"weng hing and the imbi disaster"
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it's sunday morning. my father, uncle and i went to imbi road for some bowls of pork ball noodles. this place we go to, it's been around for almost 40 years [since my father was in high school] and it's some sort of establishment/institution in pork ball noodles. i kid you not. if i ever get children, with all honesty, i'd probably bring them there for a taste of chinese malaysiana. the place needs maintenance badly, it's hot and stuffy inside, but people flock to it. i guess that you can't really judge a book by its cover.

my uncle had earlier said that we were going to berjaya times square. i squirmed. thankfully, we haven't gone, and i'm now at home. awaiting the next call to mop some strange part of the house. my dad's such a housewife, even more so considering the fact that we don't have a housewife anymore. i'm almost tempted to tell him off and mention something about a maid, but i think i'd just get yelled at.

"you're 20 now...go find a job and a maid whom you can pay for, and then we'll talk".

i've never really had a maid before...the closest thing to one would've been the one we hired in brazil, and she only spoke portuguese. besides that, we've been [painfully] self-sufficient for most of the time. just for once, i'd love someone to iron my clothes for me. that's all. make them nice and smooth.

wearing uncreased shirts would be a fresh start to things.