Yesterday I was someone. But I always thought that I am Suetha the Indian Classical Dancer. Then today I am Suhana. Day before I was Suet Mun. Welcome to my alter ego page..

Yours truly,
Suhana Suetha

Friday, November 30, 2012


Could have never gotten easier nowadays.
I wanted to vent out a lot of fume, but am left with none after days of crisis.

As much as I hate facing these difficult times at work I would like to assume I have gotten better in handling issues. I can't be a diplomat or a negotiator yet, but I am getting somewhere. It's stressful.
Damn a lot of humiliation when you fail to deliver what has been promised and all one can do is to send a smirk over the phone in explaining the cause of the problem.

I also see that many wants to find the one to blame. before deciding on how to solve.
When a house is on fire, do you insist on knowing what happen first or saving the lives of those in the house?
Unfortunately, many choose to stand in existence and yell out 'What  happened?? What happened? Who lit the fire?' and the mystery remained unsolved.

Its not that difficult to solve, but what if everyone is to be blamed?
For not strapping the curtain so that it will not fly and caught fire on the candle at the table top?
The wind for being wind and blowing the curtain.
The table for being a support for the candle at that suitable location
The curtain for being so light and easily blown.

Now, it is almost over.
Leaving some remnants of hiccups that I hope to be able to rectify.
Hoping to carve the situation according to the mould of my hand.
And hoping to at least salvage what is left, and leaving with a solid footprint of excellence.
Perhaps I should  not be too confident.
But I shall continue hoping to be on the right track.

One more day before this pretty midget goess off the discount trolley ;(

I don't think I am curvy enough with a beer belly, but da heck.. I shall go forward

Friday, November 16, 2012


I would say it is gross. Stinky and plain gross.
Then I realise someone gotta do the dirty job. Of getting rid of these gross, yucky disposal.

As I watch the two Indian guys clearing the rubbish  dripping which juice and flinging it into the disposal truck, it didn't strike me that what is gross to me is someone else's rice bowl.

It's hard to not be able to get a job that you want.
Everybody wants something.
I want to be famous. I want to stop being in the same lift with the bunch of chatty and loud, short neighbouring woman.
I want to have my own parking lot.
I want a career that I can perhaps be passionate at.
I have also wish that I can perhaps camwhore and get money - because that's my 'passion'.
I hope I can write and turn it into cash, just because I think I can write well.

I am sure the two Indian guys wants a decent meal. And be able to fork a big heap of curry chicken meat onto their plate instead of scooping gravy in hope to lower down the charges of that plate of rice.

I don't think they want me to perceive that they are equally as gross as what they are flinging onto the truck.
I don't think they want to grow old and tell the story of the famous Muthusamy - the garbage collector who made a living disposing gross, juicy rubbish from people who think that the rubbish is gross.

Given a chance, and a flip of fate perhaps, everybody wants something. But not everybody gets everything.
What is gross to you is another treasure to others, perhaps.

Tomorrow, I shall have a better way to garbage management.

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

On Being Frugal

Something that is hard to follow sometimes but this is a good guide for all young starters who is looking for a smoother sailing life - in case the world doesn't end faster than  your pocket getting thinner.

Sunday, November 11, 2012


Today the beautician told me I have started to develop fine lines - a nicer term to describe wrinkles ;( ;(
It's really not fun being on this side of life - as a woman. 
When you are in the 20s you worry about not getting hitched. When you do get hitched, you worry about not being fertile enough to produce. When you do get hitched and able to produce, you worry that you body shape will resemble that of a big blob of amoeba and lose out to other svelte ameoba out there - and eventually losing the husband to them.
So you try to juggle everything in order to achieve this nirvana of being Cleopatra of all women - to have an eternal or the very least, prolonged youthful period in a body that ages as fast as you can fart.
And you can't really stop the lines from forming on your face, the cellulite making a statement on the thigh, ass and arms.
And when you are in the working force, especially where your outlook play an important part, there are  more concern on how your display yourself, the worry of having a non-elastic face, and non-glowing set of eyes that will turn off any prospective clients into buying whatever that you are selling. OK, I've seen people who doesn't have these concern and are having all this issues on them and still be able to market, but that's because they have 150% of confidence and 300% of thick-skin and self-absorbed quality which can kill the rest of other defining factors - something that I don't think I have. And I definitely despise showing off the sillhoutte of a sagging boobs underneath the fitted top and causes everyone to have the impression that I failed to do what a woman should do - wear a proper bra! OK totally irrelevant.

There really isn't a defined definition of perfect - you are as perfect as you can accept yourself.
That is most probably the only consolation I can tell own self. 
Now I just got to go search for cheap eye cream and get the lines solved - I hope.

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