The stab of guilt everytime I see Monica selling Big Issue by the station makes my stomach clench.
I am so unequipped in this country.
I cannot bear being nice to her again, making promise I cannot keep, only to realize it will not work out.
She sensed it. She sensed my distance and aloofness when she tried to hug me in public.
I hugged her back half-heartedly, unlike the protective hug we used to share.
I asked her of her baby, she is pregnant again.
She said the baby is bleeding, watering. I could not really understand her.
I told her I will come with clothes. I went home, I cannot find the winter coat I kept for her. Instead, I took a plastic bag full of clothes I was about to give away. They were not as nice as the clothes I wanted to give her but had misplaced it in the store.
I feel guilty again. I didn’t want to give her these clothes, I have got nicer ones for her. But I cannot find it, and I have promised to see her.
I saw her sitting on a small plastic stool outside the great British library. Heavily pregnant, clearly holding in pain while selling her magazines.
I asked her how she is. She answered her baby is bleeding, watering. She might go to hospital but don’t know when because she can’t afford to waste time in it.
I kept quiet. I could not even offer any word of condolences. I felt like shooting myself point blank. I nodded.
She didn’t try to hug me, she sensed my hostility.
I put the plastic bag of clothes next to her. She looked at me, and nodded thank you.
I walked away, saying I will see you again, I hope.
I went inside the red bus, tapping my paid-for travel card, listening to my I pod, clutching my notebook laptop, ready for a class at the world-class university in the heart of London, with Starbucks coffee on my mind.
My heart beats to sickening pulse. Exuding poison into my bloodstream. My chest a dull ache. I have been so busy, so lost in my own thoughts, life and shit that I forget people who are in need. I forgot Monica. Worse, I want to get away from her. I felt like puking and crying at the same time.
I will try talk to Jessica, my Amnesty president, if she knows of anything that could be of help to someone like Monica.
” D’ya know Sally from Seven Sister?”
“Uhuh”
“She aa, got raped”
*gasp*
“Yeeaa..by a 55-year-old man”
*oh no..”
“She’s washin’ ‘erself now”
a shocking conversation on the bus I heard, 8.30am in the morning.
Today, while deciding on what to eat and strolling along Seven Sisters road, behind our house, we found a small Japanese restaurant amidst the row of kebab shops, second hand stores, little grocers and dodgy back alleys. Weird and out-of-place.
Hana Japanese Restaurant.
It looked dark from the outside, and we were in doubt of its quality. The restaurant was really quiet and empty. We were the only customers and the owner greeted us politely and enthusiastically - a true Japanese man.
He lighted the restaurant, turn up the music (his choice of music was excellent – we were amazed he put on songs we listen to on our own I-pods). The room was bathed in yellow light, with Oriental-themed chandeliers and lamps.
And then, it became a perfect, romantic lunch for us. Just us, the sushi maker in his kitchen, chandelier lights, Japanese geisha dolls, Sakura flowers and all the attention and service of the owner – while watching the sun set from the window.
Happy by our ‘discovery’, Sam then said : I always discover new things with you. I like exploring London together 
Anyway, food was awesome The salmon sashimi is so fat and cut thickly – and fresh! His salmon maki is filled with avocado – giving a buttery smooth finish as you chew it. And his rice is just perfect too. We had hard time deciding whether it was better than Taro – maybe the sushi yes. The tempura at Taro is still better.
Oh,yes. Sam received something from someone 
And tonight, Sam left for Cardiff. It’s been 5 hours since we said good bye, and I have already missed him 
Today Sam started packing his stuff. Loads of magazines, toys and junks to be shipped back home. He even bought those bubble wrap thingy to wrap his plastic toy Transformers! What? I understand bubble-wrapping the mum’s tea cups, but toys? plastic toys? really?
‘Hey, I love my toys. Coming to London is like reliving my childhood dream.’
So I guess owning 14 pairs of shoes is like reliving a man-diva’s dream, huh?
Sam is really, really, really stylish. Lately he wants to be immaculate, classy and thinks he’s from the wrong era. He should be where Audrey Hepburn roam London and pipes are cool.
From the picture, I could already detail out his shoe-evolution.
The lowest of the low to the highest peak :
1. His selipar Jepun
2. Black Loafers by Police from Malaysia
3. Skate sneakers by Es from Malaysia
From his London range:
4. Navy Blue Skate Vans Mid-cut TNT
5. Chris Haslam Sabbathon Globe skate shoe
6. America Transist Ed Templeton Shoes
7. Green Vans Era
8. Red stripe and Blue Vans Era
9. Vans Ozzy Osborne Slip-On in Red
10. Pink Boatshoe
11. Vintage Brown Suede Shoe
12. Paul Smith Lavender Leather Brogues
13.Vans Parra Era (5 pounds at car-boot/ RRP : 50 pounds)
14. Clark’s Original White Leather Brogues.
He’s happy that I am archiving his shoes collection 
I love your fashion style b
For those growing up or has grown up loving Disney princesses, and wanting/dreaming to be one or cherish the happy ending/prince charming/animal singing, this post is not for you *cough*hana fedora*cough*
Seriously, I feel emotional after looking at these pictures even though I am just your regular girl who watched them princesses in her childhood, nothing more. I was more intensely involved with Sailormoon and Samurai -X.
You have been warned.
This is a series from The Project : Fallen Princess by Dina Goldstein. Below are her words and photos.
Cinderella
These works place Fairy Tale characters in modern day scenarios. In all of the images the Princess is placed in an environment that articulates her conflict.
Snow White
The ‘…happily ever after’ is replaced with a realistic outcome and addresses current issues.
Sleeping Beauty – at Old People’s Home.
The project was inspired by my observation of three-year-old girls, who were developing an interest in Disney’s Fairy tales. As a new mother I have been able to get a close up look at the phenomenon of young girls fascinated with Princesses and their desire to dress up like them.
Rapunzel – I think this is most brilliantly done.
The Disney versions almost always have sad beginning, with an overbearing female villain, and the end is predictably a happy one. The Prince usually saves the day and makes the victimized young beauty into a Princess.
Not-so-Little Red Riding Hood
As a young girl, growing up abroad, I was not exposed to Fairy tales. These new discoveries lead to my fascination with the origins of Fairy tales.
Belle from Beauty and The Beast
I explored the original brothers Grimm’s stories and found that they have very dark and sometimes gruesome aspects, many of which were changed by Disney.
Princess and the Pea
I began to imagine Disney’s perfect Princesses juxtaposed with real issues that were affecting women around me, such as illness, addiction and self-image issues.
Jasmine from Middle East
Credit to JPG MAG featuring Dina Goldstein.
And my personal favourite for the pain, loneliness and engulfing sorrow it shows :
Ariel :’(
Beautiful work, don’t you think? Despite crushing those fairy-tale dream and happily ever after hope. Oh, I am so emotional now! :’( :’(
Einstein said : Put your hand on a stove for one minute, it feels like an hour. Put a couple talking for one hour, it would feel like a minute. That’s relativity.
I am trying to focus my brain/mind/telepathy power to make these 9 days feel like 9 years.
Today we continued searching for something for Fiqa, Sam’s teenage angst of a sister H&M seem like a good place to find something for her, but apparently, everything is too warm for Malaysia. Even the cute kaleidoscope sweater is the thick kind that would make your armpit wet the instant you step outside your door.
Camden is always a good stroll. Then there are those goth/punk specialty store selling lacy,racy,sexy corsets and big,puffy ripped gowns and long black velvet cape with ankle length heavy coat with gold military details and spikes. Their normal merchandise – they don’t cater for halloween costumes.
We talked a lot about ‘us’ and had that gooey jiwang moments every now and then, thinking about the missing we would have to handle soon but making sure it’s not all we talk about. It’s kind of cool actually – we don’t really focus on the void that would fill our days after this but we just laugh a lot lately.
Sam seems keen to jump-start his interest in architecture. He’s really serious about it now.
“read the light, watch how it moulds and drapes over your subject, feel it..embrace the weightless medium”
Sam is trying to find the common ground between photography and architecture – and he sees the light. Since using his film camera, Sam is more attentive to light and the effect of it and he likes to play with light to achieve whatever it is he’s trying to capture. Similarly, in architecture, you play with light and lighting to shape the ambiance and feel of your building.
Okay. I talk waaaaay too much about Sam.
Right.
It was sunny today, and I love my Jane Norman Macintosh I bought at a charity shop, which I wear with black ribbon cinched tightly around the waist, with a gold bird brooch and my mom’s old vintage bag which looks a bit like chanel . And next week is reading week. Yeay.
One night on the phone.
Sam : Bb, i nak nyanyi something, you dengar ok?
Me : MM. OK. *search for record button*
Sam : Ok..dengar tau.
Me : Ok, ok. Tgh dengar. Cepatlah nyanyi.
Sam : Ok..uhmm…suara die memang sengau sikit dalam lagu ni.
Sam :
If I was a flower growing wild and free
All I’d want is you to be my sweet honey bee.
And if I was a tree growing tall and green
All I’d want is you to shade me and be my leaves
All I want is you, will you be my bride
Take me by the hand and stand by my side
All I want is you, will you stay with me?
Hold me in your arms and sway me like the sea.
If you were a river in the mountains tall,
The rumble of your water would be my call.
If you were the winter, I know I’d be the snow
Just as long as you were with me, when the cold winds blow.
All I want is you, will you be my bride
Take me by the hand and stand by my side
All I want is you, will you stay with me?
Hold me in your arms and sway me like the sea.
If you were a wink, I’d be a nod
If you were a seed, well I’d be a pod.
If you were the floor, I’d wanna be the rug
And if you were a kiss, I know I’d be a hug
All I want is you, will you be my bride
Take me by the hand and stand by my side
All I want is you, will you stay with me?
Hold me in your arms and sway me like the sea.
If you were the wood, I’d be the fire.
If you were the love, I’d be the desire.
If you were a castle, I’d be your moat,
And if you were an ocean, I’d learn to float.
All I want is you, will you be my bride
Take me by the hand and stand by my side
All I want is you, will you stay with me?
Hold me in your arms and sway me like the sea.
Sam : Bb?? You dengar tak?
Me : awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww..*a VERY MAJOR gush follows*
So, 10 more days till we separate for awhile. We spend the weekends mostly just hanging out, visiting places we love and exploring new things we discover along the way. This weekend, however, Beda went to Bath, leaving her old-school Raleigh Cameo for us to use. Shaz, Sam and I were so jakun and took it for a ride
Despite almost getting slammed right into the poll (shaz was the culprit), and nearly hit Sam (who was crouched in front of the moving bicycle to capture the ‘best’ shot) and getting our bums numb from sitting on the wire and hard sponge, it was an awesome joyride
Thank you Shaz for the most awesome pics you took of me and Sam.
The very tiny photo of the paparazzi, running away from having her photo being taken in her ‘baju tak sesuai untuk tangkap gambar’.
To Anis Munira, with Love and fond memory.
So here’s an interesting substitute for those who fancy escargot. Wow, you just go right up to those rocks in your garden for a feast fit for king!!!
First purge the slugs by feeding them for five days on a single-item diet of lettuce, cabbage or carrot peelings. Then starve the slugs for two days more to remove any remaining digested matter in their systems (this step is optional, but if you don’t do it, you will have to gut them).
Put the slugs in the freezer to kill them. Make up a solution of equal quantities of vinegar and water and soak the frozen slugs in it for a few minutes to begin drawing out their slime.
Put them in a pan of cold water with a dash of vinegar and bring up to a simmer. More slime will come out. Drain the slugs and rinse them under the tap, removing the slime with your fingers. Repeat the simmering and rinsing, with fresh water and vinegar each time, at least three more times, until no more slime comes out.
Put the slugs in a pan of fresh water with some sliced carrot and onion and a bay leaf. Bring to a simmer and cook until the slugs are tender – probably just 5-8 minutes. If you need to gut the slugs, make a slit one-third of the way down the back of the body and remove the intestines.
Yum.
Credit to Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall.
i look behind the cloak to seek the truth of who you are,
a man in disguise?
i eye with suspicion,
a thought creeps to mind,
a dangerous lingering one,
if you’re from there,
then you would have too.
or at least been part of it, if not,
probably in spirit you would.
we look at one another with narrowed eyes,
cool smile playing on the lips,
taking our gaze away,
each with their own thoughts
forebearing the next hour,
i sat rigid, aware of your kin behind me,
in a pretend play of teacher and student,
we made it through.
Sometimes when I walk alone, or when my thoughts stray, I remember the moment I was on that deck of Hunting Moon, at Turgutreis, Turkey, saying goodbye to Turkish ocean. It was something I didn’t want to forget. I made sure I stood right at the bow of the boat, facing the sunset gleaming over hundreds of other yatch/boats on the marina (where all boats station for supplies) we were at, and made promise with Gosia, this is one moment to remember for life.
The four nights spent on the boat with Captain Nuno, Herdis, Gosia, Weronicka and Hel has its own magic that can make me nostalgic especially when the winter cold bites. For that short period of time, we vowed to be family. They taught me how to swim in the deep ocean – for the first time I managed to swim in the endless depth of blue water. I have never done that before. It was a personal achievement
On one of the night, we stopped by a lonely island, with cave and cove – rowing on Giselle – the little safe-boat that trails behind Hunting Moon most loyally, and always smiling - towards the shore from our boat, anchored in the middle of the ocean. I had helped Nuno to collect firewood in the morning so we made bonfire for a BBQ that night. There were sea rats, by the way, trying to steal our sausages
We ate, sang to Nuno’s guitar and just lie on the sand and stare at the sky, hoping to catch a glimpse of shooting star. Hunting Moon’s red light towered the ocean before us, as if reminding us not to leave her alone, moored in the dark. I inhaled as much sea breeze as I could - the freshness was ecstasy in itself. We were too tired to clean up after our mess on the beach - so we went back to Hunting Moon and cleared our stuff the next morning – the bliss of just doing exactly what you want, the way you want it
I remembered rather vividly the morning I woke up in Hunting Moon the first time. I had arrived in club district Bodrum the night before and could only see liquid black, and when we were sleeping, Hunting Moon found its way to a cozy, secluded secret lagoon, away from the city. I woke up to soft morning sun, gentle breeze and Hunting Moon rocking slowly with the sea, waving her flag to a neighbour boat.
One of the other night, we went to the city for some good fun. It was like tramping into sin city and dirty,dodgy,claustrophobic space – which was a world’s apart from the serenity of our boat- with men and women dancing on stilts and poles, and a Russian DJ with only a glitter sticker on her nipples each, wobbling. The night faded into morning, and we had to camp on the beach, sleeping in the beach loungers with dogs running around chasing the waves, and seagulls fly above our heads and some men sweep away at the beach, preparing for the fresh hoard of tourist that would soon crowd – while waiting to catch the earliest dolmus (cab) to the warm hub of Hunting Moon.
Sometimes, just sometimes, I close my eyes, and imagine I am still there. Right there on Hunting Moon, swaying in my bed and fall in sync with the soft rolling waves – knowing I would wake up to the smell of fresh omelets and a dip in the great, deep,blue ocean that silence the world around you and you can sink as deeply as you want inside yourself, surrounded by calm and beauty, trailing your finger on the life that escapes your body in bubbles, wondering where it will all go.
