talk;

We humans are mean. You and I may be reluctant to admit, but it is inevitable. We talk. We talk about how good a time we had at a party yesterday night. We mull on our piteous existence. We comment on how only a week before, we witnessed a fire in the mall. We gush to our friends how charming a our crushes were. How...my point is, we talk. Tell people what is going on with our lives, our experiences, our opinions, our dreams, our fears. That is alright of course, as this is just how the human mechanism works. We talk.


All is well when we talk about ourselves. Who can say anything about it as long as we don't sound or appear like an asshole seeking for attention, stealing the limelight every time? No one. Because there is nothing wrong with it. However, more often than not, we don't just stop there. Instead of blabbering about how great or mundane our own lives are, we talk about other people's personal lives which are deemed more "interesting". We are just like vultures. We scavenge for the juicy bits.


Interesting because its gossip-worthy, and there's two kinds. Here's one kind of interesting:
E.g. Our neigbour just bought a giant diamond ring for his wife, so we talk. In some people, envy would be in their eyes. Others, they just don't give a shit. Others yet, the sour-grapes (and sadly over 50% of the population falls under this category), they would say "Nothing to be impressed about, that's old money he's using." or for better-natured they would say "Poor thing, after that ring to make his wife happy, he would have just enough money for a magazine subscription and a bowl to cry into." or... comments that are purely made out of a vomit of jealousy + utterly baseless allegations.


The second kind of interesting would be this:
E.g. Our neighbour cheated on his wife with his secretary, so we talk. But wait, this time around, it isn't just any groundless gossip. How many times did we hear the couple fighting during the wee hours when the husband would sneak into the house, his shirt streaking of beer and perfume? The woman shrieking her head off at the man she once thought was loving and faithful. Oh we heard. So did we see the husband bring home the youthful secretary when the wife was away on a business trip. There were real proves. There was no other way out. He cheated. The poor dutiful wife.


And sympathetic neighbours and friends would console her, saying "The scumbag's not worth it. He doesn't deserve an amazing person like yourself". As for the ruthless, they would scorn and say, "Oh boo, look at her! She's only 40, but my grandmother would look better than her. I wouldn't blame the husband for leaving her for that bombshell."  Seriously, the nerves of some people.


Humans and the power of our tongues. We could potentially destroy each other. It's just a mater of how hurtful we could be.

Instagram

Recently, I have been using a lot of Instagram, and not really that much of Facebook. One of the biggest reason I still screen my FB newsfeed is because of the photos uploaded by my friends, and I could easily do that with Instagram without misc. articles/videos hogging up my newsfeed, so that's a plus. Also, the filters are pretty convenient to change the whole feeling of the photographs. I feel.

Anyway, Here's a few photos taken with Instagram lately! Join me @esthersequins! 
Btw, I have to admit its mostly consisting of my self-shots, so....um. HI.

Love, me!

fun columns;

Here you go! Picture of a cowgirl-wannabe before we start!

Columnists. Not just any Tom Dick and Harry who writes in boring columns that no one ever reads in the magazine, newspaper, or any other medium. You know, the type of columns with zero dedicated readership? 

No. What I'm referring here is this type: Funny, sarcastic (Seriously, there could be no better combination than these two put together!) columnists that would have me snickering in a corner all by myself, inviting numerous times of raised eyebrows from the boyfriend sitting there doing his work. Man, how I absolutely love them. I'm a sucker for good informative articles with an....attitude? Uh, alright, I'm not sure if that's the right word. Articles where I can gain knowledge, and ridiculous amount of snorted laughter. Some columnists just have that way of writing so creative it exhausts you. The way they string the words together...I mean plenty of people could do it just as well! But, Well, I don't know, i just have a thing for that sort of columnists.

I started reading a LOT of columns when I was...very very youn- OK, truth be told, it all began only last month, and I'm HOOKED. I put things aside just to read them. A very good example would be right now, when I should be either be 1. Sleeping or 2. doing some real concrete revision (Finals is in about... 2 WEEKS. THAT'S RIGHT. I SHOULD BE GOING IN ABOUT 2 SECONDS), and not be writing about how very amused I am by the writings of some trenchantly witty columnists on the websites who live at the other side of the world, and who, I believe, are under-credited for their work.

BYE. Off to read some more articles *throws revision notes aside*

Sick to my stomach;

Hi. This is me, and I shall introduce myself as the world's , heck I mean the whole universe's biggest nervous wreck. I worry incessantly. Things that matters, and things that doesn't. Obviously everyone would understand why anyone would worry about big things. It's the small tiny trivial matters that freaks me (me and only me) out that would set an avalanche of eye-rolling attacks from the people around me, followed by strings of reasons why i should not care, not even a bit, because it means no shit. Interestingly enough, during those moments, instead of heeding advice, I would cocoon myself from the people around me, and fall into the abyss of self-pity.  Scaring myself out of my pants.

For nothing, of course.

I worry unneccesarily about misfortunes that has yet to happen.  Misfortunes that won't actually in reality happen, and even if they do, the chances are low. I count on those though, the tiny possibilities. I wasn't known to have the best luck around, see. I'm not unlucky, per se. Just...I think I'm jinxed to some extent. Um, no, "jinxed" is a little too harsh. I don't know how to put it. Hold on. Let me get a quote from my friend's blog. Ok, here:

....so that everytime when I'm anticipating something, there's this tiny voice in my head that says talking about it or even being excited will inevitably cause it to not come true. Which is kinda true, what with Murphy's law and all.

For instance, I'm praying super hard for something to not happen, say I'm praying for a sunny day because there's an outdoor event I'm dying to attend. Prayed for days even. The day arrived, and WHAT DO YA KNOW! It rained. Oh wait, sorry, it didn't just rain, it's a freaking storm + blizzard + tornado out there! Who could blame me if I told anybody who'd listen that I'm an agnostic? My prayers were never answered. *roll eyes*


But, I guess I still have a little luck in me. Like, when I expect the worst (and I really do mean the worst), I receive good news! Which brings us to something. This whole post was inspired by an incident few weeks back. Some hotel reservations I made for my upcoming trip to Taiwan. It was my first time booking through agoda.com, and for one whole night I thought I was cheated of RM600 because I didn't get a confirmation email from them when they said they would send it to me within the hour.


Needless to say, I got anxious when I didn't get any thing after two hours. Forums with complaints about it didn't help either. In the end, after calling my mum and a couple of friends, I finally sort of calmed down (reluctantly. because I was SO sure the website was a hoax). But, ta-dah(!), the next morning my email arrived, complete with booking vouchers and all! All that stress and body trembles?

 Once again, for nothing.

question;

Question of the day:
How does it feel like when some one who has gone through the effort to look good, putting on makeup, doing her hair, wear a killer dress and yet, still manage to look just average beside another girl who has a loose tshirt on, and messy bed-head? Save for makeup.
Or worse, no one noticed the effort. That could be one of the most crushing feelings in the world. I hope none of us has felt that before, and never will.

Just a thought. xx