Rant of a woman.

An egocentric post.
You have been warned.

I’m 24-going-on-25.

Since graduation, I’ve been working my ass off 60-ish hours a week in one of the most hardcore business I could’ve dived into, spend my off days trying to recharge just so I don’t die the next day I go to work (or making necessary calls to keep the business going), and trying my best to make my way in this epically massive world.

Yet the question most people ask me is “So when are you planning to get married?”

Continue reading

Manifesto: Appreciate.

Prompt from here,
with a touch of this prompt.
“Write a manifesto”, they said.
Took ages to Google what it really means.
Is this even a manifesto?
.
.
.

Appreciate
/əˈprēSHēˌāt/
verb
1. Recognize the full worth of.
2. Understand (a situation) fully; recognize the full implications of.

It’s easy to explain what this word means, but it could be quite hard to actually try and it. Have you appreciated something today? Life’s been good to me lately, so I’m taking these moments to actually stop and… well, stare.

Don’t just stare.
Observe.

“You see, but you do not observe.”

What are the things you take for granted?

The random coins you found in the pocket of your jeans?
Your parents calling just to say hi?
That time when you managed to squeeze the last drop out of your toothpaste tube?

 

Appreciate.
Get used to doing it.
It makes this world a better place.

Don’t know where to start?
Try this.

  1. Fact: my small rented room.
    What to appreciate: its air-con and water heater and cable TV.
  2. Fact: messy piles of clothes.
    What to appreciate: piles of clothes.
  3. Fact: a very old laptop I got for free from the university.
    What to appreciate: it’s f*cking free.
  4. Fact: I’m …short.
    What to appreciate: I’m …quite healthy.
  5. Fact: I’m kinda broke.
    What to appreciate: Not broke enough. Still be able to play for electricity.
  6. Fact: Work is exhausting.
    What to appreciate: I have a job.
  7. Fact: My room smells like cigarette smoke.
    What to appreciate: …wait, how to do this one. I don’t even smoke.
    Oh. It meant that one particular smoker is patient enough to deal with me and teach me stuff, spending long enough time doing so until the smell sticks.

Well that last one is quite a stretch but hey, at least I tried.

How about you?
What are the things you take for granted?

Look around you.
Observe.
Appreciate.

C10.H14.N2

Prompt from here.
A companion to this post.
Recycling an old post for nostalgic reasons.
Cookie point if you could guess what the title means.
…before you read the post.

.

.

.

When I stepped into the apartment, the smell of the usual sandalwood incense tickled my senses as I chucked my fake leather clutch and heels to the floor. Relieving the burden off my shoulders and feet had always been a highlight of the day whenever I got home from the so-called office parties.

Now, the best part: shower.
It’s essential to get rid of the horrible smell of cigarette smoke sticking to my clothes and hair. It’s been a year, and I hadn’t been able to get used to this… this… socialising part of living. Because socialising means I need to hold my breath and hope I’d come out alive after every single conversation in the party.

I don’t smoke.
I grew up in a house where nobody smokes.
I grew up looking down on smokers, wishing them the worst of luck every time they blew their smoke against my face like I’m a fucking ashtray. I despise it from the bottom of my heart.

Yet there was a weird feeling when I stepped out of the bathroom.
It was loss instead of the usual relieve.
It was when I no longer smelled the reek that was cigarette smoke.

The morning after, I realised why.

‘Don’t you remember? He’s a smoker.’

.

.

.

Now for the cookie point.
C10H14N2 is the formula for Nicotine!
Anyone guessed right?

Wake up and smell the -

Prompt from here.
A recycled fic just because it’s almost 4 in the morning and I miss watching Suits, so here’s something that I’d like to imagine happen in what looked like Harvey Specter’s office.

P.S.
yes, I shamelessly stole a name from BBC Sherlock.

.

.

.

Knock, knock.

‘Come in.’

The infamous probie huffed and clicked the door open, a heavy folder tucked in her arms. ‘Good evening,’ she said to the man sitting in his desk, ‘you requested for a report regarding th-‘

‘The Anderson case?’ he cut in, looking up immediately. She cleared her throat to keep herself from laughing at his loose tie and tousled hair. Despite the fact that she worked for him, there were times when she couldn’t think of him as other than a co-worker due to his age. Perks of being a prodigy, everyone’s golden rookie – probably.

‘Exactly.’ She dropped the folder on his desk and smiled. ‘I’m done for the day. If you don’t need anything else, I’ll be going. And with all due respect, Sir, I think so should you.’

He blinked and stopped whatever it is he was doing. The table on the other side of the room had a pot of coffee that looked suspiciously untouched, seeing how it was full yet no longer hot. He sighed. She noticed the city lights flickered behind him beyond the glass-walled office, another feeble reminder of how late it had been.

‘It’s 11 PM. And with all due respect, you look even more tired than me.’ He snickered. She rolled her eyes and tugged at her shirt just for the heck of it  He stood up, strolled across the room and poured two cups of the cold dose of caffeine. ‘Here, have some. I’ve had too much these days. At least stay awake until you got home safe, yeah? Can’t have my associate collapse in the middle of this hellish period.’

She rolled her eyes, but took the offer anyway. After a horrible cup of cold coffee, she got home safe that night as he wished.

The next morning, out of curiosity, she tried to assure herself the coffee was bad due to being forgotten for hours. How wrong she was.

‘I just realised how horrible our coffee is,’ she chuckled, glancing at the coffee machine in the pantry. The freckled office boy laughed as he continued making what looked like someone else’s cup of… tea?

‘When did you start drinking them “cheap office caffeine”?’ he laughed. ‘I failed to give you any for weeks.’
She bit a cookie and replied lightly, ‘Nah. My boss offered me some when I dropped my report last night. It would be impolite to refuse, but truth be told it was… eugh.’

‘He gave you… coffee?’
‘Nearly poisoned me with it last night.’

‘From his office.’
‘…the fact that you’re bothered by him having coffee is amusing me.’

He looked at her with a sudden interest. ‘Well, because that’s weird.’ The disbelieved tone sounded almost sarcastic in her ears.
She looked up from the half-filled mug. ‘What’s weird?’

‘I’ve spent two years here making everyone’s coffee. He doesn’t drink any.’