Figures

2012-02-01T01:07:00.002+08:00

And If My Heart Should Somehow Stop

There comes a point where you realise that you're old enough. You're old enough to chart your own life. A time where it's time to stop merely dreaming. A time to start planning. A time to get things kick started. A time to start getting a move on. Maybe it's now? Maybe it was last year, maybe tomorrow. Maybe it's when you're 19. Maybe 19 is too late? Or maybe it's too early? Maybe it's whenever you know you have to start because the fire inside you is burning, and burning. It's easy to forget that the fire will burn out.

I've always dreamt of doing things and making things happen. I've always wanted to help, to be someone. To be someone special. To change things.

But there also comes an age where you gradually stop dreaming. Where your dreams are replaced with reality. With Being Practical, with Stability, with Making A Living, with Survival, with Real Life. . Maybe it's now? Maybe it was last year, maybe tomorrow. Maybe it's when you're 19. Maybe 19 is too late? Or maybe it's too early?

It's the 1st of February 2012, it's been a month since January. I'm 19 this year. It's been a month since the beginning of the year. I've broken my resolutions more than 5 times. I've slept past 1am. I've missed daily mass about 5 times. I've also been gross. (it was only a half-serious resolution though, so I'm not deeply bothered.)

I've been plagued by indecision. So many paths, so many choices. These choices would take me to places I would never dream of going, places I have never before dreamt of dreaming of. Cambridge? NUS-Yale? Liberal arts in the US? Which scholarship? Which course? Which life? Sometimes I wish someone would just decide for me. Sometimes I wish that God will just tell me what he wanted of me, where he wants me to serve him.

To distract myself (as I always do), I bury myself in BBC Sherlock, House, EVERYTHING BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH HAS THUS FEATURED IN (E.g. Third Star, Ends of The Earth, Hawking) and die a thousand times as I watch him work his magic on screen. He is truly a marvel to watch, a spectacle in his own right. He is so talented, it is almost exquisite. Watching him is like getting high on drugs. Alright not really- but yes.

He is not handsome. Veron and I have agreed that The Strait Time's description of his "vertiginous cheekbones, smoldering eyes and dark curls" that give him an "off-beat sexiness" does him little justice. Surely, that description must be left for the normal men. Surely, surely, Benedict Cumberbatch is not your average run of the mill SMOULDERY-EYED, DARK CURLED man? For he is most certainly not. Perhaps "off-beat" slightly captures him, but unless you have watched him in action, you cannot possibly begin to comprehend how completely out of this world he is. I can only conclude that he is something close to ethereal.

He's one of those actors who doesn't look particularly great in pictures, but in motion, he's breathtaking. Completely, and utterly magnificent.

Between bellydancing classes, driving lessons, pilates, Poptart@Velvet, reunion dinners, LOTR marathons, interviews, steamboats, birthday celebrations, chilling out, job hunting, Proj Infinity Planning, searing Benedict Cumberbatch on my eyes with every show possible, reading C.S Lewis's Surprised By Joy, opening Ang Paus, playing Sets, watching House, and rambling on about movies like The Descendants (where George Clooney met his Golden expectations, but in entirely was depressingly draggy) it's easy to be distracted. Too easy.

I have a dream, and 19 is not the age to let it go.
Just watch me.

2012-01-11T13:36:00.000+08:00

Under Construction
I am as this close to losing my mind.
This is how my morning sounded like.

Sister stuck in the toilet.
Knob is turned several hundred times by older sister, grandfather, mother and helper to no avail. Grandfather slams body against door. Repeatedly.

1am-
BANG BANG BANG BANG
Banging continues.

2am-
BANG BANG BANG BANG

2.10am-
Helper: I think, we're going to wake the neighbors. (Really? REALLY?!)

6am-
Man with big axe walks into my bedroom.

6.30am-
BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG

7.30am-
BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG
Knob falls off and door is forced open.
Younger sister is released from bathroom. Cheers all around. Toilet floor strewn with toilet paper.

Younger Sister: It was my bed ):

745am-
Blessed sleep and quiet.

8am-
Construction work begins upstairs.
BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG

12pm-
Construction work ceases. Helper and Older Sister rejoice over lunch.

1pm-
False alarm.
BANG BANG BANG DRILL BANG BANG

1.30pm-
Construction in the field opposite my house begins.
BANG BANG BANG DRILL BANG BANG BANG

It's like a freaking musical.
I cannot even hear myself think. My Qatar earplugs are next to useless.

Feel like going to the wall and BANG BANG BANG BANG-ing my head on it.

2012-01-10T02:37:00.001+08:00

some might say, we will find a brighter day

I thank God so much for Jon and his reminder of Jeremiah 29:11, that God knows the plans he has for me, plans not to hurt me, but to prosper me.
http://stormandtempest.tumblr.com/post/15432984895/38
It's been a confusing time, and IB results have only served to make everything more so. I keep trying to figure out what I want. What I want to be. What I want to achieve. What I want to be proud of.

The thing is, now as I type this, I could see why this might be a difficult task. How am I supposed to know what I want? I'm 18 years old, I'm stupid and idealistic, I watch spongebob and fantasize about the perfect relationship. I fall down on rollerblades, I sing, I forget things. How do I know how to trust myself? I realise now, it's because I've been asking the wrong question. The question, I think, should be- What does He want?

When Mr Connor handed me the envelope with my name scrawled in the front of it, I inadvertently tried to read his expression and got- nothing. I was not nervous. My heart-rate remained stubbornly steady. I felt emotionless when I saw

42
Diploma awarded

at the bottom of the page. No relief, no disappointment, no happiness, no sadness. It was like being stuck in some kind of limbo. The statistics that were flashed on the screen had managed to freeze my capacity to be proud of a 42. The competitive streak in me yelled that I was not good enough, not smart enough, and was never going clever or witty enough.

The other side of me, however, drew its sword and readied itself for battle. Inside my head was an internal struggle which went, more of less, like this-

Gollumamanda: You studied so darn hard and you didn't even manage to get at least a 43? What kind of stupid are you?

Smeagleamanda: You're not stupid. Have you any idea how proud of your 42 you should be?

Gollumamanda: Please. You think your lousy 42 is going to mean anything in Singapore where 200 other students scored 43 and above? You couldn't even manage at least a B for your TOK.

Smeagleamanda: You must thank God, Amanda, because he has blessed you with these grades. You must thank God.

I was intensely disgusted with myself for being so ungrateful for the wonderful results God has blessed me with. So, I might not have gotten a 7 for English. So maybe, that disappointed me quite a fair bit. However, I am certain that I have improved my writing since the first essay I wrote for Mdm Jenny Wong in 2010.

The past two years in IB have taught me so many invaluable things, how to speak up, how to stick by my convictions, how to track down teachers, how to laugh, how to balance, how to take courage, how to appreciate musicals, how to integrate God into every aspect of my life, how to enjoy visual art, how to run free, how to run wet, how to accept myself, how to be more responsible, how to spell the shortform of tomorrow (tmr not trm), how to appreciate and love wonderful music, how to be a good friend, how to stay awake in school, how to dress appropriately, how to sing on stage, how to pray, how to lead, how to inspire, how to be different, and how to be completely, and wholly reliant on God.

The past two years of IB has blessed me with invaluable friends who have taught me so much about myself. People who have challenged me, loved me, inspired me, annoyed me, connected with me, and people who I have come to have immense respect for. These people have changed me in places I myself cannot even pinpoint, and I thank God so, so desperately for them, because I don't know what I do to deserve them.

I will never, could never, and would never regret the 2 years that have passed me by.
They are part of me now, and always.

So thank you God, thank you God, for 42, for my friends, for cycling down the pavement singing The Good Life, for my parents, for my teachers, for my love for people, for life. You alone know the plans you have for me.

When you're happy like a fool
Let it take you over.
- The Good Life. One Republic

2012-01-05T02:25:00.002+08:00

If You Fall Asleep Down By The Water

I want to be more responsible. If I could have my way, I would be more responsible. Irresponsibility hurts not only myself, but others. Broken promises, late meetings, and missing the first part of Wicked.

Irresponsibility leads to 1km barefoot sprints from Promenade MRT to MBS Theatre while wildly yelling at poor, innocent passerbys IS THIS THE WAY TO THE THEATRE?! and brandishing a pair of black heels at them like a dangerous weapon. Irresponsibility leads to making your 3 friends watch the opening number "No One Mourns The Wicked" in a small lousy screen in the waiting room. Irresponsibility reduces you to a sweaty, disheveled, unkempt pile of rubbish on the day you've waited for for 3 whole months. Irresponsibility sucks.

I was so upset and guilty and furious and frustrated at myself that I couldn't stop crying outside the theatre. The stricken ushers looked terrified.

"It's okay, don't cry, don't cry. You'll be inside very, very soon. Don't worry. You're only missing the first song. Don't be sad. Smile!" *Pat* *Pat*

I felt like I was a 5 year old who had dropped my lolly on the floor. It was rather nice and comforting though. But I still feel so rubbish that Jon Judes and Cars couldn't enjoy the beginning of the show just because I IRRESPONSIBLY left the tickets at home and had to rush home to get them from Bras Basah. My darling didi brought them to Bishan MRT for me and I could have kissed him because he actually agreed when I begged him on the phone. Perhaps it was because I sounded half crazed with desperation. He's a sweet kid.

Resolution 4: Prepare for every outing in advance and list out the things that must be brought along.

Wicked was phenomenal. Our Elphaba and Glinda had terrifically powerful voices, and Elphaba's "No Good Deed" did not fall short of my expectations. Her scream-sing "Fiyero" was heartwrenching and although I had listened to Idina Menzel's versions a thousand times, I was not disappointed. My hairs were standing on end. Jonny said the UK cast was less pitchy, and the acoustics were better, but personally I cannot see how it can get much better than what I saw tonight.

It was worth every single cent, worth the anticipation, worth the word-for-word mugging of my favourite Wicked songs, worth the dressing up in green, worth the 1km run, worth it all. The set, oh the set, it was beautiful. The florescent lights littered the border, and seeing my favorite colour splashed across the stage, bright, loud and beautiful, was indescribably incredible. The choreography was upbeat and fun, and never boring. Our Glinda totally nailed "Popular", too.

It was, as Ron would no doubt declare, wicked indeed. I really thank god I have such terrific friends to watch musicals with- friends who buy me water and run to the toilet to get tissue for me while I burble sorry and cry and sweat. I love you guys so much.

The Musee D'Orsay Paris exhibition before Wicked was illuminating too. Ryan was obsessed with The Cardplayers by Cezanne, and Trish, him and I stared at it for a quite a while. After explanations, I began to realise how the lack of detail using broad brush strokes and what Ryan calls "blending-but-not-blending" was extremely skillful. I took the museum tour, and now I probably can give a tour (albeit with lots of gaps and exclamations that would annoy the posh patrons of art) of my own. I can remember strange things about Monet and Cezanne and Van Gogh and Manet like how Monet pissed off his patron by refusing to paint her face and instead focusing on how the light hit her dress. And how Van Gogh cut of part of his ear while painting Starry Starry Night in an argument with fellow painter and best friend Gauguin. How Monet felt guilty for thinking about how the light hit her wife on her deathbed instead of focusing on her, and painting her. How Monet really hated painting portraits but did it for the money cause he was dirt poor. How almost every famous painter has drawn nude women, like a rite of passage. How Rousseau got his depiction a horse-anteater creature displayed in the Salon of Rejects in France.

I have so many things to talk about. The New Year of 2012, my new Star Trek obsession, Resolutions, my Italy-London trip, serenading of Ahma downstairs, steamboat at Fina's, LOTR's marathons with Trish HJ Gid Ryan and Cars, the Titanic exhibition, my Papa's birthday celebration- it's been so busy.

I think the question that haunts me sometimes- is how much time should be spent reflecting about the day? Remembering the good times and the learning points of the day? How much time should be spent thinking about what has some to pass? Would the time be better used for experiencing more things? Or would experience without reflection ultimately become useless?

Been reading Chuck Palahniuk's Non-Fiction. Ryan says he's screwed up. It's probably true. He's also a genius, though.

"...that's also how you write a novel. You plan and research. You spend time alone, building this lovely world where you control, control, control everything. You let the telephone ring. The emails pile up. You stay in your story world until you destroy it. Then you come back to be with other people.

If your story sells well enough, you get to go on a book tour. Do interviews. Really be with people. A lot of people. People, people, until you're sick of people. Until you crave the idea of escaping, getting away to...

To another lovely story world.

And so it goes. Alone. Together. Alone. Together."

"In this way, even the lonely act of writing becomes an excuse to be around people. In turn the people fuel the storytelling.

Alone. Together. Fact. Fiction. It's a cycle.

Comedy. Tragedy. Light. Dark. They define each other.

It works, but only if you don't get stuck too long in any one place."

It's a cycle, you see. It gets lonely sometimes, when you reflect and think too much about things. When you crave and desire solitude so much you become isolated. But these are the times we are free to imagine, to create without borders, to build and formulate without fear of being judged, without limits. And after this time alone, you plunge back into society with new insights, ready for new experiences.

It's a cycle. Always. We just have to know how to keep on cycling.

WORD OF THE DAY:

Pantheism- A feeling of physical and mental communion with the universe.

2011-12-01T00:26:00.008+08:00

The Heaven of Animals

Do terrapins go to heaven? I reckon so. I really hope so, too. It might be a result of my cult-obsessive reading of the Narnia series, or from that innate idealism which always gets in the way of practicalities. According to the bible, though, we're going to see our pets in heaven. (Maybe that's why atheists call Christianity "consolation".)

From the book of Genesis,

“To every animal of the earth, and to every bird of the heavens and to every creeping thing on the earth, in which is a living soul, every green plant is given for food.”

- Genesis 1:30

Animals have souls.

The Peaceable Kingdom, painting by Edward Hicks;
Credit Wikimedia Commons

Loopy's terapin, Mr Turtle The Second, died today. We didn't know it had died until we googled "How to tell if your terrapin is dead", and poked his head various times to find that it had stiffened.

Loopy: I think it's dead.

Me: I don't know. Google says that we should wait at least 72 hours, because its hard to tell with terrapins. They say to wait till its limbs fall out and starts to smell. Ugh.

Loopy: It's dead. My Aunty says if you poke it in the head and it doesn't move, it's dead.

Me: Alright then poke it and see!

Loopy: I don't wanna, you do it!

Me: *poke*

Mr Turtle The Second: *is still*

Me: *poke*

Mr Turtle The Second: *remains still*

Me: *poke*

Mr Turtle The Second: *remains still*

Me: *poke* *poke* *poke* *poke*

Mr Turtle The Second: *remains still*

Loopy: It's dead.

Me: Sigh. I guess so. Shall we have a burial?

Loopy: Yes.

Loopy was really sad because Mr Turtle The Second was the smallest of her terrapins, and as she said put it, the cutest. We used a wedding gift box from a few years ago as the casket and lined it with tissue so give Mr Terrapin the Second a respectable send-off.

We brought his body to the park outside my house and used plastic spoons and chopsticks to dig a little hole for him. It was right beside the beautiful new connection to the Kallang River from Bishan Park. We reckoned he should be buried where he might have longed to be- in the river, with rocks and fishes.

After a short prayer and a song (Loopy said to sing a song but I couldn't think of any so I sang Amazing Grace. I didn't think it was a completely appropriate song though. I kept cracking up in the beginning because it seemed such an absurd song. But I've never presided over a funeral before, so I cut myself some slack.)

We allowed his friend (who I assume is Mr Turtle) to say his final farewell to Mr Turtle The Second before Loopy brought him to see the Turtle Doctor. She said all her terrapins were falling ill. I found it intriguing that she paid more than $20 dollars to provide medical treatment for a terrapin that costs $2, but thats the love for a pet for you.

After that, I went for a short jog with my brother, before going on a longer one after that myself. I was thinking about animals, and heaven, and it was a strange jog. Also my brother was being exceedingly and surprisingly sweet.
Marcus: Jie, I don't think you should go and run in Bishan Park by yourself at night. It is very dangerous. Do you know there were 6 dead bodies found in some reservoir recently?
Me: Really! Which one? Peirce? MacRitche?
Marcus: No, no I don't remember- it was some Paya Lebar reservoir. Better not, better not. You run the other way, its better.
Me: Okay (:

-Halfway through my jog-
*Phone buzzes*

Me: Hello?
Marcus: Eh Jie are you okay anot? Dad says if you got into any trouble it will be my responsibility because I didn't take care of you. Aiya I should have come run with you. You better be okay ah.
Me: Hahaha! I promise.

Teehee <3

Dear Lord, I pray that Mr Turtle The Second is happy where-ever he is.

Amen.

Wicked Song Of The Day: Wonderful

Elphaba, where I come from,

we believe all sorts of things that aren't true

We call it-- History.

A man's called a traitor

or a liberator

A rich man's a thief

or a philanthropist

Is one a crusader

or a ruthless invader?

It's all in which label

is able to persist

There are precious few at ease

with moral ambiguities

So we act as if they don't exist!

2011-11-29T00:30:00.004+08:00

No Good Deed

I watched The Pianist yesterday. I finally understand why Polanski was so widely lauded for his film. The Pianist is haunting in its barefaced and undisguised telling of a survivor's story. The main character is not a hero. Jewish Wladyslaw Szpilman did not join the arms of his fellow Jews in the tragically valiant uprising against the Germans. He lucked out. He escaped, he hid, he ran, and most of all, he survived. The Pianist is therefore not romanticized; in fact, it is almost dispassionate. It is a story of one man's incredible ability to survive. It does not try to justify, and the portrayal of the discrimination and treatment of Jews is not overtly shocking or overly gruesome, and perhaps made more powerful in its subtlety. For example, there is no scene which shows the deaths caused by the gas chambers. Like in Amen where Gerstein's expressions are used to convey the horror of the gassings, in The Pianist, conversation is used.

Another moment in the film is when the German officer walks down the rows of Jews shooting them in their heads. When he comes to the last shivering and trembling old man, the gun runs out of bullets. That precise moment where he clicks the gun and it is empty is tremendous. Zoom in on the Jewish man's face. White in terror, but also, perhaps, a hint of hope? Then slowly, without increasing the pace of the music or movement, the German reloads his gun, and then shoots him. Its a brilliant cinematic feat. Awful, horrible, and so, so tragic it makes you so mixed up.

I'm supposed to be de-numbing myself from the effects of History Exams. I wrote this during the period of intensive studying.

"The fact that I can say 20-50 million people died during the Great Leap Forward without blinking an eye.

The fact that when I read that out of the 29 million Russians that died during the Second World War, 20 million were peasants, all I think about is what a great argument that will make.

The fact that when I say, in 1932, about 7 million Ukrainians died of starvation, the first thing that crosses my mind is that it is half of the total death toll of 14.5 million.

The fact that I don’t say “In cold blood, Stalin murdered and killed more than 1 million innocent people” and say instead- “To maintain power, Stalin used terror to eliminate his political opponents”.

The fact that when I see “Hitler murdered 11 million Jews”, I think- Hitler murdered about 5.7 million Jews, not 11 million. The rest were non-Jews.

The fact that they have become numbers to me- statistics, arguments.

The fact that I need to be de-numbed, and soon."

To be honest I cannot be sure watching The Pianist and war movies will help any. But at any rate, I think it makes me think. It makes me remember the dead, the sacrifices, and at the least, it reminds me of both the depths human morality can sink to, as well as the good we are capable of during most trying situations.

On this thread of morality, Wicked is throughly thought provoking in that sense. It's marvelous how just one song can capture the dilemma that I face, the internal struggles that sometimes plague me. Why do I do good, really? Stephen Lawrence Schwartz is a genius. Hearing Menzel sing makes my hair stand on end. She can seriously hold a note for, forever. When she screams/sings FIYERO, I just can't. All the emotion makes me want to burst.

"One question haunts and hurts,

too much, too much to mention,

Was I really seeking good, or just seeking attention?

Is that all good deeds are, when looked at with ice cold eye

If thats all good deeds are, then maybe

thats the reason why

No good deed goes unpunished."

- No Good Deed. Idina Menzel.

2011-11-27T02:25:00.000+08:00

Fun.

Before IB ended, I promised myself that the moment I had finished my exams, I would devote my freshly freed up time to annoying my siblings. The result, I am proud to report, was two days of revelries around town with my brother and sister in tow.

Yesterday, I dragged my younger brother to town to watch Puss in Boots. I desperately wanted to see You Are The Apple of my Eye (and I still want to see it), and we discussed the possibility of passing my younger brother off as a 16-year old midget because the show is NC16, but he backed out because he claimed my "crying and yelling" about how "HE ALWAYS HAS TO DEAL WITH THIS KIND OF DISCRIMINATION. WHY. WHY. WHY?!?!?" would be too humilitating for him.

So we ended up seeing Puss In Boots- and it was, to put it plainly, bad. I sat in the cinema, thinking that the entire movie was vaguely dissatisfying. Think The Adventures of Jack Sparrow, but instead of a handsome, eccentric wacko as the main character, you have a cartoon cat who has childhood issues, minus all the dreadlocks, pirate slang and grittiness. I thought Puss was alot better as a fringe character, because as a main character, and although he was funny, he wasn't enough to work with as a primary character. I would have liked to see more fairy tale characters integrated, and a more intricate building up of their personalities.

But either way, my brother enjoyed himself. We both had Pasta-mania before the movie, and Marcus got really hot and bothered cause I wanted to know if they would change the number of the "We Have Served 1 4 8 7 9 9 8 6 Plates of Pasta" sign hanging outside the kitchen. The numbers are removable and changable, and I they could have won my eternal loyalty had they agreed to change the last number plate to "8" after my brother's cabonara and my aglio. But upon inquiry, I was told that "we never change it, it's for fun". I was desperately crushed, and my brother said I was being embarrassing again, although I cannot see why.

We had an hour and a half to kill before our movie, and so we traipsed down to Scape, where there was a massive Volunteer Day Exhibition going on. We were hopelessly lost because Scape is a very unnecessarily confusing place. Following the instructions on the awesome promotional balloons I had gotten from the volunteers along Orchard Road, we finally found the exhibition hidden below the flea-market, in some underground Scape area. It seemed like the only people around were middle-aged men with their families and school excursions, but we didn't much mind.

We went to have a look, and walked through a miniature little man-made forest while the guide expounded on the importance of preserving Singapore's biodiversity through Bio-Cameras, and Weed-plucking. We learnt about the Singapore Guide Dog Association, and how guide-dogs would immediately switch into professional-mode when their harness was put on. I loved how incredible it was that they were so similar to us. How we code-switch- when we wear formal suits and dresses we immediately straighten our backs, and try to remember with fork and knife to use for which course, compared to when we are sloppy in our FBTs and baggy tees. I was really intrigued, and spent a good 15 minutes talking to the lady at the booth.

After the movie, we went to redeem some free food at the Volunteer Exhibition, where we got free Haagen Dazs Sticky Chocolate ice cream, curry puffs, and Gloria-Jeans coffee and ham and cheese sandwiches. FREE, completely free. It felt absolutely brilliant to eat free food- said JS who later joined us

"Don't you feel uncomfortable that we're the only ones here who seem to be without a purpose and just pigging out? Almost everyone is in uniform, or from some volunteer organisation."

And I said
"No."

So we ate and ate and later with our tummies all filled, managed to meet a Minister who was at the convention, and then I got to further embarrass Markie by swinging beads along Orchard Road. It's really alot easier than it looks, much like hula-hooping, except with a gigantic set of beads. Worst thing was, my jeans had slipped down a little during the bead-swinging, and that was really terrible because the old Bead-Swinging Man and me had gathered a rather huge audience. I asked my brother later what colour they were (my undies), and tragically, I had worn my purple undies that day. Of all the colours to wear :(

Then three of us got ourselves sugar rushes at Candilicious with Sour Tube Candy that cost 5 dollars, and when my brother and I walked through the door when we got home we crashed really bad. I felt like my mind was shutting down on me, closing the blinds, saying goddnight prematurely, and it went all dark and nice.

TODAY, I managed to convince both my sister and brother to come with me to the Toy Museum at Seah Street. It was hilarious to see their faces as we had to walk 5 levels of old toys, old Mickey Mouses which cost $35K, creepy looking dolls, tops, and marbles. You would think anyone would like to see colourful toys- but apparently not. They dragged their feet around like pieces of lead and complained about how ridiculous it all was.

Marcus: CAN WE JUST GO TO THE NEXT LEVEL
Mei: Omg this is so gross. I am so creeped out right now. Like seriously. I am really, honestly creeped.

Jonny, added some fuel to the fire by adding:

"Yeah I think they told us to start from the 5th floor so as we slowly make our way down to 1st floor they prepare to kill us on the 1st level".

I have to admit the dim lighting, the glassy eyes and multiple clownish toys was rather creepy, but REALLY NOW, what about cultural capital and all that?

I rather enjoyed it, it was nice to see the development of toys from being distinctly national (Japanese toys were easily distinguishable from, say China-made toys before the 1960s). And then when it hit the Swinging Sixties, the toys became more and more homogenous. It was nice to imagine those 50 years ago, children playing with dolls and cars, monkey marching bands and marbles instead of Angry Birds and Wii. Touching things and using their imagination to amuse themselves instead of staring at screens which don't leave much room for creative thought.

All in all, I think, my weekend with my brother and sister was brilliant.
How I thank god that I have them. :D

"Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah
I will not let you go"
-Fun.
-.

2011-11-25T00:41:00.002+08:00

Botanic Gardens
I like to think that little kids sometimes have the most important lessons to teach us. We often think we have lots to to impart to them, with our wealth of knowledge and experience, and we miss out on what they have to teach us. I reckon children are lots smarter than we give them credit for. They retain that wide-eyed curiosity that we lose with age, and it give them an edge over us.

Today Eu and I take her brother Eusebius to Botanic Gardens, and I learn lots from him. He's a brilliant kid, and I reckon he knows more about what art is than many of us do.

Here is his take on art, M&Ms, and picnic food.
"Art tastes like ham."

And it does! I would know; I tried it.

Botanic Gardens is beautiful. It's even more beautiful with a wonderful friend like Eu, a nice book, and a cute kid. Even though I spent an hour walking from the MRT end of Botanic Gardens to Swan Lake, and even though we had to make multiple trips to the Cool Room which, was, according to Eusebius, "super cool, get it?", and had to eat mushy M&Ms in ham, it was a wonderfully satisfying morning.

Quote of The Day:
"Okay then, you lead the way, smart girl."
- Eusebius

2011-11-15T23:54:00.002+08:00

honestly, why can't I be honest?

I've always wanted to sit in a little outdoor cafe in Paris and and eat a warm and buttery croissant while watching the people go by with their coats sweeping out behind them in the chilly air, while reading a book- and have some cute foreign boy sit down opposite me and say "I like (insert author here) too". It's always been something I felt I had to do, just like riding a big red bike with little strings attached to the handlebars in a long ankle-length skirt while listening to She's Got You High by Mumm-Ra down the pebbly backstreets of a obscure German countrytown. (I blame The History Boys)

What I've come to realise, though, is that all these fantasies can be fulfilled in Singapore. I don't need a beautiful red bike with little strings down the ends of the handlebars like Francoise Hardy- my banged up, rusty, trusty old bike with incredible suspension will do just fine. Pebbly backstreets of a rustic countrytown is pretty, for sure, but perhaps pedaling furiously through Bishan Park, with the wind rushing past you, singing the "ooo ooo OOOH oo" part of Temper Trap's Fader really loudly while bobbing dangerously on your bike, and grinning at the annoyed joggers who give you irritated stares is brilliant enough.

I don't need an outdoor cafe in Paris, all I need is an outdoor Starbucks beside the Singapore River, with a gorgeous view of the MBS. I don't need buttery croissants, I need to try new things, like Big Bens and Bagels. I don't need a cute foreign boy to complement my taste in books, all I need is a good friend who already knows what I like to read. I don't need to watch well dressed people walk by in their boots and coats and hats, perspiring tourists with cute and fat children are even more amusing. And that is what I realised while studying with Gracie at One Fullerton yesterday.

Also, while reading Rei's blog, I felt this immense respect for him- he's so brutally honest, something I aspire to be. I think it takes a heckload of courage to speak your mind, something which I lack. Sometimes I think about my life and wonder if I'm merely existing. I'd hate that. I don't remember, but I read somewhere that making friends was easy, it was making enemies that took courage. In fact, most of the great men and women who stood by their convictions were persecuted for it, including one who died on the cross.

I'm much too- as Alan Bennett calls it "acquiescent". Basically, that means I'd rather please than be honest. It reminds me of this article in The Economist that said it was human nature to lie. The article claimed that lying- it keeps everyone happy, it keeps us from being depressed all the time, it keeps marriages intact, it keeps countries from war, it keeps families from falling apart, friends from turing into enemies. I don't subscribe to that. I believe that there's always a way to break something to someone without lying, tactfully, and kindly. EVEN the age-old "do I look fat in this dress".

"You look beautiful" would suffice. It's the truth- and even if she does look fat- she looks beautiful. Is that not more important? Anyway, when a woman asks something like that, she's probably not looking for the answer, she want to know you love her.

So I'm going to try to be most honest. With people, but mostly, with myself.

2011-11-11T21:43:00.001+08:00

Renegade

I've just finished my History Paper 3. When I took a thick, inky black marker to cross out 11 on my calendar stuck to my cork-board, I felt a strange thrill creep up on me making grin like a fool.

I'm sitting, here at my desk, thinking that I haven't blogged in ages. I read up on blogging and journaling and I realised that I'm not the only one who finds blogging cathartic, a whole host of other people do too. I feel marginally comforted in this. It's not a waste of time, you detractor fools! It feels like I'm receiving a warm, crisp, cup of coffee from myself, and not the awful black coffee but heavenly hazelnut coffee or Nescafemocha.

That said, I will attempt to blog more regularly. It's so nice to tap tap tap tap away at the keys and not think too much and let the words appear on the screen on whim. It's nice after a tough and stressful paper. It's nice after taking a nice long run and cycle.

It's nice. It's 9:32 and I know this isn't the end- it isn't the end of my exams yet. I still have biology and business left, but it feels so wonderful to enter into this quasi-comatose state and see words words words floating around on my screen. I feel like a drunkard.

I attribute it slightly to the lack of sleep for the past few weeks- but mostly to my exhausted brain. It's not that exhausted, but it thinks it is. It is an irritatingly lazy brain. I wonder if there is a way to shock it alive from its current state of inertia. I don't even know why I'm chuckling at "inertia" because it's not even that funny- I'm just going slightly crazy, I reckon.

I can do this forever, type nonsense at myself like I'm insane when I should really, really be reading up on Business and Biology. Mr Connor would say this is stream-of-consciousness.

So I've finished my English, Maths and History papers, and it's been an absolute relief, like a big red ten tonne truck has been lifted off my back. I'm pretty certain a 45 is out of reach at this point- and I am hence aiming for a 42. Assuming I get 2 points for my EE and TOK and 6 for English and History, I'm praying awful hard that I'll manage a 7 for Biology and Business.

Oh exams, exams.

Go away.

I wanna be a renegade.

2011-09-28T02:15:00.001+08:00

I'm Just A Kid

18- that's me. Once again, it is past midnight, at 1:28am and I'm freezing in my study room with my hairs standing on end and cold seeping into my bones. I've flung my window wide open so the chilly air can come about me and keep me company.

On my birthday, I was reminded of how much I didn't deserve my friends who came down to my house to surprise me even though they had history/math/geog papers the next week, and even though I had done nothing to warrant such absolute loveliness.

Morning
In the morning at 830am my mother pounced on me like a great hunting cat and yelled at me to WAKE UP CHILD AND GET DOWNSTAIRS BECAUSE GRACE IS WAITING. I was all annoyed and rather disoriented and said "Why you getting so uptight, mom! I told her 830!"

And she said NNNNRGHHHH.

And I said NRGGHHHH back.

So I woke up and got downstairs (in my PJs) because Grace was waiting. We were supposed to have a nice breakfast together somewhere, and I was perplexed because I had told Grace to come up to my house but instead she stayed downstairs to wait for me.

SUDDENLY across my condominium's green field ran Hanjie (yes HJ you totally spoiled it XD hahaha not really) and then from the behind the bushes out popped the heads of Carissa, Je Sern, Jonnaye and Krystal shouting SURPRISE or HAPPY BIRTHDAY or something along those lines but I cannot remember because I was much too speechless and stunned. I was floored, because it never crossed my mind that they would have come down on a Saturday morning just for me. Plus, I had been practicing my shocked face for Monday when Carissa would surprise me in school. (See prev post)

They dragged me down a looneytoones themed party with hats and paperplates and table cloths and we all dined on the yummiest Macdonalds pancakes I'd ever eaten. I HAD ALWAYS WANTED A PICNIC BREAKFAST WITH LITTLE HATS AND PLATES (,: It was the most awesome birthday breakfast I had ever eaten. My heart was all bursty because I was so absolutely touched- these guys had prelims the next week, (Carissa had history and bio, and JS maths, HJ maths and history, Jonnaye history, Kryst bio and hist, and Grace maths and geog) and they bothered to drag themselves out of bed (Kryst didn't even SLEEP because she came straight from Avalon) to come down to my house at the break of dawn to make me happykids. And happykids I was.

I kept asking God what in the world I ever did to deserve such friends, and since I couldn't come up with much, I settled on telling him THANK YOU. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU. AND THANK YOU.

While feasting on delicious Macs breakfasts and teaching JS that "no one drinks fullcream milk" and taking pictures, and pouring cereal for ourselves and apologizing to my momma ("I looked downstairs from the balcony and saw all the little heads of your friend hiding behind the bushes, all crouched and ready and then I went to check in your room and your were ASLEEP."), three familiar faces strutted down my condominium pathway to our picnic table.

I did a doubletake and didn't believe what I was seeing- Cleo Qing and Shereen had come down to surprise me in the morning! I ran towards them like a dramatic girlfriend from the movies in tears (not really) and sputtered some embarrassing incoherent stuff. They had come to surprise me at my house, and after many tried, they had located my unit, only to discover that I was having a picnic downstairs.
So we scooted over and had a mass picnic with everyone and I spent the morning laughing at the people who made me who I am today- both in secondary school and in AC.

Afternoon
Then we traipsed off to surprise Vanessey whose birthday was last week in this beautiful Kbox room with the most spectacular cake I'd ever seen. I met Natsey, Gloria, Dionne and it was brilliant reliving the old days bellowing APOLOGIZE and LOW at the top of our voices, remembering sec3 camp all over again.

Night
At night, my momma decided to take us to a Peach Garden. My pops attempted to embarrass us all in the restaurant:

Pops: So, where are the peaches? Do you guys have many peaches around here?
Waitress: Ummm, ummm. Diu bu qi, wo bu zhi dao. (Sorry I don't know)
Pops: But it's called peach garden!
Waitress: *flustered* Umm!
Mom: Sorry, sorry, he thinks he's very funny.
Waitress: Deng deng, wo qu wen yi xia. (Wait a moment, I will ask someone)
Me: Hahahahahahah this place is ridiculous they should as least sell some peaches to deal with people like you.
Mom: *sigh*
Waitress Boss: Hi, sorry, we don't sell any peach items.
Pops: But wh...
Mom: (cuts him off) Yes, thank you :) (smiles)

I <3 poppa.

Before that, Bobbers, Ser, Inez, Weiting and Cra and Cryst, and Kryst crashed my house while I was showering before dinner. My mom kept hammering incessantly on the door hollering HURRY UP OUR RESERVATION IS GOING TO BECOME VOID so I sped bathed in under 5 minutes and like didn't really scrub and threw on the clothes I was wearing in the afternoon and ran into my study to grab my phone and then-

SURPRISEEEEEEEEE!!!!

I literally screamed "Ahhhhhhhhh" for about a minute back into their faces because my heart nearly fell out of my chest in shock at the multitude of people who had sprung up into my face in my study room. Loopy was chortling and asking me why I walked around my bedroom undressed and I said NO I DONT and she said YES YOU DO I said NNGHH. She had baked me the most scrumptious lava cake with hot chocolate that oozed out of the top in a heavenly warm sweetness that melted me down to my toes. Loopy DOESN'T BAKE. And she baked for me- and I was all oozy and melty inside. Bobbers and Ser and Cra and K wrote me the most tear-jerking letters which made me miss the old times so much I wanted to sit in a time machine and go back back back back to it all.

Perhaps the most wonderful part about my birthday was when Mei stuffed a printed letter into my hand during dinner at Peach Garden- and for some reason, tears began to stream down my face like a freaking Mississippi and wouldn't stop. I was sobbing and heaving like a old hyperventilating woman and my family was staring stunned at me and the restaurant was eerily quiet as if honoring my moment of sheer emotion overload. I couldn't bear the feeling of love that spread over me- Mei who had been so caught up in her exams lately had taken time to write me a card. It was as if all the prior pain had culminated in a moment of love and I couldn't stand the relief and happiness that flooded over me like a bright light.

But I'm really 18 now- and I cannot do anything but thank god for waking me up for 6570 (18X365) days. Thank god for breath. Thank god for helping me arise from sleep to a new shining day 6570 times. Thank god for rain and shine and pain and joy. Love. Madness. Hope. Infinite Joy. Infinnate Joy. With a church sound to it.

2011-09-24T03:29:00.000+08:00

You Make Me
Fall out of bed.
Sing like a bird.
Dizzy in my head.
Spin like a record.

I'm 2 hours and 46 minutes into being 18, and I am sitting in pitch dark typing this in case my grandfather stomps out and starts yelling at me to get into bed.

18 years old is a surreal, strange age to be. I'm on the cusp of womanhood- imma real woman now- watch me own this, man. Peter posted a FB picture of me years ago where I was wearing this t-shirt and completely disastrous pair of mannish looking pants that skimmed right below my knees and I was grinning like an idiot. I looked so completely blissful in my own little fashion timbuktu land.

Like Marshall, I WILL MAKE A SWEEPING DECLARATION TO BE MORE WOMANLY SO THAT I WILL NOT DIE A SAD WIDOW. And like Marshall, my friends will mock me and declare that my nature in etched in the middle syllabus of my name and all is futile.

But unlike Marshall, I will be the epitome of 18 year old womanhood. Just watch me.

I spent a first moments of my 18 year old-ness jogging my my favourite boy. My papa and I went for a brilliant midnight run and we ran till I couldn't feel my lungs and the dark night air washed away my worries. Then my sister gave me the best present of all- a hug.

And she told me: "Jie, I really really love you. And I'm sorry if I hurt you. If you go abroad to study I'm going to miss you terribly."

And then I said: "I love you, Mei."

And then she said: "I love you more."

And hence my birthday was made.

That's all I need, I think. My family, my friends (some who actually remember my birthday, which is honestly something that really touches me because I always try so hard to remember birthdays but fail so I understand the difficulty), and God.

My other favourite man is my Gong Gong. He is the cutest, loveliest, most belligerent man I have ever had the fortune to meet.

Carissa, the beautiful child, wanted to surprise me on Monday in school for my birthday- and she called home to ask my Aunty what type of cake I preferred.
ALAS ALAS-

my gongong picked up. As a third person spectator who was sitting at the dining table, I imagine the conversation went something like:

Cars: (Disguising her voice as a boy's) Hello, can I speak to Aunty Yeni please?

Gong Gong: (Bellows in his semi-deafness) HELLO MARCUS? AUNTY YENI IS NOT AT HOME SHE ALREADY GO AND FETCH YOU.

Cars: Um. No no, I want to speak to Aunty Yeni. I'm not Marcus.

Gong Gong: WHAT?

Cars: I'm Amanda's friend Carissa but...

Gong Gong: *Cuts her off because he cannot really hear much* AMANDA ITS YOUR FRIEND, THE CARISSA GIRL!

Cars: No, no! We want to surprise her on monday with some cake...

Gong Gong: SHE WANTS TO SURPRISE YOU ON MONDAY WITH SOME CAKE.

Cars: *Dies inside*

Gong Gong: *Perhaps he realises his folly* (Whispers very audibly) Your friend wants to surprise you on monday with some cake.

I grabbed the phone and started to laugh and laugh and laugh till I nearly choked on my spit and fainted and Carissa was sad because "My first time planning a surprise for anyone, and what a terrible, terrible failure
:("

But I said it was the funniest thing that ever happened to me and that she just made my day and would she please still surprise me on Monday- and I promised I would be very very surprised.

I love my GongGong and Carissa so much I could burst with Happiness. I really could.
Here's a picture of my Other Favourite Boy.

2011-09-14T20:57:00.000+08:00

And We Feel Like Rain,
When The Words All Sound The Same.

To: Wile.E and Speedy Gonzalez, the genius behind it all.

Today I am reminded of three things.

First,
Running in the rain barefoot is not pretty. See Exhibit A

Exhibit A.

2. Running in the rain barefoot is sometimes painful. See Exhibit B.

Exhibit B.

3. Running in the rain is bloodybrilliant.

It's my virgin Solo Barefoot Rain Run and I might or might not have received Strange Looks but I couldn't see because I wasn't wearing my glasses, and also, it was raining. I was running and running and running and I couldn't feel and I the cold was stinging and the winds made my eyes hurt and my shirt stuck to my body and Motion City played like a record in my head

"And the pain reminds us that we're still alive."

So, thank you, you two.
(-:

Sincerely,
Your Faithful Apprentice.

2011-09-01T21:26:00.001+08:00

So They Stuck To The Small Things

It's teacher's-day-cum-last-day-of-school-sort-of.

After my jog, I looked out from my balcony and into the black-dark sky, into the wind, the wide expanse of space, and felt like an insignificant ink dot in the passing of time.

To survive my insignificance, I have decided to stick to the small things, the small blessings, the small gifts from my good old God. I can think of many small things, but today will begin with someone who left me with many things- memories, laughter, and joy.

So, here goes.

MS EU

I've never had a teacher who came close to what Ms Eu was to me- she seemed like a little 5 year old child stuck in an adult's body. She yelled, she jumped, she hopped, she pranced around barefoot, she threw food at us, she brandished marker pens like a samurai sword and threatened the boys with castration. She told us the lamest jokes, drew the most immature pictures you could ever, ever imagine.

And this crazy lady taught me how to think, she gave me confidence in my writing, she updated me about world affairs, and always, brought joy to my week.

So, Ms Eu:

For the first lesson when you screamed strange things like YOU NEHS NEHS and jumped around like a patient from the mental asylum.

For never judging.

For caring so much that you grabbed your Xstudent to help our class with oral.

For always being the happiest, craziest teacher to us, no matter your mood.

For understanding us hormonal teenagers.

For stuffing us with food like we were your favorite little farm animals.

For treating us all as individuals.

For making me laugh so hard I cried every. single. lesson.

For saying Joel brought his whole family to the first SOT lesson+dog (because everytime I think about it -even now- I crack up like a loony)

For introducing me to the world with videos.

For not only teaching at, but learning with us.

For talking to me after/before lessons and asking me how I was doing.

For buying me my first piñata .

For trying so, so, hard.

And most of all, for loving us all.

Thank you, Ms Eu.
Happy Teachers Day(:

2011-08-08T01:20:00.000+08:00

You Did Not Bear The Shame

G, S and M have been showing me how to live my life- properly. G taught and is teaching me how to seize the moment, to think out the box, out of the norm, out of the conventional, she's teaching me what carpe diem really means, and it's making me very excited.

It's drawing closer and closer to IOC and Prelims and End of Years and somehow I just feel like living it up more and more, and I'm beginning to sense the urgency of it all. I have only 4 months- only 4 months left to spend with the most darling people in my life- Grace, Krystal, Carissa, Trish, Jonnaye, Judith, Ryan, JS, Hanjie, GidX2, Limheng, Darren, Marcus, Sien, Leeks, Vanessa, Yiann, Gordon, Emily, Angie, Carmen, Vange, Mong, Joshua, Nick, Neo, TimG, Sarah, Anna, Toj, JK, Julian, Eus, Wenxi, Esther, JY - and all those who have touched me in some way or another.

I feel so melancholy, because after I graduate, I won't see these people around school anymore- I won't beable to bumb into them along the corridors, I won't hear Limheng's annoying YALAMMM or Sarah's "AMANDA!" along the corridors or Eus's cheery morning greetings, or Joshua's intensities, and Nick's loudness and Darren's random questions and discussion about our faith, and Neo's outbursts of superpowers, and Grace's silly schemes, and Krystal's perpetual hunger during and between classes and C's daily treats and this and that and this and that and all that which makes me very happy.

I have gone running with (real names not revealed to protect identity of those involved) Speedy Gonzales and Wile E Coyote on Thursday, and under the pouring sheets of rain, and dripping, we bonded through (in the words of Gonzales) "pain and rain". I have red and raw blisters to show for it, and a mocking Mr Connor who made jibes at my running in the rain. It was brilliant- I would never forget how I felt I was living, I was in the present, I was there, I was feeling and being. I might have gotten a demerit for it, but perhaps it was all for the best.

On Friday, I got into trouble again- this time because I was lazy to climb 5 storeys down to retrieve a Mac charger from JY. Grace decided that we should fling down a rope to hoist the charger up- saving energy and having some fun in the process. We tied together bits and pieces of clothing, jackets, and kindly donated ties from the boys and slowly lowered our makeshift rope down.

Alas, alas, it was caught in the 3rd level window. I erroneously assumed it was a student who had hindered out brilliant scheme, and yelled down "HEY YOU! LET GO OF OUR ROPE!"

Call it what you will- they were famous last words.

A teacher's voice wafted up through the shutters to "let go of the rope immediately." I was stunned into silence and there was a huge flurry and frenzy amongst us as we tried to deny involvement- but my jackets and the boy's ties were in jeopardy and I did not want to be responsible for anyone getting in trouble for bad attire and hypothermia- and we had to retrieve the clothing somehow.

Fortunately, my courage (or stupidity) was not misplaced, and Mdm S was an amazing sport about it, and her class was in stitches. Mdm even told me that she couldn't believe her eyes at first- and I had to apologize profusely for disrupting her class with swinging clothes outside her window. Trust me, it was a difficult apology to make without cracking up.

Then we had a wonderful squash dinner, where we said farewell to Coach Tim, and C and I spent a wonderful time at my place<3
Tonight I watched Valkyrie and I feel so blasphemous for thinking that death is romantic- when it isn't. The director of Valkyrie, Bryan Singer, created an utterly magnificent movie. He's an absolute genius. The script, the music, the actors (Tom Cruise/Jamie Parker), came together like a perfect blend of ingredients, creating the most terrifyingly satisfying movie I've ever watched since Crash and Inception.

The music, I think, was the biggest plus- it was so elegiac, so mournful, and so artfully placed. For example, (SPOILER ALERT) when Olbricht and Lieutenant Haeftan were executed, the music was swelling and sad and crashing, like a huge devastating wave, but when Stauffenberg (Cruise) was shot, the music just stopped, sudden, shocking right after the gunshot. The silence was like a blinding smashing of reality, a reminder of the reality of situation- the reality of the courageous and bloody sacrifices these Germans made during Hitler's Reich. It was a reminder that this movie was not fiction, but a reenactment of history, of the truth. It was a reminder of the reality of death, deaths.

The script of the movie is so brilliant- I watched the last 15 minutes of it about 7 times so I can remember exactly what the characters say. My favorite line is when Stauffenberg says to Olbricht right before his name is called to step up to be shot, executed, "Look them in the eyes. They will remember you."

It's so brave, so painful, so stupid, so courageous- it's sheer and open defiance in the face of oppression and wretched, debased authority. It's almost poetic, but I hate to call it so- it seems wrong and shallow.

All this is fresh from memory because I replayed it so many times my brother thought I was a morbid fool. Which perhaps I am?

The movie was fantastic because it felt like it was made "so that the world would know that we were not all like him". This is to quote one of the Generals before he was executed for treason, plotting to assasinate Hitler in the July 20 Plot, Valkyrie.

This is on the German Resistance Memorial in Berlin
"You did not bear the shame
You resisted
Sacrificing your life
For freedom, justice and honour"

This post is dedicated to Stauffenberg and all those who fought for what their sound heart was telling them- that being a traitor to the German state under Hitler was the right thing to do, and that to be apathetic, to fall into the status quo, who knew that to accept the treacherous atrocities was a cowardly choice.

This post is dedicated to those who possessed the courage to make thing happen.
Thank you for teaching me courage.

2011-07-31T23:07:00.000+08:00

More Than Words Can Wield

These moments grip me so hard I feel like crying and laughing at the same time and I don't even know why. I attribute it either to womanly foibles or my out-of-whack emotional makeup. I think I am more a ball of matter than a thinking being because I feel so much, so fast, so intensely, so rapidly. I imagine I'm a little ball of emotions, melting from from a stormy blue hue, to a warm and golden cadmium yellow, to a ebbing peaceful shamrock green, to a screaming scarlet. Changing, changing, and changing, like a chameleon high on aphrodisiac. I reckon it's why I have little sense of subtlety, because I'm feeling so much that everything strains at the seams, waiting to burst the dams of my facade.

This weekend was one I want to remember forever. I am wrapping it up in a nicely packaged box and placing it near my heart. Friday began with cross-country where I felt genuinely happy while running in a new place, hearing it all pound in my head, feeling my heart beat like a oversized african drum, feeling the wind in my face, feeling my own ragged breath, feeling the smiles of the wonderful teachers who were stationed at different stops. Feeling, feeling, feeling, straining at the limits of my physical capabilities, and then spending time with T, talking, jogging and learning. You've been a perfect present from God to me y'know Trish? It's been wonderful talking and raving and running with you- you're a feel-er too, and it's absolutely brilliant.

Then I spent the rest of morning gallivanting around West Coast, trying to get the the double Js to lighten up, acting like a 5 year old with Grace, throwing caution down the freeway. And I don't care if you tell me kid means baby goat; it sounds more happy than child to me, so deal with it, please. We found an obscure shop selling all types of tape, drank Koi and then in the evening I watched my friends do their stuff on stage. It was a stunning show of talent, molded around Natalie's script, so honest, so genuine. It took our deepest insecurities, things not nice to think about, unpleasant to face, uncomfortable and awkward, took them and turned them into a play of (at risk of sounding like a overused motivational speech) fighting for what you believe it. Yep, that was slightly cringeworthy- I'm sorry, but it was the best I could think of!

Saturday was languid and slow, of realizations and sleepy mornings, and of sadness and meeting strangers, and old friends, and midnight runs. I think I might be in love, in love with the night. Which is very dangerous, as being in love usually is, because school is in the morning, and I am a creature who is fueled by sleep.

And then there's death- which is so pervasive and unfathomable.

SY has just passed away and it's disconcerting. Uncomfortable, and I'm not sure what to feel. It's not even confusing, it's like I'm not feeling anything, and it feels awful because I cannot summon the sadness and it won't come. I feel heartless.

I don't think it's normal for it to be more difficult to decide what to feel then to deal with the natural influx of emotions. I don't feel sad, because he was suffering and I think he'll be much happier in heaven where he probably is right now. All I feel is traces of pity for his family, and I feel like sweeping them into my arms and giving them all the comfort I can extract from my being.

Dear Lord,

I know you will take SY into your loving arms. I offer up this prayer for him and his family, that you will cover them in your love, to take away the hollowness from their hearts.

Amen.

I've said it before, but death painful if only for those it leaves behind.

When I die- I want there to be a celebration, with a live band and I want my ashes to be thrown into the wind. When I die, those I leave behind will remember me, but they will rejoice.

2011-07-24T14:00:00.000+08:00

I Wont Share You

It's been a while. I have just eaten a huge, huge lunch (instant noodles+curry+prata+blueberry yoghurt+apple+kiwi+cadbury chocolate) and my tummy is so full I feel like all my energy has accumulated and pooled in there and my brain is a-floating somewhere away in the sky. I'm listening to "Asleep" by The Smiths and the aircon is blasting and I'm cold and Morrissey is singing me to sleep is and it's all adding to my semi comatose state.

It feels like one of those days where everything is still and quiet and suddenly all your hairs stand on end for no reason. It feels like of those days where music is not words but emotion. It feels like one of those days you like you're in a dream and you can't decide if it's a good dream or a bad one. The Smiths are gorgeous. Asleep does something to you- it's The Smiths at their darkest display of human emotion, magical as well as destructive, a song so deeply tortured yet enchantingly beautiful, most like the shadows of the human soul.

The past week has gone by quick and I never knew it was possible to feel such contrasting emotions in such a limited frame of time. It has been multicoloured, from the fervent splash of happiness stemming from a delightful Racial Harmony celebration, to the slow emotional ebb of pulsing reality when we received our midterm results. Then there was the wonderful comfort of seeing Alex, Tieh, Shaunald, and some other seniors return to visit school again- because I knew, I just knew, that Queen was right- These Are The Days Of Our Lives.

2011-07-19T00:14:00.000+08:00

(On Two Kinds of Laughter)

Have been reading this author called Milan Kundera lately. I went to the library to look for a book called "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" by him, but it was loaned out- I found another gem instead:

The Book Of Laughter and Forgetting

It's a sad, strange and disconcerting book, with sharp moments of wisdom and dollops of disturbing scenes which stir up your thoughts like a Wizard of Oz-esque tornado, sending them spinning and churning like Toto and Dorothy. It's a book about life, about politics, about sex, about smoking, about thinking, about poets, about writing, about more thinking, about death, about laughter, and basically about everything elusive and human. In fact it's rather unsettling. I wouldn't recommend reading it while emotionally unstable; might be dangerous.

There are some excerpts which I kept re-reading and re-reading because I couldn't understand it, yet it made so much sense. It made no sense, yet it made so much sense. Reminded me of G 's quote today from The Civil Wars- I don't love you, but I always will.

Here Kundera postulates on (two kinds of laughter)

"The first time an angel heard the devil's laughter, he was dumbfounded. That happened at a feast in a crowded room, where the devil's laughter, which is terribly contagious, spread from one person to another. The angel clearly understood that such laughter was directed against God and against the dignity of his works. He knew that he must react swiftly somehow, but felt weak and defenseless.

Unable to come up with anything of his own, he aped his adversary. Opening his mouth, he emitted broken, spasmodic sounds, but giving them an opposite meaning; whereas the devil's laughter denoted the absurdity of things, the angel on the contrary meant to rejoice over how well ordered, wisely conceived, good and meaningful everything here below was.

Laughable laughter is disastrous. Even so, the angels have gained something from it. They have tricked us with semantic imposture. Their imitation of laughter and (the devil's) original laughter are both called by the same name. Nowadays we don't even realize that the same external display serves two absolutely opposed internal attitudes. There are two different kinds of laughters, and we have no word to tell one from the other."

Semantic imposture.
They've tricked us with language and meaning and life- they've tricked us they've tricked us they've TRICKED US. Which laughter do I laugh? NO. They shouldn't both be called laughter to begin with, they've tricked us. The devil's sound should be called something else. I reckon "haighter" would be a good name. "Laugh" is a homonym for "Love" and "Haight" sounds like "Hate".

Haighter [Haig-ter]
noun
The action of making sounds of unadulterated evil.

ORIGIN Related to Dutch haten (verb) and German hassen (verb) or Old English hate (noun), also to laugh.

And here's another-

"Laughter? Do people ever care about laughter? I mean real laughter, beyond joking, mockery, ridicule. Laughter, an immense and delicious sensual pleasure, wholly sensual pleasure...

I said to my sister, or she said to me, come over, shall we play laughter? We stretched out side by side on a bed and began. By pretending, of course. Forced laughter. Laughable laughter. Laughter so laughable it made us laugh. Then it came, real laughter, total laughter, taking us into it's immense tide. Bursts of repeated, rushing, unleashed laughter, magnificent laughter, sumptuous and mad... And we laugh our laughter to the infinity of laughter.. O laughter! Laughter of sensual pleasure, sensual pleasure of laughter; to live is to laugh profoundly."

Laughter; the strangest things like this crack me up-

Seeing Cedric holding his beloved pooh he had left forsaken at my house one day after a week was strangely funny. I texted my aunt and uncle when I found it and for some reason it was unbearable funny at the time.

I cannot think why.

Perhaps it was the strange but captivating charm of watching a little boy and pooh reunite.

Today was supposed to be a short and sweet post about my brilliant weekend meeting Bing/Wei/Dear/Nao/Shee/Qian again for a wonderful picnic near Swan Lake at Botanic, like a dream, with cheerful weather and gentle winds and green hills and happiness deep in my soul.

It was supposed to be nostalgic reminiscence of the old days with the gang, a lively ode to BH and newly minted in his 19 year old glory.

It was supposed to be about how Harry Potter 7PII was melancholy and nerve wracking but ended on a comically unsatisfying note.

It was supposed to be a general rant about Neville's heroism and my beautiful Mei, and how stupendously glad I am to be her sister.

I reckon I get too distracted by my own thought sometimes- it is awfully annoying.
Next time, maybe.

But for now-
OH THE PLACES YOU'LL GO!

2011-07-13T00:27:00.000+08:00

Skinny Love.

Dear God,
I want to scream and shout and cry and laugh and sing and kick and yell and holler and hit and sob. I want to live.

Amen.

2011-07-06T18:02:00.000+08:00

She Spoke Words of Wisdom
Some people think that we have to go on epic globe trotting journeys to uncover the unfathomable mysteries of life. Some people think only a 3 year long holy mountain pilgrimage will reveal the secrets of being alive. And then there are the lovely Douglas Adams fanatics who believe that they already know the meaning of life, the universe and everything.

3 year long holy pilgrimages up unpronounceable mountains in South East Asia might well provide the deep insight we all inherently search for. I don't even deny it- in fact, it sounds like a promising adventure for me. Perhaps I will finally find an answer to why I waste my time in the day and then stay up panicking and studying for tomorrow's exam. (Like thus).

The reason why I am thinking about wisdom is because of my darling Aunty Yeni. She's been with our family since I was 10- that's 8 years ago. She saw me up through my angst ridden pre-pubescent years into my current self actualized state of being. What she has done for our family is obviously well above the job scope of an average maid- she juggles being a a cook, a counselor, a cleaner, a nanny, a Markie-watchdog, a chauffeur (kinda), a masseuse, a personal shopper, a collector of old newspapers, a Missus Fix-it, a finder-of-lost-things, a control to my Gonggong's stubbornness, a friend, and a source of never ceasing comfort.

Our family adores her- and we absolutely cannot do without her. We resemble a rabble of lost sheep without her belligerent directions, explanations and guidance. My brother closes out his Youtube window instead of just minimizing it when she roars "I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING, MARCUS". And when she bellows "I'M COMING TO CHECK" he actually switches off his computer, which is more than my feeble threats and my Gongong's nagging can do.

My sister depends on my Aunty Yeni for everything- including making her bed, finding her lost items ("Aunty YEEEEENI I can't find my library books!"), cooking, and basically most of her daily requirements.

My Gongong needs Aunty Yeni because she can talk to him for hours on end, guffawing at his jokes, howling "MY DARLING GONG GONG" when after they argue about one of their random marketing issues. And even if he won't ever admit it, I bet he'll miss her the most of all of us when she leaves for Indonesia two years later. She's his constant 4-D buying, marketing, news watching, massaging, hawker center buddy. She relieves his loneliness- the loneliness of growing old without my Mama.

My parents love Aunty Yeni too- she gives my mother the best massages, makes her her favorite mee siam every Friday, and when she has cravings for porridge on Saturdays, Aunty Yeni never fails to whip up a steaming pot for the whole family. My Aunty Yeni calls my mother "my mommy" even though they are almost the same age, and my mom refuses to let her go home, desperately lengthening her contract for as long as it can go.

Aunty Yeni appreciates my daddy's photographic/biking enthusiasm, and keeps his expensive equipment in shining, tip-top shape, all the time. She even tells her friends to shop at Coldwear to boost business for my dad's company.

No one could adore Aunty Yeni and her quirkiness more than me. She provides a blurry comfort in the morning as she gives me morning massages that shock me out of bed when I miss my alarm clock. She is a continuous source of love, adoration, food, advice, and comfort. She rather knows inherently when I'm in an awful mood, and cooks my favorite yi-mee, or creeps up behind me with a cup of milo to cheer me up. And it is in this simplicity that I find the most profound wisdom stems.

Today she was talking about her hateful husband, who allegedly waited for her for 8 years to get hitched. When Aunty Yeni offered him a huge sum of her savings to start a business, he splurged it all away and didn't return a scrap, nor bother to apologize for spending half her life-savings. Aunty Yeni is surprising calm about all this, though. She's got a beautifully optimistic outlook on life.

"I've got my Gonggong, I've got my mam, and my sir, and my 3 children. God has blessed me. I am happy."

This from the woman who grew up dirt poor, slogging away to upkeep her family back in Indonesia. This from the woman whose incompetent husband took her precious savings of 20 years working as a maid in Singapore to set up a doomed business and then splurged the money away.

This is wisdom.
If I could swear, I would swear it's wisdom. Since I cannot, I believe, very strongly, that it is wisdom.

Then she taught me somethings about life that I've always knew, but not really known, like how most things that strike us are things we sort-of-knew presented in a clearer way. My Gonggong had presented a picture of her going back to Indonesia and being courted by handsome men.

"You can't eat a handsome man." she observed. "You can't lick him when you're hungry. Only very salty."

I had laughed so hard the noodles I was eating nearly slithered out of my nose. Ick.

"Why you laugh? It's true. You cannot eat the handsome man. No matter how hungry your stomach, no matter how little money, you only can lick the handsome man. No use."

Then she went on to share with me that

"Love is from your little deepest deepest heart. When you love the man, make sure he love you very very much, otherwise your little heart will break because man is not good sometimes."

She basically taught me the very principals of life and it's simplicity, how to guard your heart for the right man, and to look beneath the appearances. All in her very own way.

Wisdom can come from anywhere, as long as we are listening.

She spoke words that would melt in your hand
She spoke words of wisdom
In the basement
Many surprises await you
- Two Door Cinema Club. Undercover Martyn.

2011-06-19T23:59:00.001+08:00

Young Folks

It's Father's Day today.
To celebrate, our family traipsed off to Sentosa for 2 days and booked a room in Sentosa Resort. It's a quaint looking resort located opposite Siloso beach, near the Wavehouse. Perhaps the best thing about the resort is that it is built around a huge, crashing waterfall which tumbled into the swimming pool. Evidently it is man made, but it was very majestic anyway. I've never before seen a waterfall in the midst of a hotel swimming pool, and it wasnt a measly 1 meter water fall either, the lousy sort where you duck your head into a crappy little cranny and feel twitch in impatience as water flows onto your back from a little rock.

It was certainly nothing like that. It was much closer to a real waterfall, about 7 meters high, with (ostensibly) purified, organic, oxygenated water pouring down from the skies like a sheet of hail, smashing belligerently (I am having a rabid impassioned love affair with this word because I am reading about a Soviet anti-religious organisation called "The Union of The Belligerent Atheists". It is extremely strange to me that people go out of their way to proclaim themselves to be "belligerent", and I find it very perplexing. Hence I have been using the word copiously as it reminds me of a bunch of belligerent atheists railing against the heavens like little warrior ants, brandishing their little spears and knives, pumping them into the air, shouting of their belligerence and fearsome nature. Honestly guys, stick to theorizing) into the pool.

The short two day vacation was spent with the most adorable bunch of children, who completely charmed me their, well, charm. There was darling Emma and her silly older brother Evan who had turned so white and sat so stiffly on the airlift up the luge that it cracked me up. There was little 4 year old Dawn, the baby femme fatale who scared the bejesus out of my horrified younger brother with her very unsubtle attempts to hold his hand, and proclamations of his sudden new status as her "boyfriend". When she announced nonchalantly to the lady at the buffet breakfast booth that she was "going to see her boyfriend kor kor Marcus", I was terribly amused. Her mother, Aunty Sue was explained "It happens alot. Boys usually get very terrified of Dawn". My brother sat there trembling in the face of her attention, shifting uncomfortably in his seat- it was the most ridiculously funny scene I'd witnessed in a long time.

Then there was David. Perhaps one the most flattering things that could happen to you is when a 7 year old develops a crush on you. David is an awkward kid with huge, sad, beguiling eyes and surfer-boy tanned skin. I had taken care of him when he was 6, and he remembered me as Manda Jie Jie. His mom, Aunty Jen, told me surreptitiously that he had had a crush on me- but then he acquired a girlfriend called Bea on his trip to Phuket last week.

Aunty Jen: David's catechism class has the most beautiful girls. Right David?
David: No.
Aunty Jen: Yes! There is this exotic little darling, she looks like a young version of Penelope Cruz called Maya, and these pretty pair of Chinese twins, and anther very gorgeous little dear who's half French.
David: I don't like them. I like Bea.
Aunty Jen: Why not? They are very pretty!
David: Because they laughed at the boys when we lost to them. Bea would never laugh at me.

All this was novel to me. It was also very exciting to have a little 7 year old have a crush on you. I was intensely flattered and shone with sheepish glee all the way home in the car. But it is also very unnerving to discover that such issues plague a child as young as 4 years old. I'm convinced that relationships are starting earlier through the generations- I have no recollection of ever having feelings for a boy when I was 7. Much of my mind was occupied with remembering which was my left hand (the clenched one) and my right hand (my swimming lessons were traumatic because when my instructor said "Amanda, lift your left hand out of the water when you're doing free-style!" I wouldn't remember which hand it was because you couldn't clench your hand and swim, and I would cry), and other more pressing issues like how to steal the last kit-kat from the fridge without my anyone finding out it was me who ate it.

Come to think of it, that still happens now. But- not the point.

Point is, the only time I thought about boys was when they poured sand down my shirt at the playground, and when we played block catching together, and when they had burping contests. And all those times I only thought of them in one way: sweaty and gross. Then I would join in.

So anyway, I had heaps of senseless fun with the motley crew of little hormone riddled children, as we had slide competitions at the brilliant swimming pool, rode on the Segway, and played on the Luge, and built sandcastles at the beach, screaming and yelling. I had so much fun I nearly forgot that I had piles of unfinished work back in the hotel room. But not really. It was rather difficult to forget.

At night, I took C, JS and Grace to church for the first time, and then had supper. I'm not sure if they enjoyed Mass itself, but I was really grateful to them for bothering to come down. It felt really nice because I wanted them to experience what I experience every week at mass. It felt like a was opening up a part of me to them. Friends are brilliant things(:

My Papa and I took a night walk around Sentosa when I got back from Mass- I love spending time with my Dad because he's such a wonderful guy. I reckon we're similar in many ways, our easygoing nature, our fascination with the Great Outdoors, our penchant for adventure, our streak of recklessness, our ability to strike up conversation with strangers, our forgetfulness, and our deep and possessive love for people we care about. In the morning, both of us leaped out of bed at 5am to catch the sunrise. Mama, Mei and Markie were groaning and griping as we dragged them from their quilts to hike across the beach in time for the sunrise.

It was sad that we didn't catch the sunrise because we were on the Southern Most point of Singapore (the wrong side). Apparently it wasn't the best place to wait for the sunrise- but we had fun anyway.

I really love my daddy, so much. He's so selfless in so many ways, and probably the nicest man I know. Thank you God, for blessing me with such a fantastic daddy. HAPPY FATHER'S DAY.

After this mini-vacation, I reckon I should really get down to work and plunge myself into a work-induced semi-comatose state.

PEACE OUT(:

"It doesn't matter what we do,
where we are going to,
We can stick around
And see this night through."
Young Folks. Peter Bjorn and John.

2011-06-11T01:03:00.001+08:00

It's close to midnight, and I'm listening to Metric on loop.

Metric is amazing. How do they do it? How do these people make such amazing music? It makes me want to cry. Such brilliance. I mean- Grow Up and Blow Away. That's wisdom right there! It's absolutely frightening, growing up, and then getting blown away by reality. Blown away by the truth, which, for all of TOK's propagation of it being the ultimate pinnacle of knowledge, is sometimes the last thing we want to hear.

I'm in the middle of my June vacation now, and I've been busy trying to finish my assortment of assignments, while struggling through a mountain of history notes. I kid you not. When I say mountain, I actually mean tremulous, foreboding piles of rainforest carnage. It's all splayed across my study room floor, silently mocking me in its sheer volume. I can practically see Mao in my dreams, and really, he is the last person I want in my head while I'm free of his iron rule on my time.

I know I'll get through it, though. It'll take some time, packets of yummy hazelnut coffee, inky fingers, blurry eyes, frozen grapes, and the cold blooded destruction of a small forest (I'm sorry!), but I'll make it. I will. I know I will.

Sometimes, life has a habit of flooding over me and rushing me along in it's overwhelming tide. I often forget what I'm doing here. It helps to remind myself, I reckon. In no order of importance:

1. God
Probably the only thing that keeps me going when I'm in one of those existential ruts is vaguely recalling that I have a purpose- to do my best in everything, not for myself, but so as God's little baby girl, he'll be glorified. I sometimes think of it as doing my best in everything so that people will know God is an awesome daddy.

He doesn't usually descend like a saving grace, to infuse me new found bursts of motivation. God's not a powerbar- because he's not temporary. Mostly, he is my internal compass that keeps me in the right direction. It's all rather passive, and it often requires large amounts of discipline to not throw my notes out of the window and lose myself in one of Gerald Durrell's paradise islands.

2. My friends
The thought of getting through all this together, all of us in IB- trudging through all of it together and emerging stronger, albeit sleep deprived and jaded, but nevertheless, armed with new ideas, dreams, and convictions- together. Battling through the IB storm is worth it because of the crew members I've found, and we are definitely sailing together in the adventure that awaits us.

(Did I say Pirates wasn't that terrific? Depp was a swashbuckling darling, and as always, he charmed with his wonderfully kooky mannerisms. But the plot felt slightly ridiculous and contrived at times. If it had been one of Neil Gaiman's movie adaptations, I would have sat back and soaked it all in. But it wasn't. It was Pirates of the Caribbean, and I was expecting raw, gritty, and slightly gory pirate warfare. Being assaulted with a carelessly developed side-plot and a seemingly random additions made the plot seem highly disorganized and unnecessarily cluttered. Although could be that I missed Orlando and Keira and I'm being shamelessly biased, or those two retarded pirates who popped their eyeballs were not there to provide some slapstick comedy. Whatever it is, it was lucky that what the plot lacked in originality and clarity, dear Johnny redeemed with his screwball logic and wit<3 LOVE JOHNNAAYE)

But I digress.

3. My family
I want to do my parents proud because they've put in so much effort for me. Plus I want to bring them to Corfu island when I have enough money. AND MONEY MUST BE EARNED SOMEHOW. Unfortunately. If only I had my own little sailboat- I'd sail away with them. I'll be the captain, and they'll climb aboard. (I love Styx<3)

On another note, I've just watched two movies- Crash by the brilliant Paul Haggis, and Inglorious Basterds. Two words: Mind.Blown. Or is that one? Ah, whatever.

On board I'm The Captain
So climb aboard
We'll search for tomorrow
On every shore.
-Come Sail Away. Styx.

2011-05-29T13:27:00.000+08:00

Let There Be Love

Do you ever wonder about dreams? They are so tangible, those images in your head. They materialize in your head, seemingly indelible, hauntingly elegiac. I just had the most awful dream- and I woke up from my sleep sobbing like my heart had been physically wrenched out of my chest. I had dreamt of my Ahma sitting at the dining table, lonely, neglected and small. I dreamt that my family and I sat around the table, talking and laughing while she watched, humble and unpretentious. I dreamt that we were out shopping and she trailed behind us, burdened with many plastic bags, while my family traipsed in the front. Her face in my dream, so broken, shattered me completely.

When I awoke my heart heaved with relief because it was only a dream- yet the empty hollowness of her absence in my life was so tangible I couldn't stop crying. I gave my sister a terrible scare. Death is such a curious thing, its very nature is so oddly bewildering. I reckon I was dreaming of my grandmama because we went to visit my uncle's urn right before I took my nap. My dad's face when he gently brushed his brother's photo was so heart-rending, and his silent tears nearly broke my heart.

It was almost 4 years ago when my uncle passed away- and still, my father prays for him every single night. Every. Single. Night. Perhaps the only cruel thing about death is who it leaves behind.

I miss my grandmama, and her homecooked recipes, her ability to boss my gonggong around, her weak hugs, her tired and warm smile, her hands. She used to to send me for ballet lessons, sitting outside the room talking to the other mothers and maids. She used to make the most heavenly pineapple tarts, the aroma of freshly baked tarts smelt exactly like home. Her insistence that porridge was the best meal has stuck with me up till this day- I owe my strange inexplicable partiality for slightly tasteless (she was against our practice of adding copious amount of light sauce), steaming hot, porridge, sprinkled with tiny ikan bilis to her. I miss the black chair she used to sit on, which smelt of her and the comforting scent of vix.

She was the kindest woman I knew, and had an all-encompassing love for everything. She helped out in church, she swam, she gardened, she struggled with English (she never went to school), she offered unbelievable amounts of money to her sibling who needed them, she doted on us with abandon.

I miss her- even if I have no right over her time on earth. God wanted her, and so she went, happily and peacefully.

But that doesn't make me miss her less.

I love you, mama.

School has been very busy, and we've only just finished all our work. I haven't had much time to think about things, write, or reflect. My spare hours were spent reading to destress. The satisfaction, though of watching heated papers appear from my printer and then finally stapling the stack of papers together, knowing that it is final and last draft, is wonderful.

To reward myself, I decided to watch Lion King on Thursday. The props were mind-blowing. The intricacies of the carvings on the lion masks, the whole African-tribal atmosphere, and the entire wooden-totem quality of the giant Mufasa was tremendously skillful. The stage was awash with vibrant colours and sounds, and the entire night was an rather pleasant visual assault. J was convinced that the "guy who designed the props deserved an award".

There were a few rather amusing Singaporean references in the play as well, ranging from "Merlion" to "Obiang", which were so utterly shocking in their discrepancy among a largely African cast that they were funny.

Today is the start of June break, but it wouldn't really be a break- and I well know that. I will be a month of getting down to work and preparing of Mids. I know we'll make it through together. Today, however, I am rewarding myself with another show- "James and the Giant Peach". I'm taking my younger cousins and brother to see it, and as it goes, I seem more excited than them about it.

Excuse me, too busy,
You're writing your tragedy,
These mishaps, you bubble wrap
When you've no idea what you're like
- Let Go. Frou Frou.

2011-04-18T02:00:00.001+08:00

On A Glittering Cloud

Watching Imogen at Rock and Roots 2011 was possible the best decision I've made in a long time. Everyone was completely entranced by the magic of her music, and the bewitching charm of the atmosphere she created with her glass piano.

Imogen reminded me of an overgrown, eccentric fairy. She kept me completely spellbound as she drifted across the stage, like a butterfly with an exquisite English accent. The Marina Promenade was a brilliant venue to see her live. A rainbow splash of colour from the Singapore Flyer lit up the night sky. It was perfect.

"There's an awfully big bug on my piano. Would someone please help me remove it? Please?"

Her performances were interspersed with her humming, lovely singing, and random anecdotes. She told us about how one of her songs was about a visitor she had over to her house who didn't eat "wheat, milk and dairy products". She specially cooked him a meal devoid of all these ingredients. THEN he ate a chocolate cookie which definitely had most of what he supposedly could not consume.

She then proceeded to compose a song about him because she was so angry that he ate the cookie.

"The first verse of this song is about people who say one thing and mean another, the second is about somebody else, and the third is about a serial killer", she declared.

It was an experience I would keep close to me for a long time to come. For now I am content with listening to her album on the loop.

Rock and Roots Festival was also surprisingly fun. I had planned to leave after hearing Imogen, but I decided to stay because the atmosphere was really enticing. Other than Imogen, there was John Legend, who sang mostly about Slow Dancing, Public Displays of Affection, and other Songs To Do With Girls and Boys and Love and Things. He also slow danced with a girl from the audience who was wearing a rather obscene looking dress. Their dance was also rather PG-rated and he aptly told us that "There's Nothing Wrong With A Little PDA."

The performance before John Legend was Trombone Shorty & Orleans Avenue. I thought they were far cooler than John Legend. Troy "Trombone Shorty" Andrews from New Orleans played the trombone was absolutely incredible. He blew into the trombone for about 2 minutes FLAT without taking a breath. It was wicked. I was completely blown away. Plus, Troy Andrews was far from short. He was rather tall and on a wholly unrelated note, extremely muscular.

On top of that, we got to hear 53A, a local band that opened the Festival. While they were playing, Jiya, Haokai and I went to ride the bull at one of the sponsored booths. It was incredibly fun, and we had to hold on till to the string attached to the wildly jerking bull and try as best we could to not fall off. I was flung off the automated bull thrice. Haokai was totally cheating and he kept using his height to keep balance with one foot. Jiya and I virtually flew off the raging machine after we lost grip. I absolutely adored it.

The Festival ended at 1am, and it was surreal to see so many people milling around at that hour. The bunch of us hung around the barriers, amidst the sea of abandoned bottles, and packets of food.

It is my desperate hope that Imogen comes back. She's the only artist I know who would wear flip-flops to perform.

Domino motion jump starts
When we touch
Blackout approaches, wish me luck.
-Glittering Cloud. Imogen Heap.

2011-03-26T17:07:00.001+08:00

Cruising and Bruising

After a tough week, Saturdays are trainings and warm bowls of home-cooked porridge.

Saturdays are the long frivolous and very much idle conversations with Mei about everything and nothing while reading the Saturday papers.

Saturdays are trying to finish your work with the music blasting and then realizing nothing much has been accomplished except for a word-for-word recall of all the lyrics of Augustana's Stars and Boulevards.

The weekends are a lifebuoy in the Atlantic seas of IB.
Similarly, we battle for survival, struggling against the cold and exhaustion. The school classrooms are so cold, the hairs on my arm perpetually resemble a field of healthy crops, straight and tall, swaying gently in the cold air. The air is so frigid you sometimes feel that your extremities are turning blue, but then most of the time that's the pen marks caused by frequent nodding off. This exhaustion, it attacks like a tiger, first stealthily crouching among the grasses, and then at the most opportune moment where the most crucial work is to be completed, springs up and lunges. It is ruthless- goes straight for the neck. Once in its grip, resistance is futile- you are finished.

The weekdays aren't all too horrible, though. It's the silliness (Tim Neo's Justice League) and little accomplishments (making it to the 5th floor!) that make it all better. I haven't had any time to watch TV or read outside darling Sidd, Huck, Paddy, Lear and Caesar.

Just as well, the new TV was installed today. It was rather exciting because it was supposed to be 3D, and there were spiffy looking robocop glasses that came with the package. Only thing is, a 3D DVD player is insanely exorbitant, and papa deemed it an unnecessarily expensive pleasure.

Result: A 3D TV WITHOUT A 3D DVD PLAYER.

I went to test out the Faux 3D function (they call it the Simulator 3D, but seriously) with Casino Royale. It did no justice to Daniel Craig's beautiful muscles which stayed stubbornly and disappointingly 2 dimensional. I also got a headache halfway through and decided the simulator 3D function was pretty much hopeless.

I think I should be getting down to work, because there's another thing about Saturdays. You must never got too comfortable with on the lifebuoy.

If you stop kicking, you drown.

I'm adoring you, it's all good,
You're so beautiful, I'm black and blue all over.

-It's Good To Be in Love. Frou Frou.

2011-03-09T22:13:00.000+08:00

Today is the first day of Lent.
There's so many things to change, so many commitments to keep, so many deadlines to meet, so many people to love, and so much discipline needed.

I notice my life taking a turn for the emotional and reflective. It's as if I'm turning inward to look for solace because I'm dealing with such stress externally. I'm going to get through this, I am. I'm going to get through this because I have God and he's given me my friends, and family and a resilient character.

Also, it's campaign week- hence there has been a marvelous proliferation of foods ranging from little sweets to jelly (Here's a Jelly, Vote for Kelly), from cookies, to brownies, from nuggets, to chocolate cornflakes. The candidates this year are really keen about campaigning and honestly, no one is complaining. I do feel that the food they provide us shows their commitment to taking care of the welfare of the students, but then again sometimes we place too much emphasis on it.

2011-03-08T00:48:00.000+08:00

The sky is really dark, outside. It's like a piece of clean black canvas and I wish I had a silver marker so I could draw lovely things on it.

Coal black, and so full of possibilities, brimming with mysteries and strangeness. It's frightening, though, how the vast ebony heavens seems to stretch on infinitely, especially on starless nights. Rather reminds me of life.

The piece of dark night sky.

Today is a pretty brilliant day- and it's these kind of days that keep me buoyant, so that I don't sink into a stress induced stupor. Happy things happen:

1. Newest issue of !nk which cracks me up.

2. Track events (200m and Long jump) in which I prove that I can still run and jump and am not a fat glob. Also, endorphins.

3. I pray with Jean(:

4. Council campaigning= free food.

5. Virtually no lessons because Mdm Angela was ill/ Mr Max Tan was a no show.

6. Still happy due to Titanic's awesomeness.

I can barely get over how amazing the movie is. James Cameron is truly legendary.

2011-02-28T01:13:00.000+08:00

Someone Told Me Not To Cry

It's 12.30am in the morning, and it's coming to the end of February 2011. I'm so scared, terrified, afraid of what is to come. A future shimmers ahead like a vast ocean, as deep as it is wide, and I can hardly see where it ends.

I have just read Carmen's blog, at http://orioontherun.blogspot.com/ and I'm overwhelmed by a sense of indescribable sadness. It's a good sad, though, with an almost poignant quality. I'm not terribly sure why.

School has been rather tough lately, and I'm tired, I suppose. I'm tired and exhausted- so much so that I've been sleeping in excessive quantities. Every spare moment I have to myself, instead of reading the papers, or a nice book or my history readings courtesy of Mr TCK, I fall asleep where I am. This includes the couch, bed, study table, floor and armchair. It's come to a point where I can fall asleep in less than a minute. Like- Lights Out Amanda! And I'm gone.

Also, as Carmen mentioned, in growing up we start to notice our own flaws and limitations.We begin to change, discover and strive. As we step out of the comfort of our old friends, family and activities, things become confusing and disorienting. It's easy to become bewildered, and bothered by it all. I too began IB with many ideals

1. I wanted to achieve 45 points.
2. I wanted to make change to the community.
3. I wanted to join the council and support the student body.
4. I wanted to excel in my sport.
5. I wanted to find god-loving friends I could trust.

I wanted, most of all, to glorify God with all these achievements. I wanted to be able to tell my friends, relatives, people, anyone, that I had studied hard with God's help. That I had achieved balance with God's grace. That my friends were blessings from my God.

I've come to a point, a halfway mark, when the end with its deadlines and final examinations seem to be approaching too quickly for me to handle, but too far off for such prolonged stress and worry. I've just ended Christian Fellowship Camp in school, but I cannot find God in my heart. Like Carmen said, there is no "Magic Bullet" which strikes me through the soul. From the song Wake Up, by Arcade Fire, "Something, filled up, my heart, with nothin'".

That's exactly how I feel right now. I hardly feel like picking up my books to finish my World Lit essay or my TOK presentation or my TOK essay draft 5 or my Bio IA 21. It's the cold and awful feeling just being. Being, like a gear, turning and turing itself into oblivion, or like Barbossa and his undead crew in Pirates of the Caribbean, existing for the mere sake of existing.

I know, God is there. I must believe and have faith- and that's enough. That's what the random old man in the bus told me this morning. He was beaming and grinning and had crinkly laugh lines stretching from the sides of his eyes. "Good morning!" he chirped, as he sat down. Without a lead in, he launched into a soliloquy on his feelings toward God and the church and Christians and Catholics. There I sat, 10am in the morning, stunned by the greying aged man, postulating about the importance of faith.

Now that I think about it, how brilliantly timed was his entrance into my day? God was sending me a messenger, and that more-than-70 year old fella was just the angel I needed to remind me to keep the faith, and keep holding on to the lifeline no matter how tough it got to understand how the lifeline was keeping me afloat, alive.

God, fill me up with you, and teach me not to cry.

2011-02-07T01:24:00.000+08:00

Up, Up and Away

Today is a day of backaches and sadness. I have a awful, terrible backache, and I'm feeling melancholy. Father Stephen Yim is leaving our parish for Immaculate Heart of Mary. In his goodbye speech during mass today, he told us three things:

1. He has been filled with love by our Christ The King congregation, and he wants to bring this love to IHM to share it.

2. He told us to please pray for him, and for ourselves, and for everybody and nobody and everything. He told us to remember to PUSH when we pray. To Pray Until Something Happens.

3. Then he told us that he'll miss us.

I think I'll miss him something awful too. His homily today was one I'll probably never forget until I'm old and stricken with 7 kinds of dementia. He told us about Balloons.

I reckon if ever I had to choose to be some inanimate object, I'd want to be a Balloon. But that is besides my point.

In today's homily, Father Yim told us two stories.The first went something like this:

"A little girl was at a fair with her mother and she saw a bunch of colourful helium balloons for sale. Her mom bought her a pretty balloon and she ran off with it, laughing and smiling. Then a soft gust of wind blew the string out of her hands, and the balloon floated up into the air.

The little girl, being little, did what all little girls would do in the same situation. She cried.

However, her mother did not do what other mothers would have most probably done (obviously to buy her another). Her mother told her little girl that the balloon had gone into the sky to have a reunion dinner, just like how they were going for theirs later on.

The little girl thought about this for a while, and then, she stopped crying."

The next story was also about balloons.

A balloon seller had a huge bunch of pretty, colourful and bright helium balloons in his hands. There was a crowd of little children around him. They were all extremely excited about the balloons and were watching them dance and bounce freely in the wind.

The balloon seller asked the children: Which color balloon do you like best?

The children yelled their most adored colours, PINK! yelled one. Blue said another. Green, and yellow and orange and red and purple, all the colours were eventually chosen by all the different little children.

Then, the balloon seller asked the children: Which balloon do you think will float up the quickest?

Each child yelled that their favorite colored balloon was sure to float the quickest.

The balloon seller then released all the balloons into the air. The sight was very beautiful, the sky filled up with different colors, and the children watched transfixed and amazed as the little round shapes disappeared from sight.

The balloon seller asked the children: Which colored balloon reached the top first?

None of the children knew. The balloon seller smiled, and told them the most profound truth they would ever hear: It doesn't matter what is on the outside, just like it didn't matter what color the fastest balloon was. It was what was inside the balloon that made it rise the fastest. Just like the balloon, our outsides have no impact on how quickly we rise to heaven. It is only the insides that matter.

2011-01-30T20:23:00.000+08:00

Sadness

I don't know for sure what it is that makes me sad and melancholy. It seems to be the prevailing mood these rainy days. I have some reason to suspect that it might be Anton Chekov's play Three Sisters. It's so slow moving, so absolutely frustrating and devastatingly sad. It requires a concerted effort not to fall into a semi-literature effected depression.

2011-01-09T01:18:00.002+08:00

Capoeira and Garcia Lorca

No, Capoeira and famous playwright Lorca have no correlation except for concurrently plaguing my mind. Lorca doing the Capoeira is however, a thought. Perchance he liked to dance? (Rhyming rules, like Dr Seuss) In the bathroom when no one could see. That'll explain why he didn't do well in school. Spain and Brazil aren't that far apart anyway, Portuguese and Spanish pretty much spring from the same core.

If I sound incoherent, it might be due to the fact that it is pretty late. I really ought to be going to bed but I want to finish The House of Bernarda Alba, originally 'La Case De Bernada Alba'. first. Oh how I wish I read Spanish, it's such a pretty language. I like it more than French because it sounds more free-spirited and less haughty. I think it has something to do with my general impressions of the French and the Brazilians. I know Spanish isn't Portuguese, but I really haven't met any Spaniards yet, and Brazil!Brazil! WAS ABSO-FREAKING-LUTELY AWESOME. I intend to, though.

Bernarda Alba is written by Federico Garcia Lorca, who was hung up with sexuality, sensuality and the like. According to the brief bio in the front of the book, his early poems centered mainly around "the conflict in his mind between sexual desire and Catholic sexual morality". I'm guessing it plagues the modern teenage Catholic boy too.

It's a short play and I think it's rather intriguing because of the harsh Catholic rituals that Bernarda subjects her household to. The hypocrisy of her actions strike me, as does her (SPOILER) youngest daughter's death. It's not so much poignant and sad as striking and painfully real, like white light. I suppose Lorca intends this, as he meant for Bernarda Alba to be a Naturalist play. It's similar to Miss Julie in the more obvious sense of the delineation of social classes and its repercussions, and more importantly, the destructive force of sexual passions which is underscored in both works.

Also, its tragic and the girls die. Whoopee.
I'm beginning to wonder if the mark of a internationally acclaimed playwright is the ability to write at least one play where the female protagonist offs herself. I mean honestly, its seems pervasive around the world. Strindberg was from Sweden and Lorca Spain. And Arcadia too (by Tom Stoppard), where Thomasina burns to death in a fire by the end of the play. Or perhaps it's just Europe.

Strange that I'm studying all three for Literature. Shakespeare is a nice change because he kills off the men instead. Eponymous Julius Caesar (who is stabbed in the back- figuratively, but I'm convinced literally too, because this is Shakespeare we're talking about), and King Lear dies.

Though in King Lear basically everyone dies except Edgar an Albany so I can't say for sure.

Its 2:22 on my computer clock, and I assume it's a portent so I shall be off!

2011-01-08T00:05:00.002+08:00

Trackpants and Jackets.

I've just read my English teacher's blog, and somehow, it made me want to blog again. Here I quote Mong as he generously informed us of it's existence. "Read and weep", he said in his email. The result? This.

I realise that I do so enjoy blogging because its therapeutic and it calms me down. I am sitting in my study all wrapped up in a warm, fresh and crisp new jumper and trackpants. Yes, in Singapore. I'll admit, it's not really a place to be bundling up, but tonight is proving especially cold. My hairs are standing on end and this is WITH all that material on. I like it, though. It's the I'm Abroad feeling which I sometimes inexplicably yearn for.

It's 8 days into 2011, and I've just made some resolutions, only I can't say what they are. In ST's Mind Your Body, an article explicitly stated that verbalizing resolutions decreased the chances of them coming to fruition.
I'm not completely convinced that blogging about resolutions is equivalent to VERBALIZING them, but I'm not taking any chances.

There is one thing that I would like to thank God for tonight.
.My teachers.

I can safely and convincingly assure you that never in my life have I been so in love with my teachers. This might sound disgustingly nerdy and loser-esque, because I'm supposed to be all teenagery along the lines of "teachers talk absolute rubbish all the time, who cares if their good or not?".

Try as I might, I can never be one of those couldn't-care-less, I-am-cool-and-independent kind of students. I worship the teachers who I think really care about the class and (unless sleepy) usually listen rather intently to them.

This year, I am blessed with the most fantastic teachers ever. For HLEnglish we got Mr B.Conner (said blog), and Mdm Thiru, Dean and Deputy of the English Dep. For BM we got Mdm Angela Ong, who is so effective I remembered ALL the Ratio Analysis sub-categories by the end of her lesson. For History we got TKC again, but we all adore him because he's funny and doesn't take Limheng's bullying seriously.

Mr Kishor is taking us for Bio again, he's brilliant too. Today he told us all about anorexia and nutrition and although I was sleepy, it was fascinating all the same.

Woe, however, to maths. My brain was not meant for numbers because they always fall out after I stuff them in desperately. It's annoying selective about what it registers, it can remember cool words like perspicacity (keeness of mental perception), but it won't comprehend why the First Principals of Differentiation must exist.

My brain will remember for example, after a year, the song for Differentiating something (Bring down the power, reduce the power by one, differentiate inside the brackets, and multiply- to the tune of Three Blind Mice), but not the awful double angle formulas and the like.

Our teacher seems to me pretty brilliant though, his name is Max Tan. Neat qualifications: Dean of Math Dep in Hwa Chong, taught there for 8 years. Worked in the MOE (if I recall accurately). I doubt it'll make a marked difference though. The method to my acing maths is doing so much until I become utterly sick of it. I like to call it The Hammer Method. You hit hard enough, you hit frequently enough, and it's bound to get in.

I just finished reading what I propose to be one of the most wonderful books I have ever devoured. In actual fact, of course, I'm not supposed to be reading non-academia books. Hence nothing outside the realm of Siddhartha, Huck Finn (btw the new 'revised' version is a special kind of revolting to me. If someone had to gall to switch my words in any of my work I'd rather not have them read it. I'm sure JRR Tolkien would agree with me, and Twain himself. Lightning bugs and lightning! Also, I would rather be called nigger than slave.), Shakespeare and Russian plays.

I don't most of the time do what I'm supposed to. This is why I become a ball of nervous wreck just before major examinations, I suppose. (Speaking of major examinations, 10% of the cohort got 44pt and above for IB which was released yesterday. It is highly disturbing.)

Said book is Looking For Alaska, by John Green. It is from the Kids section in Kino but I am not the least bit ashamed to have read it. Besides, it was under the 'Gifted Readers' section. SO. Anyway, I am in love the story. The way Green weaves his story is so remarkable it makes me want to weep. And so I did, toward the end of the book I was unashamedly tearing. His book is heart wrenching and breathtaking and beautiful. I admire the way he manages to capture the emotion of the moment with stunningly poignant metaphors which I might elucidate on later.

For now my sister is crying and sobbing because of her insomnia brought about by the flu bug which has been going around. Duty calls!

2011-01-03T20:47:00.001+08:00

Here's To New Beginnings.

My younger sister randomly muttered that just before she went to have a bath. I thought it rather apt.

So here, is to new beginnings.
Cheers.

2011-01-03T17:48:00.002+08:00

Found this on someone's Livejournal(:

Declaration of Revocation:
by John Cleese

To the citizens of the United States of America, in the light of
your failure to elect a competent President of the USA and thus to
govern yourselves, we hereby give notice of the revocation of your
independence, effective today.

Her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth II will resume monarchical
duties over all states, commonwealths and other territories.

Except Utah, which she does not fancy.

Your new Prime Minister (The Right Honourable Tony Blair, MP for the
97.85% of you who have until now been unaware that there is a world
outside your borders) will appoint a Minister for America without
the need for further elections.

Congress and the Senate will be disbanded.

A questionnaire will be circulated next year to determine whether
any of you noticed. To aid in the transition to a British Crown
Dependency, the following rules are introduced with immediate
effect:

1. You should look up "revocation" in the Oxford English Dictionary.
Then look up "aluminium." Check the pronunciation guide. You will be
amazed at just how wrongly you have been pronouncing it.

The letter 'U' will be reinstated in words such as 'favour' and
'neighbour'; skipping the letter 'U' is nothing more than laziness
on your part. Likewise, you will learn to spell 'doughnut' without
skipping half the letters.

You will end your love affair with the letter 'Z' (pronounced 'zed'
not 'zee') and the suffix "ize" will be replaced by the suffix "ise."
You will learn that the suffix 'burgh' is pronounced 'burra' e.g.
Edinburgh. You are welcome to re-spell Pittsburgh as 'Pittsberg' if
you can't cope with correct pronunciation.

Generally, you should raise your vocabulary to acceptable levels.
Look up "vocabulary." Using the same thirty seven words interspersed
with filler noises such as "uhh", "like", and "you know" is an
unacceptable and inefficient form of communication.

Look up "interspersed."

There will be no more 'bleeps' in the Jerry Springer show. If you're
not old enough to cope with bad language then you shouldn't have
chat shows. When you learn to develop your vocabulary, then you
won't have to use bad language as often.

2. There is no such thing as "US English." We will let Microsoft
know on your behalf. The Microsoft spell-checker will be adjusted to
take account of the reinstated letter 'u' and the elimination of "-ize."

3. You should learn to distinguish the English and Australian accents.
It really isn't that hard. English accents are not limited to
cockney, upper-class twit or Mancunian (Daphne in Frasier).

You will also have to learn how to understand regional accents ---
Scottish dramas such as "Taggart" will no longer be broadcast with
subtitles.

While we're talking about regions, you must learn that there is no
such place as Devonshire in England. The name of the county is
"Devon." If you persist in calling it Devonshire, all American
States will become "shires" e.g. Texasshire, Floridashire,
Louisianashire.

4. Hollywood will be required occasionally to cast English actors as
the good guys. Hollywood will be required to cast English actors to
play English characters.

British sit-coms such as "Men Behaving Badly" or "Red Dwarf" will
not be re-cast and watered down for a wishy-washy American audience
who can't cope with the humour of occasional political incorrectness.

5. You should relearn your original national anthem, "God Save The
Queen", but only after fully carrying out task 1. We would not want
you to get confused and give up half way through.

6. You should stop playing American "football." There is only one
kind of football. What you refer to as American "football" is not a
very good game.

The 2.15% of you who are aware that there is a world outside your
borders may have noticed that no one else plays "American" football.
You will no longer be allowed to play it, and should instead play
proper football.

Initially, it would be best if you played with the girls. It is a
difficult game. Those of you brave enough will, in time, be allowed
to play rugby (which is similar to American "football", but does not
involve stopping for a rest every twenty seconds or wearing full
kevlar body armour like nancies).

We are hoping to get together at least a US Rugby sevens side by
2005.

You should stop playing baseball. It is not reasonable to host an
event called the 'World Series' for a game which is not played
outside of America. Since only 2.15% of you are aware that there is
a world beyond your borders, your error is understandable. Instead
of baseball, you will be allowed to play a girls' game called
"rounders," which is baseball without fancy team strip, oversized
gloves, collector cards or hotdogs.

7. You will no longer be allowed to own or carry guns. You will no
longer be allowed to own or carry anything more dangerous in public
than a vegetable peeler. Because we don't believe you are sensible
enough to handle potentially dangerous items, you will require a
permit if you wish to carry a vegetable peeler in public.

8. July 4th is no longer a public holiday. November 2nd will be a
new national holiday, but only in England. It will be called
"Indecisive Day."

9. All American cars are hereby banned. They are crap, and it is for
your own good. When we show you German cars, you will understand
what we mean.

All road intersections will be replaced with roundabouts. You will
start driving on the left with immediate effect. At the same time,
you will go metric with immediate effect and without the benefit of
conversion tables. Roundabouts and metrication will help you
understand the British sense of humour.

10. You will learn to make real chips. Those things you call
'French fries' are not real chips. Fries aren't even French, they
are Belgian though 97.85% of you (including the guy who discovered
fries while in Europe) are not aware of a country called Belgium.
Those things you insist on calling potato chips are properly called
"crisps." Real chips are thick cut and fried in animal fat. The
traditional accompaniment to chips is beer which should be served
warm and flat.

Waitresses will be trained to be more aggressive with customers.

11. As a sign of penance 5 grams of sea salt per cup will be added
to all tea made within the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, this
quantity to be doubled for tea made within the city of Boston itself.

12. The cold tasteless stuff you insist on calling "beer" is not
actually beer at all, it is lager. From November 1st only proper
British Bitter will be referred to as "beer," and European brews of
known and accepted provenance will be referred to as "Lager." The
substances formerly known as "American Beer" will henceforth be
referred to as "Near-Frozen Gnat's Urine," with the exception of the
product of the American Budweiser company whose product will be
referred to as "Weak Near-Frozen Gnat's Urine." This will allow true
Budweiser (as manufactured for the last 1000 years in the Czech
Republic) to be sold without risk of confusion.

13. From November 10th the UK will harmonise petrol (or "gasoline,"
as you will be permitted to keep calling it until April 1st 2005)
prices with the former USA. The UK will harmonise its prices to
those of the former USA and the Former USA will, in return, adopt UK
petrol prices (roughly $6/US gallon -- get used to it).

14. You will learn to resolve personal issues without using guns,
lawyers or therapists. The fact that you need so many lawyers and
therapists shows that you're not adult enough to be independent.
Guns should only be handled by adults. If you're not adult enough to
sort things out without suing someone or speaking to a therapist,
then you're not grown up enough to handle a gun.

15. Please tell us who killed JFK. It's been driving us crazy.

16. Tax collectors from Her Majesty's Government will be with you
shortly to ensure the acquisition of all revenues due (backdated to 1776).
Thank you for your co-operation.

To the citizens of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland,

We welcome your concern about our electoral process. It must be exciting for you to see a real Republic in action, even if from a distance. As always we're amused by your quaint belief that you're actually a world power. The sun never sets on the British Empire! Right-o chum!

However, we regretfully have to decline your offer for intervention. On the other hand, it would be amusing to see you try to enforce your new policy (for the 96.3% of you that seem to have forgotten that you have little to no real power). After much deliberation, we have decided to continue our tradition as the longest running democratic republic. It seems that switching to a monarchy is in fact considered a "backwards step" by the majority of the world.

To help you rise from your current anachronistic status, we have compiled a series of helpful suggestions that we hope you adopt:

1. Realize that language is an organic structure, and that you aren't always correct in your pronunciation or spelling. Let's use your "aluminium" example. Sir Humphrey Davy(an Englishman) invented the name "aluminum" (note spelling) for the metal. However, in common usage the name evolved into "aluminium" to match the naming convention of other elements. In 1925 the United States decided to switch back to the
original spelling and pronunciation of the word, at which point we dominated the aluminum industry. We'd also like to point out that the process of actually producing aluminum was developed by an American and a Frenchman (not an Englishman). However, we'd like to thank you for the Oxford English Dictionary. It's an interesting collection, considering that over 10,000 of the words in the original edition were submitted by a crazy American civil-war veteran called Dr. William Charles Minor.

2. Learn to distinguish the American and Canadian accents, and then we'll talk about the English and Australian accent issue.

3. Review your basic arithmetic.(Hint 100 - 98.85 = 1.15 and 100 - 97.85 = 2.15)

4. If you want English actors as good guys, then make your own movies. Don't rely on us for your modern popular culture. We liked "Lock, Stock,and Two Smoking Barrels", "Train spotting", and "The Full Monty". We've also heard good things about this "Billy Elliot". But one good movie a year doesn't exactly make a cultural powerhouse. However, you're doing pretty well with music, so keep up the good work on that front.

5. It's inefficient to have a national anthem that changes its title whenever your monarch dies. Let's not forget that your national anthem has an extremely boring tune. We suggest switching to that Rule Britannia ditty, it's toe tapping. Or maybe Elton John could adapt "Candle In The Wind" again for you guys.

6. Improve at your national sport. Football? Soccer? This just in: United States gets fourth place in men's soccer at the 2000 Summer Olympics. United Kingdom? Not even close. By the way, impressive showing at Euro 2000. You almost managed to get through the tournament without having your fans start an international incident.

7. Learn how to cook. England has some top notch candy. Salt 'n' Vinegar chips are quite yummy. However, there's a reason why the best food in your country is Indian or Chinese. Your contributions to the culinary arts are soggy beans, warm beer, and spotted dick. Perhaps when you finally realize the French aren't the spawn of Satan they'll teach you how to cook.

8. You're doing a terrible job at understanding cars. The obvious error is that you drive on the wrong side of the road. A second problem is pricing, it's cheaper to buy a car in Belgium and ship it to England than to buy a car in England. On the other hand, we like Jaguars and Aston Martins. That's why we bought the companies.

9. We'll tell you who killed JFK when you apologize for "Teletubbies".

Hahahah WEAK-Near-Frozen-Gnat's Urine.
(:

2010-12-12T23:42:00.002+08:00

There is always a day, isn't there. Where you feel like everything is going to go uphill. Right from that moment.

This is one of those moments. Where you feel like life is just going to give you one last shot. Because you've taken and taken and taken and taken and taken and taken. And then kept taking, until the word taking doesn't even look like taking anymore and looks like a foreign word even you cannot recognise.

Turning points.
That's what history seems to be about, anyway. The Battle of El Alamein. The Plot to Overthrow Hitler. The Cuban Missile Crisis. The fall of the Berlin wall. And more recently, 9/11.

I'm keeping on thinking that my life would keeping on having turning points too. I say Keep On because I reckon it sounds loads more hopeful than Carry On.

I've just seen the movie Forrest Gump. And also The Secret Garden, this afternoon. My family and I were on some kind of crazy movie marathon trip. I've been watching movies since 2pm. First Toy Story 3, then The Secret Garden and then Forrest Gump.

I like Forrest Gump the best. I'm awful glad I watched it.
Tom Hanks is one of the best actors that the world has even known, I reckon. The world is so lucky to have gotten someone like him who can characterize Forrest to a tee. I don't see any other actor doing it half as perfect.

What I like best is how they don't pretend that life is more than it is. Sometimes we take ourselves too seriously. The movie begins, and ends with a feather. It floats for a pretty long period of time, gently billowing in the breeze from left, to right lightly spiraling, white.

For a movie which is narrated wholly by a half-wit, it explores some intriguing ideas.

Some people think they are a feather, and life can blow them this way and that. Some people think they are that thistle in the wind- that all of us are inconsequential and insignificant. Others believe in creating their own destiny and taking what life throws at them and making the best of it.

Gump, with an IQ of 60, inspires me because of his focus. He has a intense focus on what he sets out to do. I think that's what I lack. Focus. The ability to look straight ahead and keep moving with a tenacity that is iron-willed, trudging, but certain.

It reminds me of the judge who spoke to us during JC Law Prog. He said that there could be two guys. One guy is born with the Gift of the Gab. With oratorical skills to shame MLK. The other is born with nothing but a shy disposition and a chronic fear of public speaking.

The second guy, however, has a passion for Law. He desperately loves it with a deep seated desire of wanting to help maintain justice. The former does not feel anything for the law. In 20 years, we will find that the latter is a much better lawyer.

I sometimes feel my head pounding so hard that I want to close my eyes and shut off the world. And I think I shall do that right now because my head is absolutely killing me.

God,
Its Amanda here. Help me to make this turning point a good one.

Amen.

2010-11-15T08:36:00.002+08:00

It's a new day,
But it all feels old
It's a good life,
THAT'S WHAT I'M TOLD.
- Good Charlotte, The Anthem

Its 8:39 in the morning and I'm so happy I think I might just burst. I'm smiling at the computer screen like an absolute retard. I don't even know why.

I really does feel like a new day.

WHY AM I SO HAPPY.
I think it might go away very soon but I don't want to think about just yet.

I'm all nostalgic about the past and how I listened to Welcome to My Life and Avril and The Anthem till I saw the lyrics scrolling down in my head. I feels so nice to sing it to yourself and know all the words because I used to be so obsessed.

I'm happy. And 30 year old me, if you're reading this in the midst your mid-life crisis, know that you lived for a REASON(: And this wonderful mood might just catch you unawares soon. Just go to youtube and listen to I Just Wanna Live or watch Spirited Away or sommat and it'll put in a good mood.

For now, I'm gonna go live.

2010-09-25T23:17:00.002+08:00

Seventeen Bottles of Love

Birthdays are strange things. They become less about the colourful presents and more about the beautiful sacrifice of time as we grow older.

My birthday on the 24th of September began like absolute crap. If there were a way to describe it, crap would be the most apt. I felt like someone had dug a hole somewhere in my stomach and was shoveling rats into the it with vengeance. And these were no ordinary rats, but rats which shot flaming fireballs from their eyes and spat acidic poison.

And that was how I felt: rat-pit crap.

My maths teacher was threatening me with demerit points (for a worksheet, would you believe) and I was undone about my history test, I had Chinese prelims which time did not permit me to revise for. I was a mess.

To top it off, my friends had seemed much too busy to remember my birthday. After all, it was, Chinese prelims. I hadn't been expecting much, but I at least (in an egoistical self-indulgent way) hoped someone would say LETS SING A SONG FOR AMANDA! Just the indication that they had remembered would have been enough for me.

No one did.

Until, of course. English class.

HL-3 English class, I can safely say is probably the best thing that has ever happened to me. I have never found a group of people who amuse, touch and amaze me more then them. Toward the end of lesson, Carmen raises her hand and says

"Mdm, can I ask you a question?"

At this point I was thinking to myself- dear heavenly God, I want to ask YOU a question. You obviously forget it's my birthday. Ironic since you made me, but if you didn't forget then why do I feel so depressed and upset? But of course you're not going to answer because my question is not really a question but a bitter tirade of self pity.

And then.

My class began to RECITE.

Line by line, an excerpt from Antony and Cleopatra. And while I was sitting there confused and bewildered, they brought out a PIE with candles stuck in it and began to sing a birthday song for me. (A pie- I love pie)

I was stunned.
Absolutely, completely, shocked beyond comprehension. I never saw it coming. I stood there all embarrassed for my previous bitter thoughts and touched as a multitude of feelings assaulted me at the same time- so I did what anyone would do a situation like that. I cried.

I stood there like a fool, tears running down my cheeks like a demented child, loving and loving so much the people who were smiling at me and grinning and Tricia who said loudly "PLEASE DON"T CRY LA" which cracked me up 'bit.

It was the best pie I had ever eaten in my 17 years.

After which things just started getting better- Carissa got me to go down to Skate Park in school, and there was the rest of them waiting for me with cake- and JoshuaQ flinging his sweat around and Polaroids and Krystal's silly faces and Jesern getting smashed in the face with cake. I laughed so hard then- it was a darling surprise.

And then darling Joon lied with impeccability that we had a 'meeting about Independence Day' which met me with (surprise) not a meeting about Independence Day but Niranjan and Damain singing Happy Birthday in a melodiously hilarious line by line fashion. And of course, more cake(: I <3 style="font-style: italic;">Dear God, I thought. Is this how you react when I bitterly abuse you and your divine ways? With beautiful, wonderful friends whom I love so much my heart is bursting at its damn seams to celebrate my birthday with? You're trying to make me feel guilty aren't you. Well, God, it certainly worked. Wont be in a hurry to do that again any time soon.

And God?

Thank you. And sorry- for ever doubting that you forgot it was my birthday.

F1 was bloody brilliant with the food and the service- it would be hard to forget. Sitting across the whole row of pitstops and seeing Alonso's pit stop UP CLOSE and not through a television screen was surreal. Thank you Kevin and Grace- it would be an experience difficult to forget.

And Brazil Brazil! was the bomb, Portuguese songs and a heady, lively and thumping beat. I am going to be a Portuguese dancer when I grow up-

I almost nearly got into Chippendale too.

And this morning, Bob, Cra, Kryst, Loo and France crashed my house, waited 1 whole hour and stood around my bedside while I was still asleep. ASLEEP. Drooling and snoring and being a disgusting unglam piece of grossly sleeping mass.

And when the first sight you see after peaking through your eyelids are your insane friends who you miss you much it hurts clad completely in white- wonder if you're dead and the other thing that people do in such situations. Scream.

And don't look and me with the mong look and say "really" because yes REALLY- I'm a girl. We scream and cry. At least we don't smell like a million unwashed socks after soccer and muddy the floor.

Then they present me a box which say "The White Box of Wonder" which had much alleged significance- according to them, of course. I ignore their attempt at irony and nearly die of laughter when I see Cara has given me her plasticine teeth mould.(made with white plaster of course)

I'm not even kidding- the box things which they found in their houses that were white, assorted white candy, random notepads, the CJC fullscap paper, and other nonsense. (no wonder that shirt looked familiar)and it was so funny I nearly wet myself.

I miss the heady rubbish we get up to- in ACSI its just not the same.

France baked a delicious (and France it was surprising good, really.) brownie cake which we devoured with relish.

They had sacrificed their entire morning for me and I was undone again, only this time is a good way. Destroyed by the sheer love and sacrifice- that during the exams my friends would take time off for me.

THEN my parents brought out this delicious banana cake to share and we ate till we couldn't walk.

I felt like all teenager's birthdays- that I couldn't be seventeen it was too short, too fast, and all too scary.

I felt overwhelmed- like my heart had only 16 bottles to fill but there was love to fill seventeen, and I have decided that that love must be fizzed over like in weddings when the wine spills over the top cup in the stacked structure, over the first cup and down into others- to share.

2010-09-18T22:52:00.002+08:00

Sorrow drips into your heart
through a pinhole

Sorrow drips into your heart,
through a pinhole

Just like a faucet that leaks,
there is comfort in the sound

While you debate half empty or half full
It slowly rises
Your love is going to drown

Its 6 days to my birthday.

One always wonders where the time has gone. How did we get here?
And surrealism at its best- how did we get here so quickly?

I celebrate my 17th birthday with my family at Lao Bejing where the food is so terrific I eat more than my poor, misused stomach can hold. The Xiao Loong Bao was just marvelous. Think beautifully crafted skin and hot, thick broth flowing out at every bite. Not to mention the juicy meat chunks.

School has been for the last 6 months- hectic, to say the least.
I've been so busy, too busy i hardly have time to sleep or breathe or muse or think or write. Sometimes, I wonder if it's worth it. Studying so hard, I mean.

And why do I do i?

To get good grades. And why good grades?

To get a good job. And why a good job?

To have money. And why money?

So I will have a nice house, a nice life. And why a nice house and nice life?

THAT is the question.

Now I can say its so I can help others!

But why help others?
Why anything?

I could be a brain in a vat for all I know. I could be dreaming. This could be some 4th layer of consciousness.

But what I DO know, is that right now I'm feeling things and loving things. And maybe that's whats important.

2010-03-24T23:01:00.002+08:00

Lets spend the afternoon in a cold hot air balloon.
Leave your jacket behind

Hot Air Balloon by Owl City

2010-01-23T23:32:00.001+08:00

How does history happen?

People make moves. Alter things.

2010-01-18T22:40:00.002+08:00

"Scripps tries to explain the feeling of waiting for this life to begin and Posner's quick to tell him that life is not a rehearsal."

The History Boys FF

Of Cereal, Late mornings, and Believing

Life can be summed up by cereal.

Sweet, crunchy and hard.

Its really a special, profound kind of food. It makes you happy. Cereal is good. In whatever colour, shape, size or quantity, CEREAL IS CEREAL. (And dunked in fresh milk, it even more fabulicious. Mark my words.)

Recently, i have been surviving on a sub-cereal diet of Honey Bunches of Oats, Blueberry Morning, Fruity Pebbles, and Frosties. It mostly makes me annoyingly energetic and excited about things in general. After, i lie on the couch and prepare for a wind down with Disney reruns on cable.

That basically sums up my life.

Its been a great time.

Theres 10 more days till school term officially begins. Im stoked. I dont know where im going to get into yet. Its like being caught in a limbo, not pleasant, but not unpleasant either.

These days are not here to be remembered.

I reckon, more to be felt. Experienced.

Theres been sleepovers with Deb, many many mattresses, breakfastses, my virgin drunkedness, the humiliation of my virgin drunkedness, the cycling-till-i-cannot-feel-my-arse-while-imagining-the-future-of-childlessness, the swims, the beach, the prayer meetings, the sun, the wind, the rain, the bandhero, the new friends, the old friends, the in-the-middle-of-new-and-old friends, the open houses, the tennis.

The end of holiday ushers in a new term of bright new hopes and ambitions, fresh new fears and inhibitions.

But nothing some cereal cant cure.

EN GARDE!

2010-01-01T22:55:00.002+08:00

"Thoughts meander like a
restless wind inside a letterbox
they tumble blindly as they
make their way across the universe"

Today is the first day of 2010.
Life has a habit of being surreal.

Surrealism seems to me like a purple word, a very light flimsy and pretty colour which provides a kind of gauzy fragility.

Its gonna change though.

Life.

Im actually excited.

2009-11-21T14:46:00.003+08:00

I havent ever stayed in a hotel so gorgeoulicious before.

JW Mariott has taken the cake, cream and cherry on top, the icing, the fruits and the plastic covering and the box.

Suffice to say:

BLOODY BRILLIANT.

Phuket is beautiful. There are spectacular, breathtaking beaches, beautiful people, fantastic hotels and the people are unbelievably friendly. The waves are huge and crashing, the locals are funny and silly.

Vacation was, languid. At best. The kind i adore the most. Where you laze around, feeling the slow, comforting brilliance of the holiday, swigging copious amounts of vividly hued barcardi/nite (they obviously dont give a flying heck about your age there) and talking.

The trip there was excruciating. The flights from Budget Terminal are usually painful and they seem loads longer than they are. Worth it all, of course.

The apartment we arrived in had two rooms and an enormous bathroom which we could all have well lived in. And the tub was huge and squarish, like the baths in MTV Cribs and i SWEAR all 10 of us could have fit into it. It was rockin.

Everything in the hotels were branded with turtle-ish things. The mart was Turtle Mart, the free beach balls had little turtles inside. Turtle maniaaaa.

(we found out aft abit that the beach was supposedly a nature reserve. turtles came up the shore to have little turtles during the mating season- which we missed rawr)

The bestest part was the sunset, which blew everything we'd seen (even the masses of trannys in Mai Cau Beach) out of the water. All of us were rendered speechless for a few moments. It was those special moments where words were just so lacking. We sat sprawled on the beach, watching the sky become drenched in red, for a long, long time. Its was like time had frozen just for a little while.

Got to know Quan a little better, sunsets really do open people up (:

Now the days seem to mesh into each other. Cant seem to remember which day was which anymore. This does happens alot.

We went cycling though, on the second day, i should think. It wasnt just cycling, it was butt cramping ass kicking root obstacled hole and trenches riddled cycling. My mom couldnt make it past the rubber plantation, but other than that, it was relatively uneventful other than my sisters fall, which was probably my fault. But lets leave the past in the past.

There was the large transparent ball which Heng and Quanie fell in. Many times. The one where you can technically walk on water, except you at the same time get boiled alive, so says the bings. They were like hamsters, running around fruitlessly, falling and slipping and smaking themseleves on the surface of the ball. It was most fun to watch.

Most of all, i kinda remember the Taboo. Which is probably a very silly thing to remember because you can play Taboo anywhere, in the bathroom, at home, at BBQs, wherever. But shoot me.

Bing was really swell at being the Asker. We kinda tweaked the game and Bing just sat there and did a smashing job of doing rapidfire Asking and the three of us would guess.

It was crazy, silly fun.

I remember the muay thai (where we totally screwed with the equipment) and darts and swimming and wave jumping and the jellyfish. I remember the cafe we ate in 4 times. IN A ROW.

But most of all i remember that it was really nice to get to know your friends a little better.

PROM
Buying prom dress was really fun. We scampered all over singapore to find the perfect outfit then we crashed at Caras and watched BRING IT ON into the night, after a dress up session ((:

Prom marked the Leaving of Secondary Schooldom, which is indeed a rather joyous occasion. I have not begun to miss school. I might take a while.

I did my makeup and MAC because my mom bought some products so i got a free makeover. I looked rather ghastly, to tell the truth. Makeup is so redundant X/ After a failure of a performance consisting of You Raise Me Up and a song our class could not get right, we ate some yummu food, and then it was photo after photo and there. Nothing fantastic. I would descibe it as Enjoyably Anti-Climatic.

The Hotel Room though, was fun.

We partayed in the hotel and outside except i think i when i become tipsy i fall straight to sleep and miss all the action. Which sucks. Me and Loo had a dance off BEFORE we had all the bacardi and vodka and we were already drunk on OURSELVES. I hadnt even drunk anything yet and we were rubbishing around ouside Raffles City. It was AWESOME.

Then we went back to the room and Ser brought some vodka to mix with green tea and sprite but i was OUT AFTER TWO CUPS. Call me Lights Out Amanda .

After we came back there was SPORTS DAY

WHICH YELLOW TOTALLY OWNED.
OMG YELLOW HOUSE ROCK ON.

Our team Weiting Loo and Mabes me totally owned the relay, (for the first time in four years we beat GREEN holy) and yellow completely made a sexy sweep of most of the first places.

WE ROCK SO DARN HARD.

The Dog Days

( If you recognise this and you DO NOT HAVE A YOUNGER SIBLING, respect, i say. Respect.)
Ironically, i was at Puppy Debbie darling 's hosue that i learnt to like dogs.

She forced me to let her dog SNIFF MY FEET as i stood, trembling in trepidation, frozen with fear, my blood running cold.

My aunty, her siblings and her laughed at my feeble attempts to get over my phobia as i had stood on the top of the stairs where Waffles, the dog, couldnt get me.

After mustering up ALL the courage i possessed, i managed to not flinch and RUN AWAY SCREAMING when waffles approached me. And bent down. AND SNIFFED ME.

I nearly died of a heart failure.

But then i was over it in a flash and i started to become strangely attatched to Waffles who seemed to have lost all intrest in me after a minute of sniffing my feet. He ignored me. I hoped this wasnt a sign of how my future relationships would play out.

Sleepover at Puppys was BRILLIANT. We played Rock Band/Rock Hero (i can never see the difference) and sang YO I TELL YOU WHAT I WANT WHAT I REALLY REALLY WANT till we went hoarse . Serene and Eldea were the epicest singers in the ENTIRE WORLD. It was sweeeet.

CHURCH CAMP

Fam Camp at Batam was surprisingly fun. Cause i met the cutest little 5 year old girl alive called Becky. I want to eat her up. She is so overly adorable. It shouldnt be allowed.

Becky Quote: "Because i dont want anyone to be jealous"
-On why she always made it a point to hug everyone, and not leave anyone out.

2009-11-12T17:52:00.003+08:00

I cannot decide if i like Adam Gregory better or
ADAM GREGORY BETTER.

I choose both.

I swear, this is what major examinations does to me. I go slighty crazy from the lack of social interaction, the excessive staring at pictures of the human anatomy and the chemical formulas.

O Levels is officially dead from tomorrow. I totally know how Weiqing feels. The entire holiday is gonna be a WorryFest. I promise you, i can count the number of careless mistakes i made ONE BY ONE and i can shove in into my own face and bawl about it. I can obsess about the stupid mistakes i made and the dumb Rformula i DID NOT LEARN but i shant do that.
I can extract every single error and tear myself up but yknow what.

There has totally got to be more to life than this.

I think im gonna get over myself and ITS GONNA BE A PARTAYE IN THE PHUKETAYE.

YEASHH IM GOING TO PHUKET.

The awesomest thing about Phuket is how everyone pronounces it funny and it makes hilarious conversation topic.

At Home

Markie: Eh eh eh jie what are we doing in pui-keet

Me: (peals of laughter)

Meimei: Pui-keet!!

Grandpapa: Its Bhu-kit, boy.

Me:(peals of laughter)

Meimei: BHU-KIT!!

At school

Me: Im going to Phuket on the 14th, baby!

Weiqing: No no, its Foo-Ket.

Me: No, its PHU-KET.

Weiqing: Yeah right. Then why do they say PHone? HUH? Its obviously Foo-Ket.

Although i totally believe its Phuket. As in (POO-KET)
What make me right though?

Maybe it is Foo-Ket. Even if it does sound awful.

I need to go and run and do some chemistry for the last paper tomorrow. Cant seem to sign on to Stomp's Campus Talkback cause my commmies totally banking. Nat says it an awesome place to visualise a hazy grading curve cause people go there to comment on the papers.

I do actually think its a rather long shot. The people who are gonna be at the most voluptuous part of the curve probably wont spend their precious hours on Stomp.

Neither, will they spend their time imagining about Phuket and shopping and sleepovahs and watching Ty kiss Annie in 90210 and sweeping the internet for pictures of Josh Duhamel.

Yeah.
But whatever.

Im reading Eternity Is Temporary by Bill Broady and it is probably the RETROEST, INDIE-EST, VINGATEY, COOLEST BOOK EVER.

And to think i stumbled upon it BY CHANCE at the Pansing Warehose sale. (which was kinda cool, the food was really good. i ate and ate and ate. though i couldnt find Gereld Durrell or Neil Gaiman but the food plus the unexpectedly spectacular book by Broady made it all better)

Monica Yeeyee brought me cause shes the buyer for Kino and shes all chummy with the insiders of the Book World and she moves around in their social circles.

She gets all these exclusive invites to warehouse sales where everythings all cheap and GUESS WHO GETS TO TAG ALONG?

ME.
(That was rhetorical. I just want to rub it in.)

So anyway tomorrow is Liberation Day and i cannot WAIT.

MUAH XOXOXO

2009-11-07T14:36:00.005+08:00

TIME FOR TORRES

Hey hey looky ! Once again i've done my old trick of, not only blogging when i dont have TIME to be blogging (or searching perversely and obsessively for pictures of what is probably the cutest football player of all time at any rate), oh no, but also not working on the thing that i should OBVIOUSLY be working on.

You officially have to have a special kind of skill to be as rubbish as i am.

Oh, count the freckles. One, two.. cute.. cant
make.. it.. floppy.. hair.. eyes..

Mm. Cutesy beachshorts

Rawr. Tatoooo boy.

My eyes are getting blistered. Notice the subtle hitch of the shirt.
And the careful turn of his head.

It fantabulousgorgeousness.

Does this not say Sacha Baron Cohen?

Yes yes, it does.

He is disturbingly, devashatinggly, dashingly, distracting.

Marriedly so, though.

The hot ones almost always are.

Married or gay. Or homosexual or transexual.

Quote of day:

I believe that if you keep hurling crap at the environment, sooner or later it's going to throw something back.

Dr Ng

2009-10-31T12:57:00.002+08:00

What Is The Point

What I have so realised is that it is during bus rides that things strike me the hardest.

I should write a book examining the relationship between Revelations and Bus Rides and call it Revolutionary Ride Revelations.

But i digress.

On the bus home from Novena i was thinking What Is The Point.

Of breathing of talking of loving of being rich of being poor of planting of living of dying of reproducing of animals of insects of football of homework of exams of university of tennis of sports of Presidents of being a freaking developed country with people involved in primary or tertiary or secondary sectors of technology of globalisation; of anything at all.

Of Social Studies of Democracy of Autocracy of Meritocracy of Communism of war of peace of Shakespere of tangents of cosecants of esterification of chemistry of working or money of beaches of beauty of marriage of Biology of Meiosis and functions of the liver and of the stomach and of the cerebellum and the nervous system and of sunsets and of time.

What Is The Point of all this?

I suddenly couldnt answer myself and i got increasingly frustrated.

I turned to the Bible. Of all the painstakingly memorised verses from the years of catechism class and bible quizzes only Ecclesiastes came to mind.

And let me tell you, he goes on and on about how Everything Is Meaningless.

In fact Ecclesiastes 1:2 goes something like:

"Meaningless! Meaningless!" says the teachers. "Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless.

Brilliance, i thought.

I could hear a couple chattering away shamelessly about Jen-somthing who was so very scandalous and Ben-something who was even worse. I tried to block them out but they were being extremely loud.

This made me very annoyed. Could they NOT talk about these insignificant things, and about Ben-whatever and Fan-whatever when here i was, trying my best to make sense of the utterly nonsensical world?

I thought harder.
I thought about how there had to be people who felt the same way as me, and i was rather comforted by that thought. I probably wasnt the only crazy one.

There has to be a religion, a band of people who believe that the World Is Meaningless and There Is No Point. I could research on it right now, but i shant because i am supposed to be studying.

I think they are called Atheists.

My musings were interrupted by a Beautiful Man who had boarded the bus.

Now a Beautiful Man differs, if only slightly, from a Sexy Male and a Hot Boy and a Marry Man.

A Beautiful Man is a man who is no doubt the most handsome and delicious man in the whole entire universe. One does not find a Beautiful Man just anywhere, and when you do, it is a rarity and a sight to behold.

This particular Beautiful Man had a tatch of brownish black hair and was painfully goodlooking. All the men in the bus cowered in sheer insignificance when his glorious self graced us with his presence. He had on a white, striped shirt, complete with cuffs and all.

And these cute brown pants.

In his hand he held a black breifcase, which contrasted heavily with his light skin tone.

He was probably around his twenties and this i could tell, entirely from his side view. (which was breathtaking btw)

He was British. And i love the British because they have awfully pretty accents.

Not that i was staring, but i mean everyone was. So whatever.

And then it was like a glimmering ray of white light had shone down in front on me. I understood now! The Point of Life, was most obviously, Beautiful Men. I rejoiced in my discovery for brief moments before i shook myself out of the stupor of Hedonism.

Of course that was only a temporary lapse in judgement. Yknow. Blinded by the Beauty.

(Eurghh i am so shallow sometimes)

Then i thought about how if i didnt get my Geog right i wouldnt do well for my Olevels next week and NO BODY would care if i kept chanting What Is The Point and being relentlessly struck by useless and completely random thoughts.

Sometimes i think my head is abit screwed up and nothing LINKS in there. Everything is a mass exodus of rapidly moving Wild Things covered in soap so I cant grasp anything for more than 2 seconds.

And if I do it slips out of my hand and melts into the confusion.

I am SO confusing.

Trying to elucidate things only makes me even more confused. Nothing is ever resolved.

Like how no one gets how Britian's NHS system is obviously a little bit Communisty and how LKY is a meanie. (And that RHYMES. I mean seriously. How convincing am I.)

Yeah i know he rocks because he seriously had the glorious forsight and the fantastical intelligence which made Singapore what it is today, but that doesnt change the fact that he is a meanie.

I wish O Levels would be over soon and my brain will be filled with Non Academic Things like sunglasses and big nice Summer hats and Prom Dresses and Phuket with the Bings and KotaK and Dresses and Surfing and French and Fun Things and History Boys and Bowling and Tennis and inane thing like my revelations which i would have the time to research exhaustively on.

OLevels is SUCH a time hogger.

Plus i wont have to ridiculously mug for Sciences and Humanites on Halloween when every single party place in Singapore is gonna be heated up by masses in cool costumes and my sister is going TrickorTreating and my brother is wandering around in Blissful Aimlessness, trying to sign up for Maplestory.

I know. I am so hypocritical sometimes.

I mean what is Van-something and Dan-whatever's scandalousness to my brainless and utterly insignificant thoughts?

Alright you little couple, go on talking about Panny and Danny if it makes you happy.

And this is me, signing off as i dive into my illuminating textbook of Earth Our Home, a Geography Elective.

SEEYAAAAA

HOLD ME DOWN
AND I'LL CARRY YOU HOME
-Augustanaaaaa <33

2009-09-24T00:23:00.002+08:00

When You're Sixteen

I've just turned 16.
I must say, being 16 is highly anti-climatic.

Everyone in the house is asleep and im listening to my own click-clacking of the keyboard, it sounds so pretty Especially when it's quiet, i reckon.

I think blogger got fixed somewhere along the way, just when i was deciding to switch to LiveJournal. It's awesome there how you can tell people how you're feeling with all those retarded emoticons.

And the cool icons! Livejournal is SEXIER THAN YOU, BLOGGER.

I miss blogging. I cannot think why i stopped for so long. I must keep going, this is so liberating.

16 is a pretty wicked age to be, actually. But i dont feel much difference, unless you count that i suddenly acquired temporary double-eyelids. Its actually the most exciting thing to wake up and have your eyes all pretty staring back at you. But they didnt pop out at 12am, they came visiting 5 days ago and havent left since. Im hoping they take up permanent residence.

My retarded, lovely parents switched off my study lights while i was busy replying Terry's birthday msg and doing my math paper (is something wrong with me? is is normal to be doing math papers when you turn 16? i dont know) and brought a beautiful candle into my room.

I blew it out as they wished me a Happy Sweet 16th.

Mom: Hello darling, happy birthday!
Me: Ehm, you guys, thats so sweet!

(upon turning on the lights, i discover that they have given me a pretty pink box)

Mom: Yeah but i want it back.
Me: The present?
Dad: No, silly, the box.

Heh. I love my mama. They gave me this ridiculously adorable card from Ivans or sommat like that and wrapped 2 50 sing dollar notes up and 2 US 50dollar notes. IN FREAKING CLEAR WRAP.

Like the kind we use to wrap books. It was all very surreal. My parents are reeeetarded.

And the card ended somthing like : And heres two 50 US dollars for you to use (and i thought DAMN WE'RE GOING TO USA THIS YEAR SHEEEEEEEEEET)... WHEN WE GO.. SOON.

XD But it was so awfully sweet of them. My parents are the bestest parents ever.

Man.
I cannot believe im sixteen still.

Its rather disturbing.

Im also tryna lose some weight, but if theres one thing you must do if you want to lose weight is NOT BE ME.

Because i cannot lose weight. Its either my aunty cooks food which is too yummy to resist, or my moma buys PercyPig from Marks and Spencer and HOHO it goes in a flash (because PercyPig is my Achilles heel, dammit), or i break and eat all the cake thats been going around.

WATAAR did the craziest things on Mon. We had PKLS and Ms Eu bought a PINIATA (!!!!!) and i couldnt for the life of me destroy with the broom stick i was offered to liberate the sweets so Gav the Man karate chopped it for me.

It was so funny i nearly choked on my own spittle and died right there.

And we had awesome cake with choco eggs on the top and everything.

My neck is hurting something awful now.
I think its because im becoming very old. 16 !!!

Im so old, i can hear my bones creaking.

Or maybe its because im typing this while im slouched in bed in a very bad position which would have those posture-freaks like going nuts.

BUT IM FLIPPIN 16 !!!!
Holy.

I decided held enough significance to be recorded here, in my trustly ole blog, soon to become obsolete in the Ever-TwitBooking world.

Its 12.53 now.
I cant even feel my neck anymore. Its gone numb.

I reckon its a sign.
Goodnightzxzxz Im going to Where The Wild Things Are.

PS. STILL CANNOT BELIEVE IM 16.

2009-09-10T17:33:00.000+08:00

Life is not about trying to fit into shorts
but finding shorts that fit.

2009-08-19T22:35:00.002+08:00

Omg.

My posting window is getting weireder and weirder (STILL think WIERD looks more weird than WEIRD- but for the sake of english, and pride.) by the day.

Now everything is flush left and i cant (again) change my font.

But whatever.

500 Days of Summer is coming out ON MY BIRTHDAY MY BIRTHDAY MY BIRTDHAY and i think its a sign. That i must watch it. And its such a brilliant movie! Joseph Gordon-Levitt is not the only attraction, (AND WHAT AN ATTRACTION), there is Zooey Deschanel who acted in Yes Man, and the script is so scintillating and original. Its like a breath of fresh air, sweet and delightful.

THEN THERE IS SEXY SACHA, who i love to tiny tiny tiny little bits because he is the funniest shit alive.

I must watch Bruno too. It is imperative.

Good movies have this annoying habit of poping up when i cannot watch them.

Chinese results were a terribly large shock(:
But good shock.

2009-08-08T13:39:00.006+08:00

Upsides of Being Intelligent

I dont know why my crazy computer cannot seem to open the posting window effectively. All im getting is a box, whcih annoys me greatly because i can neither change this awful font style, or this miniscule font size.

I was reading the my Engish Literature Forum (since when has school been so interesting, man) and damn, Forums are the brilliantest things. I swear. Especially when brilliant people start to discuss the most banal things and make it seem outrageously interesting. (Basically when i say people i mean Renyue and Nicks and Xin Yi)

Honestly.

I can see where these people are going, already.

Unless, of course, they are gifted in the Sciences on top of the Arts, and then all i can say to that is Life Is Unfair (which is a rather stupid thing to say, because we already all know it's true AND there is nothing anyone can do about it. If there was, life was be boring anyway. Everyone would either be across-the-board beautiful or across-the-board ugly.

Arcoss-the-board beautiful might sound mighty awesome, but only because we fail to see that beautiful would not be deemed beautiful if everyone were beautiful. If you get my drift.

Then beautiful and ugly and stupid and smart would cease to have a meaning simply because there would be no more distinction between them. Life would be like a piece of white paper.

Blank and stark and eeriely unreal. But then i digress)

1. Smart people are respected. See: Barack Obama. (First Black President Of Free World And Noone Gives a Shit That You Share a Middle Name With A Terrorizing Madman)
Michelle Obama (First Lady. Damn Fashion Statement)
Einstein (Dude. He lived how long ago? And we still know who he is?)
Ali G (You can insult all and sundry and people still LIKE you if you're brilliant, funny and you graduate from Oxbridge)
Nicky Ren Yue Xin Yi (see: me, nearly drooling in awe of their coherence and scintillating-ness. Enough said)

2. Smart people go to Zouk and get so stoned they cant even see, and then the next day study for an hour and get results so brilliant you darent even imgaine getting. (This happens. It does. Its unfair, but i shant go into the Life Is Unfair But Too Damn Bad rant again)

3. Smart people get married to smart people and produce smart little babies who boost economy and make country flourish. (Ask LKY. He totally would back me up)

4. Smart people are generally rich. (Need i provide examples? Just one word would suffice: Gates. SAT score? 1590 out of 6000. IQ? 170. Proven.)

5. Smart people change the world because people LISTEN to smart people. (Ghandi, Martin Luther- both, Mother Teresa- dont give me a incredulous face, she HAD to be smart, all those people skills and handling matters and having home after home under your care, Emma Watson- DARE YOU SAY HP DID NOT CHANGE THE WORLD, ectect)

Well.

But then again, i dont let it bother me too much.
I value happiness and contentment more than i value intelligence. (Or rather, i try)

God has a plan, anyway.
Maybe what he wants me to do requires somthing other than acuity.

Yes, it must be.
God makes everything better, he really does.

ITS ALSO SINGAPORE DAY TOMORROW.
Which for some uncomprehendable reason is making extremely excited.

Yes.
I am so proud of Singapore, i can barely contain it. Its home indeed. I think my loss of voice from Singing What Do You See and screaming yesterday proves my undying loyalty to my HOME LAND.

Singpapore is indeed fantastic place. Where else would you find people like Hossan Leong and Phua Chu Kang and National Day Videos with men walking down dark roads?

Where else would you be subjected to Sars and MRT RESPECT raps and where else can you choose to eat Indian, Malay, Chinese, Vietnamese, Korean or Japanese food all in the same place?

Where else do you shout KOPI TEH is your best gangsta accent and then sit down to say (primly, of course) 'Oh, im famished! Cant wait to tuck into the scrumptious food!'

No where else, really.

Singapore is one of a kind, it is.

LOVE IT.

Also, this blog is the awesomest.
www.pleasefindthis.blogspot.com ('Pologize. I cannot seem to add the hyperlink, damn my computer. Or blogger.com? Whatever)

It really is.

Nat finished reading the post all the way to well, wayyyy many years ago. I admit i havent really read them all yet, but those that i have, havent disappointed.

Basically this guy write poignant one liners (which are rather emotional and drenched in a heavy atmosphere, but altogther very exquisite. And worth the time) about photos sent to him by an unknown penpal who travels all over the globe.

Its all really interesting.

And talking about beautiful, lets not forget the BEST SONG I'VE EVER HEARD. And this is Honestly Not A Superlative.
Cross my heart. (just like the Carl Fred-somthing from Pixar's Up, my heart crosses are violently and extraordinarily steadfast)

Its an amazing song.

I cant even describe it. The tune makes it seem all so surreal.

The first line will cut you so deep, it becomes imperative that you listen to it over and over again, and learn the lyrics off by heart, and sing it in the bathroom, to your mother, and tell all your contemporaries about it. Its so brilliantly and remarkably PASSIONATE. I cannot even begin to stress how much i love it. Perhaps even more than Kaka. (Oh no what am i saying!) Less than i love Emma Watson and the History Boys and Adam Lambert and Artemis Fowl, though, but the extent of how much i love them is off the charts, so we dont compare. (Reckon i should stop upping the expectations, or im going to seem unreliable)

Here goes.

Vanilla Twilight by Owl City.

I'LL FIND REPOSE IN NEW WAYS
THOUGH I HAVENT SLEPT IN TWO DAYS
COLD NOSTALGIA CHILLS ME TO THE BONE

2009-07-03T21:09:00.002+08:00

"Flying is easy. Just aim for the ground and miss"(:

Geez, i so miss prattling on and on about absoluetly nothing in here. The sense of release and sheer comfort of just clicking on the keyboard makes me feel so happy.

This might be attibuted of the fact that either, im going mad and crazy, or that i am starting to find joy in the strangest, and slightest things.

I am now a full fledged Catholic, because i just had my confirmation, which brilliant. I asked for Fortitude, because i need it rather badly. The Arch Bishop touched my face and now i am officially Amanda Joelle Lee, which is SO DARN SEXY.

I mean seriously

Joelle.

That means God is My Oath. I think Oath is a solid word (like its made of granite, concrete and some superstong glue), and my life requires some solidity. Im too flaccid sometimes, and its awful.

Being 16 is so strange.

I cant decide whether i like it or not.

Sometimes im so content with being Amanda the one who runs around singing and is happy most of the time, but somtimes i wanna be someone like Emma Watson.

And sometimes i think, why cant i be more cool, and cynical and questioning?

MAN why cant i be disillusioned, detatched and sexy?

Or why cant i remember to put the register back in the drawer?

Or why do i forget people's birthdays so often?

WHY CANT I HAVE AN IQ OF 156?

Gosh.

Then i pull a face in the mirror and think about how life in general is rather unfair.

But then its easy to bounce back.

It takes me less then 10 minutes, because thats the maximum i allow myself to wallow in shallow, stupid selfpity before we move on.

BOING.

Thats how one bounces back. Its a trick to life, mostly you focus on what you have rather than what you dont have and there's this pretty glow that starts to grow in your heart.

School is being anal and the gaps between tests are becoming progregressively shorter. Im so glad that Pups and HC and Dionne and Dawn and Natnat and Nicky and Bobbles and Vanes and Cleo and everyone who makes me laugh are in my class.

If we're gonna make it through this, we'll make it through together. Whatever it is. Whether we have to crawl and wrestle or gnaw our ways to our goals with our teeth and nails, we will.

We will swear (mostly Bobbles- oh and Dionee) and sweat and shout and get fevers and make stupid lame shitty jokes and become depressed and mad TOGETHER.

And i learnt something valuable yesterday from the papers. NEVER use simple words when we can use bombastic ones when you are out to impress.

ie, instead of 'lengthened rebellion', one says 'protracted insurgencies'.

or instead of 'stupid', 'FATUOUS'.

instead of 'logic', say 'syllogism',

and instead of 'self absorbtion', 'solipsistic'.

Aim not to be understood. It is imperative that readers use a dictionary to dredge out the merest drift of your article.

Only then, have you suceeded. Plus, it lends one a kind of underserved brilliance.

Or people just get really really annoyed and use your articles as fish wrap.

2009-07-03T18:43:00.004+08:00

SO CUTE WHEN

YOU SLUR IN YOUR SPEECH

The craziest people graduate from Oxbridge. ( I REALLY THOUGHT THEY WERE IVY LEAGUE. )
Its brilliant.

Ali G (Sacha Boren Cohen) is from Cambridge.
Mr Bean (Rowan Atkinson) is from Oxford.

ALI G.
BORAT.

The guy who said : 'Fings like 'apple' and oranges' dont start with da capital letter unless they start a sentance' at the Harvard Class Day lesson. (He wanted to 'drop some knowledge' see, to the Harvard students and graduating seniors saying 'you is the most cleverest students in America')

HAHAHAHAHA.
Dude he is the crudest dumbest FUNNIEST shit on earth.
I cant believe he came from Cambridge.

Its madness.
I dont even believe it.

And then something else happens. And its even more implausible than Ali G (who wants to give away an once of hash as the prize for Who Wants To Win An Ounce of Hash) coming from Cambridge.

And that would be the wonder that is Inez.
Sports, is ruthless, harsh and ugly.
Sports evaluates, extricates and discriminates.
Sports is buckets of sweat, years of pushing limits and excruciating, mind blowing pain.

But sports is beautiful, rythmic and intoxicating.

Sports is raw and fresh and magnificent.

Sports, is talent upon hardwork upon tears upon fears.

Sports is also losing with grace (even if your insides are twisting and contorting in disappointment) and winning in ecstacy.

And when you see her run across the finishing line (even on the TV of goodness sake) its breathtaking, and ecstacy, is a gross understatement.

Its breathtaking and all the more beautiful, because, you see, all the pains and efforts she went through to get herself there.

You see her tears, her sweat, her silent and grim determination. You see the toil, the struggle and the unwavering commitment behind the win that she makes for Singapore.

You can see the countless prayers, the many breaths held, Coach, and everyone else who barely dare to blink.

A 100m hurdles race is a quick one. Inez did it with that beautiful gusto and steely purposefulness. She caught up with her competitors with a flourish, and raced to a awe-inspiring 3rd place.

I twitched with amazement as i blinked daftly at the computer screen.

Then i proceeded to press the playback two hundred and free zillion whatever four hundred and ninety six thousand four hundred and then a one (ALIG FTW) times.

Whatever it is, she deserves everything she has coming for her. She won this medal for Singapore with her sheer grit and perserverance.

AFTAH BOLTZ YOU MAH IDOL INEZ LEONG YA HEAR ME.

Thanks for being a mighty inspiration.

2009-06-16T22:07:00.003+08:00

Ego

I've always imagined Ego to be a bright red colour, only because its showy and loud, rather like red.

Today is one of those days that i am thinking loads of thing and the things im thinking keep on slipping away before i can make them out.

So im going to this quick.

First of all i think
The internet is an extremely good place for people to expand their egos. For one, blogging is so pompous mainly because we can go on and on about what we do and think and feel and assume the world is interested.

Then the advent of Twitter and the pervasiveness of Facebook (which has such a wide age spread, i have a 6 year old kid and a 58 year old guy on my friend's list) has lead to even more self absorb-ish-ness.

So who really cares about what Ashton Kutcher thinks, and does and feels when he's taking a bath?

Oh wait.
Make that 2 million people.

Which in turn makes everyone feel like doing the same thing.

Its brilliant, really. We're really all gonna become so in love with ourselves.

Then i also think im becoming 3 things.
1. Crazy
2. OCD
3. T-Rex

Crazy because its one thing to run 10 rounds around the track in school, but a whole different thing to run around barefooted, wildly slinging a pair of converse shoes whilst decked in jeans.

Its a whole different thing altogther.

Especially when you're not very sure of the way home, and it'll probably take you more than 30 min but you heard someone say that it was possible to walk home.

So You Try.

In the meanwhile, you wonder if you are wasting your time. So you start to do a little jog, except the bag with your (all time fav Alen Bennett -The Uncommon Reader) books juggling inside, and your blistering feet, you decide its rather exhausting.

You make off to sling the shoes across your neck and pull your harverack tightly to your back.

Then you run.
All the way home, all the time unsure if its the right way.

The stares you recieve are priceless.
Honest.

And when you finally get home, sweating, panting and dirty, its all worth it.

Liberating, even.

Which i think brings me back to the part of me becoming crazy.

OCD because it i've been starting to list things, and they say when you list things its the first signs of Obsessive Compulsive, one of the milder sorts.

Not that it really bothers me.

And T Rex because i've stopped eating rice almost completely. I dont know why. Its like a break from carbo, because i've stopped running. Which allows me all this carbohydrate reserves which need no refilling.

And i ate so much meat for dinner i felt largely like a dinosaur. It was rather disturbing.

And then i also dub Bob and green Blob as a favourite cartoon character because he has no brain, but he rocks.

And Cougars are cool because i totally fell in love with a Nick Quah Lookalike Only So Much Better Looking .

And to quote Weiqing
"I WISH I WAS BORN 10 YEARS LATER"

He was unbearably handsome, for a 6 year old.
All quite disconcerting.

AND THEN THERES ME THE EGOISTICAL 21ST CENTURY BLOGGER/FACEBOOKER/TWITTERER (albeit a rather new little bird) SIGNING OFF.

XOXOXOX,
LOVE ME.

2009-06-13T14:38:00.001+08:00

Razor TV makes me rather nauseous.

I sincerely hope, that if ever i should appear on video, i would never ever sound like that.

Hahahahah.
Second thoughts, it makes hilarious viewing.

2009-06-09T19:32:00.004+08:00

FEDERER, and Being Almost 16

Oh. OHohoh.

Words mean nothing now, because everyone who actually reads the papers probably already know. Already read. Already feel his brilliance.

Beautiful.

Sports is so unpredictable, who knew Nadal No 1 In The Whole World wouldnt make it into the finals? WHO KNEW THE FEDERER WHO LINGERS IN OUR HEART AS THE CUTELY GIRLISH TENNIS STAR WOULD WIN HIS FIRST FRENCH OPEN?

Who would have thought? (:

Oh *gasp* Federer.
Im so proud of you.

Oh, the happiness, the joy.

*Spins and twirls in euPHOria (courtesy of Vanes) for a while*

ANYWAY.

Another phenomenon has grabbed the youth population. From High School Musical, to Vampires With Beautiful Eyes That Go 'SAY IT', to the strange Hannah Montana Dance.

Keep seeing people Popping It and Locking It and its slightly crazy.

Just for the record, my very own sister is boucing along to the song, happily Countryfing It, and hahaha Jia En spent her time in front of the computer learning it.

And Nat knows it, and Mun Foong, and get this HUAI CHYN. (YAY SEE) Damn, thats like almost everyone.

HAHAHAHA.

Its all madness. (S'not as easy as it looks either. The movie is real misleading.)

Plus, I realise im almost 16, now.

And it quite scares me. I reckon its because i do not FEEL like a 16 year old at all. Its all quite surreal, and creepy.

Its feels sort of like, i have to find myself soon because im growing up too fast for myself. Its confusing me.

But then again, im confused by loads of thing.

Life in general confuses me.
Why we even exsist confuses me.

Why we spend out years studying about the Sine and Tangent and THEN add COs infront of everything and learn those as well confuses me.

Why we mug our brains out learning things that we will forget completely once we finish school confuses me.

Why some people are just so brilliantly intelligent and some people are just never good enough confuses me.

Why some people are beautiful, and some just unpleasant looking confuses me.

How much happiness means in a person's life confuses me.

What we live for (Is it to make others smile? Is it to enjoy oneself, and merely cruise through life? Is it to make the best of your talents? Then what of it? Is it to be as happy as you can be? Is it to achieve something? Is it to meet your soulmate? It is to reproduce and populate?), confuses me.

How much we should trust our own decisions and how far unconditional obedience to our parents stretches confuses me.

Independance, confuses me.

The inequality of life confuses me.

Being confused about everything confuses me as well.

Life is confusing, a huge paradoxical enigma.
The absurd perplexities we encounter, its not gonna end.

Then i think, maybe thats what we live for. And finally we go right down to the roots of all the ambuguity and anarchy of life, and find God.

And then i remember that life is perhaps worth living after all.
(:

"Tried to be perfect

But nothing was worth it

I don’t believe it makes me real"

-Pieces. Sum 41
(I think this song is brilliant. Nat sent it to me, and i love it)

2009-05-12T17:31:00.005+08:00

Hello Mr Caramel Corn

My days have been continuously exciting

First i get scared by these whackos (namely Joshua) who decided to wear this mask and jump out at me from behind the wall.

And i tell you the mask is so darn disgusting looking you would pee in your pant and break out into cold sweat if you see it at night and start hyperventilating.

Ah. Screw cold sweat, you'll probably just scream till you pass out.

Yeah.

And then Mah Mah is ill, and thats not very exciting. Its just all very sad and solemn and surreal.

Also, i read Emma and thats quite exhilarating because its a classic which makes me feel immensely intellectual compared to those usual trashy romance novels or Artemis Fowl (OH MARRY ME) or Calvin and Hobbes.

And plus Dawn says the world is going to end in 2012. Which is particularly interesting, really. Armageddon, and we get to be in it. Tell me thats not cool.

Not that i really mind, who needs to live that long anyway? Except i really want to get married first. I think it's awfully nice to have someone for you there forever and ever. Then again, maybe im just a hopeless romantic.

Its funny how we speculate about how our futures gonna be like.

Can you imagine if we could travel in time and all we see in 10 is a rushing mass of nothingness? Like the black hole, only it's engulfed everything else on earth.

WHOOSHAA.

Life is a little rushed, and sometimes i feel a little caught up in it all. Just like Mr Mas Selamat. Caught.

Only im not a crazy (albeit brilliant) terrorist on the run who lived in an abandoned house for 13 months selling Rumbly Burgers.

HAHAHAHAHA.

Gosh, im so punny.

And if Artemis Fowl is ever made a movie, they can't put Robert Pattinson OR Zac Efron as the male lead or else, HEADS ARE GOING TO ROLL. ROLL I TELL YOU ROLLL.

Seriously.

Spoil my childhood like that and SOMEONES GOING TO PAY, DAMMIT. Artemis Fowl is one of the biggest piece of arts ever, and i just adore, relish, revel in it's coolness.

No one beat Arty in his coolness.

I dont think anyone can play Arty, for one. He should remain a fictional character forever. But movies are inevitable, and i know how irresistible Arty is. SO IF EVER, and they cast some chickflick flake boy, i will be so pissed i will I WILL WILL. WELL.

I WILL EXTREMELY ANGRY.

Oh Arty thou art love thee.

I think Dominic Cooper should play him (only cause he did the cocky-intelligent-sexy boy part very well in History Boys) but he's too old.

I dont know.
I'd rather he remain my fantasy boy.

Caramel corn FTW.

2009-05-02T18:20:00.003+08:00

House Captains And Other Things

When they said AMANDA i thought i was gonna pass out, because in my head i was all ready to grin like the prop i was say CONGRATALATIONS CATHLEEN/NAT. And be glad for them.

I had it played out.
It was perfect and nice and comfortable.

It had never, ever, ever, in a million thousand gazillionie bazzillionie years struck me that people would trust me with such a fantastically huge responsiblity of being a HOUSE CAPTAIN.

Might sound rightly insignificant, but to me its so big and looming and encompassing and challenging and something close to miraculously crazy.

It made me wanna cry and wanna scream THANK YOU FOR HAVING FAITH IN ME and then yelling BUT DAMN YOU SHOULDNT HAVE, all at the same time.

Trust me, the feeling sucks so bad, i ended up having this half-crazed-shocked-eye-opened look for a few seconds before violently crossing my arms to reject it.

Over and over again.
And over and over and over again.

Then Dionne and me talked and talked and talked for the longest time because she was voted house Blue House Captain.

My mom said "If you're still a captain by next Monday im going to call the principal."

And Nat said "Its such a honor! Do you know how zai House Captains are?"

And Dionne said "DAMN I SHOULD HAVE JUST NOT GONE TO SCHOOL."

You can call me selfish or self-centered, but at the end of the day, i really think my results will mean more to me than a year of stress over my House because i am in charge.

The agony of rejecting it, was slightly more than painful, because giving such an honor and knowing how many people would be disappointed in me really struck something which KEPT ON RIINGING LIKE SIAO in my stomach.

But i think at the end of the day, had i taken it up and regretted it when my results were less then desirable, i would have no one to blame but myself.

NO ONE, but myself.
Just me, and my regret. And i think that kind of regret would be so much more bitter than the regret of giving up the Captainship.

I know FOR A FACT that i will not do well of my Os if i take it up.

It wasnt so much a risk, it was a fact. Because Sports Day ends ONE DARN MONTH before Prelims! And i cannot get down to business and study ONE MONTH BEFORE PRELIMS, because that is akin to RUNNING THE BIGGEST RACE OF YOUR LIFE on an hour's sleep.

Stupid and reckless. Especially if you know you're not Usain Bolt and need to sleep (or study) twice more than even average atheletes to gain the same kind of energy.

Im crazy glad that i have Catheleen BECAUSE I KNOW FOR A FACT SHES GONNA LEAD YELLOW HOUSE SKY HIGH.

AND CHECK THIS OUT.
I LAUGHED TILL I HIT MY HEAD ON THE SHELF.
101 Annoying Things To Do

1. Sing the Batman theme incessantly.

2. In the memo field of all your checks, write "for sensual massage."

3. Specify that your drive-through order is "to go."

4. Learn Morse code, and have conversations with friends in public consisting entirely of "Beeeep Bip Bip Beeep Bip..."

5. If you have a glass eye, tap on it occasionally with your pen while talking to others.

6. Amuse yourself for endless hours by hooking a camcorder to your TV and then pointing it at the screen.

7. Speak only in a "robot" voice.

8. Push all the flat Lego pieces together tightly.

9. Start each meal by conspicuously licking all your food, and announce that this
is so no one will "swipe your grub".

10. Leave the copy machine set to reduce 200%, extra dark, 17 inch paper, 98 copies.

11. Stomp on little plastic ketchup packets.

12. Sniffle incessantly.

13. Leave your turn signal on for fifty miles.

14. Name your dog "Dog."

15. Insist on keeping your car windshield wipers running in all weather conditions "to keep them tuned up."

16. Reply to everything someone says with "that's what YOU think."

17. Claim that you must always wear a bicycle helmet as part of your "astronaut training."

18. Declare your apartment an independent nation, and sue your neighbors upstairs for "violating your airspace".

19. Forget the punchline to a long joke, but assure the listener it was a "real hoot."

20. Follow a few paces behind someone, spraying everything they touch with Lysol.

21. Practice making fax and modem noises.

22. Highlight irrelevant information in scientific papers and "cc:" them to your
boss.

23. Make beeping noises when a large person backs up.

24. Invent nonsense computer jargon in conversations, and see if people play along to avoid the appearance of ignorance.

25. Erect an elaborate network of ropes in your backyard, and tell the neighbors you are a "spider person."

26. Finish all your sentences with the words "in accordance with the prophesy."

27. Wear a special hip holster for yourremote control.

28. Do not add any inflection to the end of your sentences, producing awkward
silences with the impression that you'll be saying more any moment.

29. Signal that a conversation is over by clamping your hands over your ears.

30. Disassemble your pen and "accidentally" flip the ink cartridge across the room.

31. Give a play-by-play account of a persons every action in a nasal Howard Cosell voice.

32. Holler random numbers while someone is counting.

33. Adjust the tint on your TV so that all the people are green, and insist to others that you "like it that way."

34. Drum on every available surface.

35. Staple papers in the middle of the page.

36. Ask 1-800 operators for dates.

37. Produce a rental video consisting entirely of dire FBI copyright warnings.

38. Sew anti-theft detector stripsinto peoples backpacks.

39. Hide dairy products in inaccessible places.

40. Write the surprise ending to a novel on its first page.

41. Set alarms for random times.

42. Order a side of pork rinds with your filet mignon.

43. Instead of Gallo, serve Night Train next Thanksgiving.

44. Publicly investigate just how slowly you can make a "croaking" noise.

45. Honk and wave to strangers.

46. Dress only in clothes colored Hunters Orange.

47. Change channels five minutes before the end of every show.

48. Tape pieces of "Sweating to the Oldies" over climactic parts of rental movies.

49. Wear your pants backwards.

50. Decline to be seated at a restaurant, and simply eat their complimentary
mints by the cash register.

51. Begin all your sentences with "ooh la la!"

52. ONLY TYPE IN UPPERCASE.

53. only type in lowercase.

54. dont use any punctuation either

55. Buy a large quantity of orange traffic cones and reroute whole streets.

56. Pay for your dinner with pennies.

57. Tie jingle bells to all your clothes.

58. Repeat everything someone says, as a question.

59. Write "X - BURIED TREASURE" in random spots on all of someone's roadmaps.

60. Inform everyone you meet of your personal Kennedy assassination/UFO/ O.J
Simpson conspiracy theories.

61. Repeat the following conversation a dozen times: "Do you hear that?"
"What?" "Never mind, its gone now."

62. Light road flares on a birthday cake.

63. Wander around a restaurant, asking other diners for their parsley.
64. Leave tips in Bolivian currency.

65. Demand that everyone address you as "Conquistador."

66. At the laundromat, use one dryer for each of your socks.

67. When Christmas caroling, sing "Jingle Bells, Batman smells" until physically
restrained.

68. Wear a cape that says "Magnificent One."

69. As much as possible, skip rather than walk.

70. Stand over someone's shoulder, mumbling, as they read.

71. Pretend your computer's mouse is a CB radio, and talk to it.

72. Try playing the William Tell Overture by tapping on the bottom of your chin.
When nearly done, announce "no, wait, I messed it up," and repeat.

73. Drive half a block.

74. Inform others that they exist only in your imagination.

75. Ask people what gender they are.

76. Lick the filling out of all the Oreos, and place the cookie parts back.

77. Cultivate a Norwegian accent. If Norwegian, affect a Southern drawl.

78. Routinely handcuff yourself to furniture, informing the curious that you don't want to fall off "in case the big one comes".

79. Deliberately hum songs that will remain lodged in co-workers brains, such as "Feliz Navidad", the Archies "Sugar" or the Mr. Rogers theme song.

80. While making presentations, occasionally bob your head. like a parakeet.

81. Lie obviously about trivial things such as the time of day.

82. Leave your Christmas lights up and lit until September.

83. Change your name to "AaJohn Aaaaasmith" for the great glory of being first in
the phone book. Claim it's a Hawaiian name, and demand that people pronounce each "a."

84. Sit in your front yard pointing a hair dryer at passing cars to see if they slow down.

85. Chew on pens that you've borrowed.

86. Wear a LOT of cologne.

87. Listen to 33rpm records at 45rpm speed, and claim the faster speed is
necessary because of your "superior mental processing."

88. Sing along at the opera.

89. Mow your lawn with scissors.

90. At a golf tournament, chant "swing-batabatabata-suhWING-batter!"

91. Ask the waitress for an extra seat for your "imaginary friend."

92. Go to a poetry recital and ask why each poem doesn't rhyme.

93. Ask your co-workers mysterious questions, and then scribble their answers in
a notebook. Mutter somethingabout "psychological profiles."

94. Stare at static on the TV and claim you can see a "magic picture."

95. Select the same song on the jukebox fifty times.

96. Never make eye contact.

97. Never break eye contact.

98. Construct elaborate "crop circles" in your front lawn.

99. Construct your own pretend "tricorder," and "scan" people with it, announcing
the results.

100. Make appointments for the 31st of September.

101. Invite lots of people to other people's parties.

I love number 90.
SWIING BATABATABTA suh-WING BATTER!

2009-04-24T20:45:00.002+08:00

ON HOW I LOVE SN TRACK AND FIELD, GUANG ZHOU CELEBRITIRES, NICE LOOKING PEOPLE (OKAY BOYS), ON RUNNING, ON CHEERING, ON WINNING, AND ON LOOKING LIKE A RETARD IN IN THE PAPERS.

I reckon i lead a very interesting life.

I really do.

I just had to look like a scrambling fool in the papers, did i? I just had to.

My dad says though, it was because of me that ST used that picture. Because why use a picture where everyone is standing straight upright like the winners they are when you can use one where the girls on the podium are falling off and only-can-see-your-ponytail-less and grabbing onto each other for their dear lives, right?

People live for this kinda amusement.
Makes you realise that they are humans who screw up in big moments.

Aw but its embarrassing crazy, though.

And i cant believe how exciting it was yesterday.
IT WAS DAMN FRIKIN MADNESS I TELL YOU.

IT WAS DARN FRIKIN MADNESS. (Now you imagine me with my face all worked up shouting this)

Just $%^&*(that actually means veryimmenselysomuchomgicantreallhytalkcoherentlyanymore) amazing.

I made up a theme song for us runners, which goes something like "I feel the adrenaline moving through my veins, spotlight on me and im ready to ra-ahce."

Tres original or what.
But who cares! Spears should be happy her Circus is doing some good in the world.

I dont really know how to say it, but I $%^&* LOVE SNG! AND SNG TRACK TEAM AND MY JUNIORS AND MY TEAM AND MY FRIENDS WHO SCREAMS THEIR LUMGS OUT FOR US ALL UNTIL THEY FELL SICK. I WANNA THANKS ALL THOSE MAD PEOPLE (CLEO ALI) FOR RUSHING DOWN AND NOT EVEN MANAGING TO WATCH THE RACES BUT COMING DOWN ANYWAY. I WANNA THANK DIONNE FOR HER MEDAL WITH THE (AHEM) STRING. I WANNA SAY ILOVEYOU TO VANES WHO SCREAMED SO HARD FOR ME THAT I NEARLY CRACKED UP AT HER CONTORTED FACE.

I WANNA SAY THANKS TO NAT AND CARA AND WQ AND PUPS AND MOST OF ALL MR ALMIGHTY WHO WE WERE BEGGING TO GUIDE US THROUGH.

And he did.
He performs miracles, he does, Mr Almighty.

He did for Inez, he did for Fiona and he did for SN.
Living, breathing testimonies for what he can do if we just trust, i tell you. Its out of this world.

JAI HO.

2009-04-02T20:17:00.002+08:00

Cinematic, baby
(It only means i think you're cool, mei)

There is something about Mark Richmond which makes you like him. It's not that he's exceptionally suave and handsome or beautifully chiseled, it's more of his way with words.

His poise.
His charm.
His charisma.

Obama oozes it, it practically flows from his shoes and brimms over and drowns his audience in his brilliant, charming, luminosity.
Hilter exploited it to achieve something so unspeakably horrific, at such a large scale he is comparable to the devil.
Martin Luther King employed it because He Had A Dream, a Dream to free his people.
Mahatma Ghandi possesed it and freed India, and millions of impoverished.
Cristiano Ronaldo wears it histrionically, arrogantly and sexily as he struts around the pitch.

Mark Richmond used it to soothe the nerves of 50 students who's hearts were beating, whose palms were wetting themselves and whose curiosity had turned into nervousness.

Mark Richmond told of Smiling Cameras and Being Yourself and lame little anecdotes which made the tangible agitation of 50 students melt into easy laughter.

Charisma is something special.

Its the beauty of making people see instead of just looking.
Its the beauty of making people listen instead of just hearing.
Its the beauty of making people feel instead of just listening.
Its the beauty of making people act instead of just feeling.

I suppose when God wants us to spread his magnificence and unconditional love, he gives us charisma to make others listen to us. Gosh, im thinking im not going to be all preachy because no one listens to people who preach all the time.

But God gives me experiences which i retell and retell and retell and SHOUT FROM THE ROOFTOPS AND SING IN THE RAIN ABOUT.

And the thing is, people listen to you. To me. To whoever who has has felt his grace.

And maybe thats Charisma at its best.

2009-03-16T15:26:00.003+08:00

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-

2009-03-12T19:00:00.002+08:00

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

2009-02-19T20:26:00.004+08:00

NEW LOVES

My obsession.

I haven't had one in an awful long time.

I want to own them ALL.

OWN THEM ALL. Sexiest, smartest, brilliantest group of boys i have ever set my eyes upon in my whole life.

If i were Allan Bennet, OH. How i wish i were him. (Then theres me, speaking in the subjunctive. Its an obsession, OBSESSION)

Hot boys are a rare find, but hot men with brains is like water in the desert. (Watch me spell, suckers). YOU YEARN YOU DESIRE but they only materialize as hallucinations when you are on the ground writhing in thirst while your camel-turned-scavenger awaits your death to drink your blood.

Hot boys, who are brilliantly smart, sexy, witty, humorous and dont have eyes only for chicks with big asses or boobs are practically nonexistent.

Oh woe.

The History Boys is honestly a really good movie/book/play.

I think the various ways it has been showcased to the world speaks for itself!

HELLO MOVIE/BOOK/PLAY?!

Need i say more?

Its a poignant, touching story, and the way Bennet injects the witty one liners into the script only makes you want to kneel before him and say TEAACH ME TO WRITE LIKE YOU.

The conversations and discussions are so riveting and so beautiful. Its like art.

And Dominic Cooper as Dakin, has nothing to do with this. He is another Love altogether. I love his character because its so complicated and frustrating and intelligent and sharp, and to top it off because he is overly sexy and beautiful and commanding, you are drawn to him like AMANDA TO FRIED CHICKEN WINGS.

Then there's the Irwin the History Teacher, who i sorta cant place because he is much to brilliant and witty for his demeanour. Someone so perversely bright should be locked up somewhere to provide light to the world.

And POSNER.
Oh Posner.

I really want to read the book but they dont sell it, NOT IN KINO, NOT IN BORDERS, NOT IN THE LIBRARY ( i was devastated. my home, MY SECOND HOME FAILS ME), NOT ANYWHERE.

Singapore is a loser place to look for books. WHAT I WOULD GIVE TO GET MY HANDS ON A COPY. WHAT-I-WOULD-GIVE.

Its pissing me right off, but i figure it's all for the better because if i had one now i'd probably put my studying on hold as i embark on a quest to (in The Eu's words) OSMOSIZE it into me.

And that would not be good.
I will buy it from trusty Amazon if all else fails AFTER my Os.

Obsessions sometimes have to wait.

2009-02-03T17:36:00.003+08:00

SOMETIMES I CANT

Sometimes i cant penn my thoughts down fast enough and then i lose them. I hate it when i do because when i try to grasp them back its like trying to bottle wind, impossible and frustrating, and at the same time unbelievably strange.

Which is why i adore Bobble's dipiction of a man holding on to a balloon labeled IDEAS and it's holding a needle and pricking itself.

Its brilliant.

Such wonders a little cartoon can say-

Art is, after all, bottomless, inexplicable and to quote my lit text "its meaning cannot be quantified or understood solely through mechanisms of reason and logic" and sometimes speaks more than a thousands words.

RESPECT BOBBLES, RESPECT.
I love your art pieces. I really do. I ADORE THEM. I ESTEEM THEM. I CANONIZE THEM. I CHERISH THEM. I VERNNEERAATE THEMMMM.

I ROLL ON THE FLOOR AND KISS THEM.
(Oh no gosh i didnt. Im kidding. I didnt kiss your precious black scrapbook. I PLEDGE that i didnt.)

Yeah yeah- going too far here.

Some people say blogging is a waste of time. I beg to differ. Blogging ultimately mobilizes my time, but to call it a waste would be a dreadful desecration. Blogging is a dissection or if not so, a running, and continuous commentary on my life and thoughts.

You could say it is a practice for Language Arts, or Literature, because all these subjects embrace and embody the art of critical thinking, and dissection of a piece of writing or situation ANYWAY. I thus consider blogging an INVESTMENT.

An investment that would probably aid me in my future studies- SO THERE.

I impress myself sometimes. My uncanny abilty to justify redundant and inane things.

Theres another weird thing i do, and thats laugh at myself. Some people say thats a good thing, but i reckon is awful scary when i reflect upon it. PLUS i dont think when they say "Its a good thing to be able to laugh at yourself, Amanda" they mean that i make mindless noises under my breath in class and then laugh uncontrollably at them.

And trip and fall and start doubling over in laughter so i roll down even more stairs.

And manage to dredge up annoying jokes people make about me and my skin colour and snort at them and ALMOST retell them to other. No, im not THAT moronic. (Sometimes i make up my own, NOT THAT I WANT TO, but thats another thing altogether)

But i reckon that because i THINK i am a little bit bizzare, it thus absolves, or rather, VINDICATES me of the fact that i am actually slightly queer.

Its like, being anneroxic. If you know for a fact you are anneroxic, the fight is almost complete, you're gonna recover soon because you accept. And what is it they all say? Acceptance is the first, or rather, the LARGEST step to recovery.

Its rather complicating to grasp at first, but then again, you must have a remarkably perculiar way of thinking to understand what im saying.

Im cool that way-

PS. Tennis boy isnt so hot close up, i played next to him when i was having lessons. (I felt like such a wimpo playing nextcourt to a boy who looked like be playing with his all, a boy who looked like he played with passion. My serves were the YES-I-GOT-THE-BALL-YES-ITS-OVER-THE-NET kind shots) But his serves are so wonderful i could hardly care.

Hes super, erm whats that word, imbah- (SEE SEE IM COOL TOO. I KNOW WHAT IMBAH MEANS) Haha, im-bah. IMBAH. Its originates from IMBALANCED (in a good way), thats what Quan taught me. I am SUCH a terrif student.

And i love Kaka.
And Nadal is okay, after all. My sister says hes humble to a fault, and i really could agree with that. The guy is so humble he says "He deserved to win" to his opponents when he plays them out.

Hes quite a guy, if not for the fact that he adjudsts his *ahem* alot while playing. Plus he won Federer and Verdasco. (Verdasco is a hottie)

Okay, okay, he makes it to my RESPECT list, right after Bobbles.

Lovelies(:

2009-01-27T00:26:00.002+08:00

ITS CHINESE NEW YEAEEAH ALREADY.

Its so awesomely fast.
FASTFASTFAST.

Life goes really fast when you dont realise it. Like zoom and then WHERE DID ALL THE TIME GO?

Sniff.
This year is gonna be a tough year. TOUGH LIKE A OX. But i'll get through it, cause im a Chicken! Chickens are the best at doing tough stuff, they lay eggs like 24/7 and then feed the hungry, carnivorous, poultry eating masses.

Brilliant.

In any case, in the time that had passed, i had tons of revalations that i want so badly to post up there. (Something about the shape of my head and the tennis court's sudden makeovah) But i cant remember them cause when i was struck by those flashes of awareness, i had no pen nor paper around me. Its all very annoying.

I say its a internal conspiracy to keep me off my blog.

Few days ago, i think friday, i was feeling on top of the world cause i shattered my PB and THEN. THEN. Tennis boy was playing again. He was wearing this black and white shirt (Darn i honestly hope he doesnt EVER read this blog because it'll be throughly embarrassing for me. But in the VERY SLIM CHANCE that you might be, Tennis Boy, IT IS NOT ABOUT YOU. ANDD i am not a stalker. Dont blame ME if my house overlooks the tennis court.) and he was doing his gorgeous backhand again.

I dunno why but it made me inexplicably happy just to waddle in my joy of breaking my PB and gawking at his flawlessly masculine one-handed backhand. Its so beautiful its like magic. Magic.

Then Bobble's scathing (HAHA) voice would materialise in my head - 'Cheap thrills.'

Me and my brother slept in the living room after Shou Shui-ing and pigging out on shrimp rolls. We rolled all over each other and my brother stole the blankies so i shivered for awhile so my father closed the balcony doors and then i starting sweating. Which brings me to the freak weather that has our fields all dry and brown and ugly.

Gross.

Just thought you should know.
On top of that, i reckon Brad Pitt is disgustingly hot. I mean, the guy is an ANIMAL. He should be cut into pieces and his handsomeness cut into many parts to be shared by the men who desperately need it in the world.

Yes.

I will watch The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button.
I will because it is one of the craziest, coolest show that i have ever heard about in my whole life.

And Raphael Pichey "Rafi" Gavron who acted as the Thief Boy in Inkheart is AHDORABLE. Hug all around for cute British Jewish boys and buys with smexy backhands.

HAPPY CHINESE NEW YEAR!

2008-12-29T16:54:00.002+08:00

FOIE GRAS

Apparently its an acquired taste.

NO.

EVIDENTLY. Its a acquired taste.
Sniff.

Whats the big fat deal about swanky, uneconomical, EXORBITANT french cuisine anyway? They always talk about it and say WHOOPEE DO its upper end, exclusive food for the elegant, chic people.

HELLO.
Well then, they must really enjoy eating baby food.
Cause thats what goose liver tastes like- and looks like. (after you've poked at it for a while.)

Gross and mushy. And its pretty disappointing because they serve it all done up and yummylishious and it smells like superbly fantastic. But then it dawns on you that this is LIVER. OF A GOOSE. Or duck.

Which pretty much annihilates the whole glamorous food thing.

BUT ANYWAY.
Today i went on a date at swanky EH QUI NOX. Hows that for EX QUI SITE yo!

Thats EQUINOX at Swiss Hotel.

I must say, it was quite an exhilarating experience cause the waiters were perversely polite, so much so one felt like smashing something, or climbing on your chair and yelling "IM A PSYCHOTIC SAVAGE! HA HA HA." really loud just to see how well-trained they were at handling crazy people reverentially.

(Erm- hey potential husbands out there, its not that i would EVER EVER do that, stand on a chair and yell IM A PSYCHOTIC SAVAGE HA HA HA that is. So put your anxiety riddled heart and at peace if you EVER EVER want to bring me there to propose to me in future.

Not that i would ACCEPT the unimaginative proposal, because putting the ring in creme brulee or my desert so i would choke on it isnt exactly original. In fact, it would run the VERY big risk of being cliched.

In fact, now, at this immature adolescent age, i would want a proposal at the beach. I always thought beaches were really beautiful. We could ride a double bike and wheeeeeee speed off into the horizon.

I digress.

Theatrics nonwithstanding, though, i really think ring-in-desert is really sad and unromantic and pathetically comical.
Lots of things could go wrong.

Scenario 1

Man- Have your desert dear, its wonderful.

Woman- Im really full, sweetie. (rubs tummy) Why dont you have it?

Man- But you must eat it! Do have a little, darling, its really fantastic! (Sweating alittle)

Woman- I couldnt eat another bite, baby, you must, MUST, have it instead.

Man- (Expletives abound under breath)

Woman- DID YOU JUST DAMN ME?

Man- No honey, i would never! I love you! Honey, i was going to propose to you tonight! Sweetie please, dont hit me with your snakeshin handbag, it really hurts! Listen to me, honey, liste-

Woman- I always knew you were an ANAL RETENTIVE MACHOCHISTIC PIG! You terrible (and this is spat like vermin) MAN.

Scenario 2
Man- Have your desert dear, its wonderful.

Woman- Mm. Yumyumm.

(Moments later)

Man- So, how is it, sweetie?

Woman- (Silence.) (Flaps hands ridiculuously and cluches her throat painfully. Her eyes are bulging out of her face and skin is turning a slight purple)

Man- HONEY!

Woman- (Makes a 'i love you' sign with her hands and shudders while she drops to the floor, her eye balls ballooning, terrified and striken. Evidently she was choking and is now dead.)

Man- NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. (Reaches for butter knife and stabs himself, only to realise it is too blunt. Plunges the crab pincer into wrist and lies on wife, convulsing in pain.)

END

My my, a budding scriptwriter, albeit a extraordinarily sadistically melodramatic one.

I DIGRESS.

So i stuffed myself with foie gras, and creme brulee (YAHHHH REMEMBER HSM), fondue in dark choc and normal choc and cheese, franche-comte, saint pauline, echire, fromage de monsieur- CHEESES and terrine foie gras, Sri Lankan crabs, and mussels and soba and gingerbread houses and muffins and fresh prawn, and SALMON!

And this, my friends, was the appetiser.
I know right, but the main course was anticlimatic, i tell you. ANTI CLIMATIC.

The portebello mushroom i ordered looked like compacted rubbish with sauce spewed all over. Its was terrifiCALLY terrible. Yeah yeah, blame the girl and her cheapo taste buds.

But honestly. Dont get it if you go there. I reckon they made it really terrible tasting cause their law must go The Worst Tasting Stuff Must Be the Most Expensive Expensive To Con People Into Believing Its Swanky Cuisine.

It was awful. My dad liked it though, so i blame him for stopping that High Class Acquired Taste gene. He ate my compacted rubbish while i enjoyed his duck. LEG. No more livers, thank you very much.

Equinox is a nice place to eat, i must say, we were 70 storeys up and the spectacular view of the southern-ish tip of Singapore was breathtaking. I was imagining i was a BFG (Thats Big Friendly Giant, ya poor, childhoodless, deprived, RoaldDahl-less kids) and i was mimicking picking up little people walking on the roads, scurrying around in their little lives.

Ahyes.
Sleepover at Bings was more than a BLAST, and at the risk of making a pathetic pun, WE BLASTED EACH OTHER AT LASER QUEST. (right, that did sound rather bad)

Yoho yoho.
I nearly died of the neckache sleeping on beanbags caused me. AND i nearly died because my brother accidentally almost drowned me in the pool. And lemme tell you, it was scary shit.

Altogether it was awful fun.
Love the lot of them.

BABIES TILL NOW MATES FTW!

2008-12-20T16:04:00.002+08:00

Letters To Santa

Dear Santa,
Last year, i did not receive the 15000 items i requested for Christmas. I can only conclude that your secretarial staff must be a bunch of overpaid and woefully unprepared temps and my letter was misfiled.

To avoid a similar disaster this year, just write me a check for 5million dollars and i'll buy the stuff myself.

Love,
Calvin.

How can you not love him?
You mightn't wanna live with him, considering he's a fantastically and morbidly insane, but you've GOT to love him.

I love him to the MAX.
Anyone who appreciates Calvin and his brilliantly unbelievable wit and his shocking stupidity and incompetence at maths is someone who has my respect.

Yessir.
Calvin And His Tiger FTW!
(I'm using this phrase much too much. Thanks alot, WeiQing.)

I watched Twilight yesterday, just before my skilled monopoly at the Air Hockey table. I so own at Air Hockey. SO OWN. It was a left and a right and i blocked every shooting pellet that came whizzing towards my vulnerable goal!

AND I WON!
By a mile, i tell you.
Veron and the guys had no chance. It was me and i was on a roll and JUST FOR THE RECORD my goal wasn't dysfunctional small so the puck would get stuck every time it hit it. Dont blame the goal for rooting for me! Cant blame me if me and me goal like to work together!

Evidently, the other goal was disloyal and every score was unanticipated.

It was a europhic win for the first time champ, yours truly.

Back to Twilight which was a TREBLE disappointment.

First off, the entire first half of the movie was listlessly and lethargically moving along, at this sluggishly passive pace, and all the gorgeous boy and girl could do was muck around, throw trees around, talk amazingly slow and ponder over the mysteries of the other.

I mean HEY PRETTY PEOPLE GET OVER YOURSELVES.

It was so slow moving i felt like poking it in the rear really painfully with a stick to prod it faster or to just burst it.

The book, by far (and this is REALLY FAR by the way. So far you cant even see this Sun Wu Kong's magic eyes.) outshone the movie.

Secondly, it was painful to watch the 2 characters whisper to each other in their emotional voices all the time. Granted it was sorta entertaining because DAMN Robert was the really hot and vapirish, but hey, the zoom-on-on you-gorgeous-faces-and thing got old after a few times.

Thirdly, the kissing scene was SO soft porn.

Okay i dont know why this goes under The Bad Things About Twilight, but i bet you'll want to watch it now. Sickos.

But really, the movie in my head didnt have them kissing so passionately and so concupiscent-ishly until they got married. Gee. But dont know why im complaining about this though. They both looked so amazing when they kissed (damn those beautiful people) and true to the whole Go Slow And Boring effect, the kiss was ree-aallyy slow.

Not that it was boring.

Slow kisses, are just so - so- so. SO.

AND FOURTHLY! I think i said 3 before but then again i dont hate the kissing scene so much anymore. Too sexy.

The movie did not even have a theme.
Theme-less movies are destined to die a cheap and sad life. (Not that Twilight did but thats because Rob the Hot saves the show)

It wasnt a romance, well not really. Okay it was (and there was so much chemistry between those 2 it was practically electicity.) but hello, THE BEST ROMANCE EPIC AFTER TITANIC?! *Snigger*

What a laugh.

No one beats my Leonardo, ESPECIALLY not some emotional, hormornal, softspoken, boring, albeit devastatingly-nice-to-look (gosh i tell you, his eyes go so deep into his face its sorta surreal) at VAMPIRE.

Yeah so well.
Twilight wasnt meant to be a movie anyway. SO unsuited. Honestly, the whole book was choke full of the lovesick teenagers thoughts. Good to read but painful to watch.

I didnt even make me happy because the set was so dark and eerie.

If anything, ITS ARTEMIS FOWL that should be made into a movie.
Not that anyone would beable to portray Sexy Genius Boy's cold look or intelligent eyes. And after Twilight i think Artemis was fare better in my head than on screen.

YAY ARTEMIS AND CALVIN.

Question:
What important evnt took place on December 16, 1773?

Calvinised Answer:
I do not believe in linear time. There is no present and no future. All in one and exsistnce in the timporal sense in illusory. This question, therefore, is meaningless and impossible to anwer.

Smart dysfuntional kids FTW!

2008-12-07T23:07:00.002+08:00

Top Of The World

I'm on the TOP OF THE WORLD
Lookin, DOWN ON CREATION
and the only ex-plahnation i caan find!

Is the love that i've found,
ever since you've been around,

Youre love puts me at
THE TOP OF THE WORLD!

The Carpenters ROCKS MY CROCS!
(Honestly. Socks is SO last season.)

Really. Im so into this song because its so beautiful. And Karen's voice is superrrrrb. Its suits me! ITS MY SONG!

If my life had a theme song, this would be it!
THIS! THIS AMAZING SONG!

And Vanessa The Symmetrical Face dedicated a whole blog post to yours truly. Maybe thats why IM ON THE TOP OF THE WORLD!

Im so happy and touched:D
(Cue :awwwwwwwwwww)

Vanessas the coolest crap ever.
Really. Sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me! I was so touched (at the nice parts. some parts are downright untrue, SO.)

Some parts arent very flattering either, i must say.
And most things i dont completely agree with.

LIKE HELLO.
I dont smile like my jaw is unhinged, for one! That pose is purely art! Its original! At least i dont make goo goo eyes at the camera and puff out my cheeks and bend in my chin to enhance my eye volume.

PLUS. I dont understand why everyone identifies me with grossness.

What is it with them and that word and me?
My unique spirit... my personarlity...
Everything that makes me, me, summed up in a banal, sad comment of the suburban contemporary lifestyle, GROSS?!

SOME CREDIT HERE!!

Okay, get ready. This is going to be the grossest post you can ever imagine. I am about to say the grossest thing you can think of. Like seriously gross. Like so gross it's scary. Like the epitome of grossness. Or should I say ehpeetoemee of grossness?? HAHA. yup i'm sure you've guessed it.
AMANDA LEEEEE!

HAHAHAHA. OOPS. Sorry Amanda but yeah like Dionne says, you are quite gross. Like really. :D Okay la, to even dedicate a whole post to you Amanda, it means I actually love you deep down inside my heart. Haha.

So anyway, I was actually feeling horribly upset earlier. I felt like crying, felt like dying. Just felt like lying in bed for the rest of the week and emo-ing. (okay maybe not that bad, but anyway) I was confused and despairing about my stupid life, when these magical words pop into my head. it was from an sms Cleo sent me the other day.

"Go read amdl's blog!"

I was all who's amdl?? And she said "Amanda Lee la stupid!" and i went ohhhh! Haha. But never went. Heh.

So a few minutes ago, when I was all down in the dumps, hating myself, blue like blue's clues, I followed that piece of brilliant advice. I arrived at Amanda's blog to see 'BOYS BOYS ALL AROUND' found it superbly apt.

Haha. Her post was really funny. And then I scrolled down and saw something about Amanda singing and started laughing to myself because you know howsome ppl exaggerate stuff on their blogs to make their life seem interesting?? Well I know for a fact that Amanda wasn't, because I've heard her before. (and probably screamed the same things at her! heh)

After which, I embarked on her revelation wave that her friends were all relatively attractive. I agreed with a lot of her observations but I think the same thing that struck Cleo immediately struck me. I was like "Hello, my mole's only on the left side of my cheek, symmetrical?? AMANDA LEE FAIL PRIMARY 2 MATHS!" I mean like hello, Amanda?? OMG, I JUST REALISED THAT RHYMES WITH 'HELLO PANDA'! :O (sorry, anyway)

she then went on to talk about Dionne calling her gross and again I recall this gross friend I have and begin to chuckle to myself. I shall attempt to list all the things i find gross about Amanda.

(NOTE: This list is definitely not exhaustible. She makes new things gross everyday)

1. The way she throws a frisbee.
- She gets into this stance with one leg behind the other, her back arched, her boobs (however much she has) jutting out grossly, her eyes squinted, her mouth slightly parted, her gaze focused in absolute seriousness on some random spot on the flagpole, the frisbee held above her head, parallel to it like she's trying to block the sun.

Then she flicks her wrist, at the same time jerking her body grossly and emitting an extremely unelegant grunt from her strange mouth. She then straightens up and smiles gleefully at everyone around her like they're supposed to be applauding.

2. Her colour.
- Yeah I know this isn't her fault, and neither is this original because everyone makes fun of her colour, but well... She's like, black. I mean, she's the only chinese girl I know so far who has had racist indian jokes told about her. She's hilarious. Then again, as I was telling her that day, her colour makes her look mouth-wateringly delicious. She's the colour of chocolate fudge brownies, a whole pot of chocolate fondue, honey roasted chicken and and and... chocolate chips. Mm mm..

3. Her ego.
- Amanda Lee has got an insanely huge ego. Especially so because the ego is completely unjustified. I mean, she thinks she sings awesomely well, she thinks she is the most beautiful woman in the world, she thinks that the things she does is not gross at all. YADA YADA YADA.

(okay Amanda, on a side note, I'm not saying all these things in a mean way to spite you kay. I just find it awesomely hilarious. Please, I still love you like nuts. heh.)

Oh. and she thinks smiling with her mouth wide open makes her look prettier. Amanda Lee Zi Yi is pretty enough to look nice in pictures even without her mouth gaping open like he hinge of her jaw is broken.

4. Her horse laugh.
- Hi Nat, I'm so agreeing wiht you here. Her horse laugh is definitely an important factor which makes her an uncontested president of the 'GOTGC' - 'Grossest Of The Grossest Club'. But then of course, there are those times where her laughter is so cute it's infectious.

So here Amanda, I shall repeat that you are really an excellent friend. An amazing girl who is really nice and sacrificial. You're so amusingly hilarious. If not for you, I'd be sad so much more often.

And other than adding amusement to any conversation, my dear, you're a wonderful listener. You always make me feel better when I share stuff with you. (: Love you girl. :D
(look i even made this post green in honour of you! :D)

HAHAHAHHA.
Okay i have to admit its awfully funny.

HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA.
But completely (okay not completely. the part about me being pretty evidently makes some sort of sense) untrue.
REALLY!

SO ANYWAY.

Yesterday i went cycling to the zoo.

The zoo.

THE ZOO.

I repeat the ZOO.

Yeah. From all the way here, i rode to the zoo. About 30km approx, i think. From 1030 in the morning, i rode around the park (10km), then me and my dad made for the zoo.

IT WAS FANTASTIC.

Not as good as midnight cycling, but the price wasnt as high, so i guess it evens out.

My thighs were yelling, and my shoulders were screaming and my back was cramping and my er, lower part of my anatomy was hurting like THE CRAZIEST SHIT EVER.

But i ploughed on and damn, the feeling of satisfaction was well. SATISFIYING.

If you havent already read about it in my earlier post, (about me being rendered infertile), im going to honestly say that i probably cannt ride another bike in a whole month.

Makes me wonder how Armstong had kids.
Really. Betcha wouldnt have thought he did!

BUT HE DOES!

One kid called Luke and twin girls whose names i cannot remember for the life of me.

BUT DAMMIT.
HOW IN THE WORLD?!

Its honestly amazing.
Twins too.
TWINS!!

Oh and by the way, Frannie got confirmed today. ALong with Lynerd, and Jordana and Chngster and LOADS of other people like Chengmeis and Esther almost everyone catholic i know from school.

GUESS WHAT FRANNIES CONFIRMATION NAME IS!!!
Omg, i was so proud of her i almost kissed her.
Evidently i have had such an impact on her life!

Sometimes i surprise myself.

FRANCINE AMANDA GOH!
(Notice the bolded, enlarged, coloured in word)

Love ya, Fran!