whatcannisays

How I Feel

2009-09-21T19:23:00.003+08:00

I can so relate to the main female character, because I think we're just so alike! The only difference is she looks way hotter and slimmer than me la. Hah. This show only makes me wonder, can I find someone who will appreciate me the way the male lead appreciates her?

I am adding the youtube links here because the dialogue just touched me so very deeply. To love, people :)

For this, watch the dialogue from 00:00 to 5:10

The Whole Thing! <333

What I Realise

2009-08-31T00:42:00.001+08:00

我的最大的失败就是不会当女人

Wishlist

2009-06-29T02:15:00.009+08:00

Okay, I decided to go ahead and put it here anyways. Click on them to see the links!

UPDATED UPDATED UPDATED

1. Mighty Mouse CHOPED.
2. Laptop Bag (Fabrix) CHOPED.
3. LOMO Lubitel 166+
4. Transformers USA Flag (Fourskin Store, Heeren) - This is quite affordable! CHOPED.
5. External Hard Disk (Compatible with Mac)
6. X-Mini Capsule Speaker (Red) CHOPED.

What I Don't Want
1. Soft Toys
2. Chocolates
3. Accessories, Clothes, Handbags and yada yada.
4. Perfume
5. Make Up

However, if you belong to Temasek Polytechnic Debates Club and you are a self-proclaimed broke who has money, I will close two eyes and accept free hugs.

That's it! (Do tell me if you are getting any, in case anyone else buys the same thing. I do not know how to put this in a politically correct and polite manner for the moment, paisehz lol.)

Self-Interests

2009-06-27T16:14:00.001+08:00

PUBLIC POLL!

Should I put my birthday wishlist on the blog or pretend it does not exist?
TAG YOUR OPINION!

This Story

2009-05-09T15:16:00.001+08:00

I think this book will break my heart.

dues unpaid.

2009-04-23T17:27:00.001+08:00

Deseo que eligiera irresponsabilidad; ahora no puedo respirar.
Necesito conseguir lejos.

I Dreamed a Dream

2009-04-17T01:50:00.000+08:00

(From Les Miserables)

I dreamed a dream in time gone by
When hope was high,
And life worth living
I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving.

Then I was young and unafraid
When dreams were made and used,
And wasted
There was no ransom to be paid
No song unsung,
No wine untasted.

But the tigers come at night
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hopes apart
As they turn your dreams to shame.

And still I dream he'll come to me
And we will live our lives together
But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms
We cannot weather...

I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I'm living
So different now from what it seems
Now life has killed
The dream I dreamed.

Me and My Fished Expensive Taste

2009-04-15T21:12:00.002+08:00

Okay, I admit. I'm a boring dress girl. For the past four years, I refused to consistently look and shop for new dinner dresses. I stuck to the same boring black dress for the past four years! Even I am bored of it.

So with the upcoming Dinner and Dance, I've decided to start shopping for a new dress. And with the help of my bad habit - procrastination, I started trawling all brands possible to find a dress. ASOS has always been my personal favourite. Hence, I chanced upon this GORGEOUS, MANIFIQUE dress which costs a bomb - $500.

In the language of act cute, act civilised vulgarities - banana cheese balls!! Almond cheesepie!!!

I hate my own freaking expensive taste.

Any sponsor? :)

This Transitional Stage

2009-04-14T12:15:00.003+08:00

[clears off all the cobwebs and wipes off all that dust]

Right! There we go! Here is my declaration of war against my lack of time. I will not blog until the exams are over and I will hold out my promise to myself. To write stories instead of mundane nonsense stuff in my blog!

Resolutions for my blog:
1. I will not write "I woke up and brush my teeth" blog entries.
2. I will (try as hard as I can) not to post pictures and pass them off as blog entries.
3. I will finally deliver that damn love story about these two chess club players after 2nd May!

[lights a mosquito coil and a lavendar candle]

To keep the musky air out :D

Pretty Accurate.

2009-03-07T23:56:00.006+08:00

Your view on yourself:

You are intelligent, honest and sweet. You are friendly to everybody and don't like conflict. Because you're so cheerful and fun people are naturally attracted to you and like to talk to you.

The type of girlfriend/boyfriend you are looking for:

You like serious, smart and determined people. You don't judge a book by its cover, so good-looking people aren't necessarily your style. This makes you an attractive person in many people's eyes.

Your readiness to commit to a relationship:

You prefer to get to know a person very well before deciding whether you will commit to the relationship.

The seriousness of your love:

Your have very sensible tactics when approaching the opposite sex. In many ways people find your straightforwardness attractive, so you will find yourself with plenty of dates.

Your views on education

Education is less important than the real world out there, away from the classroom. Deep inside you want to start working, earning money and living on your own.

The right job for you:

You're a practical person and will choose a secure job with a steady income. Knowing what you like to do is important. Find a regular job doing just that and you'll be set for life.

How do you view success:

You are afraid of failure and scared to have a go at the career you would like to have in case you don't succeed. Don't give up when you haven't yet even started! Be courageous.

What are you most afraid of:

You are afraid of things that you cannot control. Sometimes you show your anger to cover up how you feel.

Who is your true self:

You are mature, reasonable, honest and give good advice. People ask for your comments on all sorts of different issues. Sometimes you might find yourself in a dilemma when trapped with a problem, which your heart rather than your head needs to solve.

TAKE THIS TEST.

Distractions

2009-03-03T00:04:00.002+08:00

I was researching on Employment Relations when I chanced upon this:

For those who love philosophy:
Tragedy of the Commons Explained by Smurfs
(Debaters, you'd love this!)

I Think This Is The Reason Why I Don't Wish For Something

2009-02-24T21:25:00.004+08:00

Shit.

What Horoscope Scams Say I Will Not Get This Year

2009-02-19T23:06:00.002+08:00

When Daisy Brings Good Tidings

2009-01-24T23:14:00.003+08:00

In the good spirit of new year, I searched for interesting new year songs. Seems like I really found one :)

Dragon Dance Song (Sung to: Mary Had a Little Lamb's Tune)

See the dragons dance and prance,

Dance and prance,

Dance and prance.

See the dragons dance and prance on Chinese New Year's Day.

See the dragons hop, hop, hop,

Hop, hop, hop,

Hop, hop, hop.

See the dragons hop, hop, hop on Chinese New Year's Day.

See the dragons shake their tails,

Shake their tails,

Shake their tails.

See the dragon shake their tails on Chinese New Year's Day.

See the dragons turn around,

Turn around,

Turn around.

See the dragons turn around on Chinese New Year's Day.

See the dragons go to sleep,

Go to sleep,

Go to sleep.

See the dragons go to sleep on Chinese New Year's Day.

I also sourced for some good photography for a classy CNY mood. ENJOY^^

Top 10 Things You Should not do in an lift.

2009-01-17T13:09:00.008+08:00

I think my recent entries were too emotional. So I decided to be random! Hence....

THE TOP TEN THINGS YOU SHOULD NOT DO IN AN ELEVATOR

1. Make race car noises when anyone gets on or off.

2. Blow your nose and offer to show the contents of your Kleenex to the other other passengers.

3. On a long ride, sway side to side at the natural frequency of the elevator.

4. Stand silent and motionless in the corner, facing the wall, without getting off.

5. Do Tai Chi exercises.

6. Ask each passenger getting on if you can push the button for them.

7. Stare at another passenger for a while, then announce "YOU'RE ONE OF THEM!" and move to the far corner of the elevator.

8. Say "Ding!" at each floor.

9. On the highest floor, hold the door open and demand that it stay open until you hear the five cent coin you dropped down the shaft go "plink"at the bottom.

10. Draw a little square on the floor with chalk and announce to the other passengers that this is your "personal space."

Secondly, RMIT Student Council is recruiting. So we decided to boogey.

2009-01-05T21:11:00.002+08:00

I was listening to someone talking about her dreams, her goals in life and knowing exactly what she wanted to do. And she's sixteen. And I just grew to realize I don't know where I am going in life. I think in the general Singaporean way of life, I'm pretty settled for a good job and okay qualifications with okay decorations. But I don't know what I really wanna do.

No, I do. I once remembered how I dreamt of going the difficult route to learn what I want to learn, but I started losing my dream, losing myself and just followed the route every Singaporean academic does. I remember a good friend of mine said I was an idealist, living what I love and fiercely standing with my principles. I seem to have grown into a shadow of what I was. Now, I am chasing after survival, not happiness and fulfillment.

Love life; I want to say so much that I cannot say. Which is really the only downside of blogging.

I think it's the recession la, make life difficult for me only.

My Brain Cells Are On Strike

2008-12-23T01:36:00.003+08:00

"It's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all."
Why have my blog been on hiatus?

Because I'm busy thinking, thinking about love, life and friends. I guess losing my phone gave me a wake up call. Who cares, who remembers and who bothers. How close is a close friend, and how sometimes a friend you never thought as "close" was closer then you realised. I think my life have reshuffled drastically, and I'm walking on a new beaten path, a brighter one for myself to a certain extent and I never realised that I've switched lanes.

But am I happy?

I'm not too sure either. I guess life never gives you your cake and let you have it. Where I once experienced love, I experienced pain and a new lesson. Where I once put expectations, I got empty shells and failed promises. Where I once hoped for happiness, I got tears-streaked cheeks. But when my heart was taken off my sleeve and nursed back to health, that wonderous cause of that die-hard love I experienced not long ago decides to strike back. Does this make me happy? Do I still feel the same way? I don't know any longer. But I sure don't feel much like myself recently either. Can a heartbreak teach you to cherish, love better and appreciate? Can a heartbreak teach you to respect, to cooperate and to communicate?

How much can a wasted heart take before it disintegrates into nothingness?

Canni Goes Gaga Over Paper

2008-12-07T02:42:00.003+08:00

I was too cheap to buy this GORGEOUS 100% HANDMADE notebook but Sethu was such a darling and got it for me. So a really really big thank you and here's the post to make people who do not have this notebook a jealous freak. [evil laughter]

Her Kite

2008-12-02T23:23:00.003+08:00

Jenny walked south of the house and headed toward her favourite little mount of grass and soil. Exactly 50 steps away. Plonking herself down, she shielded her eyes with one hand and studied the wind. Satisfied, Jenny throw her pastel blue kite to the wind and slowly released the string.

"Fly, kite, fly high up into the sky and bring my troubles far far away." Jenny confided to the kite.

As the sun beat down on Jenny and the wind danced in Jenny's ears, nature's song took flight and unsettled Jenny's restraints. With every flap of her kite, more tears slipped down Jenny's cheeks.

The kite, the wind and the tears, they all seemed to channel Jenny's frustrations out of her heavy heart. With swollen eyes and a blocked nose, Jenny felt a lot lighter at heart and started at the white cotton string. Her sight followed the string to where it held tightly to the tail of the kite. With a little smile, Jenny's fingers loosened slightly and let the string slip past her fingers.

As Jenny watched the kite float away, dancing and swaying, she said a little prayer and hoped that the kite will bring better tidings.

2008-11-20T01:03:00.003+08:00

RMIT-FTSC Marketing and Promotions Department Co-Head

I'm still not used to it.

~C~

It doesn't help that I was so stoned from work I did not make my thank you speech properly. So here goes:

Congragulations to all who made it into the new EXCO. I really think MZT did a brilliant job and I have really big shoes to fill. M&P has alot of talent and I'm truly truly honoured I was the one who got put in this position. It'll be a long hard road but with all your support, I think we'll reach that pot of gold :)

Yup. That's what my speech should be. Stupid BRAIN.

vanity vanity

2008-11-10T23:20:00.004+08:00

Taking an administrative job only serves to prove to me one thing, that my dislike for office jobs was correct.

No internet.

The computer takes 20 minutes to boot,

and requires 7 patches to the program.

The mouse the computer uses has a ball in it.

How long was it since you used that THING?

The work sucks any intelligence left in my little skull

out to where comets and angels are,

look at retards like us sitting in cubicles,

typing nonsense for shitass pay into blinking light.

My feet hurts, because I bought really pretty heels that I cannot walk in. Riena walked, I ran; and we were at the same pace. Brill.

I MISS THE INTERNET!!!

Okay, that's it for now. Special thanks to onion though, without him being such a sweetie keeping me entertained through the way of the sm of s, I would have fallen asleep flat on the computer keyboard.

From my utter incoherence, I'm sure you guys could tell how much I hate my job already.I think thats a basic requirement for all office jobs.

Did I mention my workplace doesn't allow me to use the Internet?

Sigh.

2008-11-09T23:26:00.002+08:00

Speedy updates because I'm mentally shut off ever since exams are over and I hadn't had the chance to nua at home so no time to tell stories.

1. EXAMS ARE OVER!!!!
2. I GOT A JOB~~~~~
3. I"M ATTACHED! .......... Nah, just KIDDING![big wide grin] I'm single, and LOVIN' it.

Speedy reflections:

It's pretty surreal that I've finished two whole semesters in SIM, which obviously means I'm going to the second year of my university education. Time flies man.

If time continues speeding at this rate, I'll be old, wearing frumpy pale pink tailored button shirts and elastic pants with little blossom patterns on them watching TV all day long while my annoying 3 year old grandson repeatedly rolls the plastic toy truck across the floor and goes "vroom vroom" for an hour to no reduction of his amusement.

Otherwise, I could also become insane because of the strangling meritocratic working environment in Singapore or because GST has just been readjusted to 22.3%. Then I'll be having wheelchair races in a certain hospital in Hougang with my fellow bedmates.

SO, I better start spending on botox treatments, collagen facial masks and pilates and hatha yoga to keep myself zen and slow down my aging process.

Which also means the money in my bank account crashes to rock bottom faster than the failure of the US $700bn bank bailout plan. That's not...very good. But, VANITY. Pfft. We're all guilty of it.

Hmm, I guess this reflection wasn't as speedy after all.

----------

Anyhoo, in celebration of so much good news, here's some fun party music!

Anyone remembers AQUA?

Nonstalgia

2008-11-02T15:05:00.001+08:00

I miss debating; like crazy.

011008

2008-11-01T17:40:00.002+08:00

I know, I started to blog again because I wanted to write, but exam period la. One story is stuck in my head raring to go, so wait up yup? Anyhoo, been having a craving for some good ol' political, indie feel-good music, so here goes:

2008-10-31T18:28:00.004+08:00

I've forsaken 8 cups of Starbucks triplegrandenowhipmocha(togoplease) to feed my Cyclops. That's a whole lot of money. Being the typical penny-pinching female stereotype, I calculated. One polaroid currently costs me 6 sticks of cigarettes, or alternatively, 28 toilet breaks at a hawker centre that charges 10 cent/toilet entry! But, it was FUUUUUUN!

Here's me trying to be artsy fartsy. It's actually my lazy-cum-"study" chair, really pretty floral cushion to hug during depressing exam periods, and my ON (Old Navy) bag! I'm just trying to capture the various fabrics and texture, but noob ol' me do not know how to fix the lighting and that focusing function yet, so it's a bit overexposed and underfocused la.

But before this pretty decent effort, there were A LOT of failures, that accounted for one McDonalds' meal, with upsize. I'd consider this "training fees". Just to make myself feel better. Don't the pictures looks like my Bambi clip trying to frolick through the forestry of my furry rug and the uneven bumps of my brown tweed sofa? It's running, it's sprinting, it got away! Nooooo. Hah! My overactive imagination gets the better of me sometimes.

And of course, I have to take a picture of myself, with me Cyclops. Now all I have to do is to wait for my allowance to come in so I can buy stickers to decorate the polaroids and then decide what in the world am I going to do with these polaroids.

On a sidenote: Birthday wishes to Sethu today and Vivi tomorrow! Many many hugs for the birthday boys! Tomorrow take picture with polaroid camera, kay!

Al Pacino's In the House

2008-10-28T23:35:00.007+08:00

With the current trend of taking polaroid pictures, I went to dig out my dad's ROCK of a polaroid camera. It has a ZOOMING function as well as ISO features.

HOW COOL IS THAT?

Except, it's a little on the big side. All pictures included above! I'm so excited, first I'm getting a Supersampler, and now I have a ROCK of a polaroid camera. Don't you think it looks like cyclops?

Show her the light.

2008-10-25T23:16:00.006+08:00

I went from shock, to hysteria, to excitement, to curiousness and then to accomplishment.

What can make me such a wreck?

FACE YOUR FEARS

(quote courtesy of Vivi)

By the way, the game only opens from 6pm to 6am.

What the Modern Woman Wants, By Amanda Chong Wei-Zhen

2008-10-24T15:57:00.002+08:00

Someone sent me this story a while back. I think it is awesome. We should applaud great writers and blossoming talents like Amanda here. I find it really enjoyable and a very apt topic. Very very classy writing style. Must read! FIVE STARS.

----------

In the annual Commonwealth Essay Competition, Amanda Chong of Raffles Girls' School (Secondary) chose to compete in the older category and won with a piece on the restlessness of modern life.

Her short story, titled What The Modern Woman Wants, focused on the conflict in values between an old lady and her independent-minded daughter.

------------

The old woman sat in the backseat of the magenta convertible as it careened down the highway, clutching tightly to the plastic bag on her lap, afraid it may be kidnapped by the wind. She was not used to such speed, with trembling hands she pulled the seatbelt tighter but was careful not to touch the patent leather seats with her callused fingers, her daughter had warned her not to dirty it, 'Fingerprints show very clearly on white, Ma.'

Her daughter, Bee Choo, was driving and talking on her sleek silver mobile phone using big words the old woman could barely understand. 'Finance' 'Liquidation' 'Assets' 'Investments'... Her voice was crisp and important and had an unfamiliar lilt to it. Her Bee Choo sounded like one of those foreign girls on television. She was speaking in an American accent.

The old lady clucked her tongue in disapproval. 'I absolutely cannot have this. We have to sell!' Her daughter exclaimed agitatedly as she stepped on the accelerator; her perfectly manicured fingernails gripping onto the steering wheel in irritation.

'I can't DEAL with this anymore!' she yelled as she clicked the phone shut and hurled it angrily toward the backseat. The mobile phone hit the old woman on the forehead and nestled soundlessly into her lap. She calmly picked it up and handed it to her daughter.

'Sorry, Ma,' she said, losing the American pretence and switching to Mandarin. 'I have a big client in America. There have been a lot of problems.' The old lady nodded knowingly. Her daughter was big and important.

Bee Choo stared at her mother from the rear view window, wondering what she was thinking. Her mother's wrinkled countenance always carried the same cryptic look.

The phone began to ring again, an artificially cheerful digital tune, which broke the awkward
silence. 'Hello, Beatrice! Yes, this is Elaine.' Elaine. The old woman cringed. I didn't name her Elaine. She remembered her daughter telling her, how an English name was very important for 'networking', Chinese ones being easily forgotten.

'Oh no, I can't see you for lunch today. I have to take the ancient relic to the temple for her weird
daily prayer ritual.'

Ancient Relic. The old woman understood perfectly it was referring to her. Her daughter always assumed that her mother's silence meant she did not comprehend.

'Yes, I know! My car seats will be reeking of joss sticks!' The old woman pursed her lips tightly, her hands gripping her plastic bag in defence. The car curved smoothly into the temple courtyard. It looked almost garish next to the dull sheen of the ageing temple's roof. The old woman got out of the back seat, and made her unhurried way to the main hall.

Her daughter stepped out of the car in her business suit and stilettos and reapplied her lipstick as she made her brisk way to her mother's side.

'Ma, I'll wait outside. I have an important phone call to make,' she said, not bothering to hide her disgust at the pungent fumes of incense.

The old lady hobbled into the temple hall and lit a joss stick, she knelt down solemnly and whispered her now familiar daily prayer to the Gods.

Thank you God of the Sky, you have given my daughter luck all these years. Everything I prayed for, you have given her. She has everything a young woman in this world could possibly want. She has a big house with a swimming pool, a maid to help her, as she is too clumsy to sew or cook.

Her love life has been blessed; she is engaged to a rich and handsome angmoh man. Her company is now the top financial firm and even men listen to what she says. She lives the perfect life. You have given her everything except happiness. I ask that the gods be merciful to her even if she has lost her roots while reaping the harvest of success.

What you see is not true, she is a filial daughter to me. She gives me a room in her big house and provides well for me. She is rude to me only because I affect her happiness. A young woman does not want to be hindered by her old mother. It is my fault.

The old lady prayed so hard that tears welled up in her eyes. Finally, with her head bowed in reverence she planted the half-burnt joss stick into an urn of smouldering ashes.

She bowed once more. The old woman had been praying for her daughter for thirty-two years. When her stomach was round like a melon, she came to the temple and prayed that it was a
son.

Then the time was ripe and the baby slipped out of her womb, bawling and adorable with fat thighs and pink cheeks, but unmistakably, a girl. Her husband had kicked and punched her for producing a useless baby who could not work or carry the family name.

Still, the woman returned to the temple with her new-born girl tied to her waist in a sarong and prayed that her daughter would grow up and have everything she ever wanted. Her husband left her and she prayed that her daughter would never have to depend on a man.

She prayed every day that her daughter would be a great woman, the woman that she, meek and uneducated, could never become. A woman with nengkan; the ability to do anything she set her mind to. A woman who commanded respect in the hearts of men. When she opened her mouth to speak, precious pearls would fall out and men would listen.

She will not be like me, the woman prayed as she watched her daughter grow up and drift away from her, speaking a language she scarcely understood. She watched her daughter transform from a quiet girl, to one who openly defied her, calling her laotu; old-fashioned. She wanted her mother to be 'modern', a word so new there was no Chinese word for it.

Now her daughter was too clever for her and the old woman wondered why she had prayed like that. The gods had been faithful to her persistent prayer, but the wealth and success that poured forth so richly had buried the girl's roots and now she stood, faceless, with no identity, bound to the soil of her ancestors by only a string of origami banknotes.

Her daughter had forgotten her mother's values. Her wants were so ephemeral; that of a modern woman. Power, Wealth, access to the best fashion boutiques, and yet her daughter had not found true happiness. The old woman knew that you could find happiness with much less. When her daughter left the earth everything she had would count for nothing. People would look to her
legacy and say that she was a great woman, but she would be forgotten once the wind blows over, like the ashes of burnt paper convertibles and mansions.

The old woman wished she could go back and erase all her big hopes and prayers for her daughter; now she had only one want: That her daughter be happy. She looked out of the temple gate. She saw her daughter speaking on the phone, her brow furrowed with anger and worry. Being at the top is not good, the woman thought, there is only one way to go from there - down.

The old woman carefully unfolded the plastic bag and spread out a packet of beehoon in front of the altar. Her daughter often mocked her for worshipping porcelain Gods. How could she pray to them so faithfully and expect pieces of ceramic to fly to her aid? But her daughter had her own gods too, idols of wealth, success and power that she was enslaved to and worshipped every day of her life.

Every day was a quest for the idols, and the idols she worshipped counted for nothing in eternity. All the wants her daughter had would slowly suck the life out of her and leave her, an empty soulless shell at the altar.

The old lady watched her joss tick. The dull heat had left a teetering grey stem that was on the danger of collapsing. Modern woman nowadays, the old lady sighed in resignation, as she bowed to the east one final time to end her ritual. Modern woman nowadays want so much that they lose their souls and wonder why they cannot find it.

Her joss stick disintegrated into a soft grey powder. She met her daughter outside the temple, the same look of worry and frustration was etched on her daughter's face. An empty expression, as if she was ploughing through the soil of her wants looking for the one thing that would sow the seeds of happiness.

They climbed into the convertible in silence and her daughter drove along the highway, this time not as fast as she had done before.

'Ma,' Bee Choo finally said. 'I don't know how to put this. Mark and I have been talking about it and we plan to move out of the big house. The property market is good now, and we managed to get a buyer willing to pay seven million for it. We decided we'd prefer a cosier penthouse apartment instead. We found a perfect one in Orchard Road. Once we move in to our apartment
we plan to get rid of the maid, so we can have more space to ourselves...'

The old woman nodded knowingly. Bee Choo swallowed hard. 'We'd get someone to come in to do the housework and we can eat out - but once the maid is gone, there won't be anyone to look after you. You will be awfully lonely at home and, besides that, the apartment is rather small. There won't be space. We thought about it for a long time, and we decided the best thing for you is if you moved to a Home. There's one near Hougang - it's a Christian home, a very nice one.'

The old woman did not raise an eyebrow. 'I've been there, the matron is willing to take you in. It's beautiful with gardens and lots of old people to keep you company! I hardly have time for you, you'd be happier there.'

'You'd be happier there, really.' Her daughter repeated as if to affirm herself. This time the old woman had no plastic bag of food offerings to cling tightly to; she bit her lip and
fastened her seat belt, as if it would protect her from a daughter who did not want her anymore. She sunk deep into the leather seat, letting her shoulders sag, and her fingers trace the white seat.

'Ma?' her daughter asked, searching the rear view window for her mother. 'Is everything okay?'
What had to be done, had to be done. 'Yes,' she said firmly, louder than she intended, 'if it will make you happy,' she added more quietly.

'It's for you, Ma! You'll be happier there. You can move there tomorrow, I already got the maid to pack your things.' Elaine said triumphantly, mentally ticking yet another item off her agenda.

'I knew everything would be fine.'

Elaine smiled widely; she felt liberated. Perhaps getting rid of her mother would make her happier. She had thought about it. It seemed the only hindrance in her pursuit of happiness. She was happy now. She had everything a modern woman ever wanted; Money, Status,
Career, Love,Power and now, Freedom, without her mother and her old-fashioned ways to weigh her down...

Yes, she was free. Her phone buzzed urgently, she picked it up and read the message, still beaming from ear to ear. 'Stocks 10% increase!'

Yes, things were definitely beginning to look up for her... And while searching for the meaning of life in the luminance of her hand phone screen, the old woman in the backseat became invisible, and she did not see the tears.

Follow These Steps

2008-10-24T02:00:00.006+08:00

Step 1: Lift both your palms towards your shoulders, and place them in "clicking-fingers" position.

Step 2: Start clicking to the rhythm "OH-ONE-AND'A-TWO'-AND'A-THREE-WOOOOT!"

Step 3: (Once you get the hang of it,) Start swinging your clicking fingers 45 degrees toward your left shoulder, and subsequently 45 degrees toward your right shoulder. Repeat.

Step 4: Shift your neck forward and backward according to your swinging motion. Repeat.

scroll down.

Congragulations, you've made yourself look like an utter idiot and shared my joy of getting a Supersampler. (I'mreallyveryexcitedbuti'mtryingtocomposeit. Asyoushouldknow, ineverhadacameraforfiveyears.)

[woooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooot]

J-I-N-G-L-E Bells!

2008-10-22T01:46:00.002+08:00

I'm being overenthusiastic. But then again, I am infatuated with Christmas. 64 days away!

The Joy of Linguistics

2008-10-21T13:00:00.002+08:00

Recently, Pangya was the in word. What the hell is pangya?

A new form of expression? "I feel so pangya-ed today, dude."

Or perhaps a new pet: "Ooooh, look at that cute little furry pangya. Oooh, oh, it squeaked!"

Maybe, a clothing brand: "Nice top." "Yeah, its Pangya!"

But, nope. Pangya is a golfing game. So I asked my friend why in the world is the name such an odd choice:

"It means BANG! in Korean."

"Yah, but it sounds like some duck dish."

"Duck dish?"

"Yeah...fat duck in mandarin?"

"Well..."

But its not just any other golfing game, unlike those professional looking sophisticated first-person consoles. It's cute, entertaining and has the exciting magical dramatized features to boot. (Check out the link, it's in black if you haven't realized.)

Back to the topic of its name. Imagine if some chinese speaking father was having a conversation with his Pangya-hip son:

"What are you playing son?"

"Pangya."

"Fat duck?"

"Pangya."

"Fat duck?

"Pangya!"

"Fat duck!"

It does look quite fun.

God For You

2008-10-20T22:22:00.002+08:00

First, it was Christians in Macau praying to Jesus using incense sticks. Now its a Buddhist church.

Religion is getting out of hand, thanks to us.

It probably started off as a philosophy, was made into a population manipulating tool, became the legitimate reason for countries to fight wars. A few years down the road, it became a multibillion dollar business, had an entire city built for religion and became the focal point of war again.

I mean, whose smart idea was it to build a synagogue, a Catholic church and a mosque in the same spot. No wonder it was buried.

Now, Buddhism is available in your neighborhood; just check out the latest mass session to drop by!

Brill. I haven't even started on UFO religion.

Next decade, we might just have a Biro pen temple.

I Survived a Japanese Gameshow

2008-10-16T20:13:00.001+08:00

Hai.....MAJIDE!

i love that gameshow.

A Good Laugh

2008-10-15T16:49:00.002+08:00

Several interesting facts I've learnt today:

(a) My friend has a 5 year old nephew who has his own Facebook account.
(b) The same nephew rocks at 'Who Has the Biggest Brain?" (Eat your heart out, he's a Space Ace.)
(c) My other friend got conned into a boyzilian;
(d) stark naked;
(e) in Thailand.
(f) That adorable nephew's favorite way of playing Counterstrike is to walk around and "shoot air, no enemy".

I had my laughs, now have yours.

daisies.

More Anger.

2008-10-14T23:00:00.003+08:00

Fuck, why are there so many people blogging ( I mean I don't blame you) but can't TEMPLATE CHANGING be fucking easier? Fuck.

Oh, excuse my french.

Bad Humour, Good Humour

2008-10-14T22:14:00.004+08:00

I'm guilty of liking 8 days, as much as I would like to portray myself as a LEXEAN, The Economist toting intellectual reader. What is a girl to do when she always forgets her TV shows' timings and succumbs to bad reruns after 10pm. Anyhoo, that isn't the point.

If any gossip&TV-minded average Singaporean would notice, the newest 8 days has this really hawt front page of whaddyacallher featured with a very very luscious milk mustache, which I find really great!

But obviously, if there wasn't a catch, I wouldn't be bitching about this. They wrote this on the front page: "Got milk? (but not from China please)." BAD JOKE.

Honestly, the intellect and fun of the Got Milk? campaign is in its essence, subtle and able to make fun of itself. You do not destroy such intellectual humor with such misplaced, misdelivered humour. Really. The Got Milk? was highly respected for being so fun it actually worked, making fat American kids drink milk instead of soda; it was highly respected because it had fun promoting the culture of drinking milk, as illustrated above.

I mean, how cute it is to see Batman and the Hulk have milk mustaches? And their paragraph pitches about milk is ALWAYs really cute. Kudos to Suze Orman's got milk? poster which quotes "Milk your budget...blah blah blah".

In a nutshell, it was really in bad taste for 8 days to use such good material as an avenue or bridge for a joke that was totally unecessary. It would be very nice though, if they collaborated with got milk? for a feature on the campaign.

After all, we Asians are considerably shorter as one people as compared to the West. got milk? did say growing taller was one of the benefits right?

P.S: I adore their new website. Go see!

Let Loose

2008-10-14T00:15:00.004+08:00

Brick, gap, brick, gap, brick, gap, brick, gap. Penelope stared at the stairs she was sitting on, knees drawn up to her chest, ballet shoes in hand. Pigeons were pecking on the square beyond the flight of stairs, looking for food; some grey, some white. Tiny frail creatures underneath the pale dusty blue of the late afternoon sky with scant wisps of cloud sprawled lazily across.

Penelope closed her eyes and tried to hear the song of the afternoon; she heard the gentle croons of the pigeons, that silent swishes of the sky moving across above her, casting shadows and beams of sunlight on her skin. She heard the traffic two street away, some rampant horning and a screech of the tyres.

She breathed in that thick dusty afternoon air, hoping the therepautic symbolism of it all would help.

It's ballet tryouts today and Penelope does not feel right. Her changment de pieds felt stiff, her piroutte listless. She sighed in frustration, scaring off a pigeon that had wandered up the stairs. The dance studio was stiffling, all those girls stretching, murmuring; watching her. She had to get some air, the afternoon air a reluctant help.

She stared at the pigeons for a little longer, rocking their little lithe necks forward and backward, pecking the cement floor again and again, stubbornly finding food. Forward, backward, forward, backward; all in rapid fashion. Something about the pigeons...Penelope's eyebrows knitted together and she started wearing her dancing shoes. With one deep breath, she pranced up and leapt onto the foyer of the stairs and started dancing.

Turn, turn, leap! Turn, turn, stretch out. Turn, twirl, jump and land. Penelope danced and twirled, pranced and leapt. Her heart was singing, her hands and her feet sweeping every curve of her moves. Her confidence was streaming back into every muscle, her heart singing in unison with every leap and turn.

Penelope, the ballerina is ready.

The dance stopped and she paused on the top of the stairs, panting. The music in her heart faded away, and the crooning of the pigeons resumed. That hot lazy afternoon continued to be oblivion, but Penelope was a changed woman. She strode in the theatre, ballet flats worn and ready.

13102008

2008-10-13T14:27:00.002+08:00

I've decided to write again. We'll see what I come up with later. Read the expired ones below. And this bloody skin cannot show that navigation bar. Someone tell me what to do. I abhor HTML.

The Jester

2006-09-23T00:23:00.000+08:00

Gazes fell upon her as she took every step toward the table. Her every muscle inched graciously as she walked past the glass panels, walking past every curious passer-by as their focus moves with her, as their focus zooms in on every inch of her presence. Every step she took, she felt as if she was pushing away air. The gazes fell upon her and away from her like satin is to arm, and the tense attention glides past her contour and wraps her tighter from behind. Pad, pad, pad. She's there. She looked up into the one-way glass pane and stared at her reflection. Her hands reached into her pockets and she fumbled about, finally fingers touching a familiar shape. Out came the clipper comb her mother kept for years and friends of hers get fascinated about. Out came the technicolour pins she brought for the show. Out came the rubber bands she needed to hold her crown glory in. Her fingers wrapped themselves around the clipper comb and ran it through a sea of hair, parting the knots and smoothing the strands. All the time, she stared into her reflection's eyes, daring for it to blink or to move. Her hair was done. She picked up the rubber bands and split her hair into teo ponytails, tied it just above her ear, making sure her hair flings itself nicely outward. She found her pins redundant and turned to get her makeup.

As she returned to her open vanity table, she slowly applied the foundation sponge on her cheeks as she took in the gazes that rained upon her. She could feel curiosity. She could feel interest. She could feel excitement. She could feel sceptism. She could feel the vast space of the room, the contrast of textures from acrylic to carpet to the hardness of the chairs. She could feel the sunlight pouring in through the windows and the light pouring in through the glass panels; all turned cold when the aircon disseminated across the floor. Her character emerged, and her mindset morphed. Her serious self was gone, the jester's here.

As the show went on, she laughed and sang to the children, but her head was well aware of the jobs at hand. She acted in front of the kids, knowing she really did not mean what she says. She sat there bouncing on a ball, knowing the gleeful expression was a mask. She wondered, at that moment, how much life was an act. How everyone wears a mask, how people just perceive you to be what you give.

Curtains down. She dropped her smile, she dropped her energy. She walked hastily behind the stage and let her throat sing. Coughs errupted into chains of gasping and she choked some more. Her mask was still on, her costume was still on. But the curtains were down. Did the audience see her gasping and lying on the floor? No. Did any of the audience see the hard work any performer that day did? No.

"The heart is a lonely painter" A Biennale artist said. Indeed. For the work of anyone is untold, and unknown unless people see it for themselves.

As the kids scamper outside and the parents leaving happy and content; the curtains stayed down and the crew remained quiet. They packed up their stuff and leave. The gazes were no longer there. The curiosity, the sceptism, the excitement was all gone. But she could still feel the vast space of the room, the contrast of textures from acrylic to carpet to the hardness of the chairs. She could still feel the sunlight pouring in through the windows and the light pouring in through the glass panels; all turning cold when the aircon disseminate across the floor.

Bad Taste In The Mouth

2006-08-06T20:03:00.000+08:00

Not a happy period.

Sneakaroo

2006-07-25T00:36:00.000+08:00

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Clenching her teeth, she dragged the oak dining chair across the kitchen inch by inch, sweat trickling down her temples, her frock clinging to her sweat-soaked body. With all the strength she has, she made sure the chair made no noise, slided the legs barely above the floor. With each heavy step, Alice's arms ached. The dining chair was too heavy for her to bear, but her wrought eyebrows fueled her own, their determination exuding across her knitted forehead. As her muscle ached and pain seared into her tired back, she continued the journey and finally reached the cupboards on the other side.

She slumped on the chair, catching her breathe for the longest time. The humid afternoon air filled her lungs and gave her life, the humid afternoon air also made her eyelids heavy, made her drowsy, her determination and goodwill forgotten for the moment. She sat very still, merging with the quiet surroundings, moving as one as the silence ecked on. As each breathe filled her lungs, energy surged through every vein until she regains her libido.

She opens her eyes and started climbing that chair, reaching out to the cupboard door and swung it open it one swift moment. Mama always told her that it makes less noise. She reached for that candle box and hugged it tight against her chest with one hand. That swerve almost knocked her off her leverage. Her palm was clenched tight on the cupboard door, her heart pumping after that misadventure.

Her eyebrows unfurled and her eyes glistened, half the job is done now. She scrambled down the chair, leaving it standing by the cabinet. She scuttled to the dining table and stared at the cupcake in it's glory. It was Marie's favourtie, raspberry walnut, with nice white icing and her name written over it in nice big letters with red polka dots dancing around it. She put down the candle box and took out a waxy sticky from it. Pink she chose. She stuck it nicely in the middle of the front, her trembling fingers taking great care not to smudge the icing. Mama put it on this morning.

She lit it with the child-proof lighter Papa gave.

A grin spread on her lips as she gets excited about the surprise for Marie. Any six year old girl would feel really proud of themselves if they managed to fool their older sister and surprise her with a birthday cake.

She cupped the cupcake like it was her favourite doll, and walked out with cautious steps towards the hall. Marie was reading a book, comfortably cross-legged on her favourite couch, where she would always be on Sunday afternoons. Alice walked towards the couch, staring at the flame and wishing it would not go out. She looked left and right, and anxiously glancing at the couch. As she neared Marie, she held her breathe. Marie might hear.

Marie heard the padded footsteps, heard the little muffled giggles ALice was trying to hide, she pretended to read her book and gauged where Alice was. As Alice padded towards her with great care, Marice posied herself against the couch.

Alice's prescence got nearer, and Marie got more tensed. Alice was almost there...almost there. Her lips parted and a breathe drew in, as she got ready to shout surprise.

Then, a head popped out by the side of the couch and two bright voices rang into the air.

"Surprise!"
"Gotcha!"

Laughter bursed out of the sisters and they hugged amidst the giggles. It wasn't a successful surprise party, but it was a pleasant surprise.

It was the year when Marie blew the candle with all the happiness in her heart and ate her favourite cupcake with all the content she can have, with little Alice on her lap hugging her.

False Impressions

2006-07-22T13:55:00.000+08:00

Disclaimer: Some people would know where this story's inspiration come from, but it's nothing near how I felt. No worries.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Her fingers were strongly clasped, wringing that heirloom handkerchief she held intertwined in the tension of the moment. Her pupils dilated, her mouth tight. She stood at the windowsill, as still as that afternoon air, as quiet as the warm sunlight glowing across the landscape. Those two silhouttes kissing by that pine tree in her yard were oblivious to her watch. No one saw that figure in that baby blue dress standing at the window, no one felt that gaze of jealousy wash over them, consuming every moment of passion they were sharing, crushing it. She scrutinized every inch of the guy, fighting back her tears.

He looked like her fiance.

Anger built up, jealousy rushed through her system, she could no longer breathe regularly. Blinkly profusely, she tried fighting back those tears, those bawls of sorrow. This cannot be possible, she thought. Half of her want to run down and clarify, half of her want to lie down in this room and mope because her heart felt so. The room started spinning, her brain started getting confused. It's only her heart speaking to her now, and any time, she will break that dam and tears will flow free. Happy memories ran through her head like rapids, hitting hard at her agony as every scene flashed before her eyes.

A hard gasp stabbed the air, and she fell, grabbing the windowsill for support before she hit the window pane. All the anxiety vanished into the air. Consciousness got the better of her, and she calmed down. The room stopped spinning and she could hear herself breathing, hear her surroundings. She looked out the window; those two are still at it.

A click was heard, the door creaked open. She turned her tear-streaked face around, and saw her fiance. A wave of relief and reprimanding washed through her every vein and her soul, as she rushed to hug him and sobbed heavily, her corset heaving against his chest.

He said nothing, and just hugged her tight.

His trust and his reassuring hug made her sob harder, made her feel more foolish. That regret and relief overwhelmed her, as both of them stood there hugging and she crying; whilst those two strangers by her yard are still kissing.

The Singaporean Mindset

2006-07-03T10:04:00.000+08:00

I was going to write about something happy, but it didnt turn out very well. Just couldn't bear to write something of such nature in my blog. I'm not one of those "I brushed my teeth and ate breakfast" bloggers. I'm a story blogger! So here I am writing about the Singaporean in me.

---

I shuffled the three books in my arms and walked towards the counter. I gave an apprehensive glance towards the cashiers and one led me to an empty counter. I heaved all the books onto the table and looked around as the cash register beeps in recognition of the barcodes. That inquisitive smile popped into the corner of my eye. I turned and gave her a tight smile, taking out that blue card with the shiny Mastercard logo in that corner.

I wonder when would I be able to proudly declare the prescence of that nice shiny logo.

As she cashed in my purchases and packed them into a carrier, I nonchalantly asked if she could spare me bookmarks of any sort. Her eyes widened and she queried: "Well, we do sell a few there." Hand waving towards my back where very expensive bookmarks were hanging off the shelves, their plastic packaging glistening like pirate's gold; nothing good. So I turned back, and said: " Urm, no, not those. I just wanted something to mark my books cuz' I'm reading on the way home." Sheepish grin. "Oh you mean those free ones?" She scoffed. "Nono, just any piece fo scrap will do, even a card." I tried to salvage my pride and image.

Isn't this what all Singaporeans do? Expect a free gift and deny that you want it. Oh, shameless me.

"Well, you could use that." She points at the receipt. I conjured up a amused face "Right! Why didn't I think of that. Alright, thanks alot. Bye!" I beat a hasty exit.

Then again, why no free bookmarks?

kiss me beautiful

2006-07-01T22:02:00.000+08:00

Let's just say it can never amount to much, but it can amount to so much.

July the First

2006-06-30T00:29:00.000+08:00

I'm a lazy blogger today. In honour of the times when Singapore was a land of freedom for the smokers.

I forgot what excel meant.

2006-06-27T21:04:00.000+08:00

Upset and depressed. I need a hug. "Jack of all trades, master of none."...must be why nothing goes my way. Absolutely nothing. It slips, it falls away, it just never comes into my arms. I use to pass my god-damn exams, no matter how hard I try now, I never get to pass. I don't know what to do anymore. Would ambitions be any use? Would hope be any use? I guess not.

so close to home

2006-06-22T11:16:00.000+08:00

Adapted from Waiter Rant

It’s Friday night. The dinner rush is starting and the Bistro’s half full. I’m up front training Holly, our new hostess. She’s a pretty twenty year old redhead.

"You were born in 1986, right?" I ask.

"Yes," Holly replies, "Why do you ask?"

I take a deep breath. They’re getting younger, I’m getting older - what can I do about it? I’ve got to stop thinking about age. I’m only driving myself insane. Worse, I’m getting repetitive and boring. I hope it’s just a phase I’m going through.

"Forget it," I say.

"So what happened to the last hostess?" Holly asks.

"That," I reply, "Is a very good question."

"Well," Holly says, "What’s the answer?"

"She quit."

"How long did she work here?" Holly asks.

"One week," I reply.

"One week?"

"One week."

"What happened?" Holly asks.

"I don’t know," I say. "She showed up for work, had lunch, text messaged Fluvio that this job wasn’t for her, and then walked out the door."

"She text messaged her resignation letter?" Holly asks incredulously.

"Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it a resignation letter."

"I’ve never heard of anyone quitting by text message," Holly says.

"Neither have I."

The door chimes. A middle aged couple walks inside. They look grim.

"Hello and welcome to The Bistro," Holly chirps.

"Two," the woman says, holding up two fingers. "We have a reservation."

"Your name?" Holly asks.

"Brown."

Holly looks at the seating chart. All the seating’s been prearranged. The couple’s table is on the aisle.

"Follow me please," Holly says, "I’ll show you to your table."

Holly walks down the aisle holding two menus. The couple doesn’t follow her. Instead the woman stays rooted in place and points to the empty four top by the window.

"Is that table free?" the woman asks. In her self centered cosmology she probably thinks the "reserved" sign on the table means it’s reserved for her.

"I’m sorry madam," I reply, "It’s reserved."

"Why can’t we sit there?" she asks coldly.

"I’m sorry Madam," I reply. "We need that table for four people."

"So you’re going to give me the worst table in the house?" the woman asks. "Is that what you’re telling me?" A look of consternation struggles to emerge on her taut Botoxed face.

"I have no other tables open madam," I say, "Perhaps if you’d like to come back in an hour?"

"I’m not sitting there," the woman says turning to her husband. "I’m just not."

The husband and wife argue. It’s no good. The man leaves. I feel bad for him. He just wants to eat. His wife turns her glare on me.

"This is HIDEOUS" the woman screeches, "Absolutely hideous!"

What’s really hideous is the plastic surgeon didn’t botox this woman’s tongue.

"Sorry Madam," I say, smiling my fake waiter smile, "I can’t change your seat."

"Hideous!" the woman hisses, storming out the door, "Hideous!"

After the door shuts Holly gasps, "Oh my God! I can’t believe that woman!"

"Believe it," I chuckle, "People like her are why the last hostess quit."

"Does stuff like this happen a lot?" Holly asks.

"All the time."

Holly turns red. She’s looks angry.

"My sister just got back from Iraq," Holly says. "She could tell that woman a thing or two about what’s hideous."

"Your sister’s in the service?" I ask.

"She’s a Marine," Holly answers. "She’s stationed in California now. She spent almost a year there."

"Oh my God," I say, "How old is she?"

"Twenty-two."

"Your parents must’ve been worried sick."

"My Mom was glued to the TV the whole year," Holly says. "She freaked every time she heard a soldier was killed."

"I can’t imagine," I reply, wondering how it feels to have a child fighting in a war.

"My sister told me she was under fire a few times," Holly says. "She said it was intense."

"Jesus," I mutter.

"So if that woman wants to get that upset over a table," Holly says, "She can blow it out her ass."

There’s nothing to say so I say nothing. I stand off to the side and think.

The soldiers are getting younger, I’m getting older. What’s it like for a twenty-two year old woman to experience war? How would I deal with it at thirty-eight? Who knows? I don’t want to find out. But after experiencing war I think one thing is certain.

Sitting anywhere in a restaurant would be an unbelievable luxury.

Flipping the Economist and reading about governments employing soldiers to trouble areas like Afghanistan, Iraq, Timor-Leste or even HIPCs, it always seemed so mechanical. Everytime the UN missionaries try and fail, people blame their inefficiency, still mechanical. As I was reading that article, I realised how much closer to home it can get, how frighteningly scary it will be. Everytime we see that a country is in turmoil, would any Singaporean stand up and say, I want to volunteer. Why is it the perrogative of the other nations? Why the perrogative of only youths of other nations. Even UN makeup consists of the 1st world countries already straning their armies across the globe. It's alot more threatening to see how ignorant and adamant everyone is, how we see issues, that are so drastic and a horrifying experience if put unto us, as impossible.

Can we ever wake up?

Jeez, even I don't believe in what I'm saying.

driving me in.

2006-06-22T00:45:00.000+08:00

She stood still. Very still. Her green frock flippered in the wind, the auburn curls framing her face stroking her cheeks as the wind carassed her every inch; sweeping the vast perimeter, rustling every grain. Her breathing was low, gentle and regular, her pace moving along to the rhythm the wheat was swaying. Nature and Betsie was one. She readjusted her eyes under closed lids, registering pink and white. Sunlight. Smell of dried mud and dried grass filled up her nostrils.

Betsie refuses to open her eyes, refusing to break this bond, refusing to return. She knows that the moment her eyelids reveal the world, she'd see that cottage far away, that tractor moving along the road, seating her father with his pipe hanging from his moustached lips. No. She do not want that image floating into her mind, she's refusing to think. Fighting to regain peace, to reunite with her surroundings, she breathed even slower and listened harder. Beads of sweat trickeld down her temples, her eyebrows knitting into a frown as she grunted, desperately clawing for deviation from reality.

Young Betsie hated reality. Every day as she grew, responsibilities piled upon her. One day she had to fetch Daddy matchsticks, another day water. Some other day she had to spring clean with Mummy, occasionally running far errands. It was not the task that she detest, it was the expectation of doing it well, way beyond the limit given, and faring better than she was capable of. All she wanted to do was to play with the fellow children, to run around amock in the vast greenery, chasing cows and running after crows. She wants to swim in the quarry and go to the market and ogle at civilisation. She's only seven, she do not need to do anything. This is nice, standing here, being carefree. This is nice.

Her mind soared into her wonderland, a smile spreading through her lips. As the sun beat down on her auburn locks and the tractor growled along. Betsie stood there, silent with nature, enjoying a break. She needed that.

Life's idiosyncracies drove her in.

the world's parallel..

2006-06-21T00:42:00.001+08:00

Books, it's emotional solace, the world's parallel, people's fascination and dreams, a wonderland, its the authors' hinterland.

Everytime I walk into a bookshop, I scour the bookshelves for an interesting title, I glance at the book binding, I sweep over the cover. The cover; that's something very important to me. Packaging is my weak spot after all. I read the first page, I flip to the middle. I look at the sypnosis at the back. It's that first impression that made you pick it up, so why isn't that first impression making me read 'Poisonwood Bible'? I don't get it.

The book devours me into the Amazon...but it never drew me into the story so much I would stay up to want more. The hunger for more never came, but the hunger to know exists. It seems like the story was more than a story, the story had too much too strong. The author paints a beautiful picture from the book, every word every punctuation sprouting up like magic beans, spreading a canvas of the surroundings so beautiful and serene. It's like Hotel Rwanda and City of God the eutopic version. But it never drew me in. I want it to, but it never. It almost seemed like the author refused to, or perhaps a first world brat just don't understand.

Would other people understand? Other people who never had that life before? Lived in some place and roughed it out as bad as the North Africans do. Do we? How can we ever imagine how they felt? How can a caucasian woman tell us that? Unfathomable. The wonder of literature and the beauty of books. As I said, beyond each cover is a platora of feelings, the world's parallel.

Travelling Soldier

2006-06-09T21:20:00.000+08:00

I was looking at a discussion programme about blogs yesterday and was frustrated at the misconception the adults have of blogs. Many use this as a medium and a podium to write and express. Then, I realised I haven't wrote in a while. Lack of topics, lack of inspiration, I decided to try something new. I've been listening to country for quite some time and thought that this song relates to me most. So I'm gonna improvise from the lyrics and try writing something. Enjoy.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
travelling soldier

1957. Beats of sweat trickled down her temples. Sohpie sighed and looked out into the streets, her peach embroidered scarf forming a lazy bow by the side of her head. The heat of spring beat hard onto the bustling villigers of Dempsey town, ushering people into the quaint cafe. Gushes of heat rushed in as the doors clang open. Raising the back of her arm to wipe off sweat, a young lad sitting alone in a booth caught her eye.

He was wearing his army uniform, forlornly staring out the shop window, clasping his cap. Freckles danced across his nose and cheeks, a spray of auburn hair teased his forehead. His eyebrows were knotted into deep thought, his eyes speaking the mental struggle he's facing.

It was 1957, the Cold War escalated and the Vietnam War exploded. Parents are praying sons would not be enlisted, men praying that the government forgot about them. But why would they? The United States, the Soviet Union and China were the main players in this mess, spilling the conflict over to the neighboring countries of Cambodia and Laos. Soldiers died everyday, more were needed to fill the battlefield, to spill blood in the name of their kings, for power, for country, for love, for democracy, for freedom.

Sophie guessed as much why the young soldier looked so sad. He looked like he barely tasted his youth, his thrist for adventures quenched, his hopes for love diminished, his future bleak. For a man's honour, he would go and fight along withhis countrymen. For a young boy, he hoped he could run as far as his legs could take him, across the town, running to the pier, take a ride and sail far far away. To leave all these unhapiness behind.

She walked over, stood by his side and waited for him to sense her presence. Her shadow sprawled across the table, his hands feeling cooler with her shadow downplaying the sunlight. He looked up to see a gentle smile, soft pink lips and Sophie with her peach embroidered bow.

"I'm waiting for my bus. California. I..I'd like some coffee. Need to calm my nerves," he gave a tight grin.

"Tell you what, I'll get you some camomile tea, with a touch of honey. That'll soothe you well. I'm off in an hour and I know the right place to go."

Sophie gave his hands a light pat and went off, her skirt swaying. He slumped down onto the table and clasped his hands; his eyes glued to the clock, his heart clinging onto the little emotional salvation he had before the shuttle arrives.

-

Seagulls peppered the pier, more soaring into the sky, weaving around the wisps of clouds that failed to shield the town from the relentless sun. Pier workers bustled along, with their stained cotton shirts, boy caps and khaki shorts. Sophie took the soldier's hand and lead him to a flight of steps. He exchanged a questioning look, and she nodded back in assurance. She walked down, peach bow, flowy skirt and all. He followed with hesitant steps, steps creaking as boot soles hits wood. As they decended, cool air and the shade underneath the pier embraced them. She stood there, staring at the waves hitting the beach; the soldier standing there staring at Sophie.

"This is a great place, funny I never knew about it. My parents died when I was young and all I got as my grandmother."

"She's old and wanted to see me get settled down before she goes meet her Maker. I bet you got a lad of your own, but I hope I could still write letters to you. You gave me the support in my hour of need, and here you are sitting here with me. This....this is special."

Sophie smiled, inched closer to the soldier and leaned into his ear.

"I didn't get your name."

"Daniel."

She nods. "I'll be waiting for your letter."

They looked at the waves somemore, away from the heat, away from the bustle; a world by itself where everything stood still. There's only the soldier and the coffee maid, their fingers interlocked.

-

The letters came, the stamps telling her where the war brought her travelling soldier. First California, then Vietnam. The letters were always soiled, crumpled and the writing slipshod. Sometimes, the edges came with burnt marks. Sophie would sit by her room window, thinking of Daniel and how he was suffering. Hands weak from rationed biscuits and stale tea, clasping onto scraps of paper and a failing pen, writing to her with only candlelight and the suspense of death accompanying him.

It's getting pretty rough here, and I won't be able to write for a while. Don't worry about me. I'll come home, I'll come back to you, my darling Sophie. We'll sit by the pier again. Everytime I close my eyes, I see you and your pretty smile. Her eyes run over these words again and again, tears streaming down her cheeks. Moonlight became her blanket, the windowsill her bed, the letters clenched close to her chest.

Days turn to months and months to years.

-

1960. Sophie sat at on a stool, squinting into the stadium lights and taking in the crowded arena. The composer tapped the beat and the band rose in harmony. Her fingers danced across the piccolo. First the prayer hymns and then the anthem. The instruments quieten down as the commentator tapped the microphone.

The air was different. Silence settled on each and everyone sitting in that stadium, the moths swirling around the stadium lights, frenzied and ignorant.

"Let us have a minute of silence for those who fought bravely in Vietname and died for honour, for country and for democracy."

Names were called and the silence got heavier, but no one cried; except for one.

Sophie sat under the stands, her sleeves in her face as she sobbed heavily. Her cries muffled, her sleeves soaked with yearning tears, with tears of despair.

They told her never to wait for the love of a travelling soldier. They told her he'll never come back. You don't know what we had, she screamed. You don't know about the little we had between us, and how that amounts to more than fortune, she yelled.

She fought for their love, he fought to stay alive.

The pier stands alone, the wind blowing between the poles. The pier empty, the flight of steps untrodden since that hot afternoon.

Me.

2006-06-05T22:15:00.000+08:00

A billion thoughts run through my head every single day, a little action gets interpreted and analyzed on different approaches. Some people call me an emotional wreck, some people say I think too much. Do I? Who really knows me? I never had a friend I could really bare my heart to, or I just couldnt do that. There's so much I wanna say when I want to, so much my expression gets blocked. And all I want know is to tell a simple fact, and ask a simple how. But its so hard. I think, I read, I go through, I try to discourage myself. Nothing works. Its irritating, frustrating and just in my face.

I'm just not making sense.

Love

2006-05-21T17:48:00.000+08:00

Soppy shit, I know. (Found it online) H/E, it's so expressive and touching even though it's so short. I guess that's why Life touches us, because it always gives us little parcels of surprise.
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“What are those for?” she asked smiling at the bouquet of flowers. Such an unnecessary question from the woman who has carried me through the trials of life. This is the mother that worked all day and dealt with kids at night while I worked my way through graduate school. This is the wife that sat by my side and fought back her tears as I endured an agonizing year of chemotherapy. This is the woman that carefully budgeted our income to allow us to afford our new home. Today the sun shines, but clouds may come again. I don’t know what the future will bring, but I do know that my love for her has grown and I never have to question her love for me.

And she wonders what the flowers are for.

Life is Beautiful

2006-04-20T00:00:00.000+08:00

I lied on the floor, naked. I sobbed uncontrollably, tears staining my face. My skin was scratched raw by the stiff uniforms of the Japanese soldiers. I feel so dirty and cheap. All the energy I had was gone, with all the struggling and running I endured, trying to escape from the soldiers. My heavy heart seemed to pull me down into the mattress, stained with semen and my blood. My family is killed right in front of my eyes, and I am confined here, being a slave for sex. I slowly climbed down from the mattress, looking at it with disgust. Living is worthless now. Ma and Pa would be so devastated if they knew. Wind blew into the room, swirling around me. Goosebumps rose on my skin. Death is the only way out.

Step by step, I approached the balcony. God seemed to be in a good mood today, sprinkling diamond-studded stars across the sky. Limp bodies littered the roads, bloodied and cold while stars sparkled and glinted gaily up in the sky. What irony, I thought, and I am about to join you guys too. I was about to jump from the balcony when I was hoisted away from the balcony by someone. Both of us landed on the ground. I slowly stood up and winced, pain from the impact of slamming onto the floor surged through my back. My line of vision fell onto a woman in her twenties, kneeling on the floor on all fours. Her red cheongsam clung to her sleek body and sweat trickled off her temples. The lap of her cheongsam hung down, revealing her long legs up till her thighs. Her curls fell around her shoulders, resembling a flowing waterfall. Silence fell upon us, her panting stabbing the air with little gasps. I was memorized by her beauty. She broke the monotony and walked out, saying: "Death is the worst way of escaping reality."

I fell into a phase of depression when I could not eat a single morsel of food. The mamasan of the place would force the food down my throat and I would vomit them out not soon after. My weight dropped a whopping ten kilograms. My eyes were red and swollen from crying every night. Thoughts of suicide floated into my mind almost every minute of the day, but the words of the woman the other night stopped me from jumping. I sat by the balcony in the rocking chair and smoked opium day to night. I would sing the lullaby my mother used to lull me to sleep. I wept until I could cry no more.

One day, the woman came in my room and softly walked towards me, stopping beside my chair. I ignored her and continued humming the lullaby, staring out into the rooftops of the buildings. Suddenly, she slapped me. I glared at her, whilst the slap stung on my right cheek. ¡°Is this the way you are going to lead your life? To waste it away, without making an effort to use this God-sent chance to revenge your family? Come to your senses!¡± she said forcefully, an undertone of anger and pity. She felt sorry for me, and wanted to help me. From that day onward, she became my best friend, and helped me walk out of my depression.

I began to know of the other comfort women in the brothel and bonded with them. All of us joined a secret association which aims to defeat the Japanese. We used our cover to sweet talk information out of the soldiers and planned our revolt. Many friends where killed, some sacrificed themselves when the Japanese are tracking us down, so the mission can go on. In this period of time, we cried and laughed together, built great friendships and wept over the deaths of our beloved comrades. Most of our families are killed by the Japanese and all of us came together with one common goal: to revenge our families' death.

Unfortunately, I lost my best friend by reason of my folly. I had a regular customer, a Japanese colonel, who had long suspected me of backstabbing the Japanese, and observed my actions. He once sent his men to follow me and saw me meeting my comrades, which affirmed his apprehensions. An assassin was sent to murder me. That fateful day, I went to the market with Xiu Lee to buy some groceries for a big celebration as it was the mamasan¡¯s birthday. Xiu Lee recognized the assassin as he was one of those soldiers who killed her family. Fear gripped her and she considered the worst. We started to run, pushing people with baskets laden with groceries aside. Poultry and vegetables were thrown up and that hindered the assassin. We ran to the padi fields, where no one could be seen within a 30-metre radius. Panic gripped our hearts and we frantically searched the landscape for the assassin or for any movement. Suddenly, a snap sound was heard.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The assassin stood at some distance, still holding the posture after firing the gun. Xiu Lee leapt towards me and shielded me form the bullet. The bullet hit her with a soft thump, and her face screwed up into an expression of ultimate agony. Tears flowed down my cheeks, I feel so helpless and so unworthy. The assassin was gone. ¡°Xiu Lee, you are going to be okay. Hang on. Why are you so foolish to shield me from the bullet?¡± I sobbed. Blood drained from her face, making it pale and green. Her lips quivered, and she struggled to talk. I put my index finger on her lips, begging her not to speak and rest. A passing farmer sent her to the hospital. I stared at my crestfallen face in my reflection, a forlorn figure in the hospital toilet. Xiu Lee's blood stained my silver cheongsam, a reminder of the dear price she paid for befriending this friend. Xiu Lee died twenty minutes after admission into the emergency ward. I paid my last respects to Xiu Lee, head lowered, hands clutched together. My last memory of her was the image of her lying on the operation table, left there with a gaping wound.

A hollow moaning wind slunk through the deserted factories and empty streets leaving only sadness. With heavy steps, I slowly made my way back to the brothel. Memories of happy times with Xiu Lee flashed in my mind; bring a fresh bout of tears. World War Two ended soon, and the Japanese was defeated. I survived. I gained and lost in this war. I learnt moral values, righteousness and many close bonds with friends. I also learnt to appreciate this life. I lost a friend, my chastity, and my family. I am living for the sake of Xiu Lee, helping her finish what she did not get to do. I led a beautiful life, not an achieving one, nor one with a happy ending, but one which I learnt Life's lessons and saw the world in its true form. Love thrives where War destroys.
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I was looking through my old blog and fished out my favourite composition. I remember writing this for a national composition. It's a work of pride, and it's one i'll always want to show. Enjoy.

Post Trip Journal

2006-04-02T16:02:00.000+08:00

I ask myself one question when I set out writing this journal: Why do people think that communism is undesirable? Is democracy really so mutually exclusive from communism? What about the Singapore policy of wealth sharing? That’s taxes working people pay, that’s a communist model right there. Its just communism packaged into democracy, and so why do people take it better when it starts with ‘D’?

Many people look down on China for it’s communist state and it’s heavy propaganda. If you speak to the locals about sensitive issue or ask them about the history of China, they are proud to talk about their heritage and fiercely loyal to their government. It’s every government’s dream to have such a patriotic nation. Is any other government so successful?

It makes me wonder why democracy is always deemed better without doubt, without question. Of course, with democracy come human rights, and so does corruption and war come along with it. With democracy, you are entitled to opportunities and power struggles. Is such a perception influenced by the Western superpowers of the past and now, that every nation must conform to a continent that is powerful? Taking the lead instead of speaking up is a human flaw, a human flaw so evident in governance that the world depends on and evolves around our own judgment.

This question not only makes me reflect on globalisation (the comprwession of the world and the intensification of the consequences of the world as a whole) , but also the values of ethnocentrism (the tendency people have to judge others from their own culture's perspective, believing theirs to be the 'right' or 'correct' way to perceive and act within the world), and the act of stereotyping (the assumptions we make vecause of our beliefs and values which may lead to unnecessary misunderstandings. Stereoptypes can create expectations, which may lead to inaccurate evaluation of situations). Perception is very crucial to transnational relationships, so crucial to how it affects each individual’s place in the world. Take the Jews compared to the Muslims, take the Christians compared to the Catholics, take the Singaporean Chinese compared to the Chinese Chinese. It’s definitely a pressing question, one we should seek to find the answer by our own evaluation, to question the validity of our own values.

I went Shanghai thinking that Communism will never be a feasible model, I come back thinking: Why not? “Social justice is the belief in an equitable, compassionate world where difference is understood and valued, and where human dignity, the earth, our ancestors and future generations are respected”; that’s the mindset a global citizen should adapt, that’s ideal globalisation.

As a tourist, I saw how dependant China was on its tourist industry. Comparing the scale of Singapore to China, we see that it was easy for us to not involve our people to help uphold the industry, being that we depend on foreign talent a lot. But for China, we see that the population is a tricky issue and jobs are hard to find. Jobs are so hard to find that many people become beggars to make money. As we walked along underpasses of the Bund area, I see mothers straggling their kids along and sitting there looking haggard and tired, the clink of coins hitting a metal bowl music to their ears. It’s nothing much, but at least it is better than having no job. It might just be this struggle for monetary sustenance that the Chinese felt that tourism in such practices is okay, and fine by their standards.

Singapore and Shanghai both builds its tourist industry from scratch, every single attraction is man-made, but what stand different amongst both countries are human rights. From places like Cao Yang Xin Cun to the Multimedia Theatrical Spectacular acrobat show, the issue of putting people’s lives into a display window and allow scrutiny of these people like artifacts puts me into perspective. Is this an abuse of human right? The government gives these people benefits by allowing such an act, and I do see more worldly wise and open-minded Chinese. They have benefits like government subsidies and the ease of the world coming to their doorstep, but they sacrifice privacy and puts on a mask everyday for the tourists. Comparing the kids in Cao Yang Xin Cun and the kids begging along the streets to the kids in developed countries, I can almost foresee these people being so adaptable to environments and so open to change, if given the chance, they might be the most dynamic generation and make breakthroughs for the world. Not in terms of economic development only, but also the perceptions we hold and the values we deem important and right. Valuable lessons only people in these position will learn, lessons that does not reflect the importance of tangible stuff but the true personality of a person and your own voice.

Would any Singaporean put themselves in such a position, to live for others to see or to live for your own self?

Singaporeans would never have to think about that question because the government’s policies have never forced them to see that tangent. The Singaporean government emphasized on a people’s government for the people, whereas the Chinese government emphasized on loyalty to the government, and that the government is doing everything for the good of the people and these people should never question. Many policies of China have loopholes, like the housing policies and the land policies. Outcries have occurred and controversies have sprouted up. But when I question a student, she tells me the government has the people’s good at heart and that these people just don’t see the point. That’s patriotism for you, but that’s also the success of a government. Instead, despite Singapore’s 5 defenses etc, many might just never be as loyal to our little red dot when war occurs as would the Chinese to China.

Ideals differentiate from country to country and these sub-cultures like the people in China’s tourist industry and Singaporean Chinese lets me see the wonder and scale of diversity. Diversity is a lesson for each country, and each country’s direction reflects the interdependence of the world on another level.

It is such a diversity that made interaction with the students at Shanghai’s Normal University so fruitful for me. The skit we put up for them never caught their attention because it was in English, and it talked about Singapore’s history. By instinct, I retold our nation’s story in Chinese again to the student I was talking to. At that moment, I realized how pride resonates in many levels. As a debater, I might disagree with Singapore’s policies, but on a personal basis, I am proud of Singapore’s colourful nationality and the culture and heritage we have developed as the Singaporean identity. We are distinct from other cultures, we are a sub-branch of cultures like Indians, Chinese and Malays, but it is definitely something I am proud of. Every country has their own characteristics, and I do realize that being proud of being different is not wrong. I may not speak Chinese as well and I may not know the history of China very well, but at least I can tell the story of Singapore.

But of course, diversity also brings about culture and the understanding of cultures. As much as I am proud of Singapore’s colourful heritage, as we watched taiji and looked through museum after museum, from the Oriental Pearl TV Tower, to the university, to the Shanghai Museum, I see that it is the resources available that made the Chinese aware of their own culture. The presence of a multicultural society makes me very much aware of other cultures but because of social tolerance, there is a lack of emphasis on a certain culture. Some may see this as a non-issue, some may see this as a disadvantage. I am not ashamed of the fact that I do not know my own parent culture very well, but of course, the Singaporean Chinese’s culture is still a very different issue.

The tourist industry also told me a lot about subjective culture; “how a government shape the people’s values, attitudes, norms of behavior and the roles they adopt. It operates at the unconscious level to shape people’s perceptions and responses to those perceptions”, and that is what I see the government doing to the people.

Yue Fei was blindly patriotic to China although the King executed him on a charge he wasn’t guilty of. It is such a story the Chinese said with pride. Ranging from the many Mao posters easily bought at stalls and the messages portrayed on the billboards, to the Mausoleum of Yue Fei, we see that China values patriotism and such a characteristic is highly valued and highly honoured. But not wise patriotism, but blind patriotism.

One outstanding value that I see China instilling in it’s people is patriotism, and we see from WW2 that patriotism made Japan’s invasion very successful; patriotism overrides any doubts and any questions. Be it the objectification of heroes, or propaganda newspapers or such, we see that the government uses multi-pronged approach to promote characteristics it idealizes and sets as a model for the country’s behaviour. It might be enforcing values, but when I left Shanghai, it pressed a deep impression of unity and trust so strong, it’s the one thing resonating throughout my journal and my reflections.

cash would be nice.

2006-03-23T12:48:00.000+08:00

The actually interesting post:

It's really smart of yours truly to work her way up the post and now forgot what she essentially wanna say! Ah yes, I remember now.

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that Malaysians are much more welcoming that our fellow locals when it come to the people themselves, not the government. Just look at the tournaments, they cater all three meals, don't scowl at you when you defy their non-smoking campus image and still refuse to take credit for such good organisation when you say thank you. I had great fun talking to people who ignores our hideous Singaporean accents. Yes, we have accents! I think Pacer sums it up best:" This wouldn't have happened at (NTU)Singaporean institutes".

It was a jolly good time and I wanna extend my thanks to them, if they actually does read this. But yea, you get the gist.

-With love, Cannabis.

The squad that I signed my soul to...

had a huge argument spanning 2 years, across the border and lots of people, cigarettes, booze, supper and tears. So here goes the miscommunication just screwed up everything and no one thought this was actually the fact, yada yada. One thing that never changes in these situations is how humanity reacts. How problems snowball, how things takes a higher moral ground just because it is for the greater good. Sometimes, it's ironic how people say things that they think but say it would be better for the squad. I'm guilty of it, no doubt. What irritates me the most, is when people don't want to take credit for what they say as what they think. Perhaps it was my own history that made me unreceptive to unbiasness because who would believe that one can not walk into disagreements with no judgement.

So after a very long talk, I wasn't spared the phone calls and the aftermath chats, and I think most people would be happy about the talk because most of them got a chance to diss at what they felt was the problem. But what saddens me was seeing no one go and bring out a solution. They went in with the mindset of a confrontation and not a resolution. It might just be my assumption but people like that just picks my nerves. Not a huge problem, just my own views.

I guess that's one reason why I didn't engage in the first sit-down in the first place. I have never been someone who loves politics, in fact, I hate politics. It doesn't help that I finished talking to debators about politicking and then sit down with my friends who start another round of politics. It's tiring and no one sees that. Aji might say I run away from problems and it might just nip me in the ass next time. I'm not saying it's a false statement, and perhaps that's why I spoke up yesterday. I saw the dissapointed I felt everytime I join in stuff like this, I saw the dissapointed I would feel in myself and the fact that how these confrontations leave a bad taste in your mouth.

Daily Rant

Never mind the usual paragraph about how busy I am and how much life I'm missing out on.

Friends call me prior one week asking me when i am NOT going for training/working/school/overseas. Others just don't bother because I look like some bumblebee trying to earn honeyplucker of the month award or something. But, there's always salvation, fashion magazines. Yes, loyalties and responsibilities lie and given that my supps are over, I'm supposed to continue reading up on how screwed up the world is. A girl gotta get some when she needs some, and this is precisely why fashion mags agonize me so much, although it gives me as much comfort.

I am a reknown shopaholic. It's never enough, gone were the days when I work full time and I have a spare grand to shop every month. That was cloud nine! Then school started, no income and restricted to just monthly allowances which doesn't register "splurge" in the wallet's context in any tangent. So I resorted to visual shopping, which might just be a better way of surveying what I could buy next time and pick and choose from a multi-catalogue. But as much as I would like to deceive myself, the damn magazines are bribed and all they do is feature YSL, Prada, Gucci and proudly plonk costs that match an elephant's might. Have it ever come across their mind that people who aren't CEOs read these? What about students? It doesn't help that my best friend is afraid of me when you put me in a shopping centre. She likens me to be an energizer bunny that is hypnotized by the idea of monetary exchange for fabric.

And of course the fact that no matter how tired my feet is, I can forgo the misery and walk because there is much more shopping that lies ahead. :)

Pre-Trip Journal

2006-03-15T11:07:00.001+08:00

Before I attended the lecturers prior to the trip, I never thought that this CDS would include being aware of international issues. The impression of it being a small-scale team-building course was wiped out of my mind as soon as the lectures jumped into gear. Being a debater, I had an edge over many issues the lecturers were speaking about and made me very aware of every single topic they covered, and how it affects the world and affects every individual.

A quote I encountered in the first lecture struck a very strong impression on me: “Globalisation refers both to the compression of the world and to the intensification of the consequences of the world as a whole,” which the lecturer likened to the “Tsunami-effect”. I reflected on the many current issues like the Shin Corp acquisition by Temasek Holdings and how it had affected us although the demonstrations and protests had only rocked the Thai government. I could see their agony in a national symbol being sold, the possibility of another country controlling their economy and the plain fact that the sale of this company revealed that their PM had broken his promise of wealth sharing when he was elected. And being the citizen of Singapore, partaking in this conflict, it felt exceptionally crucial to note how Temasek Holdings would handle this issue and how the social exchange between both countries’ citizens at the grassroots level would become. It dawned on me that every issue had an indirect effect on Singapore, and of course, that piece of news felt much closer to home.

Governments may disagree with each other but economic trading will still occur because no economy can exist isolated, like Thailand and Singapore. Some governments provide conditional agreements or even conditional aid to even out their political climate. A good example of interdependency would be the EU, which has been questioned about its protectionism policy and its unwillingness to develop a free market with the HIBC countries. And when such issues come into the limelight, Malaysia was also questioned about its protectionism policy over Proton Saga. Also questioned are the policies set in precedence of economic growth or human right, considering the HIBC countries receiving conditional aid from EU. Reflecting on how political decisions can affect economic outlooks and vice versa, it only demonstrates the “Tsunami-effect” of how one economy affects another government, and how these relationships affect one another’s direction. With recent events, I realized that many countries have shifted from parliamentary power to people power, which might not be a good thing. Australia has one of the highest tax rates because of its health policy and Indonesia is picketing for the resignation of their president. It is evident that the effect is far-reaching when you see the most significant challenge from the opposition in Singapore this coming elections, a nation where opposition manifestos are not allowed to be published and support rarely garnered. All these events only emphasized on how we are very affected by every country be in economics, politics or social aspects and globalization have just made the problems more relevant to anyone in the world. Perhaps the quotes brought up in lecture sum it up best: “ To violate someone’s human rights is to treat that person as though she or he were not a human being. To advocate human rights is to demand that the human dignity of all people be respected. Thus, when people are a produce of law and order, law becomes essential if the force of arms is not to rule the world.”

Looking at the pictures shown in lecture has struck a deep impression in me. I disagree that stereotyping was talked about here because I liken assumption of cultures to be stigmatization. Amongst the “stereotyping” of foreign countries having more land and richer people whilst Asians are the ones who would be tight for land like Hong Kong and Singapore itself, we see many people assuming activities shown to be somewhere else. I remember once when I was in Gold Coast and I saw Caucasians doing road works. This got me reflecting and made me wonder how such a sight is very unusual because Singaporeans have the privilege to choose jobs and most of them don’t work as labour workers. It left me appreciating much more diversity in one nation’s people instead of Singapore’s system. I’m one who always loved diversity and felt that diversity make the world different, make the world exciting. If not for diversity, there would be no purpose for the world to embrace globalisation, for the world to ask questions and essentially gain knowledge about other people, nations etc. However, as much as groups of people like The Carter Center likes to imagine world peace, it was also this diversity that cause some cultures to become bullies. One of the more relevant examples would be the picture of Jews praying to the Whaling Wall. That picture struck a note of sympathy in my heart, because I know how badly they were treated across many borders. Not only were they massacred during the Hitler regime and constantly fighting over Jerusalem, but now Palestine is asking for the Jews to move out of Isreal, their country. Through the picture, I can feel the sadness and the salvation they desperately sought, knowing that perhaps they are the most unwelcome culture and religion the world would ever have seen. It wasn’t their fault, but it was the other cultures that saw that they could be bullied. We see countries as such recognizing the weakness in these cultures and how they could use other cultures as an added advantage to themselves. “The primacy of profit maximization over all other values is the core of both social and environmental problems,” which I sought to be very true, considering the most controversial problems seem to be against humanity and the environment, like the recently deceased Milosevic and issues like environmental terrorism.

Another issue that left a deep impression was ethical consumerism. As the video played on and the images moved, it dawned on me why such movements were never relevant in Singapore or there were never enough people who care about social issues or environmental issues. There is entirely no lobbying power for Singaporeans and thus we cannot sought change that we want to inculcate locally, and the fault lies in Singapore setting up a very pre-emptive law system which is pretty similar to the ideology of “pre-crime”. It was this exact law system, which shaped the people to become world-class well-behaved citizens, but people who experience integrated apathy at the grassroots level. Essentially, the definition in the handbook reflects the most essential flaw of ethical consumerism itself, “It is all about empowering the consumer and can be a driving force for change.” So thinking back to Europe opening its market to HIBC countries, it seems that sometimes, even though lobbying power is present, it might not be possible to give the consumers the empowerment but lies ultimately in the government. I feel that this is a huge pity that many governments are not seeing the people in these nations suffering when they reject these decisions to practice ethical consumerism but these governments reject these nations solely because they only have their own nation’s benefits in mind.

2006-03-06T23:51:00.000+08:00

I don't even dare go online. I don't even feel like going training. My self-worth had just been bashed by my own doing, by my circumstances. Before I started out on this Asians journey, I was confident and thought I would fare much better, that I could contain what I had achieved, all that hard work and sweat into my achievements. To show many that I'm more than this. As usual, all good things will always have a downside. My teammates don't take me into consideration, I feel like I'm just along for the ride. Envy rode over my every spine and grabbed my heart in a huge tide of emotions when I see the teams vividly discussing within themselves, feeling part of a team, being appreciated, being accepted, being trusted. Me? I'm ignored, taken for being a ignorant member, being clueless of everything, not reading, not appreciated, not accepted. I can't take it anymore. Where's the cheerful and crazy persona I'm famed for in the club? Where's that happy attitude no matter what happen? The dam broke. I can't take this anymore. I can't translate this self-pity into a talk, into confiding to the crucial people how I feel, how to sort this out. I can't translate my feelings because I fear that it won't help. I fear crying. I don't want people to see my weakness, to see my vulnerability, because that is what the world expects of me. God help me.

It's Simply Writers' Heaven.

2006-02-25T23:15:00.000+08:00

I've always loved writing, and being an avid seeker of good writing, I found and envied many good writers. Especially since blogging had opened up a wave of recognition for these writers who, if not for this free publicity, would have never gained the following and perhaps the eons of opportunities to publish a book or become famous virtual writers. To be famous in font had become too easy, all you had to do was to set up a blog and make sure you make people read. The interface of the blog had become an integral attraction, and the race to decorate these popular bloggers meant that the website designers had hitched on the raging train of the information superhighway's blog fever. The whole atrocity or magnitude of blogs' influence could be seen with celebrities setting up blogs as a way to reach out to fans with no strings attached and also the recent campaign to engage Singaporean youths: Mystery Blogger.
The success of these blogs also meant that freedom of speech had infiltrated virtual space, and even sensitive issues like blasphemy and sacrilege had become a very integral part of the censorship debate. Whether FOE should be tolerated in such a fluid entity, where no nation and no government had actually control over. All these government could do, of course, is to threaten the companies with law. With intelligence services hiding in nooks and crannies no one knows of, not even their existence, that liberators of speech find this Ethiopia of opinions so wonderful. Should the arm of law be allows to extend into this heaven for uninhibited thought, would the outcry for FOE by the people move the mulish governments? Which would be better? Restriction of rights for multiracism or the opportunity to exercise these rights, bearing in mind any kind of consequence could pop up. For greed to be the Internet mogul, some companies bribe; like the recent Livedoor issue. Some governments are pressurising companies about censorship, be it to let it be or to implement; like the China-America Google matter. So, in honour of blogs and my blog-surfing habits, I bring you an interesting read:

Old Parliament House, Nice Seats

2006-02-24T00:08:00.000+08:00

I went to the old Parliament's House a while back to help out Salem, who was holding a graduation fashion show there. So in I walked when he commented that he sat on Lee Kuan Yew's seat. I squealed in delight. Although being a debator dissolved any respect I had for any government, I still find it a great experience to be in his position, sit at that exact spot and imagine his thoughts. So in I went and plonked myself down on various seats. It may look pretty immature, but the close proximity of the old wood veneers, the embossed copper plates with the big guys' names and the maroon sitched cushion seats makes you feel the retired granduer and authority the place held. Perhaps the two most memorable seats I'll ever experience is Mr. LKY and the recently deceased Mr. Rajaratnam. As I was sitting on his seat that day, it would never have occurred to a politic-idiot like me that I had just associated with someone very recognisable and respected in Singapore. At that time, I had no idea who it was. As much as I should be ashamed that I barely know Singapore's government, my imagination never failed me. As I sat on the two seats and compared my thoughts, I preferred Mr R's position. It felt closer to the audience and lesss scrutinized. It was almost striking a balance between authority and spectatorship, because it was almost in the centre between the two parties' sectional seats. It felt like he could take a back seat and not be smack in the middle of the heat of the argument, if a situation alike arises. It was a good surveillance spot, to be in the front row judging the ongoings and to just tilt my head slightly and glance at the spectators' facial expressions. Mr LYK's seat was very uncomfortable. It was near the stage where the podium would have been, and which, beign such a prominent figure, was placed in a position aptly accessible to any line of vision. The lights were bright there, and the spot frighteningly open for scrutiny. I could hardly imagine someone taking all that judgement taking it all up, a casual subconscious thing, like swimming is to fish. It was almost like that seat held alot of authority. It was not harsh authority, although the surroundings were so stoic. The chair handles and chair back had some spiral patterns on the oak, and the veneer stain a hint of mellowness and romanticism respiting in the somberness. It was like a concerned authority, a veteran overlooking a young crowd with care. It was then, when I was sitting there, my eyes coasting along every seat I could see, that I felt the magnimousity of his work, his responsibility and his pride in building up a nation.

Condolences to Mr. Rajaratnam.

The Debate Of The B(log)

2006-01-13T01:27:00.000+08:00

Every woman loves gossip, every woman loves comparing and every woman loves looking pretty. So why am I still amuse at the way women grab for attention when they already have more than enough? As I was flipping through CLEO, there was an article where Xiaxue and Dawn Yang penned their own articles and somehow or another it would prove who is the better blogger. Just by reading their articles, I'd say Dawn has a sweet first impression, as she acts adorable in the shoot and showcases her pretty big eyes, which I found out were the same eyes in every photo in her blog. Big deal. Xixue's blog was read by yours truly when I was forced to sit down to stare at this seemingly interesting entry of her sex life. Though I could say her command of the language is admirable, and I love her guts. So be it. Commercial blogger you shall be. I'll go on writing here to no one particular. I guess that's why I don't need to worry about my vocabulary sounding stupid, I don't need to censor my remarks and nothing needs to be cited by sources because I'm not famous and no one will sue me!

But no matter how, I still feel that the blog phenomenon has been blown way out of proportions, with debates popping out faster than weed can be smoked:

Should blogging be controlled?
Well, I do find alot of political blogs in Singapore itself and of course, Internet being a very accessible portal, any information can go anywhere. However, I do see that blogs in nature are meant to be biased records of one's opinions, defeats the point if you censor these poor souls.

Of course, the same topic was launched at a school event where lecturers and debaters exchange views. It was really sad to say that the debators weren't making much sense, but it was really interesting to listen to the lecturers. Quotes were rained onto the audience like the recent weather, and arguments just really sound like nagging. But of course, concerns stemmed out of care from someone of seniority to one of young age is understandable. But to say that blogs are a great avenue of terrorist blogs and that despite all the severe laws we all have against infamation, it's not enough?

I think old people are getting paranoid.

Old Wine in a New Bottle

2006-01-02T23:53:00.000+08:00

Boredom makes your senses heighten and your eyes keen and alert; in search of anything worthy of interest. In the midst of swatting flies and trying to fend off any opportunity for relative conversation to happen, I looked around frantically.

Then, I saw the shop. . .

A barber shop.

Not just any barber shop.

Greedily taking in every detail, I surveyed the shop front. The entrance was sparse, with the frame painted baby blue. Customers would walk under this grid of patterned metal, painted the same baby blue and merging with the door frame to unite as one.

As my eyes sweep along the frame, my heart twanged as my line of sight passed each crook and every cranny. As my focus draws out of detail and puts the whole frame head in sight, the shop name screamed out at me in red styrofoam chinese letters.

The words sat strong and calm amidst the pattern, like a little sampan in the middle of the sea before a storm starts, with the currents stirring impatiently under the surface. The styrofoam characters spoke to me, injecting the barber shop's history, essence and spirit. It seems, at once, that there was an explicit bond, a vacuum, that existed between me and that shop.

A sharp movement shifted my paradigm of attention: the barber.

Using a very old model of a shaver, he brushed it along a restless little boy's scalp. The little boy scratched his exposed scalp every now and then, and fidgetted as his hair floats down like black snow onto a tiled floor. A thick black wire sticks out of the shaver, and the old wisened barber had a patient smile for his young customer.

The chair the boy was sitting on was upholstered in black leather, seasoned by use; the metal handles and legs of the chair losing its shine and rust blossomed in spots. It resembles a lounge chair and eludes an aura of an old rock...so many to say, so many to show...how precious these memories are.

As the tedious traditional shaving process was taking place, the sparse mirror framed by a mere thin wooden frame bears witness to all and none. For mirrors give reflections, and that provides vivid memories for the person himself. But mirrors can live a long life and seen many and reflected more. The sparse mirror seems to be conversing with the frame and the chair, reminiscing how many little imps like the present one had they bore witness to chopping off their mane.

A balding head suddenly popped out, positioned behind the chair. A grandfather hastily stood up, walking out of the shop to the drain outside the entrance. Holding his hand and flustered at his grandpa's unexplained flight to the drain had widened his eyes and stunted his walk. The man leaned over the drain, and a glob of slivery sunstance plopped into the drain.

Disgust would had overwhelmed me usually, but watching all these was like an reanactment of the olden times, one an urbanite like me will never get to see. A delighted grin had formed on my lips and my eyes were eager and hungry to see more.

As the grandfather was done clearing his throat and was pulling his toddler grandson back into the shop as he awaits his turn, another aged man came to the shop and conversed in loud Hokkien to the grandfather. The hint of long time accquaintance and perhaps a healthy friendship travelled across the road to my ears in the form of hearty high flat tones from the new visitor. As he leaves the barber shop, everyone goes back to their business, oblivious o thier starck contrast to the modern world.

It seems like only the passing hot caucasian photographer had noticed this little haven of nonstalgia.

Procrastinate Boldly

2006-01-01T16:48:00.000+08:00

Resolutions seldom work their way into the successful range, isn't it? Every international holiday like christmas or the new year would be like a resolution factory. Santa's little assistants would be weaving in and out of the people grabbing the resolutions and keeping in check who will be really good next year. Of course, fiction aside, all of us define resolurions as something we cannot acheive last year and engaging in this sport of resolutionising would eventually visualise our little goal and perhaps fulfil it. However, despite holidays being resolution churning events, most of us just never keep to them. Some even saw the pointlessness of being so optimistic that they just state that their resolution is to not make any resolutions and stick to that for the next ten years.

Resolution for Wasters

Read less books. A little learning is a dangerous thing. Too much of it can really wreck your head.
Watch more TV. It's very educational. Catch up on all those programs you missed down the years.
Draw up a list of people who were nasty to you in the past year, get your own back on them in the next year!
Drink more. Wasn't it Benjamin Franklin who said, beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy. So be happy.
Eat more nice things like candy, Big Macs, popcorn and ice cream. Eat less crap like fresh fruit, vegetables and soy nuts.
Work less. Take it easy. All work and no play can make you a dull boy or girl.
Play more computer games. Scientists say they're good for you and improve your visual skills. But you always knew that.
Take up some worthwhile new habit, like smoking - it helps keep tobacco workers in jobs.

Writer Idiosyncracy

2005-12-27T00:55:00.000+08:00

"I think you're old enough to know the truth" - Merry Xmas

Was reading'The Glass Palace' today and one of the characters was a writier. She mused that the hardest moment to capture was the moment when one walks into a house, and illustrates that the feeling of violating a person's world is so difficult to capture on paper; a feeling hard to capture it's exact description. It's amusing to read about such a thought. To me, walking into someone's house is like entering another world. The exterior environment is like a diluted generic movement of the world whilst a person's home is like a gel: saturated with stories. The home speaks volumes, of those who dwelled there, of those who created every single object of the house, from windows to pillars to crockery like bowls and cups etc. Every framed photo tells another story of memory. A house, to me, is a focal point of the intertwined stories of those who were interconnected. Bits and pieces of people who happened to be part of the house's history. It's like a cacaphony of histories going on, a highly charged emotional telling. The atmosphere is so concentrated with so much to tell, it's like walking through a gel. When you step through the door, it's like a portal, transporting you into another world, the world of the house. The house's soul envelopes you while you glance around, taking in the surroundings. Mood and soul overwhelms you, and the structure comes across to you, overwhelmed by the containment of such tales by the specific structure of the household. Every house strikes you in the heart, the mood speaks to your soul.

As you walk along the streets outside, you marvel at the collection fo stories each household stores, but at the unification of the whole spectacle: individually so different but singing a tune of a nation. Every nation speaks of another story on another scale. As you get off a plane and embark on a country you've never been to, smell the air and look at the country with a outsider's eyes. If you dwell long enough, you get to the roots of the people and this different layers of the country speaks volume of it's character, its story so wonderfully complex and yet so simple. The story of the people, the throb of the nation.

Then you wonder the unification of the world by all these continents and islands. The joining of these different lands to turn as one world, revolving around the brightest star of the universe, living and singing and celebrating life.
Worlds within a world, the beauty of life. Something beyond our grasp, but within our imagination.

-----update @ 3am [the pillow hates me]

I'm here sobre as a owl because i've been slummped on my bed for the past three days half conscious out of boredom because no one was free to entertain me tis christmas season and now i am wide awake. having regained blogging, i also acquired my habit of blog surfing, in the long search for good singaporean blogs. Blessed as this lazy bummer is, i found a treasure trove of 'em! That ain't the point because it's purely my self indulgence for good writing, perhaps i never got over the fact that i've seen too many cheesy blogs that spoke of inane everyday lifes. I'm truly glad. And oh, main point of this update is to highlight a phrase i found really interesting:

Even buddhist monks scratch their heads.

holiholiholidaee

2005-10-22T22:42:00.000+08:00

Can i break my promise and not write? I'm lazy [bawls] Alright, can I procrastinate and write tomorrow? Please? aites....[jets off]

A Land Of Opportunities

2005-10-13T23:41:00.000+08:00

Government educational forums sound really great on media, and students look rather poised. But behind the scenes, the students are monkeys, but a congregation of innovative and ground-breaking personalities.
As much as the three days was a blur, but I remembered tonnes of fun and lotsa new faces. As I was musing on the bus during my boring two-hour ride back to Singapore, black and white scenes of all the fun we had just played in slow motion through my mind. So many great personalities, so many fun people.
As much as I did not absorb the message the forum sets out to instill, at least I had a great time. We had five meals a day, stayed at a great resort, drank and smoked, ordered room service, had our fair share of laughter and frustrations.
In short, it was a fantabulous experience. I just hate the mornings when I gotta wake up early and the coffee there sucks. =S

Busy Ol' Me

2005-10-06T22:03:00.000+08:00

Not being the smartest human being, or perhaps not the most hardworking one, I was busy mugging for some retests recently so the blog went into halting silence. Not to mention Debates had my hands full. Prolly gonna research tonnes of articles and matter after Friday and I'm gonna cram general knowledge like cramming for the exams. Which makes me wonder how ironic it is, that I could find cramming for debates so interesting, but cramming for acedemic achievement isn't. Can't really help that I must have been the ideal example of an apathetic Singaporean, because anything political and economical just doesn't catch my eye when I'm reading the papers. Prolly the only stuff I browse through in the papers are the normal Sunday leisure columns, the comic strips and anything with regards to science.
Another highlight of yester-period are some games which are designed for you to smirk in glee which your friends are tearing their hair out in frustration cuz the answer is just so hard to get. The more easily bloggable game I could mention is "The Green Glass Door". now, this game is really special, cuz it actually has educational values! Now: Beyond the green glass door, you can see mummy and daddy, but you cannot see mum and dad. You can see the toothpaste, but you cannot see the paste. You can see the strawberries, but you cannot see the farm. You can hear the cow moo, but you cannot see the cow. You can see cigarettes, but you cannot see fag. You can drink beer, but you cannot drink alcohol. You can be sitting onthe bench, but you can't see the bench. so what can you see beyond the green glass door?; Go wreck you brains, but caution that you just might run out of hair to pull from the scalp before you actually get the answer. or rather, you could just beg me^^ Tell me when you eventually get the gist of this delightfully evil game.
Moving on...I'll still peolly be ignoring my blog for quite some time, but I just might update cuz this is just one of the most exciting periods of my holiday. I'm going for a mini-debate at Tampines Regional Library this Saturday, sparring with SAID and NP. Next Tuesday, I'm going to JB for a Poly forum, where I travel across the Straits to listen to boring old men and their grandfather stories. I actually signed up for this programme because I wanted a TP sweater. Seems like I only got half the deal, it was a sweater alright, but it ain't from TP. After I'm back, we'll be joining the SMU debates and I'll be flying off on the 16th to the land of kangaroos and koala bears for my well-deserved holiday. Excitement is an understatement. Let's just say I'm euphoric! So expect tonnes of pictures (without me in it, I hate taking pictures)...and hopefully interesting tales to come~~

-With Love

A Little Girl Again

2005-09-28T11:43:00.000+08:00

This period was a trying one, and it tore down my most prized possession, optimism. This is the only thing that have been keeping me afloat. Some things are bettter left unsaid. The issues concerned here is just that. Emotional slump or not, I decided not to weep and wallow in self-pity.

What actually lifted me out of my blues was the bus ride home. The new Community Centre is commemorating it's official opening and they strung fairy lights onto the trees leading to the comminuty centre from the junction near the mosque. The trees became sparkling entities of their own, the big coloured lights strung along every branch, outlining the beautiful shapes of treetops. It's like Christmas has arrived early! As I stare out the window, my eyes sweeped every single branch every detail; smiling in awe. At that moment, I feel like a delirious little girl, dancing in glee around the trees that bear sparkling fruits. At that moment, I felt really content, on-top-of-the-world.

Perhaps sometimes, the lower you place your expectations, the happier you'd get; because it's the simple pleasures in Life that counts.

Screw You

2005-09-24T00:43:00.000+08:00

Emotional Slump.

Art Of Speak

2005-09-19T13:22:00.000+08:00

Have you ever had one of those moments when you had such a hectic schedule that you simply sleep off the couch instead of stepping into your room? When you're finally free, you walk into your room expecting that same feeling that embraces you, that tells you "ahh...my haven"; but wait, why does it seem like you are having an out-of-body experience, because the room seems oddly familiar but no longer close to heart. I stood at the doorway, recalling that is had been two weeks since I last slept in the room. The longest time I spent in the room would only be in the morning when I am dressing up, otherwise, I'd be in the living room using the lappy or watching tv. I've grown very accustomed to the instant comfort my couch can give because my lappy is just right in front of in. I abused this easy accessibility on many nights when I am simply too mentally drained to walk to my room, I could barely sit up in the first place. My brain has only one notion:" lie down." So I did. As the saying goes, time and tide waits for no man. In a flash, two weeks flew by and my room feels neglected. It seems to reject me now, as though it accuses me of the lack of inhabitance and accusing me of treating it like a hotel. Pouting like a little kid. I was taken aback just as much at how much I see my room in a different angle from the last time I actually used it. As a resolution to get my personal space back instead of sitting here in the living room, I look forward to put my new layout concept to application. Perhaps remoulding my space and giving both of us a fresh start may signify another phase of a beautiful relationship.

Contemplation

2005-09-16T13:10:00.000+08:00

I feel like scrapping my tag board...because no one uses my haloscan.

But I feel like keeping my tagboard...because my blog don't look nice with three links.

I feel like a contradicting bitch.

P.S: Been busy preparing for the upcoming debates tournament so won't be updating until the weekend flies by. So, bear with the lack of entries worth reading or counted as entries deemed as entries! Till den, have fun, darlings [blow kisses]

The Next Chapter

2005-09-15T14:22:00.000+08:00

UNDER CONSTRUCTION

Brain's dead from sleepless nights @ the chalet.

Brain's shut off itself because I am freaking out for the upcoming debates tourny this Sat.

Brain's procrastinating because it knows it has tonnes of reading and research to do.

Brain's gonna get an overkill.

2005-09-09T19:03:00.000+08:00

of course we all should. because the exams are over =)

Now We Roll It

2005-09-08T10:04:00.000+08:00

I tried signing up for Blogroll & Bloglines to help make my random blog surfing easier. I soon found out this is a rather confusing matter and I have no inkling about how to go about this. The only successful thing I've done since I signed up is to add the link "Blogroll Me!" onto my sidebar. [perplexed as hell] In the meantime, I chanced upon this rather amusing quote. Enjoy.

"Why does the Air Force need expensive new bombers? Have the people we've been bombing over the years been complaining?"

Morning Diversion

2005-09-07T08:42:00.000+08:00

Her I am at 9 in the morning trying to study but my blog just plopped it's existence into my head. I struggled to concentrate on the notes, but the imminent amount of memorising just gets to my head. I furtively switch between written notes and a exam "directory" and was utterly dismayed to see that I did half the topics stated but the other half that I did not write are the bulky ones. Here I am fiddling with my lappy and listening to songs repetiously drilled into my head for the past two weeks, which got kind of frustrating.
But I refused to switch on my computer because it failed me. It has to be internet-dysfunctional when I need it's company most. Now, the train of thought of an only child can be interesting, because I find myself personifying many mechanical stuff. For one, I always thought that the computers I buy have rather funny tempers. The first one was a desperate affair, I'd try every way to not let it hang. My second one was very spontaneous, it just closes all my programs by itself. This third one was a very good boy, until it went on a strike. Sigh, thank god my mum has this bulky lappy. Kept me company when I needed it most.
The actual intention of blogging this pointless entry in the morning is so I could try to assure myself everything's in control. Because I had a whole bloody day yesterday to revise and I threw it away. Tell me about procrastination and its disadvantages. Sigh, and I had to come home and watch television until the wee hours. Next thing I know, I fell asleep writing notes and woke up @ 6 in the morning. Hullabaloo, wonderful. Now I know I must and I have to start now. *Longing tugs at my lappy screen hoping I won't go back to those terribly stressful notes again.*

Later.

That Awful Sensation

2005-09-06T23:02:00.000+08:00

Burping every second and feeling like my oesaphagus is entirely messed up, I write this entry thinking how dumb I am to actually attempt inducing myself to puke. I drank too much water after a rather odd dinner and that unsettled stomach was really making me feel the discomfort. I went into the washroom and gathered my hair into a bun. Hesitating, I stared into the sink; the affirmative-negative flitting in my mind like some ultrasonic hyper-energized rubber balls. I was surprised when my fingers felt the roughness of the start of my throat. I could actually feel some protrusions, fingertips sliding past them and bumped into that muscle flap which opens up into both my air passage and stomach. Air whooshed right in, and I couldn't help marvelling if our body was actually a vacuum. My stomach convulsed and I vomitted air into the sink, tearing and sniffing. This moment made me realise how unworthy it is to make myself puke just so I could relieve the bloated feeling. This incident made me realise how unworthy it is to make yourself feel so terrible and to antagonize your body so much just to lose weight (for bulimics). Just merely attempting to regurgitate has made me feel so uncomfortable for the past 30 minutes and perhaps longer. I'd say this is one bad experience.

today's lowdown

2005-09-06T01:24:00.000+08:00

Waking up a riled woman, I groggily stared into the notes clasped in my fists the whole night. I woke up a few times last night attempting to shake myself awake and study, only to fail miserably and to let sleep overwhelm me. As sunlight fills up the void the night's silence left behind, I woke up and tried to get my bearings back in place. Having dragged myself out of the house an hour later, I went to school like a muted bear on narcotics. Muted bear walks into the classroom and left after scrawling some information she knows will never make the cut. After happily declaring that I gave a blank paper to a passing friend, I mugged like a starved bee to a pot of honey. As my eyes glided through my purple scribbles, panic started crawling up my spine as I forgot my revision the day before. Purple scribbles gratified to a good nap in which the dreams sieved through my wonderland so fast it's just a blur. Waking up, I padded to the exam hall and contracted 'informational vomit'. Sscrambled to Bedok to watch "The Longest Yard", laughed my worries away; a good temporary antidote. Came home and stuffed myself with durian. Now I'm having the bloats, lying on my stomach typing this and feeling very uncomfortable. This post doesn't make sense.

2005-09-03T01:14:00.000+08:00

My eyes popped open and consciousness rushed in. Startled by the sudden jolt from my deep dreams, I breathed slowly...taking in the overwhelming quiet and reality of my surroundings. As thought regains, I stumbled into the room with the my laptop, tugging at all the cables to hook it up. With a satisfied grunt, I collasped onto my bed and tried getting myself into the right state of mind. As shaded pixels formulate into images, my eyes were trying to focus on their conveyed message; weighed down by lids half raised.
Sleepiness drifted in and out of my consciousness, teasing my state of mind. Lips slightly parted, eyes browsing through the screen, a graphic idea of my current predicament just jumps into my head. There I am, grogginess bubbling off my head; shimmering and wobbling little gems gracefully dance in the air. Their lifes abrupting pops whenver I blinked, sounding a wispy orchestral cascade around me. Rubbing my eyes, I rolled onto my back and thrust those irises into the glaring light...trying to get awake.

why sorry is the hardest word.

2005-09-01T00:52:00.000+08:00

Yesterday, I managed to get a mild-mannered guy riled. I guess I was too caught up with the age thing. I took the respect he gave me for granted. (I'm a year older and he respects me as a senior) When you have this respect in your command, it gets to your head occasionally that whatever you say makes the most sense. He tried to stop a friend from going back to being a smoker by grabbing his ciggarette away. I thought that to be quite rude, and it isn't nice to enforce your ideals onto someone else. So I told him off in the cab on the way to supper. He was seething and told me off after we got off.

I reflected on my actions and what I come to see of the situation put me in a spot. I have no idea if I should laugh at myself or feel remorse. Because while I was trying to tell him that we all should have our own ideals, but that does not mean others should believe in our ideals and we should not enforce it onto others; at the same time, by telling him off, I was trying to enforce my ideals onto him!

It was a very huge transition from the moment he shouted at me to the moment I cleared my head. I was defiantly angry and thought I was not at fault. Then I sat down, thinking how offending it is to be shouted at. On that thought, I remembered I reprimanded him too, and immediately understood how much I had offended him; both egoistically and emotionally.

So having to overcome my own egoistic barrier that I was as shallow as I accused him of, I had to psyche myself to say sorry to him. I should have taken the initiative to call him, but he was the one who gathered the guts to call me up and apologise first. I deserve some damnation.

The issue and lesson learnt is that sorry isn't the hardest word. Don't everypne mutter one if we bump into a passer-by accidentally, if a smoker exhales into someone's face unintentionally or if we walk into someone's camera shot without realising it. Ironically, when it comes to saying sorry because of personal issues, it became such an unachievable matter. Why? It's because behind this apology, is the fact and the need to realise that you yourself is in the wrong. But all of us must also realise that to be able to put ourselves in the bad light and see our own folly is a brave move already. So saying sorry ain't that embarassing, nor is it that emotionally scarring. It's just the right thing to do.

as old as it could get.

2005-08-30T02:44:00.000+08:00

Vibrations made the mobile skid across the table, "eric" lighting up the screen. a split second of hesitation was all i can afford, before the pressure gets to the green button. it was a comfortable conversation. but casual nonetheless. we chatted for...an hour? i guess all i was missing was what we had. happy memories tend to amplify itself and take root in you, empowering the property to make you yearn, to make you go all emotional and lovelorn. it was rather surprising that the prowess of these memories just diminished to a speck when i hear his voice. absent was that loving tone, which made my life so much easier. life after the break up was an utter wreck. my thoughts were fluctuating, searching for comfort and reassurance. a desperate measure to hold up that smile. i tried convincing myself i actually stopped loving him before this truly ended, but i knew i was kidding myself. one only learns the importance of something whe it is lost. i was a wreck, because i know, that would not apply for me. i am no loss to him. i am an emotional burden relieved. but today was a breakthrough. a true wake up call. i see myself feeding on non-existent memories, feeding on them like oxygen.

all expired memories, i've come to see.

That Limping Silhouette

2005-08-25T03:19:00.000+08:00

Funny Facts Ever Since I Twisted My L.Ankle
1. I'm usually a fast walker, and now, with one more "leg", my coordination goes bonkers and getting from point A to B takes forever.
2. L.Ankle looks like an elephant's foot.
3. My lecturer was ever so kind to help me annouce my injury to the whole lecture theatre when I came in five minutes late. He watched in glee as I hung my head and walked down to my seat sheepishly, while the WHOLE lecture theatre silently gazes on. Asshole -.-
4. Retribution has quite some humour in him. I was making fun of my friend last Friday, because she was walking around in crutches. Two days later, we're walking alongside each other, crutches clicking across the concrete floor. Live paralympics?
5. Well, I suddenly find myself being surrounded by many helpful guys, who evolved into nags overnight, asking after every millisecond (maybe not that bad, but it's an amusing though =D) if I can handle it.
6. It's a hilarious sight to see someone limping acorss a traffic light when she only has six seconds left, trying so hard to beat the time. I was laughing at myself too.
7. Here's the winner: I fell down ONE stair while reading newspapers. Why? Because it was a pathway which had steps at intervals, so I didn't take ample notice. So kapoof. Twisted ankle =)

a day like this

2005-08-19T00:39:00.000+08:00

The smell of fear hang in the air like rotten meat. Stagnant, immobile, but it's prescence strongly felt. Everyone bustled around, hugging their notes close to their chests, looking for that little comfort these small little actions could provide. With the clock ticking and the number of days trickling, the impending exams have cast it's effect on everyone on campus. Rampant rustling of notes when a lecturer made a reference, pestering of lecturers about last minute doubts, all that collecting of answers for tutorials and practicals. Wondering if he or she handed up everything, did he or she miss out on something small? As people walk around campus pondering and worrying themselves, they spot posters for an upcoming event put up at all the noticeboards. The repetitive graphics caught some attention, and oh look, it's a free movie event. What's that? Discuss about the gender divide, the same old boring topic. But hey, it's a good last chance to relax and let my hair down before I channel all my energy into revision. Perhaps I could go attend this event and check out what it's about. Popcorn Exchange...is that the event name? Sounds pretty cute. I just might go. As that occasional passer-by smiles at the thought of enjoying a good movie to close off a school week, shoulders slackened, the mind taken off the evident imminent thought of the exams. As that passer-by turned away from the noticeboard, a feminine figure gazed at his disspearing back. Sighing both in content that the posters are receiving a good response and in relieve that her duty for the upcoming event is done. This sense of satisfaction and pride was something she regards as the biggest gift she could ever get this year. To see your own designs get stuck around the school big scale is a gratification beyond words. All those sleepless nights, frustration at the red tape school authority throws right at you in utter glee. Reminiscing that night when she got so upset tearing down each and every poster she had stuck on the wall, a lone figure enthused by all the hopes and anticipation she had for her publicity stint. Thinking back on that night when she was desperately fighting back tears, fighting anger and despair. shaking herself awake from her thoughts, she smiled mildly at her posters and walked back into school, no longer that enthused girl sticking posters on pillars and lift lobbies, just someone who's frowning in concern and slowly going around accessing where she can reach out to people. Hoping and praying her hard work would come through and the success of the event would be a gauge of her achievement.

Procrastinating

2005-08-15T01:44:00.000+08:00

Here I am supposed to be ferverently flipping through notes trying to shove knowledge into my brain cells, when I geared into 'procrastinating-mode' and remembered my ever-trusty and long inactive blog! So here I am, lost touch with writing blogs and wondering what I should put down. So many thoughts spouted into mind and flowered into wonderful elaborations. But I just can't bring myself to write it down. So here I am reflecting on how accomplished I feel at this moment, invigorated by my Debates teammates. Belonging to somewhere. Truly liberated from my depressive emotions regarding leaving my rowing stint behind, leaving the shadows of a love wasted.
What really made my day was the upcoming movie event, Popcorn Exchange. Well, I always harboured thoughts on actually organising an event for a campus as big as TP!(or small, pretty subjective if you are talking about SP...but if you walk around, TP's already a bitch) On top of that, I get to make posters for it AND stick it around. I'm absolutely delirious and contented. No avenue for complaints. My sub-committee has been so supportive of my posters and publicity campaign. It's like an aspiration come true! Just thinking about it make my little heart goes a-pumping with anticipation and grin like a Cheshire cat. I sound like the equivalent of a girl who just fell in love. I wish. But this is our baby and I'm proud of our event.
Ah...nice to be back blogging...

2005-06-22T07:59:00.000+08:00

Great Night Boozing

2005-06-19T02:22:00.000+08:00

Friday was fun! I finally met Farhanah, Hana's bestie and we click really well. I was so glad. We had so much fun just going around Clarke Quay finding a bar we like, had drinks and chatted. IT was really cool. But it was really cute of them to like Brewerkz so much, now I have brewerkz khakis! WOOHOO. I had just so much plain fun, I love Hana. [hugs]

Habitual Obscenities

2005-06-15T23:27:00.000+08:00

I've been coming home aprroximately six or ten on the dot almost every other day and I just kept watching the telly box. I've never recalled watching so much telly in godknowshowlong! I'd wait until midnight before my ass calls truce and meets my Ikea desk chair. Next, I'd be studying in a half-daze until the clock chimes four then I would groggily head to bed and wake up totally disorientated in the morning, silently cussing the school for starting school so early and berating myself that I forgot to set the alarm again, like every other day. It's a depressing cycle. I consume without appetite, I sleep without revitalisation, I work with blind driven enthusiasm and I derive no happiness in music. But it's kinda nice. Like I said, this is the "justkeeponworkingandtoheckwithlife" period. Let's see then, I have two tests to study for, one meeting to sit for tomorrow and tonnes of people to congragulate...and yada yada for the elections. Good luck to anyone, and everyone. I'm too stoned to actually bother writing something worth a read. [throws hand up in an attempt to wave]

Damn! I missed Eye for a Guy 2.

Life's like a DNA Helix, no?

2005-06-14T21:37:00.000+08:00

Thought of the Day

Life's like a DNA helix, no? Everybody's lives goes on and on like a spiral but the people in our social circle just keeps intersecting it.

Musings
This is darn weird. I haven't been going for lectures and stuff but I'm so busy doing projects, doing homework, copying notes. I feel like I'm in total control of my life. So weird. I accomplished nothing solid but I feel like I am doing something at least. Delirious from the exhaustion and the distraction all these hustle-bustle is bringing me, I'm finally getting composed again. Projects, tutorials and empty notes just keep piling high! But I don't mind. I love the distraction. A friend mentioned that freshly single people would instinctively want to "do something" about their lives. Yes, I'm guilty of that. But it's a great feeling! It's always better then moping. Call it cowardice, call it whatever you want. I'm content being deadbeat, tied down with endless projects, brain-wrecking tutorials, day after day...friends needing me, my tuitees looking to me for answers. Antoher job would put the icing on the cake. Any "lobangs"? =)

Gotta applaud Charlene. She walked in late today and dissed Alvin Poh! Here's the low-down for clueless TPAS-ers:

Alvin Poh(AP): Why were you late?

Charlene(C): Because I'm just late.

*AP was so taken aback he was at a loss for words for many seconds. Heeheehee.

AP: Hello, explain to me why you are late.

*Charlene was walking to her seat.

Charlene yelled: Because I'm just late!

AP: If you're not going to apologise for this behaviour, then get out of this LT.

*AP puts on this expectant look, thinking C would give in. BUT C walked out. AP looks absolutely stumped. This is totally in his face. HAHA~! The whole cohort was damn stunned, but we were silently guffawing and applauding her. She looks like a meek girl, but what do you know. Surprise surprise. This truly made my day!

Thunder Rumbled in the distance

2005-06-12T17:32:00.000+08:00

Life's very incomprehensible.

One word sent me emotionally tumbling down again.

Did I not lest deserve at least some attention, now?

I believed feverently, against reason and with all my might.

Never did I see myself lose to just one little utterance.

...

To Kill a Mockingbird.

2005-06-11T23:24:00.000+08:00

I'm reading 'To Kill a Mockingbird" and it dawned on me what this book was driving at... Discrimination.

We are subjected to discrimination ever since humankind came to sense. Caste systems, race, nationality, intelligence,ability, character, gender and age. Discrimination of various intensity and of various origins. It's something everyone acknowledges isn't very healthy for relationships, but is perhaps essential and inevitable. It is like a double-sided sword.

Since we were born, we are tagged as of a certain race and name. We belong to a collection of blood-related people who are of a certain standing in a society. We inherit a 'rank' of sorts. Be it the soceity we are born into, the people we are related to and such. As we grow up, we are seperated into different streams according to our intelligence. Some grow up to be little red roosters, full of themselves and thought to be the cream of the crop. Some are extremely dismayed at being labelled the scum of the society just because they cannot comprehand alphabets in a confusing fashion over fractions and brackets. Everyone is of a good mixture, and everyone is equally as capable. But one cannot run away from discrimination. Why?

Does it really matter if you are female or male? Do I miss out on anything from Life being one or the other? Does it matter if I was Singaporean, Indonesian, American or Dutch? Does adhereing to different principals of life unlike what you are taught of make me less complete? Other are simply leading a different life from what you are used to, adapted to see as the norm. Does law even see that? Many around me are at the pinnacle of this discrimination. I, myself, am guilty.

But if reflection allows, we all know that it is of human nature to categorize, to sort life out. It makes everything fall into place. Why your skin is darker than mine, why I can comprehend certain logics and you can understand other theories. Discrimination can drive us or break us. If you are a child, people keep telling you "you won't understand because you're too young." ; you strive to grow up to learn the ways of life and it makes you eager to learn. On the other hand, discrimination against the coloured, or women in various soceity just disintegrates the web of good nature which connects populations of people.

At the end of the day, there is only one race. The human race.

Ah, discrimination again. Why seperate animals from us? In science, we are higher-learned animals. But alas! We are still animals. So, by God's definition, we are all his beloved creations. We are the subjects of Life and Mother Nature.

"Mockingbirds don't do one thing but make music for us to enjoy. They don't eat up people's gardens, don't nest in corncribs, they don't do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That's why it's a sin to kill a mockingbird."

-Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird

HEP

2005-06-09T18:16:00.000+08:00

Human Environment Planning.

I love the subject, I hate the lecturer.

"So, what is Space??"..."Anyone want to answer that?"

This girl from Phillipines or somewhere said something so dumb for a poly student I can't help gaping at her; "A place we live in."

Huh?

"Yes, very good. It is one example. Any other answers anyone?"

[Smiles and patiently waits]

[3 minutes ticked by]

"Come on, anyone. What is space?"

[Smiles]

"Space is actually like the volume held together by the different planes. Can we touch space?"

[Do funny jabbing actions which make her look like a retard]

"No. Space is something we feel. It is not substantial. Let's compare the school's plaza. We call it the horseshoe plaza. Don't you feel that is feels bigger than this classroom? What if I hack one wall of this classroom and replace it with a glass panel, wouldn't the space feel bigger? But why do we not do that? Because this is a classroom!"

[Smug grin, for thinking she made a 'wow' point and self-anticipation for the joke she was going to make and which flew over my head]

"But I think they did not put the glass panel because if the glass panel was there, all of you would have turned to the other side instead of looking at me."

Sigh.

Next she sends us out sketching transitional spaces. (Spaces which transits one from an exterior place to an interior place and vice versa.) Hlaf an hour was given for people to roam around and find inspiration. After everyone came back, she rambled on every sketch specifically and used similiar praises. A typical one would go like this:

"This sketch is okay. Who drew this? [Looks around, spot the artist and smiles.] Ahh~ Good perspective. You can draw. That's good. It even has details! (duh?) Look, he even had a dustbin and many many plants in it."

Another "joke." Someone save me.

Her conclusion? Everyone can draw, has a good perspective and we got all the proportions correct! She was happy we could draw a decent sketch and she good-naturedly queres us if we should consider transferring course.

Side note: Install a very pronounced hindi accent with her dialogue.

5.15. Time to go home. Whoopee. Another moment looking into her toothy grin and hearing her hindi accent would drive me nuts.

2005-06-08T22:46:00.000+08:00

I had a wake-up call yesterday..from what I derived as a verbal "slap-in-the-face" from Denise. I was very offended by her sarcasm in my tagboard, or at least from what it seems to me as sounding mean. Then I thought about it. I've known her as a friend for quite some time and she doens't come across to me as someone who'd be such a bitch, unless I was truly someone who has been whining for too long a time. So after realising what she was trying to tell me, I come to see what I have becomed during this period. And her little comment actually make me wanna bring myself out of the doldrums, get a life, get myself back. Stop sounding like some pathetic girl who can't move on, who just keeps whining, thinking she has the saddest life and she deserves everyone's sympathy. But no one will like/love a girl who always ALWAYS stays in the gloom and just blames everything on her " SAD SAD life". [Smiles] So here's my most sincere and grateful thanks to someone who did more then a normal friend would.

Thank you, Denise.

I was watching "Eye for a Guy 2" just now and I was so sincerely moved by everyone in the show. Denise looked really emotionally wrought, very torn between two guys. They were both so sweet. So exceptionally sweet and innovative. So does a show make people move out of the typical Singaporean girl-chasing techniques or they just happen to chance upon two exceptioannly romantic individuals? Howard is capable of giving every female the ultimate fairytale they want. I was so touched...so god-damned touched. Of course, from the background,I can see that it is not in singapore, but this is not the first time Howard was able to do something that can tug at every girl's heartstrings. Of course, they had their first on-screen kiss and it just brings back so much memories. The feelings just seem so real, I can remember it so well. I can remember him so well.

However, a flashback is just a flashback. A split is afterall, a split. Feelings can't be erased at a snap, people doesn't change immediately. I recognise that it's an end and I should just put it behind me. But I see my blog as a real diary, so I'm depositing all my sentiments here. I see myself missing him because he was a great part of my life. He was my most adored boyfriend. I don't see him as my boyfriend anymore, I'm just struggling with my memories. Happy memories. When all you have are memories, every detail gets amplified. I'm just trying to get over this amplification and see past this illiusionary reminiscence and look at reality.

After watching the show, I also grow to appreciate someone very much. The show makes me realise how much I need to know about what's going on between us. I need to get comfortable, not only be in recognition. I can always feel the intensity of his gaze, his concern. I feel him. Right now, I feel like carrying out my word, go out with him for a whole day, hold his hand and just talk to him. Have a great time, show him my way of life ( I dunno why, just my way..shrugs) Have fun. That's all. Perhaps because there were many issues then, and many issues now which stood before us. I truly can't gauge where this is heading, what this meant. I do know that I have substantial emotional dependance and feelings for this guy to commit a large part of my blog and such a honest entry for him. I still love my ex, but I guess everyone should understand my position. Who hasn't been in situations like this before? I just left something so meaningful in my life, a turning point. He's someone who has been like an accessory as well, silently there but always there for me. The kind you hold to like your lucky charm, one that gives you reassurance and makes you smile. He deserves to ask for a status, but am I willing to give that? Am I ready? Can it work out? Should I hone some doubts that we both possess first? It's not a burden, not a problem. I see this as part of my life. I never held a single grudge, never complained and never whined about this situation. Everyone knows about it and I was just trying to handle it subtly. I guess bringing it out into the open and telling everyone that I am sorting things out should make it better for everyone, ex included.

For my friends, I'm sorry if I was being a very difficult friend. I love you guys. It's been a difficult period for me. Trying to graple with the fact that my relationship is on the rocks, it's ending despite my dreams for it. You guys were there for me when it happened. You gave me support, made me smile. I can't thank you enough. There is no way I can write this down. Thank you doesn't seem good enough. But I must say, you guys are the best. [hugs]

Monster Doodles.

2005-06-07T16:26:00.000+08:00

When people are bored, they come up with amazing ideas to do away with it. The less innovative people would sleep, chat, tap away at their phones and some would even just sneak out of the lecture halls. Others would doodle on their notes (me, for one.), some would start whipping out lyrics and singing (and it surprisingly ranges from christian songs to pop songs) and others just try to grasp what the lecturer is talking about. I've even seen a good game of paper aeroplanes and paper balls taking flight. We're just short of students grabbing their squash rackets and arrows and bows and start a mock war.
In the process of being really bored during lectures, I doodled and just came out with some funny creatures. Everyone likes them and I'm considering setting up stall along Clarke Quay if I fail my FYP in TP. On second thought, perhaps I should set up stall at the zoo, where kids would be very amused at my doodles and would probably be my more ideal crowd as to the mature working adults @ Clarke Quay. It isn't such a bad idea you know, it's low cost..just some simple marker pens and paper. A cheap table and a chair. Perhaps I could do this until I'm an octagenarian and I'd be Singapore's expired landmark. All the freehand artists' draws either real life portraits or they contort people's heads out of proportions with their bodies. Perhaps Monster Doodles would be a nice change for a while. They keep the kids happy, brighten up the atmosphere and would prolly cost cheaper too! How about $1 for 3 doodles? Any takers?

WOOHOO

2005-06-07T04:06:00.000+08:00

Alright, I'm back after my mid-life crisis.

Someone please reorientate me in school...I keep walking into the wrong classes. I walked into the wrong one again today. I just waltzed into the wrong LT 15 mins late and had the lecturer point out that this is truly not my lecture. Fantabulous. Then when I flushed and walked out hastily, some year 2 can't resist the urge to call me a "freshiee". Alright, I resolve to stop all my freshie jokes...it sucks to be the butt of them. (I confess I actually crack freshie jokes by the dozen everyday.) ...but it's such fun, can I ignore that resolution? [grins]

Okay, so here's the real stuff. I'm tired. How many youngsters now try to maintain friendships after a breakup with that once-loved? Dozens right? I see so many hands waving and stretching skywards. Aye. So, why is my ex-boyfriend giving me the cold shoulder? I know we may have ended this relationship on a very tired note We both tried very hard to get the ball going again, but apparently Cupid was only responsible for getting people in love and not maintaining the relationship. And then some people would argue, of course, God want people to learn, why would God send his messenger and do all the work for you? Okay. So I feel like some russed up sparrow here. You know, some poor little chick with all the ruffled feathers standing by the window-sill blinking at you and you just walk around chewing the oatmeal slice without offering a nibble. It stares somemore, sings an inquisitive chirp, and you just turn towards the dining table and slug down your OJ. Yea, I feel that alright. I have no right to feel irritated but I'm his god-damned ex-girlfriend. I feel so dumped. Duped. Dropped. Argh! The time of the month's acting up all my feelings and I really really wanna grab him, sit down somewhere and make him TALK to me...all empty promises. All of 'em.

It's hard to try to hold on, to try to move on, when someone doesn't allow you to.

Selfpity

2005-05-30T21:57:00.000+08:00

I wake up to an empty house. I come back to an empty house. My mother does nothing but nag. She does the same thing everyday, speaks the same thing to me everyday. Everyone's sad. I'm nursing a breakup. Life sucks. I feel so tired. I'm dying. [Attempts a loud and very audible sigh, a long one to add]

Aftermath

2005-05-28T14:31:00.000+08:00

After days of hectic ignorance, it finally hit. It didn't help that I was reading a romanceat this time. It's been a long time since I last read one, and this particular one made me realised why. I'm afraid of the feelings that'd come, that terrible ache of the heart and that tremendous yearning. All those small little happy memories came, and I just want so much. It's so unbearable, but I know it's one choice I cannot take back. I thought I just needed physical contact for comfort, but no, I needed him. But it's no longer possible, it's gone. The end, chapter closed. I finally cried. After five days, I finally cried. I finally knew it. It's not the end of life, but the joy of it sure isn't as amplified. I'm so tired, and I need comfort. But none anyone can give. Not the same kind anyway. It's silly, silly to be jealous of a few fictional characters. They make my heart yearn like crazy and my longing growing stronger by the minute. I need anything, just enough mental strength and dignity to last through tomorrow without crying, without a look of sorrow. I can do it, to see him as a friend, as I promised I would be. My new role, and I would move on with life. If I would every whine, it would be here. If I would every cry, it would be silent.

Condolences...

2005-05-27T10:47:00.000+08:00

I came back from school a little piqued. Why do I keep getting Indian lecturers? Totally no pun intended, but I was quite irritated with the accent of my "Human Environment Planning" lecturer. She was articulate, but that accent....arghz. Entirely entirely entitiled to my shaking her and crying "Why?!?!". Oh well, I guess I am exhausted. I'm overcomed by this bout of lethargy ever since school started. I have no recollection of what I have done in schol. The ironic thing is, I know what I have NOT been doing in school. [throws hands up in despair]

Attended the NE forum the other day and was impressed, no..correction, in awe of the speaker. ( Which brings me back to the aforementioned point, he was Indian. I guess I have to say the most articulate speakers for English in Singapore are Indians. [Shrugs] ) He did not need a script, spoke like a true pro, had no stutters, no grammatical errors and was always right on track. Then he mentioned he studied in the US before. Ohhhhhhhhh...... but there are pretty good speaker-volunteers from the student body who "debated" on stage. The two main stars were pretty good! Really....but that IT student keep crouching down on the podium and my shoulders ached for him. I do understand that you use body language to make people comfortable, but then, u need to look presentable with your body posture first, no? Who would listen to someone who is standing on his head, or slouching on a chair or even shaking his leg vigourously?

-
My friend's dad passed away the day before; a shocking news to both his family and to anyone who'd heard it. I offer my deepest condolences, and I reach out to everyone to cherish what you have. You never know when it'd be gone.

where's comfort?

2005-05-24T01:06:00.001+08:00

so tired. i guess i'm exhausting myself so i would have no energy left to feel sorrow. my mum's giving me a hard time, i need to be there for my friend and school's starting. besides, i got a job as well...is it good? i hope.

School

2005-05-24T01:06:00.000+08:00

As any normal school day, I woke up to this frustrating soft murmur of my mother, who weeddles me awake. It is the most effective and most ANNOYING method, apart from putting a radio at the door and switching it to some Hindi station. A glance at the clock told me it's eight, a memory check told me i'm gonna be late. Despite waltzing through my morning routine, I only took 20 minutes. Waltzing to school as well, I found out I was early. Way early.

As I was dragging myself along into school, there's this bout of freshies giggling, meeting up, chattering , chattering , CHATTERING. God, the enthusiasm. I'm so used to the morning lull which allows me some time to sober up. The moment I got to ITAS, the whole bulding was throbbing with live. Groaning, I walked straight up the stairs. Biochem II. [sigh]

Saw some of my juniors and brought them around the school. Walked past the Sports Culture "carnival" so many times I got so annoyed at looking at the same people. Perhaps it's the fact that my ex-boyfriend's always around the vicinity. Against reason, I kept hoping that he'd pounce on me and give me a big hug like he used to. Perhaps by seeing him and knowing that we'd have a distance now makes me irritated. I kept seeing him, arghz. I'm like shooting myself in the foot. I'm trying to be okay, and I don't want people giving me that concerned look and thinking I need sympathy.

Went home very tired, very riled. So wraught with emotions was I that I slept so fitfully I missed my tuition. I had to call to say I was sick. I feel so wretched, I wake up now feeling so raw. Nothing feels right. But I still gotta smile, gotta put on a show. A brave front. I need that to recover, the only way I'd keep myself from being sad all the time. I can pick myself up and I will.

We're Done

2005-05-23T01:21:00.000+08:00

Declaring my new singlehood, I ain't very enthusiastic though.
In memory of the wonderful year he'd given me, I'd miss his hugs, his little actions, his hand, his kisses, the way he takes care of me, makes fun of me, teases me, his expressions, his voice, his smell, him being at my disposal, his touch, his love, his caring, his eyes, the way he irritates me, the way he is, him.
I'd really miss him because I really loved him. But I guess I know when I should end it.
A new chapter. I feel like a newborn baby.

This Mangled Mess which is Me

2005-05-21T02:38:00.000+08:00

Life has been pretty foggy.I'm like an old blind woman trying to peer through her thick ornate glasses. I've slept through the whole day today, been on notpron for the past few hours. I think thinking is very taxing on your brain cells, I've never managed to clock such long slumber hours in my whole 17 years. School's starting, and displaying the fact that AS students are considered geeks/nerds/introverts/anti-socials, we were demanded to go back to school for a PBL (problem-based learning) workshop so that we could learn how to handle teamwork [rolls eyes]. And judging from the unaninimous complaints, the institute is very bad at arranging time-tables. Trust me to forget that I had to choose my electives as well, and I really have no idea. Or did I conveniently slipped it out of my memory? [laughs] I think I'd be quite popular with Alvin Poh soon. I'd gotten into two ruts with him already. I'm now currently high on beer because my darn boyfriend forced me to down a whole cup of Heineken when I dropped by where he was drinking with Melvin. I don't think this entry would make much sense...please bear with me. And God bless me, notpron is really scary...but I still love Px for giving me the link. Best challenge ever^^

Insight of a 12-year-old

2005-05-17T21:52:00.000+08:00

I was tutoring this 12-year-old girl today and nearing the end she started chattering about her NAPFA examinations and about her friends. It was the first time she had broken through her shy demeanor and just spoke like herself.

Entirely aware that she was confessing this to a tuition teacher, she confessed that she rushed through her school assignments because she was lazy. I am her tutor nonetheless, but this act of tattle-tale was perhaps, a two-fold revealation. Most students would see tuition teachers as more approchable personalites, less menacing characters and someone who is really there to help answer THEIR queries and cater to THIER needs. She even complained that the JC students who were asked to tutor them as a school program were pretty bad at teaching. (Triumph moment for the poly students for the debate whethere poly students or JC students are smarter, though I do believe we think in two total different planes.)

On the other hand, I was glad to see that she had taken more to me. As she gestured animately and her eyes sparkle with the excitement of relating what seems to be happy moments, I felt this funy sensation. Patiently sitting there with a knowing smile, I relinquished that outward show of young enthusiasm. This experience made me feel old, not as in old of old age, but old as in of a young adult who'd shed the skin of the child and tried to don the coat of the grown-up. Old enough to miss the innocence, but not old enough to sigh and resign to the fate of the obvious weight of the coat on our shoulders.