The Days Of Our Lives

After watching the latest Harry Potter movie:

YQ: Eek, so much sex and sexual innuendos! It’s not a children’s show! How can they put PG!

He was particularly traumatized by the scene in which Moaning Myrtle was outraging Potter’s modesty outrageously during his bath via inching closer and closer to the very naked wizard plus cooing at him.

Me, I was surprised that Harry is endowed with a rather defined and toned physique, if many shades too white. But he’s definitely more muscular than slender and has remarkable potential to be UK’s answer to Bae Yong Jun.

*

15 minutes into Rent the musical:

Me, whispering: I’m afraid I can’t make out 60% of what they are singing.

Mr Dimples: It’s okay. I can’t make out 70% leh.

The lyrics to the first three songs at least, were quite indiscernible. I don’t think the fact that we’re Chinese has anything to do with it, though Mr Dimples might have appealed to that line of thought. The sound system was rocky at the start, and there was some muffling. It didn’t help that that narrator Mark and his friend (we called him the guitar guy as we had never been able to catch his name) has a tendency to swallow their words and they were doing the lead-in. Sure, they were loud and enthusiastic but as to why they were, it was lost on Mr Dimples and I.

Things started picking up with the appearance of Maureen (impeccable diction and naturally flamboyant body language) and the full fledged gang at the bar scene with “ La Vie Boheme B” onwards. I do wish Maureen had more songs. Karen Mok as Mimi was okay, decent, but rather self-conscious in her performance. As a result, she gave the overall impression that she was stressed and trying hard instead of coming across as effortlessly sensuous. And her relationship with the guitar guy was barely brimming with sentimentality. I remained unmoved and sad to say, all that kept flashing insistently before me was how a Sarong Party Girl scenario it was visually. The Angel had better success at tugging at the non-existent heartstrings.

During intermission, we went to collect our free CDs as promised by the organizers since we bought tickets during the promotional period. It was a Karen Mok CD containing 10 of her Chinese hits. Errr…WTF? At least it’s free…and we thought it would be Rent-related.

There were no Rent programs or merchandise being sold either. Which is, frankly, a real anomaly for any musical, much less one with international status and heritage.

Mr Dimples felt he was watching Big Brother, albeit with many lovely tunes thrown in. I liked the songs too, but felt that the scenes were too disconnected and that the stage actors could do so much better. As it is, I left the place, rather disappointed.

*

What do I expect from every show and concert that I catch? Is it to glean the coping mechanics from unreal characters in realistic contexts and circumstances, to pocket and squirrel away little raw gems of inspirational in moments of lostness - when words fail me and you fail me, to escape the realities, or simply to spend time with the someone who genuinely cares about The Arts, The Music, or Me? Well, sometimes, it’s because I get invited, but mostly, all the above.

I had lunch with Mr Dimples at No Signboard before Rent. Crabs and drunken prawns on a lazy Saturday afternoon. We shifted dinner to lunch, because his Grandaunt passed away. Cancer. I spoke, just as casually while we drove along the expressway, that I went to see my mum this morning. Exactly a year has passed in terms of the Chinese calendar count. Some things should have happened differently. Then again, we will never have met if that was so.

Chicken Little (complimentary), Mayday (possibly, complimentary), Wake Up! Sleeping Beauty (paid) coming up, and maybe turtle soup in Geylang.

And running away to Hong Kong with my Best Friend.

Addendum: A sure way to impress a girl – even when it is only drizzling, even when you are parked 10 steps away from the covered walkway, dash out from your driver’s seat, umbrella in tow, open her car door and gallantly shelter her to destination. Extra brownie-without-walnut points topped with chocolate and cream.

亲爱的，我会记得我曾经这样轻唤你

曾经，我小心翼翼地把你放在记忆的沟渠里，为今天的翻箱倒柜做准备，好让我能把你完整无缺、一气呵成地彻底唾弃。

亲爱的，曾经，你是何等的重要。

亲爱的，我会记得我曾经这样轻唤你。

那段日子里，我从不认为有这么一天，你会成为我的不堪回首。

亲爱的，请相信我。

我的迷惘曾一度毫无遮掩的摊开在你面前，当我天真的坚持，你就是我的亲爱的。

如今，那份浓情蜜意也成为过眼烟云。

我和你， 云淡，风也清。

亲爱的，原来我从没爱过。

All rights reserved ©Angeline Ang

Normalcy II

Apparently, he harbours aspirations of retiring in Scotland as a painter. The revelation came easily as we strolled through Art Retreat in Ubi Techpark and in between passing all sorts of remarks on the works of Lee Man Fong, Wu Guanzhong & other Indonesian Masters. Examined, or rather, studied a pictorial book of Balinese nudes in all seriousness. It’s probably sexier than Sexpo, I quipped. My favourite piece of displayed art was titled Ruins & Piano.

Then we drove to Marina Square. I said I don’t really have a habit of shopping with a guy in tow, but circumstances called for it, as I only have time that day to check out these Evita Peroni hair combs (for piling up the hair) that were discounted for UOB cardholders. Luckily, he needed to buy a cover for his newly acquired Palm too. I reminded him before starting my rounds of preening, to please play with his Palm and ignore me. Amazingly, he was sufficiently intrigued by the expensive hair accessories to start looking around the shop.

It’s always nice to have an encouraging person to justify my buys. I bought the bejeweled combs, obviously. The salesgirl appeared to have undercharged me. I asked if she were sure this is the price, ‘cos this meant I am paying $30 less that I should be. She said no mistakes, no. After leaving my contact to be notified of new products and promotions, I left the shop feeling very pleased with my buys.

15 minutes later, the salesgirl called to ask me to return to the shop as she has undercharged me. WTF.

He was very amused by this turn of events. I was quite upset and pained.

Had dinner at Dian Xiao Er and drank Nu Er Hong (me) and Zhuang Yuan Hong (him). Tasted like a bitter version of Chicken Essence. He gallantly offered to pay for dinner to offset my loss.

Walked to Millenia to dress his Palm. Nothing suitable. Ended up in men’s section in Raoul and listening to an interesting expose on one.two ply shirts and French cuffs. Popped into British India Company.

Sat through the very enjoyable A Twist Of Fate and ended the night as such.

*

Normalcy is underrated. Henceforth, I shall place the premium on it.

好心分手

回头望伴你走 从来未曾幸福过
赴过汤蹈过火 沿途为何没爱河
下半生陪住你 怀疑快乐也不多
没有心别再拖 好心一早放开我

I have just deleted all related numbers, the home, the mobile, the office, the full works from my handphone including every single sms he has ever sent.

It’s the symbolic gesture that counts.

I feel a little better.

我想得比你多 陪你一起更寂寞
我性格比你强 怎样做你的绵羊
我年纪比你小 不信快乐找不到
抬起头开了口 最后我比你骄傲

A little lighter. A little more determined. A little confused. A little happy.

从此不坐你的牢 想不到你的好
记得和你的争吵 想到老可到老
可是和你做不到 如果你爱得比我少
至少我走得比你早

I’m tired of being tired and of his wonderfully erratic nature.

No amount of veins can save the situation here.

Life Was Beautiful Then & Now

I like friends who bother. And I have many who do – I’m the most blessed person (as blessed by mysterious beings).

*

Was naughty on Wednesday, and threw an almost tantrum when I wanted to watch Potter suddenly and immediately, like now, and was suitably hindered for the most obvious of reasons. Yeun wasn’t free – he had his architectural presentation due and told me next week will be better. I went hmph and logged off msn straightaway in unreasonable annoyance. Best friend tried her best, which was a hesitant maybe for the next day, and I hung up on her after a curt bye. YQ said he would accompany me, even to the extent of catching the 9.25pm show (the only time I can make it) but he backed out upon realizing there were only the first three rows of seats left for sale. I was sufficiently frustrated to stop finding people, in case I burst from irritation at not having my way and having more “no-s” heading here instead.

Then later at night, YQ messaged his apologies for pulling out due to lack of good seats and he booked tickets for Sunday. I was quite content, the crankiness gone.

*

Had a not-so-quick chat with Dorcas on the phone. The perils of being in the government directory, that’s how I tracked her down. We have been sporadically smsing each other with a lag of up to a week in between the spasms. I finally can’t take it anymore and rang her to nail a date for a threesome with Ruth. That was when I realized she knows Mr Veins.

Me: I still have no idea what you do as an AR. This crazy DPP friend of mine was saying ARs look after the registers in the registry, and I’m like WTF. How can he use the root word thrice to explain what registrars do.

And Dorcas was, I guess, tickled enough to ask who the mad man is.

Me: I don’t think you’d know but he’s *insert Mr Veins’ full dialect name*

Dorcas: Ooh, I just had lunch with him and his friend.

Me: WTF! Small world siah! *runs and hide in corner*

*

So we fix the threesome dinner on the 3rd. Happy things happening then. Grace getting married – I’m attending her church wedding in the afternoon and a dinner at Botanic Gardens the next day.

*

Receiving a lovely call from Joyance (from NUSSU days). I screamed when she announced who she was and yes, she and Abel are getting married (they are already formally wedded but have not thrown the dinners) and she’s 2 months pregnant.

I can’t attend the wedding dinner ‘cos I’m in HK by then. Sigh. At least 50% of the gang can’t turn up. That’s a shame, cos we used to be really close as a committee. The ties are still there, but the meet-ups more infrequent. Those were the days we could change the world.

Now all I want is to stop the world from changing me.

*

Huixin’s homecoming. My good friend is finally returning to Singapore after a year in New Zealand. She’s going to HK too and with a bit of luck, we can reunite in HK!

*

On Friday ie today, my phone rang in the middle of a mini crisis -

Mr Dimples: I’m looking at the sea now. I’m on a ship.

Me: This is insane. Are you on reservist? No? Don’t you have to work!!!

Mr Dimples: I’m working. It’s bigger than a cruise ship!

Me: I hate you.

Anyway, the weekend plans: we will drive to Ubi to mock admire (in utter ignorance) some art works first before we attempt to shop together, followed by the dinner and show bit.

*

Busy and happy week. Must remember to set some time aside to read Yeun’s very interesting architectural thesis – don’t play play okay, people got use differance and derrida to talk about memory and meanings in buildings. Stunned, right. Impressive, without reading.

可惜不是你

This is not a matter to be tossed aside lightly.
It should be thrown aside with great force.

(mangled from Dorothy Parker)

I think hard about whom I should send it to. Of course, it is between the two same gentlemen, whose company I take almost equal delight in, albeit their very different temperaments and character.

Now, in the middle of my short reverie, I was distracted, and somewhat absent-mindedly, I tapped “sent”. Hmm.

I don’t really regret the act, but I suppose it wasn’t very fair a thought experiment, if one ignores the ridiculous complications brought upon it by dragging psychoanalysis and the Freudian notions of displacement, condensation and projection into a simple situation.

I just thought maybe it should be the other man since I’m already going out with this man in the latter part of the month. Silly gesture, perhaps, but of utmost significance to myself, for striking a balance makes me feel in control emotionally, that we don’t have to fall and therefore, fear (or fail). We can be happy together without thinking too frantically about the meaning of togetherness.

*

Me: Do you want to escort me to *insert function*? I got an invite.

Him: Escort? Would love to. Is there a seat for the escort? Or is it a standing chore?

Me: So flattered by your enthusiasm. Haha. Got seats lah. We can enjoy the musical in comfort. Thank you for being my escort.

Him. Ha, no problem.

*

He is very nice. But as usual, I feel an irrational sense of guilt towards the other.

This hardly makes any sense!

I know I have been happiest at your side;
But what is done, is done, and all's to be.
And small the good, to linger dolefully-
Gayly it lived, and gallantly it died.
I will not make you songs of hearts denied,
And you, being man, would have no tears of me,
And should I offer you fidelity,
You'd be, I think, a little terrified.

Yet this the need of woman, this her curse:
To range her little gifts, and give, and give,
Because the throb of giving's sweet to bear.
To you, who never begged me vows or verse,
My gift shall be my absence, while I live;
But after that, my dear, I cannot swear.

恋与念

Despite many, any hazardous moments over the weekend, I was happy to meet someone whom I feel I could seriously like (read: develop an immediate crush)within the first few seconds of meeting him. It helps tremendously that he bears a scary resemblance to this manly HK actor, and is very attractive in an unthreatening and unassuming way.

Just how seriously likeable is he? Likeable enough so that I totally forgot about checking out whether he has veins or dimples. That’s a sure sign of being blinded – conveniently ignoring what I have always zoomed in, magnified and examined, without fail.

It was nice chatting with him. His real job is a Chinese teacher in a secondary school. Our paths crossed because he was moonlighting as a writer and was covering my event.

Still, he could be attached and married for all I know. And he probably is, I saw him with a girl subsequently at my event

But he called me tonight.

(to send in shots of the event to his editor, lah but it was rather endearing – he kinda tripped over his words and the call lasted 10minutes)

Oh well. And that’s the end of a nothing tale.

*

Public Service Announcement: Legendary discipline master Mr Kiw (and the occasional Chinese teacher) is officially retiring from Dunman High this year.

After almost a decade, I finally called him instead of just thinking about it. He remembers me (and I have no doubt he does) but I do think it would be wickedly funny if he remembers me as some other person.

Well, we’ll find out. I’m going to his place for dinner and do some proper catching up.

English Transcript of phone conversation. NB: Chinese meanings are utterly lost in translation -

Mr Kiw: I’ll cook. You can all come for dinner.

Me *chuckles*: Er…I think there’s only me. I don’t keep in touch with my sec 4 class, those that I do, they were not taught by you and in any case, Mr Kiw, I’m sure you’re aware of your reputation. It’s difficult. I hope that’s okay. IT’S ONLY ME!!!

Mr Kiw: Of course.

Haha.

Well, any ex-Dunmanians reading this blog, if you wanna join me, and reminisce over dinner about days of being a Dunmanian with a living legend (and argue, argue, argue as equals), just drop me a note before the weekend.

Everyday Is Another Lesson In Mediocrity

In an attempt to soothe ruffled feathers (my own, had a literally eventful working non-stop weekend), I booked myself in various places for a whole day of physical pampering. Facial, checked. Hair masque/mask, checked. Body massage, checked. Hand paraffin, checked. That goes my day-off.

*

There are times I can be bratty and ungrateful and the time is now. I’m a fucking graduate, damn you. Do you know the kind of dignity and respect I was accorded in school by peers and lecturers? Do you know I was Publicity Director in the Students’ Union? Do you know how much you have let me down with your pathetically paltry treatment of me? You don’t fucking care, you don’t understand angst and anguish, and you don’t know how to track or develop paths. Hello, do you remember I exist at all? Why, why couldn’t you live up to your promise of a fulfilling and meaningful existence?

*

Tomorrow is another day. Everyday is a lesson in mediocrity.

Righting My Writes

Since 2003, I have been very, very tempted to attempt this, to re-instill the discipline to continue writing my novels (so many, many drafts and only 1 novel fully completed, plus 6 short stories – that could well be worked into another book), never mind that they are all in Chinese. Anything English are usually blog entries and poetry.

I have fobbed off taking up the challenge because of standard clichéd reasons, such as too busy, bad timings (absolutely so, all the time, especially last year) etc. All the more reasons to join in the writing foray, isn’t that so?

In any case, Woolf was definitely spot on about the absolute necessity of having money and a room of one’s own in order to write. I work, because there is no other way of getting the cash (and I’m paying back my sugar company in kind), and hence time to write is written off, as simple as that.

I haven’t been writing at all, if we discount entries and dismiss releases/reports/replies in general. So. I’m telling myself sternly now, to write, damnit, write, just write, anything!

Yes, I do this reminder thing periodically to yell at myself that I was never meant to be only doing whatever I am doing. No comfort zone, please. No corporate airs, please. No easing into taitai-dom and doing frivolous things. I’m supposed to be even more carefree than that – a struggling writer with tons to say, who will be published someday.

I am a writer, damnit! So, write! Be writer-ly! Don’t be distracted!

I blame the men I’m seeing. They don’t quite ignite the indignation anymore, and thus there’s no impetuosity and impetus to scribble everything down immediately.

Whatever. Shut up. Just finish those drafts.

*

From 10 months ago,
Still, with the coming of 2005, it'd be timely to remind myself again to be focused and not to lose sight of what I have always wanted to do. I have chosen my calling and I mustn't be distracted at any cost.

So. Yes. I want to write full-time, as a novelist, poet. I already have my manuscripts, my stories and I shall continue to write more and more. To be published. I cannot abandon what gives meaning and purpose to my life. How busy and tired and tiresome life gets, I must remember. That I need to transcend all the pettiness and write all that matter. It's that simple; it's all that matters. I remember now.

Other Related Entries
1. Will I ever write again?

2. Blogging is not Writing

Buy A Book

Disclaimer: This is so not a bimbo post. The first two paragraphs only offer the silly background to an interesting re-encounter. You shall be duly rewarded with a moral at the end of it even though the existence of morals are truly suspect, and we should be renaming any such related or associated entities as principles for a less antagonistic reaction from meta-morals/moral philosophy critics like myself.

Last evening, I was hurrying towards the MRT after a bout of very quick shopping - grab and go that Esprit embroidered suede brown tote bag I have been eyeballing close to one month: the catalyst was my dinner date tonight and I needed this bag to complete the outfit I am planning to wear (it’s raining men again, but I’m sure the three of them are gonna be oblivious to the loveliness of my new bag).

I do know that I should be getting a small gift for Eric instead, since his birthday falls on Thursday and I am meeting him, YQ and Ryan today. And he knows I know. Ewww…expectations (even though he has very nicely declined to “celebrate” and declared he just wanted to hang out to YQ – which is so not true a week ago – he said to me to buy a cake and sing birthday song?!). Whatever.

And so I was hurrying from Raffles City and fretting about the to-buy-or-not-to-buy-but-what-in-the-world-to-buy when I saw a familiar figure and his trusty companion. What the hell is he doing hawking his books on the eve of Deepavali!

I didn’t even pause to think. Just marched up determinedly to him, picked one book and said very respectfully:

Hi sir, I am going to buy this book for a friend. It’s a birthday gift to augment his understanding of local political history. If you don’t mind, do you think you could sign on it? It will mean such a big thing.

He was very nice, and very warm, and very pleased, actually, I like to think.

So we chatted for a while, and I mentioned that I just saw his son, who lost a friendly debate to my profession, verified that that is indeed his blog (he crinkled again and exclaimed: you know about my blog!?), plus revealing a bit of what I do when he asked.

Small disclaimer here if web police are trawling: I'm no fan nor supporter. I'm Woman & Myself - DO NOT attempt to objectify and pigeonhole me in gross terms that are non-sexual and asexual ie unsexy. If anything here is deemed political, it is because the writings are introspective and ridiculously personal. If that makes no sense to you, you should obviously study feminist movements, or read at least this to increase your social awareness of issues that are still afflicting us beyond gender. I guess we all need to speak up or blog to understand that it is a collective thing we have here. And silence doesn't help at all.

Before I left, I felt it my mission to chasten him:

Sir, whatever are you doing here on a festive season? Please go home and rest. I wish you the best.

He’s such a gentle gentleman, as far as appearances go. Frail and steely. Shook my hand three times during the course of our conversation.

Please, people, next time you see him on the streets, don’t hesitate. Buy a book from him. Talk to him. I have bought from him on three separate occasions. He shouldn’t be spending his days in such an undignified fashion at his age.

I will talk to him again even if I don’t buy, just to make a fellow Singaporean’s day.

He made mine. Though I hope I wasn’t “exploiting” him to sign for my friend (I can’t dispel the nagging doubt I could be).

*

Dear Eric

Happy B’day

JB Jeyaretnam 31 Oct ‘05


Will this do? Is this fine? He asked most humbly.

I was a little stunned. Of course it will do. Perfect. Thank you so much, I said sincerely. It means a lot.

*

During heydays as undergraduates, Mr Veins always liked to scare me by reminding that there are hidden cameras to film those who buy and probably any conversations that took place as well. I feigned mock terror. But seriously, at the end of the day, I’m not doing anything bad. I’m just trying to ratchet up a fellow citizen’s happiness. If I can afford $20 and this would go some way to contribute to the emotional welfare of another, I say it is money well-spent.