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Kia Ora From New Zealand
Kia Ora From Sky Tower
By Audrey

OK, I'm in my worst mood today. I'm crappy, hungry, and the drilling noise coming from the office above mine isn't helping the situation at all. In fact, it's driving me crazy. Man…how am I to put my great mind to work in this type of environment? How are my creative juices supposed to take effect when I hear drrrr……drrrrr….drrrr….drrrr punctuating the seconds on the clock? Ah…writers these days, you may say. But can't I complain once in a while? Arghh…readers these days. Naggy bunch.

Oh… the drilling noise has stopped. Unbelievable…heavenly…

@#)$*%)*@#$%)…I spoke too soon. Here comes the noise again. Drrrr…drrrr…drrrr…!!!

All right, I see I don't have much choice. I've got to grit my teeth and bear with the noise. Since I'm at the topic of "complaints", let me further explore this idea. After all, I could vent some of my frustrations over an article and still meet the deadline at the same time. Killing two birds with one stone…(and I do wish to kill the workers upstairs too…). Now, where was I? …Oh yes, on complaints.

Once upon a time, while pursuing my education in baa-baa land (that would be New Zealand, by the way), I came across a new "sin". I shouldn't be confessing over the Net, as words may curiously find its way back to my mom. Now, that would be disastrous. Ok, I'll tell you my story if you promise not to tell my mom. Deal? Hmm…did I hear someone snickering away? Shucks…something bad is bound to happen. Or am I merely hearing things? (drrr…drrr….drrr…).

Anyway, once upon a time (hmm, this is beginning to sound like Snoopy), while pursuing my education, I used to live near a tall structure known as the Sky Tower, which houses the Sky City Casino in Auckland. Speaking of which, money with wings flew right out of my wallet (thanks to the ATM machines conveniently placed INSIDE the casino). Now, whom should I blame? While roaming the streets one day, I chanced upon the Sky City Casino and there was no looking back from that day onwards. I started with just a few bucks, but it got bigger until it hit the 100 dollar mark and continued its journey upwards. I know, what is 100 bucks to you big time gamblers out there? You probably used wads of cash, isn't it? I know, I know... But I was a student; need I say more? Guilty feelings would hit me each time I visited the Casino. There goes my allowance for the week, there goes my book allowances, there goes my weekly yum char (drink tea) allowance, …I can't take this anymore!!!

So, this is the confession of a one-time gambler. Let me pour it all out and apologize to the Almighty for my sin…or was it sins?

I'm really sure the Almighty up there has a hand in this. I'm not sure what to make out of this. I mean, I'm 23 you know. Not a 16-year-old teeny-booper or something. However, each time I "attempted" to slip past the security guards at the entrance, I would definitely be stopped by one of them. Wonder why I even bother slipping past them in the first place. That probably looked incriminating.

"Excuse me, Miss. May I take a look at some identifications?"

"Err…err… Malaysian ID?"

"Sure, miss. Any other form of ID?"

"Student card?"

Finally, after having scrutinized them up and down, back and front, I'm returned both IDs with a satisfied nod and am allowed to proceed into the lion's den, hazy with ciggie smoke, and lights swirling with bright colors. I hate the "May I see your ID?" charade. I once walked out of the casino for a breath of fresh air and upon returning was asked to show my ID again by the same security guard (Audrey slaps her forehead)! What is the world turning into? I have wondered countless times if I really look like a kid? Hmm…

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