Aragorn's Cliff

Bwahahahhahhaha! You know the cliff where Aragorn falls into the river in that battle with the Wargs on the way to Helm's Deep? Well, I knew that there were special effects involved but I went to the site today (spent the whole day wandering in the mountains) and found that it's actually a damn small rock! OK la, a rock big enough for a horse, but a rock nonetheless. A rock! And the drop? A terrifying three meters down to grass littered with goat poo. Pooh, pooh. A few years ago I fell off the roof of my house and nobody cried then.

* gives a one-fingered salute to the wizards of movie magic *

Thanks a lot guys, for innocence lost. I'll never hold my breath when I see that scene again.

By the way, not that I think I have time to come online again anytime soon, because I'm hitting the road again in a few hours, but if anyone can tell me how much a wetsuit costs in KL, I'd appreciate it very much. Hey, you can SMS me, I'm roaming! Not eBay please, Ms. Galaxy, cause I'd have to try it first before I buy. I'm thinking about getting one to get ready for some diving next year (hopefully.) It appears that there are some good bargains here... anybody else want one? Drop me a line then.

Look Up!

Some time ago, my sister was sending out mass SMSes to remind us all to spend a moment to look at the full moon and appreciate its beauty.

I was out walking around tonight, looking for a place to check my emails when I was suddenly gripped by the sudden impulse to look up. You see, all this time I've been here, I've been back in my rooms by this hour, just after the late sunset, and would usually be asleep out of exhaustion. Plus the fact that the weather hasn't exactly been so nice to be out and about at night - cold!

Anyway, it's a beautiful night: fair, cloudless, and moonless. I'm somewhere in the outskirts of Queenstown at the moment, and since I can't see the lake and the Remarkables which dominate the scenery here in the daytime, I decided to look up to see what's there.

Whoa!

A sparkly cloud of stars dancing away - The Milky Way.

I've never seen so many stars before, or rather, I've never seen them in this state of mind before. It's like someone spilled a box of salt on a piece of black velvet, infinitely wide, infinitely deep, and you're looking at it from any point in space.

Look up, look up... sometimes in darkness we are too occupied with what's in front of us, and too distracted with looking down at our feet that we forget to stop and see the wonders above. Look up.

p/s:

26 November 2005, 11.25pm

I went out again shortly after writing this post and decided to take a longer walk down this really dark path I noticed earlier in the morning while driving by, and see where it would take me. I arrived shortly at a clearing overlooking a cliff with the most awesome view. Stayed there for almost three hours, which passed just like *that* and saw not one; not two; but six shooting stars!

There have been many things so far that makes me glad that I came along for this trip after all, but that moment alone was worth coming all the way here.

Mount Cook

Just a quick shout out from the foot of Mount Cook, where they shot Minas Tirith. Got 45 seconds left on the net then a quick run to Pelennor Fields at Twizel! Ciao!

The Great Adventure

Just like Gandalf ambushing Frodo that night so long ago, my dad called me up and said, "Reza, you're not doing anything kan? I've booked you on the trip with us this year. Flight is on the twentieth." Never mind that I'd have to put my oh-so-packed life on hold. So now I'm off for another adventure! (Being dragged there, more like.)

So... why not put on Chantal Krevaziuk and sing along as I pack my bags and leave on a jetplane to Orcland and Hobbiton... that is, Auckland and Wellington. I must've taken to 'living in the moment' to the extremes because I have no idea when I'll be back exactly, because there was no point asking; who cares? Of course, like my usual annual trips, I'll be back sometime between two and three weeks - in time for Christmas, hopefully- unless this cutely freaky dwarf lands a circus job as a hobbit in the NZ LOTR Tours in which case I'll start writing from New Zealand in the tradition of Master Bilbo Baggins and Sam Gangee and eventually recede to being just a figment of your imagination.

There is only one The One Ring, so please don't ask me to add more One Rings to the souvenir list. It'ssss mine....! Since I'm actually destitute, having been unemployed for the past couple of months, I can only promise to bring back lava rocks from Mordor, clods of earth from the Shire (sorry, I'm keeping the leaf to myself,) and possibly a lembas leaf of two from Lothlorién if the comely green-eyed elves could ever let me go. I shudder to think what the overweight luggage fees will be like.

All right, goodbyes are best said shortly and sweetly, so I'm done. Bye precious, see you soon.

Green Eyes

What do you think is the colour of Elisha Cuthbert's eyes?

I say they are green, The Saint - he's cultivates a green-eyed look himself- says they're blue: A conflict of epic proportions resulting in the abandoning of The Girl Next Door, who interrupted Serenity, in favour of some googling around for green-eyed beauties. Pun intended.

A fansite exclaims that they're blue. It must be popular opinion since everyone says they're blue although one fan says they are blue-green. Curiously, pictures show them in various shades of blue, green, and grey. How anyone can spend any length of time trying to figure out her eye colour when the rest of her is so arresting, is hard to imagine. Perhaps she compensates for her stunning looks by hiding her irises. We eventually went in favour of overwhelming evidence and called them blue as The Saint went back to the Red Room to enjoy the rest of the *cough* movie.

Hmph. Gripped by the prospect of finding more exotica, and twigged on by a Pockless observation on life-light in the prism of the eyes, I tried to find some specimens of green eyes that could strike me dead.

So who else has green eyes? *looks over my shoulder; 'Damn, I'm paranoid...'*

First, there was Sharbat Gula: now that's a familiar sight. I should check my pile of Geographics and repurpose one as a poster. -- Er... no, it's not that big a pile.

It would make sense to find examples from their genetic descent; this Wikipedia article says that they are commonly found from Celtic, Slavic and Germanic descent. It also mentions that green eyes are sometimes confused with hazel eyes, and can be similar with blue eyes. I'm not the only confused guy here it seems.

The weekend 'net traffic was picking up, so I dropped the idea of looking at pictures and pulled for ascii instead. Besides, I think that wikipedia article has just established that looks can be deceiving, right?

See, Henri Matisse tragically looked to be struck by "love at first sight," a phrase beautifully imaged as a thunderbolt in the French coup de foudre -who says the French are overrated?- and what does he say about that? "Each (canvas) began as a flirtation and ended up as a rape" of his emotions. A passionate backstory to the cool examination of the colourful interplay of figure and ground relationships in The Girl With Green Eyes. It seems that Matisse took his eyes away from the political conflict of his time and expressed it through the discord in his painting.

"... to the eyes of the man of imagination, nature is imagination itself," said William Blake.

I discovered that not only looks are deceiving, you can't also trust The Clock. A search for 'green eyes' returned a strong admonition not to take Gregory Warren Wilson for granted. Is there no end to these twisted veracities?

I'm surprised that there are so many literal references for 'green eyes' in songs as diverse as from Erikah Badu and Coldplay but not invoked in poetry. I suppose nobody really wants dwell on emerald eyes, so here's my contribution:

a flick'r in the light
your beryl_eyes alight;
"believe me dear heart,
i don't wanna fight.
good night."

Just angst. Just angst...

I was suddenly reminded of the Irish, when a reference to a green-eyed sailor by James Joyce bizarrely evoked the memory of my red-tinted glasses sliding off my nose and falling into the Liffey while reliving Ulysses a couple of years ago. I thought it was a rather clever twist to the Wizard of Oz to wear red-tinted glasses night and day then; "so that I can find out what the world's like through rose-coloured glasses." It seemed that I was the only person who got the joke. I bet clients didn't find that funny at all until I said that I switch to normal clear glasses when I work, and yes, I do colour-calibrate correctly.

Oh well, enough of writing, I'm going to read Sax Rohmer's The Green Eyes of Bâst. Eh! Evil mastermind Fu Manchu had green eyes... "an emanation of hell," Rohmer wrote of them. A-ha! I don't think I've ever read about this Fu Manchu character before, but I will!

As for the rest of you... I don't care what colour your eyes are, as long as they're not jaundice.

I Heard Lambs

"You still wake up sometimes, don't you Clarice? You wake up in the dark and hear the screaming of the lambs."

"Yes."

- The Silence of the Lambs

I woke up breathless from a dream of walking through a palatial home in which I saw flashes of Clarice Starling waving a bloody spoon at me. I looked up what it means to see a spoon in a dream and discovered that it signals domestic happiness(!). Since I don't have much of domestic life, I do wonder what that means.

Or maybe she just wanted a piece of me. If you had read Hannibal, you may recall that Clarice Starling eventually developed a taste for Hannibal Lecter's cooking.

Apart from being a fantastic thriller, Hannibal Lecter's seduction of Clarice Starling is one of the most intense stories I have read ever and seen -- I adore Starling -- the chapter when she reverses her role into the seducer in Hannibal was heart-stopping. It turned out to be a fairy-tale ending after all.

The movie's ending was different, that's why I hated it.

Yes, I think I'll make it a point to re-read the whole series again. Especially since Behind The Mask, the prequel to the series telling the story of the young Hannibal and Mischa* Lecter and how he became the monster we know (and love?), will be hitting the shelves soon!

* Mischa is Hannibal's sister who was killed and cannibalised by Nazi deserters when they were young. Lecter's elaborate feasts and choice of victims are interpreted as revenge fantasies for this crime. I'm actually looking forward to find out how she was like -- Lecter had viewed Clarice as a replacement for Mischa -- and if Lecter had had to cannibalise his own sister to survive.

Thank You, Graced

On Sunday, we opened the gates to our home at noon to greet a throng of friends and family that flowed until very late that night. Thanks to all who came, it was a pleasure.

I had the pleasure of having my first dinner ever with my dear Bahasa Melayu teacher who I have not seen for a decade. It is truly such a small world; his daughter happens to be my 15-year old sister's best friend. Cikgu Sha'ari was the first person to welcome me to high school, and he encouraged me to write and speak out in the three years that I was privileged to learn from him. Sadly, it seems that I have withered without his support.

"Reza tak bersajak lagi?" he enquired about my verses.

From any other person I'd be laughing my ass off, but "dalam hati saja cikgu," was the weak evasion -- wracking for a unique thought, a cliche... potent portents? Eh, Senyum Kambing 'ajelah...

"Belum boleh luahkan?" Gentle, loaded words. He speaks so sincerely in his quiet way - I have never heard him speak harshly, even when challenged. It is touching that he remembers me that way, and that after all these years.

He hid a blissful smile, then an appreciative laugh when we thought he that would be the next headmaster -- an Albus' peak of his profession. An unforgettable man, a mench in every way.

I will always revere such a master. Maybe that's why I enjoy blogs written by teachers.

Please allow, with respects, untuk cikgu sekalian, yang dirindu

               Sempat

"Genap sewaktu kusejuk terlikat
pabila sentuhan baramu terkerat
di balik bayang tak berkelibat
bukannya lupa... tak teringat..

Maafkan anakanda yang terpasang
  Jika ada: terasa ada dipandang hadap,
            tiada dipandang belakang.

Kami sayang."

Singgah pula kamu, pancaran hidayah hangat
Bukan saja bara, bahkan api marak pencucuh bakat--
-- belia, 'Beliau memegun'; pegun, terpegun. Tercegat.
   -- Celus dah bayangan tebal menimpa jiwa ->renyah.
                                     {Dah... terpikat}.
Bersama sebentar, waktu dinikmat.

                                    Sempat.

      Sempatkah saya?

      Sepakat saya dengan cik- sahabat?
          moga moga terduga lagi hayat,
          pertemuan harapanku terpahat;
                                      kita bersama mengira saat.


"How can I forget?"                "What?"
(Eh! Menyampuk sendiri; salah tempat!)
                                        
                                        )  "Apa la mat!" (Gamat)
                                        )   Cool, brothers.


Petir kenangan mengiring kata-kata berangkat
                                           berat...
                                         
                                           BERAT!


Dah terselar sentuhan ingatanmu takkan kulupa walau ke Rabat!
Maghribi. Barat.
"Maghrib?"          "Waktu Tamat?"


                            ...


Dingin malam sunyi datang berlipat.
Yang robek memang halus... sangat.

Sempat muafakat dilambung ombak saat
    bersama sebentar, beransur lambat.

Thank you. Goodbye, until we meet again.

Cut it out, for the love of Safire!

I am an exclamation point.

!

Yes, you are fine around others. Fine. But you wish you could have just a *little* more alone time. Okay, well, a lot more alone time. In fact, you'd be happier if you didn't have to go out nearly as much. You get along very well with the period, who tries mightily to take up as much of the load as he can. But fools will not listen. You want to scream, "Cut it out, for the love of Safire!" But, all of that notwithstanding, you do your duty. And, if sometimes you feel like a Chicago street hooker, you also remember that you really do have an important role to play. Your soul remains pure. Hold your head high!

The Which Punctuation Mark Are You Test written by Gazda on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

Bill Safire also says to avoid cliches like the plague... ironic that I keep a blog titled Evil Machinations, eh?

Horror Vacui

The fear of spaces, ordinarily compatible with the most robust health ... is marked by a sudden anxiety, an instantaneous beating of the heart...

... he feels as if he is destroyed, does not dare to descend from the sidewalk to the roadway, makes no step either forward or backward, neither advances nor retreats, trembles in all his limbs, grows pale, shivers, blushes, is covered with sweat, grows more and more alarmed, can hardly stand up on his tottering legs, and remains unhappily convinced that he can never face [this place]...

... If one's gaze were suddenly to be plunged into a deep gulf, if one were to imagine being suspended above a fiery crater, to be crossing the Niagara on a rigid cord or feel that one was rolling into a precipice, the resulting impression could be no more painful, more terrifying, than that provided by the fear of spaces.

(Legrand du Saulle, Etude clinique sur la peur de espaces, in Anthony Vidler, Warped Space: Art, Architecture, and Anxiety in Modern Culture, page 30)

Vidler may have been writing about agoraphobia when he invoked Legrand, but I truly felt the same way when I stepped foot at Suria KLCC after almost six months of avoiding the place.

Which is crazy. After all, Kinokuniya is there; I shouldn't let my literary health suffer just because I am an emotional hypochondriac. I am mnemophobic, prone to ridiculous apprehensions triggered by memories of certain places -- which is to say that I am a sentimental romantic fool.

I don't care if I ever see her again. It's the memories that I can't stand, because I only ever used to go there with her. Understand now, if you can, this is the point of view of someone who remembers how to get from point A to point B only in terms of the relative position of those points to the... erm... center of his world. And I'm just not narcissistic enough to be the center of my own world, certainly not to admit it to the whole world. Har har har... excuse the inside joke.

Basically, to get to anywhere within KLCC, I have to conjure an image of a certain person and place her beside me, so that I can remember where everything is. A catch-22, of course, because I don't want to remember her.

I know I'm screwed up, but at least I'm sane enough to know why I don't go there.

It had all the makings of a disaster. I even had to get someone to drive me there in the first place, because otherwise I know I would have just simply turned around or go someplace else, dragging everyone else along with me. It was that forbidding. Once I got there, I couldn't find every other shop, and even had to avoid the Food Court because there's a gaping hole where it used to be.

Still, it had to be done. Avoiding KLCC would ultimately seriously limit my career choices in KL. Besides, I missed Kino.

Of course, now I feel so much better. I have slayed another Fear today. Even if it was a Fear of Nothing...

'Selamat BerNaNo!' & Raya Special Edition

Someone who does not write books, who thinks a lot, and who lives in [an] unsatisfying society will usually be a good letter-writer.
- Friedrich Nietzsche

Between cold-starting normal daily routines after a (positively) distruptive Ramadhan, and realising that more than a few things have changed, as well as catching up on the blogrolls -- kudos to those with XHTML compliant sites; I managed to stay current through my mobile phone's browser -- it's taking a while before I can settle down and dispel accusations that I've been neglecting my blog.

While I'm collecting my thoughts after a week of visiting my roots and practicing silence, NaNoWriMo is going on, kicked off just over a week ago, while nine people noticed WriAShorStorWe. I'd like to wish all NaNoWriters "Selamat BerNaNo." As for me, I'll stick to lurking at your blogs and silently cheering you on.

Writing and conversations of it seems to be zeitgeist this month.

Thank you all for the kind comments and e-mails. It was a warm welcome back home after an 8-hour drive through heavy rain and even heavier traffic. It's great to be home.

My sister, the prissy Taurean, tells her story of our Raya -- she says it was one of the best Raya ever -- with pictures! No prizes for guessing my adopted colour this year.

I had a good Raya too, and I agree with her, if for entirely different reasons.

We went back to my grandmother's home in Alor Star, and how had that old house changed. Even the neighbourhood is far from like it used to be. MakMak -- which is what we call our gran, is short for MakMakMak, which is what my cousin's kids would have had to call their great-grandmother if the tradition caught on... my attempts at introducing the mathematical shorthand failed miserably -- lives in a riverine half-wooden, half-brick house only a stone's throw away from the state museum and a thunderous cheer from the state stadium. I was born a few minutes downriver at the local general hospital, and this house was where I grew up before being uprooted and introduced to a nomadic life. I have never lived anywhere else for more than four years.

The house finally has a sliding glass door, five feet of it! There was also a moment of disorientation when I was looking for the loo and discovered that it had it's own door now. There is also less chance of kids playing a wet practical joke when the bathroom wall finally extends all the way to the ceiling. There were new floor tiles, and new neighbours too, each with new houses of glass and stone.

Actually, the lower floor of the house constantly changes; the upper floor has not for a while. The one unchanged feature of the lower floor is a mysterious painting of a woman working at a paddy field. It has been there on the wall for as long as I can remember. This time, I finally asked who she was and what made that portrait so special. It turned out that the portrait was bought by my uncle almost 30 years ago while in his studies in Indonesia to show what his girlfriend looked like to my grandmother. Later, having married and brought the said girlfriend home to Malaysia, it was discovered that she looked nothing like the purported image. Wars have been started because of the same reason.

I still don't know why MakMak keeps a likeness of an anonymous woman in plain view of everyone when she is clearly not related to anyone. I say this with respect to the traditional Muslim view of keeping paintings of people, especially one with such a deliciously curvacious figure slimly packaged in a sheer red silk blouse and clinging batik sarong. Drowning myself in Unknown Woman's large coffee-coloured eyes later while lounging on the swing on the riverbank one late night, I idly wondered whether it had any influence on my mental image of an ideal beauty. I concluded that it had. After all, I must have been looking at that picture ever since my eyes could focus. Then again, I think Mona Lisa is a sea donkey, and that Venus is a flytrap, and I have a crush on a fairy-tale character. Go figure.


We slept as a family, all six of us, snuggled up, or rather, tangled up together on thin mattresses spread on the floor in one of the rooms upstairs -- an experience that I will remember most from this year's Raya. It's not that we have never done so before, but this year I'm in a better position to appreciate how special it is to be as a complete family again . I think I already know that such moments are going to be very rare sooner than never. The absence of my now-married cousins whom I had always looked forward to see on these occasions only underscores that thought. It was a lonely Raya without them.

That said, the atmosphere of celebration was as palpable as ever. Throughout the nights, laughter and murmurs of conversations can be heard everywhere, punctuated by the whizzes and bangs of fireworks and the splashes of fish jumping in fright. Even the annoying noise from the next door neighbour who left their television set on at full volume on RTM 1 while they are away for the holidays eventually became a seasonal soundtrack for all the festivities, faded in the background.

I may have stood apart, taking the place of an observer this time, but I celebrated in my heart, albeit while wishing to be elsewhere, walling myself behind a book and shut out with noise-cancelling earphones with my iTunes playlist programmed to play various versions of Smoke On The Water interspersed with jazzy Christmas songs.

I hate Raya tunes, they depress me. Too much sadness and longing, not enough joy. Much more so when it is Sudirman, Mawi or Siti Nurhaliza singing them.

And the radio! "Haha, sungguh tak Melayu la u ni," said a light response to a wry text message complaining of people dedicating 'salam maut's and announcements of 'Konsert Rock Selamba sempena Hari Raya' (a nonchalant rock concert, is there such a ridiculous thing? -- maybe they mean impromptu) over the radio. As if there's anything to be proud of in that.

This, hot on the heels of the question of whether I speak any Malay at all. Heh. Anis, you cheeky girl. I know you'd fall all over laughing if I started to even write anything in Malay.

Yes, anything overtly kampung Malay tends to depress me but I'm not the only one who runs for the high hills whenever someone types out "Hai..." or says "gempak sial..." Not that I understand any high Malay though. Ditto about observing any traditions, but does this mean that I have forgotten myself?

On the contrary, I consider this year's Event as revisiting my earthy Kedahan roots. It has been a long time, years since I spent any length time in my hometown. We are the blood of farmers, teachers, and government servants; tied serving to the land and its people in many ways. Now, here a seafarer, there a tycoon or two. Here a general, there a gaggle of journalists. And among them all, a score of young ones just waiting to find their place. Including myself. I am Malay to the core and I am proud of it. I just have trouble expressing myself as one to others, that's all... being a bohemian heretic and all.

Oh yes, we also make excellent laksa, mihun sup, ketupat, rendang, ayam golek, itik golek, mee kari, and nasi minyak. Mak Chaq cooks for Kings. Ain't that right, cousins?

I also found that I am no longer afraid to walk down the dark lane to the grocer's alone when I ventured out around midnight on Eid for a pack of smokes and a bag of candy as a replacement for duit raya for my little cousins. It was a childhood fear -- the lane is dark, unlit by night, with god knows what lurking in the woods and bushes just beyond either side of the lightly traveled stretch. I could probably walk down that path blindfolded, if not for a lousy sense of direction.

Yes, I have a lousy sense of direction; but so long as you know where you came from, you will never be truly lost. At least, that's what I learned this Raya, and perhaps all that I could ever learn from this chapter of my life. Maybe, next year, I will find another place, and other people to learn from.


In the mean time, perhaps it's best to enjoy the moment and present company and see where they take me. Hopefully, I'll have enough sense to keep my eyes wide open wherever that is I'll be going.

Celebrations

I meant to write on a bit about this week being eventful: last night was Halloween (not related to the new red/orange/black colour scheme, although someone did point it out to me -- I just liked it that way); today is Deepavali and also All Soul's Day of course; and in a few days it will be Aidilfitri.

As is the custom on these occasions, I'd like to wish everyone happy holidays. I noticed that all these holidays have one thing in common -- they are about celebrating life and remembering the dead. For that reason, I think we are celebrating on common grounds, despite our cultural differences.

Cheers, pagans, Hindus, Christians, Muslims and all the rest of you who are just joining in for the free food!

Apt that last night I was distracted from writing to watch What Dreams May Come, an old favourite that makes me want to believe in soulmates and a film that offers a view of an afterlife that I can be comfortable with -- that is, none of that Judgement Day business...

What Dreams May Come is beautiful movie, but sadly overlooked by too many, although I admit that it's because it is too saccharine for most, and the story is rather weak. I'm glad the reviews on IMDB does it justice though - my essay based on the movie after I saw it a few years ago unfortunately did not. Maybe I will do a rewrite on these pages one day but perhaps it would be better to read the book first. In the mean time, I have Richard Heinberg's Memories & Visions of Paradise which had been put aside while I (very slowly) finish Knife of Dreams.

It's also interesting to note that these festivals (except for Aidilfitri, or Eid, which is tied to the Muslim lunar calendar) are celebrated as the Sun enters the realm of Scorpio, in astrology, the archetypal sign of life and death. Even more intriguing, I found out that this year, Jupiter is also in Scorpio, as Ed Tamplin writes about the significance of this event, and why it is an auspicious time for personal reorientation with references to Stephen King, Jules Verne, Alfred Hitchcock, Charles Manson and others - not your average astrology article. This article from Guiding Star mentions even more interesting things happening when Jupiter is in Scorpio. Even if you don't believe in this stuff, it's still an interesting read. If not, let me tell you one thing: with Jupiter in Scorpio, people are more open to sex.

For my part, I'm going to be keeping a close eye on my Scorpion father over the next few weeks and see what happens.

Ah, speaking of Scorpions, I suspect MissGalaxy is a Scorpio. I wonder if she might share her thoughts on the subject here. MissGalaxy commented in the previous post touching on The Half-Blood Prince, and broughta whiff of the "Rowling & Tolkien" discussion to Evil Machinations as well. I'm looking forward to getting more into it after I get back from Alor Setar.

Wow, a first real discussion on my blog :-)

Unless I find a cyber-cafe in Alor Setar where I can chain-smoke and consume coffee by the gallon in my boxers, this will be my last post until Monday. So I'd also like to mention another visitor who had left a comment on my last post, and whom I'm quite keen to hear from again. Nick Hilditch is a phenomenally talented artist who I just found out to be responsible for Doctor Pockless. His illustrations and other work can be seen here at Squint.

(My drawing of evocative objects on the top right is the product of the first time that I tried to draw since my accident earlier this year which severely affected my right hand. I think I'm justifiably proud of it, in that sense. I also found that I can write legibly again, so today I will be going back to Alor Setar for Raya with my first moleskine.)

*I feel so chuffed I know I'm looking like an insufferably pleased cat now *

Thanks for visiting and taking the time to add a comment, Nick. It made my day, and that is why.


I would also like to take this opportunity to thank many of you who had contributed here so far, while I take my baby steps in the blogosphere, and also those who have taken the time to call and IM me to comment and encourage on this humble space where I shamelessly indulge in some self-love. You are appreciated.

So please keep safe, celebrate responsibly, and see you all soon!

p.s.
I also added a lot of other links to the blogroll as I worked on the new design. These are sites that I visit often which had sparked many chain-googling marathons. I would like to introduce you all to them soon as I get around to organising them.

If you prefer not to be linked from me please drop me a message. Mine not to reason why.