Cruising Through: Vanity Fair

In order to write proper, I need some money and a room of my own.

In order to read proper, I realise I need the classic comfortable armchair.

I finally completed Vanity Fair, all 800++ glorious pages, in slightly less than seven hours, at one sitting, stopping only for lunch and dinner.

I accomplished this on a lazy and luxurious Saturday afternoon in the Library of Superstar Virgo, on a cruise to nowhere and I am so proud of myself. It has been at least 2 years since I committed myself to reading uninterrupted, savouring each word on the page and delighting at a witty turn of phrase. Frivolous magazines don’t count. Neither do trashy novels. Emails don’t, obviously, unless they are from the rare breed that takes joy in agonizing over the composition of the contents.

It was certainly tough at the beginning. I’m so used to scanning the page to get the gist instantly, if not quickly, that I constantly had to reread to make sure I was appreciating the beauty of the prose and getting justifiably annoyed at the numerous didactic intrusions by the omniscient narrator. But I was a reader, and once a reader, always a reader. In no time, I was reading with ease and fluidity. Look, I finished a classic in record time and of my own accord!! Now, I only need to keep this up.

And yes, you read correctly. I went on a weekend cruise. And I did spend a good some time in the library. It was all planned. Vanity Fair has been renewed 3 times, I think, without me glancing beyond the cover. It’s either now or never. So armed with a trusty classic, with time on my side, I set off to be a taitai in unknown waters, without internet access, and swopped worldly concerns for wordly cares, and was, as the proverbial saying goes, as happy as a lark.

There was the food, of course. And there was the casino. I have come to the conclusion I am only interested in one plaything in the casino. That’s the one where you slot coins in, and the coins would land amongst a pile of coins and hopefully generate enough push effect to push some of the coins into a bigger pile. Following which, suppose sufficient coins do drop into the bigger pile, money in the pile would be thrust out and you would hear the joyous tumbling of coins into the box where your hand awaits to stake your claim. I love playing this. It’s a strange combination of luck and skill that would guarantee your winnings. My greatest triumph was getting a fifty dollar note and some more out after “investing” in less than half that amount. It all started during a Sec 1 DHS outing to the arcade at Marina Bay. Tired of Daytona, and disliking all shooting and fighting games, I became fascinated by this money machine in a corner. Yes, I won that day. Enough to play at least 5 bowling games, and I have been quite charmed since. It’s therapeutic, and it tests your mettle, I swear.

So in the middle of nowhere, on waters, I thus spent my weekend lovingly with a book and food, and uncluttered, simple thoughts (like ooh, western or Chinese food today?).

But I’m back now. Reality is slowly seeping in.

I must remember to read.

Vanity Fair reminds me of a more boring Jane Eyre at times:

Do you suppose I have no feeling of self-respect, because I’m poor and friendless, and because rich people have none? Do you think, because I am a governess, I have not as much snse, and feeling, and good breeding as you gentle folks in Hampshire?

I wonder if the style of this passage is inspired by Jane Eyre, that Thackeray is *gasp* mocking his female protagonist. Ha, of course he is! Like duh lor.

He is prudently naggy:

Be cautious then, young ladies, be wary of how you engage. By shy of loving frankly; never tell all you feel, or (a better way still), feel very little. See the consequences of being prematurely honest and confiding, and mistrust yourselves and everybody. Get yourselves married as they do in France, where the lawyers are the bridemaids and confidantes. At any rate, never have any feelings which may make you uncomfortable, or make any promises which you cannot at any required moment cammand and withdraw. That is the way to get on, and be respected, and have a virtuous character in Vanity Fair.

And he can be very droll (yet honest) in the most exaggerated manner:

Some cynical Frenchman has said that there are two parties to a love transaction: the one who loves, and the other who condescends to be so treated. Perhaps the love is occasionally on the man’s side; perhaps on the lady’s. Perhaps some infatuated swain has ere this mistaken insensibility for modesty, dullness for maiden reserve, mere vacuity for sweet bashfulness, and a goose, in a word, for a swan. Perhap some beloved female subscriber has arrayed an ass in the splendour and glory of her imagination; admired his dullness as manly simplicity; worshipped his selfishness as manly superiority; treated his stupidity as majestic gravity, and used him as the brilliant fairy Titania did a certain weaver at Athens.

But his so called sweeping epic is boring at times, and his presence permeates the whole plot (he’s so determined to be controlling and commanding) such that he can be very, very tiresome.

I’m hardly moved. Just awfully glad that I polished off the book. Now, what’s the next novel to keep me grounded ie usefully occupied?

Of Space and The Spaces Between

One of Mr Dimples’ business associates, with whom he has a buyer/seller relationship, asked if he was going to Asian Aerospace 2006. Upon hearing he had no tickets, hepromptly whipped up some to offer. Mr Dimples took them with thanks, and subsequently was haunted by self-doubt, questioning introspectively whether he should have accepted. I believe his thoughts strayed far to something akin to being bought over. Being the admirably grounded fellow he was, Mr Dimples “confessed” to his supervisor, and was suitably surprised that his worries were for naught.

I was naturally tickled to hear him relating this tidbit last Saturday and wondered what this Asian Aerospace thing was about. My curiosity was piqued. When my own business associate (who has since become a dear friend) offered me invites, I pounced.

Weather was scorching hot and it was a grueling journey. But who am I to complain, since I cabbed? My wallet became thinner, that’s about it.

I really have no expectations. I arrived with an open mind, eager to see what the hype was about, to soak in the world of technology and technicity, and to imbibe something scientific and honest (in the what-you-see-is-what-you-get sense), something radically different from what I have been brought up to love and believe in.

I guess there’s a reason why I have an E for ‘A’ Levels Physics, and the reason is still very, very valid. I was unimpressed by the display and disinterested in general. Just sort of wandered around and chatted with random people I kind of knew. Met someone running Crazy Horse and he offered to take me in on the house (with a catch, of course). That’s pretty cool. Otherwise, it was a remarkably unremarkable tour. Still, I may have to come back another time with my supervisor.

*

I almost sms-ed him today. Very close to feigning nonchalance and sneaking out one in the usual flippant way. I’m proud of myself for not. The abstinence would mean nothing had I weakened for that critical moment. I blame my original Asian Aerospace companion for this. He had to attend to last min work matters and had pulled out with regrets. So I needed an instant substitute, and it’s only mid-week. Most people have to work if not study. In despair, I thought, and hesitated. And I put away my phone.

*

Read this off singleserves.blogspot.com

All I needed from you was a simple dealbreaker. Something to definitively label you a bastard and thus make me avoid you forever. The worst relationships are the ones that wear away at you by attrition. One modest disappointment after another. A neglected call. A missed dinner date. A forgotten gift. Love isn't always about grand gestures and flowery apologies. You know I'm not a needy chick. You never had to spend much time with me. And I never asked for much - just the certainty that when you said you'd call back, you would. Or that if you couldn't make it in time, you'd let me know. Simple courtesies like that.

Do you know the amount of time I spent waiting for you to call? Or keeping my fingers crossed in agony over whether you'd make it to see me? I would put my plans on hold for up to a week on the off-chance that you were in town. Of course I grew tired of waiting. But then I'd wait some more. Of course I'd tell myself that I would never let anyone else string me along this way. But when the opportunity presented itself, I'd just do it all over again. That's why I said that knowledge makes me vulnerable. Nobody but me should know that I suffered like that.

I never told you because I just wanted the few times we had together to be happy and free of these banal little irritations. I just assumed things would get better with time. I never told you because I needed to preserve my dignity. I was a strong, confident woman who didn't need anyone else in her life, who had a string of people who loved to spend time with her, who went through men like water. Why was I being over-sensitive and needy and pathetic like this? Absolutely out of character. I had to disown that part of myself.

And thus, I had to disown what I felt about you.

I can so project.

*

In other worldly news, Life goes on.

I Only Hear What I Want To

and you say i only hear what i want to:
i don't listen hard,i don't pay attention to the distance that you're running
or to anyone, anywhere,i don't understand if you really care,
i'm only hearing negative: no, no, no.

For the whole of yesterday, I have been sporadically thinking about sending that casual sms to the number I have symbolically deleted, no thanks to coming across a news report that carried his name. It should be something natural and neutral, such as: so you were quoted out of context? How come they make you sound so stupid? But that sounds a tad too familiar and friendly. Then again, it could be me overanalyzing and seeing complex sticky brackets and tricky formulae in a simple situation that can be easily reduced to a balancing zero sum equation (by canceling alone), if only I can just take things at face value. Sigh.

so i turned the radio on, i turned the radio up,
and this woman was singing my song:
the lover's in love, and the other's run away,
the lover is crying 'cause the other won't stay.

Well, sporadic thinking (but never any less insistent) because I was in the good company of Mr Dimples. Subsequently, we went for a late night movie and supper with Minxiu, Meihui and Jingcai. Nice distractions, but. So I tried “releasing” by telling Mr Dimples about him in the anecdotal context of a friend whom we ( Mr Dimples, myself and a few mutual friends) should be glad I have kept a distance from, given this latest report.

i think that i'm throwing, but i'm thrown.
and i thought I'd live forever, but now i'm not so sure.
you try to tell me that i'm clever,
but that won't take me anyhow, or anywhere with you.

I managed to pick up my repaired charms bracelet, and together with Mr Dimples, signed up for Citibank credit cards, got some free vouchers, wheedled more free vouchers (the officer asked if I were above 21 years old, like duh lor), in between watching a theatre production at the Esplanade and Brokeback Mountain.

(Maybe he is Ennis.)

you said that i was naive, and i thought that i was strong.
i thought, "hey, i can leave, i can leave."
but now i know that i was wrong, 'cause i missed you.

I have only been thinking about it so far. I really don’t think I should. It may unravel all the good work I have done (accomplished simply by doing nothing). While backpedaling may be fun, we may fall hard once more, with feeling.

(you say) i only hear what i want to

学(不)会

Movies and theatre offer a way out. Certainly not the best of methods though, nor a good means, when they fall short or suck to begin with, leaving you more dissatisfied than ever. I devoured the following in less than 10 days and had indigestion.

Fun with Dick and Jane: Not fun at all.

Confessions of 300 Single Men: If you thought single men were sad, this production is sadder. They tried, I came, but I did not come.

亲亲菘菘音乐会 - I enjoyed. Even though it comes across more as a school production, because a lot of airplay was given to unknowns ie students from their school. Guest appearances abound, including Peng Jia Hui, Wu Jing Kang, Jimmy Ye and Stefanie Sun. I saw my “idol” during adolescence 田劲 who is now too overwhelmingly muscular even for me. Eek. I scared. He was pretty well built to begin with but having caught the latest sizing of his pecs and abs and their prominence, I go WTF instead of lusting happily as I used to. Didn’t go for the post-concert party, partly because I doubt Muscle Man will be there.

金大班的最后一夜 – Awful. Simplistic. Bewildering. Bizarre. Self-congratulatory. I feel nothing. Well, it extorted no emotions but I did fall asleep.

Matchpoint: See this blog’s review.

Walk The Line: Lovely intense on-screen chemistry. I love the complex relationship between Johnny and June and how they finally manage to end up together after years of denial and suppression.

*

我走过分手那天的街尾
纪念我深深爱过的人是谁
爱像指纹印在心里真的很美
应该忘了你可是我学不会

Valentine – is that why he left me? He is no longer, and I was getting better, but there are times, like now, that I don’t feel I’ve made any leeway in the living without. Is there not a glimmer of hope that we can meet? No, not with our characters and temperaments.

别再问我那一天才能学会
我要的世界你不能给
有些爱情会给时间一些香味
它迟了一点却把我的心灌醉

谁看见我流过了几次眼泪
它滴在心里让我学会
每段故事都有属于它的收尾
它偶尔可以提醒我自己不能退

Matchpoint

"The man who said 'I'd rather be lucky than good' saw deeply into life. People are afraid to face how great a part of life is dependent on luck. It's scary to think so much is out of one's control. There are moments in a match when the ball hits the top of the net, and for a split second it can either go forward or fall back. With a little luck, it goes forward and you win…or maybe it doesn't, and you lose."

The opening of Matchpoint zooms in on a tennis ball flying across the court before choosing the preferred side to land on, and then, as if having second and third thoughts, tipping just hesitantly over the net, without showing the players at all, probably to emphasise how little impact people have on the outcome, and when, and where, it matters most. The omniscient narrator was privileged to witness and tell it as he sees fit, but really, what does he know, as we would question, as the crepe-thin plot unfolds, critically thickened only by the meta-themes that I suspect the director has unwittingly stirred in. But these only serve, in a most delightfully performative and ironic way, to highlight the contingent intrigue that is by chance and by luck, nothing to do with skillful directing and scripting.

(Aside: scripting of luck is already as oxymoronic as one can get. But what underpins Matchpoint as a meta-narrative triumph is also it being the lucky recipient of Oscar nods and the equivalent accolades for something that is so surprisingly underwhelming. I don’t get why it is exalted, so I attribute it all to luck)

The premise is comfortingly (not deceptively, never) simple. Poor boy makes it good by cultivating a love match with a rich girl. Love is not Love enough and he falls head over heels for an actress. He wooed her frantically and aggressively. She rejects sincerely and seriously. Then circumstances threw them in compromising togetherness and she succumbs unwillingly to his advances and makes clear it’s only a one-time occurrence. And she leaves. And then years later, they meet again by chance in an art gallery. This time, she submits completely and they, equally smitten with each other, begin a torrid affair. Subsequently, she gets pregnant and wants him to leave rich girl wife. He kills her, and was never found out, thanks to a series of very helpful happenings in his favour.

The material is wielded pretty heavy-handedly. Conversations baldly discussing luck and hard work are aplenty. Characters themselves are walking advertisements epitomising a spectrum of luck and the sadly deluded hard work that never gets one anywhere, least of all where you do want to be. Poor boy is the tennis coach (Stop hitting me with the tennie ball metaphor!!! I so get it!!), infinitely lucky and the one on a winning streak. Actress is the one with the streak of bad luck trailing. She is obviously attractive and talented, alluring so, but can never nail down an audition and get cast, despite always trying. It is always nerves, always bad luck. She was wiped out of luck completely, eventually, as she got unceremoniously dumped by her fiancé and then killed quietly and successfully by her lover. Rich girl believes in hard work, but the audience never sees her working hard for anything (apart from tediously laughable efforts to be impregnated) credible or believable. She is naturally pretty and rich and happy and nice to begin with, which makes her character one-dimensional and one that significantly refutes the importance of hard work, simply because the cloistered character is so well-buffered from the vicissitudes of life.

And of course, there’s that Crime and Punishment shot and that of its companion, that is, the guide book to this sprawling text. I’m reeling from the moral pounding and feeling more guilty than lucky, especially since I’ve remained valiantly unimpressed. Well maybe, there's a part two to Matchpoint, presuming it wants to go the way of of the Russian epic. Matchpoint comes across as curiously unfinished, like a tennis match frozen with the ball still in mid-air, unable to land, unable to end. Did creative juices run dry; did the Luck with scripting of luck simply run out and we are left simply, with less, because no one believes in Hard Work?

So what is unwittingly stirred in? Fate and Self-Knowledge as the overarching meta-themes supplanting Luck & Hard Work, is what. Go figure. My problem: is acknowledging (or even acceding to) Fate playing the all important hand in life, does this admission of knowing, this knowledge of the potentially helpless self, come across as empowering? Even if you can’t do anything to navigate and negate the forces, does the knowing put you one up against Fate?

The Call & Grease Is Still The Word

Last night, he called to share scholarly frustrations.

Do you feel better; is today a better day than yesterday? He asked. And I think I am experiencing what you were describing yesterday.

Yes, he was the one who told me I was profound when I had smsed a terse (and tense and tempestuous) note on the vain exorcism of shitty days.

My means of coping, of inscribing meaningfully – there are two. I tell myself I am not measured solely by my job and I am so much more than my job. For those into mantras, simply chant: (1) I am not validated by my job and (2) I am, other than my job.

I constantly (try to) bear in mind that there are things out there I can attend to and address, which I enjoy. I have many good and close friends, a sturdy and strong support network to turn to. I may be all tied up in more ways than one but I do make effort to create time for things and people that make me happy.

By the way, he likes Mantra (1).

*

Me (at approximately 9pm): Hey, do you know I’m still in Shenton? I can’t take the train back ‘cos you will break up.

He: Well, I was driving home, and I’ve been sitting inside the car in the carpark for a good long time now.

Me: Fine, quits.

Me: Don’t forget we are watching that play next Saturday!

He: I remember, that’s like my highlight of the month!

*

I wonder what Mr Veins is doing now. Raiding more companies for corrupting officials and corporate deceit? He’s someone who doesn’t need release, for he is validated by his job and his job is he.

I'm doing okay. That's plenty to look forward to. Took half day leave for today and tomorrow to meet with friends. There's this, and maybe a post concert party and there's that, together with my best friend.

In other more entertaining news, Grease is still the word! I have to catch this musical - I lurvvveee it and can never tire of watching the movie. So happy it's returning to Singapore in end May!

Tell me more, tell me more, tell me more!!! :)

I Am A Walking Quarter Life Crisis

I am sad upon hearing some things today, but it will be a good challenge for me. There are lost grounds to be recovered, and my very flawed self to improve upon.

Self-validation and self-esteem and talent can only carry one so far. That is, not so far. The rest is capriciously sitting on the whimsical perceptions of others and some good luck. The good news is, what I can work on and control, is my reaction and response and my character, and that may make all the important difference.

I have been infinitely lucky to have your goodwill. Thank you for being kind and frank. You, whom I respect professionally and hold in very fond regard, have spurred me to run this marathon harder, faster, and better with your honesty and friendship.

*

I can feel the tears welling up and I choked back a sob when I heard April’s familiar voice on the line. Can’t really talk, I whispered, because I might cry. And that, would be an utter embarrassment if it happened right there and then. Thankfully I managed to fix a time to seek refuge in her place, to talk and to think things through, and to have that little weep.

Just thinking about today’s happenings on the train journey makes my eyes moist and seeing April meet me at the station makes me want to whimper too. But happily, I resisted successfully. And by the time, we were at her place, I simply cannot conjure up or induce the tears. But that’s okay. It may be a very, very rare sighting but April has already seen a weeping willow me once before, about 2.5 years ago. I had collapsed into an incoherent blubbering mess at Parco, combusting within 5 seconds, from perfect composure. The first and last time that I was so distressed.

I am a walking quarter life crisis. Always have been, ever since I graduated. No doubt about it.

Once again, I found myself exposed to the demonic elements of despair, self-doubt and powerlessness which I thought had been exorcised. But apparently not. That was just me being naïve.

I’m so tired of hearing myself spewing such negativity (it’s not even profound) but I can’t fucking help it.

But why, April, why, why are we losing our dignity and sanity and integrity only now? Shouldn’t school prepare their students for such traumatic loss, that all that was exalted was just a sham. The real world doesn’t care about your aspirations, or value your outspokenness. And it spits on your talents and feeds off your youth and ideals. It wants to pin you down, flatten you and then crush you completely to feel better. And is it flattering yourself to accuse it of being insanely jealous (insanely so because WTF your position is fucking unenviable lor) and madly domineering?

April says we should be grateful at least we had had the time of our lives during undergraduate days during we had enjoyed respect as equals amongst peers and professors, that we had done what we loved, in studies and in er, ECAS. It’s something to hold on to when the going gets tough (and we can’t get going).

Oh fuck. I am a walking quarter life crisis.

Time to go shopping.

I Refuse To Be A Walking Mid-Life Crisis In The Making

Studying Japanese made me happy. Doing Philosophy made me hungry – there was no end to my whys, just like there’s no end to the theories (all fundamentally flawed but always infinitely interesting). Reading Literature made me bored, especially in my final year. Taking Law satisfied (and suppressed) the what-if thought partially but it returns to haunt every now and then as Life becomes a mediocre farce.

As far as academic integrity goes, I was wholeheartedly pursuing where my study interests lie. That is something I cannot deny, even if on hindsight, my selfish pursuit of it may have denied me happiness consequently.

But importantly, am I happy now?

The road untravelled is always going to be the deferred (it's not always preferred, lah) destination. Deferred by default. I am forever imagining the what-ifs and only-ifs had I not accepted. It was Law, or The Arts. I was going to be A Great Lawyer, or A Great Writer, or both. Being the pragmatic and face-conscious person I am, it will have to be the former, unless I had some assurance of a bright future in the latter. When the bond offer came, I hesitated, but only for a moment, and I decided on The Arts, since the future is secured. At least, I did believe, with charming naivety, that it was a stepping stone (now the jumping board into a bottomless pit) for my writing aspirations.

The bond has its ups, obviously, but the downers were bad. There are times I am convinced my brain is atrophying at an exponential rate (thank goodness, I am super smart to begin with) and dulled with the passing of time. While job satisfaction can be overrated, some things are simply downright ridiculous.

Therefore, I read this with great incredulity and scepticism. I have been through a similar scenario. I thought it was what I wanted, I had it, and after that, I realized, with much despair and distress, that it was slowly murdering my brain, throttling my passion and squandering my youth, and still is. How inspiring can this be, you tell me.

For me, the meaning cannot be the journey itself. The meaning is found upon completion of that journey and realising you have the power to inscribe further. If rendered powerless in the face of a bizarre adversary determined to write you out of the story (simply by forgetting you ever existed), your role in the journey becomes meaningless. You are neither remembered nor acknowledged. The whole journey means nothing in the grand schemata of things. You have traveled in vain and your youthful idealism betrayed by another’s memory.

(for people who splutter at this spew, I quote Colin “Of course there are those who would argue that ultimately, the choice is one’s own and that there is nothing to prevent one from doing what he or she wants in Singapore. After all, isn’t it one’s fault for caving in to peer pressure? I would humbly submit that while theoretically true, such an argument betrays an ignorance of the combined workings of hegemony and power.” Such a lovely and talented man.)

As I see it now, I should have just got that Law degree. The decent writers and art practitioners are armed with one: Eleanor, Ivan, Selena, Gilbert, Adrian, Colin etc, just to name a few. Well, hell, yeah, it’s not too late for me to get it!

Now this is what I considered inspired writing and very inspiring living.

I refuse to be a walking mid-life crisis in the making (patented lines from Colin). I must remember my destinations. Enjoy my travels and the journeys, of course - I may take a shortcut, may be misled, can have detoured, and sometimes lost the way - but never, never must I forget or lose sight of where I am to go.

Ministry of Sound

I’m really enjoying a good festive start. The night before at MOS adds to an overall sense of well-being and equilibrium. I went clubbing with the same core group of people I was with for my first club experience. It has been 8 years and the first club we were at together (ChinaJump @Chijimes) has since closed down. But thankfully, people can and do still stay faithful. The other good news is, we are definitely better at shaking our booties now.

MOS is just, big. Size matters obviously, but so does music, more so for a club. I can't decide whether it's cool that they played Sesame Street on the main dance arena (yes, it goes Sunny day/Sweepin' the clouds away/On my wayto where the air is sweet/Can you tell me how to get,how to get to Sesame Street - that song). No, I think it was in its pure form, not one of those funny remixes.

I love the deco of 54. Love the half bubble seat swing (whatever you call it) and the candy colours and disco lights. Very the hardcore retro okay. I look at the numerous disco balls (heh) and just want to do a John Travolta finger-pointing inthe air.

Pure makes me feel stoned just being in it. It's a very surreal room, perfect for orgies to take place. Be hypnotised the moment you step in and indulge in some, er, indulgent decadence.

Smoove is the R&B place which makes it the 'in' place to be in by default. It's also the place to be in if you want to molest people and get away with it. Sweaty bodies were just grinding one another, quite gross if you are like me and only want to be crushed by someone you know. Luckily, we had the perfect guy/girl ratio of 1:1.

Ladies' night is apparently retro night butI find the retro selection to be uneven and inconsistent. Not sufficient familiar hits were played in order such that a climax can be reached and some sort of momentum high achieved.

One of the funniest moment had to be during that "I want to break free song" where Meihui started punching the air with her fists and yelled backup "from my bond." I followed lustily too. Minxiu went for a smoke/drink/toilet break and missed the wry joke completely.

After settling down at trusty old Mac for supper (all other shops were closed still for CNY!), we called up Qinwei who is at Illinois right now and also part of this ongoing for 13 years group thing. Qinwei dear, youhave to photoshop yourself into the group photo but I can write you into the group entry :) Hope to see you again very soon!

I love clubbing and I love my friends.

*

a sober minxiu: Do I dance dirty enough?

a smiling me: No, you don't!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Haha.

Amusing The Self

I have thought up a list of stuff for myself to do in this new year to amuse myself in the most exciting and entertaining manner possible – to torture myself by alternating between a brain and a bimbo, since stumbling across a tall, dark, veined and dimpled male charmer who can make me give up my time isn’t looking likely to occur in the very near future. We all need challenges (and sometimes it’s simply prudent to start with the small – it’s not to sell short) in life. Since yours truly dreads waiting so, she can kick ass and make happy and meaningful little things happen to herself, all by herself and with the lovely companionship of her various friends.


Beauty (Bimbo)

1. Stop the monthly $100 (apparently it’s already premium VIP regular rate) hair affair with Action, Paragon and let there be a minimal timeout of three months if I have to go. During tempting times, just go for a wash and blow anywhere to ward off the desire to chop hair.

2. Go with April to the cheap Bedok hair place that has rave reviews from friends and “experiment” (traumatic to breakup with my hairdresser, lah because I have very difficult hair and a pathological fear of any new stylist doing my hair for the first time) at least once.

3. Amass more clothes! Bags! Shoes! And maybe, glasses! And how can I forget: Earrings from Green Petals, Far East Plaza.

4. Regular-but-not-so-regular pedicure – once in every 12 weeks. Be @Dashing Diva if time permits.

5. Embrace the spa/massage experience regularly. No, I have never gone for one!

6. Go for make-up classes (I have constantly been thwarted in my attempts to sign up for them since Day 1 ie two years ago)


Technology (Brain)

There’s a woeful paucity here that I’m determined to build and beef up knowledge in (something that has never bothered me before and in fact, taking strange pride in not knowing)

1. Master all the functions on my digital camera, and comprehend all the jargon associated with decent photography.

2. Make a film short on my digital camera.

3. Take driving lessons

4. Learn Photoshop

5. Sign up for various informative accounts to better one’s circumstance to get wind of opportunity (loaded sentence).

6. Put up important links in my blog so that they can stare at me in the face balefully when I fail to click.


Wellness

1.Urgh. Urgh. I mean, run, run, at least once a week.

2. Get on my stepper and step, step for er, at least 10 mins daily (slow and steady is the key)

3. Club more (clubbing is the least tedious way to work out)

4. Play badminton on a regular basis and prove to myself I still excel at it

5. Sign up for canoe lesson and get cert

6. Swim – maybe once every six weeks in the evening?

7. erotic dance classes? :)


Reading (Brain)

1. Read the old classics that I left out previously – Vanity Fair etc and more of the postmodern and upcoming writers.

2. Read the books I have bought and never found time to read: 未央歌 and 失乐园(both since 2004). This also includes reading the St Augustine’s Confessions and all the books from that accursed module that I bought infamously in 2002 but never read.

3. Read online daily – news, blogs, philosophy

4. Read fashion and beauty magazines (and contemplate deeply whether to buy or not to buy)

5. Read my own writings

6. Read philosophy texts –Foucault, Burke (Chinyi!!! Loan me all those that you have!!!)


Writing (Brain)

1. Participate in the National Novel Writing Month
2. Submit one Chinese manuscript to publisher/s
3. Submit one English manuscript to publisher/s
4. Look actively for local openings and overseas opportunities
5. Write at least 3 shorts and 3 poems
6. well, blog?


Study (Brain)

1. My Japanese

2. academic study – options and choices


Finances (Brain)

1. Apply for credit cards – UOB’s “The Men Don’t Get it”, Citibank and possibly OCBC’s Robinson one. As it is, I still operate like a student and charge everything to my trusty debit cards.

2. Need not curb spend and bring the economy into recesses and ruination but I must keep track of every purchase item

3. Cultivate trust in internet banking

4. Cultivate trust in my own ability to sign off cheques. The last time I signed one was 5 years ago (!!!!), under the supervision of the deadened Mr Veins who gave me a 10 minute lesson in Parkway Parade’s Burger King on a new year’s morning.

5. Kick my financial advisor’s ass (she’s a very nice lady but $$$ is $$$) and milk full worth out of my unused credit

6. Earn extra $$$$


Housekeeping (brain cum bimbo)

1. Keep my table in visible condition (done!! It has previously buried under paper piles for close to a year – now to maintain it)

2. Attempt valiantly to be more domestic

3. Visit my extended families a little more often

4. Spend more time with my sis


Aspiring acquisitions (brain and bimbo)

ipod
new nokia
blue/pink Baby G
(paid-if-I-must) access to most if not all theatre productions
music lessons


It’s mostly a mundane and stating-the-obvious list. Still, writing them down creates a strong driving force actually to do them and stick to doing them. No means exhaustive certainly, but I would have a sense of accomplishment to fend off the ever, ever insistent quarterlife crisis.

Of Chineseness & Chinese New Year

Not my cousins: my friends - 2 from same primary school, 7 from same secondary school, er and most from the same JC :) - at Meihui's housewarming cum New Year party. I suspect Minxiu picked those that he looked best in to send over. Unfortunately those he looked purportedly best in, are also those in which my girlfriends and I looked tiny. I would upload mine (very nice, esp those of Meihui, MinChao and Me) except my PC and camera cannot exchange data leh (think it's my PC). So this will have to do for now.

This Chinese New Year is great. Everyone from my mum’s side was fantastic. It thrilled me that my little cousins were running around to announce my arrival (but then they are easily excitable, albeit totally adorable creatures) to the whole household the moment I stepped in. Ate and ate, and ate again. Chatted with cousins, uncles and aunts. Won $40 +++ through blackjack.

My dad’s side was less great (super repressed and gives me a general sense of disunity and chaos beneath the restless awkwardness and quiet, superficial smiles) but we are trying. It helps that my mum’s side is scarily exuberant and loud, I guess. Plus people who operate gambling dens during the festive period can only be good. My mum’s family is definitely with-it, in-it together.

I will do the Chinese thing - do my sincere darnest to make the whole Chinese family ties and blood-bonding affair work. After all, it’s a good belief I no longer question, simply because. I have accepted I will always be Chinese. However sceptical I am towards certain Asian practices and philosophies, there’s no escaping from personal preferences. Something I need to recognize now that I am supposedly grown-up.

I used to chide my mum for being silly, when she asked whether I felt it was embarrassing not to go there during CNY. I rather stay home and bum, I retorted. It will be my embarrassment to be seen there. I think I finally understand how she must have felt. Well, Ma, see, Meimei and I are visiting both families, and I’m actually enjoying myself after abandoning some principles I had stubbornly clung onto.

It is quite sad to be alone by yourself during Chinese New Year.

Surprisingly, I get no grilling from the adults, except from my male cousins (closest in age). But seeing one of them bringing his girlfriend of 5 months to participate in our quirks and rituals is very, how to say this delicately, tempting. For a moment, I wish I had someone (as opposed to Someone) to invite over too.