And so, thou shall select six...

I cannot believe how difficult it is to select just six pieces of clothing for a month! Laying my selections of the month on my green comforter, I wonder if I can ever pull it off... Well, no point regretting it now. If I say I want to do something, I do it. Here are my choices for the first month:

It's not much, but I think I can accessorize. I'm lacking a little in the color department, though I try not to be daring with them just yet. Maybe I'll try that out next month, when the temperatures drop and I can play around with more layers...

Recently, a really good friend of mine (who shall remain anonymous, for now) had to end a relationship really swiftly. Technically, it was the guy who called it off, but I really didn't think the burden of guilt should rest on her shoulders. Here's the story:

Boy meets girl. Boy becomes girl's friend. Boy wants to get into a relationship with girl. Girl is surprised. Girl thinks why not. Girl says yes. Boy and girl gets into a relationship for a week. Boy brings girl to meet boy's parents. Boy's dad disapproves. Boy breaks off relationship the following day. Girl says...

"What the hell just happened?"

The relationship began and ended so quickly, that it left my friend confused. Sure, the bliss of entering into a relationship is inexplicably wonderful. The sheer pleasure of having someone you could really talk to, to lie your shoulder on when you were depressed, to hold your hand when you were shopping. The things one could do with the other seem limitless.

But now, imagine all of this has a deadline, an expiry date. That it would grow moldy only after four days and when it did, it was thrown into the trash can. My friend knew it was coming, but she didn't expect it to be so soon. She wanted to see if she could get a taste of it, instead of watching the packaging lying on the table, waiting to be opened. Would it have been sweet and savory? Were there nuts or raisins? Was it chewy? She would never know.

And the reason for the break up could never sound more silly - ethnic divide. Even more hilarious, this isn't between black and white or brown and yellow. It's that little drip of blood flowing in her veins that spells 'Hakka,' which causes the guy's dad to call off the relationship, just because they're 'Hainanese.'

Really... Does it even matter? My mum's Cantonese and my dad's Hokkien. Sure they bicker. I mean, we communicate by shouting even though we're separated by a single wall, but I don't see why my parents can't live under the same roof for two decades? What is the history between the Hakka and Hainan anyway? I've tried googling up the unknown ethnic strife between the two "vastly different" cultures, but to no avail. The best explanation came in the form of a forum thread where teenagers were pitting against one another based on the dialects. Posts such as...

"Hakka pwns Hainan"

"Hainan pwns Hakka"

... flooded the thread. I think my favorite one so far would have to be...

"What a bloody pointless thread."

I couldn't agree more. So what if I'm Hakka? So what if I'm Hainan? I can be proud of my own cultural background and be receptive to the other at the same time. One or two differences do not make both public enemies. I say if I'm Hainan and I love Hakka cuisine, why can't I love the Hakka chef as well? Maybe something did happen in the past, and it isn't easy to forget what happened then. But should we allow the past to jeopardize a possibly peaceful future? I can't picture why my friend would run amok with a kitchen knife, threatening to serve the boyfriend for dinner. Although... now she might consider that option...

I told my friend there's absolutely no reason for her to feel bad or sorry for what happened. I'm glad she doesn't feel that way herself. I'm also glad that the guy is not ignoring her existence after what happened. Who knows? She might look back on this episode in the future and laugh it off as a comedy - one that we both would enjoy humoring about.

Alright, so it's 10.30pm and I haven't taken my shower... Time for me to do just that and read the first two chapters of Ian Watt's "The Rise of the Novel"...

Oh, and I still have a little time to say... HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY, MALAYSIA!

As my fiction professor said, it's always good to begin with the seasons...

And so it is a summer night... My body is sore from working out and I'm too lazy to read another page from my film theory book. I begin to shift uncomfortably on my chair. Not because I am procrastinating and feeling guilty about it, but of something else that's pinching my left butt cheek. That annoying thought... So powerful, it spreads southward from the neurons in the brain.

Like hell can I believe this...

One day. Just one day of complete freedom to mess around with my closet before the foreseen apocalypse.

Few things to know about me is that I'm terrible with blogs. Period. I've tried a couple of blogs previously and they all just end up ignored, abandoned, forgotten. Ever since high school, I've had scores of friends joining this frenzied phenomenon and never really knew what it curtailed into their lives. Was it the freedom to bitch about someone else? Was it the desire to digitize memories?

Why do we blog? What do we blog about? What do we expect to get from blogging?

For me, it's rehab. I need to rid myself of clothes. I've been so caught up with materialism that after two semesters and a summer break, my bank account was practically yelling "What the fuck is going on here?!" By doing this, I get a sense of salvation. This tiny little plant called "Hope" struggling to grow out from the crevices of my obsession.

Don't get me wrong, I still adore clothes. But there's a fine line that separates passion and downright addiction. If I'm addicted to clothes, I'd be wishing for a wardrobe the size of Disneyland. But if I'm passionate about clothes, then I think I can snuff out six pieces every month.

This brings me to the project that I'm participating in. Some of you folks might've heard it before, or maybe even been a part of it: It's called the "Six Items or Less Experiment" where people from around the world pick only six items from their wardrobe, and wear those same items for a month.

There are exceptions to these:

1. Undergarments (imagine if these were to be part of the six items... Shudder...)

2. Swimwear

3. Work-out clothes.

4. Uniforms.

5. Outer jackets (rain slickers, winter coats, down jackets... you get the idea.)

6. Shoes

7. Accessories (Ties, hats, shades, necklaces, bangles, bags, the whole shabang...)

And here's the link to the website if any of you are interested:

http://sixitemsorless.com/the-project/

I have only one qualm to the list... Do tank tops count as undergarment? Because, technically, they are worn within tops. Though I don't deny I've gone out wearing only two (even three) layers of tanks. But for project purposes, I shall assume that tank tops count as one garment to the six items until some expert decides to tell me otherwise.

One boy. Six clothes. Every month. For a year.

Gawd... I hope I can survive this...