It's Saturday morning. It's the weekend, and this is the time I miss her the most. Because I used to work away from Bangi, I only came home during the weekends and this would be when we would just hang. It could be a trip to the movies, or to KLCC to waste our hard earned cash at Kinokuniya, or just going out for a meal. I enjoyed her company, so it didn't really matter what we did or where we went. We are both movie buffs and compulsive readers and football fans, so could things be more perfect?

One of our favourite things to do was the Sunday Morning Movie Run. I would get up early on Sunday morning, make sure that breakfast and the morning papers were bought, and the grocery shopping from the fresh market was done, and the menial chores around the house were also accounted for [my dad has a habit of ignoring the state of the house on all 6 other days, but suddenly gets very picky on a Sunday morning].

Then I'd pick my friend up at her house and we'd rush for the first morning movie - regardless of what it was or where. Usually it would be at Mines or Midvalley. Our motivation - easier parking. After the movie we'd have lunch and go home. Simple, almost routine. But its worthwhile because the company is always good.

Yes, dammit, I do miss her.

Installment no 2 of My Life: OST

Adia

Adia I do believe I failed you
Adia I know I let you down
don't you know I tried so hard
to love you in my way
it's easy let it go...

Adia I'm empty since you left me
trying to find a way to carry on
I search myself and everyone
to see where we went wrong

'cause there's no one left to finger
there's no one here to blame
there's no one left to talk to honey
and there ain't no one to buy our innocence
'cause we are born innocent
believe me Adia, we are still innocent
it's easy, we all falter
does it matter?

Adia I thought we could make it
but I know I can't change the way you feel
I leave you with your misery
a friend who won't betray
I pull you from your tower
I take away your pain
and show you all the beauty you possess
if you'd only let yourself believe that

we are born innocent
believe me Adia, we are still innocent
it's easy, we all falter, does it matter?
believe me Adia, we are still innocent

'cause we are born innocent
Adia we are still
it's easy, we all falter ... but does it matter?

This is a Sarah McLachlan song which did quite well on the adult alternative charts when it came out in the late 1990s. Significance of the song: it just reminds me that I can't save the world. That I am not Superman, and that sometimes, I have to let the people whom I care about the most learn lessons in life themselves. No good thing can come from overprotecting.

I think that's one lesson I have to make sure I take into parenthood, if and when I ever decide to take the risk of bringing offspring into this world. Sometimes we think we know best for other people, and sometimes, in all earnestness, we make decisions that we feel is best for them. Perhaps that is appropriate when they are not yet capable of making up their own minds - leaving a 6 year old to make a decision about where he is to go to school or whether he wants to go to school in the first place is obviously rather nonsensical - but I think once a child reaches puberty, there has to be a gradual process of letting go.

Choices such as where they think they should be heading post-high school, or the career path they would like to take. Granted, most teenagers harbour dreams of being a famous rock singer or movie star at that age; and if that's what the say they want to be, perhaps one could play the role of enlightening them about what the future really is about. But if that's where their talent lies, why should they be stopped?I personally wouldn't encourage my kids into that line because of the lack of Islamic values such a career holds, but if the arts is where their hearts are to be, surely there would be related careers that could allow them to be fulfilled and at the same time, not cross the religious boundaries of acceptable behaviour.

I guess the point I am trying to make is that instead of telling them where to go to college or what to study or generally, how to do everything because as a parent Mak should know best, I should allow them the freedom of choice, but at the same time provide them guidance. If they ask me for advice, then give it to them; but don't push them into any direction without their consent. The worst thing a parent can do is make the child live out the parent's fallen dreams.

Every parent wants a doctor in the family, and perhaps a lawyer or two - but not every child is cut out to make forays into medicine or to take to the courtrooms. And that is what I have to remember for when I become a parent. Because sometimes out of obedience, some children will do as they are told. And nothing, really, is as miserable as doing something that you have no passion for, never mind how good you are at it.

If I really loved my child, could I put them through that? At the end of the day, even though I may have brought them into this world, they are individuals in their own right; and as much as I will want to say I know them best, it is them that come in closest contact with the inner turmoils of their own lives.

And so it goes. Even though we did win 4-3, we lost on aggregate. Small consolation, really. O'Shea again proved himself worthy of a first team place, nutmegging the ball between Figo's legs at one point, no less. He seems to know no fear and no awe, even only at 21, as is Real Madrid keeper Iker Casillas.

The win does still, however, prove one theory still stands firm: whenever either one of myself, Ana or Khalid is present at a United game, United will not lose.

At least one of us have watched United play Deportivo, Bayer Leverkusen, Sunderland [Premiership], West Ham [FA Cup] and now Real Madrid. The Sunderland game was the best one - we were 1-0 down for most of the game, and then pipped the Black Cats at the end to win 2-1. Khalid, who was our 'rep' at that game, literally had his heart in his throat during the dying minutes of the game.

Which really can only mean one thing - Man Utd have got to start giving us season tickets. At least that will mean United will win all their home games. We can then leave the away games to fate, so as not to be too obvious.

---
I'll probably be targeted for a lot of abuse after the result. Just check out the tagboard. I think it comes part and parcel with being a United fan. There seems to be some sort of underlying jealousy - statements such as 'I hate United because they are "too rich", "too commercialised" or, for those without anything else to say, "too arrogant"' are often thrown in my general direction.

I used to jump to United's defence when I was relatively younger, mainly because there are clubs which are richer - just look at the amount of money Real Madrid are throwing around - ; clubs which are just as commercialised, and as for arrogance - well, to me, it's more in the person than the club. But then again, it's the general British mentality, always wanting to take someone down a peg or two rather than rejoice at the success.

Nowadays I just tend to shut up when I get provoked. For one, most people who do the provoking don't want to look at the facts I present in defence, as they are more interested in getting me riled up more than anything else.However hard the facts are set in concrete, it doesn't hold an ounce of water with them.

But for the most part, I feel no desire to argue. I don't know if I've lost the passion; although judging by the extent of shouting, jumping up and down, fist-clenching and 'come-on' cries I managed to exhibit, even in public while watching a game, I doubt an ounce of passion has left me all these 17 years.

Perhaps what I have lost the drive to do is to 'hate' other clubs in the same way I used to do. When I was still at high school, a United win did not mean as much if it was not coupled with a Liverpool loss. While Arsenal are now United's archenemy in terms of success, I've always viewed Liverpool as the bigger threat. Nowadays, I'm not bothered as much. If we win, then good for us. If we lose, well, hard luck. I've resigned now to the sad, mature status of being a football fan first, and a club fan second.

Today is filing day. I have taken out the mass that is my pile of journal articles, classified them into 'Cleverly Coded Groups' and will be entering them into a bibliography management software called Endnote. What's cool about Endnote is that it integrates with Microsoft Word, making it easier for me to do referencing and citations when I get round to producing my papers. Hopefully at the end of today, I will have my 'sophisticated' system in place, and therefore any upgrading or additions can be done relatively quickly.

So allow me to regale you with the mechanics of my system. Yes, why should I be the only one terminally bored with this task, when I can send the boredom all the way round the world through this blogging medium thing. [Yeah, okay, so it's for my own personal benefit as well, in case I forget].

Basically I've got 5 categories: EM for Earnings Management, EC for Executive Compensation, BOD for Boards of Directors, CG for general Corporate Governance papers which do not fit into the prior three categories, and GEN for General papers of a non-corporate governance nature. All of the journal articles will be grouped in one of the five categories; they will then be entered into Endnote, and in order of entry, will be assigned a number. So the first paper I've entered , an Earnings Management paper, will have the code EM1; the second one, a general Corporate Governance paper, is coded as CG-2, and so on.

They will then be stored in my still-empty filing cabinet in numerical order. Perhaps when I'm richer I'll buy lever-arch files and keep them in there. The numbers will help me trace the paper to its location in the Endnote database [and it's physical storage location in my filing cabinet]. The codes will tell me what type of paper it is.

I've got this friend of mine, who is doing the same course as me, whose name I will not mention because I don't really want too many people from my department to know about this blog, and since there is a probability that she will do a search on her own name in Google, I don't want it to show up. So we'll call her Einstein, for the sole reason that it is Einstein that I quote today as the starting statement of my entry.

Anyway, Einstein is British, but she's Asian-British, or British-Asian, whichever way you like it. She was born here, she has lived all her life here, she speaks with a distinctive British accent.

Me. I am Malaysian by birth, by descent, by nationality. And apart from my slightly distinctive Northern English accent, and the soon-to-be-6-years-cumulatively that I have lived here, on and off, I have nothing to associate myself to Britain.

And yet she is more in touch with her culture, despite having lived here all her life, than I am with mine.

She still dresses in her traditional dress. I wear my baju kurung here, only where there is a Malaysian Soc function, and a function of a major scale, at that.

She watches Asian movies and listens to Asian music in her car. I watch Malay movies for a laugh, and goodness knows when I last bought a CD of a Malaysian artist. I am strictly a Hollywood and English music person, almost to a T.

We've discussed this before, me and her. Why someone who is so far away from 'home', with 'home' being the source of the culture, is more in touch with the national identity compared to someone who has been 'home' technically all her life. [Yes, us PhD students think deep, heavy thoughts over pizza during lunchtime. Not for us the latest pop gossip, nay...]

It could be that for her, there was a stronger push for the preservation of culture by her elders, because they were in a foreign land that is often considered full of 'evils'. They wouldn't want her to forget her roots or where she came from.

Where as for me, the whole culture thing is taken for granted at best. We just sort of 'lived' it. Even my parents, relatively more traditional than me, are more at ease watching Bollywood movies than Malaysian ones. I remember when I was growing up in Durham back in the 80's, my dad would get my aunts to send me Malay novels and magazines, so as for me not to lose command of the language. There isn't such a similar appreciation of Malay literature at our house now.

Egad. I've been described as 'eloquent'. Let's look up and see what this word means.

[Surfs over to dictionary.com. How did I ever survive without the internet before?]

Eloquent:
Pron: el-o-quent
adj.
1. Characterized by persuasive, powerful discourse: an eloquent speaker; an eloquent sermon.
2. Vividly or movingly expressive: a look eloquent with compassion.
3. Expressing yourself readily, clearly, effectively

A small victory. I managed NOT to go to the office yesterday [Sunday]. My new regime states that I should have at least one day off a week to recharge, if not two. And while I did think about going to the office more than once, under the pretext of "Takpe.. kemas ofis ajer.. pastu balik.. tak buat kerja.." and " Alah filing ajer.. karang tak buat makan masa pulak weekdays nanti", I did manage to hold my resolve and stayed away.

I was introduced to the dangers of stereotyping at a relatively young age. Having been born a rebellious cynic, I managed to stretch the edges of any box I was framed into. I mean, my dad was smart enough to give me a male-sounding first name even before I was born. What hope did I have?

As a young girl growing up in Durham, I often joined the boys at the housing area where we lived for a game of football. The sport even filtered into my school life, with me playing football at playtime and also during games, when I could run away from the netball that girls were supposed to be playing.

Not only did I stand out as an Asian girl at the school, I was a football-playing Asian girl. And in 1985, there weren't even many football playing British girls, never mind Asian, at our school. And at the risk of blowing my own trumpet, I was actually pretty good. If girls were allowed on the school team, I would've probably made it.

Anyway, 'basket lifting' aside, my dad wasn't too happy with my forays into the 'male' sport, and thus banned me - yes, literally banned me - from playing any more football. I still used to sneak a game or two here and there when I thought no one was looking, but with the world's best tattletale as my younger sister, I got into trouble once too often and finally just stopped playing. Problem was, I loved the game immensely, and would, more often than not, look forlornly from the sidelines as my younger sister kept half an eye on me just in case I DID play, so that there was something she could tell my parents later on.