Now I’m acknowledged open-minded and liberal and by some, amoral (even though what I mean is, I don’t believe in prescribing morals ((*I also believe that relativism is defendable, and that a belief is defendable as well, just that there are some beliefs more sensible and reasonable than others, ie mine)) and we should hesitate to claim that morals exist. Morals are just as likely to be a social construct and are political in nature ((As I aged, I tend to conclude bitterly everything has a political slant.)). But, BUT the thing is, I have just been slightly stunned by a new brand of feminist power that I’m not quite sure if it’s perverse or I’m actually *gasp* conservative!!!

I just read a very interesting article. My goodness, goodness me! It surpassed the shock value (ranked 0.2 above the then 0.1 score to rate No.1 at the moment) a “Fate is Power” programme I watched a couple of years ago in which seriously, seriously obese people were compaigning for their rights and I couldn’t bring myself to condone that (me, the conservative hypocrite!). I felt depressed and sad only.

This latest shocker after a tame two years of medicocrity :) bears the headline:

Woman Overcomes Years of Child Abuse To Achieve Porn Stardom

Some choice quotes:

"You've gotta hand it to a chick like Trina," adult-film producer Jimmy Carlyle, 51, said. "Here's a gal who's been through it all—court-ordered separation from her real mom for neglect, foster homes, and a whole series of fucked-up, sicko stepdads doing God-knows-what to her. But she's taken everything life has thrown at her with a can-do attitude that's rare in this business. In spite of the obstacles, she's made her dreams of porn stardom come true."

Added Carlyle: "Of all the girls working this industry right now, I'd put Trina in the top 10 for cocksucking, pussy-eating, and hot fucking. And when it comes to deep, gaping anals, she's in the top five. She completely deserves her success."

And from the porn star herself:

"Lots of people tried to keep me down and make me feel bad about myself," Foechelman said. "Like my first stepfather, Larry. He used to, like, finger me and shit when my mom was working late. And he'd call me names, too, like 'slut' and 'whore' and 'Daddy's little fuck-toy.' Luckily, my court-appointed social worker Pam explained how it wasn't my fault, so I shouldn't let it give me, like, low self-esteem and stuff. Thanks to Pam and all the new friends I made since moving to L.A., I didn't let that fucking bastard Larry—may his sick ass rot in hell someday—keep me down. I made it to the top of the adult industry anyway."

"Now, the only time anybody calls me a 'slut,' 'whore,' or 'fuck-toy' is when I'm getting paid. And I'm not talking shit money, like back when I worked the peep-show booths. I'm talking serious money. It just goes to show you that if you keep your chin up, stay focused on your goals, and don't do too much coke, you can really turn your life around."

I don’t know about you. But yah, I agree, but, BUT…errrrrr

And it goes on:

"I used to get discouraged, 'cause it seemed like no matter how hard I tried to please the other actors, I was always getting second billing to one of the more established girls. Even if I had more minutes on the video, I never got star billing. Sometimes, it would make me think that Larry—oh, and Mom's new boyfriend John, and Uncle Marty, and that asshole whose kids I used to babysit when I was 11—were right about me. They said I'd never amount to nothing."


"I kept a positive mental attitude. I said 'Yes, I can!' whenever they asked me to do extreme shit, like taking two cocks in my ass at once, or doing an ATM [Ass To Mouth] and gang-bangs. By the time I was actually 18, I had my name on the cover of Butt Fuck Sluts Go Nuts, Vol. 41. I was so psyched to have finally earned myself a reputation!"

"I got it all now: diamond jewelry, champagne, guys grabbing all over me at the dance clubs, you name it. I showed those assholes who said I'd never amount to anything, the fucking pricks. Whatever doesn't kill me makes me stronger. You can't keep a good woman down."

"If only that sick fuck Larry could see me now. Come to think of it, Killer Cum Shots sold 20,000 copies, so I guess he probably has."

See the full article.

I think it’s commendable but I have reservations. And I do best not to venture into psychoanalysis to give the woman full credit. But has there been a woman who’s not been abused or raped, gone through tertiary education (like my friends, myself etc) who aspire to be a porn star? And why not? Ladies and gentlemen, why not?

Am I a liberal or a fake? I want Trina to tell me, has she always wanted to be a porn star prior to abuse. Would she have, assuming she has had the most ordinary life like most of us?

But I have never seen the porn industry as crippling or demeaning women when women go into the trade voluntary and in full awareness of whatever. That is absolute. It pays better than prostitution anyway and has more social status and union power. The guys are much better bodies and lookers. Boo. I rather any one be a porn STAR than a prostitute.

I flirt via sms, way before Beckham did. I share my sms-es (those NOT sent by me) with friends in the know about my fatal relationships, way before those who bedded Beckham publicise theirs to the world. Hell, I even put some sms-es on this blog.

I hoard sms-es with glee when a particular person sends them, that I feel, are somewhat replete with innuendos of affection and desire. I keep them some dating to close to a year in different folders to read when I’m down and in doubt, when he’s not around, when I’m unhappy, when I think of someone else. I might have kept more but the early generation phones din allow for such luxury. I deleted a lot, a lot more when we were younger, when those were the real clinchers for hot and heavy txt. Now, we are subdued (us, me), flippant and ordinary-friendly (me), masculine and hateful (he), and taking it slowly (us, me, he).

I can keep entire conversations.

I don’t talk on the phone with him unless it is very serious (like he thinks he has been condemned and QCed), or I’m prompted to reply indignantly in a different mode because he sms-es much faster than I ever could. We don’t have the habit of emailing. We did ICQ but we realised ICQ was causing misunderstandings and rifts in the way it doesn’t seem to deliver crucial msgs at appropriate moments. It was somehow, has always been, sms-es that kept us involved. Sms is reliable and we (I mean, I) can keep them.

In moments of very childish pique and fit, I dun tear up letters. I delete his all numbers, ICQ msgs and sms-es. Which are of course, regrettably silly, meaningless gestures causing pain only to myself when I realised what I have lost (ahhh, evidence of whatever, whatever). I have since stopped doing that.

Evidence of what? I really don’t know what to say to this. But you know, like evidence of certain moods that I experience and evoke in another.

Meet me at Tampines after work.

Why are we going to Tampines?

I’ve never answered your questions on venue and I dun intend to explain. You will find out when we get there.

Okay lor. But obviously, I’m secretly pleased. What’s in store? But no speculations, I shall be good and pretend I’m unfazed and unvexed (which I’m not, anyhow) and un-curious. I will try not best not to spoil things as I’m bound to, when I get too flustered, panicky and attempt to bound.


一部怀旧的电影 淋湿了心情

你的爱还在旅行或已定居哪里

也许遗憾和年轻 总绑在一起

不容许一点委屈 等放手才懂惋惜

静下心来发现过去大半是甜蜜 回忆

我最快乐那一年 是你陪我经历一切

什么都生动又强烈 有真正在活着的感觉

我们最快乐的那一年 像浓缩了最精华的时间

短暂却永远是火焰 在情绪冰凉时暖和心田

Boy, am I glad to be working. It takes my mind off a thousand and one, and two, and three, crazy and crazier things.

Girl, am I glad to be gym-ming. It gives me something to work forward to after work that is not dinner, not movie, not another rendezvous that would turn my sleep routine upside down and make me spend tons of money. This is a purported cheap investment that would make me healthy and trim. And, visiting the gym regularly being something which I’ve never attempted before (even after minus-ing the regularly word), it’s not boring at all. It’s actually interesting, for me, to see myself doing this.

Why am I doing this? Am I really unhappy with myself?

Only occasionally. I’m usually a babe. But I guess I just want to see what’s the big deal about being in the other camp. I’ve experienced what it’s like being plump/fat etc etc and the implications and repercussions that follow the figure. It’s time to discover whether pastures are indeed greener when one is thinner. I suppose? Given one eats less, there should be more lush grass growing around. Oh-huh. Bad joke.

After that, I would decide if I wish to be a fat advocate, championing the cause of not-so-thin people.

I think too fat is bad but to be discriminated because you are not very fat, just not-so-thin is disgusting.

I think this is where I will stop harping about the weight and gym bits. I’m bored with writing about them already. Doing is still fun and funny. Surreal. The person on the treadmill, is that really me?

*

I am a brain, I remember I used to be one and I hope I still have something of it left after a year of whatever atrophying away.

Someday, I’ll reread all my philosophy books and revisit all the theories that I have all but forgotten. I'm just good at existentialism now. It's the one branch that i enjoyed most and carried with me.

Someday, I will cover all the notes I enthusiastically printed and made in relation to qualia and the mind (known also simply as philosophy of consciousness :) in 2002 when I chose to do lit hons instead of philo hons, and emerged victoriously with a ton of philo hons readings after a visit to the Central Library intending to look for lit stuff (Here’s a link to additional brainy works that I will read when I get down to it).

Someday, after I’m done with my novel and all, will I settle down and be contented with being just a brain.

It’s difficult to be a brain when the environment is not there. No one to banter, to challenge, to discuss meaningfully and passionately.

It’s lucky I can talk about anything. But I miss philosophy classes at times like these when I remember (or imagined) a life very different.

What would happen had I gone full-fledged into philosophy? Had I gone overseas instead?

And obviously if I had done Jap as a major instead of a minor, I would probably be living and working happily in Japan now. I’m so good and cute at it. But I gave it up to pursue being a brain ie lit and philo. Studying Japanese always feels frivolous somehow. It’s like a side-issue, you know

Now I’m half-baked, mostly lost, possibly just a malcontent.

*

It’s difficult to attempt and think of everything at once. But I do.

To all the women and men in my life:

Drops of Jupiter
Now that she's back in the atmosphere
With drops of Jupiter in her hair, hey, hey
She acts like summer and walks like rain
Reminds me that there's time to change, hey, hey
Since the return from her stay on the moon
She listens like spring and she talks like June, hey, hey

Tell me did you sail across the sun
Did you make it to the Milky Way to see the lights all faded
And that heaven is overrated

Tell me, did you fall for a shooting star
One without a permanent scar
And did you miss me while you were looking at yourself out there

Now that she's back from that soul vacation
Tracing her way through the constellation, hey, hey
She checks out Mozart while she does tae-bo
Reminds me that there's time to grow, hey, hey

Now that she's back in the atmosphere
I'm afraid that she might think of me as plain ol' Jane
Told a story about a man who is too afraid to fly so he never did land

Tell me did the wind sweep you off your feet
Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day
And head back to the Milky Way
And tell me, did Venus blow your mind
Was it everything you wanted to find
And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there

Can you imagine no love, pride, deep-fried chicken
Your best friend always sticking up for you even when I know you're wrong
Can you imagine no first dance, freeze dried romance five-hour phone conversation
The best soy latte that you ever had . . . and me

Tell me did the wind sweep you off your feet
Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day
And head back toward the Milky Way

You know those blogger ads they place on top of our blogs? Ever realised they change in accordance to what your latest entry on the blog is about? I have had writing, singing, dining ads etc but the most recent ones really take the cake.

For a week at least, I've had:

Positive Thinking
The official online home of Dr. Norman Vincent Peale

A Positive Way for Women
Trusted Self Esteem Experts can help you restore confidence & hope!

Negative thinking, peace of mind yada yada. My blog must sound depressing and suicidal and pathetic. But, oh well. It's only a blog. And I'm a writer. It's a construct; memory prosthetic, meant for catharsis.

The strange, ironic thing is, in Singapore, we are bombarded by slimming ads everywhere with no escape. And here in bloggerland, I gripe about weight and I dun get any ads on that AT ALL.

Anyway, okay, I can be positive. The moment I reach my ideal weight and figure, I'm going audition to sing in a pub and be a stage actress (theatre, theatre!), and I'm gonna make it. If I were thin years ago, I would have done these already. Now they are buried in aged fats which I'm determined to shed (fats, not the former!!!). These are things I put off due to weighty issues. It's high time I resolve or abandon them.

That's all for determinacy. Now to catch disconnectedness and uncertainty:

I was walking along Parco on Fri night when I suddenly had the flashback of how he wanted to take me to Ma Maison. Given:

(1) I love Ma Maison;
(2) He doesn't know that I love and he likes the place himself;
(3) Ruth and I, having stumbled upon the place our dear selves, once even said, quite resolutely, we will fall in love with the guy who takes us there of his own accord (without our hint-hints and blatant endorsement);

it was surprising that we din dine there eventually, simply coz I din think the moment was right (nb: and I haven't had a clue what he was gonna say later), so I rejected the offer and we went to another restaurant instead.

I'm glad I said no, else he would have spolit the place for me. But given Ma Maison is really quite pricey at night (It becomes a bar/pub restaurant), I don't know why he wants us there, given he's gonna say the things he's gonna say.

Like I said, this shouldn't be important, or crossing my mind, but it did, suddenly and it is slightly troubling, that the why he wanted to tell me in such a setting surfaced as a small issue that I took time to quietly reflect on a little, when I have never thought of this back then, saved now.

*

I saw someone as I was making my way to Parco from Beach Rd yesterday. I have never met him outside of school (the dates dun count, I mean just purely bumping into each other at random frequency) and I saw him talking with a friend quite warmly. Given I dun wear my glasses and I dun have a habit of looking around, it was shocking that I saw him when I least expected it.

I dun know if he realised he just brushed past me but I was quite forlorn after that. Is it because I realised he has ended his exams and he din let me know? Is it because he looked happy and life goes on in his world? Is it because he din notice/acknowledge/greet me?

Subsequently, I imagined if we had never met in uni, that things never happened the way they did, and we are perfect strangers, at the moment when I looked up and saw him, talking and laughing happily with another person, would I care; would I even be attracted, would I move on without thinking at all.

And suddenly, things fall into perspective, at least the perspective that I like to adopt, it barely matters when one sees it that way. He's just another guy I'd never know. I'm unyoked; liberated and accountable to no one, but myself.

Felt significantly less forlorn after that. I think I can go on.

I've gone back to being my very normal minus 1 kg frame. Which is heartening. But I'm still working quite determinedly to lose more than that after the fright the scales gave me the other day.

The lowest I went prior was minus 3 kg when due to tremendous worrying over my thesis, I lost 2kg overnight, I kid you not. That was a 24h period in which three weeks before my thesis, I decided it was either I fail my honours or I rewrite the entire thing. In the 24hs, I wrote 5 different drafts, pitching 5 different angles, and neither ate, nor slept. And going by without much water.

But since working, and mitigating previous unhappiness with lunch over lunch with equally unhappy people, I have put it all back.

So yup, on my way to losing. Gd news is I went to gym on Sat morning and did 4km!!! I brought forward the going on Sun 'coz on fri, I had an entire pot of chocolate fondue @Haagan-Daz to myself after CK (her treat but we're supposed to be sharing!) felt the taste was a bit too bitter for her liking. So we shared the cubes of ice-cream that came along with the set, she having most of the fruits and I did the chocolate. This was on top of the Japanese cuisine @Esplanade that we had for lunch (my treat 'coz it's her birthday). In view of all these, I believed it was prudent to pay the gym a visit immediately the next day after.

I'm a stubborn person. If I really am set on doing something, it's impossible not to get it.

Which explains why despite the fact I'm fatigued (I fell asleep in the middle of a filmfest movie: Reconstruction on fri night. But the film was pretentious and not too great), I promptly woke up to make my way to the gym without the help of any alarm.

Sat morn gym is filled teenagers. This is crazy, I tell you. People very young, at most 18, males and females, are gymming!!!

How come I'm only discovering the true value of a beautiful body now?

In If You Were Me, a Korean film made up of 6 shorter films, one of them was about how teachers reminded female students constantly all the time that if they dun look their best, they will never get anywhere in life. In school, you get the education. But in real life, the teachers told them, you'll never get far by that alone.

How come we don't get real advice like that in school? It's cruel but I guess at least that buys you lots of time to work on whichever bits that require working.

I.Just.Need.To.Lose.Weight and I'm perfect. There really isn't much left for me to work on :) But it might take time and i'm not exactly a patient person :(

*

Some trivia before I run to meet Ruth for Intimate Confessions of A Chinese Courtesan:

I called Chin Han (yes, the Ng Chin Han from the legendary Masters of The Sea but I liked him best in Iris Rice Bowl. He was quite cute last time), for work purposes, obviously. I got a cheap thrill from his asking for my name.

I got Gmail!!! I'll never have to delete my mails again, woah! Tell me how great I am over here: angeline.ang@gmail.com

Bits of a dysfunctional person over a 3-day period:

I shall not play with the petpet anymore. I need to get a gripe on reality. Got very pressing issues to address (as below).

*

I have become fat-ter. It’s official. The scales show my putting on 1 kg. Now I’m tipping past the danger zone to land flat upon cushion-y fats, effortlessly gunning for that life defying, socially repulsive, in-denial status that I really don’t want. On a bad day, I will just worm into myself and pretend I’m tiny. On a good day, I imagine I look only fat, not fat-ter.

*

It’s very sad. Now being fat-ter has become an overarching concern. To hell with him (though he always says we are going for walks so that I can exercise, and everything is for my own good). To hell with forging a career. Looks are everything. I just need to be thin so that my career will forge itself. Know what a person who used to work in my company said when we crossed paths during a media exchange? In this company, no one rewards talent. But if you look good, you go far, very far. Which is why she left to work for a rival. At least they pay you better if you wield a pen well and all. Which is true. I’ve seen the byline of a senior. She’s doing fine, lotsa exposure, though she is very average and rather plain.

But maybe she is thin (which I can’t tell from the byline), which makes all the difference in my company, in Singapore.

*

My hair has grown out. I’m pretty again. But I’m fat-ter. It could be worse, I know, like be ugly and fat-ter. But that’s no consolation. I should be thin to tremendously improve my life. *obsess*

*

The amazing thing is I managed to drag my fat ass to gym for the first time ever, even though I’ve been chanting the gym mantra like forever. It is put formally into action only now. Feel fat. Look fat. And the bloody people who gym are thin. Like hello? Where are my counterparts? Do we really just sleep and eat, and hence the fats haunting us? I will do it again on Sun. Twice a week. Easy now girl. You know you have reached desperation for you to resort to drastic measures instead of postponing things.

I did a slow run, very, very slow run. Clocked a respectable 2.2km over a stretch of imagination by any lousy standard of 20 mins!!!! I walked and ran. And when I stepped down from the machine, my legs were slightly wobbly but I maintained my composure with dignity and pretended I’m going strong with a slow and steady walk to the water cooler.

I tried this stepper thing. It’s supposed to suspend me in mid-air if I keep pacing at a consistent rate. But hey, within 20 steps, I find myself on the ground. Tried for three more times and I stopped. I’m quite a down-to-earth person sometimes.

Then I did the bicycle. My bum hurt more than anything coz the seat wasn’t too comfortable and being not tall, I had to really stretch my legs so that I could reach the whatever-it-is-called and pedal.

I left after an hr after working up a sweat, feeling embarrassed, ugly and fat-ter.

*

No one understands what it’s like to be fat, unless you are fat. To have all these ads blasting your less than perfect frame because you are fat and to keep reminding that you should look like this. It works all the time – eventually when things are constantly in-your-face harping, you get affected. Don’t tell me it doesn’t, fuck you, you stupid person who doesn’t live in the real world. YOU GET AFFECTED. If you don’t, fine, go away, I don’t want to know you, you-who-don’t understand-and-never-will-the-pain-of-being-fat. To hear people go on and on during meals that they are getting fatter when they are thin bitches, while you politely smile and refrain from breaking their brittle bones (and some of them could be good friends). To try clothes that look absolutely gorgeous only to realise, you can’t fit into them. And the real horror is, you thought you could. To wear stuff you bought that now you think somehow doesn’t look that great anymore. To have the sneaking suspicion that indeed, your brilliant future is bloody blocked by fatty tissues and issues. My career is choked. I’m already so old and I’m still fat. Am I not supposed to have shed baby fats a long time ago??? You mean this are permanent fats???

Don’t people have any proper respect and liking for fat girls???

I could have the most wonderful life now. And fats conceal it all. I believe this. Don’t convince me otherwise. And DON’T give me that crap about accepting myself or my fats, that I have personality. Go and die. I will disown you if you are gonna respond like this. I will hate it to be never thin when I’m young. I’m not gonna spend my best years being fat. I’ve wasted enough time looking that way. I’m not going, you hear!!! I will be thin, even if it kills me!!!! Help me to shed my fats if you are my friends (or, my sister). I have decided on losing 15kg (Seriously, I’m that fat even if I don’t look THAT fat yet. Losing 15kg, I will still look none the worse for wear).

*

I put on 1 kg I suspect, after 3 consecutive happily greasy days of consuming breakfast from the Malay stall. Fried mee or fried mee topped with the potato croquette I so loved, plus a very fried, fried chicken wing for 3 doomed days..

I’m miserable. People who are thin have no right to be miserable. They don’t understand how absolutely a horror it is to be fat. How you will despise the reflection and dread a mirror, or having a gaggle of females talking about being fat when they are so, so skinny. Etc. etc. etc. No love lost. No sympathy given. I’m wording this very strongly but that’s how I feel. Stay away, I am warning, if you are thin, and still whiny. Try being fat and maybe I can be less condescending and dismissive when you are my size.

*

From now till Sunday, I shall minimise the things I’m putting into my mouth and QC. Nothing too fattening, unless I’m exercising it off immediately. Just very short term goals that I can bring myself to work towards. And gym one more time in between.

*

Should I really check out the slimming salons?

*

Desperately fat.

Desperate to get published? go to Borders.
ego-flation for immediate self-gratification, at a fee....

That is how much he thinks of my writings.

He doesn’t understand why I would write and how I can write. Nope, not at all. I used to think it’s playful teasing, and mock pretence that he would ask what my writings were about since we always operate in such a mode but it’s dawning on me he could be half serious. Oh well.

It’s okay. I just think it’s a pity he would never read what I wrote based on him, based on my thinking about him. Very romantic in a tragic way, isn’t it. The silent lover who loves steadfastly and his literary mistress who takes refuge in her worldly, wordy world when silence gets in the way and distracts her from his love.

All these thoughts only surfaced much later. My foremost reaction was, wah, he exam, still got think of me; when he reads an article and bothered to leave me a msg. Yay! So happy! Is it an indirect reminder from him to me, of his existence, that he might be away studying, he might leave Singapore and be away for an extended period even after that, but I’m still in mind, and if I’m willing, if I don’t mind, I could keep him in mine too (I love this sentence)?

I tell you I must be sick. I’m perverse. My love life is a mess! I like someone who puts me down and disrespects what I write. I put up with what I’d never take lying down from friends and people I love. And I actually believes he means well and I’m made happy by the thought. How crazier can I get? Sheesh.

I wasn’t even thinking about him, much less missing him for the last few days. So this came as a rather pleasant surprise.

I tell you I am sick.

There ain't any answer. There ain't going to be an answer. There has never been any answer. That's the answer.

— Gertrude Stein

Everyday is a lesson in mediocrity.

This morning, this brilliant phrase just came to mind when I was doing the usual routine of travelling to work and staring vacantly at the crowd thronging the train that was moving too slow.

I shared the insight with friends who already have graduated. By sms, of course.

This is something no one, who is still stuck in school, or is not working, will be able to comprehend. A sense of angst that can no longer be called existential, no, it goes beyond.

You feel Mediocrity approaching, taunting, beckoning, inviting and you can’t run, can’t hide, and just, be.

All your life you were told you are special, different and you know you are. It’s more than a silly belief. No, you know better, you are the best, even though the rest of the world has yet to experience. But they will.

You go through uni life and yes, goodness me, it was somewhat inspiring, surprisingly. You met like-minded people with different aspirations but they shared a common vision that we can, collectively, change the world. We are the new generation. Some are scholars and having the basic solid career infrastructure by virtue of the scholarship, and complementing the tertiary education with our youth, never-say-die enthusiasm, commitment, passion, talent and wit, surely we are a breath of fresh air to be appreciated. Hopefully, we can challenge a system long due for overhaul.

But we are no different from the rest. We could be truly Mediocre. It’s humbling and humiliating, this fall from grace.

We are rapped for our youth, our eagerness and our outspokenness. Someone always likes to choke the life out of the bright sparkle in us, to make us descend into middle-ground averageness. Nobody important (far and few) in the real world appreciates your being different. They want you to be safe and same and sane.

We could be Elitist, yes. But we are buying into Mediocrity. It’s sinking in, slowly, stealthily, but surely. It’s the only way seemingly at low moments in life, the only way to stay out of trouble. Be content, be not-different. Do as you are told.

We are mediocre elites, a dime a dozen and The System is waiting to claim us. We never left the system. We are always part of it. So much for education.

I just feel quite defeated in general, whenever I think of what I think about when I was still an undergraduate.

It’s very different now. Now, I’m just like everybody. I’m an elite nobody.

When The System has supporters like us mediocre elites, its life span stretches to forever.

*

I read this off a friend’s blog some days back. Somehow it seems important, sad, painful, relevant (even though it’s on teaching and I’m talking about Mediocre Me) and above all, true, for my current frame of mind. The bits of it go:

I've been thinking quite a bit about my views on education and the system and I have to admit that they are becoming increasingly conservative. I've always been influenced by my personal experiences of having been put in a class with kids of lower academic calibre at an early stage of critical development after going through angst and dropping out of the top class. I've known and played with kids like the ones I'm teaching now and they were some of my fondest friends back then. They shaped my views to never discount them.

These days, it becomes clearer to me that those days were back then and if I ever met these people now, I would have little to say to them. Everything that I find interesting would mean nothing at all.

And ultimately, there must be some truth in the system because I survived, albeit with a few scrapes.

At the back of my mind, I feel like I'm turning into a bigoted elitist but some thoughts return persistently, refusing to be denied.

As I reach these conclusions, I keep trying to bridge that gap. Someone once told me that he had given up after acknowledging it. I'm wondering now if I'm just wasting my energy with all this effort.

*

Like I say:

Everyday is a lesson in mediocrity.

Everyday is an adventure in mediocrity.

You heard it from me. And I shall patent these lines.

The weekend has never felt shorter. Watching a play on Sat and yet another on Sun left me with no time for personal and proper errands I promised myself I would run (NO!!! Not the kind of run-run that makes me sweat. Just harmless, playful articles I should do and buy to pretend all is upbeat and well. Trust me, you'd actually grow to believe and end up relatively cheerful for a few days, which is good enough).

Watched Lovers' Words with my dear sister @Esplanade (being the nice big sister determined to bring up up baby sis well, I paid for her very first play). The play assumes a homosexual/lesbian society is the norm and examines what happens when Man and Woman find themselves attracted to the opposite sex. All I can say is the number of people who can speak fluent Mandarin without sounding strange or strangling the language is steadily on the decline. If even the theatre people dabbling in the chinese craft of it can sound this bad, what hope is there for the non-theatrical? Why can't people speak properly? Teachers, do something about this!!! Why can't everybody be like me and Shimin and speak Mandarin with excellent intonation and perfect pitch? :) That's it. Be like me, and Shimin. We should be poster girls for Speak Mandarin Campaign, not to mention I look very Chinese also. Shimin is a bit too dark to be fair Chinese girl, but it's okay. I shall insist on her to be inside
the poster with me.

So the way words were pronounced in the play was terribly awkward and distracting.The Opening Scene was good though. It was powerful and reminded me of si1ke1lang3song4 days in secondary school the way the group band together to utter the dialogue. The sheer dramatic intensity + loudness conceal the bad Mandarin. But it was :P all the way thereafter, especially Willy Lau. His Mandarin is just terok through and through. And he was leading man!!! Pui!

So I admire the set design and the interesting black and white revealing wraps (ahh see must black and white, no grey, to suggest the you can not love a woman and a man. it must always be one way. Society can never be this accomodating and accepting) they were passing off for costumes. Towards the end, both leads shed the black to wear only white (ahhh, symbolism!!! now what? Interpretations? :) so fun, almost made up for the tortured, excruciating speech). There was also a Clockwork Orange scene in which they use the same method (watching over and over again man and woman having sex vs the novel's graphic violence. So sad, I forgot the academic/medical term for it!!!) to elicit nausea and repulsion such that the body reacts violently against what the brain enjoys. The two cannot be reconciled after the treatment. They did this to the female, so while she still feels for the guy, her body shudders whenever he approaches.

The supporting cast acted far better in my opinion. And Li Qiyang is so buffed up (and not tall enough) that it's quite scary. There's a cutie who looks like Yanan from ZhenQing, but I'm quite sure he's gay. But he's so hot!!! There's also this woman who acted as the female lead's admirer who was quite hot too in terms of masculinity (I think Shimin, you wld be able to appreciate this a lot!! I did!), and whose zaoxing won me over, together with her acting, despite her lesser-than-less impressive Mandarin.

The Sun English play was Kiss Me Like You Mean It. The cast was purrrrfect, perfect. Got chemistry. Acting was fantastic. So was enunciation. And I could fall in love with the guy who acted as Tony. Both he and Gerald Chew had no veins, btw. And I must be Gerald's most unwitting fan. I watched his Hundred Years In Waiting, Balance, and now, this Kiss. I dun think I have ever watched this many plays with the same lead.

And this marks the first play I have seen in The Arts House, Play Den. It's quite a great performing venue, I must say. Not to mention I got the best seats in the house!!!

And there goes the weekend.

And I have saved this for the last. I got a confession to make. I'm horribly, horribly, horribly addicted to Neopets. Thanks to my sis, who introduced me to this, my life has utterly changed. I can just sit before the com and play games to gain points for the pet (that my sis and I are sharing) and do quests all day/night long. And the scary thing is I derived lotsa, and lotsa of pleasure from this pet thing that is disengaging me from Very Important Matters that I'm supposed to carry out. Like I told my sis, there's nothing I love more currently than playing together with our petpet, the three of us..

Isn't that sick? Isn't this so sad???? Save me!!!

Now excuse me, while I check on my pet status.


Addendum: The super cute guy with the super masculine voice who also looks goofy and fun and is tall (and just don't have veins, argh) is Phin Wong, who is also the editor of E! Culture. And I'll be calling E! Culture!!!! later. For work-related concerns, it just so happens. They do event listing mar, and I do events :) Yay!!!! Do you think he'll pick up the phone or will it be some geeky intern? :)))))

Further Addendum:

Oh, it is an intern, and it is a she.

She said she'll check with the editor and call me back. Hello, why is the editor not calling me back???

She also got ask for my name. *swoons*

I got a high knowing he might hear of my name and by hearing the girl saying she'll check with The Editor.

It's a strange feeling to bump into people you used to know from school and sayng hi, and then perform the requisite act of exchanging namecards. It's strange, but automatic. People expect it. And I've allowed myself to be accustomed to this ritual. I'm hardly ashamed to admit I derive perverse delight in collecting namecards and I've all but overcome the initial awkwardness of receiving them. I still fumble though, when it's the other way. I can't seem to whip out the namecard with a flourish in one fluid motion and give it to the other party without feeling all embarrassed about my lack of sophistication (that is, when it comes to issuing my own cards).

I felt serious pain when someone forced me to give a namecard of this person I know I might never contact to another who needed it. Hello? It's mine hor. You so gian, pls go and get it from the person yourself. Why target mine? I got it coz I'm connected to The Network.

Ooops. You mean that wasn't the right reaction I should be having after my 'Hello'? What do you mean I'm so weird. Yeah, I know. It's only a namecard but there you go. I feel quite possessive about the thingy. Disconcerting or what.

It gets worse. I've done the unspeakable. I went to approach someone whom I've sworn not to contact ever. All because she's working in an organisation that could offer publicity for my event.

Me: Hello, T? It's me. Hey, you are reporting for this mag right? Would you happen to know if it has event listing and whether anyone with the right editorial column might be interested doing a write-up? We are having this event...

She: I'm doing hard-core reporting. But I can pass you the contact for the entertainment one.

Me: *internal shudder + shiver shiver* I can't believe we are having such a conversation. "Contact" is such a dirty word. Yucks.

She: Yah. What to do. We working now mah.

Me: Yeah, so thanks for the contact.

Then we yakked very briefly about nothing, how she's going move on after another year or so, how I'm happier, as if both of us cared. Oh well, we do, provided we all are still relevant with the right connections and network thrown in.

Felt a bit of contempt for myself after I put down the phone. Hell, it wasn't even as if I needed to do this. I just wanted to contribute extra to the team, to show that I can help too (in the sense I do have contacts I can rely on), so I took the initiative. So I scan the profiles of friends and I'm horrified (always aware but nonetheless horrified) that majority are teachers, or engaging in projects that lie outside The Realm of Network. That The Network does not recognise or affirm because there is minimal need for exchanges in the corporate understanding of the term.

My one friend in the media (and even then it's by a long shot, she's not quite media-media), other than myself, my fellow s*******(who don't count coz we are in the same company ultimately) is that person.

I think I also have the namecard of someone from The xxx Paper. I was sitting beside this guy and suddenly we happened to look up to discover we do know each other from NUS orientation camp. So I had my first taste of exchanging namecards officially with someone I don't quite know (well, he asked, so I'm exonerated from Blame, so there). I was obviously embarrassed and I think the passengers in the packed MRT were highly amused by our exchange (literally and figuratively). But there's no need to resort to that guy yet. The existing media list already has xxx paper contact. It just din have my friend's one, which was why I decided to get in touch (eek the corporate world calls such liaising "touch base" it's horrible!).

Sometimes I wish more of my friends were struggling out here in Corporate. Then we can help each other out. Then they can understand better. It's difficult to articulate how gross things can be, until you are here.

And teaching, definitely doesn't count. Sure, it's tough. But it's different.

In Corporate, we have to band to survive.

I'm a lousy piece of shit for making the stupid phonecall.

Just now I received an sms from a dear old friend who announced she's gonna be working in China. How long, we don't know.

I would love to work in China or Japan someday. Singapore, you can't shake off a sense of sterility and staidness when you are in it, no matter how hard the government tries to inject some form of life into the energy-sucking island. It's repressive during milder moments, and sends you into fits of misery (why is my life not going anywhere because people here are stupid, uncaring, bland, unadventurous, shallow etc etc) during less pleasant ones.

I want to go somewhere where people respect and love culture and don't see it as a liability. Its value goes beyond economics for most. I want proper engagement and vibrancy, especially in literary arts (come to think of it, I can go Taiwan too. They have lots of competitions). I want to see no more stupid buildings being built or being passed off as arts venue for just performances. It's insane, I tell you. Singapore just does not acknowledge that creative writing, literature per se, is Art.

I want to see opportunities for submissions of written works and recognition and affirmation of literature and writers through competitions. Singapore, we only have the pathetic Golden Point (or is it Pen?) that comes every two years and the SLP that is opened only to published writers. We simply dun invest in such things. Even the proposed arts school, if anyone notices (or cares), there's no mention of specialisation in creative writing, which I find damn sad and particularly suggestive (the government just doesn't appreciate the damn thing, and doesn't believe at all it may be lucrative or is an avenue to develop).

I want to write, write, write; I will pack up and leave one day, when there's no one and no bond to hold me back.

Meanwhile, Huihua, I wish you the best. Let me know if there are writing competitions in Beijing, if authentic jiaozi is truly fantastic and if China men are better than their Singaporean counterparts. We can jolly well marry China men if the latter insist on mainland brides.

Some weeks back, I discovered that Someone whom I find absolutely detestable through a stupid (and very brief, and therefore brief) email exchange turns out to be very tanned, okay-cute (without my glasses to inspect further), has blonde streaks, gyms and is my age.

I was retelling the email incident to friends and wondering aloud who the hell the spastic was and they pointed him out. All had bad things to say. Bad, snobbish, loud, brash, blah. All whom did not know the guy at all (like me) and based it entirely on first impressions and looks.

Today a pile of boxes was struggling to get through the door. I happened to be on its other transparent side. And because I'm kind and good and angelic, I reached out to open the door for the living, walking boxes.

Turns out to be him when from the boxes, out stretch a human head to smile and say his thanks.

I doubt he knows the email addressee and me are the same and one person.

This is the stuff Very Bad Romance Stories are built on.

So this is the very end of the teaser. Period. It does not proceed beyond the teaser 'coz it's bound to be a let down and a failure. Nothing mar. I'm just a bored being with too many unimportant things on my mind.

Shall see if he got veins at tomorrow's party, if he's going.

Hawaiian/Caribbean themed party @East Coast restaurant. Feels like I've never left school :)

I shall just wear the nice blue flowery halter neck (that I have only worn twice in the 4 years I bought it) plus shorts, since it's at the beach and near my home.

I had bought the classy skimpy top with Grace under the belief the D&D might be held at a hotel or something...Oh well...no occasion to wear my super sexy (and has never been worn) stuff again.

Free the (your) mind, and the rest will follow...

The refrain chorus from En Vogue or some girl power group that existed in very early 90s.

On Wednesday 3pm, i experienced an exhilarating sense of hope, that I actually may have a future that is not bleak, that I have the proper career that I deserve and am willing to work towards with due enthusiasm and diligence, endowed with the vast talent that I have.

Someone superbly talented, very big-shot, extremely busy, universally well-liked, my boss-to-be, in another 8 mths time, actually talked to me in between his filming!!! And he knew I'm a f***king s****** and recognised me. Of all wonders. I never thought he knew who I am or that he realised I'm to be part of his team eventually. So, I was most happy that my existence was affirmed.

I actually thought he may not want me 'coz I'm supposed to be in his department now but the department appeared to have no one to teach me properly (or space to sit me)...so I'm where I'm now (which is also a great place!!! and not just because my first stint was so shit. the people are genuinely nice and I get to accomplish things with dignity, which is very important for a proud person like me).

Anyhow, I was really looking forward to going over to his end, so it was rather disappointing it wouldn't be so till much later. Like I said, I wonder, me being me, that maybe he doesn't want me, and today dispelled all such nonsense thoughts (but it's hard to be realistic and rational at the same time, usually it entails you being pessimistic and prepared for the worst).

And so he came over, smiled and said, so you are here in *insert name of department* now.

And I, being me and a girl to boot went, coz you dun want me mah.

I think he din quite get it till 5 secs later, and he started protesting indignantly that it was coz it was a really bad period to come in.

I smiled and said I understand lah, and I am looking forward to being there.

He recommended me to go for a course first before I join his team and told me to drop him an email so that he can put in words for me to HR. How cool is this? He cares!!! I got a boss that cares!!!!

He also told me to watch more trailers blah blah. All these from a very important man to a silly, starry-eyed girl who sees her hope for a dignified career resurrected.

The less dignified (but nonetheless important) and peculiar fact was he paused midway, stared at me intently for a moment and pronounced solemnly: I think I will attach you to ****. And I'm like, going internally, why, why??? Hee. CK says it's coz I look more kiddish than artsy. Which I guess is not a bad thing. I'm pretty good with kids, anyhow. And I'm a wannabe writer, so it makes sense not to produce for other artists, on warped hindsight :)

This sense of hope kept me buoyant for the rest of the day. Suddenly it matters not I can't see him or that he is leaving Singapore right after his exams, because I, me, have a career to build. Go, by all means go, I have something to do here. I will survive, without you.

I said to an ex-friend once, something's gotta give. If you fail in Love, you better have a Career. And if Career is not doing so fine, at least if you have Love to fall on, it's all right (Let's just leave out Friends for now.). But if both also Dead-end, either kill yourself improving either one and die doing so, or kill yourself. You have to be successful in one, the very least. It keeps your mind off your dramatic loser status in other areas.

I'm happy to report to my blog that work in my current department is pretty hot. I get to run away around (like meet Kumar and various exciting, happening people), experiencing first-hand the highs and lows (all are highs, even the lows!) of events management, seeing my mentors and friends being hands-on for all things and being very happy to contribute to a team that is driven, passionate and committed. I'm motivated and proud that I belong here

*

Watching Saturday Night Fever was deafening. They screamed out the songs, at full lung, lunging power. I was also semi-blinded by the pseudo disco lights. But the choreography was amazing, especially the en masse segments. Reminds me fondly of the closing scene in Grease. Loved the sets and lighting too!!

*

Today, the buoyancy has subsided somewhat and I'm subdued. But for now, the very temporary now, I can believe he matters not, we matter not.

Career Counts. Cry me a River.

I had the most liberating nightmare. I dreamt I was back with a person. It made me scream and I woke up, laughing. How sad, is it, that the person is on my mind without my knowing. However, all is not lost. I take absolute refuge and comfort in the minder that dreams are always displacements and (displays) of a deeper unconsciousness. That is, what you dream
of, can never be what you are thinking about.

*

当我想起你 有一种绝望的灰心

I used to wonder, had I been more clear and more certain, would things have worked out differently. Has the person seen (I believe so, this is rhetoric) my hesitation, my doubt, my inability to move on completely and after calculating his odds, gets scared, decides on me as a lost cause and gave me up to go after someone who can be entirely his with less investment, effort and time?

I think it was an intelligent assumption on his part. It is a lost cause. Because I'm stubborn. I find it hard to care a lot about someone in that way. And when I really, really do, I'm rendered helpless, like totally because I have to not to show that I care that much, in that way. And I find various things better to do to distract my treacherous heart that no longer heeds me (now, blogging) or people to take place of a more desired, and much preferred company (that I deny it ever happening when I remember to protest).

When I'm with him, I talked about him.
When I'm with him, I forget what I talk about and I don't care.

I just want to walk beside him, feel his silent smile and bask in the mutual beaming that we try so hard to conceal from each other.

笑 就歌颂 一皱眉头就心痛
我没空理会我 只感受你的感受
你要往哪走 把我灵魂也带走
它为你着了魔 留着有什么用

I just want to walk deliberately slowly behind him, so that he would look back anxiously every now and then to check I'm still there and haven't (yet) run away from him, like I always threaten I would, one day,
at the rate he is going, literally.

手 不是手 是 温柔的宇宙
我这颗小星球 就在你手中转动
请 看见我 让我有梦可以作
我为你发了疯 你必须奖励我

I want to see his tall frame better at a distance. I want to sit down by a table so that he can look into my eyes. I want to place both our hands side by side so that he can say again what my Mum always says about my hands and I won't mind this time. I want to see his, yeah, beautiful veins and being mistress of myself enough (and not his enough :) not to reach out. I want to see what we'll do if we are put in a spot long enough and still enough without stupid things breathing down our necks like work and school.

The substitute will never be the original (to hell, Derrida! There's an origin in my world!). I was lying when I declared otherwise. It was most impetuous and unwise, and probably because I was so mad at him.

What happens if this does not work out?

火 你是火 是我飞蛾的尽头
没想过要逃脱 为什么我要逃脱
谢谢你给我 一段快乐的梦游
如果我忘了我 请帮忙记得我

Life goes on, like it always does.

I'm proud; I'd rather die first than confess I'm dying.

I will write as my last act of defence and defiance, since he hates me doing that and I shall die writing.

你是电 你是光 你是唯一的神话
我只爱你 You are my super star
你主宰 我崇拜 没有更好的办法
只能爱你 You are my super star

Love may not exist, but it can be experienced but this may be the closest one can come to yet.

(My patented line: I don't think it exists but l like to believe it does.
Ack! What nonsense is this?)


你是意义 是天是地是神的旨意
除了爱你 没有真理

I should stop listening to S.H.E songs. They are so bad for me. It's quite obvious, I hope, why.

There must be something beyond my writing, the hair, those fats and that man that I can write about.

*in defeat* well, except I can't think of any right now.

I have been hibernating and rewriting (read: typing what I've handwritten years ago into proper Chinese characters using 南极星...and it's really years ago, dated from JC). It's tedious and thankless, coz every couple of sentences, I would stop, pause and ask myself why am I bothering. The crap would never make it; I would never make it. It's quite sad, really. I type real slowly, and attempt to offset inherent imperfections and lack of storyline with lyrical, poetic lines that hopefully would convince the reader that the disembodied tale is postmodern and innovative, and cheem. Even sadder is how I can almost believe that myself the more I write with that intention. Suddenly the lie becomes a theme I'm weaving into the plot.

It's too hot to go anywhere, too hot to run.

I need space, exercise and someone to talk to who wouldn't irritate me unnecessarily with stupid, unfounded remarks that are not even funny, someone who I can believe understand, can spare me all the time in the world to hear my little anxieties and explore them at length, in depth, so that I can cope with my weird life, weird friends and weird needs.

I guess the last bit is a bit too much. I have never found that someone again. So, I also need more $$$ as a distraction. I'm watching plays and musicals, and movies to starve away the emotional loneliness. The shopping and singing help too.
So does the writing that doesn't go anywhere but I'm shaping it to whittle away time, while I wait, for what, I know not. And see, a day has passed without my realising. I give it, say, two months, is that too long to mock-wait?

为什么没有星星的夜晚
你总不在我身旁 为什么满天星星的夜晚
你就告诉我你不想留在那里 噢...一分半秒
告诉我你不再爱我有多难

说 说你不爱我
我不会把你踢到大沙漠 说 说你不爱我 Woo...
我不会把你踢到大沙漠

I'm the most pathetic woman around.

It doesn't take a lot to make me happy + appreciative.

Horribly + predictably, it takes even less to make me experience deja-vu doubt and hopelessness in no time.

I forgot how to direct anger and frustration a long time ago. I just feel sad and brood. It is so, pathetic.

There really is nothing to get worked up either. Hence, even-more-so pathetic. The sense of forsaken-ness is 100% unreasonable.

I wish I cld just turn and walk away. I used to be able to do that very well whenever I feel lost. The lost-ness morphed easily into anger and I was empowered by it. Not anymore.

Now, I merely write quietly. I dun even talk anymore on the subject now that I have a blog and the catharsis can done easily.

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



我真的不是个难缠的女人。我是有想法，没方向。满腔热情如何安置，不争气的寂寞重蹈覆辙又如何摆脱，就灌入醉人的文字，好不好。反正你从

不看 好我的文笔。允许我放纵，沉溺在自己的笔迹，不要说服我不再在键盘上痴傻地敲击，我说过我要保存一撮姣好的真实，这是我的拙愿。

*

可是， 亲爱的，文句如何装下被丘比特的弩弓所射下的火苗。烧不尽，也不过是因为那相思一泻而水漫金山。

水火的不容也就造就了潺爰之流，眼看就要坠下来了，悬挂在字间的那颗泪滴，是文字永恒的负荷，不是说断，就断。

它承载了超出想象的重量，有稀薄的亲密，却也含藏距离千千里 的黯然。有时，我渴望有度量释放我的文字，

好让它们享有一种一切已过去的轻盈，毋需背负着思念包袱流连忘返，空洞地守候。所谓就此停泊，

坐立成佛，可我放不开，这么多欲望、不满、等着申冤。为什么不能写之、灭之、绝之，

为什么看来慈祥善良的文字竟不能带走我的难受。我写也写了，读也读了，它们还要我怎么样，

拿给你看吗，可你又读不懂。掏空的情操马上就被伤心连本带利补添，我折服于辞藻的煽惑之中，

顿时又寂寞起来。

*

亲爱的，你能不能爱得铿锵有力，让我有摆脱文字的傻劲。正如你言，我写 得一塌糊涂，也无人问津，别写了，你最讨厌。

*

我不是要证明我是才女。我是想把寂寞写成美丽的剧本。毕竟爱情剧本百转又千回，哪怕千回百转，总会走进你的心。

洪筱薇© 2004
All rights reserved

I have sinned.

I blew $60 on lunch today.

罪过、罪过。

Went to Esplanade in CK's car for work-related activities. We went early to have lunch there. Since both of us have never been to 寒舍 ie My Humble House literally, we were rather happy to give it a shot (at my brilliant suggestion 'coz CK shares my passion for Fine Dining and Wonderful Food, and I really don't think most of my friends would appreciate the price, no matter what).

The place was quite nice with very tall chairs meant for people 2.5m tall, I kid you not. The fool, oops, slip, I really mean food, was worth what we paid.

But the whole experience was made fun and memorable by the very intriguing menu.

They have truly strange chinese names for the dishes.

潮起潮落 is actually a 牛柳 (that means beef, you banana) dish。

CK and I deliberated between set lunches with irreverent and irrelevant titles that go along the lines of 风从双肩掠过 and 记得那时夏天 。For dinner, you can have sets like 那白白的雪 and 听见山有歌 (something like that, lah).

It was most fascinating and we examined the menu over and over again.

I love most of all, an a la carte dish that bears the undignified name of 冲动的something 虾球。Why were the prawn balls rash? Was it because they were too eager to be cooked and swam too eagerly into the hot oil? This topped the list of strange things and a second close was the waves analogy used to describe beef. Why, why, why?

So the exorbitant price was squared off too by orgasmic pleasure derived from scrutinising the names of dishes.

I'm glad CK was my companion. This is definitely not the place to bring Chinese-very-lousy people. You won't derive any pleasure if so. And CK's Chinese is superb. I'm almost as good. We are both Chinese-very-powerful ppl :)

All in all, we had a very enjoyable time dissing, marvelling, making noise and 砸场, as usual, teasing the people who serve us.

My only quibble was the first dish that was served to us.

The something-something-very-long title that ends with 热情的沙律 was 不好吃。

*

Later on, when I remembered My Humble House is part of the Tung Lok Restaurant, I suddenly recalled I have the Tung Lok Happy Card. 10% off.

AH.

No longer your teenyboppers, instead the teen-agers (and still aging), May-Ann and I, vaguely relived a time gone by too fast for us to understand and appreciate. We hung out in Mos Burger and talked about life and all subjects beginning “L” (of which there is only one, okay maybe two that we care more flippantly about), worrying about where *this* is all leading to. By sticking our necks out, risking slaughter just to catch a glimpse of the promised land, that elusive bigger picture (that hides a better future, one with more meaning) which we still quite naïvely and sceptically believe, exists, I feel I’m 15 again. Almost a decade down the road, I still dream and dread the same things, except the venue changed from Parkway BK to Taka Mos, and my companion is no longer Geraldine.

I have no wish to return to that awkward stage of 15 though. JC would be nice. I will love to see if I could handle some things differently. Not necessarily better, just different. And I believe with all my heart, if the phenomenon of everyone owning a mobile phone holds true then as well, some things would have turned out entirely not like this.

I don’t think Yimin would ever read this (my entry) but I do feel regretful on hindsight that we fell out because of a misunderstanding over a guy. I was proud; I was headstrong, I was playful (okay, fine, I’m still all of that) and I probably caused her more pain than I realised. She would probably disagree and say instead that we just drifted apart. But I always felt that the guy sow the seeds (urgh horrid cliché) of discord for us.

I’m sorry I wasn’t more sensitive and just laughed it off when all these nonsense about me and someone else bopped around (totally untrue). It bounced off me but my friend remembered everything. She felt betrayed. And I felt betrayed because even if he did like me (I’m not saying he did. Anyway we kind of avoided each other, he and I, like the plague thereafter), so what? It’s not my fault; I hardly did anything.

We were just in the same committee by chance; same camping group by chance; he just happened to accompany me to the library (I feel like I’m living in a feudalistic society when I heard that he was teased mercilessly about this by his omniscient classmates); he just happened to be there. And it’s definitely not my fault the cute children whom we were organising the camp for thought we made an equally cute couple, and kept pelting us with questions of are we, are we. *sigh* Just writing about and thinking of it makes me feel terribly defensive and agitated all over again.

I remembered how angry I was when I found out how silently angry she was with me all these while. Hello? If someone I liked, like you, I mean that’s just too bad for me. I wun blame it on you! And it’s not even that I like him!!!! So I felt doubly wronged.

He was rather attractive, very well-built, proportionate, tanned, veined (hmm maybe my obsession with veins din start with *that* person) but that’s about it. He’s also very stingy (eek my current lover is beginning to look like he’s a projection of my JC past) which I hate. I’m sarcastic and hateful and very rude to him (it’s official). Absolutely no patience where he is concerned. And I’m too fast a yakker and thinker for him. He’s so slow, it’s painful to wait for a rebuttal, or simple response.

But my friend doesn’t understand. All she saw was my talking to him and vv (like hello again? We are friends mah. Plus the camp group we only knew each other well nuff to hang out). All she heard and trusted were the rumours.

We had a good talk over this, me and she. And I thought we were in the clear. But she was very sarcastic again upon chancing us together. And I felt very irritated that I had such a petty and childish friend.

So yes, had I a chance to make, not amends, but to handle my deepest regret all over again, I hope Yimin is still my best friend, as I am hers. Or at least we din fell out because of some stupid guy who probably is still totally unware of what’s going on, that he ruined a perfectly gd relationship.

Yimin has now flown to Germany to work and is contactable only by email. We have led very separate lives since JC and it’s only mid last year that we resume some contact. It’s not the same (how can it be after that and since so many years) and we never really broach the TC issue again.

TC (the guy in question), I met him by chance again in Science canteen during my third year in NUS. Exchanged the obligatory numbers, had lunch together once and end of story.

It’s really not worth it, and it never was, since it never did amount to anything.

The part I did wrong was to write what happened down. It became one of my little romances, those I still am so fond of penning. Yimin was my Number 1 ardent fan in those heady years. She was brilliantly encouraging and only had lovely things to say. So I gave it to her some time after our talk and okay, it probably wasn’t such a great idea. Even if it was fiction and I re-worked a lot of it.

I’m really sorry, Yimin, Tiancai was shit. He’s an idiot not to know what a great person you are. He’s stupid for not trying to know you better. He’s stupid to think I’ll like him; and a greater fool if he thought of liking me (but I seriously don’t think his brains are big enough to carry such thoughts, much less me together with all my baggage).

And at this moment, I’m quite horrified by the years lost on us through TC. I think of you fondly, I do. And perhaps the day would come when I muster sufficient courage to email this page to you so that you’d understand. And maybe let me know I was wrong. It wasn’t TC that split us up. But till then, let him bear the burden. We did agree and giggle he’s strong, sturdy and steady ‘nuff.

10 Things I Love about my New Job

1) My cubicle is strategically positioned to offer me plenty of privacy from prying and irrelevant eyes (you wouldn’t believe how often this crazed colleague attempts to peer over my partition. But my cubicle is secure and steady enough to fend off her unwanted attention. In fact, she can’t see anything and I can look up and catch her in the act and ask very coolly, “Yes?” And, she’ll mumble “Nothing.”
2) I get to work with nice people like CK whom I already know quite well.
3) I get to work with talented and efficient people like CK.
4) I can speak as much Chinese as and when I like
5) My table is free from clutter because thanks to the exodus from my previous department, I no longer have to do petty and hateful things that filled me with contempt for myself (so awful to despise oneself!). My table now looks important. I placed a nice picture of our 2001 Bangkok trip and another of our Night Safari expedition. Well, Shimin you are in both. Heh. So is Hong Boon. And so is Someone else. Well, means nothing? Saved they hold good memories of a time when all I worry about was you making me mad and buying loads of bags and clothes at excellent prices.
6) I’m doing important work that makes me puff up with pride. Even though I must say it’s still way too early to celebrate. But I’m biased. Anyhow, I just wrote a press release and a marketing proposal for an event my department is doing. Feedback on the press release was positive. Proposal: status unknown. Hell, it’s a remarkable improvement from what I used to do (once again, things that horrify, replete my days with dread and misery, and make me loathe myself so) so I’m happy.
7) I get to do stuff I like and believe in with all my heart.
8) I can watch all the free shows I like (coz we organisers mah).
9) I no longer have to put up with conversations going over my head about how slim/pretty/bosomy/sexy someone (usually the most senior and then the ping-pong follows ie no lah, I fat, you wheregot fat I even fatter etc) is or that someone has a nice top/rebonded hair/dyed hair etc. conversations that drone on and on for an hr plus that I can’t respond effectively (or even pretend to) ‘coz it’s just so uninteresting to me. I can’t even muster up strength and energy to act enthusiastic. I do talk about hair (c’mon I worry about mine all the time!!! And yes it looks nice, sometimes) and I love shopping but I do not relate to their way of enthusing over the issues that are close to my heart. Kinda sad but I’ve learnt to accept that. Sometimes, between one person and another, we can only be this close. Especially when your conversations get as far and deep as hair and shopping and there’s that. Period. ‘Nuff said.
10) The best, best thing about my new job is possibly the low chair that comes along with the new cubicle. Previously my chair was high and cannot be adjusted. So I can’t cross and slip my legs under the desk comfortably. Now, ha! I feel dignified and comfortable and professional.

10 Things I want materially (possible to achieve with minimal effort) to make me happy

1) Longer hair with curls that cascade properly. Well I just need to wait for my hair to grow out. Just trim it so the layers are making the curls unruly (one side curls better than the other). But I can still let down the hair and feel positive (on bad hair days, I hate). On the very bright side, I can pin up all my hair now that I’ve the trim. It can look quite chic and cool, whether I make an effort or not, so long as I pin it up (it looks nice when messy done and when it’s neat it looks good too).
2) More earrings, the exceptionally nice ones.
3) More bags, the attention-seeking ones.
4) More time to write my romances.
5) To watch The Prince and Me (Julia Stiles Rocks!).
6) To laze around one whole entire day reading books I’ve bought and yet read.
7) Watching Saturday Night Fever The Musical (bought tixes for next week liao, woah!)
8) KTV
9) KTV
10) KTV

Well, Ezo asked me to go with her post her med exams. Kaile said we could go together. So did Chin-yi.

Baby, all I wanna do is to sing for a living.

I can really believe this.

5 Things that would make me very happy but requires monumental effort and luck and the impossible ability to stop imagining I’m losing face by doing something to advance/the sheer thinking about my relationship with Someone

1) Finding pretty clothes that fit and fall on my current frame fantastically.
2) Losing 5-10 kg from my current frame.
3) Going out with Someone and doing stuff together and just telling him I enjoy spending time with him. What’s so difficult abt this!!!! Tell me about it. It’s not like I’m confessing something more important. How come I find saying such a simple thing a loss of face, a kind of giving-in on my part. I’m so sooooo weird. Maybe the day I said it to him, 10 kg worth of baggage will fall off me immediately. Yeah, it’s all his fault.
4) Getting published.
5) Getting to know someone new.

I dun really like the idea of (5) and in fact I’m really adverse to knowing new people. But I suppose new people = new dynamics, and the addition might inject a much deserved something (what, I have no idea) into my life. Well that’s why it requires such great effort and luck (kama). And maybe I can cross out (3) when the time comes. Whew!