To men out there who are man enough to read this, excuse my frankness. When it comes to money, there are two kinds you fall into. One: those who do have money and arrogantly flaunt it. Two: those who do not have money and shamelessly flaunt it. And both kinds are the pathetic kinds. The rest of you men… you don’t fall into any kind. And you are safe from my frankness – for now.
I mean, really! We all know that you can’t be having money all the time. When you do, and lots of it, that’s great. Good for you! But do you really have to unnecessarily show it, blogging about it, posting a scanned copy of receipts of your purchase as though the whole world has to know that your feet alone are wrapped in a pair of RM2557.65 worth shoes. Do you?
But man! That is still not as bad as announcing it to the world that you are broke. So broke that you could almost sell the Fung Keong canvas shoes your kindhearted Aunty Anne George bought you after your STP exam. And that is only so that you could buy a pack of Gardenia
corn bun? Eeesssyyy walang hiya! That, I am so lah not sorry at all to say, patheticity at its worst! And then you’re complaining your girlfriend left you for a bloke who works at Burger King and drives a secondhand Citroen he paid RM14k for in cash!
Much of the pain is… indeed, self-chosen. But as painful as being broke can be, have some pride, will ya?
Still, a respectable man is not one who has the most or the least money. He is the one who respects his money and treats it like it is his secret lover. Go figure!
I don’t usually write about strangers. In fact, this entry isn’t about a stranger. I would like to dedicate this post to Irwan, my newly accepted ‘friend’ on Facebook. No, I don’t know him yet. He did not introduce himself in his Friend’s Request to me. And from this profile picture of himself, I swear I have never had a friend this retro. I 
I woke up yesterday morning with a heavy feeling. So heavy, that I went straight downstairs, washed my hands, lit a candle for my Mom, grabbed whatever leftovers I could grab for Kitreena’s lunchbox and pretended that it was going to be another great day. It was for sure a great day for Kitreena – Daddy walked her to school, cool! Of course she went on her two wheels, helmet on and all, looking more and more like a sophomore than a lil kindy, that angel babygirl of mine.
And while doing dishes this evening, I noticed how I have learned to put the gloves on. It is almost automatic now that my hands would reach for them gloves before touching anything in the sink. For the truth is, I have come to appreciate my only pair of hands and have begun to pamper them as much as I possibly can. The diamond ring and the wedding band… they probably last longer than my hands. So the rings can stay on my fingers when I do dishes. Or laundry. Or when I shower. Or when I do anything. Or nothing. They stay. Just like I stay banded to The Banana Bread man.
And there are tons of Malaysian female students here in Moscow whom I think would benefit from such an international organization. But I saw none. If there were any, they could not have missed me in my bright pink Baju Kurung and should have given me a nudge asking me, “Hoyy! Tak puasa kah?” when I was sipping on my coffee at the refreshment table. I would have told them anak bulan Syawal sudah kelihatan beberapa malam sudah di Bukit Pokrovsky.
Questa è Enida 