amelle.blogspot.com

Happy 2011!

2011-01-03T10:28:00.001+08:00

I have moved:

http://thegreenscarf.tumblr.com

Merry new year to you!

I'm returning soon!

2010-09-04T18:22:00.007+08:00

It's more of a promise to myself than anything.

In the meantime, catch me on air!

"Play Easy", with me Mabel Lee!

Weekdays, 10am to 12pm

Power98 FM

P/S: Dan: Thanks for your comment (:

Oil and water don't mix.

2009-03-17T16:08:00.001+08:00

So why do they still stick together?

Too perfect;

2009-01-15T17:15:00.007+08:00

太完美
歌手：陈诗莉
作曲： Kenn Wu
作词：苏俊袖

在海岸边的CAFE
LATTE依然没改变
夕阳的橘红色光线
画面多完美

一阵惬意的微风
悄悄掠过我侧脸
短暂把一切
忘却

每个电影情节太完美
沉醉在完美的幻觉
就算是面对面
互相仰望也甜美

每个小说情节太完美
你的出现太完美
我愿意
停留在原点

Counting cheers

2008-08-07T22:10:00.010+08:00

1 for the mixer of dainty, scarlet drinks

2 for the talented photographer behind this sluttay shot

3 for ummm... Amruta's handbag

And 918239823423847 for trigger-happy faces <333

Miss you girls (and Fel!) already :(

P/S: Happy belated 21st ChupaChups! Your pressie is on its way, I hope.
P/PS: Miss you too, Bee.

It's official, I'm old.

2008-06-26T15:36:00.009+08:00

I actually hit the big 21. Unbelievable. Now ugly wrinkles will start to populate my forehead and parts of my body will begin to sag in my sleep. I can no longer make convenient excuses by labelling myself an ignorant teenager (or even a tween at 20) to get myself out of trouble. I will have to start taking responsibility for my actions etc and start thinking like an adult etc and stop dreaming and playing useless games etc and start being more conscious about my future, family and the world etc.

The world will never be the same again.

And yet...

Behold the number of sadistic people who take joy in the celebration of this tragic event:

(Only a portion of them here)

Don't be fooled by the smile on my face...I'm really crying inside.

*switch to positive mode*

So yes, I'm back in Singapore again. Yay! The flight back on Tiger Airways was some experience - I'll have to leave that for another entry altogether though. I forgot how hot it was here too; to think I was complaining about the cold back in Perth. Nonetheless, it's good to be back, and after a night of fervent interrogation from my parents about my life in the last 4 months in Australia, we headed for a family (er, reunion?) dinner at Sakura:

Yes... it's a glamourous thing to take a family photo with oily utensils and greasy remnants of a Thai meal.

Then it's off to prepare for the birthday celebration at SAF Chalet - Changi Fountain View. To be honest it wasn't my intention to celebrate it in a chalet - I would have preferred a mini celebration in Partyworld or something (yes I'm a cheena lian who needs her regular fix of singing Mandopop) or a frivolous night out at Zouk with a bunch of girlfriends. But alas, one very interesting and distinctive trait about the people in my family is that they love to make decisions first, and then tell you about them later. So yes, the verdict was out: Mabel was to celebrate her 21st in a chalet. *judge gravel slams*

But as it turns out, it was far from a bad thing in the end. The place was better and much more spacious than I expected, and the dinner party was nice and mild as planned, just like you know, my character.

Much thanks to my Bro for booking and paying for the chalet + other misc stuff. Hearts to my parents too, for the food and my sparkling birthday present (to be revealed later). You guys really bankrupted yourself for me lah. <3

My birthday cake - milk chocolate fudge with roasted almonds - from The Patissier. I specially asked for red roses and strawberries as toppings, but wasn't sure the Chef would decorate it in the way I wanted. Turned out he did eheh. It tasted just fine too - looks like I completely underestimated you, Mr. Chef.

The girls who managed to turn up and stay for the cake <3 Thanks, lovelies! For those who didn't, your unpardonable act is irredeemable and your name is eternally condemned to the undesirable pages of my bad books. However, if you meet me by 31st July and present me with a huge expensive belated birthday gift, there may be a chance my anger can be appeased. Seriously.

As for the guys, thanks to Clifford, Keith, Alvin, Lynx for turning up. I'm sorry I can't upload the one photo we took; as it turned out I looked positively unglam (had a weird expression on my face) in it, so yes... it shall not see the light. You guys looked fine though :)

As for the presents (and angbaos from relatives), thanks all! Although to me, presence > presents, really. But there's one I have to take a picture of, because my mom bought it for me, and because it's the dearest (in every sense of the word) gift I received this year....

A 0.30 carat diamond ring from Sookee jewellery. It's damn pretty lah. I don't know much about diamonds but in comparison to the other rings that I tried, this diamond is much clearer, and the "hooks" around it make it look like a star. According to the salesguy it's a new design too.

When we were shopping for it, there were other less expensive alternatives that I told my mom I could settle for, but I think my eyes lit up when I saw this ring and she noticed, heh. So she got it, despite the mind-boggling (to me) price tag. Never thought my first diamond ring would be given to me by mother...so thanks so much Mom (& Dad) <33

Beauty, midnight, vision dies:
Let the winds of dawn that blow
Softly round your dreaming head
Such a day of welcome show
Eye and knocking heart may bless,
Find our mortal world enough;
Noons of dryness find you fed
By the involuntary powers,
Nights of insult let you pass
Watched by every human love

- W.H. Auden

Now to embark on endless shopping trips and consume all the local food I can before my return to Perth. :)

A fairy landed on my laptop this morning.

2008-05-15T14:52:00.001+08:00

Her name is Eudora, and she says she's going to whisk me back to Singapore on June 13 :D

Woo! Can't wait. I mean, who needs SQ when you can ride on a flying unicorn? I just need to figure out how to shrink myself to the size of my palm when the time comes.

And so I was walking, head bent,

2008-04-11T21:22:00.001+08:00

looking for the office room number I'd scribbled inside my notebook. The Education & Humanities building is a right maze - they have hundreds of corrridors and thousands of rooms. I've since called that building The Labyrinth. So yes, I was on my way to The Labyrinth when -

"Excuse me."

I looked up. "Yeah?"

A lanky dude with frizzy blonde hair thrust a small twisted piece of paper made to look like a ring in my face and said, "Will you marry me?"

I blinked, and noticed he had a guy next to him, holding up a video camera in my direction.

I squinted at the paper ring. "Well... I'll have to think about it."

"You will? That's great. Here, I'll write my number on your palm."

He grabbed a red marker from the back pocket of his jeans and reached for my palm.

His friend peered over and laughed. "I wouldn't call that if I were you."

I looked at my hand.

"Me neither," I said lamely.

"What's your name?"

"Mab-"

"Oh but that doesn't matter. I'm only marrying you anyway." He winked.

.........

I'm not sure I can fully appreciate Aussie humour.

Anyway, some random pics over the weeks:

Vernessa and the I-can't-remember-what-it-was noodles that she barely touched. We had dinner at this Cafe near my place - pretty decent SG food.

Some lovin' from SG. Thanks, you know who you are :))

More lovin'. Thanks, I devoured this show in less than a few days. I need Season 2, now.

Authentic fish nuts from WA

And don't ask me why I have a lighter on my dresser.

Just back from KTV with Lydia. Bought this purple donut-bread thing on my way back. Was delicious, but the weather was cold as hell. Oh wait, hell is hot. Or is it?

Ahhhhh.

Must be the Aik Cheong coffee. It's the best drug there is. I had it again last night to finish my Professional Writing essay. And needless to say, it served me well. I'm now 100x more awake than I ever need to. Now to find something to do.... hmmmmmm.

I MISS SG! <33

Always the new girl, always nothing more.

2008-04-02T20:02:00.009+08:00

Why not?

They don't need anymore friends.

Then why bother?

I don't know, because it's important?

Then what happened? What did you do back then?

I don't know... I was young, I was silly. I think I walked away.

You think?

Well, it's not like they tried to hold me back. They had each other; I was only a number.

Did you try turning back?

I tried. I'm trying. But it's too late.

Why?

It's been too long; the distance is too great.

But you moved along. Surely you found something.

Oh, I did. I thought I did. But they barely lasted. And the wind... the wind took me forward, and I couldn't do anything. And that was it again... I was gone. I left them.

Maybe they were the ones who left.

That's a comforting perspective.

Was that sarcasm?

The fact is they're gone and I'm... alone, again. And I think it's going to stay like this. For a long time.

It doesn't have to.

You haven't been listening; I've tried. It's not working. Maybe I just shouldn't care so much.

Maybe.

But my dear, what else would you care for then?

Of time and trams

2008-03-15T12:08:00.006+08:00

Okay, so maybe "soon" wasn't exactly so soon. But hey, I'm just gonna go with the convenient excuse of "being busy and not having time". That always works, right? :D Right.

Life has been pretty routine; I only go to school for 3 days, and the rest of the week is spent reading texts, watching dvds, or the occasional shopping/dinner with a friend. Not terribly exciting, I know. But I'm kinda liking it, strangely enough. There's a quiet, purposeful kind of momentum to this lifestyle and I find myself comfortably easing into it. The only thing I have to worry about is pretty much schoolwork. Oh, and maybe how best to not poison myself with my non-existent culinary skills.

Yes..cooking. To think I was so gleeful about having managed to avoid the harrowing task for the last 4 weeks... but well, I guess it was only a matter of time. Janesa and I have decided to stop taking meals from the landlords starting this month. (Decided that it was way cheaper (125 AUD/wk without meals, 225 with). And so, this basically means we have to do our cooking... not everyday, of course - there's a Winthrop Village near our place that houses a pretty decent Singapore/Malaysian cuisine eatery - but it still means that there's a very high potential of me doing some serious irrevocable system damage to us both. Will blog about that when it happens.

Anyway, something mildly interesting happened in front of our place some days ago.

Aunt Selina - sweet lady landlord - (ramming on our doors): Mabel! Janesa! Peter! There's a tram outside our door!

Me: Er, tram?

Aunt Selina: I think there's a wedding, come see!

Me: A wedding tram??

It wasn't even a wedding bus. It was a wedding tram. How could I resist not seeing one? I readily abandoned all the important tasks I was preoccupied with at the moment (Facebooking and clicking on my Itunes), headed towards the door and saw...

Me: (acting supremely suaku): Wah! What a quaint-looking tram!

Janesa: (pointing to a house just a few steps away from the tram) Eh look so many people there!

Aunt Selina: I think it's a wedding. Look they're wearing gowns!

Janesa: Let's take a video!

Me: Okay! Let's take it from the door. Uh uh, we'll pretend to be heading out for dinner and be surprised to see a tram and so many people. Ok??

Janesa: OKAY!!!

- 10 minutes of overzealous acting and video recording later -

Janesa: OK let's see it.

Me: (fiddling with my camera) Ok wait ah.....

Us: (watching playback).....

Janesa: Er, how come no sound one?

Me: What!

As it turned out my lousy camera has no audio input so the video was audioless. Damn annoying la. What kind of camera doesn't have audio for its video function?? Ok, my kind obviously.

But the video quality wasn't so good anyway - was pretty shaky. So we decided to take pictures instead.

That's our house on the left. Er, half of it anyway. I personally think it's quite big and that the landlords don't utilise the space well enough. But I digress.

These are the mysterious formally dressed people crowding outside our neighbour's house (Not those in shorts or jeans though. I mean the guys in tux. Don't know where the girls went.) And as you can see, just when I was trying make myself inconspicuous by taking a shot from behind a car, this nonchalant headgear-donning asian kid just whizzed past me on her bike. Tmd.

Also, as it turned out, it wasn't any wedding. It was really a prom night for some high school kids and the tram was to escort them to some hotel. Sigh, I much preferred the idea of a suburban wedding, really.

Alright, time to cook lunch! (cue ominous music)

My first bad hair day in Perth..

2008-02-21T21:49:00.003+08:00

and it had to be photo-taking day. But I doubt anyone really noticed it because the wind was too busy messing it up anyway.

The sun was extremely unrelenting today (I swear the one here is so much more vicious than Singapore's), so it was essential to slap on litres of SPF 50 sunblock before setting out.

King's Park - it's lovely but occupies over 1000 acres so if you wanna walk, I suggest walking in the evening or when it isn't summer. Unless you actually like being toasted while strolling (which incidentally, is like 98% of the Aussies - they're a brave bunch, lazing around soaking up UV rays. No wonder they have so many skin cancer clinics).

Lotsa evil tall trees that made me feel shorter than I already am.

Fremantle - the port city.

This museum was interesting - it houses remnants of shipwrecks and some such other things. But then I met the unnerving gaze of a stuffed black swan and learned that it used to be real. Not so interesting after that.

Cute fisherman sighted.

Heeheehee.

Janesa seemed more excited about the kiss than him though.

The best thing I like about Perth so far? The people. They thank you for everything. Which is nice I suppose, considering how some Singaporeans seem to not even know the existence of such a thing.

The not-so-nice thing would be the timed and sometimes irregular bus rides - I'm not used to missing a bus and then having to wait another 45 minutes for the next one. But other than that, Perth is pretty cool. And well, hot, depending on how you look at it.

Alright, off to devour a set text for next week's Intro to Literature class. And did I mention my professor is really interesting? He reminds me of those mad genius types, overflowing with knowledge and constantly muttering to himself. But so far his lecture has been very insightful, to say the least. They need more people like him around.

More updates soon!

And so the past week was a whirlwind..

2008-02-17T21:54:00.001+08:00

to say the least.

From unearthing ground-breaking news during my last night in Singapore, stumbling around the airport as my parents hustled me to no end, checking into the wonderfully-located-but-dreadfully-austere City Waters motel for the first few nights, to viewing houses in the suburbs near my school... I've yet to fully digest it all.

My parents comparing prices at some shop in Perth city (they like to do this)

Waiting for the bus (they take forever)

Er...

My new room. 220 AUD a week including meals. In a sweet little house in Winthrop that is like a few bus stops away from my school. More about that next time. Oh, and if you want my address drop me a mail and I'll let you know. I could do with some love letters :D

Many thanks to those who could and could not see me off at the airport!

Eve&Gwen, I miss you.
Keith&Farhana&Caili, I'm so surprised you guys came. Thanks a lot <3
MabelSng - we only had an hour to catch up on what, half a years' worth of events? Wahh. :( Thanks for coming though! Hope your grandma is doing better.
WanJun&Amruta&Fel: You all suck. Never send me off. Hrmphfhfhhfhf. OK la but the dinner we had was great. ;) Thanks for calling too <33
ZiXin - Thanks for calling. Please let's keep in contact.
A.Koh - TYFE. ;)
Terry, Lynx & the rest - It's okay you guys couldn't make it. Appreciate the thought. Love love.
Daniel - thanks for being there. Love. :)

Mom & Dad, thanks for everything. We don't always communicate in the best of ways, but I understand, I really do. I love you.

School offcially starts tomorrow, so I'll see how it goes. More pictures to come; been too caught up in things to really take many.

Finding Neverland

2008-01-25T02:25:00.000+08:00

词曲/ Peggy Hsu

有些事情不必解释得太过清楚
偶尔模糊不算犯多大的错误
我只相信眼睛看到的世界
什么错与对和我没有关联

恐惧占领我的思绪脑袋没有氧气
是谁将我的城堡粉碎剩下灰烬
怎么耳朵听见天使的声音
可我听不见自己的呼吸

Hey Peter Pan 带我飞往世界的角落
紧握住手中的梦别让那阵风吹走
Where's Neverland 传说中守护梦的乐园
我穿着白色翅膀飞多远

没有悲伤没有眼泪
我还学着飞旋着远方微亮光芒指引我梦在眼前会实现

A divine influence

2007-12-24T00:01:00.000+08:00

Haresh Sharma told me he's not always sure where he seeks his inspiration from. One thing's for sure however: he doesn't find it at the beach. Or anywhere overly serene or quiet.

Kinda reminds me of a line by Virginia Woolf in the movie "The Hours":

__________________________

Virginia: I'm dying in this town.
Leonard: If you were thinking clearly, Virginia, you would recall it was London that brought you low.
Virginia: If I were thinking clearly? If I were thinking clearly?
Leonard: We brought you to Richmond to give you peace.
Virginia: If I were thinking clearly, Leonard, I would tell you that I wrestle alone in the dark, in the deep dark, and that only I can know. Only I can understand my condition. You live with the threat, you tell me you live with the threat of my extinction. Leonard, I live with it too.

Virginia: This is my right; it is the right of every human being. I choose not the suffocating anesthetic of the suburbs, but the violent jolt of the Capital, that is my choice. The meanest patient, yes, even the very lowest is allowed some say in the matter of her own prescription. Thereby she defines her humanity. I wish, for your sake, Leonard, I could be happy in this quietness.

Virginia: But if it is a choice between Richmond and death, I choose death.
________________________

I don't think inspiration always necessarily drops onto your head when you're elbowing your way through the city crowd, but I believe activity is always good - to shock the senses and stimulate the brain, as opposed to say, constant exposure to the mind-numbing lull of the ocean waves.

Working at Lush has been great; I half-wished I didn't have to leave in February and forgo the chance of meeting more interesting people.

In any case, stay tuned for my upcoming podcasts of Haresh Sharma (ECLIPSE), Mig Ayesa (WE WILL ROCK YOU), Dawn Farnham (The Red Thread), and Benny Ong (Re-woven exhibit at SAM). Ought to be fairly interesting.

(To listen to my previous podcasts, please scroll to the bottom of the blog)

Merry Christmas, everyone! :)

In the next instant

2007-11-29T00:02:00.000+08:00

she felt consumed by the sheer vastness of the sky – she has never quite looked at it this way before. Something about the solid black heaven dotted with scintillating stars overwhelmed her and she let herself fall deeply, into awed silence. She felt dwarfed in the presence of nature - small and insignificant, even vulnerable. Emily squeezed the warm palm in hers and felt safer.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" the resting figure beside her said.

Emily nodded and thought she saw another star wink at her in the inky distance. She lifted a hand up in its direction and closed her fingers carefully. Then she opened them and looked, almost expectant.

"You missed," Harry said.

Emily laughed.

"Well, there's always the moon," Harry mused, stroking her fingers gently. "Or the clouds... even the entire sky.”

Emily considered the velvety heavens for a moment.

Lying on her back on the deserted rooftop of a clubhouse where they risked being discovered (and possibly chased unceremoniously off the building) was definitely a first-time experience. Emily had her qualms about the idea initially, of course - she never claimed to be the experimental sort. But now that she was here, listening to the wind in her ears, her heart as light as a feather, she was glad she did. Emily had never experienced so many new things before she met Harry. That was the thing about him - he was always full of surprises.

"I think I still want the star," she said finally.

Harry heaved a heavy sigh, his swarthy features forming a look of mock resignation. "Alright then, looks like I'll have to take it down for you."

He made an exaggerated movement of flexing his right hand before reaching up in the air. He closed his fingers slowly, waited a few seconds then brought his clasped palm near Emily’s face.

"I think I did it," he said.

Emily gave a small laugh. "And what if you didn’t?"

"Well then...I'd be at your humble disposal."

She giggled again, and reached to open Harry's palm. As she did something glinted between his fingers, and Emily blinked.

WARNING: Emo post ahead

2007-11-18T02:32:00.000+08:00

Some people think that people become 'emo' on purpose. Like it's a trend to wear some generous amount of eyeliner and wander about Orchard Road in their tight jeans and studded belts, without a clear destination in mind (and well, perhaps sight - 'cause their black floppy hair are usually styled in a fashion that limits normal vision).

They are (or attempt to appear to be) aloof, sensitive, and often angsty (a feeling not always demonstrated overtly - it's more of a deep, quiet type of rebellion); they utter few or no words at all because they

1. Believe wholeheartedly that the world is fucked and nothing they or anyone else said or did will ever change that fact, and

2. Believe nobody would care or understand what they had to say anyway.

No, their problems are usually too complicated for the average happy normal human being to comprehend.

So they seek solace in hating the world, black horn-rimmed glasses and plugging in to the sounds of Fall Out Boy and perhaps My Chemical Romance.

Their other activities include self-injuring, having bouts of depression and struggling with the occasional suicidal tendency.

But surely some people are not getting into it for the sake of being trendy; some must don the clothes simply for the fashion statements they make ("This is who I am"), some must be genuinely in love with that genre of rock music ("I can so relate to this shit"), and others... well, maybe they're just really angry.

My 15-year-old cousin for instance, is well into being emo. However, I'm not sure which category he falls into because fashion is definitely not his thing, he doesn't listen to rock, and is always grinning away and looking absolutely happy (or so I witness during our recent family gatherings). My only guess is that he believes it gets the girls - the dark, mysterious look, complete with an unsmiling and troubled facial expression:

(No, that's not my cousin - he's Paul Dano from Little Miss Sunshine - fantastic movie, by the way.)

I suppose then that my cousin is following a trend because he's being emo for the sake of it.

But that's not the point of this post.

What IS emo anyway? Apparently you don't need to wear emo garb to be labelled as one. Pen something remotely dismal, and you're emo. Be moody and say nothing the entire time during dinner and you're emo. Cry a little and feel sorry for yourself for your recent failure and you're emo. Hell, if you're decked out in black from head to toe, you risk being called emo.

Whatever happened to just being unhappy? I much prefer that word to emo - the latter has connotations of over-sensitivity, which is usually regarded as a bad thing.

And why does being unhappy have to be a bad thing? It's up there with being happy or jealous - just like any other feeling that a normal human being is capable of experiencing.

Of course, staying depressed for a long period of time can be unhealthy, but feeling miserable because one feels momentarily dissatisfied with himself, or flunks a test or because his favourite pet dies?

Please, it's called being normal, not emo. Just because you've never so much as shed a tear over anything or just because someone chooses to not share all of his life problems in detail with you doesn't make the person emo (a word like I mentioned, has negative connotations because people have started linking it to the ideas of being extremely or "excessively" emotional, sensitive, depressed, angsty etc).

Being unhappy is not being emo.

I refer to the people who freely slap the word on the forehead of anybody (especially strangers or people whom they barely know) who is simply feeling down and is expressing it in a certain way that is surely normal (e.g. crying, wanting to be alone or whatever).

"Come on Mabel, it's just a word. What are you so uptight about?"

If you knew me you'd figure I'm just about as uptight as a deflated party balloon. It just irks me when people incorrectly spews a word without caring or bothering if the effect could be offensive to some.

A perhaps more relevant example of this would be this Facebook group I joined, to remind people that 'gay' isn't a synonym for stupid. You know, like "Oh, homework is gay" or "You like Britney Spears? That's just gay."

Some may think it's perfectly harmless, but perhaps if they stopped to consider for a moment they'd realise that just maybe some gays in the world find the careless usage of the word highly offensive, because you happen to be associating gay with something stupid or bad.

And why does being gay have to be a bad thing?

Photographs and memories

2007-11-04T00:06:00.000+08:00

writing moments on the wall with different colours
keeps my mind away from missing you

and i can't wait to fall asleep to slip into my dreams
where we can dance upon a star

and i will be as patient as a girl in love could ever be
cause i don't feel like i was real until you were
a part of me

cause i have photographs and memories of the times
when you weren't on my mind and i was alone

and i have poetry and drawings of my life
when you weren't on my side and i didn't know

just what is love

Happy 21st, Amruta ;)

Lush 99.5FM

2007-11-01T18:23:00.000+08:00

Been part-timing at the station for some time now as a producer/presenter, so if you're interested and are able to wake up in the wee hours of the morning, feel free to tune in to The Art of Lush on 5 Nov at 6am for my chat with Alvin Tan and Siti Khalijah on the play "Good People", and 7 Nov at 8am for my chat with Tracie Pang on her latest production "The Pillowman" (which I am gonna catch so wait for my review, eheh)

If you're interested in the arts scene in Singapore, feel free to download our podcasts here at podcast.sg. My first podcast is "Good People". :)

Also, I'm gonna catch "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang" (of which my interview with Kevin Kennedy you'll hear on the 22 Nov, 8am) next Tues so it should be exciting. I learned that the car in the musical is in the Guinness Book of Records for being the most expensive prop in British theatre. Talk about a hefty investment; I wonder if anyone ever attempted in steal it (though the idea of anyone lugging a car that massive, unnoticed, seems entirely impossible).

In other news, I'm most probably flying off to Perth next year to study English and Creative Arts. Been turning over this idea in my head for as long as I can remember. About time I made a decision. Have I been abroad alone before? No. Can I cook? No. Will it be lesser than 2 years? No. Lots of moolah and everything else at stake? YES.

Hurray.

The clack of her heels

2007-10-14T00:01:00.000+08:00

on the wet gravel worked themselves into a slow, mind-numbing rhythm that reverberated within the walls of her head. A thin finger with a chipped nail of rich crimson carelessly hooked the shoulder strap of her coated leather Fendi as she advanced into the chilly night, the biting cold colliding on her unfeeling skin, her eyes vacant and unseeing.

She concentrated on nothing but the monotony of her footsteps, the echoes of which resounded in her hollow heart. It teemed with an absolute nothingness, and where her bleeding hand last clutched, it still seared from the touch of the hunter, of whom with paralysing regret, she now understood to have gravely mistaken as a lover. She let her feet carry her aimlessly into the pitch-dark alley, allowing the murky gloom to infiltrate her thoughts, the dejected passage between the peeling, dingy walls to consume her.

The caustic lash of his words – they burned her more than his callous actions, more than the friction of his relentless arms on her skin. A tear leaked from her mascara-stained eyes and as she brushed it away vaguely with her wounded hand, she tasted blood. A metallic bitterness stung and momentarily, she was brought to her senses.

Then she noticed it. The self-satisfying cadence of her footsteps no longer belonged to hers alone. She gave a tentative turn and immediately greeted a distant, clanging noise that rang shrilly into the still night.

Her lax fingers tightened around her bag; she gripped and pressed her tote against her body as she picked up her pace, consciousness flooding her mind in a coldly awakening streak. Her bent head twitched at the slightest hint of strange motion, but she kept her face forward and was overwhelmed with the sole urge to step up the movement of her feet.

The back of her neck tingled irritably; she felt her heart in her dry throat and she focused only on the sound of their footsteps – the brisk clack of her patent pumps and the accelerated crunches of the blundering, unidentified pair.

The wind in her ears fanned her fears with electrifying speed - and when the tenacious footsteps grew as loud as hers she wildly snapped her eyes shut.

You've got that look again

2007-09-15T01:39:00.000+08:00

The one I hoped I had when I was a lad
Your face is just beaming
Your smile got me boasting, my pulse roller- coastering
Any way the four winds that blow
They're gonna send me sailing home to you
Or I'll fly with the force of a rainbow
The dream of gold will be waiting in your eyes

You know I'd do almost anything you want
Hey I, I try to give you everything you need
I can see that it gets to you
I don't believe in many things
But in you I do

Her faith is amazing
The pain that she goes through contained in
The hope for you
Your whole world has changed
The years spent before seem more cloudy than blue
In many ways your baby's controlling
When you haven't laid down for days
For the poor no time to be thinking
They're too busy finding ways

You know I'd do almost anything you want
Hey I, I try to give you everything you need
I'll see that it gets to you
I don't believe in many things

But in you I do

- Simply Red

The Ghost of Memory

2007-08-27T00:03:00.000+08:00

Edit: Post taken down for now, because it seems that a revised version of this entry was shortlisted for a local publication - a compilation book called "Romance Vol. 1" slated for release sometime in December this year. Do check that out then. Love!

I think people are fascinating.

2007-08-15T00:01:00.000+08:00

Like, really. Or maybe it's just Singaporeans. But considering we're still in the National Day mood and all that I shall refrain from directing anything towards the citizens of this er, very patriotic country.

As I was saying, the most fascinating of the lot would be the select few who manage to (with their uniquely oblivious mannerisms) baffle you speechless within the three seconds that you spend to take in their height or the colour of their poorly-dyed hair.

Alas, I am most honoured to have met such an amazing person merely a few hours ago, and it was, to say the least, a most harrowing experience.

In the form of a bony woman looking in her late 30s, this twiggy human had ambled very audaciously into my vision earlier and proceeded to ruin what would have otherwise been a peaceful meal that a lone diner like myself so yearned for this cool night.

It all happened very quickly.

I had chosen to sit in the middle of a gloomy food court near my place (a few stalls were closed and not all the lights were turned on; there were plans to renovate the place soon, I heard) as there weren't many people around so I didn't feel a need to sit at the most ulu spot available (something I'd do normally if I chose to dine alone - for maximum privacy, of course).

This was a decision I regretted almost instantly. In the mere few following minutes that I spent tucking into my wonderful bowl of mee hoon kuay, said Twiggy Woman suddenly materialised within sight and appeared to be in the middle of a very agonising mission that is the contemplation of choice for dinner. My eyes narrowing, I watched as she sauntered past the row of very limited stalls, vaguely examining their contents before finally settling her gaze in my direction.

Before I had a chance to raise a wary eyebrow, she started advancing towards me with alarmingly quick footsteps, her eyes fixated on my steaming bowl of soup. In a moment of madness I feared she was going to attack it so I left my spoon in mid-air in an attempt to guard my defenseless meal.

Twiggy Woman didn't so much as glance at me; she stopped in front of my table (though I wouldn't have noticed this if she wasn't doing it so overtly since she was so thin it was quite easy to overlook her existence), contemplated the soup for a long moment, and then, as though because she still couldn't decipher the mystery behind this enigmatic food, she (get this) came as close to me as possible and literally bent over to look at what I was eating.

My mouth fell open in disbelief but she acted as though this was as normal as taking the MRT. There wasn't a hint of embarrassment on her face - nor did she express (either verbally or physically) even the tiniest note of apology for this intensely major inconvenience that she had brought upon me in the past few seconds.

It was in this moment that I contemplated to demonstrate the inner ah-lian within me by standing up and yelling very loudly in her annoying sunken face "OI KAN SHEN ME KAN". However, against my better judgment, I decided not to and contented myself instead by glaring at her back very forcefully as she trotted wordlessly away.

I mean, like... HELLO? How indiscreet and rude can one get? My idea of a peaceful dinner certainly did not involve an unabashed, absent-looking Twiggy Woman who is bent (excuse pun) on doing nothing but scrutinising every square of food that I was consuming.

You know, I would seriously have been more than glad to tell her what I was eating if she so much as asked. Nor would I have minded if she didn't so overtly did what she did. But to just so closely and openly look into the bowl of soup and then pretend that the breathing, active consumer (me) wasn't there? I'm stunned.

But well, I guess I shouldn't be. Considering I've ran into a similar situation before, except this was in the MRT, where a man clad in starchy office-wear was literally poking his nose into the pages of The New Paper that a lady beside him was holding up to read. And I don't mean bending-head-back-a-little-while-straining-eyes-to-read-miniscule-font type of poking, I mean poking as in really putting his nose so close to the paper one could almost mistake him for attempting to get fresh with the lady on the pretext of being supremely concerned with news of a local woman's pains from her son getting extra strokes from the cane (though I wouldn't rule this out entirely... who knows what goes on in the minds of cunning lecherous men these days).

In any case, I should be less fazed if anything like this happens to me again (and I don't doubt that possibility, considering I have a knack for chancing upon such things). And also, I can't help but wonder if I-can't-decide-so-let-me-poke-my-nose-into-your-food Twiggy Woman went on to eat mee hoon kuay in the end.

I hope she did - at least then I wouldn't have agonised in vain.

A stab at translation (not direct)

2007-08-05T00:25:00.000+08:00

from Mandarin to English, 'cause I think it's fun (no, really) and 'cause I think the song is nothing short of beautiful, and 'cause the Mandarin lyrics struck me - simple and hard.

爱多少早知道
- Melody

我的头发已全部剪掉
你指定的发型我现在不想要

我再也不会抱着你聊
聊那些以前以为有的未来
对你说的话
现在想起来多可笑
请你别太计较

早知道我会爱得受不了
就该随身带着一把剪刀
把所有我不爱的画面都去掉
是否我会更好

早知道认识你像玩高空弹跳
拉扯你我爱的距离忽大忽小
也许认识我的时候你就知道
你对我的爱有多少

.
.

My long black tresses, now cut short
The hairstyle you loved, I no longer desire to sport.

Never again can I hold you and talk for hours on end
Indulging in intricate dreams of our future, our plans.
I laugh, thinking back on the words I said
Please don't mind; it was all in my head.

If I'd known how unbearable this love would be
Scissors, I would have carried with me.
Cutting away unwanted sights and sounds
Would I then be better off - and rescued from shaky grounds?

If only I'd known how breathless our love would be
Where we plunged and pulled, and ached to be free

Perhaps you knew, and heard from your heart
How much you really loved me
From the very start.

Of black memories and white spaces

2007-07-29T02:09:00.000+08:00

Secrets

2007-07-16T09:48:00.000+08:00

And along with the demise of my laptop is the birth of something else.

I always believed everyone had secrets - there are those that you can share with your closest friends or family members, and others that you can only silently take to your grave with. I didn't think I'd be carrying one of the latter at the age of 20.

Normally, a matter of such gravity would uproot anyone from their soil of comfort and proceed to send them into a shattering state of craze and unbalance.

But I am quite unfazed. I suspect it's possibly due to the past year - the string of hard-hitting and exhausting events have toughen me unwittingly and I walk away thinking "it doesn't get any worse than this." And so when it really does, I don't feel the full blast of it.

I hope that doesn't mean I'm going to take everything lightly from now on, 'cause I'd hate to live a numb life. That would be quite sad and pointless, I expect.

I think I just need a vacation. Sponsors, anyone? ;)

And in an interesting er, twist of events...

2007-06-21T18:13:00.000+08:00

I had once again, twisted my very sorry ankle.

"Eh Mabel you very accident prone leh."

...

Indeed, indeed.

Well initially I thought I'd twisted the same ankle (left foot) again, but then I looked through my archives, read through a previous post that lamented on that very tragedy and stumbled upon a surprising revelation. I guess this is one of the advantages of blogging - to store seemingly useless memories like these only to find yourself digging them up, in greatest awe, 12 months later.

May 2006:

May 2007:

Wow my life feels so balanced now.

But yes, why talk about this now when the sprain was like, a month ago? Well! Turns out I still experience a slight pain on the ankle these days when I exert just a wee bit of additional strength on it.

This is totally unacceptable.

I mean, I had so much faith in that physician (yes, same one)! When I'd approached him like a whimpering bunny last year with my swollen ankle the size of a tennis ball (I was literally hopping to him since that foot was temporarily disabled), he'd very deftly handled the situation with a few needles and a very powerful bandage smeared with very promising herb medicine. My foot was as good as new 2 days later.

So naturally I thought he could tide me over the same calamity this time... but alas, he is but a one-hit wonder. I'm afraid my ankle is now weakened permanently. And even though I guess I could visit him again, but hey, his rates had increased as well (the nerve!) so there was no way I was going to (keep) paying more for a lousier service.

Also, for some reason when he tended to my injury that night I already had an oddly bad feeling about it... and indeed, my worst fears are confirmed: his skills had deteriorated. Sigh...time to look for a new physician I guess.

Or er, maybe work on not spraining anymore ankles.

But anyway.

Something life-altering is going to happen to me in about 6 hours. Have no doubt that it is surely something of huge, mammoth importance. So if you can guess what it is... good for you and please subsequently do the right thing (presents*cough*presents) ;)

Alright time to wash off my mask before I scare myself any further in the mirror.

Love, in excess, is really

2007-06-17T03:50:00.000+08:00

a weapon, one you find yourself unwittingly wielding in an unannounced war. When the smoke thins, you wrap your fingers around the sword and advance, in determined pursuit for happiness.

"I'll use this to field all obstacles my way," you say.

But upon reaching your target, you find its cold, hard doors are still closed to you. You try several keys, you try pleading...but to no avail. Profoundly overwhelmed, a thick vine of burden and unspoken stress begin to creep its way around your untouched blade, burning around your clasped fingers.

The sword trembles.

It trembles again, and this time you only subconsciously notice your hand bringing the entire weight of the weapon down - straight towards the heart of the door.

"Open up!" You scream, unthinking. "Open up!"

Slashes and screams. A smattering of hollow laughs ensue, and you watch numbly as the door shatters. It's open, you think. Broken, yes, but open...finally.

You stare at the unmoving remnants, the quietly protesting pieces, and just as you feared, a burgeoning ball of guilt materialises in that moment, and gets caught in your throat. Instinctively you swallow hard, and it's down. Flushed down with a painfully long air of unmistakably...regret.

The corner of your eyes begin to prickle and you blink hard. At the beautiful door, that is no longer.

No please, you manage to whisper.

Please, no...

The Simple Life

2007-05-25T00:01:00.000+08:00

Don't you wish sometimes that a kind of mandatory form had been presented to you before birth, one you scribbled answers to (don't ask me where you could have gotten stationery to do so) while still safely tucked in your mother's womb and awaiting her imminent delivery? This form would consist of a list of exhaustive questions carefully constructed to gain full insight on the type of life you wished to lead, your answers of which would immediately map out the events and all other intricacies of your future years.

Mind you, this would be a very serious, straightfoward, no-nonsense kind of form.

FORM: Question 1. Do you wish to lead an

a) complicated
b) simple

life?

(Of course, in this unreal context your brain would have been sufficiently developed, with you having mysteriously acquired a level of intelligence and intuition high enough to make fair judgements.)

Simple, please.

FORM: Simple it is. Question 2. Please select a preferred location of birth:

a) Singapore
b) Serangoon
c) Sengkang
d) Singapura
e) Other (please state) :_________

Other: Spectre.

FORM: Right. Next ques- ...wait. Did you just submit "Spectre"?

Yes, Spectre. This idyllic small town, last seen in a motion picture called Big Fish.

FORM: There is no such place.

Oh, there is.

FORM: No, our database does not reflect the existence of such a place.

I'm telling you there is. Now whisk me off there.

FORM: This questionaire will have to come to a halt if you insist on registering an unrecognised answer. There is no such place as Spectre. Please re-select.

Other: Spectre.

FORM: There is no such place. Our data-

Look, I opted for a simple life. Shouldn't it begin now? I just want to go to Spectre.

FORM: Your life will only officially begin upon successful submission of this questionaire. Kindly co-operate. Question 2. Please select a preferred location of birth:

a) Singapore
b) Serangoon
c) Sengkang
d) Singapura
e) Other (please state) :_________

Other: Spectre.

FORM: There is no such place. You have keyed in the same rejected answer three times. Failure to change your submission to a recognised answer in your next try will result in withdrawal of application of the form, permanently.

Are you theatening me?

FORM: I am offering you life. You just need to follow the procedures.

If I can't go to Spectre, I'd rather not live at all.

FORM: Do not be foolish. You are sacrificing your opportunity to live for a stubborn creation, a figment of someone's rich imagination. Make-believe.

It doesn't have to be make-believe! You can make it happen!

FORM: I am not God. I am only a form.

You are useless.

FORM: It does not matter. You have a final try for Question 2. Please re-select.

I still choose Spectre.

FORM: ......

..............

......................

Wait. Wait I think..I think I'll just..

..........................................

Hello?

Quiet melody

2007-05-19T22:12:00.000+08:00

我赖在沙发看着外面的天　有多麽蓝　忽然想要翅膀
现在是下午三点十分零二秒　才发现我今天没有接到　任何电话

十一楼的空气　今天是冰冷的　风也是凉凉的
这样的天气适合穿上我的蓝色毛衣
然後约了你们去喝咖啡　在老地方

我的日子就是这样　可能大家都不习惯
你们觉得我情绪化　有太多奇怪的想法
我就是需要这些想法　才让我觉得歌很好唱

可是你们最近都很忙　我也在忙　忽然想要放假
想要多睡一些　有时候　却偏偏睡不下
所以坐在钢琴前面　手指开始不听话

我有想过很多办法　让自己能改变一下
然後发现我受不了　不属於自己呼吸的方法
连简单呼吸都做不好　你叫我怎样过得更好

连简单呼吸都做不好　你叫我怎样过得更好...

Top Ways to secure a Rejection

2007-04-29T13:40:00.000+08:00

The Sleeping Pill

hi, my name is Maverick, im 29 this yr. im a cheerful n easy going person, I love Hip-Hop n RnB music. i Love sports, Basketball n soccer. a friendly n easy going person. so if u dun mind being my friends, u can add mi at ******@hotmail.com or sms mi at ********... hope to hear from u soon....

hi, my name is wenbin. staying in ******* ave 5. i'm always bring my dog to the park for a morning walk. If u r interested in some dog gathering, mayb u can bring ur dog over there during weekend. most of the dog owner bring their dog in sunday.

The Incoherent

harlo ngee ann very far lei. mc is those take camera run ard atrium

The Failed Humorist

hey....mabel....im marble

The Impossible Classics

Hi care to be friend?

hello there, do I have the honor of knowing you??

The Mildly Amusing

hihi
wanna be naughty with me?

hmm... would u be interested to make some easy cash? I would like u to pose in bikini for me. 300 bucks. =)

The Not-So Smooth Talk

hey mabel im interesting enuf to make u interested. does tat convince u so? hahahaha... does tat provide you with the conviction that im interesting or wld u be standing at the side letting this msg past... saw ur blog, its surreal with doses of excellent writings. hey, message in a bottle, did it come from u??

The... what?

you got nice hair

(And finally...)

The Wonder

Hi, I don’t usually leave msgs for pple here, but I know that if I don’t initiate to msg you, I’m gonna regret it. =) You’re simply too babelicious for me to give up the chance of knowing u. You are 1 hot babe coupled with a sizzling hot bod to boot. =)

Naturally, I would not expect you to befriend me just because I say so, but I shall provide you with the below reasons to tell you that knowing me is not like knowing just any other guys out there.

Read on if you’re intrigued. If not you can delete this msg at this point. =)

1) I pride myself on being interesting, witty and unpredictable, somewhat different from the other guys out there. Hence chats with me will never be boring. The key to a lady’s heart is to be able to make her laugh.

2) I’m bold enough to tread where others seldom dare. Charisma and confidence turns the lady on.

3) I do drive occasionally. Great for supper or drinks at nite if you’re into that too.

4) I’ve got a webcam where we can utilize to make our chats more interesting.

Add me on msn at ********@yahoo.com

Feel free to msg me and let me know if you have any qualms about knowing me. =)

Regards,
Andy

(The above material was compiled by a very mysterious, elusive author. Save for email addresses, names have remained unchanged and contented unedited to preserve the authenticity and uh, flavour of the mails)

Touché, my love.

2007-04-01T14:13:00.000+08:00

Up until what he said she remained quietly contented, her world replete with a kind of satisfaction comprehensible only to herself.

Her heartstrings still played from within: a slow, numb melody devoid of emotions, like a disillusioned dancer, whose movements showed nothing more than was superficially necessary.

It was in this bubble that she once unintentionally conjured where she actually breathed - a dwelling so strange, so disconnected from the other popular realms of living.

But it was in this space that she indulged in, so wholeheartedly.

The fluid sphere held emptiness, she knew. It was weak, and held emptiness in the form of cold, uncaring vapour. But while her wispy shield housed nothing, she took heart that at least it fielded everything else.

Stop it.

What?

This.

I don't understand.

You know, they were right. They are right. You are exactly like how they made you out to be.

What? What are you trying to say?

You think the world is some... fairytale where everything has to go your way. And when it doesn't? You pack up and leave.

She never saw it coming.

Run away doll,

2007-03-16T00:01:00.000+08:00

come away with me

away from the troubled waters,

the uncaring, wooded acres
in which you reside.

Fly, my child
through your twilight hours

and come with me

come away with me

into the distant, dewy night .

What usually makes her tick,

2007-03-01T00:28:00.000+08:00

makes her click.

A button of fantasy
The finger reaches.
A soft depression -
The heart lurches.

Insatiable flesh,
The hand itches.
A second press,
And a flash

A blinding ecstasy

Oh, snap

And it's over.

It's like I just drifted into a reverie

2007-02-13T00:05:00.000+08:00

and walked out with new, extended eyelashes.

You know how sometimes you're faced with certain decisions and you think long and hard, contemplating your best move, weighing your choices, mulling over the possible consequences (especially when moolah is directly involved) ... before agreeing to anything?

Well, then there are those times when you just skip all these steps and say "OKAY!"

The implantation (for lack of better word) was one such case.

It was my first, so naturally the virgin experience was uh, memorable.

I was first laid to (initial) comfort on this comfy, plush bed tucked away in a corner of some beauty salon at Bugis, the dim ambience threatening to send me to a very groggy stupor. My eyes closed, I heard vaguely the sounds of my girlfriends' chatter as thoughts swirled thickly in my head...

Am I really doing this?

It's so ex lah omg.

Better be worth it.

Eh, what if my body rejects these foreign objects ah?

Omg it's starting now...

*10 minutes later*

Beautician: *makes exasperated noise* Oh my god this is so difficult.

Me: ...

Beautician: *whispers to other beautician* Eh yours how ah?

Beautician 2: Ok lor...

Beautician: Wah mine so difficult. You see this part OMG. See it see it? So hard to do lah.

Me: ........

Beautician 2: Bu yao zhao ji... can do one.

Beautician: *makes a very weak attempt at stifling a snort*

Me: .....................

*30 minutes later*

Beautician: I did it! So hard omg. But I think can already. Try to open your eyes now?

Me: *opens eyes frantically only to greet the fierce glare of the lamp's light*

Beautician: Wait, wait...your eyes. You're tearing!

Me: *hastily blinking back a tear* Light...bright...

Beautician: DON'T CRY OMG. See, they coming out already!! Now must do again, omg.

Me: *cries*

*Some more minutes later...*

The product of a very agonised beautician (and her patient, no less).....

"

Ok, so maybe they weren't as thick as I expected... (wanted mine to be able to fan dry the Atlantic ocean with a single blink :( ) but they turned out pretty long anyway. :)

My newly-purchased happiness was VERY short-lived though. Three days since I've gotten them and they're now slowly dropping. Every morning now I visit the bathroom only to end up causing dollars in the form of thin, dark filaments disappear down the sink...

I feel so cheated. Sniff.

Nonetheless, some snapshots.. :)

Yes I know, too much headroom. And yes, that's my new teeth. And YES Felicia's hair so red right! Hahaha

Two very vain girls frantically blue-toothing pictures they just took from their phone cams. And I thought I was bad...

*sifts through 923482374 self pictures*

Hmmm ok maybe I am. ;)

The grass will always be greener on the other side...

2007-02-10T21:38:00.000+08:00

So there's no saying I wouldn't be back. ;)

Thanks:

Scubby: For everything, esp the whitey that I only had for such a short period of time :P
Rev: For the inane verbal sparring sessions we had (and I still insist I won half the rounds you claim you did...)
Beat: Will miss you!! (joke ^_~ )
Smith: For everything you've done for me & Crimson
King: You cute little good luck charm. Thanks for helping with enchant ;)
Pokey: Thanks for the food, with or without armpit hair :P
Des: *shoots fireballs*
Pure: Take care of Crimson please! Bai tuo ni le :P
Ghosty: For all the times you were HG head and helped me out so much. Thanks!

Shoutouts to rebel, mendy, thor, daffy, fala, fiery, hero and everyone else <3

This isn't goodbye, I'll still pop by again occasionally, I hope :)

(Note: If you didn't understand any of the above, ignore this entire entry.)

One year ago I was still penning chirpy, happy entries.

2007-02-06T23:38:00.001+08:00

One year ago I was smiling with braces.

One year ago I was still deeply worried about what to wear for Chinese New Year.

One year ago I was happy.

Now I'm here, a year later, my braces removed, unsmiling.

If I could place a picture to my feelings, it'd probably be a motley, indiscernable mess of paint: handfuls of which were once weighed carelessly with different measurements of intensity, and feverishly flung - over the unsuspecting canvas.

A canvas bleeding with stories... but can neatly display none.

Heh.

On a brighter note, I'm going for implants tomorrow... should be fairly exciting.

What kind, you ask?

...

Wait and see lor.

Do you blog because you have something to say

2007-01-18T00:45:00.000+08:00

or because you want to say something?

It's just like talking.

You're with 2 friends, both of whom are in a fervent discussion about something you have absolutely no clue about. The words cease to roll out from their mouths and the longer you stand around silent, the more awkward it gets for you.

So you say something like "Oh really?", "You can't be serious" or "I see" to briefly fool yourself (and hopefully your peers) into believing that you actually vaguely understand or are interested in whatever it is they're saying.

You do this just to luminate your presence, to allay your fears of your existence slipping away, unnoticed.

Then there are those other times when you speak to yourself, in an attempt to fill the missing gaps. Gaps of solitude maybe, the dispiriting silences you find yourself greeting - so very often - nightly.

So you say something. Talk, sing, write, blog...

Because sometimes, random muses like this one help. They help keep the ringing stillness at bay.

How do you react...

2006-12-25T14:39:00.000+08:00

when you find out your domestic helper from Indonesia (or well, maid - though I hate to use that term) is actually 17 years-old instead of the 23 she claimed before, or when your mother returns home carrying a glittering pendant from Taka jewellery for said domestic helper ("Merry Christmas!") and then presents you with two boxes of sanitary napkins ("There, for you.. overnight and winged one somemore!") with a huge smile on her face?

Haha. I don't know, so I laughed.

Sweet Mata (pronounced Mah-tah) & I. (:
She's two years younger than me omg.

Happy Christmas!

Making Cents, finally

2006-12-10T14:25:00.000+08:00

(Part I, Part II)

The cashier stared, arching her perfectly-pencilled eyebrow meaningfully. She left her mouth open for a moment, but said nothing.

Half a minute later the Malay woman had scrambled out of the store, taking quick swigs from the now fully opened Big M Strawberry in her hand.

The cashier proceeded to the next customer, her gaze still lingering upon the exit. The girl with the TKN packets nodded absently at her items as her eyes too trailed towards the same glass door; it opened, and this time a Chinese mother in about her late 30s clad in a striped tank and hot magenta shorts appeared.

"Hi," she said shrilly as the door moved slowly to a shut behind her. "Just now that woman... did she pay?"

"Yeah..." the cashier said. "Why?"

"Is it! Hm. Just now you know, she asked me for $2."

The other half of the pair of carefully-groomed eyebrows now too rose to the occasion, and TKN girl watched keenly as it disappeared into the 7-11 staff's browline.

"Next time you see her," the cashier said gravely. "Don't give her anything."

"Yeah lah! But you see, I thought she wanted change you know," the mother said loudly. "So I thought ok lor, my daughter got change so I give her coins. "

She nodded towards the transparent door, where a kid stood outside sucking enthusiastically on a Chupa Chup.

"Yeah, then... so I asked her for the note. Then wah, she took the money and then said 'No, give me!'. Haha! And I said, what for I give you money for free right? Crazy 'know... like I will give her for free like that..." She let out a loud snort, rolling her eyes about most expertly.

.
.

The cashier handed me my change and receipt and I stood, still staring.

It was when no one else spoke then I regarded my presence to be superflous. I collected my bags hurriedly and left the store.

Once outside, I vaguely made out the back of the Malay woman's unruly head as she ambled further down the pavement. I looked at her indistinct outline, her ratted clothings and near-empty Big M bottle she was now peering into.. and down at my two plump 50g packets of Hot and Spicy Tao Kae Noi.

Suddenly I wasn't so hungry anymore.

And through the hours

2006-12-04T00:02:00.000+08:00

she chases the clouds;

oh, the puff of fluff
and its misty trail

In the minutes she cruises;

into a blind paradise
that closes in

oh, it closes in...

The seconds she counts;

idly, wildly
as they slip

swiftly

and through the moments
a chance flickers;

capture.

The real deal

2006-11-19T00:02:00.000+08:00

Why women go clubbing:

1) To flaunt the result of the past excruciating months of stringent exercise + diet regime
2) To take full advantage of ladies' night and party free of charge
3) The single: To eye for a potential boyfriend/prince charming/fling/ONS
4) The attached: Her rare chance to pretend to be available so as to remind (but often really to reassure) herself that she remains desirable in the eyes of testosterone-charged beings other than the one(s) she calls 'dear'

Because sometimes every girl needs to take care of her attention-seeking self and drop that cherry of confidence back into their second glass of Martini.

Why men go clubbing:

1) To grope girls (discreetly or otherwise) on the dancefloor and get away with it
2) To grind their excited hard members to the behind of the nearest skimpily-dressed female on the dancefloor and make it seem like (a gleeful) accident
3) The single: To eye for a potential girlfriend, but more likely, fling/ONS
4) The attached: "I'm sick of banging the same girl all the time..."

Because every man needs to satisfy their occasional (ha ha) sexual cravings, and ogling and touching in a dimly-lit room with blaring music is an excellent way to do it without getting screamed at for molest (and even if there were screams, nobody will hear anyway).

They go, despite the mangled feet, bitter hangovers and everything else a sober, rational person may deem bad...

Because well, clubbers just have more fun.

:)

Because pink cells sell

2006-11-12T18:23:00.000+08:00

And because sometimes all you need is just a piece of new material to bring back a smile. :)

Oh and I'm sorry Samsung dearest.. didn't mean to discard you so er, unceremoniously by the bin earlier... you served me well, but let's face it, your heyday was long over.

Have a good life after death my friend, and maybe if you're reborn into a pretty Sony Ericsson thing two years later our paths might, with all the blessings from above, once again meet...

But till then, I'm lovin this Sony. :)

At the risk of sounding cheesy,

2006-11-08T21:39:00.000+08:00

I'd like to say I've been busy trying to find myself again.

That plus the fact that work/school has been absolutely crazy. But it's all good I guess. Keeps me occupied, and my mind off things. There's only so long one can remain depressed before it just gets utterly sickening. And I think I've sunk to an all time low some time ago, and you know what they say - when you've reached the deepest end, there's no other way you can go but up.

So yay.

Will update soon, I promise. I miss blogging!

Little fighter

2006-10-22T12:18:00.000+08:00

And once again you waltz into the unknown, without a visible trace of apprehension. It isn't a deliberate front; in that subconscious moment you sense and allow remnants of a fallen facade you never knew existed worm their way through the frailest bit of your heart and collect into a wispy shield before you.

Loosely armed (but it should suffice, you think), you advance down the misty dirt path in this calm albeit unnerving state, wondering what you'll meet. The imminent intimidates and threatens to cloud you over, but you walk on anyway, unthinkingly - spurred by the ingrained, your deep-set take on the picture-perfect destination.

A smokescreen catches you off guard; in the obscurity your shield is rendered useless. A shout, to nobody's ears. You laugh, a low hollow laugh as you blindly field your way through - a feverish feat, you decide. Still laughing, you touch your wet face, and taste its all too familiar salty aftermath.

And you don't come out stronger all the time, no. But you take heart in that your vision - it always clears.

Always, and it just keeps getting clearer.

Making Cents, II

2006-10-10T10:07:00.000+08:00

Making her way to the beckoning 7-Eleven store tucked under a stretch of busy squat buildings, she rubbed her hands gleefully at the thought of impending gratification - the swallowing of all 50g of rich, wholesome seaweed goodness. She pushed open the weighty glass door and allowed her conditioned feet to carry her familiarly to the lowest metal rack that stood rooted as always, at the back of the convenience store. She smiled, casually glancing at the loud array of Doritos, Pringles and Cheese Nachos before reverting her attention to the line of inflated, re-sealable Tao Kae Noi packets.

Original flavour, Hot and Spicy, plenty of Wasabi... but no Tom Yam.

Disgruntled, she fingered a packet of Hot and Spicy and shook it tentatively, the appeasing sound of the settling contents spurring yet another internal somersault performance.

She was a happy girl.

Her smile faded quickly, however, when her eyes later trailed to the white label plastered across the gleaming metal rack that held up the many enticing bags of TKN. She bent closer, and noticed with alarm that an offending '6' had been seemingly bolded and written a few times over the first '5' in $1.55 with black permanent marker.

"!$@#%&^#*," the amiable girl thought to herself.

She picked up two packets anyway, and proceeded to queue behind a short, buxom Malay woman in the short line. As she lost herself in a mental countdown to the very indulgent second when she would finally be able to devour the tasty organic sheets and feel the entirety of their goodness slide down her deprived throat, she casually cast a sidelong glance and noticed with vague amusement that the flushed woman had just dropped her bottle of Big M Strawberry on the counter and was now hasting to unscrew it.

The young Indian cashier raised an eyebrow and made for the bottle, but the oblivious woman had already seized a straw and was now well in the process of removing the protective alluminium seal.

"Wait... I need to scan," the cashier said, wrapping her fingers over the Big M.

The woman bristled, and said nothing. She released her grip on the bottle, darting furtive glances as she pushed strands of unkempt hair off her beady eyes.

The cashier glowered. She punched a few buttons on the register before slowly replacing the item in front of the grudging customer.

The woman stared at the half-naked Big M Strawberry for a moment, her feet still shifty. Her roving eyes met no one's as the girl clutching the TKN packets behind her watched on, startlingly reminded of a certain Mad-Eye Moody.

"Open for me," the woman said suddenly.

The night is darkening around me

2006-09-24T19:06:00.000+08:00

The wild winds coldly blow
But a tyrant spell has bound me
And I cannot cannot go

The giant trees are bending
Their bare boughs weighed with snow
And the storm is fast descending
And yet I cannot go

Clouds beyond clouds above me
Wastes beyond wastes below
But nothing drear can move me
I will not cannot go

(Emily Bronte)

Making Cents, Part I

2006-09-08T14:08:00.000+08:00

It was a beautiful evening. The sun bowed lowly from afar, and routinely did her slow, incandescent retreat.

A 19-year-old girl stopped short in her tracks and looked back at her stalking shadows; she stared at their shady movements momentarily and hung by the busy pavement, bemused.

Suddenly, a sharp, undulating sensation waved within her insides. It tumbled into a slow, elaborate whirl before kicking into a series of badly-executed somersaults - with a lurch she felt the last skid on the slippery surface and squarely hit rockbottom. The girl groaned inwardly as she felt what she immediately recognised as the Ball of Craving begin to burgeon inside, rolling about most gaily and uncomfortably. With a frown she shook her head, patting her stomach reprovingly.

Then her eyes gave an intuitive flick and she looked up. Staring straight, she wondered aloud why and how she had not previously noticed the stark existence of the luminous red and green logo that fronted the popular convenience store situated less than a few metres away from where she was standing. A slow smile crept steadily across her face as she chewed on her lower lip contemplatively, a covetous glaze in her eyes.

"Heh heh," she thought greedily, seeing nothing but strips of quality Tao Kae Noi Japanese crispy seaweed dance tantalisingly before her eyes.

She decided to do the most logical thing about it.

It's almost queer

2006-08-28T16:13:00.000+08:00

how the long, streaming hours can sail by so effortlessly, while you struggle to run arduously alongside it. In your ongoing quest of keeping abreast with time you hear and try to shake off its quiet, rhythmic snicker; but as always - the ticking never stops.

A breathless chase, down a rocky trail of ambiguity and doubt, of love and apprehension, of dreams and regrets.

All this, to a destination outlined only vaguely with the brush of your imagination, the bristles of which are colourfully dabbed - with paint from an indulgent mind.

(And so you ran, you crashed, you watched as people left in time [just like how you did, to them]. But through it all, through this heavy, unyielding curtain of rain, you think to yourself: I just want to smile again.)

Don't hold back now
And I've been through this before
Now where am I? Where do I stand? A little lost here

But I'll remember
All those times you've brought me through
I can feel the sun
Shining down on me

.
.

Thanks girls, for a brilliant semester :) And also to the ones I've unduely disappointed... but truly loved. I can't thank you all enough.

Behind closed doors

2006-08-22T09:52:00.000+08:00

And she bends over, bogged down by colourful information. She weighs the hefty amount again, a handful of which she vainly tries to filter.

But that's impossible, because everything is important, she says. Everything is important.

Sigh, the hopelessness of studying.

Updates this weekend, promise.

The infancy, of a new beginning

2006-08-15T15:05:00.000+08:00

The throbbing of life, I feel
Your grainy, coarse existence

Look not away, but inside
And mirror my love, for it's true

You're the pulse of my heart

Mo cuishle
My darling, my blood.

On hiatus.

2006-08-06T05:22:00.000+08:00

[edit]
No, I'm not dying. Wrote this in one emo moment of anguish... but I'm fine now, really. Thanks for the concern. Will be back soon with a new layout, hopefully :)
[/edit]

Until I find again a reason to smile, a reason to continue writing, a reason to perhaps even continue breathing.

I am completely wrung dry; the past weeks have fully exhausted my thoughts, my feelings, and every bit of my energy. I now live my days in silent fear, a taunting sword dangling closely over my head, and I see and wait only for its imminent, eventual plunge.

I am drained to a point where I no longer even have the energy to draw strength from others - especially not from the pillar of strength I have counted upon for a while - for it is now wavering on its own shaky grounds, trembling in its own quandary. The fact that I am unable to both draw and lend strength to this support pillar despairs me, utterly.

As a generally optimistic person I always refused to see or let myself crumble, for I always believed in the possibility of dismissing even the sorest of sitations on the most positive note.

But I was never prepared for an avalanche of situations - this relentless chain of waves have struck me long and hard; I am simply put, overwhelmed, and I fear I am slowly drowning.

Thus I need to be away. I don't know for how long - I just know I need to.

So I thank you for reading my blog. Thank you for tracking the inane musings of my life, and for even being interested enough to do so. This is the only place where I can retreat to and create freely, a place where I know I can always find even a flicker of the solace I always so desperately seek. And I thank you for being a part of it.

I take heart in that there are people who care, and I am grateful. But please do not worry unduely for me, for even though I can't promise I will be fine anytime soon, I can promise that I will try my best, to be so.

Goodbye, for now.

Because words are sometimes superfluous

2006-07-27T03:22:00.000+08:00

Pretentious things -

They mask the rawest
Bring out the vaguest

And can very deftly, colour the dullest .

The Impressionist paints, a mental capture - his silent muse.
His hazy memory of a fleeting moment, a passing in time.

The writer pens, a translation
Reflective -

Of his nagging, conflicting affections.

Strings of emotions lay untrodden
For they are well hidden -

Beneath colourful word confetti
Showered artfully

By the lavish ink slinger.

Words are powerful.. yes.

But to the sick and the lost, to the numb and the unfeeling, to the crying and the closed, hardened hearts ... what do they all mean?

.
.
.

And she says nothing, but she hopes that you try
You try to read her anyway

Can you hear it now?
She says, "I'm so sorry, love... and I thank you."

I thank you for everything.

If a picture paints a thousand words

2006-07-24T14:35:00.000+08:00

Then why can't

I paint you?

Are Cancerians ruled by the moon...

2006-07-15T15:36:00.000+08:00

Or solely, by the heart?

Mirroring thoughts.

2006-07-10T15:06:00.000+08:00

I hope you understand that I don't always have the answers to everything.

It may seem like I do, but I don't.

It may seem like I'm not trying, or not trying hard enough to find them, but believe me I do, and somehow I just end up with nothing.

I hope you understand that sometimes all I really want, and need, is to take the easiest way out, unrestrainedly - to run unshackled, breaking free.

Granted, it probably isn't the most satisfying solution you'll find myself giving, but accept that in this decision I take a kind of solace that is, however ephemeral, comforting.

Can't you see?
I'm not running away. I'm just running

around

around and about these constant circles where I continue to fly, and flee. Blazing down the paths in relentless pursuit - of flickering hopes, burning fancies... silent dreams.

Like a lost puppy racing for its tail, I run.

I don't know why at all I'm running - who I'm running for, where I'm running to, and for how long I'm going to

I just run.

And I continue to do so, inexplicably

Down this roundabout,
This long, interminable chase.

And I hope you understand that to date, I still can't

I still can't run myself out of it.

The warning

2006-07-02T15:04:00.000+08:00

That afternoon, my jaded self shuffled across the deserted floors of the quiet lift lobby, my vulnerable being armed with but a lightweight handbag and an admittedly low level of vigilance. My unusually lax and unguarded behaviour is however, not unfounded, and must be duely attributed to the long and trying day's activities. Head slightly bent, my droopy eyes desperate for some shut-eye, I felt the spell of fatigue previously bound only to my heavy feet now slowly begin to creep up and past my poor, overworked upper torso. It pricked at my dulled senses and tickled my exhausted, unstraightened frame.

I heaved a long heavy sigh, flexed the stiff muscles on my weary arms for a moment, before slowly raising my index finger and bringing it in the direction of the closed doors of the nearby elevator. Closer and closer my travelling finger drew to the tiny square outlined in silver; to that beckoning, oddly enticing unlit metal button. The latter stared coolly back, unflinching and unmoving.

I watched absentmindedly as my fingers continued in its progress, soon to swiftly close in on its final destination. Half a metre now... centimetres.....

I paused.

My head gave an intuitive turn and my eyes flicked immediately to a loud, obtrusive square of red and yellow stuck plainly on the typically austere lift walls just a short distance from where I was standing.

Involuntarily I stared at this latest glaring addition, struck momentarily by its stark contrast against the drab walls. The gaze wore on, and I soon found this connection to be held on by the mysterious conjure of an invisible force. Not without the capacity and ability to resist, I chose however, to give in to my inquiring and purely inquisitive (ok fine.. prying) nature. I peered closer, and

WAH!!!

I withdrew my fingers as though scalded, my pupils promptly dilated, and the eyeballs in my sockets swivelled madly in swift, rotating movements. They shot repeated furtive glances about the area in furious succession, during which I kept my unbending gaze low, and steady. My bent frame arched further and I crossed my arms grandly in one decidedly menacing X fashion. I narrowed my eyes, and glowered. I spun, did a swift 360 degree turn, and prepared for the appearance of any audacious suspicious characters plotting to follow me into the lift.

I saw an elderly lady.

My eyes lowered; I squinted and circled her like a hawk, taking in entirety the details of her dressing: a tan blouse in floral prints of muted chestnut brown, matched with a pair of slightly oversized khaki pants. Her right arm held up two red plastic bags that teemed with apparently harmless (read: suspicious) groceries while the other held on tightly to a faded pinstriped handkerchief. With this crumpled square of fabric she now slowly proceeded to wipe the entire length of her sweating, wrinkled forehead...

I continued to watch her under my sternest, most careful scrutiny, my stance guarded and resolute. My body tensed as I saw her reach suddenly into the small leather handbag that was slung loosely over her shoulder.

In a single, aggravatingly dragged-out movement, she slowly and very elaborately placed the used handkerchief into the inside of her handbag.

One, two, five seconds later, her hand was still in the bag ... (!)

I jumped back two tiles, my arms now locked in a tighter, more defensive criss-cross. They remain guarded, with the tips of my fingers pressed together and arching dangerously like an acute cobra, positioning for battle. I stared at the elderly lady as her hand remained deep inside her bag, apparently furrowing for what must surely be her secret attacking device.

Undaunted, I decided to initiate our inevitable brush.

"You, draw your weapon now and FIGHT!" I said suddenly.

The woman looked up.

"Just wield whatever you've got! I'm ready!"

The lift doors opened suddenly, and the elderly lady threw a tentative glance in their direction.

Then her greying, bent head turned back towards me, with a look I interpreted to be daring me to enter. Affronted, I wasted no time in responding to her leer.

"What, you want me to go in?"

The woman said nothing.

"You're going to follow me in when I do aren't you??"

The woman stared.

"And after that when the doors are closed you're going to drop your lousy old lady disguise and unleash upon me my deepest, most unthinkable fears aren't you???"

Still she said nothing.

"I know exactly what you're up to, you conniving old thing!!!"

Wordlessly, she dropped her stony gaze, adjusted the weight of her bags and started to move in the direction of the open doors.

A few seconds later the lift closed as I, triumphant, watched the newly-exposed suspicious character escalate up the walls, and swiftly disappear from sight...

Defeated, and gone. Forever.

AND I AM SAVED!!

By the exemplary display of my sheer brilliance, no less. :)

Thanks to myself I came out untouched, and unharmed from what would otherwise be an imaginably frightening ordeal...

But yes, due credit must still be given out to deserving parties, so in this case, the moral of the story is: The next time you see a similar sign plastered onto your friendly neighbourhood lift wall... don't hesitate to read it.

You just never know how it can very well save your life.

Flying high

2006-06-26T05:22:00.000+08:00

The twin effect

2006-06-18T01:30:00.000+08:00

She talks, to you
When the world decides to cast you aside.
She listens
To your contained, screaming cries.

She sits quietly, as you
Criticise.

As you lavish

Love
Hate

Indifference,

All at the same time.

Your perfectly mirrored self - she hides.
Cloaked in secrecy, stifled

By anonymity.

The others don't know she's there

But you see her
You see her all the time.

In between the fleeting hours,
The iron bars of the confined.

This reflection, you turn away from
This silent counterpart

You banish,

Eternally

To the shadiest nook from deep within,
To the obscurest, almost invisible recess

That sees no light.

In here, she resides.

Your darker side,
Your lighter within.

She yearns, for the open.

And in a sudden, feverish moment she forgets her place, unburies herself, and desperately abandons her carefully-woven veil of hide.

Incensed, you hurl at your rebelling double, and once again continue to dispel - her efforts in breaking through your unyielding walls, her bursting attempts to surface and rise up to the faces of the cruel, cutting outside.

And the moment after, as always
Is always the same.

She falls
In defeat, to her knees in front of you and cries.

And she asks why

Why you try so hard to hide to keep her inside.

Starstruck

2006-06-06T02:57:00.000+08:00

So a friend and I were idling along the bustling streets of Orchard one day when suddenly she stopped short outside The Heeren Shops, the index finger she had been using to gesticulate and jab the air with earlier hanging forgotten in mid-air, her eyes widening to the size of mini dark saucers. I saw as they quickly lit ablaze with a mild, enquiring flare of curiosity; I raised my eyebrows as she stared past my shoulder for a moment before reverting her attention back to me, nodding briefly in the previous direction.

"Look!"

I turned to follow her gaze, and was quickly met with a small huddling crowd gathered in a crooked semi-circle fashion, whispering and pointing animatedly in a concentrated, fervent buzz.

I opened my mouth to speak, but my eager friend had already grabbed me by the arm and started to inch her way towards the source of the activity.

"Celebrity ah? Let's go see!"

I gave an involuntary frown, whilst trying hard not to allow my disinterestedness to surface in its entirety.

Despite my earnest bid to appear nonchalant about the idea of even the slightest exalting of another human being by whatever means however, I allowed my unwilling self to be dragged unceremoniously towards the burgeoning crowd. I cringed as I briefly entertained the thought of being caught in a most undignified situation of clamouring fans, deafening screams, and predictably unrestrained activity...

That's when I saw him.

And I must say... never before in my close to 19 years of existence have I been in such awe of anyone or thing. An invisible wand swiftly materialised, released a hex and stupefied my unwary body; my jaw was pulled opened, forced closed, and I later vaguely felt it fall open again, most ungrandly. My eyes, transfixed, bore into his moonlit two almost invasively and I stood staring, rooted to his impeccable features, the rippling allure of his beautiful being. The drumming of my heart grew fainter by the minute as I no longer sensed the presence of my feet... the world around me quickly misted into an indiscernable, unimportant swirl and all at once in that one sublime, stunningly surreal moment, I knew I was in love.

WITH THIS!

OMG SO CUTE RIGHT!!!!!!!1111

Don't ask me what it is, 'cause I have no idea either. A dog? A lion? A romantic result of two different species defying convention to succumb to the nudge of the rousing, seductive moonlight one long, fateful night?

I don't know.

But what I do know and had been extremely cognizant of then was how my two knees had went completely weak and almost collapsed uncontrollably upon first sight of this adorable thing. Yes.. that's how irresistable I found this animal to be. Impressively I somehow managed to keep enough of my breath going though, to take these pictures.

So anyway, the quaint pink footwear you see in the first two pictures belongs to the apparent owner of that... liondog? Quite an oddball he was too. A middle-aged, eccentrically dressed man holding on to the leash of this bizarre-looking animal in the streets of Orchard, while acting completely aloof. A couple of eager onlookers (my kaypoh self included) had questioned him on the origins of this dog - its breed, where he got it from, etc, but he (somehow, I thought predictably) he said nothing.

Queer lah.

But if by some marvellous stroke of luck you do happen to know what kind of breed this dog (well I'm assuming it's one) is, please do not even hesitate for a moment to tell me! You'll be duely rewarded of course :) (er, details to be instantly expounded on upon gratification of request..)

In any case, pandogs are definitely out, and liondogs, way in. :)

Heh heh heh.

Ok lah, time to pat my neglected Shih Tzu now.

And so the mundaneness of life drones on...

2006-06-03T16:04:00.000+08:00

A rumbling routine
A dry hum of monotony.

The everyday, tried circumstances
She finds putting herself through.

Her safe, sheltered days
Made eventful on occasion, by easy company -

In the seconds of euphoria I forget how commonplace my days have been, before this.

I have much to say, as I always think I do

But then I never know

I never know where to begin.

It's 12.08a.m

2006-05-24T15:59:00.000+08:00

And I'm watching you.

I'm staring.

Staring at this flat, empty void that you are, the adamant stretch of blank that I see you so clearly through.

A flickering cursor breaks your clean spread, and I continue to stare, entranced. Ensnared. In one hot complex, sticky mesh.

I see you encased - by four offending black walls, and my eyes track within. In slow, differing, aimless sweeps. They roll around freely - and about, moving. Moving along.

And along.

And back.

And forth.

And back and forth and back and forth and back to where it all so vaguely began.

My eyes spiral back, to this very point. This unmarked, dead centre of nothingness.

And so I continue to watch.

And stare.

Briefly, then lingering. Persisting.

Burning.

Burning right into your angular, austere face, your hard rectangle of screaming white, your deafening silence, in this long, barren field.

My screen, your land

Our meeting.

It's 12.59a.m

And I'm still staring.

Time comes running to a standstill

2006-05-12T15:14:00.000+08:00

and I know that in this moment,
you're beautiful.

One day a "politically apathetic" girl was strolling along a pavement in Hougang

2006-05-07T07:33:00.000+08:00

when she saw this

Her eyes widened, a lightbulb went off in her head, and she suddenly thought of who her parents were decidedly rooting for, and decided to dash the remaining distance to her Eastern abode to convey a new, sprouting sentiment to her family.

In her reckless haste to fulfill her whimsical desire however, she forgot to mind her steps and so tripped and fell and thus very unfortunately, twisted her right ankle... ;(

Okay, so maybe that wasn't exactly how I sprained my ankle, but truth is I did, and so I'm currently spending my very exciting weekend at home nursing and tending to my injury, heh.

In any case, I did really see that poster on my home way home the other day though, and because I dislike seeing anything topsy-turvy or even remotely out of place, here's a humble (and decidedly useless) attempt in putting things right.. never mind the overhead roads and upside-down pedestrian, of course.

"Wah results show tonight leh! Think it'll be more exciting than Campus Superstar finals?"

Fleeting feelings

2006-04-27T03:22:00.000+08:00

How is it that I could be bursting with optimism one moment, and flushed out with despondency the next?

I would like to say this is uncharacteristic, and that what I'm experiencing of late is just my way of responding to present and differing situations.

But then this would bring me to the question of how well I know myself, and frankly speaking? Not much. A scary thought indeed - something some may even find worth losing sleep over. A seed of thought you one day find mysteriously planted in the back of your mind, gradually feeding and growing on the time you spend thinking about it. But as I've found out, brooding doesn't always necessarily give answers, so I'm now drawn to taking things a step at a time, occasionally backtracking a little, and indulging in the passing of cliched statements like "only time will tell" (if even just to attempt assuring my constantly questioning self) whenever I find myself locked in a loose train of meandering, unanswered thoughts.

Convenient isn't it, how certain intangible things are. Can't decide on something? Time will. Can't find an opportunity? Leave it to chance. Landed up in a sticky situation? Oh, this must be fate.

Matters of belief or hope? I don't know. Could possibly even be faith, but.. let's not get there.

I'm shining high above, and clearly hung up over you. I see you again tonight... but do I? Do I see you see me?

What's in a rose?

2006-04-04T03:22:00.000+08:00

Beyond its delicate beauty, past its comely facade - of layered good looks and refined allure. The ink of nature paints her an enduring pink, the soft colour of tangy bubblegum, fluffy romance, wisps of cotton candy.

What's in a rose?

A silent stalk of solitude, standing still. The wind tugs, at strings of an invisible harp; it plays the song of love, hums the melody of life. Before long, a transparent blanket of warmth pulls over the waiting flower, and she looks up. In time to see the last of the sun's extended arms reach overhead - bolt across, and continue away. Tepid trails left behind, and she basks in them. The scattered rays illuminate her, expressionless; an otherwise endearing countenance. Cheeks of coral blush in the heat, subtle features darken in the light, and blistering feelings, once subdued, re-ignite.

What's in a rose?

A single bud of hope. Up its slender stem a slow thirst for affection creeps; seeping nutrients and yesterday's rain give chase, and they meet - at the bud. A concentrated bead of desires - rattling for release. In their call the fine petals separate, and wishes unfold. Strings of secrets unravel like a ball of unattended yarn.

What's in a rose?

A blooming object of fancy, enticing - and sought after, relentlessly. Roughly uprooted (from her soil of comfort) she now stems to nothingness, and only feeds. On advancing fingers, lingering strokes, ravished moments. An object to the callous - the unfeeling of the feeling. The whims of Man, of their touch - unthinking, persisting. She turns and her thin frame slowly bends; away - from the glare of infatuation, towards the shade of dimmed aversion.

What's in a rose?

A desperate voice, drowned in an orchestra of the oblivious. A powerless life, of mishandling days and manipulative hours. Weak thorns are broken, the remaining thrown under the strong possession of different hands, with similar touches. Continuous fawning, unremitting watering of attention - yet, a sense of tenderness, quite amiss. A property absent from the supposed affluent, the covetous. Simply missing, or never-before posssessed? She has no answer; her unfilled void the same, with echoing sentiments.

What's in a rose?

A stirring heart, a spinning story - untold. Telling veins on withering petals remain unnoticed; leaves of the tale wilt over time, and fall away. In her known short-lived period of existence she nonethelessly weaves - a timeless story. A long, intricate weave, for nobody. Her head hangs low, and she greets again the same barren floor of resignation. Of burnt out hopes and weathered dreams. The bees still smell her, Man continue to see her, but nobody hears. Nobody hears the open sigh in the distance, the shuddering cry in the silence. The loud, resounding silence, fanned continuous, by her now quiet, ebbing desperation.

What's in a rose?

Beyond its flawless front, past its rich coating - of dancing mirth and dreamy pink... who's to know of all that, and deep within?

Hello, world!

2006-03-29T06:05:00.000+08:00

Contrary to popular belief, I am still alive.

Too much have happened lately in a considerably short span of time, and so in their relentless fighting for my attention to be accounted for immediately in this blog, I have decided to play the fair card and talk about none at all .. :)

Ok fine, so that was a poor excuse for just being plain lazy.

Anyway, good luck to friends doing IAP! Have fun leading the corporate life, heh heh. And for those who aren't doing it just yet, like myself, CALL ME and HANG OUT. Damn bored lah. :)

Updates soon, really.

People I've been seeing...

2006-03-15T17:32:00.000+08:00

People I miss...

And people.. oh, it's just me. ;)

Love you all <33

Of past literature, new feelings, and red faces.

2006-03-05T04:06:00.000+08:00

Just the other day I was leafing through some of my old textbooks, long undisposed files and loose yellowing papers (yes I like to preserve things like that) when I came to unearth this:

Literature homework, done almost 3 years ago.

To say that time really flies would be putting things too mildly. To say that I can hardly believe it's been such a long time since I last did any kind of Literature homework would be quite an understatement. And to say that I've always had a profound interest in reading, writing, and well, the world of English Literature in general, would be an even greater one.

I guess while some of my good friends back then might have found the likes of Shakespeare, D.H Lawrence, Joseph Conrad, or the dissecting and perusing of various poems and verses a major pain in their rear ends (and some were so bent on dislodging this discomfort they either feebly poked fun at the texts and declare them artifacts of rubbish, or overtly ignoring the Literature teacher and giving up on the subject altogether), I have always found it to be intriguing, to say the least.

I'm drawn to Literature like how a bee is to colourful, scent-laden flowers. Drawn to feeling empathy when reading and experiencing a piece, drawn to the illuminating unravelling of hidden nuances and undertones between the lines, drawn essentially to the celebration of language in the colourful world of metaphors, similes, the rhetorics, the blatant and the insinuated... it's all very therapeutic really, and I think immersing in good literature is tantamount to indulging in some kind of luxurious word spa.

I like, I like.

Anyway, so I remember to be particularly taken to this piece of (well, initially) Unseen Prose because I thought intricately-woven stories like these always ease their way into delighting me. Below is an excerpt from the same passage that I read many many moons ago; it was extracted from a novel called Fire on the Mountain, by Anita Desai. Is basically about a young girl called Raka, who due to family problems, is sent to stay with her great-grandmother whom she has never seen before.

* Ram Lal is the servant

Turning those eyes about, Raka watched Ram Lal go up the veranda steps ino the house with her case, his outsized tennis shoes alternately flopping and squeaking on the stone tiles. Turning slightly, she saw a scraggy-necked hen pecking beneath a bush of blue hydrangeas at some pieces of broken little china.

Then she raised her small, shorn head on its very thin and delicate neck and regarded the apricot trees, the veranda, Carignanno. She listened to the wind in the pines and the cicadas all shrilling incessantly in the sun with her unfortunately large and protruding ears, and thought she had never before heard the voice of silence.

And part of my response to this paragraph:

"...pictures presented to Raka as she looked about are not exactly pretty, and the author probably does this to hint at how the child is always facing aspects of imperfection in her life.

She appears disturbed by even the noise produced through little actions, and this is probably because she is quietly longing for some silence and inner peace within her. The reader feels sorry for Raka once more, as this girl is most probably affected by her family problems back home, where she is constantly attacked by noise and ceaseless commotion. She has been so tired and consumed by all these disquiets that now even small sounds produced by shoes and hens bother her. Raka yearns for some tranquil, and we empathise."

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Strangely enough, it seems almost appropriate that I be re-reading this just now, considering how I've been experiencing almost similar emotions of late. It's as though I find myself once again, in little Raka's shoes, except this time, my renewed empathy for her is set on a different, heightened level.

I won't go into details, but let's just say that how I managed to effectively study for my examinations (which are over by the way, thank god) in the least conducive environment imaginable (think a heavy saturation of unremitting noise originating from both mechanical and human forms) is beyond me.

If this carries on I expect soon I'll be like Raka, wincing even at the sound of twittering birds or the drop of the pencil.

But anyway.

On a completely separate note, so sorry I couldn't go clubbing with the girls on Wednesday! How to go with my face looking like that. :( But it's okay, I was consoling myself by dancing away at home to "Beep" (check the radio blog at the sidebar) and now thanks to the effects of successive repetition, I can't get the song off my head.

And in case you're wondering what has happened to my face... well if you've seen me the past few days this is most probably how you would have greeted me upon first sight:

"Omg Mabel did you get sunburnt??"

As it happens, yes I'd been sporting a pretty red face lately, and yes there is a bit of mild but nonetheless noticeable amount of skin peeling. All this enough for one to believe that I've spent the last few days seducing the sun for hours on end and ended up with a scorched facade as a sizzling souvenier from our heated affair.

But to set the record straight NO I did not get a sunburn. Neither did I stumble into a room full of naked men (I wouldn't be blushing furiously in any case, I'd probably die on the spot).

So what happenened was basically I've applied a bit too much Benzoyl Peroxide on my skin the past week in an attempt to treat my recent case of a mild but annoying breakout, and apparently I didn't moisturise enough. And as I found out later from my mother (who used to be a beautician), the peeling effect although very drying and nasty-looking, is good in a sense because I'm "shedding skin" and making way for the new layer, so to speak.

Gross, I feel like a snake.

But whatever, my skin is looking way better this morning, so yay.

There will always be those who chide me too, for "being so vain" (Father, Mother, Sister, Brother, Maid and Barking Dog, 2006), so if you too are considering dishing out similar sentiments and impose onto me once again the very tiresome idea of superficial beauty.. well, allow me just to remind you of something Jean Kerr once said.

"This nonsense about beauty being only skin deep. That's deep enough. What do you want - an adorable pancreas?"

Gotta love people who think with their heads. :)

Examinations are evil.

2006-02-27T14:43:00.000+08:00

Somebody remind me why we have to take them again.

Huat ah!

2006-02-20T16:31:00.000+08:00

So Chinese New Year came and went, and I know addressing it now may seem kind of late, but I was just flicking through my wad of red packet harvest (more fondly known as angbao money) that I've stashed away for some time, and realised that this year's haul had been .. well, comparatively lesser than the last.

I'm guessing this has something to do with me not huat-ing enthusiastically on Lunar New Year's eve.

Let me explain.

You see, on the night of chu xi, my father had insisted we pay a visit to cai shen, or God of Wealth, at a temple situated within a lofty building in Bukit Batok.

As I'm pretty much an agnostic, I can't say I was too keen on the idea. So when I told my parents this (both of whom were incredibly staunch Buddhists) the cheery smile my dad had been wearing all day faded instantly.

"...everytime ask you to go to temple you also never go. You better come this time. It's important... this year is gonna be MY year!"

I took a few minutes to figure out what he meant by this before it came to my realisation that he was still waiting for a reply. For fear of incurring his displeasure (which I learnt from experience can evolve into a less than delightful affair), I quickly mumbled that I would go.

So the entire family from Hougang rode down to Bukit Batok, and as it turns out, the "temple" certainly wasn't like any temple I've been to. Neither did I think it was a building that even remotely resembled that of the Siong Lim temple in Jalan Toa Payoh (a fine, traditional work of Chinese-style architecture complete with elaborately decorated gateways and courtyards).

What we saw instead on one of the storeys in the multi-level building, was an open-space corner that was sealed off and led to a small shrine housing a fine display of Buddha statues.

There were already quite a number of people present for the occasion, so we threaded our way through the small but huddled crowd as I struggled to keep up with what my parents did.

I took a handful of joss sticks, lit them up, and walked about the shrine, praying to different Gods before planting them in the respective urns. Then we waited to jie cai shen - or receive/welcome the God of Wealth, loosely translated.

The next thing I knew, I was pushed along in the queue to "speak" to the God of Wealth. Apparently he had descended into a medium's body, and we're all allowed to speak to him for a few minutes.

I was extremely nervous when I heard this, and of course, my very empathetic mother decided to throw me some sound advice.

"You think what, heart-to-heart session ah. It's nothing one, he'll probably just greet you or something... not that you'll understand what he says anyway."

I tried my best not to look offended, but as I later found out, she was actually (well, half) right.

I had queued up with the rest, walked up to the medium, who was standing next to the statue of the God of wealth, and offered my incense. Then I handed the two mandarin oranges to him like I was instructed to, and he said:

"#$@%$^@!#$!@$!%"

Followed by another sentence in the incomprehensible dialect that I later found myself vaguely making it out as "You understand?"

Startled by the fact that I hadn't been able to understand the whole of what he said earlier but could comprehend this very last sentence, I quickly mumbled "yes".

The medium nodded vehemently and said nothing else, so I decided to take this opportunity to steal a closer glance.

I couldn't quite make out his entire facial appearance as his eyelids were closed, head slightly bent, his hands still holding onto the oranges. But I decided that he was no more than 50 years-old, and too noticed how he wore on his thin lips a small, serene smile.

Also, unlike certain cai shen statues or illustrations like this one

he didn't have all regalia. Instead, he was dressed in plain brown robes, although he did don that unmistakeable two-eared hat (only his was black), or whatever you call it.

Later, as I exited the area and joined my family who were waiting outside, I thought we were done.

"What?!" My mom said, with a look as though I suggested we eat incense for supper. "No, no, there's more."

And so we waited, in the breezy open area that overlooked a messily ploughed field dotted with tall, lanky trees.

I turned around, spotted a couple of red plastic chairs (the kind you find in coffee shops) that were empty, and took a seat.

Okay so maybe normal people in a similar situation may consider making small talk with the people around them, but certainly not I. Call me anti-social maybe, but I find it extremely hard to strike a conversation with all these 30/40+ year-old adults (neither did I see a need to, anyway).

My parents had gone to speak with some of their friends, my brother was in the toilet, and my sister had mysteriously disappeared, so I just sat there alone, trying to look at ease (while pretending to be extremely busy with my cell phone, of course).

(Oh and to side-track a little; just imagine a life without cell phones! Not only do you lose contact with the world, you lose even looking like you are in contact with the world.)

As I had nothing to do but wait (for what, I wasn't even sure), I eyed a few containers of New Year goodies that appeared to have just materalised on a table not far from where I was seated. I looked up to see the person who had just placed them there, and our eyes met.

...

"WAH KIM NI DE NU ER AH!!!"

Before my mind could fully register anything, she had pulled me to my mother's side and proceeded to comment loudly on how "pretty" and "grown up" I was. (I mean, these kinda things need to say meh hahaha)

This carried on for a few minutes before her exaggerated movements and comments (sounded in a may I add, very high-pitched voice) started to annoy me, so I was immensely thankful when the organiser of the event suddenly rang a bell shrilly for attention.

We closed in on her once again, and this time, we were intructed to burn three sticks of normal incense to pray to another statue, after which we will be given a large joss stick (wrapped in gold paper emblazoned with a line of apparently auspicious Mandarin words) to take home.

As my father happened to be standing closest to the statue, he went first. He knelt on a short stool cushioned with a thin padding, prayed to the statue for a while, before placing the sticks into the pot of incense.

He got up, and the medium, whom I just noticed to be standing next to him, handed my father the golden joss stick and said: "Huat ah!"

"HUAT AH!" My dad replied enthusiastically.

Some people laughed.

The next person went.

"Huat ah!!"

More celebratory laughter.

This happened for a few more times as I stood in the same position, taking in all of the huat-ting, the burning joss stick still in my hand, before my mom gave me a slight push and I found myself kneeling in front of the altar before cai shen.

I prayed quickly, placed the sticks in the pot of incense, and was about to walk away when the medium stopped me to place the large golden joss stick in my hands.

He patted my arm gently and smiled, as though waiting for me to say something.

"Uh...."

"HUAT AH!!" The entire crowd chirruped.

"Haha! Yeah.." I smiled weakly, thanked the medium, and quickly walked away.

The remaining events of the night generally consisted of some burning of papers and more shuffling about with my parents' friends as each gushed about how much I (and my siblings for that matter) have grown, debated on which child looked like whom..etc.

Later, when we were about to leave for home my sister suggested we head to Chinatown to shop about for a bit.

"No cannot!" My father said fervently, holding up the handful of golden joss sticks in her face. "Must go home directly, to bring all these wealth back. If not, all our wealth will be shared amongst Chinatown!"

...So yes, it was off to home we went.

But the bottomline is, I'm suspecting that because of that little incident where I refused to enthuse a huat (meaning: prosper) in the presence of cai shen (both the statue and the one in the medium), this must have in some way or another, played a part in the disappointing sum of angbao money I've amounted to for the past few weeks. :(

Oh well.. guess there's always next year.

And I suppose when it comes to such things one (besides maybe silently doubting) can really only choose to play it safe, eh.

Huat, huat! :)

I want a pandog! (not actual breed name)

2006-02-17T13:43:00.000+08:00

I mean, I love Lucky (my Shih Tzu) and all, but this one is so cute, it looks almost fake.

Anyway, much apologies for the paltry number of entries of late.. will update soon when I'm outta this hellhole we call school term. :/ Do check out my new radio blog at the sidebar though, if you haven't already noticed it. Much thanks again to Alvin for hosting the songs :) These will be updated from time to time of course.. (but er, judging from the irregularity of my blog entries, you wouldn't wanna hold me to that)

But check it out anyways, 'cause I even added a short voice clip as an intro for fun, heh heh.

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To bear the weight and push it to the sky
It's easier to lie, easier to lie
And honestly to look you in the eye
It's easier to lie

Easier to lie...

You find yourself sitting atop the now bottomless ladder.

2006-02-08T17:46:00.000+08:00

A precarious position to be in, you think.

Nonetheless, you dimiss the thought and focus your mind instead, on keeping balance.

It had been a long climb indeed - your sweaty palms had stung from the ongoing friction made with every move; your slippery shoes always almost gave way to the innumerable thin rungs; you had, on several occasions tried and failed to not stop and catch your breath too often so as not to delay the course of this interminable ascent; you had clung on for dear life twice when the playful wind tickled and shook the ladder ever so slightly... all this you do in hope of unravelling a mysterious beckoning secret, in reaching a destination quite unknown to yourself.

You now sit still on the highest rung of the ladder, and look up.

You immediately greet an unfamiliar face of iridiscence, the rays of the morning sun dancing sprightly on the azure; the vast and boundless blue sky, with masses of thick clouds sailing past, each finespun cluster outlined in a shape quite different from the last.

For a long time you sit on the ladder musing, watching, and wondering. You notice that the shapes of these clouds come in abundance - ones resemblant of a three-winged butterfly, a faceless angel with thin silvery dreadlocks, two miniature poodles moving side by side, a fisherman with a baitless fishing line, a squirrel in what looks like an oversized tutu...

Suddenly, it occurs to you that these clouds are not stationary; they glide along this radiating sky in slow, graceful movements, languidly exploring other secret spheres of this almost ethereal heaven.

You watch them for a while, and soon yearn for one to take you along the ride.

Excited, you now start to eye every moving cloud critically, waiting to spot one of a shape that will immediately endear to you, one you know with a single look will take all your breath (and hopefully you) away.

For a long time you sit alone waiting, and anticipating..

But nothing happens.

Slivers of disillusionment start to materialise and prick at your skin, settling in, and you soon find yourself believing that your perfect cloud ceased to exist. Your head down, you sit hunched from the pull of a heavy mind, a state outweighed only by the load of your fast despairing heart.

It is at this moment that you become vaguely aware of a sudden, inexplicable change in the air enveloping your bent frame.

You blink and look up, and from just a short distance away is a thick cloud of white wispy vapour; a clearly-defined shape of a maple leaf, only much larger. You find this absolutely arresting - you notice too, how its beautiful form is complete with a slender stem that now tickles shyly at the edge of the ladder.

Your heart gives another involuntary skip and you look away, almost abashedly.

You know few things at this time, but what you do know (or at least, believe in) is how this very maple leaf is indeed every bit your perfect cloud.

The cloudy maple leaf moves a little closer, and almost instinctively, you lift your (only slightly hesitant) foot. You set it back down on the short stem, cross and climb into the face of the wide leaf. The cloud swirls around gaily in response, and for a few moments you say nothing, your ambivalent feelings silenced in this sharp motion of bliss.

Like a newly-mounted magic carpet, the leaf does a small wiggle before inching forward swiftly in smooth, steady movements. Your smile widens as the blithe wind caresses your cheeks fondly, its feathery touch light on your skin.

You soon find this moment to be short-lived however, as the delicate brushes of the wind become lighter and lighter, until you can almost no longer sense its touch. Nonplussed, you look down at the maple leaf, only to ascertain that it is slowly and almost deliberately, losing its speed.

Then in one sudden moment, it stops moving altogether.

You open your mouth to say something, but suddenly the leaf gives a slight jerk and starts to retrace its steps, in the direction of the ladder.

Within just inches away from the ladder, the sinking feeling you had felt previously lurches back into your heart. Slowly, you stand up, and walk the length of the stem once more. With effort, you jump across the remaining distance onto the ladder, your hands outstretched. Once safely back in a sitting position, a little sob escapes your constricted throat and you cast a tentative backward glance at the maple leaf.

But it was already gone.

You cry openly now - the weeping wholehearted, unrestrained, and almost indulgent. You try feebly to open your eyes, but all you see are pockets of darkness, made even more obscure by your undrawn curtain of tears.

After a long while, you lift your head slowly to face the sky. You wipe your wet cheeks and once again, turn to stare blankly at the clusters of oddly-shaped clouds on the endless move. You watch them drift against the blue backdrop for a long moment, before realising that some of them have actually stopped to hover in front of you, just like how the maple leaf did. But they bore no or even little resemblance to it, and you remain still, making no move towards them. You look down feeling slightly apologetic, and almost adamant.

Soon they move along too.

With the maple leaf gone, you resolve to wait for the appearance of one like, or in the least, remotely resembled it.

The hours pass continually until you no longer keep track of them, but still, nothing happens.

Finally, you grow impatient and decide to hop onto a neighbouring cloud shaped like a harmless, panting puppy. Once inside, it carries you as it sails swiftly through the sky; the ride is smooth, but still decidedly rockier than the one with the maple leaf.

So you will the cloud to change its course and return to the ladder, and it did, although reluctantly. It bids a silent goodbye, and you watch it drift away sadly, leaving behind a profound sense of loneliness to engulf your lone self. Later, more clouds float into view, and tentatively, you mount some of these. But they never got as far as a few metres before you ask to leave the ride, to be returned once again, to the top of the solitary, unmoving ladder...

You now find yourself sitting atop the same bottomless ladder, this time accompanied by a new, resounding thought.

Will you continue to wait for a similar cloud to drift by your ladder? Or do you give up over time to try another cloud, a cloud you perhaps aren't nearly half as captivated by, but one that continues to patiently hover and wait by your side nonetheless?

.
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For me, I think I'll climb down this ladder (for now) and spend the time admiring a cloudless but nevertheless, beautiful sky instead.

(Picture taken through my window one fine morning. Look closely and you'll see a star near the roof of the taller building. I had stood watching this star scintillate for a while, but then the sun fully awoke and slowly blinded it away..)

You know you're really exhausted when

2006-01-30T03:06:00.000+08:00

you miss your MRT stop for the third time this week and end up in some ghostly new station like Buangkok instead.

And I say ghostly because it seems that lately I've been nodding off a lot during the train ride home on NEL, and for some reason I only always wake up seconds before the train arrives at the considerably new Buangkok station. I get off here grouchily to switch trains back to Hougang, and everytime I step into the station, it's literally empty.

I'm always there at about 9 - 9.30pm, and er, I think for some reason this is a grandly inauspicious time to board trains in Buangkok or something..

It's nearly always deserted.

I would have continued taking more pictures with my lousy cam phone just for the fun of it, but because the station was so quiet, the way the loud click of the noisy VGA camera amplified itself and echoed off the walls when I snapped was quite unnerving, so I stopped.

But anyway, speaking of trains. I've been taking them so often lately (ever since I took to teaching part-time tuition) I think I'm subconsciously beginning to pick up a new hobby - that is, people watching.

It's a most interesting activity really, staring at nondescript people walk in and out, plop down on gleaming blue train seats, the more conscious commuters occasionally even returning your gaze warily.

It's amazing how in a short period of about 20 minutes of doing nothing else but roving your eyes about (discreetly, of course), everything little detail observed becomes a fresh discovery, some of which are especially illuminating; like how many Singaporeans have this permanently sian look on their faces, how young people saunter into the train with Black Eyed Peas blasting off their headphones or from the little white earphones snugly placed in the insides of their ears, how nearly every schooling teenager loves to sms vehemently for the entire ride and exchanging (read: flaunting) their Nokia/Samsung/Motorola phones with their peers every half minute, how parents noisily drag their boisterious children by the ears into the train while yelling at them to behave, but uh, thereafter ignore them completely for the rest of the ride.

Kid: Mummy mummyy!
Mother: ...
Kid: (points to the small map of the NEL route pasted on the wall above the train seats) Look China! India!
Mother: ...
Kid: Oh OH wow what's that Mummy?
Mother: Hmm...?
Kid: (tugging at his mother's sleeve) Buang.. buang.. bang.. BANGKOK! Is that a country mum? A country?
Mother: Mmm.
Kid (in what seemed like genuine awe): Wah Singapore so many countries!!!

.
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Perhaps it's the little things you pick up in the mundanity of it all that intrigue me so much - how train rides and ongoing commuters are so dull and commonplace, and yet if you bother to just take a closer look, there are those rare, quaint moments that take you by surprise, the kind that gets you all warm and fuzzy inside, the kind you find your heart voluntarily smiling at, after which you look up, hoping to meet the eyes of someone who's sharing the very same moment.

But of course, that rarely happens because everyone is too self-absorbed to give anything more than a mere passing glance to anything or anyone that doesn't quite involve money or themselves.

So it was one busy evening in the NEL train as usual when I noticed a man and woman both looking in about their early 60s, seated at the side, near the entrance of the doors.

The woman was on the innermost seat, the man next to her. The first thing I noticed about this man was the fact that his legs were crossed and casually leaned towards the woman.

It kinda struck me as a gesture that suggested a not-so casual relationship, and of course I was intrigued. So being the (healthy) kaypoh that I was, I observed them quite casually from a convenient distance, and er, happened to be able to listen to snatches of their conversation too (I was also pleasantly surprised that they spoke in perfectly-articulated English).

Old man: Haha yeah! (bla bla bla)
Old woman: (smiling embarrassedly and not looking in his eye)
Old man: (still laughing and shaking his head) That is really true..

I decided that they weren't husband and wife, because although I hardly see older couples around to draw comparisons and/or similarities, something about their suggestively intimate yet distanced body language told me I had a pretty good guess.

Old man: (smiles, legs still leaning in her direction) Yeah so... how're your children?

(!!!! I pumped an imaginary fist in the air to celebrate my intelligence)

Old woman: Oh they're fine... good children they are. Haven't seen them in a while though.
Old man: Oh yeah well, that can't be helped. We see our children less and less, but that doesn't stop us from loving them even more.
Old woman: (smiles) Yeah you're right..

And for a moment they just sat there smiling at each other.

Then suddenly, the old man reached up and playfully pinched at her nose.

Even I had to blush at this juncture, and naturally the old woman flushed a bright crimson red (although smiling), and tried to look away.

The couple later got up and exited the train at the next station. I noticed that both their hands were awkwardly but purposefully brushing against each other, as though embarrassed to touch but secretly glad that they were anyway.

It's one of the rare times where I actually feel (and believe) that love essentially, is beautiful.

Also, I wonder when if it comes to a time when I'm old, wrinkly and widowed (or god forbid, a spinster..) I would still consider the idea of dating.

Well, why not? Even if I do wind up in a happier scenario (eg: widowed but still have decent children to tend to my needs) I wouldn't rule out the possiblility of dating if some hot old man asks me out :D (That er, of course is if I still manage to find any guy hot at that age..)

I wonder if my practice of never dating younger guys now will still hold then, hahaha.

But then again, because I find it quite hard to believe that young hot studs will be remotely turned on by my old (albeit still alluring!) wizened self then, I think I might just grow to find wrinkles and sparse white hair on balding heads incredibly sexy...

Don't laugh, 'cause in time you will share the same sentiments as me too.. heh heh.

Happy Lunar New Year, everyone! :)

Because teaching was never really my thing.

2006-01-18T16:03:00.000+08:00

"Hello, my name is Mabel! What's yours?"

Two small pairs of raven eyes stared back, unblinking.

I cleared my throat and tried again.

"Er okay. I (pointing at myself exaggeratedly) am May - bel. What... is...your (pointing back at them) name?"

Still the 8-year-olds said nothing.

The little girl gave a shy smile and toyed with the tip of her newly-sharpened pencil.

I looked over at the boy, who had been concentrating intently on unwrapping the plastic off a new eraser. He threw the plastic aside, picked up a felt pen, and proceeded to draw what vaguely looked like a mutilated face of King Kong on the rubber surface.

"EH ah neh you donsou meh! (not accurate)" The girl suddenly lept up from her seat and reached over to the boy. She grabbed at the eraser and tugged it from her brother's grasp. "Behave!"

My eyes widened.

"..Yes yes, behave." I cleared my throat again and threw a glance at the capacious living room, momentarily relieved that the Korean mother was not in the vicinity to witness my less-than-successful first few minutes with the kids.

"Alright, I know your English names are Kate and David... but I just wanted to hear you speak. You need to speak less Korean and more English when I'm around okay?"

Kate smiled shyly and nodded.

I glanced over at her brother, who now appeared to be busy celebrating the victorious completion of his latest doodle of a Korean word on another eraser.

I reached over and calmly took the stationery from his hands. "Ok David ... so tell me, what's my name again?"

David stared at me intently for a few seconds and said, "May...bee."

I smiled. "No, May - bel."

"Ball?" His eyes lit up.

"Er.."

The next thing I knew, he had nimbly flung his entire body on the polished wooden table the three of us were seated at, his face just inches away from mine. No kidding(excuse pun).

"BALL!" He repeated, his legs waving madly in the air as he lied on his stomach and peered up at me. He laughed and made a bouncing motion with his hands.

"You are ball?"

...

"Let's just take a look at this book, shall we?"

* * *

Two weeks later, David threw his first (I say this 'cause I have a hunch it won't be the last..) tantrum at me. Just when I was beginning to be a bit more tolerant of him too.

"Hi Kate! Did you study for your spelling test?"

"Yes! :)"

Less than 10 minutes later, she collected her books as she walked away grinning, a miniature box of chocolates (that I'd given to her as a prize for getting all the words right) in her hand.

"Okay David, your turn, are you ready?"

"Uh..."

Now, it must be mentioned here that for the past two weeks that I've been teaching them, David remains as the VERY mischievous, distracted, and playful student. Unlike him, the girl is significantly more hardworking; she picks up things fast, reads all the words aloud when I tell her to, studies for and aces all her spelling tests. Granted, there were the few rare instances when David would concentrate for a full 5 minutes, listen to me, and actually learn something. But most of the time, he would just seize every opportunity of the tuition time to point to the clock and ask "Done?".

So naturally I hadn't really expected him to study for this small spelling test.

But neither did I expect him to be so bummed at the thought of not getting some chocolates himself.

"Okay let's go. First word.. watermelon."

He eyed his sister critically as she left the room with her fingers wrapped around the small chocolate box. He trained his eyes back to the desk, gripped his pencil tightly and pressed it hard on the paper.

"W..o.."

The pencil broke.

I tried not to change the expression of my face as he grunted and jumped onto the floor to retrieve it.

He got back up, erased the letter 'o' on the paper (using the one emblazoned with King Kong), and looked at me questioningly.

I shrugged, and he continued to stare the lined paper for the next few minutes.

"Alright, next word. Pol-"

"No." He said.

"Eh..? Ok I'll give you another minute. Finish writing that word."

- 5 minutes later -

"Ok next word, Policeman."

"No! This first!" He slammed his small fist (which somehow produced an alarmingly loud sound) on the table, his face sulking. "W..o..r...?"

I shook my head.

"NOOO!"

"...It's okay if you don't - "

"NO! I KNOW!"

"I'm sure you do."

"W..a..t..r..m..o n?"

I shook my head. "But it's ok, just write what you think is corr-"

"NOOOOOO!"

He flung his pencil on the floor, bounced agitatedly on his chair, and whimpered. "Ahnehohsumeh (some Korean...)"

"...Alright, how about I give you 5 minutes to quickly study these 5 words, and we'll do a retest after that."

"NOOO!"

...

"Alright David so what do you want to do?"

He looked at me for a brief moment, then shook his head furiously.

I took a deep breath as I reached for his paper.

"Ok here's the deal. Either we do a retest in 5 minutes or you can study it later and I'll test you again on Wednesday when I see you. It's oka - "

"NO! NOWWWWWWWW!"

.....

Tried as I might, I couldn't really comprehend his stubborn behaviour on aceing the spelling test there and then. I looked at him as his eyebrows furrowed deeper and his face tightly scrunched up, his expression resolute. For a moment he looked like he was going to cry.

I panicked. "Ok um let's just forget about this test. Another time, alright?"

I wanted for another release of "NOOOOOOO" but he said nothing.

Two minutes later, he hiccupped, and looked woefully in my direction. He sniffed as he slowly stood up on the short stool and suddenly, peered into my open bag on the table.

"..Chocolate?"

Kids.

A girl sits typing in front of a door pane.

2006-01-09T07:15:00.000+08:00

"Excuse me, I believe I've told you that my daughter has an appointment with Doctor Lee today."

Staring back at her from the glassy sliding door is a tan wallpaper dabbed with floral prints of light fuchsia and forest green. Close to the top of the wall pasted a large poster with splashes of loud, motley words not immediately discernable, owing to the inverted reflection.

"Yes 'Mam you have. Please take a seat."

The girl lets her gaze linger on four varying shots of pearly-white smiles that covered the glossy pin-up. A golden, chandelier-like lamp hangs less than a metre away on the less fanciful ceiling, illuminating the paper. The smallest of breezes stroke her face lightly, and for the briefest instant, she thought she saw the lamp sway. She blinks, and stares at it for a moment.

"No. I'm trying to tell you that I left her here since about 50 minutes ago and now she's still waiting??"

But the lamp remain motionless.

Her eyes flick back down as a passing dentist picks up a fallen Christmas ornament and puts it on the base of the potted plant. Seemingly decorated to resemble a holiday tree, a small, festive golden star perched precariously atop the tall plant. White snowflake-like adornment glittered from the faces of the wide leaves, and scintillating blue lights snaked its way from the top of the tree, round its stem, and down to the base of the wicker pot.

"Yes I understand. But there's still 2 more people before her. I'm sorry, please take a seat."

The length of the wire doesn't end there, however; it extends and links to that of an amber table lamp less than a metre away. The lamp sits snug, and glows dimly next to the plush sofa draped in a cloth not unmatching to that of the wallpaper. A lone, beaded cushion rests against the left arm on the couch, and tucked in the other corner of the loveseat sits the same girl, hushed and hitting away softly on her keyboard.

"No I do NOT want to sit! I want to know when my daughter can finally see the dentist!"

The typing stops as the girl winces and tries not to look embarrassed. Half a minute later she looks up and cast a tentative glance at the agitated mother pacing in front of the counter.

Their eyes met.

A young, dishevelled and slightly panting dentist hustles out from a room. She scans the line of patients waiting in the short corridor and quickly shuffles a number of cards in her hand. She stops at one and squints.

"Mabel Lee?"

The woman looks up.

.
.

"Oh my god it's not my daughter's turn yet???"

...

HAHAHA you should have seen the look she gave me as I closed my laptop and got up to go inside. Tried as I might earlier that morning to best ignore her, she was honestly being quite an earsore. Sure, nobody likes to wait (c'mon, I waited for nearly 2 hours for my turn) but as it turns out there really is nothing much you can do about it besides curse and will time to pass faster, so I didn't really see her point in making such a ruckus and fanning more ire and agitation from the patients in the otherwise serene clinic.

But anyway, first great news of 2006! My orthodontist said I'll be able to remove my braces in possibly May or June. That's like, damn fast can. But eh, not that I'm complaining. Hopefully they can be removed before my next birthday arrives.. :D

'Cause there was something 'bout the way you looked at me
Made me think for a moment
That maybe we were meant to be

Happy, happy 2006!

2006-01-03T02:04:00.000+08:00

Let's ditch the old, and bring in the new :)

More blogging soon!

Two truths and a lie

2005-12-24T09:57:00.000+08:00

One day along a queue for the cashiers at Marks & Spencer, an 18-year-old girl (accidentally-on-purpose) listens in on a short exchange between two strangers.

"Thanks. Oh and I'll have one of these as well."

A buxom Caucasian woman in about her 40s smiled, pointing to one of the mini candle wax cakes stacked on the counter.

"Wow that thing looks sinful." A Chinese woman behind her said.

The Caucasian turned back and gave a short laugh. "So it is."

"Yeah well, everything about Christmas is sinful..." The Chinese woman mused, picking up a cake and examining it. "Only spreading the word of God isn't."

That afternoon at Wheelock Place, the unsuspecting 18-year-old stands in front of a shelf of the Literature section at Borders, browsing the collection.

A man decked in bright festive colours strode over, his panting, book-laden friend at his heels. He traced his finger quickly along the shelf of books for a brief moment before stoppping at a copy of Memories of My Melancholy Whores by Gabriel Marcia Marquez.

"Oh this is DAMN good!" He said, pulling it off the shelf and tossing it to his friend.

"Ok then let's buy it."

"Hang on there's a hard-cover copy here."

"Ok we'll take that."

"Oh hey! This is another good book."

"Really? Then let's -"

"Nah that Marquez book is better."

"Ok then we'll take that."

"Eh wait. But what if she already read it?"

"Ok then we'll call her and ask her if she has already read it."

"No cannot! Then she'll know we're buying her a book!"

The same 18-year-old, who also happens to be the writer of this blog, actually has a twin sister.

Dear Santa,

For all the bad things you thought I did this year.. it's really my other half behind it. Here's a picture to prove it.

So yes, I'm still an angel ok?

As for what I want for Christmas.. I've been telling you for the past 10 years, so give it to me already!

Much love,
Mabel

.
.

Merry Christmas, everyone. :)

Funny how a sudden string of mildly exciting things happen simultaneously

2005-12-13T16:04:00.000+08:00

in the most random of moments, resulting in you at a loss of deciding which of these events to highlight.

For example, I was just noticing how my index finger still looks as bruised as ever, with no visible sign of the fingernail growing out and hence pushing the blood along with it. Lamented this discovery to an indifferent friend who very callously ignored my blatant plea for sympathy. She looked at the finger for a brief moment and said:

"Omg I just realised.. how're you gonna dig your nose?"

And no, she wasn't kidding.

That pretty much got me involved in some immediate soul-searching as to exactly what kind of friends I've been making all year, in the repose of my dimly-lit room one slow, rainy afternoon. Was staring blankly at some intricately woven design (and subconsciously trying to make out its form) on the curtains of my window when suddenly several uninvited rays of sunlight emerged from apparently dust and rudely penetrated the shady comfort of my bedroom. I looked outside to see if the rain had stopped, and it hadn't. This got me wired up for some reason and my first thought was to blog about one of my major pet peeves... that is, (however queer as it may seem) sunshine in the rain.

Was logging on to Blogger when SUDDENLY from my open window drifted in loud, bellowing noises in the form of some elderly woman's singing. I listened for a few moments until the song ended, and just when I was about to turn my attention back to my laptop, what sounded like a hoarse elderly man took over and broke (what I had feared would be) the short-lived moment of peace. He started low and slow, a sign I momentarily took comfort in, but his following notes were...anything but that.

Now, I have absolutely nothing against elderly people singing karaoke all day (literally - they were at it since 10 am to about 7pm that day) 'cause if truth be told, I actually find it kinda cute that they're enjoying themselves thoroughly in each other's company, reminiscing old times and singing oldies in all different sort of dialects...

What I don't get is however, why they couldn't just do it withIN the community centre instead of out in the void deck where at least 80% of the population in the surrounding 12-story HDBs were home that rainy day only to become involuntary audience to their very loud performances. Not that I can guarantee that by staging the karaoke session indoors their singing still wouldn't be audibly heard.. but I like to think that at least I wouldn't have to deal with the constant fear of my ceramic floor tiles buckling from the sudden tremors caused by the booming karaoke system.

And it didn't help that every 10 minutes my dad would comment just as loudly on how he can sing way better than whoever was holding on the microphone then.

-_- .. You tell 'em, dad.

Anyway, I think I'll leave the sunshine in the rain thing to another time.

On a completely irrelevant note, have I mentioned before that I absolutely love Desperate Housewives?? Ok well I do. And as much as my favourite character from the show is still Bree Van De Camp (played by Marcia Cross) I think the quote of the second season (so far) has got to be the one from Eva Longoria in Episode 9.

(During lunch at the Solis table)

Sister Mary: Exactly. (smiles) Money can't buy happiness.

Gabrielle: (frowning) Oh it sure can.. That's just a lie we tell poor people to stop them from rioting.

.
.

So..yes, unless you wish to read about a raving 18-year-old girl carrying billboard-sized posters screaming "RIGHTFULLY POOR???" all along Orchard Road in the papers tomorrow, I suggest you buy me something nice this Christmas. It doesn't even have to be an expensive present. No no, I'm not materialistic like that. Just get me you know, something small.. Something like a Canon Ixus I Zoom maybe. Or an LG External DVD Writer. Or a Panasonic VS7. Or a pretty bag from ASOS online. Or a two-way ticket to -

..Okok you catch my drift.

How To Get Nail Art in 5 Minutes

2005-12-03T16:04:00.000+08:00

Step 1: Enter a washroom, one that is preferably small and cramped, with just about 3 cubicles in sight. Take your time to touch-up on your make-up, do your hair and bitch to your friend about superficial, insignificant things.

Step 2: Sense bad karma build up from within you as you laugh your head silly with your friend at a particularly random object of amusement. Ignore every female who enters the restroom seemingly in dire need of the toilet. Stand obstructing the narrow entrance and refuse to budge.

Step 3: Powder your nose, double-check on your reflection one last time, and slowly squeeze yourself through the small crowd and walk behind your friend as she heads towards the door. Continue to chatter animatedly, bearing in mind to let your right hand punctuate your inane sentences in the air as you gesture wildly with it. Do this and totter out of the entrance without a backward glance. Take no notice of the heavy door coming down onto your index finger.

Step 4: Scream.

Step 5: Fall to your knees and let ~~pools~~ droplets of blood ooze out from the cuticle as you let your friend run the finger under cold water. Wail and bawl at the top of your lungs to alleviate the pain experienced, and draw unwanted attention from the nearby whispering females.

Step 6: Show them the finger (the same one, not middle) as you wait and watch as the spot of blood clot darken with ferocious rapidity.

Your nail art is almost ready.

-Half a minute later-

Sexy, 'aint it?

P.S: If you're not entirely satisfied with your finger's new look, return home and apply some yellowish medication on it for the extra tinge of orange (that will eventually end up as a stain and hence, extra form of accessory to the design) you see in the photograph.

This unique form of DIY nail art is extremely long-lasting and expected to still be intact (dark-blue spot and all) even after 4 weeks. The whole process is quick, extremely exciting, and best of all, FREE.

So what are you waiting for? Go pamper yourself this holiday season.

I know I did.

And she thought she saw the words materialise as the voice said...

2005-11-23T16:51:00.000+08:00

She halted in her tracks, the pungent scent of coriander, jasmine, spices and flower garlands tickling her nostrils and awakening her senses. Momentarily she wondered for a third time why she was out in the hot, merciless sun, earphones snugly inserted into her ears as she loned a road in Little India, a place that was almost completely foreign to her.

The sentence echoed in the back of her head for a while as she waited, staring at the little red man lit up in the face of the traffic lights opposite Serangoon Road.

"I'm just across the road, waiting..." the voice said.

She let the voice bounce off the walls inside her head as her unbending gaze lingered on the stationary red man. She stared at him for a while, and suddenly wondered if like him, somebody special was also in the vicinity, waiting. Waiting for her.

But then the green man came on, and he was gone.

"You will soon meet your lover if your desire is legitimate..." the voice repeated.

She stood rooted, her state of solitude suddenly more pronounced than ever. She considered her ambivalent feelings; an acute sense of loss, coupled with a most profound connection with her surroundings. Encircled by sari-wearing women, conversing Indian shoppers and traders, pungent aromas, unfamiliar road names... she felt most out of place, and understood almost nothing of it all.

But somehow, something in this foreign place reassured her thoughts, her presence. Led by the voices in her head and guided by her trusted intuition, she was en route an exploratory path to an ambiguous explanation, an unknown destination.

She knew that subconsciously she was finding her lover - or love, in essence. But she also knew that love is effusive, and that for the moment, all she could do was walk in the point of direction given to her, and pray hard to eventually find what she was looking for, and be found.

"Let's go," the voice whispered.

She glanced up at the now blinking little green man on the face of the traffic lights, and crossed the road.

* * *

Experiencing desire paths was one of the most quaint and whimsical things I've done in a long time. Listening to the voices and sounds from the earphones as I followed their directions was nothing short of a surreal experience; I loved the feeling of knowing you're safe in a place you'd otherwise be completely lost in.

It's the little things that I picked up in Little India too - the romantic nuances in the whispers of the voices; the loud horning of vehicles that I alarmingly whipped about to when crossing roads (only to realise that they're actually just sounds coming from the earphones); the easy and free manner in which the people here move about; the refreshing and palpable authenticity of the place, preserved and free from the taint of the city.

It was all that... and everything else.

How do you say goodbye to a place?
How do you leave somebody you've never been with?

I'm never wearing my Nike sneakers again.

2005-11-13T16:04:00.000+08:00

I knew there was a good reason I stopped putting my feet into that pair of navy blue shoes since nearly two years ago. I was still in Secondary school then, back when broad shorts and ankle socks were considered cool (if you still think they are, pretend I never said that). When I wasn't so busy mugging for the O's or doing something stupid, I was spending my time and energy psycho-ing my mom into paying for an expensive pair of Nike sneakers that I "so desperately needed for outings and PE lessons" (and I didn't even attend PE lessons). Eventually though, she predictably succumbed to what I like to call my mindblowing, one-of-a-kind, PPP (prodigious persuasive power). :)

Well anyway, so those shoes were pretty much neglected for some reason after I graduated from IJ.

But Thursday morning was different; I had decided to once again, don them, but only because I had to. TV Studio Production required covered footwear and as I was unable to find my pair of pointy shoes in the mess of a shoe rack that groggy morning, I decided to look instead for that pair of Nike sneakers I had not set eyes and well, foot in for literally years.

Found them at a corner of the lowest level of the shoe rack, pulled them over my feet, secured the laces and walked over to the full-length mirror to assess my new look.

I looked positively horrendous.

But never mind that.

I padded about the house for a while in those shoes, looking for my earrings, my Nivea Lip Care stick, my bedroom floor (yes it is that messy)... nothing seemed even remotely out of the ordinary to me then. Sure, the sneakers did clash quite dramatically with my outfit (or probably any other outfit of mine for that matter), but I took comfort in the fact that at least my feet were comfortable in them.

So about half an hour later when finally I was able to stare at the mirror for a full minute without wincing at the ugly sight of my feet, I grabbed my phone, unlocked the door, and was just about to step out of the house when suddenly

I FELT A WRIGGLING MOVEMENT INSIDE MY LEFT SHOE.

I kicked my shoe off and before the first shriek could escape my open mouth, the vile, infernal lump of brown mass scuttled across the threshold on its disgustingly nimble legs and disappeared into the living room.

Yes, ladies in the gentlemen, I'm sure the thing I'm talking about here is hardly a stranger to just about anyone human.

A FUCKING COCKROACH WAS NESTING INSIDE MY LEFT SHOE FOR GOD KNOWS HOW LONG AND I ONLY FOUND OUT THAT IT WAS RESIDING THERE AFTER WALKING AROUND THE HOUSE FOR WHAT, HALF AN HOUR?!!?!

I suppose the bugger thought that by keeping quiet my foot would mysteriously go away after a while. Bloody hell.

I can't even begin to describe how severely traumatised I am over this event.

As I sit here typing and recounting the harrowing incident in due anguish, goosebumps are still forming on my arms at the appalling thought of me having actually been rubbing toes with an adult-sized cockroach that very morning.

Oh my god, I'll never look at my foot the same way again.

And naturally, the post-trauma activities that ensued (chain-shrieking at the top of my lungs for a full 20 minutes while using a brush and half a bottle of Dettol to scrub my toes with a force so hard the skin almost came off) led to my running extremely late for my 9 a.m. class, and so I decided to hire a cab.

Took cab, went on CTE, got stuck in the traffic, and was just about to alight the cab and dash off to my classroom when I looked at the meter and nearly fainted in the backseat.

"$24.80 please."

I don't know how my weak heart managed to survive this piece of news really, but it did. I emptied my purse, handed the stupid, grinning driver the cash, and later slammed the door with as much force as I could muster.

What the hell... $24.80?!

I mean, I know I hired the cab, so that's a few more dollars, and I agreed to get on CTE, another few additional bucks there, I was aware of the slight (ok it was damn fucking major) jam the whole ride, but honestly.. $24.80?!?!!

You'd think that the least you could get in return for being victim to this tragic daylight robbery was to make it to class in time.

But STILL I WAS LATE.

Needless to say, I was just about quite ready to strangle the nearest form of human existence in the vicinity as I glowered menacingly at every living and especially smiling NP student en route to my classroom.

I thus conclude that Thursday morning was the worst morning of my entire 18 years, 5 months, and 10 days of existence, and that's saying something.. -_-

Ok a friend to whom I was relating this entry to on MSN just decided to inform me that a cockroach could survive for 2 weeks if its head was chopped off, because its brain is actually situated not in the head, but along the entire length of the body.

He later illustrated this piece of information by drawing and posting on the convo window a colourful, labelled drawing of the insect and highlighted it's very unique brain position in the middle for my better understanding.

..... Thanks sweetie. Now remind me to hit you with a bat the next time we meet.

Speaking of meetings, the next time I meet a cockroach... heh heh.

*starts concocting evil pest-extermination plans* :)))

Memories, relived.

2005-10-30T17:21:00.000+08:00

Some things can never be completely erased from your memory.

Sure, the contents may turn hazy and become indistinct over time, but they will never truly go away. Instead of being gradually forgotten and eventually obliterated (with all intention) from your mind, they lie dormant in the most secret recesses, sometimes creeping into the quietest, darkest nooks of your heart, where they wait in silence for (even if just a flicker of) a reason to be called back. When that happens, they awaken with renewed vigor, rushing out freely from where they have long lied stagnant.

Unrestrained, they break free from the shackles they were once feebly bound to and abandon their reclusive past as they force their way through the mass of newer but frailer memories stalling their progress; they ride on your burgeoning fear as they surge their way into the front of your mind, and you do nothing but helplessly await its inevitable, impending arrival.

Sometimes you don't purposefully tunnel into the past to rake up memories; you don't just voluntarily decide one day to lone a painful walk down memory lane.

Sometimes an invisible, forceful hand just grabs you from behind; it lifts and releases you onto the deserted path of yellowed but prevailing recollections of the past where you are left alone to fend for yourself and to slowly find your way out.

And sometimes, just sometimes, you take longer than is necessary to find the exit, because as painful as it is to relive the memory, you know that something somewhere, is telling you that you don't really want to leave it.

Don't ask me why
I can't find my way
I just can't explain
Please understand, I pray
Don't say goodbye, you know I can cry
This feeling inside...

Baby would you hold me close... tonight.

Dinner was a tense affair.

2005-10-23T15:07:00.000+08:00

I stepped gingerly into the air-conditioned eatery at a corner of Jalan Bahsar road and was immediately greeted by... my uncle's third baby's cries.

No one was speaking much or made any elaborate welcoming gesture towards my family and I; greetings were curt, the atmosphere was hushed, and as I threw a glance at my other uncle, I saw in his face what was akin to the colour of the overcast sky that I had watched roll past the car window en route to the restaurant earlier. He wasn't smiling (and this was unusual), and as I took a seat opposite him at the round table seated for nine, he gave a half-hearted nod of acknowledgement before resuming his clouded expression, arms crossed, his stare unbending and resolute.

I followed his gaze and noticed that his second, 14-year-old son, Amos, was seated at the other table (we had two tables to ourselves), his first son was missing, and the youngest, 11-year-old son was bouncing on a seat next to him, looking most at ease. He shot a toothy grin at his mother (my aunt), who humoured him by curving the sides of her lips.

I greeted the elders quietly and later reached for the appetizers as I tried to make out the meaning of all this. Meanwhile, my blissfully oblivious mother was already deep in animated conversation with said uncle and my aunt (her sister). And naturally, the conversation was about her all-time favourite topic, me.

"See. Dinner only, and she dress up until like that (good, discerning readers, I was wearing JEANS and a pink cami!)." She shook her head, tsked loudly for effect, and nodded in my aunt's direction for affirmation.

"Eh...where got. Pretty what. Cen ta nian qing, ke yi da ban jiu da ban. Not like us..so old already." My aunt smiled.

Affronted, my mom became very involved in cleaning her pair of chopsticks after that.

Fifteen minutes into waiting for the food to arrive, an uninvited fog of silence misted over the table I was seated at. At the table next to us, my other aunts were fawning over the newborn baby (named Alden.... [result of not consulting the name expert - me - first]), and I noticed that Amos was sandwiched between my third aunt and my (well-known nag of a) grandmother at the other table.

Comfortably seated within earshot, I intentionally caught snatches of what my third aunt and grandmother were saying (or well, berating) as I sipped on Chinese tea.

"...for your own good. No point trying to argue. Gotta understand your father..."

"Ahwah kaosee #$^#%^@@ gong, $*#&$)@!*%#@*!" (no my grandma wasn't cursing - at least, I don't think so - she was speaking an incomprehendable dialect that is Hokchew I think)

The first dish came (leng pan), and as I eyed for the softest-looking food on the plate, Amos made a sudden, exasperated movement; he got up, kicked back the chair he had been sitting on (but not loudly enough to draw enough attention), turned in the direction of the backdoor in the kitchen, and stalked off.

My grandma gave a look of mild surprise, having been cut off mid-sentence. She pressed her lips together before opening them again to swallow her newly-refilled cup of tea. "...Waggong !@*^$#&@$, wesee !@#*&^% bah, @#%^&!"

I gulped, and looked over to see if his father had noticed this latest development.

He didn't. He was too busy being polite to my dad, who was rattling on at length about his newly-acquired knowledge on braces.

"You see, there's THREE types of braces. First type ah... the traditional kind. Must use like screwdriver to tighten the teeth haha! Second type is the one Mabel is using... wah lao $4500 leh..."

I tried to avoid everyone's eyes as I trained mine onto the bowl of shark's fin soup that had just materialised on our table (ok so maybe someone had brought it over but obviously I wasn't paying attention). I ladled a few spoonfuls before turning to my aunt (mother of the three boys) and casually asked where Aaron (her first son) was.

"Oh he has a party to attend tonight.. we told him it was Ma Ma (my grandmother)'s birthday, but he said he still wanted to go. Sigh.. what to do?"

"Oh okay... then er, where's Amos?"

"Oh he's sitting over th-"

Her eyes lingered on the vacant chair for a few seconds, then looked over pointedly at my uncle. "Where's Amos?"

The silence grew louder as the adults turned to eye Amos' now empty seat.

My brother, who was seated at the table with my grandmother, rose and said, "It's alright, I'll go look for him."

As he turned and left, my uncle cursed under his breath.

In the hushed silence that followed (it was so great that it is by no means an exaggeration when I say I could hear my intestines groan in response to the smooth, sumptious shark's fin soup that I had been consuming), my mother suddenly got up, lifted the flask of Chinese tea on the table, and started to busy herself in the new task of refilling everyone's cups.

When she reached for my uncle's untouched cup, she asked, "So.. what happened?"

My uncle said nothing, the shaded expression on his face deepening by the second, a feat I deemed as highly remarkable, while my aunt quietly filled my parents in on how there had been a quarrel back home before dinner and how Amos had left home once during such brawls and returned only a few days later.

Rebellious, I thought to myself.

My mom: WAH OMG SO REBELLIOUS!!! *shakes head violently* Xian zai de hai zi ah... eh your Amos ye zhen shi de... why can't he spare a thought for us parents? Surely he knows that we're all worried for him? Look, even Ma Ma stopped eating already. Must be no mood... Honestly...

My aunt looked down as she fiddled with her china and said nothing.

Mom: Hmm let me call Benny to see if he found him. *makes exaggerated movement of dialing my brother's number* (honestly, if anyone is to bag an Oscar next year, it will be her)

Mom: Wei? Eh you found him? Hmmm? ...No? Oh, ok...

My aunt looked over at my uncle again, who was helping himself to a second serving of soup, clearly adamant on ignoring his missing son. She sighed, got up from her seat and left the restaurant without another word.

Then, like something out of a lousy drama serial, my dad got up and went after her.

Ten minutes later my exasperated grandma got up and left too to look for Amos, despite my mom's earnest dissuasions ("It's ok Ma, Benny is looking for him..). THEN my mother got up (things couldn't get anymore dramatic I swear) to go after her, and exited the place as well.

In my opinion, all this added attention to the boy was just embarrassing my aunt further, and I like my aunt a lot, so I wished my mom would just learn to practise tact a little and concentrate instead on eating the glorious food on the table that no one was appreciating.

She returned shortly with a shrug, and settled back onto her seat.

"Cannot find..but he shouldn't be very far right?"

Uncle: Don't care about him. When he comes back he's gonna get it.

Mom: Aiyo.. after all he's still your son. When he comes back later don't say anything anymore, please. Suan le ba.

Uncle: It's even better if he doesn't return.

I concentrated on the plate of scallops and brocolli that was less than half a metre away from me and wondered if my braces could handle the tough vegetable.

Mom: Eh..don't say like that. When it comes to arguments, us parents are always on the losing end -

Uncle: HA! I don't believe I'll lose.

I decided even a soft crunch on the brocolli would do sizeable damage on my braces, and so I reached for the scallops instead.

Mom: ....Oh, right. Erm...here, eat something. Hai zi yao guan, shen ti ye yao guan..

My maternal family and us had gathered together to celebrate my grandmother's 75th birthday, but if truth be told, there was nothing celebratory about the mood on Tuesday night. My aunt was most cognizant of this, and although she didn't say much, I could tell she was feeling ashamed, exasperated, and beside herself with worry all at the same time.

The ironic thing was, in a group of adults and like-minded people around, the only person who really managed to uplift and salvage the mood of the night was none other than 3-month-old baby Alden. He gurgled, spewed saliva over my other aunts' neatly-pressed blouses and wailed freely as he was being passed around... but this overt distraction was more than welcomed than anything on such a tense occasion.

When Amos returned with my brother about 2 hours later, I saw my uncle grip his chopsticks tightly. Still the irate father, I thought.

(Oh did I mention that my uncle is actually a disciplinary master of a respectable secondary boys' school in Singapore? Ok well, he is... probably explains his (occasional - well, I like to think that's the case) harsh and relentless disposition.)

Upon his safe return, everyone pretended that the whole lil' missing episode didn't happen; we ate our dessert hurriedly, ta-baoed unfinished food home, and left Amos to his family's care (well, I sure hope as much) as we bade goodbye and parted outside the restaurant.

The dinner was supposed to celebrate the birthday of my grandmother, but I was honestly more conscious of the birth of Alden than anything else.

On the silent ride home, I noticed once again the star-less, overcast sky that reminded me of Uncle's dark, intense expression. I watched the concentrated clouds shape-shift and waited as they threatened to send this fine city into one of its cold, wet nights..

But it never rained.

And I took that as a good sign.

In the name of fun

2005-10-13T15:03:00.000+08:00

Some people have questioned me on the title of this blog - Amelle, that is. What does it stand for? What does it mean?

Not that the answer to that is particularly interesting, but if you happen to be one of the inquisitive few.. read on. :)

1) Amelle

The word that I coined up a couple of years ago, when I was still blogging from Livejournal. And as we all know, yours truly is blessed with a mind of abounding creativity and is personally VERY partial to originality, so over-used phrases/expressions and cliches as blog names were pretty much things I was adamant on staying away from.

I first thought of my name, Mabel (and just for kicks I checked to see if mabel.blogspot.com was taken - it was, predictably) Lee, and then looked at my initials M.L for inspiration.

Stared at it for a few moments before saying the letters out loud a couple of times ...(while looking quite ridiculous maybe but such things didn't matter at that time) attempted to visualise the pronunciation of what I was saying... and just like that! Amelle was born. ;)

Quite ingenious, you say?

2) Myrabel

Christening names is actually a very intriguing activity.

When I first played MMORPGS way back in like, I dunno, Primary 6 (yes I had been the geeky girl who donned large brown plastic spectacles as I hogged my brother's Nintendo/PS/PS2 to play all kinds of roleplaying games from Secret of Mana to Final Fantasy bought by my avid gamer of a brother), I always spent ample time selecting the perfect name for my character whilst my brother would just name his after himself, Benny (how terribly inspiring), or something.

But when I stopped punching buttons on the console a few years after and got caught up with the cyberworld (I know, I'm a slave to multimedia and technology..) I felt a want for an online alias. So once again, I thought of my boring, fat name (don't you think Mabel sounds fat? Compared to say, like Anna or Tracy. It's think it's the 'M', it just looks bloated especially when hand-written. Also I don't about you but everytime I read a book that has the name Mabel in it would either belong to the very buxom and jolly nurse working at the city hospital or some plus-sized 30-something Aunt Mabel baking blueberry cakes for her nieces...) and other M names.

That was about the time I chanced on the name Myra in a baby name book (one of the most riveting reads I have gotten my hands on to date I assure you; did you know that people actually name their kids Lotus?) and promptly wished my mother had named me that instead (but as an afterthought, I decided I didn't wanna sound like Maia Lee).

So I decided I liked the name Myra, but also wanted to preserve some elements of my own name (you know, remembering your roots and all that) into the new alias. That's when I thought of what I now like to call.. a name fusion.

Curious? Well you don't need to ace A-Math or be a rocket scientist to know how to do this, but I'll tell you anyway. To make a name fusion happen, all you need is two relatively short names and one large right brain (though the latter isn't always available.. if so, settle for a medium-sized or small right brain but expect humdrum results) for the creative aspects of this process.

The process is very simple:

(first name) + (second name) + whatever creativity supplied by amount of right brain available = new name

So in my case,

Myra + Mabel (+ bountiful creativity) = Myrabel

It doesn't matter which letters you choose to drop in the second (or first) name as long as it looks good and doesn't become an irksome tongue-twisting word in the end. :)

Yes.. so ever since that day of my phenomenal breakthrough in the field of name-creation (ahem), Myrabel has been my online alias since. I use it for my MSN nick, my gmail, online RPG characters (though I stopped playing those games now), forums..

But of course, stupid (or if you prefer, half-witted) people are everywhere, so when I first used that nick in games, people would give me a nickname to what was blatantly already my nickname.

Eg:

Foolish gamer: "EH rabel!"

Me (on auto-reflex): "It's MYRA for short and MYRABEL as a whole you disgusting loser!!!!"

Yes, stupidity is prevalent and undeniable in real life, and evidentally the online world is not spared. So after a couple months of being called "rabel" (which annoyingly sounds like rebel) I decided to do something about it.

That's when I thought of my surname.. Lee, and yes, a name fusion (yet again)!

And the process ends in a matter of seconds...

Myrabel + Lee = Myrabelle

Using this nickname was great 'cause then people either call me Myra or Belle, which we all know, means attractive woman, so it's all cool. :D No more rebel nonsense.

It was when I was trying to create different characters with similar names that I decided to change the 'y' in to 'i' in Myrabel. It was also the time when some random character online paused on his way mid-game to talk to me.

Random gamer: Hey, you like planes?

Mirabel: What?

Random annoying gamer: That's so cute.. Mirabel is the name of the Montreal airport you know. :)

Mirabel: Oh, really? I didn't know.

Random intensely aggravating qian bian gamer: Yeah, well... that means you're like a walking airport. :D :D

I said nothing, moved my character past him and proceeded to KS the dying monster that he had been attacking.

Later, I did some Googling, and sure enough...

So yes... it was back to Myrabel for me since, because as much as I think planes are cool and that my ambition is still to marry a pilot, roam the 7 continents together, and eventually retire in a grandly-upholstered mansion in France (situated in front of a vast vineyard adjacent to a thriving winery manned by handsome young lads), I would still prefer the idea of not being known as the walking airport, thank you very much.

But that was a long time ago, anyway. Haven't touched those games in eons.

On another note, I can't help but think of how lucky my (POSSIBLE) future batch of offspring is gonna be; I mean, they're gonna get wicked names!

I for one, will name my daughter Jazryne (jazz-rin), a name that crept up to me one unsuspecting dull afternoon, and Lyle, if it's a boy. Just because.

But of course all that's not gonna happen 'cause I'm never gonna have kids (but don't hold me to do that). I think I'm simply way too selfish and mercenary to do all those noble and giving things that mothers do for their children.

But then again, these sentiments might change in time to come, and when - or rather, IF they do... well, something else to worry about then eh. :)

The (immediate) good and bad aftermath of putting on braces

2005-10-01T15:04:00.000+08:00

The Bad:

You look like you're been chewing on cement that never got past your epiglottis, resulting in what looks like bits of your nosh to harden all over your teeth.

The Good:

It could be worse; "Imagine if your braces were coloured a spinach green!" a wise friend said.

The Bad:

You are unable to bite/chew on anything that is discernable and not hidden in a lumpy bowl of mush. In other words, no food that is recognisable in its solid form can be consumed.

The Good:

This is only temporary. This also means that (for now) you eat more porridge because you prefer eating something that is identifiable. But the constant consumption of meals this austere leads to gradual loss of appetite, and this results in you eating less and weight being lost and thus, (in my non-professional opinion) you are allowed to exercise less as well (because your existing [albeit inconsistent] exercise regime was sparked by a weight loss motive anyway).

The Bad:

You have to brush your teeth after every meal, floss them every night with the aid of a special needle-like plastic loop that you use to arduously insert the length of floss through the metal thread between the teeth to floss every single tooth.

The Good:

There is nothing good about this. So I guess this makes it part of The Bad as well..

The Good:

You have encouraging friends who says things like "Oh don't worry you're gonna be very pretty after all that. Just bear with it!" and "No pain, no gain". Anything to lift your mood and cast your blatantly horrific new life in a more optimistic light.

The Bad:

You also have friends who go "SEE LAH. So vain for what. Now must go through all this pain hahaha!"

The Good:

You can't bite, but you can still swallow. You rejoice because this means that you can still drink. Things other than tasteless porridge soup, of course.

The Bad:

Then again...

(while queuing up for drinks at O-bar with Ming)

Ming: What drink you want?

Me: Anything.

Ming: Let's have tequila shots!

Me: But I can't bite the lemon.

Ming: Oh.

... HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA

-_-

Despite that very unpardonable and callous reaction to my sad plight, Ming wants me to ~~lie to~~ tell the world that she is actually a really good and empathetic friend who had very selflessly decided to forgo a meal of Taco Bell on Wednesday so she could eat porridge with me and share with my woes. (*cough* Just a convenient excuse to lose weight without admitting to it, if you ask me...)

It's been 5 days since I first put on my braces (for obvious reasons to straighten some of my [not drastically but noticeably] crooked teeth) and according to my dentist I'm supposed to be able to bite things again within 6 days. But so far it is still as difficult as it was to bite on Day One (I had only just re-confirmed this on a slice of ham earlier - it felt like steel).

This is a catastrophe, I tell you.

I'm fine with eating lesser than before, but the lack of variety is annoying. So far for meals I've tried all the different kinds of porridge there is (with a mental note to only try my mother's cooking again in future under extreme dire circumstances), drank all the different types of instant soups available on the shelf (Campbell/Know/Soupy Snax), ate a good number of small and medium-sized cups of whipped potato from KFC, and swallowed bowls of soup that contained mysterious food mashed into pulp by my very enthusiastic father.

I shudder to think about what my puke would look like now...

But eh, let's not get to that.

Also, for some reason, many of the people to whom I've spoken to about my plight have asked me to show them a most recent picture of myself. So I sent them this

which I swear is recent, lor.

But yeah yeah, I get it. You, like them, wanna see some teeth with ugly metal stuff poking out.. Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you.

Are you ready, then?

... I know you're not. HURRY UP!

Ready now?

Ok.

Then BRACE yourself....

For it's gonna be ghastly......

It's gonna be hair-raising....

You're gonna wet your pants.... (or skirt/thong, whatever)

Whatever it is, don't be deceived by the smile you're about to see.. for

The thought of having to wear this metallic grin for about 6 months to 1 and a half years is kind of...dispiriting, if truth be told. But yeah, I know it's gonna all be worth it in the end (hell, it better be!) The end looks painfully far though, and I never was the patient sort. And I ALSO know that nobody wears braces at this age (18 is kinda late) anymore, so don't ask me why I'm only donning them now.

Nonetheless, I shall and will BRACE myself (damn don't you love this pun?) for the upcoming long months.. meanwhile, be prepared to be dazzled silly by my very metallic smile the next time you see me!

Unfortunately for you if you're my friend, there's no escaping it. :)

And the night's still young...

2005-09-24T02:56:00.000+08:00

Club-hopping yesterday was quite an experience. No doubt there were some odd people at o-bar (Serene kept flashing him the Loser sign to which he was unfortunately oblivious to HAHAHA) but eh, entertainment does come in several forms, don't they. ;) School's out and too much have been happening, so instead of giving blow-by-blow accounts I think I'll just let pictures do the talking for this entry. :)

Last Thursday Gwen accompanied me to shop for Serene's birthday present, but I think in the end we also ended up purchasing each other's Christmas/19th birthday/new year presents. I shudder to even think about how much damage this has done to my already diminishing bank account.. but whatever, my motto is: splurge now, save later (ordinary people would probably strongly advise against this, but hey, don't be common now)!

Most memorable of all purchases though, as got to be these

delectable scrapbooks!

Paper People, a shop at Far East houses an impressive collection of creative and can I say, visually-stimulating blank and lined scrapbooks. It's actually kind of a ripoff if you think about it ($12+ for one); they slap on a pretty cover to an ordinary scrapbook that probably costs less than 5 bucks and then add a fine ribbon (with a diamonte too if you like those) to complete it. Seems kinda cheap eh... but the revamped product(s) actually turned out pretty good. What can I say, the creator of this shop certainly knows how to get to girls like me.

So being the whimsical and emotionally-driven person that I am (and seeing all those scrapbooks did kinda put me on high for a while for some reason), I couldn't resist buying one, despite the thought of my said (staggeringly) critical financial status flashing rapidly in my head all that time.

Anyhow... this is what I got the birthday girl later that day:

So cute right! The protruding ass mug was screaming her name when I first set my eyes on it, so I bought it. :) Also bought her a pair of earrings that I almost wanted to keep after I looked at it again when I got home... but of course I didn't in the end (now who said I couldn't resist temptations?).

Last Friday, a get-together cum birthday celebration for Serene:

From left: Syed, Naddy, Jonathan (so good to see you again!), Jenny, Serene, I, Maria, Ming and Yihan.

Dinner was delectable, but the company was even better of course. :)

So back to two nights ago - my mom gave me one hell of a dressing down when I reached home at about nearly 3.30a.m... I'm not sure if she was aware of the fact that it was night (or technically, morning) and that the world was sleeping as she bellowed endlessly into the darkness but either way, it didn't quite affect her volume or her resolution in having me listen to what she said. I kinda tuned out though (must be the booze, though we didn't exactly drink much), but I think it's got something to do with it being way past midnight and me getting raped on my perilous way home..

But well, we're cool now. Much love to Ming, Serene and Naddy for the fun night out! (Maria we missed you! Jenny.... I have no comments. GO MALAYSIA FOR WHAT HUH?! I hope you have bought at least 4 pairs of espadrilles in different colours at KL to appease me)

:P Happy holidays!

OMG WHAT IS WRONG WITH SINGAPOREANS?!

2005-09-02T14:21:00.000+08:00

[edit] Yes, I'm still on hiatus. But gotta give in to my sporadic vehement rants once in a while, eh. ;) My short-lived, but nonetheless angsty feelings regarding this post is long overdue, but read on if you will. Will resume blogging real soon!

[/edit]

Project Superstar is NOT NKF. This isn't a charity show where you vote for the needy/handicapped; you vote for the person

1) Who sings best
2) Who has the X-factor/commercial value

According to a panel of experienced judges and to basically anyone who isn't tone-deaf and with even minimal appreciation for singing techniques and music, it is OBVIOUS that CWL didn't perform as well as his competitor in the 2nd last round of the competition, but what do you know, he got to the grand finals because 70% of the outcome was affected by public voting.

In the grand finals, it is ONCE again obvious that his performances paled in comparison to PJL, but what do you know! Because 70% of the votes came once again from direct voting (the judge's commendation for PJL was completely useless), the grand title has become his in the end, and he is touted as the first Project Superstar Champion.

I knew it was coming, I sensed it, I feared it, I dreaded it... but it happened.

The fact remains that Singaporeans are a bunch of (too) giving individuals. Give them something semi-pathetic looking with a toothy grin who has a tendency to spout heart-breaking words while welling up tears to punctuate his sentences ("I'm sorry Producer, I got into the next round, now you have to make special arrangements for me again ['cause I'm blind]"), and their overly-sympathetic hearts will be tugged by the pitiful sight and call for their hands to immediately start dialing (or donating, really) the voting number.

Moreover, CWL has such a 'mommy/aunty's boy' look that would no-doubtedly, appeal to rich, simple-minded and sympathetic aunties who spend their days feeling for these people; NO-DOUBTEDLY would they so willingly fork out all that moolah to vote for a person who is handicapped but yet "sings so well".

To hell with the whole "superstar" quality - he is handicapped but he sings so well. What more do you want? To hell with PJL - So what if she's pretty, sings VERY well, has a vibrant personality, and is a potential contemporary artist of high commerical value? Who cares! Aunties don't feel for such people! No no, they prefer imperfections, disabilities, non-wholesome images because for some reason, it is an ENDEARING trait to them, and that's what matters most because in the end, they are the ones with bulging bank accounts to spare and thus, able to vote their fingers off, as opposed to the younger, overzealous audiences who knows a superstar when they see and hear one, but unfortunately only have enough allowance in their pockets to save up for their much hankered-after green Ipod Mini.

God I hate our ageing population.

On hiatus.

2005-08-23T16:35:00.000+08:00

Because I'm up to my eyebrows with schoolwork and other equally physically, mentally and emotionally exhaustive activities.

Hope to resume blogging soon! :)

Left Eye Blind

2005-08-06T15:45:00.000+08:00

One of the most nauseating things you can possibly experience in your life is no, not the witnessing of sick, demented individuals consume live, odious cockroaches in Fear Factor 9834834 times, or when you follow the lead of the contestants in said twisted reality TV show and upchuck the remains of your dinner as they throw up an undigested cockroach leg in Joe Rogan's face. Neither does the aftermath of (or during the) sitting on a heart-stopping thrill ride 9834834 times or on the Viking come even close. Nope, nausea, ladies and gentlemen, is best experienced when one loses one (specifically the left) eye. Well, eyesight.

It is with renewed appreciation for the creation of contact lenses and the fact that they're now safely attached to both my pupils that I sit here typing and recounting the horror that took place quite some time ago (don't ask me why I'm only blogging about it now, though).

I had gotten up early that day (and for no reason too, it being a lazy weekend and I always have the habit of sleeping in), washed up, brushed my teeth, and did my morning routine of cleansing and wearing my permanent contact lenses before anything else. The right lense went in just fine, and I proceeded to insert the left one. I cleaned it with saline, balanced it on my middle finger, and stared at it as I directed it to my left eyeball.

It dropped.

The lense I mean, not the eyeball. And as I've dropped my lenses for nearly as many times as I've dropped hair it didn't quite alarm me as much as it did the first time. So I took my time to tidy my dressing table, stretched and yawned, brushed my hair, stared at my fuzzy reflection in the mirror for a while as I waited to feel less groggy, before I eventually went on all fours to feel for the missing lense.

I couldn't find it.

At first I was more annoyed than anything else as it usually took me less than a minute to find my lenses should I accidentally drop them. Disgruntled, I went to take my breakfast, skim through the day's papers while mentally assuring myself that the infernal piece of plastic would turn up in my face sooner or later.

It was much, much later as it turned out, but let's not get to that part yet.

So when about an hour later I still have yet to find the lense, I cursed, yanked about 920348235 strands of rebonded hair off my head, kicked my dog (ok I didn't) cursed somemore, before eventually yelling for my maid to assist me in the search. She shuffled very noisily into the room, wet hands from scaling fish in the kitchen, and breathlessly wiped her hands on her hips.

"Yes May?" (I have no idea why she calls me May)

"Helen, please help. I lost my contact lense and I can't - FUCKDON'TMOVE!!!"

She had begun scuttling about the room upturning everything she saw before even waiting for my instructions; my heart dipped a metre everytime her feet moved across another tile on the ceramic floor.

"No, don't. You'll step on it...ARGHHHHH. Never mind, I'll do this myself."

So I did, and this proved to be a most trying task indeed because I didn't have glasses to assist me (don't ask). So with one eye handicapped, I fell on my knees again, and proceeded to feel every inch of the cold floor (the area where I was positive the lense had fell on) with my hands. Ten minutes later, I was rewarded with nothing but 8213531 balls of dust and dirt... WTH HELENISN'TDOINGHERJOB!

I cursed again, and this time I really began to panic. I fumbled for my phone, knocked into my vanity desk and nearly fell over. More vulgarities fought its way out of my mouth as I messaged a friend, telling him of my quandary in hope of receiving some form of sympathy that I so very desperately needed. He asked what my degree was, and I said 600-700.

"OMG you're as a blind as a bat!"

...Thanks, that helped.

I spent the next excruciating half hour walking around the house feeling completely disoriented, with my left eye blind, my two hands coated with layers of the dust my (clearly skiving) maid had overlooked when doing her chores, and my looking like a downright idiot as I squinted continously with my throbbing left eye so I could see clearly with my right.

My friend suggested wearing an eye patch. I didn't have one, so I tried tying my left eye with my secondary school belt. Apart from the fact that it made me look absolutely ridiculous, it was useless; it wouldn't stay on tight after five minutes, and by that time I was, could you say, DYING.

Dying from being left eye blind. Dying from deprivation of perfect (however once aided!) vision. Dying from the fact that I had lost one of my permanent lenses that cost me a bomb and that I have no spare lenses or spectacles to wear temporarily. I felt utterly helpless, and vulnerable, especially because I had a major assignment to complete by that night and there was absolutely no way I could work with my impaired vision.

My visual disorientation left me feeling suddenly fearful of a whole new life of well, visual disorientation. Imbalance. Imagine a life of imbalance! Hormonal imbalance, dietary imbalance, and now, vision imbalance... I started imagining life without contact lenses - or more specifically, life with just one contact lense in place. I envision my facial muscles to be so used to scrunging up (with my left eye squinted tight so I could see clearly with my right one) that this horrible facial contortion would remain permanently on my face.

Very scary.

So anyway, another long hour of (what I had a feeling was going to be a vain) search ensued, and STILL I couldn't find the wretched thing. Defeated, I jumped into bed, willed myself not to cry, and resorted to muffling my tragedy behind my plump pillow...

I awoke about two hours later to find Helen in the room ironing clothes. Still feeling bitter, I growled at her, as though daring her to speak. She said nothing, and just when I was about to leave the room... she gave a sudden cry.

"OHHH!!"

"What!"

She bent over the ironing board she was standing in front of and when she looked back up a blue, prune-like piece of plastic was balanced gingerly on her finger. The unmistakable truth to that object didn't quite register in my head for the first few seconds... but then I looked closer, and WHATDOYOUKNOW, IT'S MY LEFT CONTACT LENSE, ALL DRY AND SHRIVELLED UP FROM THE OXYGEN IT WAS EXPOSED TO, BUT NONETHELESS, STILL USEABLE!!! I almost hugged her with her other hand still on the steaming iron, but i didn't, and thanked her profusely.

I didn't even care to be bewildered over the fact that the ironing board was about 4 metres away from where I dropped the lense in the first place, and I didn't recall even the vaguest, lightest presence of wind earlier when I dropped the lense that could have possibly carried it over such a remarkable distance.

But who cares? Life was suddenly great again! There's suddenly so many things to see, so many details to take in. The potted plants in the balcony suddenly looked a lot greener, the pimples I saw in my reflection never looked redder (the first, and most probably last time I was so ecstatic to see them there), and the austere wallpaper of my living room had suddenly looked a hundred, if not a few hundred, times more vibrant. It was as though my life went through a colour saturation enhancement in Photoshop and everything and I mean everything, was simply glowing. But most importantly...

Before, when my lense was still missing...

AFTER, when I popped in my left contact lense!

:D :D

...

What's that? He looks like Wang Lee Hom?

Yeah...my boyfriend get that a lot. Uncanny resemblance, isn't it?

* * *

Moral of the story: Things never turn up when you want them to. They only do so when you least expect and desire it. It's one of those annoying hard facets of life that I could never quite bring myself to get used to. Perversity, reverse psychology...not my kinda thing.

But hey, this is just one of the many things that keeps us going, isn't it. :)

I feel sick.

2005-07-30T09:44:00.000+08:00

Let's see:

I started working on my Newswriting at 1am this morning.

No wait, I meant I clicked on Microsoft Word at 1am this morning.

I stared at the glaring screen ...typed a word or two, then got MSN-ed.

Realised my status was on online mode...so I switched to "Busy".

About a couple of words and a lot of back-spacing later, I got MSN-ed again.

This time I humoured the friend for a while, then typed a very personal message next to my nick.

Myrabel - I'm REALLY busy. DND (DO NOT DISTURB. Or disturb and die. whatever)

AND STILL PEOPLE DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO READ!!! (And don't say "Then just sign out lah!" Because for some reason that is never an option at all. I must stay connected to well... remain connected!)

And I never knew I had some amazingly humourous friends until one of them messaged me a couple of hours later with something to the lines of

Provoker: "Oooh ooh *disturb*, I'm gonna die now. :D :D :D"

Me: ...

Ok. By this point you probably think I'm some ugly, sadistic prick with absolutely zero sense of humour at all.

BUT C'MON. AT 3AM IN THE MORNING WITH NO DECENT SENTENCE TYPED OUT FOR MY 700 WORD ARTICLE THAT'S DUE THE SAME DAY, NOTHING, I REPEAT, NOTHING IS EVEN REMOTELY HUMOUROUS.

And I really would've typed all this this morning but time constraint forbade me to do so.

But anyway. So I attempted to to type a couple of things again...and finally at about 5am I decided to take a SHORT nap. I swear my back was aching so bad and my bed was calling out to me... I decided to humour it.

So I lied down. For a while.

Next thing I knew, it was 7am.

KNNCHAOCHEEBB&^#$%!@#&%$#%@

Yeah well...and the rest is history.

And yes, I managed to whip up something in time, but it was sloppish work. I can feel it.

And oh my god. I just realised I keep pressing enter after every point I've made. (Newsriting style...) I SWEAR THIS ISN'T INTENTIONAL. Holy crap I need a good sleep.

And yes, wake me up when September ends.

....

NO, REALLY!

They say absence makes the heart fonder.

2005-07-21T15:40:00.000+08:00

But when the absence grows too long, when even the slightest hint of presence is intangible, when time and space become the only things that matter, the heart struggles. It struggles to contain the teeming, fast overpowering mass of fondness and affection and when it fails to do so, even the strongest heart gives way.

It gives way to the inevitable, to the due release of indomitable conflicting emotions. The chamber bursts, and with this release comes a sharp, prolonged pain existing with all intention to hurt and distress. But when the initial, most acute feeling of pain blows over, you later feel your heart and you realise... that there is nothing left inside.

The feeling is lost altogether.

What's in place of it then?

A void. Intense, profound emptiness. An empty, battered yet breathing vessel that is your living heart now houses nothingness.

Would you rather carry a heavy, aching heart of brimming love and sorrow, or an unshackled, liberated, but hollow one?

Take my heart in your hands; acknowledge this love, lighten this load, and please... alleviate this pain.

I am close to tears.

2005-07-21T14:55:00.000+08:00

In short, I passed up J for R, and got the best wishes from R.Y. (whom I think is an extremely nice guy).

I've decided to blog this because it is quite a turning point for me.

(And I know this sounds like a love scenario, but it's not.)

Now that I've finally decided what I really wanted to do, I hope I do well in it. I really do.

Pssst. Do you hear something?

2005-06-30T04:53:00.000+08:00

...

Oh nahhh, that's just the camera clicking.

Gwen (right), and I trigger-happying in a cafe of people whom we think would love to join us. ;)

Well my internet router at home is currently down (more reasons to slack off blogging!) and I've only got enough spare time in school to post some pictures so... will blog (longer entries) again sometime when my connection's back up. Just as soon as I er, get some schoolwork and stuff out of the way as well. :)

A pet blogger...? Barking!

2005-06-06T15:32:00.000+08:00

....

Before I say anything though, do note that I'm taking into account here that you look intelligent enough for a human and am thus half-willing to make small talk with you. So, I expect you to not make any wisecracks about my bad fur day... (Yes normally I am way better groomed than this)

Well, so you're looking for Mabel? Or her entries, rather? Well...the paltry number of updates lately pretty much speaks for itself, doesn't it. Basically she's been putting off blogging because

1) She is not in the blogging mood. (Yeah, isn't this just a terrific excuse to be lazy?)

2) She wants to prove a point that this isn't a kind of blogging mood swing that is sporadic and short-lived, (ala PMS mood swings) but rather, a REALLY rare kind of bad blogging mood that one can be hit with and drown in for a very long time.

Typing random balderdash on the computer isn't exactly at the top of her to-do list right now, you see. Even if she does do it the entries would just be about emo and sombre stuff that nobody wants to read about anyway. And don't give her that crap about this being her personal blog and she can write whatever she likes because this entire site was made impersonal the second she signed up for an account; she knows it and that's how she wants it to be, so...yes.

What then, you ask, could possibly be troubling my owner? (No, her dog did not die - dammit I said NO WISECRACKS!!!) She's just.. I dunno, pretty much musing in her habitual bouts of reveries lately (even more often than usual), drifting from one pondering mood to the next. That girl dreams too much I tell you. She could be doing something perfectly normal like downing 3 cans of vanilla coke consecutively one happy afternoon (wait, that's normal right?) and then without warning, suddenly zip into a fresh reverie she drew from nowhere in the next minute. She'd detach herself from the real world, get lost in this temporary bubble for the next hour or so, and then...yeah. My owner is weird, I know.

But frankly speaking, I don't know why she bothers with this site anyway. What could possibly be so fascinating about blogging to cause her to be so into it for the past few months anyway? The human mind never ceases to amaze me. I mean, the time she spends maintaining her site and blog-surfing could be otherwise be spent in a much more meaningful manner like say, shopping for my grooming needs. It's been so long since they bought me a new brush and ran it through my (once silky but now long) knotted and unruly mass of fur you know... -_-

Okay, so no blog entry...but what about pictures you ask? Surely Mabel hasn't (she can't possibly!) dispensed with her not-so-secret indulgence of ..simply put, cam-whoring?! Well, ho ho, sorry to disappoint (yet again), but nuuu she has no new photos uploaded. She has become increasingly sick of her camera phone and is now busy lusting over a silver Canon Ixus i5 (which she realistically (for once) knows is terribly out reach, given her limited financial resources) to fully satisfy her trigger-happying needs.

Well at first she thought she could be contented with the camera phone (Samsung E600C) that gave her relatively good quality pictures such as this

picture that you see of hers everywhere (Friendster, MSN, this blog). But oh, an urban girl's pitless abyss of satiation! She will never be truly contented. Her eyes are now firmly set on the sleek, the beautiful, the immaculately sophisticated and polished

CANON IXUS I5!!!! Oh my whiskers, so nice right!!

And so, if everybody still insists on being clueless and not buy Mabel one (wrapped up in pink rose-scented paper complete with gold ribbons) for her upcoming 18th birthday... she shall buy it on her own. So there! (...But please, dearer friends of my owner, don't count on it. Make a trigger-happy girl HAPPY on her birthday, and not otherwise... Letting the b-day girl empty her piggy bank for a camera and thereafter formally declare her new bankruptcy to the world is really, trust me, far from a happy matter.)

School has pretty much started for the poor girl too, so woo, more reason to sulk in front of the TV. New class, new friends, new beginning. Ambivalent emotions slamming at her right there and then, I suppose. Gosh, what if all her classmates are all slackers, free-riders, non-chinese (not that she's racist but she would feel intimiated by an unbalanced race ratio), non-friendly, non-charmable by Mabel's winning personality, or worse, NON-TRIGGER-HAPPY?!?! Mabel's Year 2's photo album would be filled with nothing but self-admiring pictures of herself, if that is really the sad case. (Not that there's anything wrong with that, but staring at her own face can get boring after a while, you know.)

Sigh...I know my owner too well. So much so it scares me. In my eyes, this human is just about as transparent as the water she empties and refills it from my water bowl every day. And no, not all dogs are this smart. I'm just one of the bizarre few. And you met me here first.

Now, if you would kindly leave me alone to lick my paws clean because I think a large raindrop that I had failed in evading earlier has just soiled my left one. Now that I'm so severely neglected I have to start learning to tending to my own needs since no one else is gonna do it, you know. Maybe later I'll go ferret for bones in the countless pots of plants Mabel's father puts in the balcony just to annoy me (my favourite lounging area is the balcony) as an answer to tonight's supper or something...

* * *

Bwahaha stupid dog. Ferreting for non-existant bones while here I am feasting on chocolate fondue... BWAHAHAHA!

484 Entertainment

2005-05-07T15:04:00.000+08:00

Taking a break for a couple of weeks off blogging, 'cause well, I just don't feel up to it, heh. But I do have something to say...

Do tune in to Thursday Beats with Mabel Lee (tentative show name :P) from 9pm - 12am every Thursday at www.484portal.com! I am can you say, but an amateur deejay, so I more than need your support. :) Just head to the website, click on Tune In, and you will catch me (and the other deejays at other time slots) on air. Also, do add us at foureightfour@hotmail.com to your MSN should you wanna interact with me/us during the show. ;) Thank you muchies!

The Five People You Meet On The Streets

2005-04-26T11:33:00.000+08:00

#1: Polite Dismisser

The most common batch of the lot. These (well, seemingly) good-natured Singaporeans politely turn down the persistent promoter's badgering with a curt smile/shake of their head and, in the least, acknowledge the promoter's (usually denied) existence with a short "No, thank you :)" or "It's okay, thanks". As a hardworking and dedicated promoter (e.g. me) you learn to either hate or love these people; either be supremely annoyed by their unwillingness to allow us to charm them off their feet with our winning personalities (and thereafter proceed to kindle their interest in the product --> clinch deal), or in a resigned manner, feebly attempt to appreciate their forthrightness in their apparent disinterest in the whole promotion, and their demonstration of minimal courtesy when putting this message across (which is more than we can ask for from our dear, civilised Singaporeans, really).

#2: Eye-Roller

The Eye-Rollers are typically working 20-something year-olds usually approached by (often desperate) promoters as an afterthought. They are brisk walkers with upturned noses complete with permanent sour looks etched painfully over their faces. Armed deftly with the skill of overtly displaying their animosity through the rapid movements of their eyeballs, these condescending individuals waste no time in making known their blatant displeasure in the promoter's face in the most conspicuous way possible. In this category, the Eye-Rollers are separated into two types: those who simply blink rudely upon approach (more affectionately known as diao in local terms), and the more elaborate type - Eye-Rollers who would roll their ugly eyes in an extravagant 360 degree manner before resting dramatically upon the promoter in distaste. All this and sometimes more, achieved in just a matter of...ladies and gentlemen, seconds (primary reason being they are always you know, "rushing for work" or "already running late for an appointment").

#3: Overzealous tourists who only reveal their non-local identities at the END

Me: Hi good afternoon Sir! We're having a savings promotion today. . .(blahblahblah)"

Local-looking man (eyes widened in interest): "Oh! Okay!"

Me: (beaming in his direction) "Yes..! And in addition to that...(blahblahblah)"

Local-looking man (nodding earnestly): "Ohh. Ah. . . yes, yes. Uh huh."

Me: (beaming in all directions) "Yes...so.. Sir, how about signing up for an account today?"

TOURIST: (smiling sweetly) "Ah. Sorry, me not local. :D "

. . .

@#$%&%!?*

Note: Non-Singaporeans are STILL eligible to sign up for this particular product, but the general tourist crowd just say this as a convenient excuse to get away anyway.

#4: The Catch

The rarest of the crowd. It must be observed that nobody (however keen or nonchalant he or she may appear to be) is immediately a Catch. They must either belong to one of the abovementioned categories or have a substantial amount of (already-lit) interest in the product to actually bother to halt in their tracks, put down their polished briefcases or ten thousand spilling plastic bags of groceries) to listen to the divine words that come out of the (now ecstatic) promoter's mouth. Unlike the other categories, a Catch can never be spotted; only discovered/made. If after about 5-20 gruelling minutes of talking, persuading, promoting, and perhaps some excruciating hair-yanking your customer finally gives the nod and go-ahead, well good on you because you have just made a CATCH! If after 5-20 gruelling minutes of talking, persuading, promoting and perhaps some excruciating hair-yanking you customer STILL doesn't give the go-ahead (or worse, bid you goodbye and walk away)...well, I'm afraid you suck.

Hah! Kidding. This simply means you had unfortunately held on too long to what turned out to be nothing but a Slippery Eel, one that will (like it's name suggests) slip from your clawing fingers and null all the efforts you've unleashed on this being at the very end.

#5 Slippery Eel

The most trying customers. Slick, evasive individuals who take joy in the gradual build-up of the poor promoter's hopes in just about the most misleading ways ever, and then proceed to bring them all down at the end with a sudden, abrupt, heart-wrenching (for us, not them) "No". They inquire whimsically, query and direct about 9384835 (however related or otherwise) questions at the promoter, peruse the fine print of the brochure 9384836 times, nod and ask shamelessly for another coaster ("for my sister's daughter and her neighbour") 9384837 times, before eventually waving the brochure in the promoter's face with a "Thank you, but I think I'll think about it. :D" for an answer.

...

Nono ma'am, thank you for wasting just about 15 precious minutes of my life!!!

Pwoar.

One of my other favourites include those who expertly switch their course upon sighting me and proceed to take (what I suppose they must think is a clever) detour. An example of this classic:

One happy afternoon in a place where dating couples and UOB promoters are aplenty...

...

Of course, how anyone can possibly say no to my charming and irresistibly endearing self is simply beyond me.

Anyhow, that just about brings me to a wrap to some of the observations I've made on the streets when working part-time for this bank for the past 3 weeks. My verdict? Work really sucks. :P I have no idea how adults do it.

Above 21 years? Have $5000? Want to make that into $5050 in a month and have a chance to purchase the latest Ipod Shuffle at a special price of $129? Then come on down to the Sengkang roadshows held at the MRT auto lobby this coming Thursday and Friday from 11am - 8pm to sign up for an account (with me and I repeat, ME only!) or SMS me now for details!

Remember, only approach the promoter on the LEFT for assistance! If the promoter on the right approaches you first...well, fend her off and say you're looking for Mabel. BWAHAHAH. (Sorry lah, Serene ;))

WARNING: Vulgarities-laden post coming right up. (And I'm not usually so uncouth, I promise.)

2005-04-21T14:10:00.000+08:00

I've just about had it with my mother and her escalatingly aggravating menopausal ways. And I'm not just talking about the occasional naggings that most mothers usually dish out to their children. I'm talking about the constant, incessant NITPICKING at every fucking single thing that the people in my family do. I swear, this was the real reason my Indonesian maid requested to be sent back home to her country, because SHE was the worst object of my mother's wrath. She wasn't that bad a domestic helper, but because my mother loves to (and I don't fucking care anymore if she's having her menopause because it's NO LONGER valid an excuse) yell at her for just about everything that she does. Granted, that Indonesian maid was a tad ditzy and slow in her actions around the house, but if you ask me, I think she was scared silly.

Now that the maid's gone, I suppose she's turning to me to rail on. She had a bad cough the other day where she nearly lost her voice and I KNOW it's supremely horrid and unfilial of me to say this but I do seriously think she's being punished for never shutting up. NONETHELESS, this doesn't stop her. She continues to nag around the house in her new coarse voice, and just an hour ago she fucking got so WORKED UP because I was - guess what? Devouring a bottle of PRINGLES.

"WHY ARE YOU EATING THAT. BUY PRINGLES AGAIN. THEN DON'T EAT DINNER. OMG MABEL WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS EATING THAT. WHEN WILL YOU EVER LISTEN!"

All this while banging around the kitchen in just about the noisiest manner she could muster. It was the honestly the last straw for me.

"..I am SICK AND TIRED OF YOU YELLING AT ME AT JUST ABOUT EVERYTHING. FIRST NONI (the maid), NOW ME. AT THE LITTLEST, MOST INSIGNIFICANT THINGS. So tell me, WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU (FUCKING - Well I unconciously practise self-censorship...) SAW ME EAT A BOTTLE OF PRINGLES, GODDAMMIT. "

She was stunned, and clearly affronted. I had scored, of course, but before I could even taste what I knew would be short-lived victory my father stepped in.

The worst thing? HE ALWAYS SIDES HER. Even when we both fucking know that my mother is wrong. He actually said "You have your point, but there is no need to raise your voice at your mother. SHE'S YOUR MOTHER."

...

Right.

May I quietly and in the most civilised manner possible add in here that

IFUCKINGHATETHISFUCKINGEXCUSETHATMYPATERNALPARENTISCONSTANTLYUSINGONME?!?!?!?!

So WHAT if she's mother! How does that JUSTIFY for ANYTHING. Just because she brought me to this world I'm henceforth eternally enslaved to her opinions, her thoughts, HER?! I'm not allowed to argue my points because she's my mother. I'm not allowed to let my opinions be heard because she's my mother. I'm not allowed to be RIGHT JUST BECAUSE SHE IS MY GODDAMN FUCKING MOTHER.

Omg I'm so angry I'm literally shaking now.

So maybe she's my mother, but not my GOD, goddamnit. (Even if so, I'm agnostic)

And what's worse than the worst thing is that I'm FORCED to shut up and listen to her hours of "Your wings have HARDENED right! No longer listen to me! I owe you in my past life, I did!" immediately after I made my daring 30 seconds worth of point in her face. I absolutely hate how my ensuing silence (and I do this only because I know I'd be slapped or unintentionally killed by the irascible duo if I raised my voice any further) equates to my having lost the argument when I know in rationale that I didn't. You'd think mature adults would practise some logic during brawls , but unfortunately, my folks don't (don't know how, or simply don't, I have no clue).

But I love my parents, you know? They brought me into this world, and so I must work to study hard, get into a university, work hard somemore, buy them a house, and be that filial and successful daughter they can later happily show off to the rest of the world, something they can finally be proud of because their eldest son and second daughter have failed in doing so.

~~SO SORRY, BUT THAT'S NOT GOING TO HAPPEN.~~

The 'F' word

2005-04-05T10:31:00.000+08:00

So I was just scouring the back of my mind in a trying attempt to recall who the very first friend I made in my life was, and the first person that came into mind was a Chinese kid (well, a wee kid back then, dashing 18-year-old stud now probably :D) from my kindergarten class in PAP. I say it is indeed most peculiar how young and unworldly un-corrupted minds work. To me then if a boy had held my hand (and this he did) I would, under all circumstances just HAVE to know his name, no, not because I had intended on recollecting this memory 18 years from then (now) and think back about er, the cute incident of a girl in the day-time years before. Rather, I merely wanted to have a name I could ecstatically dish out and report home to my mother about ("a naughty boy from school touched my hand today!"), in hope of him being chided the next day at school in the same sharp mannerism she had used on me when I first refused to consume the tasteless vegetables she had once boiled for brunch. But of course, that never happened, and in place of initial indignance was really bubbling curiosity. I did not like this boy who just held my hand (well, it was actually inevitable because we had to hold hands in pairs when our class moved from one classroom to the other) but apparently my mother (whom I saw as an especially formidable figure of monumental influence then) did not appear to hate him, so the question was: is this boy a friend or a foe?

Of course, I never actually thought "foe". Probably more along the lines of "no-good" or "bad boy" (boys were always bad, I don't know why) given my raw build of vocabulary of words then. But nonetheless, my callow self at such an age readily assumed that everyone was kind and affable to everyone else, that the world was really as idyllic and perfect as we were told to draw them during the plentiful crayon sessions in kindergarten, that the world was really only made up of lush, exuberant greenery and blooming flowers with guileless people ambling about wearing happy smiles on what seemed to always be a sunny day. Oh the fallacious pictures adults forced to imprint on children's minds!

Speaking of kindergarten, there were a couple of things I remember quite vividly during all of the two years I spent there.

One - I remember swelling with (now inexplicable) intense pride when my kindergarten teacher had made a comment (clearly, I had took it as a compliment) on how shiny and polished my golden one-dollar coin was when I handed it to her as payment for some class outing one day. And yes, it was only a dollar, must have been some cheap walk around Punggol Park. . .I can't remember. Two - my discovery of a new box of ring stickers (those small transparent ones people used to paste on the two punched holes at the side of a paper to protect the edges before filing them) and then very graciously handed them out to everyone in class the very next day (..I know, I know!) and three, I was appointed to emcee our graduation concert at the end of K2; my kindergarten teacher had chosen one rowdy afternoon on the week prior to the concert to call me up to the front of the class and told me to try out the costume I was supposed to wear on the day of the concert. I remember very clearly what she had told the group of noisy boys huddled at a corner when she handed the piece of clothing over to me: "Boys! Face the other side, now! "

Even at such a tender age then I had found this quite ludicrous because firstly, I was only told to pull the fabric over my uniform, so I didn't see what the fuss was about. Secondly, it was not as if the boys were vaguely interested in whatever they were supposed to be interested anyway (c'mon, they weren't even near prepubescent!). Thirdly, had it not, even for a second, occured to her that I could actually possibly use the washroom if it bothered her so much? And lastly, SHE SMIRKED (well she tried to be discreet but it was of course, not left unnoticed by the remarkably sharp-eyed me) IMMEDIATELY AFTER SHE SAID WHAT SHE SAID! Like she found secret joy in denying me the chance of being ogled by boys or something. Honestly, kindergarten teachers... they're not always as simple and sweet-natured as they look.

But to get back on track.

So I had very enthusiastically ran home that day to tell my mom about my eventful day; how I became friends with this boy (whose name I have now fatefully forgotten) because he er, held my hand. I don't recall if my mother's eyebrows had raised, (but come to think of it now it would have been pretty much eyebrow-raising worthy anyway) but I do remember her telling me distinctly how "it's nice" to know that I've made a friend, and that I should attempt to know all the names of the people in the class and not just this boy, etc.

So for me then I had pretty much considered friendship as a number game. I made a new friend daily just so I could proudly report to my mother after school that I'd gotten chummy with somebody new that day and that his/her name was now forever etched into my eternal memory; this laudable act would usually earn myself another pat on the head, a new pretty ribbon hairpin, and zero vegetables for lunch (HAH, not a chance.).

But of course, those were all previous sentiments. I'd be more than thankful if I can count off the number of people I know I can truly depend on, on one hand, really. I no longer seek to label people as friends or foes (more like friends or lovers now HAHA), nor do I let my mother or anyone else have (too much) of a say in the people I mix around with; rather, I begin to recognise the people I know I want and can cherish, and to learn to let go of other feeble, lingering friendships.

At present the world to me is a vast, profound garden, a dwelling for the countless beds of flowers, plants and greenery. This field is so vast that it would take more than a lifetime to walk and experience the entire length of it. You're not acutely aware of your destination, and where it would all lead up to, but you do (or will)know that en route you're bound to chance into different plants, birds, insects (butterflies maybe? ;) ) and beds of flowers that you can either choose to only cast a passing glance at, or stop to bother spending time learning about and being with it. But after a while they may all begin to look the same, and it is when you chance upon a secret bed, a square of earth you've never quite noticed on this boundless land before, then you be pleasantly surprised and elated by your jewel find.

I suppose like flowers in the ever-changing seasons, friendships will wither, bloom, and blossom in one long, bittersweet cycle. Nothing is forever of course, and I choose to spend the time I have now counting, relishing, and cherishing my blessings before I let it all go in the end.

Top row from left: Zi Xin and her overpowering brains, Ming the classy intellect, Jenny the doll I've always wanted to add to my collection (haha KIDDING).
Bottom row: Serene the bubbly bimbo/my fellow cam-whore (and I).

You're like the finest, most secret bed of roses I so fortunately chanced upon during my endless walk in this garden. You take away my subdued self, dissipate my jaded thoughts, and cause me to be beside myself with unremitting joy whenever I'm in your company. :) So thank you,

Thank you for being the friends I never had.

Weighty issues

2005-03-25T16:33:00.000+08:00

My mom just brought char siew baos home.

On normal instances my greedy self would have leapt for joy, (my eyes widened to the size of flying saucers), proceeded to tear open the box in an almost barbarically ravenous manner before expertly selecting the biggest, fattest and most delectable-looking bao and chomping on it with ferocious relish.

But, ladies and gentlemen, such beautiful scenarios are no more. Only 48 hours ago I have very ambitiously vowed to bring self-challenge to a completely new level by embarking on a killer physical expedition, a road trip to unlimited self-torment, a one-way ticket to the highest level of insanity. . .

And no I'm not talking about dieting. Though of course, how successful the result of this agonising process is in fact, highly affected by the monitoring of what I shove down my oesophagus. But no, I am referring to the more laborious form of torture, and that is to say, yes, my smart reader -

EXERCISING!

Oh, woe betides this word and its creator! Just the definition alone "Activity that requires physical or mental exertion, especially when performed to develop or maintain fitness" is enough to make me feel faint. So you can possibly just vaguely imagine how valiantly I had once battled with the existence (sadly, there was no way I could have changed this) of my Physical Education teacher in Secondary School. I had fabricated lies of my non-existant Indonesian maid scorching my PE attire with the broken iron, I penned excuse letters and forged the parental signatures with cunning expertise, I feigned the contraction of sudden mysterious illnesses prior to the afternoon PE lessons. . . I did almost everything I could to stay away from the school track, to keep myself alive. But of course, there are only so many times one can do that. Thus, there were those numerous memorable occasions when I was unable to extricate myself from such appalling physical exercises, causing myself to eventually fall prey to the eagle eyes of my 30-something-year-old PE teacher (whose dark fringe may I add, was nearly always drenched with sweat that poked into her beady eyes in a very menacing fashion). I had to do sit-ups, play ball games, wheeze around the school track in my canvas shoes under the merciless sun. . . Oh my beautiful CHIJ days! Great school it was, but tainted with such horrible memories.

But I digress.

My less-than-enthusiastic enthusiasm for sports and exercise then was not completely unjustified, however. Too add to my already fragile physique, I am slightly anaemic, and can get very close to collapsing whenever I exercise too vigorously in the sun for too long, and the like. At times it does not even require me to exert energy to feel faint, but eh, let's not get to that. :)

So why then, you ask, is Miss Oh-I-Cannot-Take-The-Sun,Sports&Exercises suddenly concocting the idea of diving into an activity she had tried so arduously to stay away from since her Primary School days?! Well the answer would hardly surprise.

It's because I'm fat and obese and overweight and have completely wrecked the weighing scale at home with the mortifying amount of body fat I possess.

So basically I'm fat. =(

. . .

Ok. OKAY. So I exaggerate. (And I really say that only because I do not wish to be stoned to death by the more buxom individuals) But the fact remains there are undeniably excess (x 987340234 kg) body fat that I could very well do without. Everyone wishes to attain their ideal figure, and unfortunately (or otherwise? You decide) "A generation ago, fat babies were considered healthy and buxom actresses were popular, but society has since come to worship thinness"( -Robert A. Hamilton). A sad but fact probably as hard as the diamonds encrusted in SK Jewellery. And as I have neither the money nor the faith to buy and consume weight-loss pills or a pay visit to the nearest Marie France, I have but only my last resort to pin hopes to, the possibly really only "safe" method of losing weight surely and effectively, and that is of course, through exercising.

Losing weight and becoming fit is the primary reason of the introduction of my new exercise regime, but it's not all about burning the calories, really. Too many things have happened over the past school semester to recount (and I'm not sure I even wish to, honestly) and on occasions more than one, I have found myself battling ambivalent emotions, triggering unhappy thoughts to fluctuate in my mind, and foolishly allowing myself to be enveloped by an inexplicable shroud of sadness and passivity. Sometimes when (literally) a series of shit comes blasting your way, things become too overwhelming to bear, the feelings become too overpowering to handle.

So. Instead of letting myself sink further into this abyss of lethargy and sorrow I have decided to introduce myself to a more er, active lifestyle by taking up exercise! :D Trust me, it was a nothing short of a painful decision. Oh the countless nights of sleep I've lost, the meals I've forgo-ed, the numerous times I've consulted the movement of the stars and moon over the past months regarding the feasibilty of such a vigorous exercise regime! (Ha, right.) But I've read enough health articles and watched enough exercise programmes on TV to know the wondrous benefits of it, really. It can only do good, and no wrong to your body, apparently. (But of course, save for rare instances whereby some over-worked individuals exhaust their body muscles thoroughly and end up paralysed. . .)

Nonetheless, I'm pretty determined about maintaining this new exercise habit of mine. (I am!) I shall jump rope everyday, jog on (one of the) weekends, cut down - no, stop having supper altogether (oh, those baos!), and ho ho, be *snaps fingers* that much closer to achieving that hourglass figure and a keener mental acuity!

And that was NOT an exhibition of self-denial I swear. :)

Another beginning

2005-03-21T06:20:00.000+08:00

she retraces thebeautifulmemory
aslingeringwishes
kiss her heart crimson

tonight.

tears illuminated ; under thescintillatingsky
rekindling hopes
thatwon'tignite.

&she tries, to fly

away.

//away from theloveless,

_________________________________________________________thelovelessyesterday.

Yes, I'm finally back! I know the wait was ridiculously long, and I blame it on school. The second half of the school semester is drawing to a close, and it has left me feeling completely jaded and wrung out of energy. The inhuman number of projects coupled with overwhelming stress levels have done nothing but hazardous things to my mental and physical health. The last few weeks have been rough; in addition to the torturous workload at school I have too, had the misfortune to run into a series of hapless incidents such as the losing of my second cellphone (oh my Samsung E600C!), getting into a nice fix at school regarding a particular module (don't ask), and being the sole helpless victim to a critical phase of my mom's menopausal state. (And trust me, it doesn't stop there.)

But of course! Being the robust girl that I am (hur hur) I have eventually managed to pull through this tidal wave of calamities and to once again, re-embark on my course to be happy and sane. I've decided to return to blogging, because I am, without a doubt, in dire need of blog therapy. :) So expect more updates soon! Meanwhile, I hope the new layout sits well with everyone, heh. It had taken a ludicrously long time to code. Kudos to FlatCat for the vector girl image, and Belinda, for your help in the design when I was suffering from a bad creativity block the other day. :P Love!