SPOTTED: english mishaps in posters around IIUM

Before I begin, I'd like to put out a reminder for a few readers of my blog: It's okay if you hate me. Just don't go behind my back to warn others about me, yeah?

I have always heard awful stories about people I've never met before. Come on, people gossip. But my philosophy is this: unless they actually come up to me and prove that they're awful, I accept them. So I hope people will give me the same courtesy, and disregard the rumours about me, and get to know me for yourself.

***

My posts have been so depressing lately that the people who care are getting concerned. Oops! Okay, enough with all the dark stuff, and on with the light-hearted things that define my blog, eh? ;-)

If there's one thing thats odd about me -- besides the way I put on my tudung; my roommate Farah thinks it's hilarious every time -- is that I tend to analyse every poster I see. Multiple times, even, if it's at the area I happen to walk by a lot. It doesn't matter if it's the size of a postage stamp, or if it's been there since 1997, or it's merely an I hate SRC scribble on the wall. I read it.

What catches my interest the most are how awful some of the English is. You'd think, considering we're in a university that starts with the word International on it, that they'd use a spell-checker at least to fix their English before they put it up on display for eyes to see and mouths to ridicule. But no, the horrors you'd find here...

Here are my choice favourites.

Out of all the words to misspell, paper?! Has this person never read a word of English before?

Hmmm... interesting service they're offering here. But there's not much of a demand for hares, sadly.

Even if I do wear perfume (which I don't), nothing could persuade me to fork over RM60 for a label as dodgy and rip-off sounding as Victoria Secret's.

...And now we are gone?

Let us join us, they say. No, just... no.

Are they trying to say Women Are challenging, or Women's Challenges?

And of course, the infamous virgin bins just begging to be "used".

No connection whatsoever with the post, but I couldn't resist. My little brother Firdaus with my baby nephew Ali ;-)

It's a nice, shiny brand new day, and I'm feeling optimistic

A guy I helped give directions on Wednesday won't stop messaging me, even though I don't reply.

Instead of feeling satisfied about not replying, I feel guilty.

I think because he's not a local, that throws off my natural hostility towards strange men who message me.

Worst comes to worse, if he messages me again, I'll just tell him that my husband doesn't like it, so could he please stop it?

I hate writing depressed posts. But I'm depressed, so bear with me.

Let's say you're in trouble right now with a few people, though you're not exactly sure why, because they refuse to even look at you, never mind tell you why they're angry.

Let's say, out of the blue, a friend whom you haven't contacted in a long time, and isn't involved with the trouble in any way, and in fact is staying in another campus altogether, suddenly sends you an text message at 1.20 am.

"Nite dear... sweet dream."

You stare at the phone in disbelief. Why on earth is he sending you this message? The last time you sent him a message asking him how he's doing was weeks ago, and his reply was, to put it simple, brief. "Sorry, no credit. Take care."

Lovely.

So you come to the logical conclusion that he was actually sending the message to his girlfriend, or whoever. You reply: "eh, salah hantar ke?"

His reply is huffy. "No. Is it wrong to wish my sister goodnight? Fine, take care with your life. All the best."

On another day, you would probably have shrugged and moved on. But right now, you are desperate for someone -- anyone -- to listen to your pathetic case. And hey, you and him used to be really close before you guys had a fight involving his now ex-girlfriend. So you reply: "I'm sorry. It was just strange. That you would SMS me tonight. When my life is so f***ed up. I miss the good old days. Goodnight."

As you predicted, he takes the bait. He apologises for being so emo, and asks what's going on. He even sweetly offers that you can call him if you want. You refuse the offer, and send him the short, condensed version of your problems. Very short, actually, because you want to save your credit and fit it into one SMS.

He calls you up. You have no choice but to answer the phone. You both talk a bit, each updating the other on what's going on right now on campus. Then you hang up, feeling relieved at having confided to an old friend.

But the relief is short-lived. It always is, isn't it?

Because the next day, you discover you're in worse trouble than ever. You find out that apparently a twisted version of the mess you're in has somehow spread among the students of not just your own campus, but the campus of your oh-so-concerned friend.

Oh, yes, the "concerned" friend had apparently relayed the conversation to at LEAST one person. And not just any one person, but his ex-girlfriend, who has nothing to do with the mess AT ALL. Isn't life funny that way? In fact, you discover that he has informed his ex-girlfriend that you were the one who called him. Which is why she hates you even more now.

What?!

You want to laugh at what life is throwing at you, really. Instead, you take advantage of your fury by calling up the Concerned Friend, yelling at him in a way you've never yelled at anyone before -- never mind a guy who's older than you and supposedly your pet brother -- and listen to him stammer out "okay, why don't you mind your own business, I mind my own business, and everyone else minds their own business."

You let out a cold, calm laugh. "That is a perfect suggestion, which I shall follow."

Then you hang up.

I hate LRT. And Other Unrelated Matters.

I have a bit of a confession to make. I have been skipping my Sociology class A LOT of times lately. It’s at 9am on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and it’s my earliest class on the schedule. Last week, on Tuesday, I skipped it because I couldn’t bring myself to get up from my bed – despite my hard-as-rock mattress and equally hard-as-rock, Tesco-bought pillow. Yeah, I was that sleepy. Totally my fault for staying up late, I know. It makes one wonder how KAED students can survive literally a week without sleeping, just to finish their projects… can any of my KAED readers shed any light on this mysterious matter? Because I seriously need some tips. My circadian rhythm – the sleep-wake cycle – is all wrong; I love to sleep during the day time and prefer to be wide awake at night. Dina says I have too much melatonin – the hormone that makes you sleepy. (Wow, my blog is getting educational!)

This Monday I had skipped it because I was late. I had timed myself perfectly so that I would arrive on campus from my house at EXACTLY 9am, but instead I arrived 20 MINUTES after. 20 MINUTES!!! I had even woken up really early that Monday morning, all set to get back to campus and attend class. It would be a one-hour journey involving a taxi-ride to Kelana Jaya LRT station, then I would have to take the LRT to Terminal Putra, and finally, a taxi to campus. I know, I know, buses are a lot cheaper than taxis (and are a lot less likely to reek of Body Odour, too), but the schedule was unpredictable, and I had more money than time to spare.

So there I was, right on time at the LRT station, ready to board the first train. But thanks to the fact that one of the LRT tracks had closed down, I had had to wait fifteen minutes for a train to arrive, despite the sign board perpetually saying that a train would be arriving in 3 minutes 19 seconds. 3 minutes, my arse. I got through, what, 3 or 4 Coldplay songs on my MP3 Player before the train did arrive? Bang goes all my carefully prepared time calculations! I was all, dammit, I woke up early for nothing! And fifteen minutes later, when I got into the LRT, it was sardine-packed and I couldn’t get to sit down and get some shut-eye, like I had planned the night before. Sardine-packed, EVEN THOUGH Kelana Jaya is the first station!

But anyway, not to worry, to those who are concerned that I will get barred from exams! Even though I skipped that class, a classmate told me that it was cancelled anyway. Man, I’m lucky.

But sheesh, I really hate the LRT! The last time it failed on me was last month, when, at every single station, it would just wait there for 10 freaking minutes before moving on. People, there are 21 stations between Kelana Jaya to Terminal Putra, and the train. Stopped. At. Each. One. For. Ten. Minutes. And what was worse was that I had to stand throughout the two-hour journey, wedged uncomfortably between other many people of all shapes, sizes and odours. After the train gradually emptied and I finally did get a seat (I think it was by the 17th station or so), I only got to savour the relief for five minutes. Why? Because, at the next station, an officer demanded we all empty the train, and go on the next one. The next one was (surprise, surprise!) jam-packed, and I found myself standing up again. Sheer torture.

I was so obviously absolutely not going to make it to my first class that day, which was Mass Comm at 11.30, so you can imagine how relieved I was when Atikah called me up to say it was cancelled. Wee hee!

***

Other Unrelated Matters:

Today was unexpectedly depressing – though I should have anticipated it, based on the heavy rain this morning and the shit I’ve put myself into these past few weeks. I know I have no one to blame but myself for being in the situation, but that doesn’t make the consequences easier to bear. Even shed a few tears or so in my room, though thankfully none of my roommates noticed because I was on my top bunk bed. I was ready to just skip my Political Science class (the only class I have never EVER skipped because I love it so – I think I shall major in this course instead of Mass Comm), cancel dinner with Naz, and mope under the covers.

But instead I climbed down my bed, reapplied my compact powder, and left the room for class. Because you know what? If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that when you are depressed, you’ve got to keep busy. That way, you can keep your mind off the things that’s bringing you down, and actually do something productive. Way better than sleeping for 4 hours, and then waking up feeling crappier than before because you just skipped class and have nothing to do but think about how much you want to kill yourself.

And, gosh darnit, I have a lot of things to keep myself busy with! Tomorrow night, I will be the MC for the opening ceremony of Convest, and I have rehearsals tonight at 10.30. It’s a huge honour of course to have been chosen, especially as I’m merely a first year, first semester student here in IIUM! It’s all thanks to Usamah for picking me – he and I have worked on a lot of projects during our time in Nilai under FSCC, so when the committee were looking for an MC, he immediately volunteered my name.

And then there’s assignments to complete, mid-term exams next week. Argh, I’ve got a lot of studying to do! Especially Mass Comm, which is dull beyond imagination. But I’ll still keep blogging, because writing posts, reading your comments, and checking out the blog traffic will probably be the only thing that shall keep me sane right now ;-)

Lots of love!

Dear reader

I've been lurking around my blog since my last entry, not posting anything up but just commenting and reading other people's comments. Thanks for sharing all your opinions, people! I enjoyed reading them, yes, even Azmir's (after I let out my frustration and annoyance on KakAisya and KakZimah, heh heh ;-) )

There's so much I'd like to write about in my blog, but some things are just too personal, you know? I've had friends telling me to restrain what I write, people -- family, friends and strangers alike -- offended by some of the stuff I share, and one friend even choked on his food reading one of my entries. Haha! But yeah, my point is, I've got to learn some self-restraint on this. Because I know that you, the reader, are judging me every time you read my entries. Even without having met the real me before.

No, this is not a fond farewell or anything of that sort. This is me, reminding you that I am a real person, and there is more to me than what you read here. In case you forgot.

:-)

5 Jingga: 8TV's brand new programme for teens

So there's apparently a new show on 8TV called 5 Jingga, and it's DUMB. It's set in high school -- 5 Jingga is a reference to the class: FORM 5 Jingga, and not the name of a half-baked teenage girl singing group that enters Gang Starz, which was my first impression of it -- and just like every other 8TV-produced drama about high school, it paints an unrealistic portrait of what high school in Malaysia really is about.

One of the first thing that caught my attention about it was where have all the shapeless school uniforms gone? Instead of stuffing the actresses in the heavy, hideous baju kurung most of us had to endure, these girls are conveniently attending private school, where the school uniforms allow them to show off their waxed arms and legs, and don't make you look pregnant if you have boobs.

And then there's the next bone I have to pick with; if all the characters are going to speak in Malay, then what is the deal with their atrocious accent? Most of them sound like they've never spoken a word of Malay in their life, the way they roll their tongues around the letter 'R' and pronounce the letter 'T' the way you do in English. Marrri key-tuh perrgee berr-lah-teh! Designated Lady-In-Waiting whispers breathily (just imagine how Lana Lang speaks; it's exactly like that, only in badly pronounced Malay) to Her Royal Highness the Cheerleader Captain Herself. *Gags* The only explanation I can come up with is that this is a new type of Malay accent spoken only by High School Royalty.

The story-line is eye-rolling-inducing; the protagonist, named Nik, attends new school and unintentionally pisses off the first two student she meets by making "stereotypical" remarks about poor cheerleaders, unaware that one of the girls is Her Highness the Cheerleader Captain Herself. (The dialogue is actually in Malay, but I translated it for obvious reasons)

Her Highness The Cheerleader Captain: Have you joined cheerleading before this?

Our poor, innocent, trying-too-hard Nik: No. Do I look like a spoiled brat?

Her Highness and Appointed Lady-In-Waiting exchange scandalised glances.

Her Highness swiftly regains composure: What do you mean?

Nik: Just look at them. Bimbos, spoiled brats... They've only known the easy life.

Her Highness flounces off in a royal temper, but not before giving Lady-In-Waiting permission to speak and clarify.

Designated Lady-In-Waiting, naturally, obeys: Nice joke. You can take a tour of the school yourself.

Throughout the episode, which is supposedly four days, Nik tries to make up for the faux pass by apologising a thousand time to Her Highness. In my humble, commoner opinion, it was an honest mistake, but Her Highness won't have it! She is affronted! Her dignity has been challenged! Let the commoner be hanged!

Nik herself is an idiot. All she does is walk around school with her head bowed down, face hiding behind her hair. She might as well have a "Don't Just Kick Me -- Beat Me Up And Laugh Menacingly" sign stuck on her perma-creased forehead. Not only does she infuriate the Cheerleader Captain, but she also raises the ire of another member of the High School Royalty; the class monitor of 5 Jingga AKA Her Royal Majesty The Queen, played by an actress with the name Hunny Madu. Seriously? Hunny Madu? Yikes! Don't her parents know how to spell? Anyway, Queen Hunny Madu stands up to the unrealistically pretty Maths Teacher (aww, come on; Beauty Queens are never Maths teachers -- it's just one of Nature's paradox) and is backed up by her whole class except for Nik. Rigggghhht... so Nik is a teacher's pet and insults people to absolute strangers? I hate her already. Are we sure she's not the villain of the story?

But, no, she can't be! Because that girl there, the one who purposely comes to cheerleading practice late, the one with many mindless minions and spiesssss all over school (as opposed to Cheerleader Captain, who only has one Lady-In-Waiting), the one whose Aura Radiates With Evil and Darkness, the one with the "hot" boyfriend -- there is no mistake! All hail The Dark Lady, come to claim democracy and a reelection for the cheerleading squad!

The Dark Lady, she is Cunning (despite her stupid, pitifully-not-hot-but-supposed-to-be-so boyfriend. But we can safely assume he is the Lefou to her Gaston). With manipulation and sweet-talking that would have made Dark Lords Voldemort, Sauran, Scar and Chuck Bass smile proudly and dotingly at her (or, in Sauron's case; wink), she is able to dethrone Her Highness The Cheerleader Captain and take up the mantle herself. All hail The Dark Lady! With that, She Who Must Not Be Named banishes the ex-Highness ex-Cheerleader Captain (henceforth referred to as The Exiled One) and Lady-In-Waiting from The Land of Cheerleaders.

The Exiled One, by the way, is probably anorexic. How absolutely original and unexpected! And The Dark Lady's boyfriend (let's call him The Unhot Boyfriend, shall we?) is still in love with his ex-girlfriend, Lady-In-Waiting! Despite Lady-In-Waiting's annoying voice and accent, and complete dependence on The Exiled One!

Unsurprisingly, The Exiled One and her Lady-In-Waiting decide to create
The New Land of Cheerleaders with (who else?) The Exiled One as Captain again. The Dark Lady screams "rip-off!" when her sneeeeeeaky spiessssss inform her of this, for TWO Lands of Cheerleaders is unheard of! It is a catastrophe of epic proportions! This means WAR!!! Her minions immediately prepare to battle. Viewers await with bated breath for the inevitable battle between the Forces of Good and Evil.

And what happened to Nik? Nik who, you say? Oh, you can't mistake her. She's the main character -- the one who suddenly burst out singing and dancing in the classroom, corridor and canteen ala High School Musical, but a thousand times more embarassing, and whose flailing dance moves and thin voice make you want to shut your eyes and sing "Get'cha Head In The Game" at the top of your voice.

Well, our Nik's been very clever. She infuriated Queen Hunny Madu even more by getting friendly with The Queen's boyfriend, King Onnyun Bawang, who happens to have killer break-dancing moves and father issues. Nik has SCORED!!! Queen Hunny Madu then demands a royal breakup from King Onnyun Bawang -- I'm saying I don't want to be your girlfriend anymore! King Onnyun Bawang becomes unhappy. His unhappiness affects his dance moves, and he is unable to dance no more. But guess what happens when Nik jumps into the swimming pool, holds her breath for longer than 1 minute 45 seconds, climbs back out again and then dramatically informs Queen Hunny Madu that breaking up with King Onnyun Bawang would be a "big mistake"? Yep, the Royal Couple get back together again!!! King Onnyun Bawang is so happy that he does an impromptu dance move on the road in front of Nik, while viewers root for the two to realise they are meant for each other.

Seriously. Watch it and weep.

Eh.

I was walking past the huge administration building, my head, as usual, somewhere among the clouds. It was a Friday, I'd just told a friend to scram to the masjid for Friday prayers instead of walking me all the way to my hostel, my arms were aching from carrying a psychology and sociology textbook all morning, and my too-long skirt, held in place by my trusted silver belt, was threatening to trip me over. I just couldn't wait to get home and sleep.

'Anisah Shurfa!' I heard a voice call out my name in full.

Without stopping my brisk walk, I looked towards the group of girls lounging around in front of the admin building, about ten feet away. One girl was looking my way, grinning uncertainly. I stared at her intently, trying to figure out where I'd seen her before, even as I smiled back uncertainly.

My head came up with nothing. I'd definitely never seen this girl before. A sense of deja vu settled in, and I was not looking forward to being told that she was actually roommate number 9, or the girl who sits next to me in class, or an ex-member of LAC.

Even from afar, I could see the girl's eyes widen. 'So you are Anisah Shurfa?' she mouthed, looking surprised and pleased.

EH? So she didn't know me, either? Or wasn't sure whether I was me?

Confused beyond anything else, I nodded, flashed her another uncertain grin, then went on my way.

Hrm.

Campus Life Part 1: The nitty-gritty details of living in a hostel

I just noticed that I haven’t really been writing about campus life here in the International Islamic University in detail, and I know that, albeit boring person that I am, I’m sure there are people out there who are curious about what it’s been like here for me.

First of all, I CANNOT BELIEVE it’s been FOUR WEEKS. (or has it been five? *hastily checks calendar on phone* Ok, five if including the nightmarish taaruf week).

The hostel I live in is Mahallah Safiyyah, nestled among all the guys’ hostels and separated from other female hostels by a mile. When I first found out about it, I was pretty pleased as it might mean I could put my trusted binoculars to use again and spy on footballers through my windows like the good ol’ days in PJ. My friends were all ‘oh, you like that, don't you, Anisah!’ when I told them which hostel I got.

Unfortunately, it turned out that the only action my binoculars and I would be getting from my window would be of … motorcycles. Parked motorcycles.

And the rooms are small. Mahallah Safiyyah is the only hostel that crams 8 people per room. Sure, I’ve faced 20 roommates when I was still in Nilai, but at least the rooms there were huge. And you got a gargantuan study room. Here, the rooms are further divided into four miniscule compartments that are as big as your regular cupboard-under-the-stairs (made so famous by Harry Potter – but even he got it better since he only had to share the space with spiders. And, let’s face it, a billion spiders wouldn’t take up as much room as a human being. Albeit one who is 127cm tall). Add to that a bunk bed, two metal wardrobes, one long desk to be shared by two people, two chairs and voila! You get yourself a compartment shared by two people who have to duck, squirm, climb or jump to navigate their way around. And it’s never as cool as Lara Croft makes it look like.

Mornings when both people in one compartment have to get dressed at the same time is a nightmare of jabbing elbows, wet towels and slick manoeuvring. I usually dress in the shower stall since it’s so much easier than discreetly pulling on my underwear less than a foot away from my compartment-mate, Hanim. And I kind of feel sorry for Hanim, because I am a very messy person. (Hanim, I know you’re reading this, so please forgive me for my untidiness! I just can’t help it =/)

But staying in a room with seven other people is also great because you’ll never feel it’s too quiet. However, I have yet to establish the same connection I had in Nilai last semester with these people. But that’s mostly my fault because, contrary to what most people think, I’m very shy and reserved when I’m surrounded by most people, to the point that I doubt they’d even want me around… (don’t believe me? Then why do you think I hardly mix around with other HS students? It’s shyness and doubt, not arrogance.)

Oh, yeah, I mentioned shower stalls before, right? Well, praised be to Allah, for the toilets here are CLEAN. Wonderfully clean and spacious and scrubbed regularly by Mak Cik Cleaners. In fact, I could go as far as to say that the toilets are pretty.

However, during the first week of toilet-usage, there was a slight.. misunderstanding on my part of how the, err, flushing system worked. You see, some of the loos here are the usual sit-down types you always get overseas, and that you rarely use here in Malaysia because there would always be wet, black footprint marks on the seats left behind by the oh-so-considerate user before you, who had squatted on the seat instead of politely planting their bum on it. (Though, in desperate times when there are no other loos available, I have found myself resorting to wiping the toilet seat with tissue, then completely covering it with tissue altogether, like how Jim Carrey did in The Mask. Squatting on it is a no-no for me because I know I’ll just fall off and break a hip).

The other type of loo is the Asian Loo. This is what it looks like.

Yeah, I know, I was quite horrified when I first came to Malaysia and saw it, too. Look! There’s a hole in the floor for you to poo in! my eight-year-old self had shrieked when discovering this mutated species of loos in the toilet of the new house.

But when you think about it, it’s actually hygienic because all you have to do is squat, do your business, then you’re done. No contact between your skin and the germ-ridden seat, so no risk of infectious diseases or whatever. It is because of this loo that people in Malaysia like to leave their footprints (or worse) so much on toilet seats. Squatting is so much easier.

Anyway, I digress.

So, after the first time I used the Asian Loo here on campus, I wanted to flush it (naturally). I stood up, and started to look for the pulley so that I could wash away all my bad deeds. You see, Asian Loos fix their tanks high up on the wall so that you don’t break your back on it when straightening up. I think.

I couldn’t find the pulley. I went on tiptoe, I looked here, I looked there, and there was no button or pulley for me to hide all evidence of my call to nature.

So I assumed there was none and simply left the toilet.

Hey, don’t look at me that way! My grandfather’s wooden-house-on-stilts in Kelantan had an Asian Loo with no flush, either. We just did our business, then allowed nature to take its course. So my assuming a flush pulley/button didn’t exist after searching for one with no avail wasn’t that far fetched.

So, it was only one week later, when I used the loo with a seat for the first time, with its low tanks, that the truth was unceremoniously revealed. I discovered that, not only was there a fully-functioning flush system, but there was a button too – it was situated right on top of the tank.

When I asked my roommate Syeera about it, she told me she had known all along where the flush button had been, even with the Asian Loos. Probably on account of her not being 4'11. Or too short to ride Go-Karts at amusement parks. (Seriously; I’m 6cm too short).

Sigh. The trials of being a human dwarf.

Interview With The Magic 8-Ball

Aisya (my 21-year-old sister), Aida (my 11-year-old sister) and I were lounging around in the study room one day, bored and with nothing to do except hang out and insult each other.

That was when I noticed the brand new Magic 8 Ball Aida’s best friend, Syaza, had given her a few days ago. Without wasting any time, I took it and decided to pelt it with questions.

Of course, my first question had to confirm its validity.

‘Has Aisya showered yet?’ I asked, and turned it around.

Very doubtful, the Magic 8-Ball reported.

Okay, validity confirmed.

‘Is Aisya ugly?’ was my next question.

My sources say yes, replied the Magic 8-Ball.

Aisya grabbed the ball from me. ‘Are your sources reliable?’ she asked.

Without a doubt, the Magic 8-Ball relayed smugly.

Smirking, I snatched the ball back from her. ‘Is Aida ugly?’

It is decidedly so, was the prompt reply.

‘Is Firdaus ugly?’ I demanded, and turned the ball around to see the answer.

This time, all I saw was the murky darkness. The answer was undecipherable.

‘Well?’ Firdaus, my 16-year-old brother, yelled suddenly from his bedroom across the corridor. He poked his head from the side of his door. ‘What’s the answer, then?’

I shook the ball again. This time, the answer came up. ‘Outlook not so good!’ I shouted towards him. ‘Oooh, creepy.’

‘Your turn,’ Aisya said, taking the ball from me. ‘Is Anisah ugly?’

It is certain.

We all cracked up.

‘It probably has something against the whole family!’ cried Aisya.

‘Ask the ball “Is Syaza ugly”!’ Aida said suddenly, referring to her friend who had given the ball to her in the first place.

‘Is Syaza ugly?’ Aisya bellowed to the Magic 8-Ball.

My reply is no.

After we sobered up – which took quite some time – we decided to ask more serious, meaningful questions.

‘Am I going to marry a hot guy?’ I demanded.

My sources say no.

I groaned in frustration. ‘No way!’

Aisya took the ball from me again. ‘Is Anisah going to marry a rich guy?’

Yes, definitely.

‘Of course!’ Firdaus laughed, slapping my shoulder. ‘Kak Nisah cares a lot about money.’

‘I don’t need a rich guy!’ I protested. ‘I’m going to make my own money!’

Aisya proceeded to ask the Magic 8-Ball if it was true that I would make my own money. The reply was in the affirmative.

I wrestled the ball back from her. Payback time. ‘Are Aisya and her boyfriend Awi going to make beautiful babies together?’

Our heads collectively bent down to read the answer.

Don’t count on it.