Monday, March 16, 2009

Football and Men

It takes someone special to inspire other men to call him HOT and mean it.

Everyone knows Cristiano Ronaldo is way too overrated, what with his his firm belief in his own (admittedly brilliant) looks and skills, his cocky mannerisms and self-confidence which borders on pure conceited narcissism.

And Steven Gerrad plastered his puckers into a camera lens, which significantly lowers his hotness level. Not that it wasn't an amazing and adorable display of unadulterated joy, but DA-YUM. Lips should be kept to oneself and not pressed onto millions of TV screensXD

Torres.
Now this Liverpool Messiah practically saved all the asses of his teammates at the hugest game yet.

Which is probably why my male friends can find it in themselves to gush about this blonde, beautiful, boy.


Football holds no magnetic pull on me like it does to some men who
1. Conglomerate at coffee shops nationwide because to cheer unanimously for their beloved team.

2. Join the throngs of rabid fans at Clark Quay to watch the match in its full glory.

Nope. I am a big fat traitor.
I jump-ship as fast as each match is over, i change loyalties in a blink on an eye. And they dont even switch solely between 2 big hotshots, the Champions of football. Milan resides in a special place in my heart because i love KAKA.

I am a bad, bad, football fan.



Sports really brings out the raw, uncensored emotions which flow unstoppable from every sportmen.

Yesterday was my 400m race (geezer, fluke i say FLUKE. Coach dumped me in there for some crazy reason) and just when i managed to phsye myself up into a wrought, ready, excited bunch of muscles, the sky turned against us.

And i must say, our school has a unique way of mental prep. Other school plug eyephones to blast heavy metal into their ears, to block out the crazed chaos and it set their heart rate to a decent rate.

Some schools have breathing techniques to ready themselves.

Some competitors imagine themselves running the full strech all in their mind.

Our teams opts the more calm and trust in the Mighty One method. While other set their heart rate, we read calming quotes and pray like crazed pilgrims. And just so you know, it works like MAGIC.


So anyway- our race was unceromoniously CANCELED. I mean darn it, right. We were all jumpy and ready, adrenelin coursing through our veins with impunity and BAM.

It was 20 min before our race, so me and Ling and Fiona were at the call room waiting for our turn, right. The sky was all black, as if it was having some terrible, terrible day. Then it was LET THE RAIN FALL DOWN and not only that LET IT FALL REAL HARD. LET IT KEEP ON FALLING AND NEVER STOP.

So it did.

An audible, and resigned (and perhaps a little pissed off) groan resounded thu the entire tent, and the guys who were getting ready to run their race were more then upset.

And then some guy said, gesturing wildy at the rain which was pouring, then lightening, and then thundering down again, "WAHLAO EH, MAKE UP YOUR MIND"

Which pretty much summed up how the rest of us were feeling.

It got so bad that the tent was flapping and the water was flowing in from every direction, the wind happily egging the endless streams right into the tent. The officials who has previously thought they were gonna get their break, were hastily closing their styrofoam boxes with their lunch because everything was getting wet.

IT WAS CHAOS.

Umbrellas were overturned, the track and field were flooding and the people was screaming at the thunder. (Embarrasing as it is. Sports people, they call us.)

The sky was waging a war against the land. Honestly. I had never seen rain and wind so ferocious for a long time. A makeshift tent has overturned, and under the tent, we huddled together to try to keep dry.

Rain, it bonded everyone, though.

Everyone started talking to each other about the mad weather, and there was this sense of "We're all in this togther, getting wet and getting our race postpones. Dammit, we've to stick together" kinda feeling.

It was nice in a strange, awkward, way.

So we seeked refuge in the guys toilet (it was the closest shelter to the tent) and the officials told us to "CLOSE YOUR EYES". It would have been hilarious had we not been terrifed that we would be either struck by lightning, or have the tent collaspe on us.


It was crazy.

It was mad.

But it was sorta, fun. (AND THATS NOT BECAUSE WE HAD TO RUN THROUGH THE GUYS TOILET- but dayum, you shoulda seen the faces. Priceless, every one of them.)



AND NOW ITS BACK TO THE BOOKS, YA'LL.
Adieu-




Thursday, March 12, 2009

Rainbows And Butterflies

Life is so brilliantly flashing and transitory that i can hardly keep track of the days.

Its one after another, and after that another and some.
Its funny, i used to arch my head to look up at those towering 16 year olds and wonder if i'd ever be that large and tall and stressed.


And now i am, and it quite scares me.

Large and tall and stressed.

Most of my stress, i figure, comes from reading the newspaper. I spend too much time reading them. I love reading the Sports section so much i pratically drool at the articles.

I am in love.

This time it's with ROHIT BRIJNATH and although he is married (i think. who cares anyway), that does nothing to deter me. He is the most engaging, witty, beautiful, funny, intelligent journalist to ever have lived.

TO EVER HAVE LIVED.

I shriek when i see that he has written a article. I SHRIEK IN JOY- PURE AND UNADULTERATED.

I kiss and smother my face into the dirty inky page and brandish my scissors to cut his precious words out to forever treasure.

I scour the Sports section everyday watching for his "Rohit Brijnath Senior Correspondent' name to bounce out at me.

He write about tennis, and cricket and anything and everything from football to golf and he is HARDCORE Roger Federer. Which makes ME hardcore Roger Federer because i love him.

When i cannot find his article in the papers, my heart sags and i find that the day is a little bleaker. Then i perk up because i know he will probably write the next day.

"Self belief comes in different pakages. Rafael Nadal wears it quietly, Usain Bolt laughingly, Lewish Hamilton arrogantly, Cristiano Ronaldo histrionically.

Kim wears his self belief proudly, loudly, colourfully."

"The result was a contest that was at once, bruising and brilliant, a tennis masterpiece so luminous that it lit up a city that was suffering power outages."

- Rohit Brijnath

I love how he writes.
Its blissfully fun and upbeat and incredibly informative.


Journalism is a pretty extraodinary job, i reckon.
But then some say its better to spend one's time reading articles then scribbling something oneself that's going to turn into fish-wrap within a day.

FISH WRAP.
ITS ALL SO CONFUSING.

The Hwa Chongers have come to visit again because its this time of the year. But only this time their younger than us and if anything it makes me feel perversely old and well- OLD. Its just like that, you can't explain it. Its difficult to bring yourself to be interested in boys younger than you.


Mrs Cheong also left us today.
She told us she had facebook which i cracked up so hard at i nearly fainted.

But the sense of family and belonging i felt all around was so overwhelming i was glad, so amazingly glad that i was in this school.

I LOVE MY SCHOOL.
HA. How many people can say that from their heart? HOW MANY? I can i can i can!

Plus theres this strange man who swims EVERY SINGLE DAY WITHOUT FAIL RAIN OR SHINE downstairs, so my Aunty Yeni and my Gong Gong call him the Crazy Man.

I didn't understand how that worked because swimming every day made me cool, not crazy.

But they told me he smoked.
Technically, if you smoke and swim everyday, people upstairs who have loads of time will call you Crazy. Life's funny.


I didnt know Ryan Seacrest was gay.
I didnt know Adam Lambert was too.


"Nothing saves anyone's life, sir, its just postpones their death"
-Posner from The History Boys