Sweaty Pages

With World Cup going on, it really made me missed playing football. Apparently if you are an only daughter, you are not supposed to play football, or being all sweaty running around with the boys. It is not proper nor meant to be.

Growing up as the only girl, I did experiment with numbers of sports, the fun and less fun.

Before football, my brother and I played Badminton every weekends. I was not any good but I could hit the cock, shuttlecock. Then after a while we stopped, well I stopped, since I wanted to go with my brother for his football match.

Then, the football madness burned madly inside me. I was a centre back, but I wanted to be an attacker, but I was not fit enough, considering my legs were tad a bit too short, or a lot shorter than theirs. It was much better playing with my group of friends because no one bothers if you did not played in your position. Everyone just stormed after the poor ball. And running after it when it went over and trailed the streets.

After that, evidently, came the mother's intervention. She told me I cannot play with the boys no more and I should do something rather fetching.

It was Golf to her and Hell to me. I started learning it as soon as I turned nine. Every morning during the weekends, I had to follow my father to the driving range, and hit the balls. Those white hard balls mocking my masculinity. Fun was not happy to aligned itself with Golf. I believe that was when I really start hanging out with older people, hence, my lack of interest to hold a serious conversation with the peers. If I had not played Golf, I would definitely able to do such with the friends (they got the brain, I just got the ability to fake my understanding). And again, I stopped Golf but it was for the better.

Immediately after that, I followed my mother for horse activities and quit doing it. Then, the archery, but cannot stick to it due to the situational factor. Along the line came skateboarding and again, it let me down because my mother found out about me sneaking around to go and skate, and the friend moved back to the States.

With all those semi-ugly memories, I entirely ignored sports, until my brother decided to made fun of me for being a bum.

I knew I could only play football again if my left side is invincible. Damn ribs. And if I have new set of people to play along with.

Starting again is quite difficult as your hold body is used to the softness of the couch and crunchiness of the chips.

Though I am looking forward to start playing tennis just so I can stop myself from moping about how my arms are not as fit as my lower body.

Regardless, I still love playing football more than anything, even Sudoku. And man wants to be girls.

Pretty Boys

A revelation.

Didn't know there are more Brazilians than the Portuguese in the area. Should've known before stepping into the pub.

The antic of 8-10 years old kids trying to impress shorts-clad ladies by expressing their 'queued' disbelief everytime the ball ignores the net, was frankly, a televised minutes on the current trend. I would had easily labelled them as idiots considering the first half of them sitting behind me, the back atmosphere was un-kiddified. They didn't even wince on the thought of the other team scoring. And I thought kids still dwell their thoughts on candies and Mario.

Plus, the pretty boys were such a disappointment. They can't kick.

Good thing someone pointed out a man in Torres's shirt with a (caked) red blushed face, mimicking the great pretty boy on the pitch.

Football's much more interesting when there's crazy bums.


Someone in the Arsenal's management sent an email on summer's job opening and another one of competition with the winner working 'closely' with the team.

Yeah, as if I would like to fuck any of them. Over Wenger's pedo-dead body.

Spinners

Lois: What's going on here?
Stewie: Euh we're playing house.
L: But the boy is all tied up!
S: Euh, Roman Polanski's house.


How I wish my mother would share the laughter as we watch Family Guy. She never appreciates those comics. In her world, The Simpsons is made up of question marks. Boo.

New Herds

They want to open the sparkled rounds to you.
or turn to the next continent.

They admire the settled foot on foreign grass,
and study the language of the unknown.

They long to wake up in a different city,
facing every corner of the glass country.

They stop waking up to you,
avoiding every reflection of the truth.


...............................

I remember quite well, as a child, half-listening to the sound of people mapping the globe. My mother and our close family friends love to share secrets of their travels to mark an overlapping fate. I do not know much about the world since my current situation has not allow me to set my foot on their grounds. Much to my jealousy over their experiences, which only exist once I understand the whole outline of that conversation, admitting your wishes to share their comfy shoes is apparent to me now.

Mother and family friends have lived in different countries for a significant duration. Since, I am not a travelling gypsy, it is sad to say my mother no longer flies with the herd as much. Though I could still prolong my envious thoughts on our family friend, who is currently living in different lands, with a month on each. She is doing some research slash good deed for the locals, and I can make a self conclusion that she is having a blast while leaving her sister's favourite kid (Yes the sister loves me :) ).

Since my field of study will send me nowhere interesting, I can only hope I might become a charity case for a traveller. Haa or married to a fugitive.

There is a lot to learn about yourself and others by travelling. Like, locals love to ask me for directions on places I have never settled in, and for an opinion on donuts. I learn people are weird and a bit daft, since who would ask a non local for directions. And, I learn I attract funny, not in a laughable manner, beings. Or scary men and nuns who would stare at you in public transportation.

One thing I can be proud of is, frantic compliments I receive about my hat or cap or whatever it is you call it these days. Yes, it is the one thing I always get when we go somewhere.

I might not be a constant fliers but I sure am an awesome hat slash cap girl. ;p

Make Me Feel Young

Towered atmosphere,
soothing smiles.

Seasoned hairs,
sighted as shoes run by.

Speedy palms,
catching up to arm.

Repetitive greetings,
"Have you got a biz card, Sir"


............................

Yes, I am able to live through my first day of the first job. Mind you people, a posh bratty kid I am not, even with the pastries and Twix bar as breakfast. That's just a kid being unhealthy.

Didn't have to do much, fixing the catalogue and playing my self-recorded sentences the whole day. Not fun but not bad, not bad at all.

The pedo winks and hellos are a bit funny but it pass as my sweats turn heroic on me. And a pedometer. Holding myself back from laughing at that (though it's silly, which is the point), is much harder than the job itself.

Indeed, a pedometer with a slightly attractive girl on the page.

White roses on a grave




Can (easily) play this song now. Was a bit scared in the beginning, since their riffs hit you in the face, instantly. Then, I realized the bass lines aren't that tough. Though am a bit rusty now, thanks to months of laziness and studies.

And a friend think I should sing it too. I didn't know they're going with the dog sound aesthetic in playing this song when he asks me to sing it. I can sing like a dog or fish on ecstasy, if you roll that way.

Next, learn RATM's and be my brothers' favourite. Haa

Technically, You're Not In.

Yes, that's for the US team to figure why they're in World Cup. Since they call it soccer, it wouldn't apply to the general spontaneous chant of FIFA whenever World Cup comes to mind. I didn't see a letter S or Soccer, making US team laughable in playing football, considering their 'football' is a bunch of tubby man running around the field trying to topple some other tubby. Thus, due to wording technicality, you're not in. So quit telling people Beckham used to play for your team to make winning the cup or have people enjoying your game plausible.

I don't hate them, I'm just angered by the confusions I have to face every time a conversation about football with an American occurs. Sorry.

And most of them are talking about the scarves anyway.

Monstrous Agenda

In presumably, trying to convince people that bears are cuddly and won't eat your head off when you say hi to them. Of course, the bears' name should be Teddy or else, it'll chew your head off.

I have absolutely no clue on the job matters. Considering a family friend couldn't help thinking of my new profound love for nothing, I'll start working next Wednesday, thanks to sympathy.

And Whitehall's 'twatter' doesn't lure even an inch of human brain, which proves he's an awful young man with a fancy face, and few good lines.

And Ian Kershaw will not talk to you directly, since he's better than you, or me.

Unsentimental

Hold on to me while I'm underwater and feed the remnants with your bricks.

Keep me inside when it's cold outside, move around to stay in sight.

Immense yourself in the sea of custard but don't drag it too sudden.

As it all exist in our imagination.
 
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