The Goth Rocker Chick

Read this (last few paragraphs) for background.

*

Can I admit I find the new Superman super hot? He's got the piercing intense look, amazing pecs, bulging taut muscles (ahhhhhhhh hot, hot, hot) and an appendage that has to be made smaller on screen for the movie to be PG. And he's 1.9m.

He's the only other non-Asian celebrity to make me swoon, next to Hugh Grant. Maybe it's because he bears a slight resemblance to Takeshi Kaneshiro and I can so imagine the latter as Superman too!

Each time Superman appears on screen, I gave an inaudible gasp and marvel at such physical perfection.

我只是想要

She asks herself: what does she have to lose.

And came up with the obvious answer: Nothing.

Indeed, Nothing. The payout is small, very small and circumstances can degenerate no further.

Nevertheless, with a sigh, she combed, for the umpteenth time, through that email she had so carefully crafted to detect any lingering trace of disrespect that may have unwittingly crept in. Her anger was not to be misdirected.

Phrases were pruned; sentences sowed, with an almost naïve sincerity to tell it neutrally.

Not suggestively. No nuances. Not now.

Just to communicate a genuine bewilderment, a gentle confusion, lightly puzzled and pained by the lack.

And she hit. The SAVE button.

*

Well. I guess I can always send it when I’m back. Need time to cool off and distance myself from it, and review again what.

I’m leaving Singapore for a short getaway, pre-planned, but oh so timely in the light of current circumstances.

Since last night, I slept, angry, and I woke, angry. I continue to bubble today and at some point just before lunch, I am sure I was positively steaming.

Thwarted; frustrated; oppressed. By a man, perhaps, I know not, yet.

*

Henceforth, I’m gonna be extremely well-dressed (read: jackets and collared shirts, and slick high pony tails). Even if I’m a pauper, I shall not look one. I will look expensive and classy and be irrepressible.

Addendum: I just got news that the original news may have to make way for newer, better news, which supersedes it, like totally! That’s kinda of like good news for me. And I guess it shows that patience may not be a liability. You hear me!!! Had I sent out that email, I could have spoiled all the good that is coming this way. And my senior and peer from another department are doing their best to make me smile. They waved Superman invites at me for tonight, and of course I’m going. And thanks to Best Friend for leaving a nice comment in the previous post

I’m gonna be happy. Boo to evil forces. I will inform you if I manage to finish Middlemarch at one sitting. That’s the book I’m gonna conquer for this trip.

青春无悔 II

It has been a crazy week of partying and late, late nights. This is to make up for not partying harder when I was younger.

*

Best Friend has joined in the cosmic forces out to domesticate yours truly and put a premium on homeliness. *resists, resists* Granted she has been experimenting with cooking for a while but baking in the middle of the night really takes the cake, and oh what a yummy one it is. Guess who will be the lucky recipients? Apparently, not me. Sob. ‘Cos the subsequent batch was an absolute disaster as she became more confident after the initial success, and thus, more adventurous, and of course, ruined everything that followed.

While Best Friend was busily baking, I was in MOS. It was the monthly I AM GORGEOUS themed party, so being the babe that I am, received my goodie bag at the door packed with Anna Sui and Redken products. Yay!

MOS is now topping the list of clubs I’ve been to most frequently, by virtue I’ve been there twice. Sharing this honour are ChinaBlack and the defunct ChinaJump. Ice Cold Beer doesn’t count (also twice) ‘cos it’s a pub. Either I don’t club a lot, or I’m fickle. Take your pick. Clue: I’m homely (sigh). Really. I may be a babe but I’m a super uncool babe. I have never stepped into Zouk, before or after its renovations – now how sad is that. The irony is I’ve been to Velvet Underground, and when I was just 22 no less.

In any case, I’m convinced that MOS only plays acceptable retro music from 1-2am. Anytime before and after, the danceable beats were sporadic and the momentum, impossible to sustain, much less climaxing. I didn’t hear Sesame Street this time but there was the Ghostbuster track -_-“ Still, MOS redeemed itself by playing a Grease Medley (give me more, give me more), a little of Beatles, Bananarama’s I Heard A Rumour etc thereby injecting some high in the crowd. People were trickling away after a while due to the lousy music and these old favourites heat up the dancefloor once more.

I wonder why people need to drink copiously when going clubbing. Or go to toilet ever so often (And I don’t have any make-up on. So no need to powder anything! Anyway it's so dark, what's the point of painting yourself brillantly and no one to see all that shimmer?!). I can seriously just stay there (assuming decent music) and do non-stop boogie-ing. As you can see from the picture, I’m drinking Pussyfoot, the ridiculously safe mocktail, while the rest were having Bacardi Freeze and Tequila Sunshine.

And don’t people work these days? The mature crowd was working the dance floor mostly. It’s super late lor! Myself, I left MOS at 3am. But I reached home at 5am due to the requisite supper obligations o_O

*

Then I became all artistic and artful, attending the playwright(’s) and director(’s) workshops at the Esplanade on Thu and Fri as conducted by Alex Broun. Yes, I actually took time off work to go for these classes in my personal capacity. That’s how desperate I am to break out of a rut for you. I felt damn good after that. Inspired. Motivated. Encouraged. Assured. Convinced. On the same Thu night, Short(er) and Sweet(er) fantastic debut in Singapore made me really happy, and grateful that I’m watching all these talents on stage. People are passionate about the arts and proud of their craft. They exist, they really do, and I can join them. Given I’ve been there, done that (sort of) for poetry and novel and the short story, maybe it’s the play I should embark on next.

*

Fri night was my primary school class gathering for my first primary school. It was honestly the first time I’m meeting some of them since I changed schools. So almost two decades have passed. I was pleasantly surprised that they all remembered my name.and I’m still part of the class in spite of the betrayal. Perhaps the pre-publicity of my arrival was very well-done. Dinner at Indochine, followed by a crazy singingalong at Party World till 2am. But I had to leave earlier to do a more insane thing. Meet my mentor cum ex-supervisor to catch Play On Earth at 2am.

Play On Earth was possibly the worst play on earth. Awful. There was no plot. So what if you have a marvelous idea of simultaneous action in Singapore, Brazil and UK. Very innovative; very creative. But that’s just a marketing gimmick if there’s no story. In fact, it was so odious; we walked out 20 minutes into the show (we were already very patient) and drove to Chinatown for supper. I ended up home only at 4am.

*

Sat night was JJ’s concert. I’m so freaking tired.

All things equal, this has been good week. I have lived out (and up to) its potential.

青春无悔

I’ve been more domestic lately ever since my sis torn her knee ligament, as she is in pain and cannot move for more than 15 minutes. That kinda sucks, especially there were many things we were hoping to do together ie zipping off to IKEA for some heavy meatball and chicken wing chomping and shopping for new study room chairs.

Well, so I do the groceries and dinner-buying these days, and fell in love with the supermarkets all over again. It’s so therapeutic to examine food in all its raw and processed glory. Yes, I’m horribly reliant on my sis for day-to-day living ie she does laundry, pay the bills while I make sure the actual money is coming in, sitting somewhere, waiting impatiently to be spent. But the situation has popped up where I have to prove I’m more than just a skinny cash cow, I mean, I have to be more. So.

*

Lately, I’ve also pondered over the scary marriage and family themes. Last Friday night, Chih Yuan and I went to visit Joyance (we were from the same term NUSSU committee) who has delivered a two-week-old baby girl. We knew her husband, Abel, who also joined our club as our junior back then, and hence, it was altogether a very joyous reunion.

The baby girl was simply adorable. I was terrified when Joyance put the baby in my arms. I gulped and asked in all fearful truthfulness, what if I dropped her or something? For she was so very small, and very, very soft. For the initial contact, I was all stiff and holding the baby in the oddest way which made us impossible to be photographed. So Father Abel remould his dear baby into my arms and very soon, I was cooing away at the tiny tot and smiling winsomely at the camera. The baby kept looking at me though. Joyance said the baby liked how I look (her words were “pleasingly likeable”). Though when I showed the pictures to Mr Dimples, he insisted the baby was terrified of me (baby’s thought bubble: strange auntie holding me in a strange way!) but that’s another story.
Anyway, fast forward 15 minutes, I started to holler: Get her away from me!!! My maternal instincts are stirring!!!

Ewww. Well. Okay. I scared can.

My friends look very happy. And part of me envies this simple, ordinary life and wonders if I will ever get to live as such. Just settle down and forget about a lot of the things that I’m constantly worried about not being able to achieve and accomplish. Life can just be simple. Period. Full-stop. I just worry about my baby, about servicing the car and HDB loans, oops that’s the hubby’s job, and make sure we have great sex at least twice a week.

Abel talked about loans and how they were thinking of getting Joyance to be a full-time stay home mum instead.

Can I do it?

Was it just yesterday I was arguing with Abel about religion in the Sentosa chalet in the middle of the night in front of an amused crowd? Wasn’t it just yesterday that I was abetting Joyance and the rest of the girls to scold at Chih Yuan for his procrastination and wishy-washyness at club management? It was only yesterday that we were talking about the club’s future and our own. And now, some of us are living it, while the rest are still seeking.

I think I can only wish to be simple. I’m not and I never can be, not while I’m in Singapore, at least, where it brings out my inherent competitive streak. I have to be better; I have to live better everyday; and the men I date must be progressively better than the ones before yadda yadda.

*

In a strange twist (I shall not elaborate), Abel got Chih Yuan and I to go attend Exotica performance at Gotham Penthouse@ Clark Quay. Yes, I wonder myself what am I doing with two straight guys (one single, one married) on a Monday night at 11pm watching naked men doing a Crazy Horse but without annoying lightings getting in the way of aesthetic appreciation. But I was there, and it was sleazily (referring to overall) sexy in a surreal fashion. We were stripped of our homeliness, or rather, we put on the face mask – the clubbing face and pretended we were at home, drinking, chatting about nothing and being seriously frivolous. But in true home-maker’s fashion, we left rather early. Stayed from 10.30pm to just before midnight, at most.

It was quite the pleasant surprise to find Mr Dimples’ email sitting in my inbox at home. He had sent it while he was OTing in the office at 9pm. I texted him on a whim and yups, the guy is home but still working hard to prepare some documents for the next day’s big meeting.

*

I shall fight my homely nature by going clubbing tonight. On leave for Thu and Fri to attend writing/directing workshops I have signed up in my personal capacity. Like I wrote earlier, I’m still looking for my future while trying to live it. A more daring venture there never was.

What A Difference A Day Made

He: What time can you meet? I’m free the whole day.

Me: It is my moral obligation to remind you that tomorrow is Father’s Day. I’d hate to deprive your family of a son.

He: We celebrated today already!! So Sunday is free!!!

Me: Wah. Okay! Then we can start at 11am.

*

Like I say, I love well-mannered guys. Mr Dimples is as well-mannered as you can get them these days. He calls, and he calls when he thinks he’s gonna be 10 minutes late, in advance.

Today, we

- were extremely colour-coordinated: blue tops, denims and white shoes.
- went to Eclectic Attic for lunch at my recommendation. He loves the place.
- went to the arcade to play the drums at his recommendation. That was seriously fun and hilarious. He drummed to 爱你 and 自由 while I did 爱的主打歌 and 仁者. The whole drumming thing was easy and difficult, in the sense you don’t have to follow the music at all. Just follow the icons that symbolize the beat and hit accordingly. Which kinda defeats the purpose of picking a song to drum in the first place.
- visited the art museum, primarily for Fiction @Love, and strolled through everything else.
- bought my amber bracelet with sea creature charms (it’s mine, mine, mine at last), using his Amex card. The girls attending to me were saying how they wished they could buy the pretty bracelet for themselves but alas no money. Mr Dimples commented their wistful envy was genuine after we’ve left the place. I pointed out they probably thought he bought the bracelet for me and were bemoaning internally why they do not have a rich/generous/sucker boyfriend like him. Just for the record, amazing, Mr Dimples approved of my expensive buy (even I thought was exorbitant). Perhaps I have prepared him amply enough beforehand, and he barely batted an eyelid, and well, that’s an achievement or what
- shopped at Suntec and Millenia.
- bought food for our respective families at Carrefour.
- ate dinner at Bab Noodle and we didn’t order noodles.
- managed to get nothing for him and a pair of cropped jeans for me.


And we finally found the tube of gloss I dropped in his car after the Bollywood Veggie trip. Actually, his dad found that recently and put it discreetly in a (ironically) visible compartment of the car most quietly ie without asking him about it -_-"

I reached home later than I would have liked at 9pm. The good thing is I feel sufficiently refreshed to face the new work week.

Oh, what a difference a day made.

我只是，想你而已

saying again
if you do not teach me I shall not learn
saying again there is a last
even of last times
last times of begging
last times of loving
of knowing not knowing pretending
a last even of last times of saying
if you do not love me I shall not be loved
if I do not love you I shall not love

the churn of stale words in the heart again
love love love thud of the old plunger
pestling the unalterable
whey of words

terrified again
of not loving
of loving and not you
of being loved and not by you
of knowing not knowing pretending
pretending

*

I have resolved to call for the past few nights this whole week. Something simple, like hey, are you dead. What happened to you? Yups, no sms foreplay. Just a straightforward call, after a year, because I'm a straightforward girl with nothing to hide, or be ashamed about.

But every night this week, I will return home late, and I tell myself to leave it to the day after. There really is no hurry, is there.

Tonight, Jamie Cullum kept me company, as I fidgeted, and think, and think. Yes, present tense, for it was never past.

Prelude To The Countryside Tales

(Backdated 3rd June)

He: *sounding super hoarse and groggily sheepish* Ahhhhh I just woke up. Give me 10 minutes.

Me: *cheerfully* Sure.

Nothing can spoil today. Like a true princess of the classic fairy tale pedigree, I woke up with all my curls falling beautifully in place, ready to be ravished. And I really mean, ready for adventure. Except this princess was currently clad in Mango tee and Giordano shorts with two of her I’m-trying-to-be-cool knights hiding behind pseudo glam shades at the Bedok taxi stand beside the MRT. It goes without saying the coolest of the knights forwent the pretentious shades, preferring to engage her directly with his eyes. But the said dashing knight was running late, and his white car appeared in the horizon later than promised.

I slipped gracefully into the seat beside my favourite knight (amongst the three) and was charmed when he immediately passed me The Sound of Music DVD. Here, he said, with the voice that had yet to return, I promised to lend you this. My knight is quite somebody huh. He remembers trivia even when he is pressed for time. This also means I’m steadily acquiring a small library of recordings that do not belong to me, including Rent and Les Miserables soundtracks, which I must confess they are just sitting prettily there. Despite his strong recommendations, playing for me in the car and letting me have them to listen at leisure, I have not touched them now that they are at my place. Gentle reminder to self: Return him all recordings the next time.

So much for the rambling medieval prelude. We can start the story proper now, next.

Only Thing To Do Is Jump Over The Moon

Number Officially Recognised Credit Cards that I own: 3

Type: Citibank Platinum Card, Citibank Platinum Dividend Card (Visa & Master)

Amount of Usage so far: Nil on all three cards

All expenses are charged universally to my UOB Campus card, the pseudo Visa for the student which I am admittedly no longer. No, I don’t have the ladies card from UOB or DBS either. I suspect it all boils down to a strange aversion to learn how to pay my credit card bills. I have dismissed various opportunities to use the Citibank cards for discounts at shops like Espirit and Dorothy Perkins. Dismissed as in poo-pooed – oh it’s only 10% less – as I casually convince myself paying $6 - $10 more per item is justifiable because the disadvantage of inconvenience outweighs the savings. Staying stubbornly ignorant, I have not yet to solve the mystery of payment and commit to its mastery. Now, how sad and tragic and lazy can a person be.

(I did attempt to apply for the UOB Ladies Card last promotional month. But apparently I missed out some info and the bank has since sent 4 letters of reminders with regards to the omission. I thought I sent – Minxiu, you posted for me remember. And being too lethargic to call and be put through forever the automatic voice system before reaching a real human, I have procrastinated asking. Well why couldn’t the bloody bank just call instead of sending out letters so insistently.)

Anyway, I just discovered that cards are useless when shopping at Suntec this GSS. Unless you have the DBS Amex (another black card). The pretty thing I lust after prefers the Amex. I don’t get it. Neither does UOB. Time to scourge my home for that invitation application mailer that I chucked aside in April. Wait. But I can’t wait. Damn. I shall place a deposit for the item and grab someone with an Amex. And there’s someone perfect for the occasion.

Me: Free for dinner anytime soon around Suntec/nearby areas? I need to borrow your Amex card. Suntec is an unfriendly place. It discriminates against non-Amex shoppers. Alas.

Mr Dimples: Ha. Unfortunately I’m occupied for these 2 days. Expected to be very busy over next two weeks for contract discussion. Only days I can think of is next weekend.

Me: Sunday? 30% off is no joking matter. You’ll be helping me to save an additional whopping $30++. I enjoy no credit card clout and stand to gain only 20% rebate like the average shopper.

Mr Dimples: Haha. Okay.

1 min later -

Mr Dimples: Hey. You're extravagant. You must be targeting something that costs 400 something!

Me: Oops. I see you did your math. The big item costs $300 before discounts set in. But I'm a financially independent lady with a gentleman friend in possession of an Amex card ok.

I love playing the part of a weak-willed woman, entirely susceptible to pretty things and handsome beings. It helps me to unwind, big time.The big item in question is an amber bracelet with an abundance of sea creature charms (star fish, tortoise, sea horse).

Would probably pop over to the Art Museum to check the Fiction @Love exhibition while I have the time to offset the inherent bimbotic tendencies imploding from within.

*

I’ve often wished I resemble your average Singapore girl physically. In the Singapore context, this means conscripting into the impossible ubiquitous army made up of women with swinging, sleek, straight tresses and the requisite brown or auburn streaks, who are really pencil slim, immaculately mascara-ed and eye-lined.

Making changes to my hair (besides I like it black and curly, usually) violate my principles and being slim offends the academic pretensions of sensible feminism. So.

I guess I could try to be mascara-ed and eye-lined by professionals. That’s my big concession of the week. With that, I dragged April to sign up for the Secret Glam Red Earth party that includes well, a party at mezebar at Mandarin Hotel; the essential goodie bag and a makeover cum photo shoot. Yes, my first makeover. Whoopee!! I wonder which movie star I resemble.

Fast forward 30 minutes -

Me: I think I look like a deranged rock chick gone goth. I can't believe they did this to me. Why can't I have normal hair. *wails*

(The evil ones have given me big hair. Big hair, with a very side parting. My eyes look funny. I couldn’t decide whether the smudges were an intentional fixture to make me gothic or they were achieved as a dire consequence of my fidgeting. I was so sure the eye liner pencil was gonna blind me)

April: you look very glamourous, really. You are just not used to the look lah.

Me: *accusatory* How come you look sane and normal? How come your hair looks ok?

*proceeds to toilet to wash out the globs of gel that have been massaged into my hair*

It took me 6 cotton pads soaked with make-up removal liquid to get the glitter and colour off my face and eyes.

I think I’m one of those unfortunate souls who look terrible in proper make-up. Sigh. Please excuse my nudity.

Such are the risky ventures over the weekend.

Out, Damned Spot! Out, I say!

Minxiu: I bought you a clever bag from UK.

Me: Erm. Coming from a guy, that doesn’t sound like good news. Clever is not the adjective to describe a bag.

Minxiu: But it is a clever bag!!

Me: *shudders* Fine. But you are scaring me.

Me: *shrieks happily upon receiving bag* IT’S A MENSTRUATING BAG!!!

Yes,what do I know. I really, really like that bag, (a much improved choice from the vintage USA bag) and I would actually use it.

Very quirky, very wisecrackly, the bag is indeed clever, and menstruating. Brought to me from Shakespeare’s Globe, the bag had lines from Macbeth immortalised on it,

Out, damned spot!
Out, I say! ~ Act 5, Scene 1

complete with the requisite, oh-so-essential red blotches, all splashy and trickling realistically. It also caused my sis to have a minor fit: Jie, what did you do to this bag!!!!

I also received a miffy book and a pair of earrings that’s supposed to ward off all things and people evil.

Thanks Minxiu!!! Check out his UK picture post here.

*

And we finally managed to catch Love Story after two nights of trying to fit in each other into impossible schedules.

It was whimsically good, without making me feel it was trying too pretentiously hard (apart from a few segments in the second half). But I did wonder if all the layering and meandering confused even the director himself and hence what was originally deliberately abstract earned a mental life of its own and shook off the maker, rendering the movie to be incoherent even if you were to think everything to the bone. Oh, and the movie reminded me of theatre in general. I love the theatre bits to death. Nevertheless, as with all late night movies, Minxiu and I nodded off, albeit at different scenes.

*

I have incredibly lousy things happening to two brilliant people I happen to care very much about. Singapore is damn fucked up. Can you please stop screwing your talents?

*

During the last hour, I have learnt that he is not seeing anyone. That I bear a passing resemblance to his sister whom he is rather fond of, even if I’m the one saying so (his mum thinks I sound like her though. She has talked to me believing I was her daughter when I called previously and I was like woah, hold). That he is really very caught up with his legal responsibilities and is in love with the job.

That kinda made me feel better, in the grateful begger way that I have come to detest feeling.

Urgh. Loser.

The Running For Life Project 2006

April: Hi! Interested in taking part in the Shape Run? It’s organized by the Shape magazine for women only, in July, either 5km or 10km run. 15 dollars to register.

*

No, I have not forgotten that one of the promises I made almost a year ago was to complete a marathon. Make that train for a marathon and running one and actually completing it in *gasp*, respectable timings. April was the girlfriend with whom I made the pact, and I’m not exaggerating when I said it’s akin to a solemn blood oath.

We swore then to see beyond depressing, mediocre, run of the mill work and to attain/achieve something that was entirely within our control through our effects. Not something hazardous, capricious and whimsically dependent of external forces and parties that we had no rein over.

Thundering through a marathon seemed a very good channel to display (displace) character and to make good all the ill ennui and boredom that arose from the general dissatisfaction we are not going anywhere in life. At least for the competitive run, we are heading in a certain direction, and I have a specific goal.

I can only be stopped, by myself.


*

In a moment of madness, I declared we shall sign up for the 10km run. Yes, somehow Angelinesque thinking is able to reason that sheer self-will and stubborn tenacity can take her through 10km, even if she does minimal training, assuming she does any. As her Best Friend rightly pointed out, yes, that might be psychologically and humanly possible, but what happens right after the feat has been accomplished? Will Angeline still be physically mobile; will there be any irreversible consequences that ensue as a direct outcome of her belief in mind triumphing over body (and the refusal to run any more than she should, especially when training time means time less for shopping)?

This morning, sanity prevailed, and I modestly suggested that we downgraded to 5km.

Me: Wah lau, the Runner’s Kit only given to runners who complete the run okay. Skarli I don’t finish 10km how. Or worse I’m amongst the last. Biangz. Please. Let’s downgrade. I just want to complete the marathon with decent timings. And bag that Runner’s Kit.

Here we go again & again. I shall run everyday for next week.

I Know Them!

Watched my first episode of Superband tonight.

Midway through the group Soul’s performance, I happened to raise my head from the magazine I was avidly flipping through, that’s when lightning struck.

This guy, I know him!!! That’s Andy Lee, my classmate from Gongshang!!!

WTF!!!???

After a series of excited sms-es to people who share the same academic history, I logged on to msn and started talking to Meihui about it.

She: Then you must know Zheng Yi is in the competition too. He and Andy are in the same group. You remember Zheng Yi from DHS, St John?

(NB: Andy also went to DHS. Hence the nexus between Zheng Yi and him.)

This sparked off another round of WTF swearing from yours truly. No, I didn’t know Zheng Yi is in the competition; I didn’t even notice they were both from Soul. I was already too traumatized after the Andy-spotting. Plus, all that hair obstructing Zheng Yi’s face made him incognito. In defense, I shall say it’s because Andy was in the same class as me for 3 years and Zheng Yi was only in the class beside me for two years. Besides, the subsconscious always kinda knew Andy dances semi-professionally ever since the 2004 steamboat dinner and that he did want to pursue aspirations in the entertainment industry.

I must say Soul has very polished dance showmanship. Sharp, slick and smooth. Very deft execution. But of course, all the members met through a common love for dance.

Tonight, the judges remarked they could be more man, and project their voices more manly. And that they could seriously be mistaken for the real McCoy dancewise.

*

In other sorta-celebrities-that-I-kinda-know-personally news, apparently ex-crush is teaching composing in the Lee Wei Song school, and is their Publishing Manager, on top of singing at 爱琴海民歌餐厅

Love Song For A Vampire

He was a DHS senior and at the peak of my very impressionable tender 14 years, he left a deep impression of how incredibly talented he was, musically. I was entirely unschooled in said field but I knew, the moment I saw his big hands gliding deftly, easily, over the piano keys, just how passionate and artistic he was, without even paying attention to the opening chords. It was the first time I was so captivated watching someone play. And he had produced the lovely piece of music behind the stage just for me. Song chosen: Love Song For A Vampire.

他柔和的诠释，让我非常心动。

This was probably how the obsession for big hands came about, before it mutated to veins. The senior was short (the shortest amongst all that I have ever found attractive - 1.6m? perhaps. But that was in secondary times and height, at that age, wasn’t much a considered factor) and slightly plump in a most endearing way. Armed with glasses, he looked broodingly intellectual, and I was charmed. It helped that he was a loner in the club and appeared the quietly angst-y character. The male leads in our scripts are always mysterious creatures. He was darn cute to me back then and my heart had its fair share of palpitations when he commented I have a very nice voice and those kind of things. At some point when our paths crossed frequently due to rehearsals for plays, he would start singing and urge me to join in. He has a deep melodious voice that I adore.

Of course all these happened a long, long, long, long x10 time ago. There are some things I only have the haziest memory of and others that have sunk deep, deep down, too far to retrieve and remember and I’m sure I have overromanticised plenty. But this senior, I now call to mind, with childish fondness and sentimental gladness, as I would with most from a past now far. I always wondered what happened to him. Well, he did go to HCJC and subsequently dropped out of university to pursue music. All are hearsay for the so-called ties, though tender, were tellingly tenuous. I hardly knew him.

Now I discover the adolescent crush is now a singer at 爱琴海民歌餐厅

Eeks. It’s definitely him gone kinda beng in the metrosexual way and giving me all the wrong vibes this time.

But apart from that, it’s quite inspirational, really. To know someone I actually know is singing and writing songs for a living, struggling in his own way.

He says that: Believe in your dreams and you will get there. Just like me!

Can I request we go and listen to Qisheng together: Meihui, Minxiu & Peiyun and whoever from those heady heydays? I am too shy.

On a separate note (non-musical and so no pun intended), I guess this means there are some crushes you do grow out of and are not afraid to openly admit when you do grow up, that once upon a time, you had concealed a budding liking and admiration of the most innocent sort for this person.

Tell Me More, Tell Me More

This is a life of illusion, a life of control
Mixed with confusion - what're we doin' here?

It’s official that my close friend Chinyi is a freak. She aced everything for her Masters modules. I know not anything that can possibly be more academically revolting. I mean, like eeeewwwww, how uncool. How impossible. How, sigh, admirable. That said, she just came back from a very exciting conference, having presented her paper successfully (garnered interest and keen listenship) in Ireland. I hope she bought nice Irish things for me. Yes, Chinyi, nice, by my definition. That’s how I can consider overlooking your bookish overachiever status and start hanging out together again. You read me, you, you geek!!!

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We take the pressure and we throw away
Conventionality belongs to yesterday
There is a chance that we can make it so far

We start believing nowthat we can be who we are

More on gifts: I received a Skittles Berry Punch (Wild Berry) Lip Smacker ie Lip Balm from a senior in another department today. Yummy. And I hope Minxiu doesn’t die, not before he passes me what he bought for me from UK. Unless he has a ready will stating clearly all that he has bequeathed to me. Shimin’s trip to Taiwan next week should yield a bagful of pretties for me too.

More on the receiving end: I have also received the flu bug from anonymous. Currently dying from a nose that runs too diligently and suffering flesh tormented by feverish aches. These must be acknowledged as the first of aging signs. Usually I’m floored by the standard bug 2-3 times a year. However, for this seasonal run, the time lapse between the last and the latest is too close for comfort. I need to start caring about the corporal and be guarded about what goes in, on top and out. Which means maintaining healthy and moderate food intake, slapping on moisturizer and building up good digestive system. Took MC yesterday but since my invite to Grease was the same night, I had to drag myself out of the house.

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You better shape up

Cause I need a man

And my heart is set on you

You better shape up

You better understand

To my heart I must be true

Nothing left, nothing left for me to do

Grease can only be fun, being all froth and frivolity, at least on first appearances. It also happened to be the one musical I know inside out, thanks to countless rewatching of the movie. The stage cast was highly energetic, and I warmed naturally to the infectious tunes and was won over instinctively, bless their dancing feet and grooving hands, despite the emptiness of the house (estimated 30% filled). It was definitely a creditable performance that was put up. Pity about the venue though. And I would know. Indoor Stadium is hardly the best place to stage musicals. The stage is simply too far away. Not to mention it looked extra empty on a bad show day (in terms of ticket sales), when it is just empty, if you know what I mean.

The house gave me very good seats, but it was still far, by virtue of venue. Thank goodness I attended the Grease press conference earlier, such that I do know what Danny and Sandra look like. To be fair, from afar, they do look like the real McCoy (actually close-up also okay). They even sound alike!! Though Sandra didn’t boogie too well in “You’re The One That I Want”.

My favourite character in movie and musical is really Rizzo, and it is only partially due to the alliteration in writing. She and the vamped up Sandra provide slant to an otherwise squeaky clean high school romance. Bad girls do have more fun. Oh, and curls rule. Curly hair is what makes you hot. Grease bears testimony to that.

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Joyance gave birth to a baby girl at 12.35pm yesterday, as proudly announced by father Abel. I was happy for my friends.

I was also thinking just how sad it is that one of my very initial reactions was to consider smsing Mr Veins about it. Cue for “Hopelessly Devoted To You” to play in the background. IT IS SAD. Especially when they are more my friends than his.

Tangential happenings so-called “kinda connected to him” are not to be taken as cosmic or subliminal signs that I can safely contact him without flaming shame or embarrassment. I must not test waters lest I drown.

Ok. Bygones. It’s just the occasional phrase we all go through. When we hit a bad patch or are just plain bored, we naturally look to the past for inspiration and attempt to convince ourselves that: that person was the best. And we know it’s not true.

I think it’s not.

Well, I hope it’s not.

It turned colder that's where it ends

So I told her we'd still be friends

Then we made our true love vow

Wonder what she's doin' now

Summer dreams ripped at the seams, but oh, those summer nights

And so I wonder, what’s he doing now.