Tongue in Chic!

this is my entry for the tongue in chic - urbanscapes contest, i hope i win. i just threw in more polyvore images i'm proud of. power to the polyvore. i want me a kitsch t-shirt stat! :) well, there it is, my entry... fingers crossed:

Petrol Cham.

Petrol prices have increased by a 70 sen slant. The truth of the matter is, I don't doubt its increase. I mean, I might not be used to it just yet, but I can definitely accommodate to the reception of the idea, as well as the understanding of such. I understand that world oil prices have increased. I also understand that the Thais amongst our other neighbours come on over to fill up their tanks here instead of wherever, leading to an abyss of loss. However, I also understand that the stuff of what we export are champagne oil - refined to the core, whereas we import crude oil for ourselves to meet with our consumption of petrol, vaseline, and tar among other things. As the selling price of our exportations increase, so do our imports. Would that not leave us at the same place we were before? I understand the government can't compensate the loss of 47 billion ringgit a year, but aren't there ways to re-route our government funding? Like the Datuk-Datin holiday trust fund (no discriminating, it happens everywhere), like the scholarships that are only given out to the richly connected kids anyhow. However, I do understand at RM1.70 a litre, we were borderline stealing our petrol - however, take into consideration that the average Malaysian would make RM1000 a month. It barely adds up. It's strange. I'm rambling. But I understand. Whoa, I'm confused.

Year 100, Holy Smokes Batman!

Considering we live in a patriarchal society that privileges everything masculine, where mainstream equates malestream, why is it socially correct to leave the toilet seat down? Why, why why?

castrated males equals female armpits.

I have come to understand the need to considering and reconstructing the framework that drives our society. All we are is patriarchal, and all we have is the negotiation between power and agency. Everything is in relation. To discriminate some one is to elevate and celebrate another.

And really, I lack in so many ways; amidst my penis envy, in my non-Occident state, in my position as a Catholic in an Islamic state; it can go on forever, so long as you align it against an other in a certain context. I worry about my being not as a woman, but as a woman living in the post-colonial era. A woman with an identity and body that serve as markers of judgment in class and race.

The term post-colonial itself is heavily packed. It relays a sense of aftermath, of effects. Of the residue of geographical, cultural, economic and social divides. The paradoxical trouble lies in that even with celebratory racial unifying campaigns such as by the Body Shop and the United Colours of Benetton, such tends to instead envelope humans as a trope, masking lived realities and silencing the oppressed. Within the discrimination and the paternalistic devices, what way is the way out? Which is the way beyond extension of Western imperialism? Which is the way toward my utopia of equality and equity?

Cows have udders.

Procrastination lands at the strangest of destinations. I have two assignments and presentations respectively due this week, and here I am, writing a post after having not updated for a little less than a year.

A one, a two, a one, two HO-DOWN:

- Aidan and I broke up. I got over that Mr. Big, and I found a Burger. This is a metaphor as literal it gets, as though to say, "My mum's fat like Oprah". In terms of my life, this is as pathetic as it gets.

- Surprise, surprise, after a semester of Feminist Theory, I discovered that I am not a feminist. In fact, besides being racist, and an elitist, I also think women are dumb.

- I think I have lost my skills in drinking. This is depressing, as this was my only good Indian trait (as compared to body odour and hairiness).

- I discovered my left boob is totally bigger than that of my right.

Here seeps procrastination.