Thirteen was the year Harley first decided she wanted to pick her own clothes instead of having her mother buy them. That was the year a shadow fell on Mrs Quinn’s heart. She felt pride that her little girl was growing up, but it was happening so fast, oh so fast. Suddenly Harley didn’t fit into those cute little skirts and ribbons, she was wearing jeans and tees, her face lost it’s smooth egg-white texture and the first sprouts of puberty manifested in the form of tiny red speckles on her forehead and cheeks.
Harley was growing up.
In spite of that, Mrs Quinn wasn’t too worried. After all, they were very close : almost best friends. Harley was young, she needed guidance. She was at an age where friends were dangerous, where drugs and smoking and sex were ever omnipresent. She would stray if Mrs Quinn wasn’t there to guide her through these difficult years. And they always say Mother Knows Best, didn’t they?
I’m not smothering her, I am protecting her. Because there is so much bad out in the world and all they would do is hurt my baby, hurt my baby, they would hurt her oh hurt her so bad. 
She didn’t know when or how, but her daughter grew. And with each passing year, she grew not only physically, but  mentally and emotionally.
Harley had become a stranger. She would have different opinions, DEVIANT OPINIONS, and they scared Mrs Quinn how different they were from her own. Surely it must be the devil at work. How her daughter was spiralling into a world where she was an outsider. Those good for nothings she hung out with – they always seemed so.. what was the word for it, spaced out. “Stoned” was what Harley would call it. Just the word gave her a sense of intense dislike. How she know berated her own mother when she talked about people on the street. “Look at that man, what big tattoos. Must be a hoodlum.” she had pointed out at this man with huge dragon tattoos running down his forearms.
And Harley had talked back, talked back to her dear God, “Mother, you shouldn’t judge people on their appearances. And it’s rude to point like that.” She had felt a chill run down her spine, like she was falling through a deep cataclysm. Little Harley, talking back to her mother over some man with tattoos whom she didn’t know, who was highly likely what she had said – a hoodlum. Talking back to her over a hoodlum.
When Harley graduated from high school, Mrs Quinn had set out a safe path for her. It was for the best – she would make good money, marry a good husband and have beautiful cherubic kids and a nice little home. So imagine her horror when Harley told her she wanted to be a writer, god forbid, she would be eating scraps with that kind of job. Why couldn’t she listen to Mother?Because Mother knows best. And a doctor or a lawyer would guarantee a secure future. Never mind that Harley didn’t like it, it was safe. Harley would learn to like them. After all, she hadn’t liked what she studied in school, it was only because her parents made her. Yes, Harley would have to learn. Her daughter was getting so in over her head these days, almost like she had a mind of her own. She had feared this since Harley was a young child. Oh dear sweet God why couldn’t she remain a child forever? She used to be so sweet, so obedient. If momma told her she should stay away from those hobos on the street she would nod quietly and do as she was told. Not now. Harley was a stranger in her house now.
Mrs Quinn’s heart was seized with a fear so great, she felt breathless every time she thought of it. Harley didn’t need her anymore. Mrs Quinn had never been so afraid in her life. She had always thought Harley would be her little girl forever, that she would always listen to her and say yes, mommy in that 5 year old voice.
“I love you, mum. But I can’t live with you. I need a life of my own. ” Harley had said gently, and Mrs Quinn had screamed at her like a banshee, you ungrateful little bitch,  is this what I get for bringing you up, oh you ingrate you’ll burn in hell for these things you’ve said to your mother –
(I am not smothering, I am protecting) 
“I love you, mum. But I gotta grow up, you gotta let me go. I can’t stay forever. I will always love you but you have to let me go… let yourself go.”
(I was only protecting – ) 
Harley had walked out of the door that day: the click of it closing was like a death knell to the heart. For twenty years, Mrs Quinn ran from the fear and loneliness which ate away at her. She turned Harley away whenever she came visiting, whenever she called – not because she didn’t miss her, but because she couldn’t find the strength to let go if she came back. It was best for the both of them, and Mother always Knows Best, even if other people or her own daughter, didn’t believe that.
In a way, she was letting go by not letting go.
It was Christmas, a quiet one as usual. Mrs Quinn sighed as she checked the oven to see if the food was done, her graying hair tied back into a bun. A simple meal, another quiet Christmas.
A gush of emotions crashed over her like a tidal wave as she looked at the television blasting Christmas songs – she imagined little Harley sitting in front of the set, carefully unwrapping Christmas gifts. Harley had always liked writing, and Mrs Quinn thought it wasn’t such a bad hobby either so she had gotten her a neat pen – the one which could change colours by clicking different buttons. Recalled Harley’s happy face as she held the pen up into the light like it was some sacred Mayan treasure, a crystal skull holding magical powers.
Mrs Quinn had known back then. She had known when Harley was in high school, had known it when she
The pen was Harley’s sacred Mayan treasure – it had been an escape from the tyranny of real life, spilling it’s guts into paper. “I’m not a good writer, mum. But I try. I do try. So let me do this.” Harley’s whisper echoed down the hallway of time like it had been uttered just yesterday, the day she had left home.
A knock on the door startled her out of her reverie. She trudged over to open it. A cherubic little girl stood at the doorway, her pretty face framed with a curtain of thick black hair. She was bundled up in a jacket – and behind her mother and father stood. The little girl turned up at the woman and said in a shy voice, so like     to Harley’s when she was little – is this grandma?
The woman nodded, then turned to Mrs Quinn with twinkling eyes, eyes that had never aged a day beyond five except for the crinkling crow’s feet around them. “I’m back, mother.”
Mrs Quinn stared.
“Welcome back,” she whispered.
Note: Currently reading The Shining by Stephen King. So far it’s been pretty awesome. He has a real way with words to make horrors jump out at you in nightmares even long after you’ve closed the book.I particularly like a phrase in the book –“This inhuman place breeds human monsters.”
Now, on with sleep. 

Tokio Hotel Obssession


Random doodle. Took hubby’s colourful pens to conteng . Intended to draw hubby in his white and black chequered shirt, but coloured his hair blue instead.


Busying with assignments.

PS: Been listening to old P.O.D songs and falling in love with them all over again. 🙂

Absolutely obssessed with Tokio Hotel lately. I think if people asked me if I’d marry hubby or Bill Kaulitz, I’d pick the latter. XD But then BK doesn’t know I exist anyway, so it’s just wishful thinking… 😛

Tokio Hotel, please come to Singapore or Malaysia for a concert!

King Crabby


For the first time ever ! In the history of the household! *drumrolls*
Mum bought crabs back to cook. Live crabs!
The crabs that I usually see are already dead and cooked in a butter sauce to dip with mantou. They are definitely not alive with their pincers tied, but ready to nip you if they get the chance.


Mum gave me a live demo of how to cook crab. It was horrifying. O-O

The first step was to get rid of the lower part of the crab, which is the jaw area. Imagine if some guy came and prised your jaw away from your skull. If it had a mouth it would be screaming, but I read somewhere that crustaceans can’t feel pain coz they don’t have pain receptors. Which is a slight comfort coz we had to kill the poor thing.

Next, mum prised open the top of its shell, leaving the inner structure exposed for all to view. I could see its white brains pulsing! Yes, they look like what our brains would look like, except smaller, wet, slimy and pulsing. Eww.

The final step was to actually kill it. With a whack with the meat cleaver to the middle. And then the poor thing’s suffering ended.
Welllll. Mum isn’t very good at cooking crab… coz it tasted awful (mum herself said it wasn’t good and blamed it on the crab :D). Next time around I think we’ll just go out for crabs.


FB-ing at MU after mamak with hubby.

SPM results are out tomorrow. So are my second sem results! (runs around like a headless chicken). Best of luck to everyone in SSH!


I am currently procrastinating from doing my assignment(s) by telling some lameeee jokes.

1) Contrary to popular belief, serious looking dads such as my papi can actually tell jokes. albeit, syok sendiri ones. case in point:

The family was in the car going somewhere.
Bro: I don’t want the name “Cyrus” oredi. What do you suggest?
Me: I dunno. Caleb? Andrew?
Dad: Why don’t you call yourself ‘Pika’? (proceeds to laugh all by himself while awkward silence)


Okay, what’s so funny about this joke?

My surname is Choo, you see. So Pika + Choo = Pikachu. Get it?

2) Mothers think that their jokes are extremely funny, although they’re usually extremely lame. This may also apply to certain dads in some cases.

Mum: How many letters are there in the alphabet?
Me: 26 la lol.
Mum: If ET flew away, how many are left?
Me: huh? *blur* 24 la.
Mum: No la, 21.
Me: Er why
Mum: coz ET sit in UFO ma. *proceedds to laugh by herself while another crow flies by the scene.*

3) Do not use SMS language while telling jokes. It’ll spoil the joke. XD

Me: (SMS) How many letters are there in the alphabet?
Hubby: 26
Me: If ET flew away, how many R left?
Hubby : ( Very selamba) 1 la.
Me: *Confused* Why ?
Hubby: You ask me if ET flew away, how many letter R left ma. Alphabet oni got 1 R wat.
Me: (no mood to joke anymore)

Ahaha. That’s all for now. I need to go find arguments for IR. Although basically I don’t care what happens if the state is the main actor in international relations, or if the state wants to be Angelina Jolie…


Haven’t been blogging for these few days.
I got super sick on Sunday (Fever + sore throat + headache), and then on Monday I shit more than 10 times to the point that my legs became jelly. So basically I was lying on the bed, my head swimming, and then I’d crawl to the toilet to shit, and then I’d go back to the bed and lie there again.
I’m finally better today and went for the Production and Publication exam, which I obviously didn’t do well at because I was sick and I didn’t study. 😡 (okay if nothing happened to me I guess I wouldn’t have studied anyway). Now I’ll have to prepare for Advertising exam on Saturday. Cilakoi Saturday morning also have to wake up early to go to college.
So guess what was the first meal I had after recovering from sickness?
Spicy Chicken McDeluxe, Coke and Twister fries.
Ahhhh. So satisfying, after eating tasteless stuff over the last few days. I know I’m courting death, eating this right after recovering. But the burger was on my mind all the time. It’s like when you’re sick and lying in bed, and you have someone you really wanted to see. Turns out for me, it was McD.
Bought this today. Comic Classroom B. The cover is so sexy! Well, just like the first book in the series, it interviews local cartoonists about their work and offers some insight and tips into producing your own comics. Book B features my favourite local cartoonist, Keith, as well as other well known local cartoonists such as Kaoru, Slaium, Puppeteer, Oga and Zuan.
Hubby discovered that Slaium’s nickname is an anagram of his name (Sau Lim). So he decided to jumble up his own name and see how it sounded like.
Chee Kai = Ckhaeie.
I think I like his normal name better. xD
Okies, so I’m signing off for now. Gotta study. *gambate!*

Of pineapple tarts, red saga seeds and shopping sessions.


Made pineapple tarts.

The bro’s elaborate shit-shaped pineapple tart. Ewww. It’s gross, but you have to give it to him for managing to come up with such a weird creation…


First batch of cookies in all sorts of weird shapes.


Tried to make a human-shaped one and it got ‘decapitated’ by accident. Wheee !


Didn’t want to be stingy with filling!

The tarts came out okay and we ate most of them within the day.


Went jogging at Bandar Putri Townpark this morning. Saw a lot of red saga seeds and picked some up for decoration. I’m planning to put them in a little glass bottle. But its still too little to fill it up yet. When there’s a chance I’ll go and pick more. 🙂


Went shopping at Sunway Pyramid for New Year clothes today. After the whole pickpocket fiasco a few weeks ago (mum lost rm300) we were careful to keep our wallets as close to our butts as possible.


Lunch! RM Cafe.
Chicken spaghetti. They were supposed to charge me RM12.90 (for this measly serving of spaghetti and a very small piece of fried chicken patty! overpriced gilerrr!) but when the bill came it was only 9.90. which I’m taking the cashier mistakenly entered the wrong amount. oh well. I’m not complaining. XD

I’m supposed to be studying for exams on the 15th, but now like holiday mood ed. haha!



Your sweetheart is an artist through and through. He is very sensitive and likes his privacy, which explains why he does not talk too much. However, he is very sincere and serious about you and your relationship, as well as life in general. You are lucky to have him as a boyfriend. He enjoys travel to places of natural beauty, revelling in calm and isolated spots. If you’re heading away on a trip, take some good books to read. To keep the friendship sparkling, you also have to be sincere and sensitive. You should also be careful of things you say because he takes both criticism and praise very seriously.