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My life is in an absolute mess that is worse than my room. Even I can’t stand my room, but I just don’t know how to tidy it up. It doesn’t feel like it’s mine. I absolutely hate my bed, I hate the computer table which has my mother’s old computer from the office, I hate my built in wardrobe that I can’t move around (and the contents in it), I hate the windows, I hate the layout, the peeling walls even though it was only painted 4 years ago (I remember Sophie Kinsella just published “Can You Keep A Secret?” that year… Was laughing my head off while the house was being repaired), I hate the horrid combination of cheap modern things and old antiques…

Sometimes I wonder how can this be my room when I hate almost everything in it.

I’m scared to rearrange my room in case my mom makes a big fuss. It is, after all, her house.

Oh, I don’t know…

I never felt more pathetic in my life.

There’s a woman, my mom’s colleague, who told me she regrets on making the biggest mistake of her life; of choosing to do statistics, boring and dull statistics but she was good at it and had better career prospects. Like me (or me according to her), her love is actually literature. However, she can’t imagine being an author, the struggle she has to go through before she achieves something.

She told me Cecelia Ahern (somehow now this woman is haunting my life, goddamn it!!) wrote her first best seller, PS I Love You when she was 21. I told her, Cecelia Ahern is the daughter of the former Irish Prime Minister whose father came into power when she was 15. Her background is privileged enough for her to go around trying to write books all day. She also comes from a European country, where people encourage you to do what you like. I come from Malaysia where making sure food is on the table is more important than doing what you like and can’t string words as nicely. Okay, I was lying for the last one; I have never read any of Ahern’s books even though I have one. I refuse to read it once I found out her privileged background.

I suppose if this lady used, I don’t know… Marian Keyes or Freya North, I wouldn’t be able to talk back. Her luck, I suppose, that she picked the sister-in-law of Nicky Byrne and to talk to someone who has a friend who was fanatically crazy over him…

A friend told me that Malaysiakini lost a writer in their English section and that I should apply for the job. Sadly, I don’t really read Malaysiakini. I am also not confident with my writing abilities and ability to write for an audience or report things. Heck, somehow I think that my only loyal reader is my dear friend, Faliq, who writes wonderfully. Do drop by his blog; you’ll know what I mean. On dropping by people’s blogs… Do drop by Rudi’s. He’s doing this amazing thing… helping straight men dress better. I do think you should stick to just men, Rudi. You’re too biased and ignorant for women’s fashion.

Somehow I think doing my law degree didn’t get the outcome that I expected. I ended up feeling less confident about my writing ability than I was when I did my A-Levels, I became less creative, I get scared of being judged… No longer the brazen 16 year old who questioned her teacher’s grammar and knowledge during her oral exam but a scared mouse that got bitten after getting such horrid marks for her first paper in University, which is in her transcript and haunt her life forever.

Several of my mother’s contacts have been “offering” me a job. What an awesome life I lead, eh? Amazing contacts who want me to work for them. On top of that, they didn’t even ask for my CV!! Oh my!!

Which is why it would be suicide for me to take up the offer. I know it’s crazy, but I rather work washing dishes (though I love washing dishes) or arranging stocks than work at any of those places. Not asking my CV shows just how they do not know my ability. They’re judging me according to the person they know; my mother. I’m light years from my mother. I was never best in my class, let alone my batch. How could I ever compete with that? I didn’t even get straight As for my SPM or A-levels. I doubt if England was like Australia, where you need to qualify and do another year for your honors, that would I get an honors.

Sigh. I sound like a spoilt brat who wants her cake and eat it. Sigh.

I really am pathetic. God!!

Categories: Narcissistic
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