Sugarpie Honeybunch

Give Thanks

2012-02-08T23:55:00.001+08:00

I think it's easier to love yourself when you know what you look like on the inside-literally.

It's strange being a Science student, one of biology, especially since I face all the different cells, mechanisms, chemicals, drugs and diseases related to the human body, every day. It's a completely different point of view when I look in the mirror, and when I watch a video of an intubation.

I watched one just the other day and it showed me the different types of stomach ulcers that occur due to different reasons, and immediately, I felt hungry and knew not to deprive my body of the nutrients it needs. I ate more fruit that day, too. It's amazing how every single detail of the human body was so carefully planned out for one to discover. All the intricate details are still being put into books for others to learn about.

One time I was bored at the library and went sniffing around at the veterinary section, and came across a book on cat and dog semestral studies- that is, a book on animal fetuses. I flipped through slowly as it sucked me into its colourful world, full of tiny eyes that have yet to see what life has in store.

I was hooked.

Sometimes I talk to myself. Every blood cell, every warrior in my body, and I thank them for fighting so hard to keep me alive. Every brain cell for working so swiftly to help me make the smallest movements. Every lung cell for going non-stop to sustain me, to make sure I live another day. Every heart cell, for conducting electricity just to produce yet another heart-beat.

I love them, I love myself.
Give thanks.

First Day

2012-01-13T00:05:00.001+08:00

Just got through my First Day working at Max Brenner's Chocolate Bar! I'm glad to say it went rather well, although I broke a plate and mug simultaneously- I'll explain later.

I was fearful of being bullied there like I was at my last job at a bookstore, but fortunately, the people at Max Brenner's are much nicer and easier to work with. I hope nobody dislikes me because that would be difficult to deal with! So far my supervisor and manager have been extremely helpful to me, and while the others need a bit of time to warm up to, I think I can manage that.

I met my first nasty rich tai-tai customer! My supervisor handled the disagreement for me. There was, however, this irritating swinging door at the counter. It is a very powerful swinging door, really, and it knocked over the pile of stuff I was helping to clear off a table, amongst them a mug and plate. Damn it. I was doing so well on my first day, too! Luckily my supervisor came to my rescue, told me to take a deep breath, and get back in the flow while he cleaned up. Manager assured me it's rather normal to break things at Max Brenner's, and not to worry.

Loving my new job. Hope it'll be better tomorrow! :)

Evil lies within insanity

2012-01-09T00:45:00.000+08:00

The Picture of Dorian Gray

Best of My 2011

2012-01-01T01:26:00.001+08:00

-Getting my first pair of glasses
-Taking French 2 under Mr Cédric
-Not failing any papers
-Singing my first solo
-Watching Wicked with V
-Going to USS twice
-Going to Guangzhou with Honey
-Making some great friends

Looking forward to 2012- Dec 21st. Will we die? Stay tuned to find out.

Too bad there's 1st Jan to Dec 20th to live through first.

Happy New Year.

A Harry Potter Dream

2011-12-19T11:20:00.001+08:00

I dreamt last night that Professor Snape was my best friend in the present day and we were on holiday with my parents in Malaysia.

They walked around on their own while he and I sneaked into someone else's hotel to go swimming! After that we showered and dried off, and went back to the mall all fresh.

We were looking at the shops when he said he needed the toilet, and when he came back, pulled me aside and whispered that he had accidentally killed someone. We spent the rest of the dream running from authorities, but alas, they caught up with us at the end and took him away. I stood on the steps waving goodbye, one crush less.

Some Enchanted Evening

2011-12-16T20:09:00.001+08:00

And night after night, as strange as it seems, the sound of her laughter will sing in your dreams.

What he meant to me

2011-11-12T12:35:00.002+08:00

I dreamt of him again last night.

The rule was that I could only bring him back to life just once, for only a day. If I brought him back more than once he wouldn't be in Heaven. So once it was.

He looked the same when he came back home with me, I was fully aware that he had just come back from the dead. His lovely nose nudged my face as he kissed me, his ears twitched in utter delight. He was home.

He spent the day staying by my side, we played chasing games like we used to, and I crawled under tables with him, and cuddled him in a dark room while it poured outside. I wanted it to last forever.

Alas, the day had to end, with me taking him back to the mortuary, and they cast a spell to put him back to rest. I kissed him one last time before I made my exit, remembering all the time he spent with me.

What he meant to me.

The Stage

2011-10-20T00:27:00.002+08:00

I don't want flashing lights
and smoke machines;
I don't want skimpy outfits
and hollywood.
I want the glamour of red and gold
and luscious gowns to go.

The world of opera awaits;

The Day I Got A Haircut

2011-10-14T00:48:00.000+08:00

This is where I'd like to die.

Mindful of death- Mind full of death

2011-09-28T23:47:00.002+08:00

I've always wondered how I might die.

Be it by fire?
Be it by water?
Be it by suffocation?
Be it by exhaustion?
Be it by suicide?
Be it by accident?
Be it when life ends?
Be it at world's end?

Be it painful?
Be it sudden?
Be it slow?
Be it calming?
Be it numbing?

Be it happy?
Be it depressing?
Be it exciting?
Be it boring?

Be it worth waiting for?
You tell me.

Simplicity

2011-09-22T00:53:00.002+08:00

There's something incredibly attractive about simplicity.

Some people look so good even dressed in rags, so why can't I? I'll tell you why.
Individual perception has been altered so much by society and its influences. Media, traditions and expectations have moulded us to bear in mind the "reputation" we are expected to maintain. It's so tiring sometimes :(

I've always felt this incredible pressure to look good, for my family, for honey, for my friends, for everyone, to prove something unknown. Picking clothes carefully for half an hour to an hour every day before leaving the house is getting increasingly frustrating. I want the freedom to throw on a huge pullover sweater and shorts, and slip my feet into some sneakers and just go about my day. Comfort. If only I could just throw on my doctor's coat every day and not worry about little petty things like the way I look. It's just that... I'm not a doctor yet.

Is the problem really with me?
Maybe I make it my problem to look good for other people?
I'm tired of that.
No need for flashy clothes, no need for jewellery, no need for many bags to suit different outfits.

It's time for simplicity.

Going solo

2011-09-11T21:23:00.002+08:00

I had my solo debut tonight!

Though I wouldn't really call it solo, seeing as I did a duet with my sister, but hey, it's my first time singing for an audience without a choir to hide behind!
I think my teacher thought it would be good to at least have a duet for a first experience, that provided a very, very small sense of security. I almost blacked out before the performance but I pulled through- and did well, too. I was still so high and happy hours after the performance that when I slipped and almost fell on the way home, I couldn't stop grinning to myself!

It was a house full of very, very rich people. Their basement was bigger than my entire house, and I felt utterly, utterly small there, not to mention peniless. However, with a tummyfull of yellow soupy noodles, I had enough energy to carry on, thanks be to God.

It's been the holidays since the exams ended, and I felt pretty good after each one. I might be a teeny bit worried about my Molecular Genetics- my weakest subject this semester, but the others were quite well done, I think. I've been working on DIY projects on my own, cutting up shirts into designs and making tribal feather jewellery, and I'm leaving for Macau and Guangzhou this week for SHOPPING! A very well-deserved shopping trip. I've had a lot riding on my shoulders this semester, and it's finally time to whip out the loose comfy clothes and go mad.

My teacher seemed pretty happy with the way things turned out today, and she says that she'll be getting me more opportunities to sing in front of audiences. One is coming up on the 8th of October, where I will be singing a Chinese coloratura piece. It took me 2-3 years to get here, and somehow I don't want this happy streak to end. It's like I have everything going for me right now and I don't have to make any kind of life-altering decision yet, I can still be both a student of medicine and of music, I wish it will never end.

Please, God, end the world in 2012 so I can die happily this way.

Truth or war?

2011-08-03T15:34:00.002+08:00

I used to think that I was living to win a war,
but there is no war.
People only learn through experiences,
and one day I hope to be able to say
"I have".

It is not a war,
just a mere disbelief of truths that are obvious to the world
but disregarded by mankind.

-My Dream Box

Candylicious!

2011-07-26T23:29:00.002+08:00

There's something really comforting about being in a candy shop.

Just the other day, Mom's office had a family-day event at Universal Studios, and my god, it was like a fairytale. Just being at Far Far Away made me feel so unbelievably happy, like I wanted to live there forever.
I'm considering working there for half-a-year after I graduate from Poly, at Egypt or Far Far Away ;)
(By the way, Cylon is awesome!!!)

After Universal Studios (and mad photograph-taking with Fake Charlie Chaplin), we stumbled upon a candy shop just outside the theme park. It's called Candylicious, and oh my, my heaven. For all you sweet-toothed candy lovers out there, this is the place to go.

It's 3 times as huge as Candy Empire and has all the sweets and chocolates you could ever want to eat! Bought a couple of lollipops myself, I have to test for standards, don't I?

;) Still dreaming I'm back at Far Far Away~

Far Far Away

2011-07-24T00:15:00.002+08:00

Tiffany's is to Holly Golightly what Far Far Away is to me.
Unfortunately, nobody bothers to take the time to understand that.

Or could I?

2011-07-17T00:48:00.001+08:00

Wish I could die on a night like this.

The never ceasing breeze, persistent to help me fly. The night of still clouds stretching infinitely into darkness, all I can hear for miles around is the sound of water caressing the rocks so far below.

Serenity is mine.
What would it take for me to jump?

A welcome of waves with open arms-
slosh, slosh, slosh, a breath underwater;
I am alive.

The Story of Nervous

2011-07-07T23:36:00.002+08:00

Haven't written in a while but I stumbled upon some of my past pieces of work, and I found a few I had put together for my Creative Writing subject last semester. You may recognise bits and pieces here and there, but here's a story anyway.

-
"P-p-please s-sir, I-I'd like a strawberry i-i-ice-cr-cream cone."

The seemingly huge man gazed at him from behind the counter. The heat was sweltering that day, and it was important, yes, crucial that he had some ice-cream. With expert movements, the huge man whipped up a crispy wafer cone, fresh from the wafer-maker, and scooped a heavenly mound of strawberry ice-cream into it. The little boy glowed excitedly in wait for his daily treat.

With utmost generosity, the huge man presented the cone to the little boy, his whiskers twitching, "It's on me today, Nervous. Enjoy!" A lovely smile painted itself across the little boy's face. Thanking him, he trudged towards his usual swing, the one at the far end of the playground, and sat down to his tasty trophy.

Nervous now sat outside the cathedral at the square. Every once in a while he reached into his bag and threw out a handful of breadcrumbs to the pigeons. They flocked to him, greedily picking at the golden crumbs with great voracity. The intimidating statue of David stood high above him, casting a shade over the cathedral. More birds crowded into the shade to reap the goodness off the floor.

He sighed, his mime make-up crumpling. The square was rather quiet at this time of the day, everybody was sitting indoors, sipping hot chocolate. Winter had yet to come, but the sky was a shade of steel, and cruel storms were brewing. Nervous shivered in his mime suit, and reached to pull on his thick overcoat. Now cosy and snug in the warmth, Nervous packed up for the day and started walking.

The cottage was at a lone clearing, just outside of town. It was left to him, by whom, he didn't know, but he had no one, no one. A mossy pond wasn't far off, and poor Nervous trudged gloomily towards it. Tiny toadstools looked to him, and whispered anxiously to one another on the approach of the looming giant. A little mushroom asked her mother about him.

Nervous sat alone at the bank, hugging his knees. Why hadn't he come? He'd promised to come watch him, since four years ago. Nervous had been waiting all this time in vain. He looked into the dark mirror of water that reflected a lovely face.

Hadn't Narcissus once knelt at these banks? He'd fallen in love with the boy in the water, adorned with locks of golden hair. Nervous stretched to pluck a flower, and stuck it in his own dark hair. His always seemed untamed; they stood out in stubborn curls, unwilling to flatten, as if crying out to be noticed.

He now began to hum a tune, a tune so slow and mournful. The flowers crowded around him in sheer curiosity as Nervous pulled out the locket around his neck. He flicked it open at a touch, to be greeted by the smile of his lover's face. He had the same dark hair, only the slightest bit wavy, and wore on his head a brown headband. Nervous caressed the worn-out photograph with trembling fingertips.

He'd promised to come, for four years he'd waited for him, day after day, at the square. They had been so happy together, until the authorities found out- they weren't just the friends they claimed to be. That's when it all happened in a rush.

Nervous clung desperately to the steady frame of his lover, but they soon removed him. They questioned them as they would criminals, and they stood in shame, handcuffs around their wrists. They made them promise never to communicate again.

How could he? Surely he had more courage, more common sense to know nothing that did was wrong? Surely love would prevail? And yet, he still hadn't turned up after four years.

A small chuckle escaped from his throat. He wasn't coming, and Nervous knew it. So many months had been wasted waiting for the lover that never came back. Nervous had decided- he would wait no more.

Lying at the bank now, he stared into the water. It was clear, but he still could not see the bottom. How deep was it? He dipped a finger into the water, breaking the mirror-like reflection. A pair of melancholic eyes started back at him, in their depths stood a little boy, licking ice-cream. A boy who stuttered, a boy who sat at the swings alone.

Nervous began to peel off his clothes. First, he kicked off his shoes, then slipped off his socks. He took off everything, one by one, until there was nothing left, save for the silver locket on a chain around his neck. He squatted on the bank, and sunk a leg into the pond. It was freezing, but he barely felt it.

Slowly, he lowered himself into the cold water, oblivious to his surroundings. It was just him and the calm water. The water came up to his shoulders, as he stood on the slippery rocky bottom of the pond. He felt the plants around his ankles, reaching for him, inviting him to their home. Nervous finished his song and went underwater. The water soaked his hair as he lay down at the bottom, and as he opened his eyes towards the sky, he smiled.

The stars were waiting for him.
He took a deep breath.

Wednesday, 6th July 2011

2011-07-06T16:29:00.003+08:00

This is it.

I am exactly the same age Dorian Gray was when the madness started.

-
Soft, supple, firm, muscular,
aptly rounded with a touch of sensuality;

Michelangelo really knew his way around The Perfect Ass.

Monday, 4th July 2011

2011-07-04T23:19:00.002+08:00

It was a sad day.

I felt so idiotic, so out of control standing in front of the group, trying to lead but overtaken by another who kept playing wrong notes. She did say she's a pianist, didn't she? So I tried to be nice; I let her lead, but still I went around, helping those who needed help most. To be a pianist and not know solfege must be such a burden.

Joanne stepped on my slipper again. Alas, the other side spoiled this time, but I don't blame her at all. It was bound to happen whether anybody had stepped on it or not. Can't wait to have my birthday dinner with her there as well. I hobbled around on one slipper and a bare foot, through carparks, on pavements, on roads, in lifts, until I got home to shower.

Shower, Panadol, Study.
Only reached home at about 9.30pm, so I started studying at around 10 after my shower. It helps that I had something I had to do to take my mind off choir, at least for a while. The test, although ungraded, is tomorrow morning at 9am. How sad is it to have two tests on my birthday, with classes from 9am-9pm?

I went around everywhere and couldn't find the Neckermann sandals that I wanted. Eventually it occurred to me that Neckermann does not have it in red, so I either have to get fakes, or just get Birkenstocks. The idea is just crazy, who would pay so much for a pair of slippers? My wise side says it's rubbish, and the cheap ones are just as comfortable, but the whiny side argues that it's my birthday and I deserve a gift. But, neh, I'll go with my wise side on this one.

Choir used to be so much friendlier. People actually talked to each other, laughed, jammed on the guitar, went out to dinner in a huge group after practice. People laughed during sectionals and made jokes all the time. Now they just sit there stone-faced, like cold marble only with a jaw of flesh and eyes that roll. They sit huddled up in twos or alone, whisper-whispering about things that don't matter.
I wonder.

Felt so terrible after practice, I actually felt glad I had to rush off to study. The darkness and comfort of Dad's car soothed me, and Scrubs lifted my mood a bit. Too bad the loading was so slow, I couldn't watch more than a minute of it. When I got home I wanted to break down and have a good cry, but no, no time for tears. I took a shower and panadol, then went to work.

They talked about a career in music at choir. I guess my voice teacher has been harbouring hopes that I go into music and continue studying under her for life. She's mentioned it several times, but I still can't bring myself to. There's always been such a passion there, so why am I afraid it being killed?

I think I'm secretly scared of all the bitching that goes on in a music career. Doctors and surgeons barely have time to sleep, they're always running from place to place, never bored, never having to ponder over everyday life and its emotions. Doing surgery is about putting aside personal emotions and saving the person in front of you.

Maybe that's why I want it so much.

Saturday, 2nd July 2011

2011-07-03T00:48:00.002+08:00

Incredible human spirit.

What would it be like to be Radio?
To forgive and forget so easily
To love and live every day like it's the last
To be so happy with everyone
To give your own Christmas presents away
To do favours without expecting anything in return

Even when nobody liked you-

That's what it means to be Radio.

Wednesday, 29th June 2011

2011-06-30T00:38:00.002+08:00

There.
There's that feeling.

Remember how I slogged my ass off during the Mid-Sem tests? It all paid off, and apparently the flashcard method works well for me! I've finally found a study method that works for a picky Yours Truly!

I'd never been told I was "on the right track" or "doing well" before, so this is rather new, so don't mind if I boast a bit! ;) Took me two terrible semesters (both with supp papers) to get to this point, so it wasn't an easy journey, but I think I can safely say that I shall nevermore take a supp paper!

This is incredible news so near to my 20th birthday which, by the way, is a little scary for me. My friends tell me I don't look a day over 18, and I'll bet with stakes that I can pass for 15 in my school uniform. My family has taken me to Marche for a lovely dinner at which I went crazy ordering food, and my brother has nonchalantly put some new iPhone covers on my study-table. My parents always know when my birthday is, but they always forget how old I am. Maybe when I turn 21 and start to do awesome stuff, they'll realise it.

Until Tuesday next week, I remain, still, a happy teenager. I've been colouring a lot in my little sketchbook lately. Can you believe I paid $2.50 for an entire set of markers?! Been creating new characters and resurrecting old ones, drawing from dreams and thoughts. Though the pages are all laden with colours, a closer look would reveal a darker side of my subconscious which, thankfully, nobody really bothers looking into.

Post Created Jun 20, 2011 11:09:06 PM

2011-06-20T23:09:00.001+08:00

The room is dark.

Lights were put out half an hour ago, but the urgent whispering still rises from the assortment of sleeping bags laid out on the cold floor.

My body lies here, but my soul is out on the treetops.

17th June 2011

2011-06-17T23:09:00.001+08:00

She weaved in and out like an experienced vulture; eager to get the job done so that she could have dinner. It was a dream, though more so a nightmare, all of the cruelty with none of the wickedness.

She did not mean to kill; she had to, forced by an upper hand more powerful than she. With diamond she armed her beautiful self and, wielding cruelty as her weapon, she brought the young one down with one strike.

And yet, under all that fear was love.

Tuesday, 14th June 2011

2011-06-14T14:53:00.003+08:00

I was there. I was dreaming.
It happened right before my eyes.

I was walking along a really large canal somewhere near a muddy-looking reservoir in Singapore, and I remember looking hard for crocodiles because I saw the warning sign. I was high up on a pavement, a looooong stretch of railings lining the edge. I sat in front of the railing, staring into the muddy water, hoping for a scaly head to appear.

Just then, I saw three surface. The three crocs were huge, they should've been about 5 metres long, muscular and hungry. Then, a familiar head poked out of the water. It was the Loch Ness Monster, going up for some air. It was a lovely mix between light purple, blue and green. It had fat little legs that paddled underwater and soft long neck.

The crocs were greedy. They attacked the Loch Ness Monster, snapping their lined jaws and ripping flesh in a violent frenzy. The muddy water took upon a reddish hue, and I saw no more of that lovely Loch Ness Monster, only some of its legs floating on the water.

-For my lovely Loch Ness Monster.

Monday, June 13 2011

2011-06-14T00:53:00.002+08:00

It's like the deadlines never end.

Just tonight, we were told we had to split into groups for an A Capella competition. Oh God, oh God. My heart got sliced into a million pieces as soon as they'd announced it.

I know it's "gonna be fun" and all that, but it means more deadlines to meet, more competing with other groups, having to work and get along with new people.
The New People.

So far, only a few of The New People have been rather friendly, one of whom I already know. I tried to get to know a few more, but they have proved to be incredibly cold. Maybe I'm being too sensitive, it's rather getting on my nerves.

Why do they do this?
Two weeks of what's supposed to be a holiday is now taken up by camps and more deadlines. Sometimes I wonder- since I'm being taught how the body works and how to keep it alive, surely it would make it a lot easier for me to do the opposite?

Obviously, a fork won't be enough.

The warmth I was greeted with on my first day at this choir is all gone now, the seniors are all busy or gone, so many good friends lost. I feel as if it's missing something, love in a sea of people, kindness in a favor.
The judging eyes glance when you walk into a room, the secret sneers and cruel smirks brand wherever they land, and it hurts, oh, it hurts so.

All the familiarity is gone.

The Lie

2011-06-13T17:02:00.001+08:00

You've got your ball
You've got your chain
Tied to me tight
Tie me up again
Who's got their claws in you my friend?
Into your heart I'll beat again
Sweet like candy to my soul
Sweet you rock and sweet you roll
Lost for you I'm so lost for you.

Sunday, 12th June 2011

2011-06-12T03:44:00.002+08:00

Not too long ago, I heard of a theory.

Everybody was so hyped up about smart phones, smart computers, smart tablets, smart refrigerators, smart everything. Everything was made "smart", but what kind of smart exactly?

Someone said to me, "It'd be pretty scary if one day these things get too smart."

I watched Transformers tonight, and truth be told, it was very, very exciting. I'm usually not into action films, but I'm all for Bumblebee. It just occurred to me that the reality of machines getting "too smart" for us is very real. Heck, people have already found ways to create robots with life-like personalities!

Anyway, just tonight I discovered that I'm developing some sort of immunity against sadness. Stupid petty things that usually made me cry now just strike me as, well, petty. I think I have "Biutiful" to thank.
Now, I'm not going to type a whole paragraph of "how this movie has changed my life", I'm just going to say that I'll never know when I'm about to die. What the hell, why put in time and effort being unhappy when I can enjoy every moment?

I don't believe that I need to be sad to feel real happiness. I've had my fair share of upsetting experiences, as some of my friends would know. I've shed too many tears for stupid little things, and now when something petty comes along, I just let it go.

It's getting easier and easier, just like everything else I've trained myself to deal with. Secrets lie in a box not even gamma rays can penetrate.

Stupid things?
They'll never touch me.

Saturday, 9th April 2011

2011-04-10T00:16:00.002+08:00

"Our scars have the power to remind us that the past was real." -Dr. Hannibal Lecter What would you do if the world were to end tomorrow? Would you die happy? What makes me happy? I guess there are many things I want to do but have yet to in life, such as bungee-jump and play a banjo and sing with Philippe Jaroussky, but I still think if I were to die tomorrow, I'd die without regrets. There have been many, many painful moments in my life. Too many, in fact, due to my own stupidity. May 16th occurred because I left my phone unprotected with a password, by my pillow overnight whilst charging. If you look at my blog archives, you'd realise that there were no posts for May 2006. I've also failed major exams, and it always happens so that I have to take it again in order to move on to the next level. I guess this isn't stupidity, just due to my terrible methods of studying. Mr Jiow, my teacher at Sec 3, told us that Express students are what are known as "knowledge sponges". They absorb all the information quickly and efficiently, and regurgitate well and get good grades. He then went on to say that he preferred Normal Acad students because we aren't sponges, we use more logic to argue, etc etc. I'm still half sure he was just trying to make us feel better. Sometimes I wonder if anyone will remember me after I die. Would they remember the acne-ridden, angsty young teenager that gushed on and on about Clay Aiken, or would they remember the girl who, seemingly confident, sought to prove society's opinions about lesser students than Express ones wrong? I lie in bed, night after night, plagued by early memories of my childhood, about a certain computer game I played long ago. There was a particular scene, at which I stood in front of a dark cartoon woods, where dark creatures of the wild lurked, faeries danced around toadstools, and elves walked. Or the time in real life when I used to hang out at my old condominium, playing alone in the afternoons, having "picnics" and walking on a stone path leading to towering hibiscus flower bushes. Not knowing they were poisonous, I picked them and threw them everywhere, creating a flower-confetti shower. It's late. Even with the numerous earthquakes and ravaging signs of global warming, people are still skeptical about 2012. It's 2011, and though there is an exact day and date for the presumed apocalypse, the world around me has started to crumble. I won't know if I will wake up tomorrow warm in bed or hundreds of kilometers under the sea, looking at my own body. Then I'll be like the character in one of my stories, who got thrown overboard by the men who killed him.

Thursday, 31st March 2011

2011-04-01T00:20:00.002+08:00

It is the eve of our first anniversary. I can't believe we've spent a year together. I've been through countless drops of tears, and yet, despite that, I've pulled through with a grin from ear to ear. Honey and I are to get our promise rings tomorrow. It shall be like a first-year thing. It wasn't easy getting through a whole year, but now that we have I know there's potential for many, many more. Here's to hoping! I only have one wish during this lifetime: to die happy. It seems simple on the surface, but there are actually many underlying hopes and dreams and wants, such as having Honey by my side and having all the music in the world and singing at Teatro La Fenice and building my cottage in the middle of nowhere and eating a chocolate cake all by myself. And that's just some of it! Also, Beach Day is coming, so it's time to start working out again! Honey and I have been planning it since last year, but school has been so, so hectic, so this holiday's our chance. No way am I going to starve myself on any level for any cause, no student of human anatomy in their right mind would, but I would definitely follow recommended workouts and eat lots of fruit! Thank God Dad just bought "too much fruit".

Tuesday, 29th March 2011

2011-03-29T12:16:00.003+08:00

"Time to throw away your cares," says Elvis in the morning.

Sunday, 27th March 2011

2011-03-27T19:27:00.003+08:00

Another addition to my list of places to visit- Russia. I guess I'd always thought of it as a royal country, I've always known it to be one of the largest in the world. My first exposure to it was while watching "Anastasia" in the early years of my teens. That's also where I discovered that I really like the name Dimitri. Photographs of Russia seem so breath-taking now. Everything looks so grand, from streetlamps to palaces. I would have no qualms about living there if it weren't for the language. I would live at so many places- from Vienna to Greece, if it weren't for the languages. Life would be so much easier if everyone were to just speak one language. Well, anyway, I've just finished two supp papers. Turned out I was right about having to take them, because I felt terrible after the Maths 2 and Immunology papers. Studied real hard this time, and got absolutely no help from anyone, so I hope I did all right. I'm never sure if my answers are correct in Maths, but I hope I'll clear them both by far.

Sunday, 20th March 2011

2011-03-21T00:28:00.000+08:00

This feels like an endless race towards nothing.

Wednesday, 16th March 2011

2011-03-17T00:00:00.000+08:00

Feeling like shit.

Sunday, 13th March 2011

2011-03-14T00:52:00.001+08:00

She has a beauty that no one else seems to see.
She kind of reminds me of Audrey, in a way.
The same strange beauty through my eyes.

Saturday, 12th March 2011

2011-03-12T01:08:00.002+08:00

I think I'm a little bit slow, but I just found out about the Tsunami that hit Japan yesterday.

This is what I get for refusing to read the newspapers. It always strikes me as a tiresome compilation of political articles, and of the views of people which I don't really care about. It's like "Stomp", where people don't have anything better to do than nitpick about something unimportant.

Anyway, just wanted to say, if I die suddenly anytime soon, thanks to you guys for reading my blog. It's something that has stayed with me for many years now, and my teenage life is forever immortalised on the internet. Maybe some aliens will find it and idolise me or something, you know?

It was pretty scary watching the video footage of the tsunami hitting Japan. It gobbled the land up like a biscuit, and the cars were still running on the roads when they got swallowed up by the water. I feel so terrible for those people, and I know it won't be long before it hits close to home.

So, thanks guys. If I live, I'll continue to blog. If I die, well, then, farewell.

For what it's worth, I love you guys :)

Friday, 11th March 2011

2011-03-11T10:50:00.002+08:00

Just had a nightmare but everyone's busy.

Honey isn't picking up his phone, Glenn's at work, Vanessa's at attachment, Sya's probably out having fun somewhere.

I'm all alone again.

Dreamt that I was in this hostel-like event where my whole choir was, and I wanted to take a shower. Suddenly this unknown creepy guy (whom, I think, looked a bit like Edgar Allan Poe) came into the bathroom and stood there, refusing to move. I begged Honey to ask him to leave so I could shower, but Honey ignored me and joined the rest of the choir in cheering for something outside the window. It may have been some sort of kite-flying event.

I was upset, and went around looking for another bathroom, only to be followed by the creepy guy, who planted himself at the other bathroom too. Exasperated, I gave up on the idea of showering and joined the others.

The next thing I knew, Honey grabbed me and ran. I asked him where we were going, and he said, "to the ocean," and continued running. He said that we were going to stay in the water for a while until the "whole thing blew over", whatever it was. He suddenly stopped to stab a man repeatedly on the sidewalk, and laughed while he pulled me along and continued running towards the ocean. We ran and ran, and I remember being stupefied that he stabbed a man, and when I asked him why, he said it was for fun.

We ran and ran until we reached the water, and I had a float around me. We bobbed up and down on the surface, waiting for the days to pass.

Strange that I had such a dream. I felt rather depressed after.

Anyway, out with Glenn yesterday, I made a spontaneous decision to buy a book by Edgar Allan Poe. It was rather cheaply priced at $4.80, so what the heck, I gave it a shot. It seemed interesting enough, titled "Spirits of the Dead: tales and poems". I did some research on the author himself, and he looked a bit pained in all of his portraits, although displaying a rather trademark smirk at every sitting.

I opened the book last night, and fell instantly in love. I don't know what it is about classic literature, but I enjoy every moment of it. This morning, after listening to the ringing-tone of Honey's phone for too long, I picked up the book again, and read a poem.
It spoke to me.

"I have been happy, tho' in a dream.
I have been happy- and I love the theme:
Dreams! in their vivid colouring of life,
As in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife
Of semblance with reality, which brings
To the delirious eye, more lovely things
Of Paradise and love- and all our own!
Than young Hope in his sunniest hour hath known."

Saturday, 5th March 2011

2011-03-05T23:53:00.003+08:00

He'd seen them, whispering quietly in the shadows, giggling whenever he looked over. They had been around for as long as he could remember, always smiling, always so carefree. The feathers stood out proudly on their backs, tickling their necks playfully.

He'd often wondered if he could, perhaps, one day grow his own wings, but he knew they were different. They weren't like Mr Charlie the carpenter, or Mrs Patts the baker. Whenever he caught a glimpse of them as a child, he would marvel at their wings to his mother, but she just frowned, creases forming between her eyes.

"You're too old for imaginary friends, sweetheart," she'd say, and he learnt overtime not to mention them anymore.

They flocked around him now, tickling him under his chin and continuing their incessant chatter, flitting around on feet that barely touched the ground. Eyes filled with wonder, their hands reached out to touch his hair, to prod at his skin, to stroke his worn-out clothes. With rosy cheeks above a smile, he held his arms out to them, and together they danced in the moonlight.

Every night after their joyful ritual, he would tread home with them trailing behind. Sometimes, they flew beside him, and only ever carried him once or twice. It would have been disastrous, had anyone been nearby to spot a boy floating six feet above the ground. He'd get home just when his dinner of stew and bread was being served. Sitting at the mahogany table with his mother, they would say Grace together before tucking in.

They tiptoed around the house, observing every painting, every wood-carving for the millionth time. His eyes followed them silently, obediently sipping his milk and chewing his bread. The beans always stopped steaming long before he finished.

There was not much to do after dinner; it was always too dark by then to go outside, and the house was bare, save for a pot above the fireplace, a table set and a hard bed. His mother had problems falling asleep with light, so the fire always had to be put out at bedtime. He would turn towards the open window to gaze at the moon, unable to fall asleep.

Time passed so slowly at those early hours of dawn, the pitch-dark blanket still covering the land asleep. His long black hair fell over lovely russet eyes, teeth just resting on his lower lip. He held his gaze on the majestic moon, never once faltering.

Feeling around in the dark for his stitched notebook and pencil, he wrote,

"Angels, ever bright and fair,
Take, oh, take me to your care."

4th March 2011

Thursday, 3rd March 2011

2011-03-04T00:55:00.002+08:00

My dear readers, I am back!

I've just been through a whole series of tests and exams, all strung together in a stressful lot! Basic Microbiology and Cell Biology went pretty well, but Maths and Immunology didn't go so well. I'm rather nervous about having to take the supplementary papers, but perhaps more for Immunology.

It was a bloody difficult paper.

I've been making the most of my time since my papers ended. I've written a story, met up with two friends and Honey, and slept for a long time! I also made a headband out of foam roses, and almost pricked myself to death because it was near 2 in the morning. Can't wait to start on my drawings again!

The past semester has been a rather enriching experience, actually. Apart from putting in consistent effort into my studies, I also got to take the cross-disciplinary subjects I wanted, and met some really nice people. French had very excited, happy girls, full of laughter and rainbows. Creative Writing yielded more quiet and creative types, which I found very interesting. It had always been rather awkward in comparison to French class.

I also got to know my wonderful French teacher, whose spirit I shall never forget. Her smile lit up the room just like her yellow jacket and her ladybug shoes. Her hair stuck out on end like it had never been combed, and it framed a face with pretty eyes. She's one of the more special people I'd ever met.

Her words to me were, "Are you ready, my butterfly?"

Monday, 7th February 2011

2011-02-07T23:24:00.002+08:00

It's been a hell of a long time since I last blogged.

Well, truth is, I've been busy, but I've also been blogging. It sounds strange when I say this, but since I've gotten an iPhone 4, my workload has piled extra high. It's not that I'm slacking or anything, just that there's so much work to do and so little time.

So, my dear readers, please forgive me.

It hurts me when I stop blogging on this blog, but this is just temporary, I promise.
I haven't found a good-enough blogger tool for iPhone yet, and frankly, it is thoroughly annoying that I can't blog straight on the website on my iPhone. It would be great to do it on-the-go, you know? I can hardly find time to pull out and set up my laptop nowadays, let alone come here to blog.

This night is an exception, even though I've got a quiz and voice lesson on Wednesday, a presentation tomorrow and a French speaking test on Thursday. By God, it's a miracle I'm still alive!

I'm listening to nostalgic songs while I type this. Clay Aiken used to be my world, and even years later, I still respect him so much. I'm glad he was my role model, I would have turned out entirely different otherwise.

Anyway, dear readers, I know you're out there somewhere. If you still want to follow me in my dramatic everyday life, injected with thoughts, philosophy and dead people, I'm on Twitter (claymadness) and Tumblr (www.claymadness.tumblr.com) as well, Tumblr being the easiest blogger tool on my phone right now.

Do bear in mind, however, that I'm a little more "free-spirited" there, so you might get a glance at beautiful photography coupled with deep thought of only a line or two, or perhaps some angsty moments in motormouth mode.

If you know me personally, please don't tell me off and/or confront me about my posts, it's just a very frank way to let things out. Thanks for reading my work, I'm happy to have readers :D

Last but not least for the night, this blog will be back in action after my major exams, which should end by early March.
Until then,

Ciao!

Friday, 7th January 2011

2011-01-08T00:13:00.002+08:00

When I was a kid, I was fascinated by dentists.

Each visit to the dentist got me excited, especially if it involved the extraction of any of my teeth. I wanted the dentist to pull them out, I didn't even mind the drill. I looked forward to the dentist so much that I went there regularly for check-ups and cleaning.

I asked the dentist about everything! Sitting in that huge chair, I asked what this was for, what that was used for, what this button did, why we had to gargle during cleaning. One thing I really liked was the fountain with the automatic tap, where you placed a disposable cup for mouth-rinsing. I pressed the button when she wasn't watching.

One particular period of Primary School, t'was just before the June holidays, I had a rather shaky tooth. You know those shaky teeth that feel they can fall out anytime but still refuse to fall out? I was impatient and wanted it extracted, so I visited the dentist.
Twice.

And twice, she told me to come back again soon. June holidays arrived and I didn't get to see the dentist, and my tooth FELL OUT by itself!!!
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

I was very, very sad.
I think I was a rather strange kid. I wonder if that nudged me in the direction of medicine?

Thursday, 30th December 2010

2010-12-29T00:18:00.001+08:00

I LOVE MY DOCS!

However, they're black, so this photo doesn't actually apply. I just like the colours in this one.

Can't believe how much I bought the other day. I bought the perfect pair of jeans, Dr Martens, tops.. In fact, I can't really remember what else I'd bought, except that I spent a lot. I felt guilty, but then again, I don't usually go on shopping sprees. I waited two years for a pair of Docs!

Just came home from a chalet and stay-over, and I'm pretty exhausted. I did somewhat miss the comfort of my laptop, because I was faced with having to blog on my iPhone, which didn't work at all because it didn't allow me to type anything for my post. I need to get it jailbroken to download the Blogger App for free.

Oh yeah, I got Twitter.

By the way,
tell me-

If people are so evil, why should I hope to save them?

draft

2010-12-27T23:52:00.000+08:00

Saturday, 25th December 2010

2010-12-26T00:57:00.002+08:00

New phone, new beginning.

Mom woke me in mid-slumber this morning. I was rather groggy as I hadn't had enough rest. Plus, I dreamt that the worms were out to get me!

Ehem.

Anyway, she told me to copy down and compare the details of the different iPhone 4 plans under different phone companies, and before I knew what was happening, she told me to get ready and Dad, Mom and I went down to the Singtel shop to get my new phone.

It turns out Mom has some kind of work bonus so many people in our family are changing their phones. Mine is an exceptional case, since the colour on the screen has gone all funny, the words linger after I cancel them, the buttons are cracked, the spacebar doesn't work, etc etc. Plus, I was surviving on a top-up card! However, I am proud to say that after almost 3 years of usage, it is still in quite good a condition. No scratches or anything!
Yes, I am a good phone owner.
You should see the care with which I treat my laptop. The people looked at me crazy when I brought my laptop and charger to get my charger changed. The original keyboard tissue-covering thingy is still there, and I store my laptop with a soft wipe-cloth.

So, well, I finally got what I wanted. I can't help feeling guilty, though. I am lucky, SO lucky. There's Wii, there's laptop, there are iPod(s), there's camera, now there's iPhone. I can't imagine the number of people this amount of money could feed. I felt guilty just having a feast on Christmas Day.

But, thank you, God. I know I am so lucky.
I wonder how Franco's doing now? Are Charlie, Oscar, Bob, Rabbit and Elvis throwing a party in Heaven? Philippe Jaroussky must be all snuggled up in his overcoat and sipping wine.

Please let me meet them all one day, some day, soon.
Thank you, God.
Merry Christmas.

Friday, 24th December 2010

2010-12-25T01:21:00.002+08:00

Well, I finally got my candycane.

Beautifully coloured in vibrant red, green and white, it's peppermint flavoured, and two cost me a dollar. What luck :)

I've been rather desperate for a candycane since I missed the chance to buy one last year. I still haven't taken the first lick, so my tongue is still itching for a taste.

I used to wish my family's christmases would be so typical: huge decorated christmas tree with brightly-wrapped presents under it, christmas cookies and other sweets in the kitchen, turkey on the dining table, everyone just coming together to give and celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ.
Only it wasn't to be.

My family's christmases have always been about food.
They've always been too lazy to cook for Christmas, and so we've always had order-in. Pizza, KFC, garlic bread, you name it. I've never had turkey.

Mom and Dad are kind of against any religion, so they obviously wouldn't celebrate Christmas being the birth of Christ. For them, anything is about food. Travel is about food, celebration is about food, birthdays are about food. I don't know what to say, I guess they just like to eat.

To this day I still wish for that typical Christmas. Fireplace alight, christmas tree in the corner, candycanes in socks, turkey and mash on the table, carols on the porch, cookies in the oven, candy on the counter, presents to open.

I wore my cargo pants out today.
I can't remember the last time I felt so happy and comfortable. My cramps immediately vanished into comforting space, my body could breathe, my soul was free.
I felt myself again.

Merry Christmas.

Wednesday, 22nd December 2010

2010-12-23T00:57:00.002+08:00

How good it must feel to be that lion.

What I can't say out loud in real life, surely I can type on my blog?

And yet, when I'm ready to type about it, I can't seem to make the words flow from my fingertips.

I'm stuck.

Friday, 17th December 2010

2010-12-17T11:38:00.002+08:00

I want to be there.

Term tests are finally over, the ones that I've been cramming so crazily for over the past few weeks, apart from the usual weekly quizzes. I'm still not so sure about my HPI paper, because there were some questions I really didn't know how to answer so hopefully, I'll manage to pass it.

Air-con repairmen are at my house now, repairing the air-conditioner in my room. It broke down in the middle of the night a day ago. I was left perspiring in bed, but was way too tired to get up and switch on the fan. I had been getting up at 6.30am just to get to school early. Yup, term test week was a crazy one.

My dear boy is having his last paper today.
I haven't had much time to reflect on our relationship lately. It's been pretty stressful, what with the pressure of school and tests and, you know, for a Biomed Science student, the work is always incoming. It gets to me and I think my subconscious turns mean, and I blurt out something jokingly-mean to him without realising it's hurtful.
I hate this.
I hate being mean to him. It's weird being mean to someone you love so much, you know? It's contradictory, and there's never reason in it. I don't like it when he talks about how I can't go overseas to study, when all I want is to get far away from here from all these people I know. I just want to be with things that can't talk back with me, can't reason, can't argue or pick fights. I'd even talk to Oscar Wilde's tombstone.
I don't like it when he tells me never to wear a particular piece of clothing again, because I don't look good in it. Sometimes I just want to heck it anyway because I'm having such a bad day and can't be bothered to deal with anyone else's unhappiness. And yet, time after time, I still can't being myself to wear the clothes he doesn't like.

I wonder if I'm lying to myself.
I cry about these things and, if you know me, you know I don't cry about just anything. I want to live life my way, do things I want, when I want, wear what I want, study what I want, work where I want, eat where I want, and not have to think about somebody else's opinions. That's what freedom is about, isn't it?

It's frustrating to cry about something stupid every two days, just because the other person is unhappy about it and starts to argue. I never argue back, I don't like to. Sometimes loneliness is best. I just want to steal away and sulk quietly somewhere, or buy a plane ticket out of here.

Yet, under all this, I know I still love him to bits.

Monday, 13th December 2010

2010-12-13T10:03:00.000+08:00

What's so great about porn anyway?

Thursday, 9th December 2010

2010-12-09T17:53:00.002+08:00

My heart took a plunge, my stomach twisted into a knot, my brain refused to function, my legs became numb, my hands turned cold at the touch of the HPI quiz 1 paper.

They'd finally given it back, and alas, I failed, by a mere 1 and a half marks. Again. Everybody around me were comparing results, exclaiming and swearing about their 25/30 marks.
I know, I should be used to it by now. I've been in Biomedical Science for over half a year, I should've gotten used to how kiasu the students are, the stress levels, the system and workload, but no, apparently not.

My hands grasped the thin paper, and then quietly slipped it under a pile of papers in my file. They worked quietly, quickly and expertly, as if having practised this move too many times. I guess they have.
At that very moment, I thought I was quite smart, asking for a blank piece of foolscap paper to copy the model answers as the teacher went through, so nobody would see my results. Bloody teacher. So much for a high-ranked lecturer, her attitude shows nothing. In fact, she's always been rather repulsive in character, at least, in the lecture hall. I should have known.

I knew all the correct answers. I did my work, I put all my effort into studying for her stupid quiz. And yet, I couldn't answer the questions. Why? They weren't clear. Had they asked a less twisted version of the question, I would've scored. Still, I didn't flare up. Perhaps it was my fault I didn't do well? I asked around; everybody I asked said they weren't sure what the questions were asking for either, because the questions were rather convoluted and twisted.

Still, I diligently took down the model answers, determined to improve, to get it right next time. I asked a few of my closer friends to accompany me to talk to the teacher after the lecture, they agreed.
After the lecture, I went up to the teacher while my friends sat at the seats. I was so sure I could convince her, because she did mention being puzzled at why so many students gave the correct answers for the wrong questions. The questions and answers didn't match, because nobody knew what exactly they were asking for, they just regurgitated, desperate to put something on the blank face of the paper. Some even left them blank. I mentioned all this to her, asking her very nicely, with a smile, if she could make the term-test questions slightly more straightforward. I'm afraid of being faced with the same Quiz 1 situation again, and it shall rain bloody hell if I fail it just because the questions were phrased unclearly. I don't deserve to fail.

Instead of agreeing to consider my request, even to consider it, she defended herself, asking what was so indirect about her questions, what was so confusing. She said that if she gave direct questions in the test, it could be sat by Primary 1 children, and that it's not University standard, blah blah. She simply, in other words, blamed my understanding of the subject and questions.
Bullshit.
I sacrificed so much to study for her damn Quiz. I started studying for her subject on the first day of school, when I got the notes. I sat outside D's church service to mug, I didn't get to watch any DVDs because I told myself that I had to study for her test. I even came to school 2 hours early on the quiz day itself, just so I could do some polishing-up.
I broke down in front of her.

I'm pretty sure she was rather unfeeling towards my crying. She just brushed it off, saying "you just have to work harder for the term test lor". I could barely believe what I was hearing. Not even an effort to reason, to compromise, to encourage. Was this really my lecturer, a qualified teacher? The one who says sarcastically, "I'm not going to waste time going through this. You all so smart right, go and read it yourself" when we have no idea what she's talking about and protest. We go to lecture to have an explanation of things we don't understand, but no, no explanation for people who don't understand, everybody should just fail it and go to hell.

---
On a lighter note, my French listening and writing test went rather well. I know I got one or two questions wrong, but that was it. I'm not willing to look through my French book now, because what's the use of sulking over wrong answers right after a test? It's done.
I wish the world could be filled with people like Madame Phan.

Wednesday, 8th December 2010

2010-12-09T00:46:00.002+08:00

French is so beautiful.

I've been breathing and dreaming French over the last few days, especially since my French test is tomorrow. I spent the day speaking French and memorising the numbers and phrases, and listening to French music.

Jerome showed us a song from "Le Roi Soleil" during lecture yesterday, and my God, I fell instantly in love. I listened to it on repeat for hours today.

Anyway, I'm becoming more anxious by the day. Time is running out again, and I'm not willing, not willing at all to let history repeat itself. I had enough bullshit in Sem 1.1, and there's no excuse this time. I'm doing well in my CDSs, but perhaps not as well in my core subjects. I failed my Bmic Quiz 1 by 1 and a half marks. I studied so hard for it.

Just got to try harder.

Saturday, December 4th 2010

2010-12-04T19:37:00.002+08:00

"Sometimes I think my head is so large
because it is so full of dreams."

What makes a monster and what makes a man?

Can you imagine the life he must've had?
No, of course not.
None of us can.

Wednesday, 1st December 2010

2010-12-01T08:22:00.001+08:00

I feel like I've lost a good friend.

Monday, 29th November 2010

2010-11-29T23:30:00.003+08:00

Nostalgia hit me like an eclair in the face- painful, but so comforting, so delicious, so loving.

I was having a really bad night, for some strange reason. Mood swings, maybe. Everybody just felt like assholes to me. I came home to search for stimuli for my Creative Writing class tomorrow, and shuffled through some of my favourite old music.

The pain was just washed away in an instant, and I was in heaven, blissful consciousness that was so lovely, floating on the back of seagulls that hover above the mirror-like surface of the dark waters. I was sucked back into the 16th, 17th and 18th centuries, where the plague ran rampant but the music ripened in its own glory, and people held hands and danced the night away at little pubs till the dawn broke the deep violet sky.

Saturday, 27th November 2010

2010-11-28T01:43:00.002+08:00

I believe that all human beings are equal. Men and women are equal. No person should be another's slave.
If you think slavery is no big deal, try being someone else's slave.
Get whipped by leather and hooks, branded with red-hot irons, chained up until you get sores. Nobody cares if you die, you are nothing, nothing.

Just a slave.

Oh, Rabbit.

Have you turned away?
I've been crying an awful lot nowadays, I wonder if you're still here?
I'm so tired.
I need your comfort, I need your kisses.
You always made me feel better when no one else could.

Saturday, 20th November 2010

2010-11-20T23:31:00.002+08:00

Plants are amazing.

They thrive anywhere, even though sometimes soil is nowhere to be found. One way or another, they weasel their way through cracks in concrete, patches of dry sand, rocks by the path and water in swamps.

Tonight, I went to this plant stall at a pasar malam with my Love. I'd been wanting to buy some fertilizer of some sort for my little sprouts (Papaya and some unknown plant), because all babies need their nutrients. I saw some little bottles and bags of fertilizer, and asked about them. The auntie told me how much to give, after asking me about the type of plants I have.
Then, she joked,
"Remember to give its neighbour some fertilizer as well or it will be jealous!"

-----

I'm letting my hair grow.

I don't really know who I am anymore. I came into Poly, so sure of myself and who I want to be. So sure that I wanted to wear short hair and crazy hairclips and dresses and jumpers and cargo-pants. So sure that I could study for 6 days a week, 2 hours a day, and get a 4.0 GPA.

It's back to having long hair then, but I won't wear it like a loser. Back in secondary school, I couldn't really do much with long straight black hair, after all, there were rules to abide by. I had no imagination whatsoever, so my hair was mostly in a ponytail, neat and proper.
After May 16th, I started to explore more styles, like plaiting and using more rubberbands and having bangs.
Until I got tired of everything and chopped it off in 2007.

Then, came the butterflies and flower clips and hand-painted hairbands and wooden candycane-clips. It was fun having short hair, it still is, but somehow I keep feeling this pressure, like I'm missing out on something. It's like I'm not girly enough or something. I can't even wear cargo-pants without looking like a little boy.

It's not fair.

Thursday, November 18th 2010

2010-11-19T03:00:00.003+08:00

[Beautiful hair, no?]

Love.

Wednesday, 17th November 2010

2010-11-18T00:36:00.002+08:00

Amore mio,

se la pioggia o sole,

sia chiaro o scuro,

sia caldo o freddo,

se felice o triste,

se siamo sani o malati,

mio voglio noi stare insieme, e rimanere cosi per sempre.

Thursday, 11th November 2010

2010-11-11T23:46:00.002+08:00

My agar plates have BLOSSOMED!

That was the pleasant surprise waiting for me when I got home late tonight. It had been a rather interesting day, I must say. I'd spent three whole hours this morning in the world of microbes, playing catch with bacteria, gazing at adorable cheek cells, being annoyed at dust specks, watching microbes swim after one another. It was as if the tiny blue-stained slide was a huge playground, and I got lost in it after the first two minutes.

It was somewhat comforting, really, being able to escape into another world, even though staring into a microscope for so long might render one blind after a few years. The world of microbiology is absolutely fascinating. I was so worried that my new home-made agar wouldn't culture anything because it was too hard, but I needn't have worried.

Using both sugar and broth in the agar mixture hit the jackpot, because my agar plates are now rather... hairy. The one labelled "nose" has a huge colony of bacteria climbing upwards like thin, white hair, and there's this small lonely black hairy speck at the corner. The one labelled "tongue" has the same white colony growing, only a smaller one this time. It's going to take a few more days to see more. Nothing much has grown on the skin that can be identified, so I'm going to wait patiently, seeing as my super-agar has indeed effectively cultivated microbes.

Damn, I want a real microscope to call my own.

Sunday, 7th November 2010

2010-11-07T23:22:00.002+08:00

Once there was a boy, Narcissus, who knelt daily beside a lake to contemplate his own beauty. He gazed at his reflection, the handsome face that kept gazing back, and fell in love with it. He returned to the lake, day after day, to gaze at his lover, until one day he leaned too far, and plop! He fell into the lake and drowned.

At that spot, the bud of a beautiful flower appeared.

Saturday, 6th November 2010

2010-11-06T23:40:00.003+08:00

"You must believe in Jesus."
"Jesus will not harm you. I told him you had to be baptised, I do not oppose you two being together but you have to believe in Jesus and get baptised."

Or you will go to hell.

The more I hear about this, the more I feel this incredible feeling building up inside me. The more I get preached to, the less I believe, the more I dislike. It's a peculiar feeling, really, when people insist they're not forcing anything on you, but then they don't give you any other choice either, so you're stuck in limbo and forever unhappy.

I'm not ready to worship a God who would send me to hell, as he would to anybody who isn't baptised.

Thursday, 4th November 2010

2010-11-04T23:37:00.004+08:00

It would be called Luna.

Protected by Milai, the great city of warriors, Luna is a gentle little town tucked away behind the woods, in the valley. The river runs right through it, and a cobblestone bridge hangs over the water. Bicycles cross over them, there would only be bicycles, no cars.

It would be inhabited by mimes, in their monotonous black and white, they would give each other flowers in the streets. They would smile their clown-red smiles, and always hold in one hand, a black suitcase, and in the other, a strawberry ice-cream cone. They would lick it as they went about town, about their lives, oblivious to the world and its problems.

There would be no war, no distress, no sadness. Each and every mime would be equal, each one polite, each one selfless and sensitive. Despite the ice-cream cones, they would remain skinny little things, clad in a black beret, shoes, gloves and a stripy skin-suit. Occasionally you would see a few carrying backpacks, only weighed down by art materials; paint, markers, coloured pencils, pastels, anything to make their art brilliant and colourful.

You'd think that they'd be so monotonous in their choice of colours, mimes, but no, their art has to, must be colourful. Mimes love colours. It makes them feel not quite part of this world. They paint their cute round-spherical houses shades of the brightest colours; red, green, orange, blue, purple, yellow, and delight in designing their own furniture that stick to the walls so that if need be, they'd be able to move their house to another part of town to, perhaps, be with their other half, the one they love.

Saturday, 30th October 2010

2010-10-31T00:22:00.002+08:00

Would you see beauty in such a face?

Love diminishing, he says, dying, dying.
7 months past.

I couldn't go. There's no closure. The nightmares won't go away.

A quote.

"They are the ones who will stay with you until you die." -Lecturer on the topic of Memory B cells, Immunology.

Who says Science isn't romantic?

Thursday, 28th October 2010

2010-10-28T23:09:00.002+08:00

Gnarly trunk, crooked branches,
great big fields of grass,
graceful leaves that fall to the ground,
orange pigment with hues of yellow
and pink, sun-cast sky and
calm serenity,
all there together in the lonely field.

Tuesday, 26th October 2010

2010-10-27T00:08:00.002+08:00

I feel tired and a little vicious.

Have been suffering from insomnia for the past few nights, and I feel awful, awful. I was still patient with the world, and couldn't have been more of a good girl than I had been today.

I memorised my scores, studied my subjects, revised my Maths, paid attention in class, held friendly conversations with people, met new people, practised my singing, waited for my Honey to finish his comm meeting to have dinner...
I feel like I've truly exhausted myself.

Yet.
Yet.

Why do I still find myself tossing around all night?

Monday, 25th October 2010

2010-10-25T08:01:00.002+08:00

Insomnia befell again last night.
As it did the night before.

Thoughts of you kept me awake.
I thought about us.
Not a wink of sleep.

Not a wink.

Saturday, 23rd October 2010

2010-10-24T00:33:00.002+08:00

It was dark there at night.

In absolute darkness, he felt himself shiver. The goosebumps appeared before the sneezing began. He felt cold and lonely and, having eaten his last meal the day before, heard his stomach protest noisily.

Suddenly, he saw them.
They were feathered, winged creatures, flying beneath the surface of the ocean. They glowed. Surely they couldn't fly, after all, they were underwater. Surely?
They continued to move in their flock, wing after wing after wing, their beaks swallowing the slippery fish as they went. The birds continued to fly until they disappeared into the distance, never once leaving the water.

His mind was an ocean.
He was but a drop, and for once felt so small in the vastness of the world. The rocks on the beach waved to him, it was time to go.

Opening his eyes, he found himself back in his room. The screen lit up in anticipation, it had been awaiting him for several hours now. He looked on eagerly, expecting an image to appear. Instead, he touched a hand, soft and warm, that extended from the screen.
It opened in invitation.

Thursday, 21st October 2010

2010-10-21T20:14:00.002+08:00

I've seen it before-

The same vacant gaze, the blank eyes with which they see, the open mouth, wet and drooling, the busy hands, the strained neck, the tiresome slouch, the shaking of legs.

Yes, it's the Gamer's Syndrome.

It applies to everything that has to do with staring at a screen. Televisions, computers, PSPs, mobile phones, small hand-held games, you name it, I've seen it. It's been too long, too long that I've been living around people with this syndrome, for me not to notice it at first glance.

The victims suffer from this syndrome in such a way that they enjoy it, and they neglect everything else. One has to be very careful whilst trying to engage in conversation with them while they are gaming, or watching television, for they would kill to continue their task. They would swat at you like some buzzing fly, or simply yell a bit.

This is a very dangerous syndrome.
Beware.

---
Meanwhile, I am rather happy.
The new term is starting on Monday, and I have new subjects, and that means new challenges. I get to stay in choir, which has 2 performances coming up, and I got the Cross Disciplinary Subjects I wanted. Since it was on a first-come, first-serve basis, being kiasu this time worked like a charm.
I'm taking French and Creative Writing.

Both of which, I think I'll do quite well at. I like languages, and I enjoy writing stories.
As impartial as I am towards the English language, here it is, being one of the few languages I'm marginally fluent in. I like to write, even though my characters tend to die. I have "Finding Neverland" to thank for that.
As for French, I kind of like the idea that I'm finally learning it in a classroom setting. It's a rather sensual language, if I may say so, and so deliciously fluid. As a singer I need to know French, German and Italian, and perhaps Latin as well, but the first three are priority. Grade 6 will require knowledge of the beautiful French language, so might as well learn it now. (Grade 5 has been conquered with Distinction!)
If all else fails, I'll be able to survive in France.

I've been learning Braille.
It's such a lovely, anal-retentive language. Every dot has to be in the right place, so precise, so clean on white paper. The language of the Blind. I love how they use their sense of touch for everything, even reading.
It's beautiful, beautiful.

Tuesday, 19th October 2010

2010-10-20T00:57:00.001+08:00

Piercings..

Hmm.
Hmmmmm.

Monday, 18th October 2010

2010-10-19T00:57:00.002+08:00

I can breathe again.

Over the past few days, I had to go through what I call "over-socialization", which was terribly exhausting, not to mention suffocating. I just felt the need to be alone, somewhere, anywhere else. I keep wanting to watch "Amadeus" but I always seem to face the lack of time.
It is exactly 1am.

ABRSM took pity on me and gave me a distinction for my Grade 5. I made it, although I think I did quite badly in my sight-singing and aural portion. Thankfully, the examiner was a nice man, and (probably) isn't a singer. Thank God.

And to my lovely Rabbit:

I miss you, you cute bunch of fur. Your long, pinkish ears that I like to tickle, your kisses that land even on my pyjamas, your bright eyes that gaze so lovingly. I miss your company; so quiet yet so strong, so graceful and gentle, never questioning, never unaccepting. Such a sweet face, such a sweet nature. Such a beautiful Rabbit. I miss you.

I miss you.

Sunday, 17th October 2010 (2)

2010-10-18T00:06:00.002+08:00

I had to endure half-a-tedious-hour of political talk aboard the taxi on the way home.

You know me, right?
I'm the last person on earth who wants anything to do with politics. I despise it. Some of you find it essential to livelihood in society, some of you even enjoy it. I ask myself, how? It's not that I'm an ignorant little twit who hasn't the least idea how to survive in an urban city, I just don't want to dabble in politics. It's not my style.

Politics seems to me to be all about corruption, assassinations, controlling, insisting that people live how you want them to, think how you want them to. If they don't and refuse, you give out orders to the guards and soldiers to capture or kill. Wars start from the smallest spark of the stupidest argument between two people. Millions get killed.
Racism, sexism, homophobia, anything that has to do with someone disliking another for various stupid reasons. Religion, views, skin-colour, clothing, the list is endless.
It's like how my parents would die when they finally realise that most of my good friends aren't Chinese.

Well, go to blazes.
I live the way I want to, and to hell with people who are racist.

To hell with people who think "it is essential for all the youngsters to know about current affairs and be involved in politics". To hell with people who think "youngsters nowadays only care about their friends and the latest pop-stars". To hell with people who think "youngsters nowadays don't think as logically and smartly as the older generation". To hell with people who think "youngsters are just so ignorant nowadays".

Assholes.

Sunday, 17th October 2010

2010-10-17T23:00:00.002+08:00

I feel like disappearing.

I want to get away. I want to be there.
Time passes so slowly now, why can't it fly by faster?

Everyone's around the table, eating now. I feel full and left-out. Is it just me? Maybe I want to be left out. I like these people, I enjoy time with them, they have good humour, they are intelligent. They can hold serious conversations when they want to.

So why do I feel the need to be alone?

Saturday, 16th October 2010

2010-10-17T02:12:00.000+08:00

Friday, 15th October 2010

2010-10-15T23:42:00.002+08:00

It has its grip on me. Its grip is strong and firm, gentle, but with swift movement can crush me to bloody bits.

I wore my best dress out today. I left the house feeling at the top of the world, and went home feeling like lowly crap. There are new fears. It will be some time until I eat xiao long bao or catch a movie with anyone again.

I hate to cry. It was not therapeutic this time, just plain frustrating. I just wanted to get away, to leave, to go home and hide in my room forever, then I'd probably just starve to death and it would all be over.

But.
I was brave. I stuck it out. I'm so difficult to love.

Oh, Oscar. I want to be there so badly. Away from here, these people, these places, these habits, these fears. What is the price of freedom?

Am I too poor to pay?

Wednesday, 13th October 2010 (2)

2010-10-13T19:55:00.002+08:00

You know, the world is hypocritical.

They say love has no boundaries, across race, across religion, across gender, across age, across status, across beliefs, across opinions.

Then, they insist that someone of religion A has to marry someone of religion A, or convert, or the other will go to Hell. They insist that someone of race B has to marry someone of race B, no argument, no questions asked. The people who choose to do otherwise will then be shunned by society, as if they'd done something disgraceful.

I hate people.

To Hell with them. If I love someone, I love someone.
If the world bred across boundaries, there would be no more racism, no more people against a certain religion, because everybody down the line would be mixed equally. Nobody would be able to discriminate against another.
Why would you have to consider if someone is Catholic or Christian before accepting your love for them? Why should you have to think about somebody's skin colour before you make friends with them? Even people of the same religious roots don't like one another.
What have you to say about it? Do you feel the pride?

I feel so sad.

Wednesday, 13th October 2010

2010-10-13T10:47:00.001+08:00

Oh, Oscar.

I want to be there, but it seems so far away.

Tuesday, October 12th 2010

2010-10-12T11:56:00.003+08:00

I don't have enough good books.

Just yesterday, I dug through my entire storeroom. I found books, all right, but I've read them all so many times before. Well, except the one Harry Potter book I have. I remember trying to read the first two pages but t'was simply too boring, so I gave up on reading it forever.

I've finished E.M. Forster's "Maurice", and Oscar Wilde's "Picture of Dorian Gray". I can't bear to finish his book of dark fairy tales. People around me seem to be reading Jodi Picoult and the Twilight series but I can't seem to fathom why. Worse, some don't even read. Not to say I didn't try, I read the first book of Twilight, and the language seemed to me rather disappointing. The plot was, meh.

I find myself clamouring after more timeless classics or, at least, good fiction. I need good books. I've outgrown Jacqueline Wilson, I'm hungry for something more. I love Jostein Gaarder's work, and Roald Dahl is great, though I haven't gotten round to reading his more adult work yet, apart from "Skin". I want to read more of Stephen Fry's books, they intrigue me. Right now I've just picked up my sister's new copy of "The Life of Pi", and soon I hope to buy some John Steinbeck and the novel "Perfume".

God, why didn't Oscar Wilde write more books?!

Sunday, 10th October 2010

2010-10-10T22:00:00.003+08:00

It has come to my stark realisation that I may not end up at the University of Edinburgh after all.

Last night, on my way home, I had a conversation with the taxi-driver about education standards, and I think it infiltrated into my sub-conscious mind. I dreamt about some upsetting things last night.

Early this morning, I awoke to look up admission criteria online. Strange that they consider students with a Poly GPA of 3.0-3.5, while they only take 'A' level students with about 6As or more. However, Trinity College, Dublin, has lower standards, and I actually don't mind going there, too. Of course, my aim will remain Edinburgh, but if something should happen and I don't make it there, I'll welcome Dublin with all my heart.

What worries me is that I'll feel some sort of guilt going overseas. I'm worried, I'm worried. Should 2012 really occur, that would save me a lot of trouble, a lot to think about.
I yearn to be there, far away from here, far, far away from all these people, and being able to lead a life that's mine, to go where I want, to visit Oscar Wilde's grave, to stay at Medical School to draw specimens in my sketchbook till I feel like going home.

It sounds selfish. I have someone else to think about, but I can't help yearning to be there. I hope he can come with me, so we can set out on this adventure together.

Dear God, please help me get past this semester and move on to the next. Now that I know what it's like and what to do, I think I'll do much better than I did. Please help me, God, please help me stay alive through this.

I yearn to be there.

Saturday, October 9th 2010

2010-10-09T11:48:00.003+08:00

He climbs up a steep, smooth slope, his feet slapping against the surface. He takes a few steps, and then falls into a dark, moist hole.
"Where am I," he wonders.

*COUGH SPUTTER SPUTTER*

Thursday, October 7th 2010

2010-10-07T23:31:00.002+08:00

Feeling so distant tonight.

I find I'm learning to auto-censor my thoughts again. I can live with it, I won't die if I don't say what I want to.

Our body fights so hard to keep us alive, and yet, we abuse it day after day.

When I was younger, I had a fantasy;
My world would have nobody else in it.

If people didn't know what love was, would they feel deprived of it?

"She's silently defiant"

Joy was the only one who gave me a hug every morning so that I would face the day without fear.

Ice cream, fudge and cookies = mudpie!

"She has to be baptised, do you want her to go to hell?"

Monday, 4th October 2010

2010-10-04T20:36:00.001+08:00

Feeling... detached.

detached

detached

Friday, 1st October 2010

2010-10-02T00:32:00.002+08:00

A few days alone.

She'd time aplenty to think, in a dark room, with nary a sound. Occasionally, a few notes escaped from within her, a constant furrow upon her forehead, her eyes fixated upon the sheets of formulae and questions, endlessly, endlessly doing.

The blood drummed in her head as she racked her brains. Why couldn't she get it? The others made it look so simple, so effortless. It wasn't fair, all the work she put in seemed to slip through the grills like sand. They kept her locked in her own prison.

If only the others knew her secret.

Sunday, 26th September 2010

2010-09-26T18:16:00.002+08:00

The clear night sky was a mixture of indigo and gold, the stars glittering invitingly like treasure. Having just finished his evening prayers, he set about preparing the fire for dinner. "One, two, ...," he hit the rocks together, and sparks began to fly. With a crackle, the dry wooden sticks ignited, and a warm orange glow washed over everything nearby.

He set up the pot over the fire to boil the water while he prepared the ingredients for the stew. His trusty mule, Shera, lay comfortably by the dancing flame. It was getting cold out, and temperatures of blistering height plunged considerably. He diced the vegetables and the dried camel meat and threw them into the pot with some salt and pepper.

"Isn't this night a beauty, my dear?"
Shera turned to look at him, her mouth still chewing on the carrot he had fed her earlier. He walked over and kissed her on the nose, then proceeded to cut the bread.
It had gone a little stale now, they had yet to embark on their weekly visit to the market. The Arabs were always extra kind to him, allowing him discounts, but they could never understand why anyone would want to live in the middle of a desert.

What they didn't know, of course, was that he loved this life. Every atom of his being craved adventure, and he took pleasure in suffering for it. The company of Shera was all he needed, he disliked having other people's expectations to live up to. This was freedom.

Dinner was ready now and eagerly, he ladled himself a big bowlful, but not before he gave Shera her dinner of mixed vegetables and hay. He sat by the fire, the bowl and bread on his lap. "Bon appetit, Shera," he said to the mule, who was already tucking in. Then, he savoured slowly, his warm dinner of stew and bread, inhaling the aroma as he did so.

Ah, what a beautiful feeling. He sat in the warmth of the fire, enjoying his dinner under the star-speckled sky. He was what he had always dreamt of being; a nomad, an adventurer, a survivor. He was beyond reach in the world, and nothing could dissuade him from wanting to die this way.

After dinner, feeling comfortably full and warm, he decided to retire to his tent. He left Shera by the fire with a big bowl of water and then snuggled in the sleeping-bag. It had been his for as long as he could remember, and from it he derived comfort.

Staring up into the darkness of the tent, he smiled to himself when he heard Shera start to snore. In his last conscious moments, he gave thanks for the day and, wearing a silly grin, drifted off to the land of dreams.

Saturday, 25th September 2010

2010-09-26T00:54:00.002+08:00

I feel like typing about so many different things, but I don't feel up to it tonight. I don't have the heart to do it, and my brain simply refuses.

Yes, my expression is that of Philippe Jaroussky's in the photo above, hands and all.
Big headache. God, this is just so damn difficult.

I stood at the water's edge today, just looking at the sea and sky. I thought about how I love water, and how so many of my characters have died in it. I thought about my 'O' Level Art coursework, about the wave of nails engulfing the girl at the edge of the cliff. I thought about the man who stayed looking at his own body at the bottom of the ocean. I thought about the man who burned his house into a frozen lake. I thought about the deaf man who heard his own laughter at the bottom of a swimming pool. I thought about the poet/writer who leaped off a cliff. I thought about the man who drowned himself in a fountain.

I don't know why all my characters die. Sometimes, it scares me, because when I read the stories I wrote, I find a lot of myself in them. This is the poet/writer who questioned himself on his fall from glory after all his stories ended with death. He didn't know why, he didn't know how. It just felt the right way to end it.
He got depressed, he went insane. There was no other way to end it, and so he stood atop a cliff, gazing down at the deep, dark ocean beckoning to him.

And leaped.

Friday, 24th September 2010

2010-09-25T00:30:00.001+08:00

I will not give up.

I will not be disheartened.

I will keep going, keep going.

Monday, 20th September 2010

2010-09-21T01:03:00.002+08:00

When my choir went to Riva del Garda, Italy to participate in an international choir competition in 2008, we got to sing at a church for our Sacred Music category.

I remembered it tonight on the way home. She told me once that I should try singing in a high-roofed church or cathedral. It didn't occur to me then that I did. It struck me tonight out of the blue, while walking along the pavement.
I dreamt of her again last night.

I remember being at Riva del Garda.
The church was beautiful and silent, save for the occasional shuffling of feet and people in their seats. It was a quiet, respectful kind of worship. The marble angels lined the walls, and they gazed down upon us from above. It was cold outside, but cosy and warm in the church, where the candles flickered softly. They hung from the ceiling, they were placed at the altar, beside the door, along the walls. The sound of our singing was beautiful as it echoed through the church.

I wanted to live in that moment forever.
Take me back.

Sunday, 19th September 2010

2010-09-19T09:56:00.003+08:00

It went well!

Even though it was foreseen.
The food, the cake, the games, the BBQ sauce fight all went well, and I must say, I'm proud of myself. I stayed up till 3am baking that cake, and awoke early again the next morning to bake the pasta, then met with Jo to cook the clam chowder.
It was a German Apple Cake, with added hazelnuts and cinnamon sugar.

A few people didn't turn up, though, that made me a bit upset, but it went all right after all.

I have this urge to buy those little Sesame Street plushies from Cheers. It used to cost $5.90, or $3.90, from what I remember, and it's now $1.90! I like almost all the characters. No, not a fan of Elmo. Bert, Ernie, Grover, Cookie Monster, Oscar are all pretty cute.

After cooking and slaving away at the stove and oven without sufficient sleep yesterday, I found $10 on the floor while walking. Hahaha, must be my, er, reward. Thank you, God! :D

Last but not least,
Happy Birthday, dearest! I hope you like Part 1 of the gift! Heh heh, Part 2 shall come later! I wish you a wonderful day, can't wait to see you later ;)

Wednesday, 15th September 2010

2010-09-16T00:05:00.002+08:00

An echo reached his ears as he set foot in the cathedral. Lined with marble angels, saints and paintings, it seemed more like a glorified art gallery, save for the countless pews that were painstakingly aligned.
The smell of vanilla lingered in the air, it wafting from the candles that surrounded the stone figure of the Virgin Mary. Her eyes, though empty and white, seemed to gaze upon onlookers lovingly.

Catedral de Malaga had always been his refuge, his sanctuary. He had first gone there as a little boy, when his mother was still alive. She had taken him to mass one autumn, when the ground was still covered with an orange blanket. He liked to jump in the leafy piles and feel the crunch beneath his feet.

She'd never forced him to believe, but it grew on him anyway. He quite liked the quiet solitude he found whenever he sat at the pews, alone with his thoughts and prayers. Nobody insisted on baptism, nobody insisted that he join the rest of them. He discovered that he enjoyed the masses held, and acquired the habit of saying Grace before his daily soup and bread.

Now seated at a pew, he began to run through his daily prayers, his lips silent but moving. His hands clasped a gold-and-white rosary, his fingers deftly handling each bead as he progressed. The town bells tolled for midnight.
He would be 36 today.

Finishing his prayers, a sudden urge came over him. He let out a muffled sound, a cross between a laugh and cry. The sad hilarity of it all finally hit him. Who'd have guessed that he would end up here?

Such a grand cathedral, ceilings gold and pillars cream, the scent of vanilla complimented it perfectly. He took out a palm-sized bottle and began walking towards the altar. The countless marble figures gazed at him curiously as he passed them, a slightly worried expression upon their faces.
Pausing for a moment, he uncorked the bottle of kerosene in his hand, and proceeded towards the vanilla-scented sticks of wax. The flame atop each one flickered furtively as he approached, as if threatened by the flammable liquid.

Watching them, a grin drew itself across his face, mouth stretched, pupils dilated as he brought the bottle to his lips. He let the bitter liquid trail down his throat into his stomach and, finishing the last of it, dropped the bottle and reached for a candle.

Saturday, 11th September 2010

2010-09-12T02:32:00.003+08:00

The night was quiet in the small Spanish square. Few people were about, the last for the day; the bakers were cleaning their counter-tops, the butchers were storing their meat, the civilians were long gone, all safely tucked up in bed, whiling time away in slumber to await the next sunrise.

He stood alone. They'd have all left, not that he minded solitude. The fountain was all that was in his line of sight.

The fountain. Centerpiece of the square, it was built in the 1800s. Carved of white marble, lined with golden leafings, it was worn by age. A long crack ran perpendicular to the second tier where the French motar struck. Its age only seemed to make it grander.

The marble angels perched precariously atop the fountain. Each had a kindly expression, ready to serve, ready to save. He stood, gazing at them, a worried furrow on his brow. The white columns supporting the tiers looked sturdy enough.

Kicking off his shoes and peeling off his socks, he stepped into the cold fountain, its waters clear. He wriggled his toes.
Yes, he could feel the cold between them. He waded forward towards the center of the huge fountain where the second tier stood, and heaved himself upon the rim. Seated upon it now, he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a silver crucifix. She had given it to him several weeks ago, before she left. Since then, he had visited her grave for hours each day, oblivious to time.

He fingered the long, delicate chain that was hers, and then slowly placed it on his tongue. It tasted metallic, but salty, as he closed his mouth around it. Then, with a soft smile, he immersed himself in the clear water, his clothes getting heavier as they absorbed the liquid.

From beneath the surface, he opened his eyes to gaze at the night sky. The stars were waiting for him.
He smiled and took a deep breath.

Tuesday, 7th September 2010

2010-09-07T13:40:00.002+08:00

It was Insulin.

Why didn't I write that, then?!

Well, that's over. I've had 3 hours of sleep for the past two days. The urge to collapse is so great, but I won't let myself. I can't. I need to study.

Finally caught my breath. 20 minutes to sit at the computer to blog, and then the tuition teacher will be here for Organic Chemistry. That's what it'll be tomorrow, Organic Chemistry.
Inorganic Chemistry and Human Anatomy are done. Last night's studying was torture. I could've given up, I wanted to give up halfway and go to bed, but no, no, there would be guilt. At least I can say I tried my best. It's over now, time to look to tomorrow.

Most worried about Organic Chemistry. Determined to get 8 whole hours of sleep tonight, so gotta rush it all before 11. I need my sleep, I'm half-dead. Half my class turned up the same way this morning, all lost sleep over the past few days. I don't know what to expect. I hope I do well.

No more time. Back to work.

Saturday, 4th September 2010

2010-09-05T01:29:00.002+08:00

iLin says:

But oh, I love you honey!
I miss your warm body next to mine!
I miss your lips
I miss your smile
I miss your laugh
I miss your beautiful hair
I miss your hands
I miss your hug
I even miss your towering height over me
I wish, how I wish you were here with me :)

David says:

Aww Honey!
you utterly smelting furnace, melting this tub of lard of your boyfriend

David Ennobleaux:

Hello Xiu Lin. Y'know, I think my girlfriend is the mostest beautifulest girl in the world. Silently captivating, stunningly adorable, and yes, yes yes, verily lovely. :D

Wednesday, 1st September

2010-09-01T17:44:00.002+08:00

Where is my comfort?

I feel like such a hypocrite.
You know how I always talk about giving and sacrificing, about how society is so selfish and cold? Have I been kidding myself all these months?

I was never this selfish before. Why have I turned out this way?
My face is hot, the tears are gushing. Disappointment undisguised, maybe I am human after all.
Human like every other selfish person in this virulent world.

I never looked at death this way. "If it's time to die, it's time to die" just doesn't cut it anymore. This emotional roller-coaster is threatening to engulf me, suffocating and bloodthirsty. How does one survive?

He slammed the door, which suddenly reminded me of Dad. Dad has taken to kicking it, although he has been rather sweet these few days. I haven't been home for dinner in months. I'm chasing after freedom but it still evades me. I don't know what to do.

Help me, help me.

Saturday, 28th August 2010

2010-08-29T00:29:00.002+08:00

I had so many things I wanted to type about tonight, but when I watched this, all the petty little things just went away.

My tear ducts have been working overtime lately, and the taps wouldn't stop gushing when I watched this about 5 minutes ago. This emotional roller-coaster is undoubtedly exhausting, but I'll deal with it somehow.

Watching this video just filled my blood vessels with warmth, my heart with love, my mind with smiles. It just struck me hard, because it stands for what I believe in:
The elderly only grow old if they let themselves.

I don't know how many times I've reflected on this. Society has always categorised us, making us conform to the standards it sets. You think I haven't been told all that before?

"So old already, why still watch cartoons?" "How old already, still play with toys?" "LEGO is only for babies, you know?" "Aren't you too old for this?" "Where got girl have short hair one?"

Who's to say that adults can't play with toys, that teenagers can't watch cartoons, that girls can't have short hair, that the elderly can't play in puddles?
Childhood seems so far away now, but that doesn't mean I push it away, thinking that I'm "too old" for something. No, childhood is to be embraced.

You never know when life will end.

Tuesday, 24th August 2010

2010-08-25T01:07:00.002+08:00

Le promesse che abbiamo fatto,
amore mio,
sono quelle che abbiamo terremo per sempre.
Mi manca il tuo abbraccio, mi manca il tuo bacio.
Te amo, caro miele :)

Sunday, 22nd August 2010

2010-08-23T01:49:00.003+08:00

She thought she was going to die of sorrow.

They shot through her veins, in her blood, poisoning her. Her tears rolled ceaselessly as she tried to keep it all in.
Bitter, bitter sorrow.

And yet, as the night went along, what had to be said had been said, what was left to forgive was forgiven, what there was to love was loved.
Indeed, love is the greatest power, not death.

She is now at peace.

Thursday, 19th August 2010 (2)

2010-08-20T00:50:00.002+08:00

She stood precariously at the edge, waiting, just waiting for that shove. A little one was all she needed, her heels teetering on the concrete ledge. The others flew high above her in the Spanish square, filling the air with a chorus of chirps. She glanced down again.

It was quite a drop from the top of the bell tower. The sun, friendly and warm, embraced the square with his rays. She felt the warmth on her soft feathered back while she pondered.

It had happened before; her wings always saved her from the fearsome jaws of death. She had leapt off that same bell tower too many times before, but her feathered, light but strong structure always opened against the wind beneath her, swooping her away from the cold, hard concrete so far below.

She smiled.
They won't be able to save her this time.
Only hours ago had she chanced upon some string at the market square, abandoned but still good. The woolen twine was short, there was just enough to tie both wings together. Siesta was always the best time of day, when the stallholders closed their shops and left behind scraps of food to pick at. Sweet melons, small strips of meat, even berries that rolled astray.

The others were picking at them now, feasting greedily. The chirping subsided as they ate, to a murmur barely audible. She got ready to leap, and then sprang forward in one swift movement.

Falling, her wings struggled in their bound state, straining at the twine to break free, but no, the string, however flimsy it seemed, had the strength of a thousand hands. They bound her and they did so tightly, and she fell to the ground, her eyes wide open, her pupils smiling.

Thursday, 19th August 2010

2010-08-20T00:03:00.002+08:00

The hospital was breathtaking.

Breathtaking not just in the sense of beauty, but in the environment and order as well. I visited it for the first time today, and got to see the wards. Long, seemingly endless corridors stretched everywhere I turned, the smell of pee lingered in the air. Countless rooms were listed at the lifts, there was even a mortuary.

When I entered the wards, I saw countless beds occupied by elderly patients, each one with a different diagnosis, different drips hanging from above, different machines attached to them. The ward was dim, but there was a constant soft beeping of the heart-rate machines. I tried to imagine a whole team of doctors and nurses rushing around with patients in their beds, wheeling them at top speed to the emergency unit. It all looked so orderly, it was difficult to imagine chaos.

I felt like I was suddenly sucked into "Scrubs". It's strange to think that I'll work in that environment one day. In any case, I hope to be the surgeon or the doctor, not the patient.
I think I was like a child in a candy factory, a child who had never eaten any candy. My eyes wide and my mouth agape, I stood in awe of that beautifully intimidating place, lost in thought, lost in fantasy.

It was a much-needed jolt of inspiration, thanks so much.

Tuesday, 17th August 2010

2010-08-18T01:07:00.002+08:00

"Yet he was doing a fine thing- proving on how little the soul can exist. Fed neither by Heaven nor by Earth he was going forward, a lamp that would have been blown out, were materialism true. He hadn't a God, he hadn't a lover- the two usual incentives to virtue. There was no one to watch him, nor did he watch himself, but struggles like his are the supreme achievements of humanity, and surpass any legends about Heaven.
No reward awaited him. This work, like much that had gone before, was to fall ruining. But he did not fall with it, and the muscles it had developed remained for another use."

I had a fantasy in my youth. Perhaps I shouldn't call it that- it was but 2 years ago. I imagined an ideal world with nobody else in it, leaving me free to walk the Earth, wherever I pleased, whenever I pleased. I would live with animals, and I would wear whatever I wanted. I could have gone nude, had I so desired. The freedom is appealing in a way that this world could never deliver to me.
Freedom is gone, banished from society to the pits of earth and stone. Fatigue eats away at me as I type, my senses falling asleep one by one.

Going.. Going.. Gone.

Monday, 16th August 2010

2010-08-17T00:31:00.002+08:00

"It was all so complicated.
When love flies it is remembered not as love but as something else. Blessed are the uneducated, who forget it entirely, and are never conscious of folly or pruriency in the past, of long aimless conversations." -'Maurice' by E.M. Forster

In Secondary School, sex was a sacred topic, unbroached, undiscussed. It amused greatly those who attempted to open the discussion, which was always more or less dismissed as rumours. It seemed that the people around me then never really sought to satisfy their curiosity by hankering after literature in the subject.

Strange, that.
Were people simply afraid? And, of what? One shouldn't have to fear another on this Earth, even though society took upon itself, the role of banishing anyone who disagreed with its views, behind bars.

We are at the age when we experience many new and unfamiliar things- things that scare us, things that delight us, things that upset us, things that excite us. Yet, what keeps us from going insane are things we call "belief", "values", "trust", "morals", "respect".

What does it really mean to respect someone?

Wednesday, 11th August 2010

2010-08-12T00:53:00.002+08:00

Freedom.

Freedom means so many things to so many different people.

To a prisoner, freedom means walking freely, without being under the scrutiny of guards, to be able to do what he wants, when he wants, to be able to walk where he wants, sleep when he wants, talk to his loved ones without having to fill out forms.

To a child, freedom means playing whenever she wants, to be able to have fun and yet, be taken seriously instead of being pushed aside.

To a student, freedom means studying to her limits, to juggle studying and other activities of interest, to be able to go home to acceptance, support and comfort.

To a teenager, freedom means being trusted by his parents to manage his time between friends, studies, love and life. Freedom means staying out past curfew and going out without being questioned.

To a working adult, freedom means having a job he enjoys, to be able to chat with his peers, colleagues and bosses. To be able to keep within schedule comfortably, to separate work and life at home.

To an elder, freedom means being young at heart, to walk without a stick, to have joints that don't swell and hurt with every move.

To a foreign citizen, freedom means the ability to vote and have a say in the country's well being, government and decisions. To be recognised as a country's own, instead of someone different and apart.

To a couple, freedom means the ability to love without reserve, without factors such as race, beliefs, gender or age. To be able to see each other without fear, to be able to stick together after arguments, to be able to accept each other instead of trying to change.

Freedom.

Tuesday, 10th August 2010

2010-08-11T00:49:00.004+08:00

Tu sei il vento che sussurra, che canta agli alberi
che fa frusciare le foglie di gioia
e fa i fiori a danzare al suono brillante

Nei giorni di pioggia si tiene in mano un pennarello
per disegnare un sorriso sul mio viso
di tenere la mia mano nella tua, come ci troviamo ad affrontare la vita insieme

Vieni, rimani con me
aiuto quando cado
per voi siete la luce del mio mondo
il mio amore
il mio amore

Sunday, 8th August 2010

2010-08-09T00:07:00.001+08:00

"God won't send you to hell just because you don't convert."

"Yes, he will."