I din run still, for the same reasons that have nothing to do with my personal preferences or lifestyle habits.

*

My desk is still cluttered but I managed to throw away some receipts. To forge on till battlefield is cleared.

*

This is insane. I am ktv-ing with Shimin again, tomorrow! We are two very adorable creatures driven mad by prolonged deprivation. It is a case worth pyscho-analysing if one considers the fact we are leaving for KL that same night within the next eight hours.

*

Yes, I am going to KL. And I feel the excitement building. It was kinda tough to generate enthusiasm initially a week ago when Shinhao suddenly backed out of the trip after we had bought tickets and more or less, had the perfect picture playing in mind of the five of us, happily and greedily gorging ourselves (and starving our wallets to death) on KL buys and food. It was difficult to re-adjust mental image from Family Five to Friendly Four. However capricious, flexible and open-minded I am (or may appear to be), there's nothing I appreciate less than last minute changes after everyone has declared his/her absolute commitment. I really, really hate such changes and they have a tendency to morph me into a darkly brooding Ms Never-Nice-To-You-Again-'Coz-你对不起我, which is quite scary by all accounts, even to myself. I am the least forgiving person I know, in the sense I don't forget you once let-me-down; did-me-a-wrong; were unkind-towards-me. But, well, it turns out he has to attend a primary school's friend wedding. He feels strongly marriages are a once-in-a-lifetime thing and values its sacrosanct nature. Oh well. Well. Peace. But in case I forget :), I shall record here, on the whole, no hard feelings, with common friends bearing witness (yes, you reader of my blog). Even if it makes me slightly sore (and I find it somewhat reprehensible...uh-huh freudien...I meant to type incomprehensible at how things dramatically took a twist and my perfect picture thwarted and distorted somehow, but not unnecessarily for the bad-der, brudder!) when I reflect upon it, I think I have mostly recovered and am totally in the mood for my train travels!!! Five is Fabulous and Four no less Fantastic. My mental image has shifted to reflect the change in plans and I forgive Shinhao. Oh yes, my bark is seriously worse than my bite (but no one has survived my bark when I bother, so dun take my word for it).

*

I should really start on my packing.

Okay. I am to tidy up my desk and drawers before I bed myself (that sounds awful, somehow :) tonight.

*

I bought track pants at last. But the skies keep pouring. I am secretly pleased to be prevented from running, through no fault of my own. Nothing like laziness, procrastination, unwillingness to brave humiliation and other good qualities I have in abundance that are to stop me. Just kind weather that I can't control.

*

What a useless crying day.

*

I will like to rewatch and own 我和僵尸有个约会 and Ally McBeal. Those were the shows that got me through difficult periods in life.

Today was a Good Day. Despite the rains, my mood was sunnily happy. The pent-up frustrations, inchoate sentiments, and general bad karma of recent times (days, months, years?) were forgotten (if not exorcised) as I indulge in my one indulgence: ktv-ing, yay!!!!

I am such a great singer, my goodness :) I never fail to be surprised by the emotional range and depths I can convey. I am so cool. The first time Po heard me sing, he gushed I am a lot better than a lot lot of stupid singers that has cut albums. Ahem, I was of course, too polite (and too honest) to protest even feebly against such allegations so I accepted whole-heartedly his generosity and kindness towards and appreciation for genuine talent. I know I can never sound awful and I am quite in love with my singing voice too. So I totally understand when people are bowled over.

My singing companion for the day is Shimin and she has a really sweet voice. Speaking wise, I am quite jealous for sometimes I have the sneaking suspicion she sounds better than me where voice quality is concerned. But, but, but, I sound obviously better when we compare our singing voices (yes, there's difference in singing and speaking voices). Am I not right, Shimin dear, light of my life for today?

The whole ktv experience was made all the more memorable by the fact we paid only $9 each for a 4.5h ktv session with lunch thrown in. We spent only a dollar plus if we go by the hour. Talk about cheap thrills! And we still had so many unsung songs!!! *mourns* But we are going again, very soon. Either this week, or next week.

I also managed to eat my favourite curry puffs from the Marine Parade Market. The best curry puff in Singapore, I insist. I bought some for Shimin too and I'm glad to announce she concurs with the preceding statement.

And I finally own a Baby G!!! Except it's blue instead of pink. I have always wanted to own a pink one (I have never own any in any colour) and somehow this desire got buried, resurfacing only late december last year, this memory of a desire. Kaile, Qiuyan, Huixin and Shimin got it for me (but i chose the design with the intervention, recommendation and help of Shimin). The blue one just looks better so to hell with the original dream/desire for pink. But I am not wearing it yet. Shimin has kidnapped it home to gift-wrap it (it's supposed to be my birthday present).

To end off the perfect day, I met CK and Amanda for private CNY reunion dinner at Westlake restaurant and did the tossing ritual, drank hot and sour soup, peeled and ate a lot of drunken prawns, pried at vegetables, tasted the fatty braised pork with bread etc etc. CK insisted on treating us, which was really nice of her, given how many times she has picked up the tabs and given us huge discounts on the bill whenever we end up in posh places and uppity restaurants (plus free movie passes and play tickets) of her own accord already!!! I hope I earn suffice to treat generously or when i actually have the ability to pay, not to lose the spirit of being generous. The latter is not quite possible, coz I am one of the most 大方 people I have come across and I enjoy giving treats. I just loathe pettiness and penny-pinching when one can afford and when one ought to spend.

Then we drove to Foster's Cafe in Holland V for coffee and calamari.

Oh, and I din get the Bee Gee's, coz Shimin loan me hers but it ain't got no Melody Fair. I also got a pack of Peter Pan ang pows, courtesy of the light of my life for today.

A Most Good Day, people, and Good Night.

Second to the right, and then straight on till morning.

Peter Pan The Movie directed by PJ Hogan is just brilliant. Those who were emotionally scarred and traumatised by watching a hairy Robbie Williams play Peter Pan in that horrid Hook movie can recover simply by sitting through this.

For a film adaptation, Peter Pan is surprisingly faithful to the text. I suppose this says more about me than the movie but I was happy to be able to sprout silently the exact lines the various characters were to say in various scenes. Especially the opening bits that have Wendy and Peter meeting, her sewing on his shadow blah blah...it's all so terribly fascinating to see your favourite childhood book put on the big screen and having the big screen do justice to your imagination and expectations.

The cast is dreadfully perfect, especially the main leads. Jeremy Sumpter, as Peter, is a charming dream of dashing cockiness and vulnerability. Wendy (Rachel Hurd-Wood {oh those lovely cascading locks of curls!!!}) has the correct blend of feminity, motherliness and blossoming female-ness. Together, the two are quite electrifying as they attempt to seduce and taunt each other in the way only children can, without quite realising what they are doing. The way Wendy slyly lures Peter into inviting her to Neverland and Peter coaxing her from the blankets, tempting her when she backs down from wanting to go; such tango-ing...one step forward and two steps back are as usual, disconcertingly familiar and also, especially enchanting :) What I love best about this adaptation is the acuity and sensitivity with which it draws out the connection between the pair and their half-formed, half-baked, half-conscious and half-realised desires (The movie also made me re-think about the whole thimble and kiss narrative cum scene. It depicted Wendy as coy and somewhat plotting (conniving even!!), whereas I have always, based on the text, read her as less precocious at least where relationships were concerned). After all, Peter Pan is first and foremost a love story to me and I am glad to see that love is so nuanced and properly delivered with dignity and aplomb.

It also has Jason Isaacs taking on both the roles of Mr Darling and Hook. Which I thought is very cool 'coz it brings out the dark themes absolutely well. In case this obvious point is lost you, both movie and text do not have an ideal (whatever ideal means but let's just take this generally) man/male figure one can emulate and be proud of. Hook is bitter and let-down; Mr Darling is a repressed wimp, too worried and wussy. The pathos and pain of leaving a perfectly respectable childhood (which loosely means engaging in "manly" swashbuckling and being the confident leader of a brood that thinks the world of you), juxtaposed against the pitfalls of growing up into someone so inept and despised, one can understand why Peter Pan rejects becoming a man. Having the same actor playing the two roles only reinforces the stultification and straitjacketing of the grow-up-man role, as if there can never be a breakthrough or the exception. One is condemned to being boring and lame!!! Oh the shame and misery!! Of course, by such casting, incestuous themes and paedophilic tendencies are bandied around when we see how Wendy appears to be strangely attracted to Hook too, and Hook, equally drawn to her. Yay, complexities, layers!!! What a great movie!!

The only miscast, I felt was Tiger Lily, even though she only had a bit role. But I can overlook that. I am also fine with the false movie fact that she had the hots for Wendy's brother.

The movie had a happy ending compared to the text. The actual ending is very sad... at least for me, I am always upset by it. See, in the original story, Peter has an extremely short term memory. He promises Wendy that he will return and take her to Neverland with him once every year. But because he forgets, eventually it was years before he came for her (the following italics are excerpts from the text):

Peter came next spring cleaning; and the strange thing was that he never knew he had missed a year.

That was the last time the girl Wendy ever saw him. For a little longer she tried for his sake not to have growing pains; and she felt she was untrue to him when she got a prize for general knowledge. But the years came and went without bringing the careless boy; and when they met again Wendy was a married woman, and Peter was no more to her than a little dust in the box in which she had kept her toys. Wendy was grown up. You need not be sorry for her. She was one of the kind that likes to grow up. In the end she grew up of her own free will a day quicker than other girls.

Wendy was married in white with a pink sash. It is strange to think that Peter did not alight in the church and forbid the banns [formal announcement of a marriage].


And then one night came the tragedy. It was the spring of the year, and the story had been told for the night, and Jane was now asleep in her bed. Wendy was sitting on the floor, very close to the fire, so as to see to darn, for there was no other light in the nursery; and while she sat darning she heard a crow. Then the window blew open as of old, and Peter dropped in on the floor.


He was exactly the same as ever, and Wendy saw at once that he still had all his first teeth.


He was a little boy, and she was grown up. She huddled by the fire not daring to move, helpless and guilty, a big woman.


"Hullo, Wendy," he said, not noticing any difference, for he was thinking chiefly of himself; and in the dim light her white dress might have been the nightgown in which he had seen her first.


"Hullo, Peter," she replied faintly, squeezing herself as small as possible. Something inside her was crying Woman, Woman, let go of me."


"Hullo, where is John?" he asked, suddenly missing the third bed.


"John is not here now," she gasped.


"Is Michael asleep?" he asked, with a careless glance at Jane.


"Yes," she answered; and now she felt that she was untrue to Jane as well as to Peter.


"That is not Michael," she said quickly, lest a judgment should fall on her.


Peter looked. "Hullo, is it a new one?"


"Yes."


"Boy or girl?"


"Girl."


Now surely he would understand; but not a bit of it.


"Peter," she said, faltering, "are you expecting me to fly away with you?"


"Of course; that is why I have come." He added a little sternly, "Have you forgotten that this is spring cleaning time?"


She knew it was useless to say that he had let many spring cleaning times pass.


"I can't come," she said apologetically, "I have forgotten how to fly."


"I'll soon teach you again."


"O Peter, don't waste the fairy dust on me."


She had risen; and now at last a fear assailed him. "What is it?" he cried, shrinking.


"I will turn up the light," she said, "and then you can see for yourself."


For almost the only time in his life that I know of, Peter was afraid. "Don't turn up the light," he cried.


She let her hands play in the hair of the tragic boy. She was not a little girl heart-broken about him; she was a grown woman smiling at it all, but they were wet eyed smiles.


Then she turned up the light, and Peter saw. He gave a cry of pain; and when the tall beautiful creature stooped to lift him in her arms he drew back sharply.


"What is it?" he cried again.


She had to tell him.


"I am old, Peter. I am ever so much more than twenty. I grew up long ago."


"You promised not to!"


"I couldn't help it. I am a married woman, Peter."


"No, you're not."


"Yes, and the little girl in the bed is my baby."


"No, she's not."


But he supposed she was; and he took a step towards the sleeping child with his dagger upraised. Of course he did not strike. He sat down on the floor instead and sobbed; and Wendy did not know how to comfort him, though she could have done it so easily once. She was only a woman now, and she ran out of the room to try to think.


Peter continued to cry.

So Peter took her daughter, Jane instead:

When Wendy returned diffidently she found Peter sitting on the bed-post crowing gloriously, while Jane in her nighty was flying round the room in solemn ecstasy.


"She is my mother," Peter explained; and Jane descended and stood by his side, with the look in her face that he liked to see on ladies when they gazed at him.


"He does so need a mother," Jane said.


"Yes, I know." Wendy admitted rather forlornly; "no one knows it so well as I."


"Good-bye," said Peter to Wendy; and he rose in the air, and the shameless Jane rose with him; it was already her easiest way of moving about.


Wendy rushed to the window.


"No, no," she cried.


"It is just for spring cleaning time," Jane said, "he wants me always to do his spring cleaning."


"If only I could go with you," Wendy sighed.


"You see you can't fly," said Jane.


Of course in the end Wendy let them fly away together. Our last glimpse of her shows her at the window, watching them receding into the sky until they were as small as stars.


As you look at Wendy, you may see her hair becoming white, and her figure little again, for all this happened long ago. Jane is now a common grown-up, with a daughter called Margaret; and every spring cleaning time, except when he forgets, Peter comes for Margaret and takes her to the Neverland, where she tells him stories about himself, to which he listens eagerly. When Margaret grows up she will have a daughter, who is to be Peter's mother in turn; and thus it will go on, so long as children are gay and innocent and heartless.

I never fail to be saddened by the book, no matter how many times I reread it. Oh yes, I do own a version of the text.

But this film adaptation will be the definitive classic, mark my words. It's so incredibly buoyant with sentimentality, compassion and well, sexual, forbidden tension, and also weighed down as equally by its dark counterparts like having to grow up (deformed for sure)...

I do believe in fairies...and fairy tales! While I always doubted Santa Claus, I did believe seriously in Peter Pan and the tooth fairy for quite a short while.

Must remember to buy Bee Gees album tomorrow.

She loved Tom very dearly, but she often wished that he cared more about her loving him.

George Eliot
The Mill on The Floss

I will buy The Bee Gees Greatest Hits album first thing tomorrow. And the collection has to have To Love Somebody, First of May and Melody Fair inside. Watching a movie (一碌蔗 or Just One Look)paying tribute to times long gone, innocence long lost with aptly inserted songs makes you want to float (or bob gently in the rustic flow), and be appreciative from a distant distance, and escaping into a past you wish you were part of when things are not so complex and would-be lovers are more upfront, decisive, and brave about expressing their affections. Looking silly, repeating cliches? No problem. And yes, dear you from my past, you will be pleasantly pleased to know that I have finally accepted that there is nothing, perhaps, more desirable or valuable than cliches. I used to take The Cliche for granted, that it is so second-nature to all; it does not warrant attention. But I realised that it is not true. But in any case, people who can't perform cliches are sad creatures, and the audience anticipating cliches from such sufferers of impotency are just, asking for it. So yes, I shall immense myself in cheesy songs that smack of oh-so-attractive cliches... and probably more buys.

I bought two pairs of shoes today to cheer myself up. There's nothing more empowering than being able to fit into something pretty that you can afford. It does wonders for spirits and soul. Actually, it's more like that's no joy that can surpass the joy of impulsive buys, considered so impulsive because you do the crazy nut thing of taking the cab in the Very Heavy Downpour to Bugis just to get The Shoes, and your girlfriend, The Book (but not so impulsive that you neglect to call up the stores to make sure the goods are there, first). We checked and we hopped onto a cab. We both feel less miserable now, now that we have transferred our emotions to objects and our desires have been easily fulfilled. Hell, we own these things now!!! Who cares if we hate it a minute later and attempt to hide it away, ashamed of The Buy? We can decide how to feel later and to deal with it; what's important is we have control over the situation at hand, in hand, literally.

There are some friends I can always count on to do crazy things (ie make exceptions willingly and spontaneously) with me. It's lovely. And we can go haywired together. Like how today, I came very close to repeating the ultimate cliched gesture of saving someone from a hapless party date via the ultimate cliched means of pretending to be someone I will never be. But it's also the existence of such friends that create expectations and standards for existing and subsequent friends. Obviously, it's quite obvious I appreciate everyone being different but here, all I'm questioning, is that when a person claiming that you matter, can't do some very simple things for you that your other close friends can, is it time to reassess the relationship or does one relent and accept the person for who he/she is.

I am quite sure watching Peter Pan tomorrow will do wonders for my mood too.

Who is the girl with the crying face looking at millions of signs?
She knows that life is a running race,
Her face shouldn't show any line.

Melody Fair won't you comb your hair? You can be beautiful too.
Melody Fair , remember you're only a woman.
Melody Fair, remember you're only a girl. Ah...

Who is the girl at the window pane, watching the rain falling down?
Melody, life isn't like the rain ; its just like a merry go round.

Melody Fair won't you comb your hair? You can be beautiful too.
Melody Fair, remember you're only a woman.
Melody Fair, remember you're only a girl. Ah...

I can't decide if you are 你, and if he is 他, or the other way round. Once I resolve that, I would feel a lot better about myself. Right now, I think I'm such a manipulative bitch that I end up confusing everyone, including myself. So it's probably a good thing I am safely by myself now. Coz I don't want to know what I want. It's scary, coz what if I can't get what I want, or if I discover I don't really want it the moment I get it. I don't want to face or live with that kind of emptiness and disappointment. I'm also The Realist, in addition to being The Sceptic and Hypocrite.

Someone once remarked I weave webs around myself and that I procure perverse delight in losing myself and refusing to know by creating illusions of chaos. And I end up screwing others too in the process.

I'd hate being too reliant on you for my happiness, that's all, you oughta know. You give no guarantees. So I do the see-saw and spread my eggs and emotions and ego evenly. So that you can't crush me with your words and gestures or make me too drunk with your company to the point of inebriation that I will be willing to commit to The Truth. I remain as sober, and you are solemn, and I hope you are happy about this. But you can't fault me for that. Eventually
you din take the risk either and our paths strayed forever. And OMG, even my references are blurring. I think you are so alike in some ways.

But I'm different. And I am only the occasional wistful that I am.

我把照片给了你 日历给了他
我把颜色给了你 风景给了他
我把距离给了你 无言给了他

我把烟花给了你 节日给了他
我把电影票给了你 我把座位给了他
我把烛光给了你 晚餐给了他
我把歌点给了你 麦克风递给他

声音给了你 画面给了他
我把情节给了你 结局给了他
我把水晶鞋给了你 十二点给了他

我把心给了你 身体给了他
情愿什么也不留下 再也没有什么牵挂
如果我还有哀伤 让风吹散它
如果我还有快乐

如果我还有哀伤 让风吹散它
如果我还有快乐 也许吧

I hate not knowing. I hate, hate, hate. Which is a huge irony given I am The Sceptic, at least academically so. The odds are, in classes, I will always be the first to challenge opinions. Qiuyang and I were talking about our theses and while hers defends knowledge, mine refutes it. My title itself is mind-boggling - The Anti-Detective Story: The Epistemological and Moral Function of Reason in The Name of The Rose. And I do get embarrassed whenever people asked me about what I am writing on. It's difficult to explain in a casual conversation and you (the ask-er) really dun need to put yourself through this shit outta sheer politeness. Most people just faint upon hearing "epistemological."

*

Incidentally, the line I always used to reject people and/or to buy time was: Let me see, I have ontological, epistemological, moral, existential, *insert whatever brand of philosophy I happened to be reading up on* doubt about this. I'll get back to you. It leaves people stunned and you just have to walk off coolly. Don't bother to explain, unless you are sincere about making friends with these same people.

*

Ah, those golden days in which I could expound freely and easily theories of knowledge and morals (the lack of, I mean) :) I miss screwing my Hons mates with impossible philosophy and exchanging witty, acerbic and mostly irreverent remarks together, totally disrupting discussions and cracking up Dr Ang, esp. I think my exchange with Yaomien during sci-fic seminars on fish and sheep (Philosophical Investigations) was a classic. Now, my brain is atrophying, I am afraid. But once upon a time, dear reader, I was An Intellect.

*

There is no such thing as knowing, according to The Sceptic. But The Sceptic is also The Hypocrite. She can't apply rigorous academic standards towards her life and stand not knowing some things, in spite of knowing (ahem, see she proves her hypocritical point again!) very well some things can't be known, at least not just yet.

Ignorance is Bliss. Knowing is Painful, esp when you can't seem to know beyond The Knowing, what your next best option is. You know you are supposed to act as if you don't know; it has never happened, it never did; it never will. The agony of knowing and the inability to question, to confront and to challenge this...this so-called knowledge. The mystery I will have to live with...bad, bad, bad!

*

It irritates the hell outta me when people find me abstract, or remark that I ask too many questions/think too much etc etc. Don't blame your stupidity on me. It's not my fault you can't think, don't think hard enough, ask too few questions, or ypu are a natural escapist from the very complex issues that emerge simply by trying to live an honest life with honour and dignity.

*

But I was defeated recently. I suppressed my desire to know, my propensity to probe, because I don't think I want to know, come to think of it. Partly because maybe I share the person's thoughts on the outcome should we both realise we know (so what's the point in stating the obvious), and mostly because I don't know what I will do, can do, should do, if things work out differently in the confessional confrontation I evisage in my lousy and lame imagination. Like I say, until the crux, I can't second-guess myself. It's absolutely futile.

I hate, hate not knowing. But I also know the person will not help me to know unless I profess to know first. Let's just wait and see who gets finished off first by this inane waste of time.

I received an sms early morning from someone I used to be rather fond of and close to. He wished me happy new year and said he met up with my professor who asked him how I was.

"I told her you were doing okay. Am I right? =)"

I think he was trying his darnest to be friendly and amicable after what transpired between us five months ago. A lot of things were handled badly on his side, and I cannot put up with that. So he, suitably embarrassed (I hope) and on my side, justifiably angered, we ceased connection and communication by mutual muted consent.

He smsed me quite a few times after that to inquire how I was faring for work but admittedly, I was so curt and abrupt that it would be foolhardy to pursue and prolong any conversation. He got my cue.

He never asked me out after that long night, only sent sms-es. It was only out of politeness that I replied and to show in a quietly defiant manner, I was still mad at him.

He never apologised, nor referred to what happened and I never looked back since then.

"You could just be frank and say you don't know." I replied.

It was true. He never knew what happened to me since that night and I hate nothing more than people who are presumptuous and assume waaaaay too much.

Po asked if I would ever put this behind me, and can we ever go out as a threesome again. I said I am scared. I don't like people, without checking with me or asking me directly, to insist I mean something. I never accused you of liking me, so don't pull that on me just because we are having a good time together. Don't misread, don't second-guess. Not sure? Ask me, I am more than happy to enlighten you. And most of the time, the odds are I won't know till you pop the question, so there's no way you will know what I'm gonna say. The damage's done, though for this particular friend.

But I miss him on the rare occasions I feel no one else will be able to analyse my emotions. I must say, he was the best when it comes to evaluating feelings. We both derived immense enjoyment from attempting to read gestures and interpreting them and words (Too bad, when it comes to the crunch, he did not and could not read me at all. He forgot I am very different and this difference was what made the friendship such a staunch one so quickly ). But I don't think he cares, anymore.

I once believed he was a friend I will like to see regularly and for a heady three months, I wouldn't have believed had you told me I can imagine life without the existence of such a friend. We laughed and said we were lucky to have discovered each other in the last of heartless honours year. And we were only sorry we met so late in life.

Then when I realised I can cut him out so easily, I was upset, surprised, and flattered by turns. Can we learn to live without someone we are so used to having his presence around?

I think I am a very fast learner when it comes to stuff like his. I recover like it's nobody's business, and it worries me, sometimes.

*

I used to like having the idea of someone else around much more frequently. Then because he can't and he doesn't want to (he said, jeopardise his studies), we kinda settle for just hanging out during the holidays. Which was not fair to me. He flared up once when we were younger: he discovered I had to do an internship during term break. Very unhappily, accusingly and accursedly, he berated me for not informing him. Hello? I do have a life, you know, whether it's life without you, regardless of whether you have a life. And you have to work too, what's the point of telling me you have reserved a week to go out last min when you failed to talk to me for the entire semester? I don't even know if you are interested in my affairs anymore.

While I adapt easily to not having certain people around me, I certainly do not take kindly to those who suddenly expect to re-enter my life and be warmly embraced after a long hiatus. The rationale is really simple: If I can live without seeing/sms-ing/writing/calling you for the last six months/years, I can live without seeing/sms-ing/writing/calling you for another six months/years. Take a number. I need to get used to having you around all over again. And I am not prepared to turn my life upside down just so I can re-ignite and emote enthusiasm, no matter how much I used to enjoy your lovely company.

But I am very kind and patient towards him. Too kind, too patient, perhaps. Maybe because he is so different and embodies a wholly different set of values and principles that I cannot accept but find most perversely attractive. A sure recipe for disaster, I know. He knows that too, that I am intriguing and dangerous because I am so destructive of all he believes in and lives his life by. It is a facet he has never seen, never experienced, never thought about, until he met me. He is charmed and repulsed.

I don't know what to say to him, saved that I have tried. And he never does. He is childish and immature in that sense, and masks his inability to articulate and emote as my unreasonable expectations and abstract, lofty ideals.

The same someone also went: I do not wish you to have any expectations of me so that everything else I do will supersede by virtue that I have done and in so, procure pleasure in each and every gesture.

I can't decide if that's sweet or plain silly, but it's most certainly selfish.

He is very, very much The Chauvinist Male.

I have expectations of you because of my affection for you. My dear friends, the more I value you, the more I will expect a certain standard of performance from you. There's a reason why when I am troubled, I call you instead of someone else. Why I even bother to impose myself onto you, and I only hope you can do the same towards me. It would be my honour to be a good and close friend, to be given the opportunity to prove my absolute commitment and dedication to you, and fulfil my desire to be worthy of your trust and faith.

I hope he is not so foolish to attempt a reworked, modern life's Taming of The Shrew. 'Coz I'm no shrew, just a fiesty, independent lady who wants to melt under TLC, definitely not cowered or clobbered into unconscious submissiveness.

I know he can be 温柔 in a dignified, manly, solemn way befitting of his chauvinistic and proud nature (that I like) but I don't know what I want ('coz I don't like hypothetical scenarios and questions too. But nothing very real and concrete is happening, so I can only hazard a wise guess and be forever deferred from making an informed choice); I have no idea what he hopes for; he says he doesn't understand me and we are left groping in the dark.

I am doing the best I can. If things are to be changed, for better or worse, the burden is on him. I absolve and divest myself of all responsibility for the future.

心属於你的 我借来寄托 却变成我的心魔
你属於谁的 我刚好经过 却带来潮起潮落

都是因为一路上一路上 大雨曾经滂沱 证明你有来过
可是当我闭上眼再睁开眼 只看见沙漠 哪里有甚么骆驼

背影是真的人是假的没甚么执著 一百年前你不是你我不是我
悲哀是真的泪是假的本来没因果 一百年后没有你也没有我

风属於天的 我借来吹吹 却吹起人间烟火
天属於谁的 我借来欣赏 却看到你的轮廓

I love Dorothy Parker. Usually I loathe rhymes, but she is different and
I adore her works. She's so brilliant and caustic. And she's so modern
in her writings despite being very, very dead. Her take on life and love
remains brutally relevant. Just goes to show how some things never change.
Or, that some things never can. Whatever.

Light of Love
Joy stayed with me a night --
Young and free and fair --
And in the morning light
He left me there.

Then Sorrow came to stay,
And lay upon my breast
He walked with me in the day.
And knew me best.

I'll never be a bride,
Nor yet celibate,
So I'm living now with Pride --
A cold bedmate.

He must not hear nor see,
Nor could he forgive
That Sorrow still visits me
Each day I live.

Somebody's Song
This is what I vow;
He shall have my heart to keep,
Sweetly will we stir and sleep,
All the years, as now.
Swift the measured sands may run;
Love like this is never done;
He and I are welded one:
This is what I vow.

This is what I pray:
Keep him by me tenderly;
Keep him sweet in pride of me,
Ever and a day;
Keep me from the old distress;
Let me, for our happiness,
Be the one to love the less:
This is what I pray.

This is what I know:
Lovers' oaths are thin as rain;
Love's a harbinger of pain-
Would it were not so!
Ever is my heart a-thirst,
Ever is my love accurst;
He is neither last nor first:
This is what I know.

But Not Forgotten
I think, no matter where you stray,
That I shall go with you a way.
Though you may wander sweeter lands,
You will not soon forget my hands,
Nor yet the way I held my head,
Nor all the tremulous things I said.
You still will see me, small and white
And smiling, in the secret night,
And feel my arms about you when
The day comes fluttering back again.
I think, no matter where you be,
You'll hold me in your memory
And keep my image, there without me,
By telling later loves about me.


The Danger of Writing Defiant Verse
And now I have another lad!
No longer need you tell
How all my nights are slow and sad
For loving you too well.

His ways are not your wicked ways,
He's not the like of you.
He treads his path of reckoned days,
A sober man, and true.

They'll never see him in the town,
Another on his knee.
He'd cut his laden orchards down,
If that would pleasure me.

He'd give his blood to paint my lips
If I should wish them red.
He prays to touch my finger-tips
Or stroke my prideful head.

He never weaves a glinting lie,
Or brags the hearts he'll keep.
I have forgotten how to sigh-
Remembered how to sleep.

He's none to kiss away my mind-
A slower way is his.
Oh, Lord! On reading this, I find
A silly lot he is.

Distance
Were you to cross the world, my dear,
To work or love or fight,
I could be calm and wistful here,
And close my eyes at night.

It were a sweet and gallant pain
To be a sea apart;
But, oh, to have you down the lane
Is bitter to my heart.

Ultimatum
I'm wearied of wearying love, my friend,
Of worry and strain and doubt;
Before we begin, let us view the end,
And maybe I'll do without.
There's never the pang that was worth the tear,
And toss in the night I won't-
So either you do or you don't, my dear,
Either you do or you don't!

The table is ready, so lay your cards
And if they should augur pain,
I'll tender you ever my kind regards
And run for the fastest train.
I haven't the will to be spent and sad;
My heart's to be gay and true-
Then either you don't or you do, my lad,
Either you don't or you do!

Updating everyday is an impossible task. I really have better things to work on like sleeping, tidying still messy tables, clear out clothes from my cupboard, organise my writings and all. After reviewing and much consideration later, I have decided either I keep to 2-3 entries a week or I put up really shorter pieces so that it doesn't eat into time that was meant for other things (I suspect that was why I stopped blogging, apart from the fact the host server for my side closed down and I was suddenly homeless in cyberland, with lotsa time on hand again).

My baby steps to making life beautiful and better for myself:

1) Bought 30 books from NLB book sale at $2 each. I think I got an excellent bargain!

2) Sent stuff to Chinyi at least and see if she could work any magic to change both our lives. Now all I need is a tape recorder.

3) Applying 1 week's worth of leave and factoring in the festive holidays, I get a 2wk break from work. Recharge. Rest. And Rest.

4) Buying pretty clothes...I got 2 nice tops on Sunday

5) I'm going to KL with ppl I love and adore.

Much as I hate to admit, as I was telling Ruth just now, maybe I'm oh so ready to fall in love, if I weren't already falling. All the kitsches in romances, here's your cue to prance before me!!! I think someone can make me happy so easily if he so wishes, then that it's just disgusting.

My work is not exactly heaven. But realising he will be there waiting for me after 6pm puts a bounce in my step and a small semi-knowing smile on my face, like we both share a secret, though the catch is we have never communicated directly the knowing, so I may not know or he could be wrong, and we both could be immensely embarrassed when outed but hey, do you have anything against my feeling happy? Then shut up with your may-bes. Only my neuroses are entitled to be suspicious and paranoid. And my entry, cos my neuroses are guiding the writing.

It's very sweet to have someone meeting you at your workplace and you two move off together like the lovers you are not, perhaps especially sweet 'cos in the still-in-progress stage or maybe less sweet 'cos you are overreading, overreacting (voiceover: ironically you could very well be underestimating now) and I'm so not going to let my neuroses take over. Just gonna halt the speculations and bask in his presence.

So love makes one happy, just the sheer anticipation of the moment of meeting makes me heady. I was actually foolish enough to extend my euphoria by downloading cheesy songs like Never Had A Dream Come True, It Might Be You, Heaven Is A Place On Earth...and mind you, I haven't felt this excited for a long time, the sense of having something to look forward to. The songs I usually played as accompaniment for work are depressing korean drama instrumental tracks.

My next mp3 to be collected will be One in a Million by Bosson:

I was cool and everything was possible
You tried to catch me but it wasn't possible
Nobody could hurt me it was my game
Until I met you baby and went insane
And when you didn't want me, I wanted you
Because the finer thing bout it was I like to go
I like it when its difficult I like it when it's hard
You know it's worth it if ya find your heart

You're one in a million
You're once in a lifetime
You made me discover all the stars above us
You're one in a million
You're once in a lifetime
You made me discover all the stars above us

I'm the real McCoy!!

Today was a Really Bad Day. Despite a primary schoolmate's (male) friendly and flattering sms that I'm still the chioest, and a senior whom I most admire and respect confirming a CNY dinner with me and another, by 2pm, I felt fat and ugly and I was damn sure I look it. I walked pass a mirror and I went yeek, people like that should just die, die, die!!! Not continue walking around disgracefully and be an eyesore. Attractive and compelling, my ass.

I suspect it all began with a most innocuous and innocent conversation in the morning. One that went:

I got married last year.
Oh, is that why you cut your fringe, for the wedding pictures?
No, no. I cut it to look younger actually. Not to be Auntie-ish.
Do you blow your fringe then? I can't cut short fringe 'coz it won't come down flat on my forehead.
Go and rebond your hair, then cut the fringe. It will stay in place then.

Like I said, the remarks were totally neutral but any commentary involving suggestions or advice, however made kindly, in jest or casually regarding my hair simply irks me to no end. I don't see why I must defend my natural-ness so hard when it's supposed to be Nature and hence, Normal. I just dun like fiddling with my hair texture and colour.

I don't start off a conversation looking at your shiny, bouncy dyed hair and go hey, why dun you perm it and make it jet-black so I don't see why I am the victim of such remarks All The Time. It's really getting to me. I hate explaining; I hate defending; most of all, I hate how you make me feel there really is something wrong with my hair, with so many of you uttering similar things. Bug off, you dolls. Leave me and my hair alone.

Today, I'm insecure about my appearance because everywhere I turn, I can't hide from straight dyed chestnut brown, red-gold hair and because I'm particularly vulnerable today, I feel like shit. The accumulation of commentary on my hair, the outsider (intensified by visual attacks of hair in all shades but all straight on my corneas) has finally, insidiously wormed itself to my heart. I feel miserably ugly and that I don't belong.

It doesn't help matters that I constantly feel repressed in the office. I hate dressed in my blacks and whites and I feel sometimes it's more depressing than anything since I'm in mourning colours. Yes, I do have tops in other colours but they glare at me because the tops are usually sleeveless so I feel obliged to pile on a black cardigan. So there you go, depressing all over again.

I need more colours and more inspiration to pile up my hair in different ways. I can't let it down now 'coz I have just shifted to a new cubicle. I can no longer feel the cold draughts of air. And so, hot, hot, hot...I feel repressed too when i bun hair so I have taken to clipping hair in a messy bun with some tendrils falling out.

But today's bun is a neat bun, so neat, I feel Repressed. Depressing.

So I scream silently when I view myself in the mirror, window panes.

And to mark up the extent of my misery, a saleswoman looked at me as I stumbled past the range of mysterious facial products in NTUC and remarked perkily hey, wanna buy some anti-freckle cream, xiaomei? you have a lot of freckles.

What the hell is wrong with freckles now? I don't ask you to anti-mole your mole.

What a lousy day. Spent the night with Ruth and we just felt uglier in each other's company :)

It's 1.29am and I'm waiting, waiting for my hair to be semi-dry before I attempt to comb through and sleep on it. The moment I reached home postwork today I concussed out on my bed for a straight 3.5 hs. Woke up to bathe and only after calling up a friend somewhat indignantly after receiving two lousy sms-es from someone I expect better. But that's another story.

I suspect I may really have no time. I'm so tired. My head has been aching since 3pm today. I just want to sleep. But I must blog, however short, senseless and silly the entry is.

Rhetorical Questions of Tonight: Is Job Satisfaction overrated; Am I in a relationship with someone without knowing it (Am I pretending that I don't); Am I this Attractive and Compelling; Am I going to fall sick; Should I clear my leave at one shot?

Statement I disclaim responsibility for in its entirety: If A were jobless and someone offer A the same amount of cash to do what A is doing at this very moment in the same work environment and given A is not involuntarily and legally bound to commit, and able to make an informed choice, I believe A would, depending on her mood, able to give a myriad of responses accompanied by dramatic gestures and rich expressions. All would involve her rejecting the job though, ceteris paribus.

My head is splitting.

Happy Birthday to Me!

My birthday was spent in a most unremarkable and unceremonious manner, befitting of the age that creeps up on me. There's hardly any cause for celebration. It just kinda depresses to know I'm a year older, but have yet to chalk up any achievements I can be proud of and call my own. Graduating doesn't count. And I doubt I can get any wiser or any more cynical.

Today was spent in peace and relative solitude, bumming around the place I call home but which Mum insists I am treating it like a hotel. I fiddled with the blog as my gift to myself.

{To be continued}

Really Realistic Resolutions 2004, RRR2004:

In terms of Reading,

1) Read and hopefully own (courtesy of the 5-dollar booksales mushrooming everywhere) the entire Fitzgerald collection.

2) Read Japan and China travelogues to plan a trip that covers Tokyo, Kyoto, Osaka, Hokkaido, and Beijing, Shanghai, and wherever all those 白族、回族...tribes are located respectively, so that I can pack up and leave when I please.

3) Revise my ailing Japanese. Learn Advanced Japanese. Take JLPT Test.

4) Read classics like Vanity Fair.

5) Read Chinese plays and more 散文.

In terms of Personal Achievements,

1) Blog, blog, blog at least once a day.

2) Write, write, write. Finish my trilogy if poss. Compile complete my short stories otherwise. Write more reviews of plays and movies as samplers.

3) Send stuff to Chinyi to work together on.

4) Get a new tape recorder and do my recordings and send.

5) Send out my ready manuscripts before they rot and before I do.

In terms of Physical Appearance,

1) Resist insane urges to chop off curly mane to a cropped, boyish do. Resist any very temporary desire on a bad hair day to rebond and dye tresses. In short, maintain current very messy, curly, long, black hair. May splurge on clips and stuff to dress up hair though. And invest in hair products and Very Expensive Haircuts.

2) Battle the eyebags and get sufficient rest. At least 6.5 hs if not 7.5. Break unhealthy habit of gulping water right before going to bed. Get into the habit of drinking water first thing in the morning. Attempt to sleep in a more elevated position. Remember to use eye products regularly.

3) Battle the freckles. Next time when go on long walks, must, must wear caps and shy away from sun. Hide behind friend, or tree, or go at night.

4) Do my exfoliating and toning and masking/unmasking with a vengeance.

5) Run 3(x60 mins) times a week and go gym once a week.

In terms of Buying Sprees,

1) Buy more skirt and dress ensembles and stop buying black and white pieces.

2) May buy earrings and cat bags and tops to cheer myself up anytime when things go awry and people turn dreadful.

3) Get a new Braun Buffel wallet and some branded working bags on pretext of professionalism.

4) Shop for a new man who is 1.8m at least, veined, older and wiser and treats me right without taking up too much of my time, at zero emotional cost to myself.

5) Shoes, Baby, Shoes.

In terms of Relationships,

1) Do Not confuse or mislead people into believing I like them more than I actually do.

2) Do not underpresume on my part or act blurblur or pretend nascent attraction does not exist. In year 2003, I have been unfairly accused and maligned of having a strange and stubborn propensity to underpresume. This resolution is to make damn sure I can avoid such unpleasantness.

3) Refrain from doing the wide-eyed innocent ingenue look as a safe reaction to situations I can't respond honestly, or I don't wish to handle because so overwhelmed with embarrassment, whatever. Damnit, just say it. Let's practise: Dear, yes, I think it is entirely possible we may be happy together. Or - Darling, I have never, ever liked you in that way. Then insert the trademark look to soften the blow.

4) Don't mistake flirtiness for simple, normal, platonic friendliness. Some people have very low thresholds when it comes to friendships. They move on to unnecessarily higher grounds too quickly.

5) A spillover from 4) - Don't flirt too much, or rather, don't be too friendly to people who presume too much. Learn to read signals. Learn. Please.

In terms of Friendships,

1) See some people at least once every three - six mths.

2) Do not see some people every week.

3) Do not see some others at all

4) Be kind. Be grateful. Be sane. Be understanding. But allow myself to be the deserving diva that I am now and then.

5) Be open to the idea of seeing new people whom I may not care for now. They may be really nice and I may like them if we go out often enough. Be equally open to the idea of seeing ex-friends who were close friends (3 and 5 are mutually exclusive. There will be no one who can fall into both categories. You are either 3, or 5) and do attend gatherings. Please, please.

In terms of Family

1) Be patient. Be nice. Be a good daughter and sister.

2) Be patient. Be nice. Be a good daughter and sister.

3) Be patient. Be nice. Be a good daughter and sister.

4) Be patient. Be nice. Be a good daughter and sister.

5) Be patient. Be nice. Be a good daughter and sister.

Miscellaneous,

1) Bind and tidy and file all my writings neatly and save them properly.

2) Make sure there's a space on my workdesk to write at all times. *read: tidy up desk*

3) Be cheerful, positive and perky for the first 10 hs after waking up, even if it kills me. This is good work etiquette.

Hold me to my words, blog!!!

I have decided to keep track of my days again. What I have done, left undone; my falling, the feelings and the now-and-then failings. Four years since I last blogged (before blogging was even described as blogging and became the ridiculous phenomenon it is now), four years of my life lost for words, faltering and fumbling my way through, believing I was too busy to write, that I only had time for academic papers...and of course that occasional obligatory prosaic poetry/prose piece to commemorate the falling, those feelings and the failings. But they were never enough, those writings, to tell my stories. And I lost four bloody years and lost many, many words, all because I bought the notion I was busy. What rubbish.

Four years later, all I have to show for my so-called busy life is a lousy Hons degree that I have no use for in my current job. So crossed that. I also have a stack of English poetry and Chinese 文艺小小说 gathering dust in my drawers. So semi-crossed that. I may have something to show for it but it hardly translates to having something worth showing. I have toyed countlessly with the idea of sending out manuscripts but each time, I conceded equally happily and eagerly, that I was too busy. I also have my songs and my voice and I used to have a tape recorder. But again, I procrastinated so much, I never got to sending out tape demos to stations and record companies and even the recorder is gone now. And then there's all those negative kilos of karma gained that I can't cross out. Just thinking of how I have wasted my time makes me sick.

So yes, I will blog, blog, blog to keep track of where my time flew to, to make bloody sure I do what I set out to do, to get disciplined again in terms of writing regularly. Right now, my perennial excuse for not writing is I don't have a place to because truly, my workdesk is just a horrendous mess of clutter.