STORIES, STORIES

Are you ready for my fake rich girl problems? Far as I can tell, even though I'm almost 4 weeks into my new, grown-up life, I'm still adjusting. I have decades of paranormal life in Jeddah I need to shake off, so it's naturally gonna take me a little more time than your average psychopath.  The good news is that I am in wonderment of EVERY GODDAMN THING. For instance, my coworkers' outfits.  Chuk's writer style   On the weekend, I was shown the ways of the public transport. YOUGUYZZZ OMG. It's the most ridiculous thing explaining to people why a grown-ass woman doesn't know how to use public transport. "How do you get around in Saudi?" they ask. "I... have a driver," I say. BOOM. Fake rich girl. "Like, I have a personal chauffeur, coz like, my dad's an oil prince. You know, stuff." It's like a personal car, except not really. After I took the shuttle bus to the train station, I purchased a ...

Things just took place faster than I'd expected. For some weird, holographic-universe reason, I'm suddenly moved to Malaysia from where I will now be reporting. Cool? Cool.  Here are things I did in the weekend. But first, a little background. I live about 15 minutes away from Kuala Lumpur (which is properly vague, because everywhere is 15 minutes away from KL! I think so, anyway, for now). Damansara Perdana is one of many small towns in Petaling Jaya, Selangor. I call them towns because they have that distinct everyone-knows-everyone feel about them, which makes it mostly cosy and safe. I've been told to be weary of pickpockets and muggers when I walk the streets, but compared to Manila where I could never, ever take out my phone or wear any kind of jewelry, Perdana is a piece of cake. I don't wave my bag around like a doofus asking to be mugged, but I can chill and not be super paranoid when I'm out and about.  There are many Damansaras, like the one...

"So what is it that you do all day?" I've been asked since I moved into my own place. Me, who thrives in the midst of crowds that know only to adore me, so suddenly solitary. It frustrates me how everyone is frustrated that I chose to do this and then whine about it. YOU GUYS. I JUST LIKE COMPLAINING. Seriously, it's a thing. There are support groups for extreme complaining as a sport. The novelty of living by yourself is not only fantastic, it's something that, once you get past the I'm-so-cold-and-lonely-hold-me part, you will want for the rest of your life. It's when you live alone that the age-old saying "YOLO, motherfuckers" comes to life with new, very relevant meaning. So what do I do? I do errands. Errands and chores are the most unfortunate by-product of modern life. I'm unemployed, but I'm constantly working. Laundry, frantic floor scrubbing, cleaning, doing the dishes, organizing and re-organizing, getting called ...