This is what happens when I'm left alone too often
I've always been perfectly happy to hang out by myself if I need to, and with Y working really late the past couple months, I've had plenty of me-time. The problem with being left alone too much however, is that I become itchy-fingered and impulsive. That sounds a little like I decided to go shoplifting, but I actually ended up getting this instead:
Don't worry, I paid for it. And it wasn't really all that impulsive. I put in quite a few hours of research before settling on a domain host. And I've always kinda wanted my own domain, even though I know squat about all this fancy techy stuff. Well, a girl's gotta learn.
I got this one from NameCheap and with a discount voucher, it only cost me $8.41 a year. Pretty economical for an impulse/indulge buy I reckon.
Self-indulgent domain name: RM27 A pair of shoes from Nine West: RM350
You do the math.
It took me a while to decide on my domain name because I was tossing up between Sophia Goh and Sophia Ngian. Sophia Ngian might be a slightly better representation especially since I've been using that name in gmail for a while now, but Sophia Goh is the name I'm known as in my current industry and the site will/should (hopefully) serve as home base for a future freelance writing career, if I head down that path.
So it all came down to: which one looks better. And sophiagoh.com looked better than sophiangian.com (the 'a' andthe 'n' sort of sticks together when you look at it and makes it look like sophi angian).
Next up: building the website and finding a good web host. This is going to be fun. Recommendations, anyone?
I'm feeling a little unsettled right now, like the planets are out of sync in the universe of me or something. This niggling feeling began last night before bed, and continued into the morn. I'm usually one to trust my instincts, so if my gut tells me something's out of whack, something probably is.
The perhaps slightly worrying thing is how easily I buried the feeling as soon as I got to work. Having to, or rather getting to, focus on my checklist for the day made it all too easy to brush aside any niggles in the cosmos. At least I took two seconds to shelve it under 'thoughts' for blogging but I really should set the imbalance right. This is, after all, the person who won't even go to bed with an resolved marital tiff lingering.
It's been a while since I last swung my tennis racquet, so when the noncomittal rain of the last few days finally let up today, the four of us decided it was too good an opportunity to let pass by.
The weather held up - it was perfect actually, I was relieved to find that I still have a stroke, and we had a good two hours of play. It felt good to be out and active again; the last time I did something outdoors that resembled exercise was when I went walking in the rain in Mulu, Sarawak, over a month ago.
The urge to get off my bum and start moving on a regular basis has made a somewhat sneaky return. This should go nicely with my ongoing effort to eat healthy. As part of my resolution, I've been having cereal for brekkie at least a few times a week - the rest of the time I usually end up having an early lunch instead.
I watch the Nadal vs Bellucci match from my sofa after a good shower, relishing that clean, fresh and very relaxed/pleasantly exhausted/recuperating feeling that comes from using more than three muscles and getting a good sweat.
At a stage in my life where I have become so cynical, so sceptical, so resigned even, to many things in this world that I cannot control;
Where I am learning to be who I am without care or worry about what other people might think of me;
Where I struggle to hold firm to my opinions and believe that it is perfectly okay to have opinions that may perhaps differ from other people;
Where I am so far away from who I was a mere five years ago some of my university friends would be shocked to hear what I have to say today;
Where just recently I wondered if I could even call myself a 'Christian' because I don't fit the definition of the label - not here, not anymore;
Where soon after I decided the label really doesn't matter;
Where I increasingly find myself in a world that is no longer black and white, but more often than not in varying shades of grey;
Where I no longer judge according to what I may once have been taught because I now know a lot of things really aren't that simple;
At a stage in my life where I am regularly aware of how I am changing / have changed, where I am constantly tuned in to my innermost musings and reflective rambles for better or for worse, where I surprise even myself on occasion;
If our eyes are truly the windows to our souls, sometimes I wonder how much my eyes give away. While I believe in not lying, or trying my best not to, there are times when the urge to smile and nod in expected approval and support far outweigh the desire to speak my objecting mind, if only because the former is the much easier way out. We all have to pick our battles, right? During times when I really need my eyes not to reveal too much, times when I'm panicked, or feeling really awkward or mortified, times when I want to keep my emotions under wraps... do I really give away as much as I fear I do?
Back then, we had monthly checks to make sure everyone's hair was short enough, our nails were neat enough and our hemlines were long enough. That's Chinese school for you, not that I regret it now that it's been almost nine years since emancipation.
Reta and I are trying to feed Dawn a fry and a soft drink in her absence.
When Y wouldn't let me tell him all about the latest novel I'd read - Jodi Picoult's My Sister's Keeper - I whined, "But you have to let me tell you. It's so sad!"
To which he replied, "You always say that. Everything you read is so sad."
To which I stopped, and realised that he was right. Why is everything I read (and love) so sad? Just off the top of my head, I've recently finished The Kite Runner, A Mighty Heart and The Time Traveler's Wife, and yes, they have all induced tears, some more than others.
The sentiment crosses over into films as well. I seem to admire sad movies more than I do happy ones, although I did like Finding Neverland very much. That's not to say I don't appreciate a quality romantic comedy - I've watched Love Actually four times - but I think the sadness in books and films (and music) resonate with me because, let's face it, we live in an often very sad world.
I guess when films and books give me something other than the cliched happy ending, it strikes me as more real somehow, a stark reminder of how life isn't always fair, and things don't always turn out for the better, and good doesn't always triumph over evil, at least in the temporal. Many people watch movies to imitate art, but in a very depressing way, I'm glad art has also been doing its share of imitating life.
Ironically, these are thoughts from an avowed musical lover - the very genre of musical having been built on the foundations of escapism and happy endings. Maybe that's my exception, though to be fair, not all musicals have happy endings anymore. And oh how I love those that do not.
Oh my. this is the result of itchy fingers and a restlessness that invades yet contradicts my urge to sit on my sofa and not move until I have watched every television series / movie I can get my hands on.
I want to. : Travel the world : Take dance classes : Learn another language : Go behind the scenes of a Hollywood movie : Meet a real celebrity : Whale watch : Scuba dive : Go white water rafting : Watch The Lion King musical : Go on the trapeze : Go for a U2 concert
