Kanye West called, he wants his ego back.

Considering how shitty things are going lately, it's amazing how I'm still able to form coherent sentences.

I talked to my mom just now.

I told her, "I just want to talk. I know what I'm feeling is very normal and it'll pass soon enough but sometimes I still want to talk about it. I don't want advices, or judgments, or assumptions. I just want to talk, and I want someone at the other end to listen."

She replied, "I understand. Do you want to talk about your baju raya for this year too?"

When I didn't reply she sent another message saying "I'm making your baju raya this year."

She is so weird. But I have to admit it did make me feel better, to an extent. Now I'm relying on ayam masala to do the rest of the job.


The good news is I'm reading again, and I've finished Franny and Zooey about two days ago. Though I think I might have to reread it again because I didn't experience the full blown blunt satisfaction and awe of the whole spiritual satori, like when I read the novel for the first time a long time ago. And the envy I had for the Glass siblings is too short lived. It makes me sad. Because it could mean I can no longer appreciate their complex lives, which means my bar has fallen down, which either means I'm getting more lazy or it's buried underneath medical facts.

It is a too much of a heavy reading anyway, what with exams and presentations and pretentious pricks flaunting about.

Ooh, and I'm halfway through The Road by Cormac McCarthy. So far I'm not dissapointed but I don't know yet.


God the sweet, precious feeling of reading a book. Who needs sex when you have that?

(I'm going to regret that sentence in about 40 seconds)