with a full bladder should be avoided at all cost.
We queued up and checked-in. I felt that she was a bit worried about the weight of her luggage, but I was pretty confident that they would be just around borderline. Sure enough, I was right. We were also getting hungry, so helped ourselves to some fresh bagels, courtesy of The Bagel Street; her treat of course.
Soon, it was time for her to go.
It was nearing midday.
“Could you come over here for a second please”, I softly asked her again.
She walked over slowly, with a puzzled look on her face, probably unsure of how she was supposed to respond. I waited for her to come closer, until she was standing right next to me.
“I want to give you something.”
I loosened my neck tie, unbuttoned my collar and proceeded to undo the clasps to my silver necklace.
I bought it back in 2000 at a street market. It was the time when I made the decision to stay in the UK. It cost me only £5. Cheap, but priceless nonetheless.
I took her right hand and lowered the necklace.. slowly onto the centre of her palm.
“This necklace, represents all my ambition, my motivation, my strength, my passion.. and my love for you.”
I closed her hand and continued,
“When you are ready to start a life with me, just return it back to me.. and I will understand. You don’t have to say anything.”
“I.. I.. I don’t understand”, she muttered.
“Keep this necklace. When you’re ready, just give it back. You don’t need to say anything. It would be understood.”
I let go off her hand and took a step back.
She seemed a bit confused or perhaps she just didn’t know how to react.
“Why are you telling me this now? Couldn’t it wait until I get back?”, she asked.
“It makes absolutely no difference.”
“I don’t like to be pushed.”
“I know you don’t. Which is why I’m giving you this necklace.”
“What if I never give it back to you?”
“Then keep it.. something to remember me by.”
Both of us just stood still and said nothing for the next two minutes, it seemed like two centuries.
It was beginning to get extremely difficult for me to hold back my feelings, and I didn’t want to stall her any longer. I held my right hand up.. for a farewall-handshake.
She looked at it briefly.. and proceeded to give me a hug.
“Take care of yourself.”, she whispered in my ear.
“You too.”, I replied.
I hugged her as long as I possibly could.. as if it was my last. I can still remember the smell of her hair.
Soon we had to let go. Her eyes were red. She was holding back her tears.
So was I.
We both knew we were horrible at hiding it.
She slipped the necklace into her jeans pocket and walked over to the man guarding the entrance to the departure lounge. She handed her passport and boarding pass over. They were returned to her immediately after and just as she was about to enter the departure lounge..
.. she took another glimpse at me..
.. and smiled.
Her eyes looked glassy, and it seemed like she was going to break down and cry.
I smiled back.
She went in..
..and never looked back.
I just stood there..
..for how long I can’t remember..
..feeling completely lost.
It’s been three and a half months since that day..
.. since I last saw my silver necklace.
To be honest..
..I don’t think I will ever see it again.
To be honest..
..a small part of me
..hopes to see it again.
To be honest..
.. I don’t think we were right for each to begin with.
To be honest..
.. I think I’m finally ready
.. to move on.
Happy Birthday Sweetie.
...and farewell.
Big Boys DO Cry
I remember the numerous tips I hear from people to stop you from crying when chopping onions; some sound (breathe in with your mouth and exhale through your nose), some very technical (cut along the veins not across it), some just plain ridiculous (hold a piece of bread in your mouth).
As I was cutting a fresh Spanish onion earlier this evening, a thin stream of tears were falling from my eyes, down to my face, quivering on my chin.. before falling onto my shirt.
The truth of the matter is, yes, I do cry.
I have been crying a lot the last couple of months.
Not necessarily while chopping onions either.
We men have been told a lie... a total fabrication, that it’s somehow not "manly" to express emotion. I think it comes from insecurity really, men who feel it’s unmanly to cry are actually afraid of their own emotions, so they simply project this insecurity onto others. Of course, it’s a lot easier said than done.. it’s very hard expressing emotions especially since we men have been fooled into this believe that it’s only something girls should do. It requires some unlearning and a healthy dose of “This stinks! I’m not going to keep this bottled up! To heck with it!!”
There is a general cultural notion to be happy, stay happy, and don't ever let sad feelings show, and if you do, it is bad. For whatever reason, that's the information we're given in harrowing situations like death, divorce, and others.
People give well-meaning advice about moving on or whatever, because they don't want to see you suffering. But it's very important to allow yourself the time you need to just feel sad. It's a sad situation, so sadness is the appropriate feeling. Or anger, or betrayal, or frustration, etc. Whatever it is, it's okay.
If we let ourselves experience all those feelings, cry, and work through it, it's much healthier for us and maybe even gets us through a little quicker because we're dealing with it head on. If you put on a happy face and pretend everything is okay, it just prolongs the agony.
Things are NOT okay, but maybe they will be later.
If you hold it in it will come out eventually much like a toilet getting clogged inside your heart, spilling out stinking, nasty, waste all over the place..
Holding it all in will be poisonous to your soul..
It will make you bitter, resentful, and dark..
So guys..
Listen up..
It’s okay to cry..
Really..
It's just your heart doing spring cleaning..
A Different Kind of BBC
“So do you come here a lot?”
My concentration on the menu on the wall of the Lemon Grass stall was needlessly interrupted, as Andrew posed me with that question.
“Ermm.. I’ve been here a few times”, was my delayed and unsure reply.
“We come here every week”, he added. “After sports.”
He was referring to him and James, whom I befriended late last year. I have also no idea why Andrew picked the word 'sports' as opposed to plain straightforward 'badminton'. It’s not like its anything to be ashamed about. As a matter of fact, it’s quite popular here in good old little Britain. In any case, both of them would come to this food court right after.. 'sports'.
“So what are you having?”, my query to Andrew.
“I think I’ll go for my usual.”
I waited for a good 15 seconds in hope that he would tell me what he meant by his 'usual'. It’s not that I don’t enjoy being kept in suspense that way, but I thought he could perhaps give me some new insight towards the menu for the evening.
"Funny this Andrew", I thought.
I looked over my shoulder and saw James peering the menu at the Mamak Stall and said,
“I think I’ll go and order something from there.", tying not to sound too conspicuous.
“Oh ok.”, said Andrew, looking pretty much like he’s going for his 'usual', whatever it could be.
James had known Andrew for some time. He mentioned his name in passing several times. This was the first time I had the chance of meeting Andrew in person.
So there we were, three geeks nerds budding Mac enthuthiasts, at our table, waiting for our respective numbers to flash up at the stalls where we placed our orders, much like in the Malaysian High Commission in London, where you take a number and wait to be served.
There was a good reason why we went for dinner together that night. Andrew had managed to secure four unopened and brand new Apple Mac Mini’s from eBay at an amazing price.
“This guy was selling them really cheap because of a project that didn’t take off”, exclaimed Andrew.
It definitely sounded better that way.
“Selling cheap due to abandoned project.”
Would you buy had it said,
“Unwanted gift.”
or if the seller was a tad bit honest,
“Fell off the back of the truck.”
The word “dodgy” just kept echoing in my head repeatedly, like an early 90’s CD with a really deep scratch on it being forcefully played.
“The seller checked out okay. He’s very reliable”, said James, as if he was psychic and could tell that I felt a bit uncomfortable with the whole idea. For reasons unbeknown to me, I have a lot of faith in James, so I stayed with the deal.
Andrew had saved two Mac Mini’s for himself; one for him to play with, and one as a birthday present for his girlfriend. The other two would go to me and James.
Soon our pupils dilated when we saw our respective numbers were displayed.
“Ah my number’s up”, said Andrew.
“Mine too”, said James.
“Hey me three”, I just couldn’t resist myself. The other two weren’t amused. Oh well.
All of us went away and soon returned with our orders. James had Nasi Campur (white rice topped with mixed veggie, lamb curry and honey roasted chicken). £4.50. Andrew had six pieces of chicken wings with chilli sauce dip and cucumber slices; his 'usual'. £4.50. I had a sloppy-looking chicken murtabak. £4.50. We all agreed that James had the best deal that night.
“Oh excuse me”, Andrew got up as his mobile phone went off. I must say that I haven’t met a Malaysian this polite before. However I failed to notice an accent and his English was far too good. As soon as he was a few feet away from our table taking his call, I turned to James.
“Which part of Malaysia is he from?”, I asked.
“Oh, he’s not Malaysian.”
“Really? Where’s he from then?”
“BBC.”
I thought perhaps James misheard me and thought that I had asked where Andrew was working. Wow. Working for the BBC. He must be making quite a lot of money.
I then realised that James once told me that Andrew is a PhD student. Could he be working part time at the BBC? As what? A technician? A journalist? Cleaner?
“BBC?”, I turned to James again.
“British-Born Chinese.”
“Oh.”
I turned to my £4.50 murtabak and continued to cut it into smaller chunks. Soon, about 75 pence worth was in my mouth to be chewed, swallowed and digested.
“That BBC”, I thought to myself.
Duh.
Cekodok Pisang ala Bujang Terlajak
Bahan-bahan yang diperlukan:
1) Pisang yang telah lama terbiar dan bau agak power
2) Tepung yang terperap dalam almari berbulan-bulan
3) Minyak goreng yang dikitar semula (recycle) tak lebih dari 3x
4) Gula ikut sedap hati
Perkakas untuk memasak:
1) Kuali atau periuk yang sedia ada
2) Sudu kayu atau penyedok yang telah dibasuh
3) Mangkuk atau bekas untuk menggaul bahan
4) Pinggan untuk menghidang
5) Dapur gas atau elektrik
Cara-cara mebuat:
Ok, mula2 kau ambik pisang tuh pastuh kau buang kulit dia. Tak payah basuh dulu, bukannya macam sayur. Kalau kau basuh pun tak salah aku rasa. Kat sini aku pakai mangkuk and 4 biji pisang, so kita tengok lah nanti berapa ketul cekodok boleh dapat ok?
Aku ambik sudu kayu pastuh penyek2kan pisang tuh. Pisang tuh pun dah lembik, so tak susah la sangat. Tak silap aku kalau kau nak penyek2kan pakai tangan pun ok. Tapi sebab aku nak ambik gambar aku kena pakai sudu lah. Anyway, pisang tuh patut sekarang dah cair gila and berair.
Sekarang kau kena tambah tepung sikit. Ko letak sikit2 aje dulu pastuh ko kacau lagi pisang cair tuh. Selagi masih cair, selagi tuh kau kena tambah tepung. Kat sini aku nak bagitau, kalau sikit sangat tepung, nanti bila kau goreng, dia melekat kat kuali and pecah2. Kalau kau letak banyak sangat tepung pulak, dia jadi keras gila and rasa pun hilang. So kau pandai2lah budget hehe.
Oh sebelum aku lupa, ko jangan pandai2 tambah telur pulak. Kau gila apa? Ini bukan jemput2 ikan bilis!!! Air pun jangan kau pandai2 nak tambah. Sebab tuh aku suruh kau letak tepung tuh slow2. Gula tak wajib, tapi kalau kau letak rasa dia lagi best. Lagi banyak lagi best tapi jangan la lebih2. Aku letak dalam 2 sudu besar camtuh.
Ok skarang time untuk kita masak. Aku pakai periuk kecik aje sebab kuali aku besar sangat. Aku bukannya nak buat bisnes jual cekodok pisang. Nak masak sikit aje pun. Lagi satu, kalau pakai periuk, jimat minyak skit hehe.
Kau tuang minyak sampai.. ada la tinggi dalam 2 inci kot. Lagi sikit lagi bagus tapi kalau terlebih pun takpe. Yang penting bila ko letak pisang cair dalam minyak, dia cover separuh height camtuh.
Kau pasang api medium power, pastuh tunggu dia panas. Patutnya dalam 3-4 minit tuh dah panas dah. Kalau tak panas lagi, ko tambah lagi power api kau tuh. Kau jangan masukkan jari kau dalam minyak tuh pulak! Nak mampus?? Anyway, kalau nak tau dah panas ke tak, ko letak sikit pisang cair kat dalam minyak tuh.. tengok dia berbuih ke tak. Kalau dia tenggelam aje, belum cukup panas la tuh.
Ok, sekarang ko pakai la sudu kayu tadi ke atau sudu biasa, pastuh ko masukkan pisang cair tuh dalam minyak panas tadi. Kau budget la saiz dalam besar lubang mulut kau. Kalau kecik sangat pun tak best. Kalau besar sangat pun lambat nak masak. So kau pandai2 lah budget. Oh kalau ko berani, kau masukkan pisang cair tadi pakai tangan ko. Itu baru anak jantan namanya! Tapi aku kena ambik gambar, so pakai sudu aje hehe.
Bila kau letak dalam minyak tuh, kau pandai2 lah susun. Jangan main tabur aje. Susun elok2 so boleh letak banyak. Periuk aku first round muat 5 ketul aje. Kira ok la tuh.
Dah masuk dalam minyak tuh, kau jangan pulak gi chat kat internet!! Jaga cekodok tuh!! Ko belek2 la every 2-3 minutes camtuh. Sampai kaler dia jadi gelap. Cekodok pisang memang kaler gelap, kalau tak gelap, minyak tak cukup panas kot, so api ko kena tambah power lagi sikit.
Time kau tengah masak tuh, make sure kau takde jacket or baju kerja dekat sebelah. Nanti bau dia melekat! Sia2 aje kau pergi ofis bau cekodok pisang nanti hehe.
Ok skarang kau kena sediakan tempat nak hidang cekodok tuh. Kau ambik pinggan mana2, pastu kau alas dengan kitchen towel or napkin. Paper lama pun boleh. Kalau takde takpe, nak kasi minyak tuh meresap aje biar dia tak berminyak sangat. Kau jangan pakai tissue pulak, habis dia melekat kat cekodok kau nanti!
Agak2 kau punya cekodok tuh kaler dah cun, kau angkat la pastuh letak kat pinggan yang ada alas tadi. Alang2 dia tgh cantik lepak atas pinggan tuh, kau goreng la yang lain.. sampai habis. Aku dapat 12 ketul cekodok pisang in the end.
Bila dah habis tuh.. tunggu apa lagi?
Sapu je lah!
A Lone Commemoration
I always make an effort to go to Brighton at least once each year. It was there that I lived away from my parents for the first time, I managed my own food and bills for the first time, I travelled alone on public transport for the first time, I had a real hobby for the first time and I felt that I actually learned something in school for the first time.
I’m still in love with the town.
Little that I knew...
...that I was going to end up falling in love for the first time there as well.
Fourscore and seven Eight years ago...
We agreed to meet up in Brighton for the day. I drove down about 170 miles, all the way from Leicester. I was in my 3rd year degree sandwich course. She was in her 2nd year. We had spoken on the phone the day before, and I just managed to pop out and purchased a soft toy for her before the shops closed.
As usual, I was early. I’m very particular about arriving on time. It wasn’t something that I practiced since I was small, it only started when I first stepped foot in the UK.
So there I was, at the train station, with a “Friends Forever” cuddly bear in one arm, and newspaper in the other, waiting for her.
I waited...
...and I waited.
Back then, mobile phones were like rare stones. Neither of us could afford one. There was no way for me to reach her, and vice-versa, since we were both from out of town.
An hour had pass...
...but it seemed like forever.
I had been tired of standing, so I sat down on a bench near the train platform.
Suddenly, amidst a dispersing crowd of passengers..
...there she was.
Everything went super-slow. My eyes were focused on her, like an eagle in the sky preying for fish in the rapids below.
I could hear myself breathing.
I could hear my own heart beating.
I couldn’t move.
She walked right up to me, I was still seated.
I looked up at her face and just stared, like a lone wolf gazing at the full moon.
“Hi!”, she said and gave a beautiful smile.
“Hello.”, I mumbled clumsily and probably still had my mouth open.
I shook my head in hope to gather some conscious back in me and gave her the soft toy I got for her.
“Awww.. he’s so cute.”, her eyes sparkled like diamonds.
“Does he have a name?”, she added.
“Erm.. Teddy”, I grinned.
“Hmm.. I’ll think of a better name for him later”, she said disapprovingly.
At the time, for all I care, she could give ME whatever name she likes and I would still answer to her calls.
She was thirsty, so we went to get some drinks. I was into carbonated drinks at the time, but she wanted something else.
“Shapers”, she said, “from Boots.”
“Apricot and Passion Fruit is my favourite.”
We went to the Royal Pavillion, Queen's Park, The Lanes, Churchill Square (where she bought a pair of Sunflower slippers).
We had a late lunch at a small Italian diner called Pinnochio. It was here that I learnt her favourite pizza toppings were mushrooms, anchovies and olives. It was also here that I learnt she suffers terribly from period cramps.
Last but not least, we went to the Palace Pier by the seafront.
I can’t remember my periodic table. I can’t remember the order of colours that make the spectrum. I can’t remember my Ohms and Amperes.
But until today, I can remember clearly that day.. like it was only yesterday.
I went home that night, still thinking about her..
...the first of many nights,
...for many years.
As John said to Jane (in Mr. & Mrs. Smith), the first time he saw her, the first thing he thought of was Christmas morning, because he didn't know how else to put it
I would say that when I first saw her..
...the first thing that I thought of...
...was nasi lemak on a bright Saturday morning.
It would have been exactly 8 years today.
Happy anniversary sweetie.
Damn My Boyish Good Looks
“You Arabic?”
My concentration towards skimming the front pages of the Sunday Times while stirring my aromatic cup of Italian cappuccino was mildly interrupted by a coarse male voice with a strong middle-eastern accent.
I had earlier made plans to meet up with another blogger, Norzu, this morning for some much sought-after nasi lemak. We arranged to meet in Bayswater, but as I was early, I thought it would be nice to pass the time reading the Sunday paper in an open-air cafe and sip overpriced coffee.
The brim of my baseball cap was blocking my view. I looked up and there he was, seated at the table just opposite to mine. His eyes looked tired and wrinkled; he must be either in his late sixties or early seventies. The top of his head was bald but tiny shreds of silver hair seem to inhabit on the sides. He was wearing a grey traditional Arabic man’s robe with a beige vest. I failed to see a cane anywhere so I assumed he’s still able to walk about without any difficulty.
“No”, was my simple reply, followed by a courtesy smile.
“No? Ahhhh..”, he sounded frustrated and started nodding his head. Perhaps he was so sure of his first assumption. Perhaps he wanted to engage a conversation with someone from his hometown. Perhaps my Jawa (Javanese) eyes and nose appeared more middle-eastern than they ought to be.
It then occurred to me that he could have possibly seen the front page news on my newspaper, and perhaps wanted my opinion on the recent bombings in London.
“I.. Yemen..”, he continued. It was clear to me now that his English was somewhat limited. It was also clear to me now that further engaging this conversation might turn out to be very frustrating for the both of us. I gave yet just another smile in hope that he would take the hint, but it didn’t seem to work.
“You?”, was his next question.
“Malaysia”, I briefly responded.
“Ahhh.. Malaysia.”, he sounded very sure of himself, like it was his second guess or something.
“You.. name?”, was his next question.
“Ahmad. And you?”
“Abdullah.”
He started pointing at the street and said, “I.. Queensway.. flat here.”
My guess was that he has a flat there on Queensway. I began to wonder if he was going to be insistent on having a conversation with me. I also wondered if he happened to have any single daughters living with him.
“I.. massage..”, he continued while making some hand gestures akin to that of a baker working with a rolling-pin.
I nodded my head. An elderly masseur from Yemen called Abdullah.
It must be my lucky day. Yippee.
“I.. massage.. you?”, pointing his finger at me.
I wanted to say "I beg your pardon?", but instead, my left eyebrow just risen up a good solid three inches. Even if I had botox injected into my face, my eyebrow wouldn’t have lifted this much.
I was still smiling though. My facial muscles must have frozen the moment he popped that question.
“Erm.. no, thank you.”, I declined politely. “I’m waiting for a friend.”
“Ahhh..”, more frustration came out from him.
The feeling of extreme awkwardness increased at an exponential rate. I pretended to continue reading the newspaper, hoping that he would just let leave me in peace.
My mobile rang. It was Norzu. She’d arrived at the tube station. I hastily directed her to the cafe. It should only take her less than a minute to get there.
“Kuala Lumpur?”, yet more questions from him. Damn.
“Yes, Kuala Lumpur,” yet more fake smile from me. Double damn.
“Ahh.. you.. number one”, he claimed.
Now my other eyebrow rose a little bit. Was that a compliment towards the city where I come from.. or directly to me? What did he mean by that? I’m number one? Of what? Most eligible male to be given a massage by an elderly Yemeni?
I have nothing against people from Yemen, nor the elderly. I have too much respect for them. But honestly, he was beginning to make me feel very uneasy.
Either way, I wasn’t sure how I ought to respond to that, so I just smiled and pretended to enjoy my hot drink.
“You.. me.. flat.. massage.. half hour..”
£2.75’s worth of Italy's finest coffee almost came gushing out through my nose as I heard that. It was a good thing it wasn't scalding hot too. I would have suffered minor second degree burns both internally and externally.
Such combination of blatant words impeded my ability to form simple speech; to which I simply shook my head while still maintaining that same smile.
“You.. no money?”
I was lost for words.
My mind simply refused to process that last question, although it kept echoing over and over again in my head.
I initially thought he was offering a free massage; perhaps as a gesture of friendship. And now he’s asking for money?
Or perhaps.. he was offering me some money instead.. in return for letting him have the pleasure of giving me a massage?
Err..
*shudder*
I took out my mobile and sent a SMS to Norzu; “OI WHERE ARE YOU???”. I was desperately hoping for something that would save me from the torture of having an over-active imagination.
No reply.
Yes, I was panic-stricken. Sent another SMS to another friend, “Help! I’m being hit on by an elderly Yemeni man!”
She called straight back, much to my utmost gratitude and relief, only to laugh at me and mock my current unnerving disposition. (Thanks a lot Idlan!)
I touched my face, confirming that I had indeed forgotten to shave today. I must admit, I do have a baby face when I’m clean-shaven, but definitely not today.
Why oh why is this elderly man from Yemen so interested in me?
HELP!
Chaos in London
London explosions: timeline
By Holden Frith, Times Online
0849: First explosion occurs on the Metropolitan Line between Liverpool Street and Aldgate
0922: King's Cross and Edgware Road stations evacuated. Entire London Underground network evacuated soon after
0928: Metronet, a Tube maintenance company, reports that the explosions have been caused by a power surge
0933: Explosion reported at Edgware Road
0946: Explosions reported at King's Cross, Old Street and Russell Square Tube stations
0951: Scotland Yard declare a "major incident" on the London Underground
1016: Witnesses report an explosion on a bus at Russell Square
1019: Some mainline rail companies close lines in central London and terminate trains outside the capital. People are urged not to travel to London
1023: Scotland Yard says there are reports of an explosion at Moorgate
1035: Metropolitan Police confirm that there has been an explosion on a bus in Tavistock Square, Central London
What the flippin 'eck is happening????
AFTERNOON UPDATE:
1120: The Army is patrolling the streets of Covent Garden
1130: Sir Ian Blair, the Metropolitan Police Commissioner, confirms that there have been six blasts in London and that traces of explosives have been found at at least one site
1138: A City of London Police spokeswoman confirms that two people have died at Aldgate
1139: A Buckingham Palace spokeswoman says that armed police and the Army have sealed off the area around the palace
1214: Tony Blair says that it is "reasonably clear" that the explosions were the result of terrorism
1216: Police have been called to Leicester Square Underground station, according to the London Ambulance Service
1224: Der Spiegel, a German news magazine, reports that responsibility for the attacks has been claimed by a group calling itself the "Secret Organisation Group of al-Qaeda of Jihad Organization in Europe" in a message posted on an unnamed website popular with Islamic militants
1234: Washington DC's underground system tightens security, sending sniffer dogs and police armed with machineguns to patrol the network. Security is also stepped up in New York
1244: Police say that several people died in the bus bombing at Tavistock Square
1245: Police confirm "a number of fatalities" at Edgware Road Tube station
1256: The Home Secretary tells the House of Commons that "a number of terrorist attacks" have occurred in Central London, including at least four explosions: one at Edgware Road Tube station, one on the Tube between Aldgate and Liverpool Street stations, one between Russell Square and King's Cross stations and one on a bus at Tavistock Square
1303: Brian Paddick, the deputy assistant commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, says that 150 people have been seriously injured. There was no specific warning about the attacks, he says
1341: President George W. Bush makes a televised statement to say that he has instructed the Department of Homeland Security to make sure that American are "extra vigilant"
1355: European Parliament in Brussels sends a message of solidarity to the people of London.
1358: Ken Livingstone, the Mayor London, who is in Singapore says: "Londoners will not be divided by these cowardly attacks."
1452: Polish officials announce that the Warsaw underground system has been placed on alert.
1505: US official says 43 killed in this morning's attacks, quoting discussions among American government agencies.
1525: Metropolitan Police confirm 33 fatalities in the blasts, saying 4 devices have exploded, killing 21 people near King's Cross, 7 near Moorgate and 5 at Edgware Road. There is still no death toll from the bus attack
1529: London Ambulance say they have treated 45 seriously wounded people and 300 people with minor injuries. More than 100 ambulances attended the explosions, taking the injured to four hospitals across London
1616: All mainline railway stations apart from King's Cross have now re-opened and Network Rail urges commuters to start going home now
Scary. Sad.
The Obscene Message On My Voicemail
Allow me to share with you, this very short tale
Of the time that made a red face out of this adult male
I’ll try to tell you what happened in great detail
The day I received an obscene message on my voicemail
Before noon, I left my desk after checking my email
Had to do a no. 2 badly, I left behind a hot trail
Came back to my desk, like a convict just out of jail
On my phone, the light came on, indicating I have voicemail
At work I had to multitask amidst a moderate gale
Lots of things going on, much like a clearance sale
Used my speakerphone, volume to the max on the scale
And listened innocently to what was saved on my voicemail
At first I thought, it was the cry of a humpback whale
But it didn’t sound right, something I could not nail
It was definitely human, and definitely not male
A lady in heat, was moaning loudly on my voicemail
The sound soon filled the office, like strong winds in a sail
All the secretaries were looking at me, as if I was Christian Bale
My face must have been so red, like that of a lobster’s tail
The day I received an obscene message on my voicemail
Whoever she was, I have yet to unveil!
B U L L S H * T ! ! !
Woke up at 10am this morning..
Spent whole day yesterday in front of telly watching Live8..
Over 700 celebrities got together in an effort to end poverty..
Awesome..
Mandela came out of retirement to tell the world's rich nations to relieve the poverty of the poorest..
Fantastic..
Pink Floyd reunited after over twenty years (proving that pigs can indeed, fly)..
Excellent..
Bill Gates made an appearance as well..
Kill! Kill! Die! Die!
Err..
Read a few regular blogs..
War of the Worlds..
Chatted with a few friends on Yahoo Messenger..
War of the Worlds..
Looked at movie listing at the local cinema..
War of the Worlds..
Alrighty then..
Took a shower..
Put on my combat trousers..
Wore my v-neck t-shirt..
Sprayed on my Hugo Boss..
Put on my Nike cap..
Got my keys..
Walked out the door..
Got into my car..
"Low Fuel" indicator blinking furiously..
Crap..
Stopped at a set of traffic lights..
The queue was longer than usual..
Looked like a parade taking place..
The flag was red and white, had a star and crescent on it..
Did they recently win something?
Stopped at the nearby petrol station..
Yet more queue..
Filled up only a quarter tank..
Arrived at the cinema..
Parked car at the basement..
Bought my ticket..
No one with me, no popcorn and drink necessary..
Saw the trailer for Peter Jackson's King Kong..
HOLEY COW!!!
War of the Worlds..
Exciting..
"Dad, tell me everything you know!"
"It came out from under the ground.. started torturing people.."
"Is it the terrorists???"
"It came from somewhere else.."
"Like Europe???"
"NO ROBBIE, NOT LIKE EUROPE!!!!"
Funny..
Basement scene..
Thrilling..
End of movie..
Err.. was that it?
Although true to H.G. Wells..
It felt a bit abrupt..
Got out of the cinema..
It was drizzling..
Millions of tiny droplets of cold water..
Falling on my warm soft skin..
I looked up in the air and closed my eyes..
I felt tingly all over..
Walked into the nearby Morrisons..
Picked up some groceries..
Walked up to the cashier..
"Hi", she smiled..
"Pakistani ancestry", I thought..
Exotic, quaint, yet very pretty..
"Hello", I replied..
Walked back to the car..
Had a few bags in each hand..
Left arm ached a little..
It was still drizzling..
Tuned into Capital FM..
Somebody requested for an old love song..
The late Luther Vandross with Mariah Carey..
"Endless Love" soon started playing..
Maybe I was a little let down by the movie..
Maybe I wasn’t in the mood..
Maybe I hadn’t eaten yet..
Maybe I was grumpy..
At the top of my smoke-free lungs..
I yelled the magic word...
Some thought that it was just a name iMade up. Some said that iBought an iPod and went a bit overboard.
And for Goodness sake, why would iEver make up my own name? All my friends and family call me iJun. It’s an abbreviation from my full name.
