When I look into your eyes
I can see a love restrained
But darlin' when I hold you
Don't you know I feel the same
'Cause nothin' lasts forever
And we both know hearts can change
And it's hard to hold a candle
In the cold November rain
Siren's Song
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
In the lady's infinite book of secrecy, Lies a bleeding heart so frail. Yet on the surface lies a caricature of intimacy, Engage in play at your own peril.
So sharp are the shards of her broken memories, Her wrath seethes and sears. So intense are the many savageries, Her insides are icy with tears.
Is it icy tears, or is tears of ice? Fathom who on why she cries? Who hurt her and why so deep That she has no peace even in her sleep?
Amuse you, yes, she does that at will, Amidst her shrieks and screams so shrill. If cease will everything, and everything will cease, "Please cease tease", and cease tease please.
9:48 PM
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
nowhere would i wanna be, other than around you, in a fairy tale scene kings and queens and princesses in pink and peter pan with his mischievous wink not forgetting tinkerbell's fairy dust and of course, the witches, and their wicked spells; yet in another life and in another place demons twirl and swirl with unholy grace entrapped, enchained; a damned princess in black lace
9:02 PM
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Would the candlelights and wine conspire, And bend the night to my heart's desire? But if the stars in heavens above could speak, Would they not chastise me like the soft and weak:- "My dear, Lust is just a bloody fire".
12:12 AM
Monday, October 22, 2007
Behold the broken dolly, hanging by her neck; So fragile, that at the softest touch, the dolly's skin would crack. Crack it would, and crack it will, So much pain that blood will spill. - Yet not a sound from dolly, neither scream nor shrill.
11:23 PM
Thursday, March 25, 2004
There's no need to check this site for updates anymore. I'm done with this repository of lost thoughts. It's time to start anew.
Sunday, March 21, 2004
There is no time. I can only hope everything turns out well. I'm so incredibly screwed up now that it's almost farcical.
Have I meddled too much with corporate affairs? Have I caused waves of ripples that ultimately rebound off the wall and hit me? Have I painted a much too glossy picture of myself and my qualifications? Have I...
There is nothing to worry about right now. No, there isn't. (I hope.)
All I know is that... there is no time. Walls are closing in to crush and gnaw my bones.
I'm so overwhelmed by the sequence of events right now that... I can't recognize where they stem from anymore.
And I am not free to blog. I am not. I seldom blog about my academic pursuits, nor my concrete, tangible aspirations. Those are not words to be put down for show or bold exhibits of a hubristic egomaniac, and are kept in an intricate box in a little corner in my heart. Traces of Net presence is alright, not too much, or they might incriminate you and get you into undesirable circumstances.
Where can I flush out such noisome thoughts? Who is close enough to understand them, and regard and analyze them from a netural, sagely point of view, and not be overwhelmed or sodden by my self-absorbed catharsis?
A friend, set me thinking last night. About what he has told me; about what others have told me. It's just a realization, nothing much. But I'll accept it with Zen-esque peace.
Did I speak to my baah-baah last night? I think I did, but I can't remember what we talked about. Was I in a state of sleep daze? Does natural rest shut down my mental faculties as much as alcohol does to many others, so much so that I'm not even aware of the happenings around me?
Saturday, March 20, 2004
No, I haven't gone on a week-long hiatus from writing. Well, I had a strange encounter of the fourth kind, sort of.
The whole bizarre incident took place last Saturday. As I was in my infamous fetal position on my ever-so-ooooooh-laaa-laaa bed, under the cool comfort of the twirling ceiling fan, in the ultimate inviting position for Mister Sandman to sprinkle some sleeping dust into my eyes, I thought I saw this dark amorphous entity floating through my wide-opened windows. Yes, somehow I perceived this perturbance in the fabric of reality through my lipid-laden, tightly-closed eyelids. I felt this electrifying jolt of fear/nausea. I prayed and I prayed, and to the best of my ability, I tried to appear relaxed and soundly asleep, in fear of provoking the goodness-knows-what thing that's lurking in my room.
It touched me. That thing, touched me. It wasn't the usual sensation of being touched by something concrete, solid, and tangible, but rather, a totally different experience brought about by an entirely out-of-this-world seventh sense. I also felt its noisome breath heaving against my cheeks, and I was scared shit.
Until... it squeaked, "Harloe?"
*blink blink blink* Yes, I did blink under my eyelids. Don't bother asking me how I did that. I just did.
I opened my eyes and I saw It. A cute lil' creature that's shocking pink all over, and for that matter, glowing like a 15 000V neon sign. It's... well... erms... very well-rounded. In fact, just picture a really spherical entity - a sphere for its body, spherical arms and spherical legs, spherical head, spherical eyes spherical everything. It's like a globule of many brightly-coloured plasticine balls. Even its teeth are spherical, if they can be considered teeth at all. I mean, how can one chew with lil' balls?
"Can I please have some toothpaste or mouthwash?", it squeaked.
I stared at it for another five seconds or so before pointing to my shower basket under my bed. Then it bashfully drifted down and yanked out my tube of Colgate, and then drifted out of the open window, and then drift back five minutes later.
"Thank you! I have had that stinking bad breath for a while. Now my teeth's sparkly clean again! In return for your favour, I would like to invite you to my world."
And so I went with it. And it was a full seven days before I returned.
Tuesday, March 09, 2004
Candlelight. Scent of vanilla. Overpowering. Intoxicating.
My room.
Me.
Brrrrrring. Sign in.
Magic.
Him.
in my dreams i seek the solace that only he can give -
a shelter from the storm, a mad man's heaven, a soul's reprieve
in my living nightmare i see no light
neither a sliver of a cresent nor a star, just the vast emptiness of an endless night
Saturday, March 06, 2004
Current music: FEE FI FO - Cranberries
Current mood: Reflective
Some songs whisk me into a whirlpool of glaring, disjointed thoughts. They say that the eye of a tornado is eerily peaceful - no sound, no tumult, no roaring winds and hammering downpours of rain. I feel as though I'm protected within the eye in the middle of a maelstrom of events sometimes. Totally cut off from the world. Detached from my own confusing, perturbing, entangled and messy brainwaves. I lock myself up in a Faraday's cage, and sit there induling and at times analyzing my own thoughts. No distraction from the hustle and bustle outside; no pesky kar-jiaoing from my own thoughts.
Fee Fi Fo is still playing on and on in a seemingly never-ending loop, leading me to wrestle with certain thoughts about sticky issues that most people aren't comfortable to talk about.
Ruining a child's mind is worse than killing her. =)
Will her neurons be hypersensitized to everything and anything that goes on around her after an assault, such that she starts seeing things in colour - in all tinges and hues of blue and red and green and gold and silver -, reacts explosively to vile olfactory traces that reminds her of the assailant, or squirms in disgust and bites and slashes and claws at anyone's touch?
Or, will her lil' soul be robbed from the brutality of a conscious and awake world, such that only her mortal shell remains? Will "losing colour, losing life" be brought to another level, such that she, being so immensely traumatized, perceives the world in only black and white?
Along the MRT ride home yesterday I recalled a Hongkong serial screened on TV a few years ago. A brilliant girl was raped just before the release of her results. She committed suicide by flinging herself off her flat which was twenty-something stories high. The whole court broke down when her case was heard - she scored 7 As.
It's partially true that all life on earth is governed by two invisible underlying forces - sex and death. All of us, including plants and insects and elephants and whales, live to have sex and die - to propagate our genes and make sure that our species survive to perpetuity. If sex is not an agreeable act of passion between two consenting adults, then the reproductive affairs takes place under coercion: Male elephant seals rape their female young. Cute lil furballs of rabbits do that too.
Nature in the raw, red in tooth and claw. =)
Sometimes I wonder if all our faults and disabilities are ordained by nature. And that the sweet work of Mother Nature is really a grotesque and ugly picture loosely pieced together by our dark natures.
Current music: Hoobastank - The Reason
Current mood: Enamored
he's not the first to tell me he wants to try make the relationship work
he's not the first to tell me he loves me
he's not the first to tell me i mean the world to him
he's not the first to speak about the future with me
he's not the first to ask if i would like to walk down the aisle with him
but...
he's the first person i want to try make the relationship work with
he's the first person i want to believe that he loves me
he's the first person i want to mean the world to him
he's the first person i want to spend the rest of my life with
he's the first person i want to walk down the aisle with
there has been a radical change in the tide of things that are going on around us.
more and more, day by day, i seem to sink deeper into my own thoughts, to care more about my own feelings, and become increasingly self-absorbed in the considerations for my own emotions and my alone.
it's time i change. wake myself and smell the coffee. to disregard myself and see only him.
does anyone remember patch adams? the scene which an old man asked robin williams how many fingers he saw on his hand. until the old man told williams to look beyond the problem, he saw four fingers. it's only by casting the line of vision beyond what's immediately and directly in front of you then can you see the answer, or eight fingers.
it's hard to go through such rough patches and raw conversations. but no one said it's gonna be easy.
i've found a reason for me, to change who i used to be
a reason to start over new, and the reason is you
i've found a reason to show a side of me you didnt know
a reason for all that i do, and the reason is you
i hear him whisper "i am happy" into my ears again. i wanna see his bambi eyes bright with tears of joy and contentment.
i wanna see eight fingers. with him, by my side.
8:08 AM
Friday, February 27, 2004
My latest MSN handle - Cordell. I love the Cranberries. They are poignant in a dark, gothic manner. Dolores O'Riordan. Uncanny resemblance to dolorous (i.e. causing, marked by, or expressing misery or grief), don't you think? The band's songs are so full of angst and suppression, exalting and glorifying death and departure from this mortal realm in a resigned way, laced with peace and acceptance.
Something inside me died. It means true. Something inside me did die. It's not a tear-jerking bawl-at-awake kinda death representative of the reluctance to let go of something that was once yours. Rather, it is a just is kinda death. Like switching off a brilliant incandescent lamp; like snuffing out a softly glowing candle flame. Truncated. Abruptly ended. Death.
bad.
I remember an incident long, long ago. Me, my mom, and a Nintendo game. I did something bad. I killed my Mom's interest in a game. Never did she touch the console again. Never. Not even after so many years.
Sometimes, like her, I feel something die inside me. Losing colour, losing life. Nothing left but a mesh of dead grey matter. How is it that someone can like something so much, yet lose all interest in it in an instant. What immense pressure and shock can tip the scale and push a person over the edge? Are feelings for another person governed by the same laws, and subjected to the same frailties?
Thursday, February 26, 2004
I took a long walk, and thought many thoughts. He left me with a battle field of neuronal firing, but not the one he thinks I'm bothered by.
How am I to remove the razor sharp edge that the florid words manifested from my mental congestion hold?
Would it be better to tell him my intentions, which may or may not find favour with him, or would it be better if I informed him of my actions only after I have executed my plans?
I have no idea. Seriously. My mind is in a flurry now. Yeses, noses, and maybes are swirled, twirled and tumbled in a maelstrom that threatens to completely take over my mind. How can it not be? I made an agreement to open up to him. I made an agreement to tell him certain things before they lose special meaning to me. But they do. They will. I tried to remind him subtly, gently, that there are certain things that I wanna do. Maybe they are too subtle and too gentle to get through. Maybe they aren't significant enough. I promised to help, and I did. But I guess I failed. The obvious thing to do would be to tell him point-blank, but things wouldn't be the same anymore, would they? Yet, I haven't found a way to tell him the things I want him to know, to say the correct words and to put across my message in the most innocuous and edgeless way.
When the time comes for me to say that certain things don't matter to me anymore, or has lost its inherent symbolic value to me, it doesn't necessary mean that I won't wanna carry on with it. It's just that... it's just an activity that I wanna do. Who or why or what doesn't matter anymore. It won't be special simply because it almost feels (to me) that it's an obligation that the other party has to fulfil. No more carriage, horsemen, and Cinderella's glass slippers; just the pumpkin, mice and sore feet.
First kiss; last dance. Second part of a certain epic drama, a nice picnic (or did he mention a hut and a BBQ) under the sun, carbonara somewhere, nail strengthener and a long list of other things. Do I vaguely remember him reassuring me that he remembers his words when I have already considered them as passing remarks? Being said, there's no need to attach sentiments to them anymore. They remain as the activities or luxuries as they are.
Time and again he taught me the value and importance of words blurted out - sincerely, tactlessly, or otherwise. We are both forgetful. We sometimes let certain promises or beautifully laid plans slip outta our minds completely.
It's scary how tightly he has taught me to cling on to his words. Or are they just false hopes that are really insignificant to him?
I don't know how to carry on with this blog. I really don't. I don't see the reason in dredging out things that may potentially rip the fragile fabric that we have just weaved together. Yet I know not how to escape the confrontation that inevitably comes when he asks me straight in the face and I have no ready answer for him. Not that I have no answer per se, it's just that I can't form the words. I can't.
I can only sort out my thoughts on long long walks and flush out my emotions in this cowardly blog space.
Tuesday, February 24, 2004
Have you ever held the hand of the love of your life while blasting Pachebel's Canon in D over earphones? The sweetness of this moment... brings me to tears. =)
6:49 PM
Why am I lost?
I know not why.
Perhaps I do.
"I don't know" is just a lie.
I could have communicated with him in real time, floating over my wild thoughts and often incomprehensible deliberations and considerations that far exceed reasonable limits of human cognition. But I chose not to. I am a coward really. I can't forego the security and second chance given by the option to hit on "backspace" to rephrase and reconsolidate my sometimes bizarre thoughts. The puny space within my cranial cavity doesn't hold enough substance to generate lightning fast responses to counter his remarks and words shot out with the ferocity and velocity of machine gun rounds.
So here I am, sheltered within the comfort zone of my humble blog space. To shout my thoughts aloud here is hardly thoroughly satisfactorily, especially since he is right next to me, but in my opinion rather wise and prudent. For the good of him, for me, and for us. To sort out the complicated knots within my head first before letting him know how I feel would prevent much unnecessary and unintended hurt, no?
Erms. I'm not sure actually. Ah wells.
Biovalley... aikes. I have almost resigned to the fate that I wasn't selected for the second round of interview. I felt a lil, shocked, perturbed, even affronted, insulted and slighted. It jerked me awake to the limits of my capabilities within this college, and I went on long walks to clear my thoughts and replay the scene of the first interview in my mind, wondering and analyzing what has gone wrong, where it went off track, and a gadzillion stuff pertaining to this issue.
Do I really wanna go to Philly for an internship? I'm not sure. I really am not. Thinking back it appears to be rather strange that I didn't consult The One up there for advice, or to even lament to the stars and galaxies beyond the Milky Way. Perhaps for far too long and far too many issues, they have remained as silent as Baal. Not even with 450 prophets praying fervently en masse did an omnipotent being create a miracle; not even with Elijah mocking the same 450 prophets and provoking their God.
My thoughts are extremely disjointed now. It almost feels as though there is a tower of Babel right there in between my eyes, and people of all races speaking different tongues are making a hell lot of noise inside. Damnit, my eyes are a lil' dry and deprived of oxygen too. Bad day.
Ok ok... I've ranted long enough. Still I haven't touched on what lost me, or rather, why I feel lost. I factored him in my decision to apply for Biovalley. Right at the beginning, even before I emailed my profs for advice and recommendation letters, I did. Would I bear to fly around to the other side of the globe and spend one year there without him? I do not know. I vaguely remember asking him for his opinion, and I vaguely remember him asking me to go for it, and that he shouldn't be the reason behind me not applying.
Just as I've learnt to accept and resign to my fate, there comes along an email telling me I've gotten into the second round of interviews. How am I supposed to feel? How am I supposed to know what lies ahead for me? Aikes. And I thought there is no reason to worry anymore.
Then again, why am I worrying now? There is no guarantee that I'll pass the interview with the academic panel. My records aren't all the glam. Aikes.
Sunday, February 22, 2004
Zhi4 (his name) sounds like zi4 (word). "Aum" is a word.
Yang2 (his name) sounds like yang2 (sun). A sun border.
Together they mean "Zhiyang". Sort of.
It's fascinating how powerful one's subconscious can be to drive inexplicable actions before awareness and enlightenment of the hidden intentions behind. Or is it one's unlimited propensity for imagination that associate two totally different and mutually exclusive things together after an incident has occurred, in an attempt to make some sense outta it?
I do not know. Either way, it's part of me now.
X X X
Within the space of one day, I received text messages from three friends (at some time or another) of mine whom I haven't heard from for quite a while. Aikes. But I'm too tired from my long walk just now to pen down my thoughts. And so I shall adjourn for my ablution rites and attend to this humble blog when my strength recovers.
I'll miss the sun for the next two weeks. I'll miss the warmth and the hope and promise each brilliant ray of light holds. For now I am cold. Outside in, inside out.
It's cold. I reread something that was so intense and so powerful in content that wreaked havoc in my docilely monotonous life for quite a while. Those words which created a maelstrom of turbulent thoughts and feelings were the epicentre of much angst, confusion, false hopes, and despondence. Revisiting those chapters made me swell up with emotions of uncontrollable sadness and irrational, yet irrepressible hurt.
I teared. Not the it's-the-end-of-the-world tears from bawling over things I cannot change, but rather unstoppable trickles of sweet longing with a tinge of envy, or may heaven forbid, jealousy. Lil' sparkling droplets serving the purpose of therapeutic catharsis purged from the very bottom of my heart. I do feel better now. I have accepted it before. And I've accepted it all over again. Strange that certain things time and again come back to haunt you and demand to be passed before the jury of wild speculations. Sighs. It must be the time of the night. Unearthly hours give birth to unearthly thoughts.
Aikes. I'm just clearing my thoughts. That chapter is already closed. Let it be. =)
4:43 AM
Saturday, February 21, 2004
It's one kind cute that he's associated with sweet lil' baah baah he-lambs. True, the "yang2" in his name can mean many things related to woolly sheep and wise-looking mountain goats. Incidentally, he sports a goatee too. (Sidetrack: the word "sport" can be used to mean "frolic" e.g. lambs sporting in the meadow) (B)aaah. =) Such coincidence.
But but.. why can't parallels be drawn between his name and the sun? I've always had an inordinate fondness for the sun. I love the glorious heat emanating from that great fireball up there prickling and blistering my skin as I bask on a beach chair. To feel myself evaporating is a sheer form of escapism in itself. Liberation. Emancipation. It almost feels as though one is rising towards the heavens. =)
In a way that didn't cross his mind, his name is tattooed on me.
Friday, February 20, 2004 If you don't mind, it doesn't matter.
=) Why do I care so much about trivialities now? Why do I mind so much about pointless trifles? Why do I get bogged down by stress and distress?
Gabrielle - Lestat de Lioncourt's mortal and vampiric mother. Dismissing how skewed my sense of judgement can be, I feel like I was her for a while last time. Those times when I was hardened by certain experiences locally and overseas, when I was slapped too hard in the face by reality and when it seems like nothing worse can hit me anymore, I felt as stoic and as cold as her. Even under periods of tremendous stress or emotional turmoil, I could brush them outta my mind as easily as clicking on a switch.
Plus, I didn't show my inner feelings. Ball with spikes flipped inside out. That's pretty much the way to describe me.
Who am I now? What am I now? A fallen queen, or perhaps a dreadful brat princess? Or the tramp shivering down Dicken's cold wintry streets?
It doesn't matter who I am really. For in devoting too much attention to myself, I've neglected him. Instead of drowning in my own tears, I should have offered him my shoulders and brought him into a tight soothing embrace. He carries a heavy emotional load too. It's just that he doesn't really share about that bit of his life with me.
I forget too easily. And I am greatly saddened by my incapacity to factor in his unhappiness before.
I am sorry. I am. But believe me, I will try.
10:21 PM
I think a lot. For far too much, and far too long, I've focused and concentrated on various ifs and what-nots that would most probably never happen instead of putting my faith and believing in what is directly in front of me and under my nose.
I guess I was like that all the time. For a while I took a hiatus from the nerve-wrecking chore of thinking and happily assumed the playful air-headedness nature of a bimbo - choosing not to think. Wait, the word "bimbo" itself sounds a lil' distant and unfamiliar now. Aikes. Then (I think) for some time I draped on the facade of an artful think(er), masquerading as a withdrawn and reticent girl-not-yet-a-woman hybrid - strange and mysterious. Right now I'm the yakkily yak-yak hyperactive super-on devil-may-care Class A bitch. I shoot off words from my mouth too fast and too carelessly. I need the filter between my oral cavity and my brain. Badly.
I thought about a few issues. Chewed and digested all that I - we - have been through and processed them into a vague and esoteric soliloquy that prolly only I myself can understand fully:
Case #1 - Yakking among girl friends
Before I venture to expound on this highly sensitive topic, I must declare that I am taking utmost care in treading on such dangerous grounds. I mean not to dredge out old skeletons in the closet, nor open any fresh wounds. Aikes.
I see things from his point of view. He agrees that it is not inherently wrong to yak. But he doesn't feel comfy.
I accept.
In my humble opinion, it was a simple case of definition. Vague or explicit? What is vague? What is explicit? =) My blog, being vague and esoteric as it is, is the most vague form of expression and vent of my personal frustrations/happiness/questions. This is my idea of vague. To talk about stuff in less details, or be less specific, I'll tear everything down to its bare minimum and concentrate on my thoughts and feelings, instead of recounts of incidents that beg for analysis from fresh points of view or advice whatsoever. Imagine if I were to speak to a friend the way I write in my blog, and brush off their care and concern... They'll prolly find it strange. I do make a conscious effort to tell them he doesn't find the idea of me sharing our stuff most appealing, but I guess I am wrong not to have make a bigger effort to really dilute and block out certain stuff.
I need time dear.
Some things that we do for others need not be mentioned, or brought out into the light. There is a difference between doing something for show, and doing it for a person. Aikes. I guess that's just the narrow point of view from which I see and perceive things. I will try. I will do my part - to be malleable and change myself for him. I am rigid. I know. I need time.
Case #2 - ....
I was wrong. I am wrong. To have broken down and cried myself silly. I am guilty. I have no idea how to save myself from this pathetic quagmire of irrational and puerile thoughts. I am the impossibly unreasonable Shakespearean shrew. I am.
I understand that certain wild thoughts dominate a certain group of people. How can I not, with all those years of mixing around with those pesky imps? Yet for some insane and inexplicable reasons, those words coming from him, at that time, in the state that I was in, stung me like a thousand venomous bees raining my heart. No wait. There was the sudden flood of fear and a tinge of disappointment first.
I think and I think and I think. For the purpose of purely hypothetical thinking, I made comparisons to other people in my life. If they held such thoughts, and told me about it, jokingly or otherwise, I would either a) raise my eyebrows and give them a dismissing look, or b) be a lil' pissed off and forget about it five minutes later. For him, I cried torrents.
Sometimes one experiences an emotion without knowing why or how it came about in the first place. I was just overwhelmed by the fear of losing him. Well, maybe not losing him totally per se, but the idea of even sharing him with someone else, conducing an act of supreme intimacy, would be something more than my feeble mind can bear. Hence I bawled my head off.
He apologized. I heard. I appreciated. But it wasn't his fault. It was just a misplaced emotion I couldn't cap in myself. I wanted to stop weeping. It's embarrassing me, and distressing him. But I couldn't. As things go like that frustration from him naturally follows. So does feelings of indignance.
Would it have made any difference if I chokingly whispered "I'm sorry I need a lil time to pack up my emotions. It's not your fault."?
His restlessness with the whole situation vexed me too. And my thoughts got wilder and wilder, and the blahdee filter in my head simply hasn't been installed yet. The words we exchanged simply led me to think of more hurtful scenarios, and I blurted them out.
It was wrong. I ought to be shot. Put a bullet right through my head. I actually had that thought, and the visualization was so strong, that it somewhat manifested itself as a massive splitting headache.
The slippery slope. Free-wheeling downhill. The guilt that I feel is so real, so intense, and so very painful. I can almost hear the screeching of my own nails as I dug into the oily surface in a desperate attempt to climb up to those green rolling grass hills again.
Sheets. I typed "glass hills" before I backspaced and changed it to grass hills. Is it a premonition? A foreshadow of what lies at the bottom of the abyss that I seem to be steadily plunging down? Will I be the one who tries to put a broken vase back together again, only to end up cutting myself bad?
With great love, comes great insecurity. The more you love someone, the more you're afraid of losing him or her. I guess. I try to sidestep and circumvent such pessimistic thoughts by concentrating on forgiveness and/or forgetfulness. Sometimes my system control does go cranky and malfunction or even totally shut down. Try as I do and will to indulge in sweet simple love, I get distracted by the most illogical thoughts and (im)possibilities.
I will never try to break your heart, wo zhen de bu xiang. :)
Wednesday, February 18, 2004
Open, close, open, close. Pandora's box.
A vault with sturdy locks.
If I could only turn back the hands on the singing cuckoo clock,
I'll keep all my secrets (in my socks?)
Sometimes, when a channel is established between two people in the name of love, other smaller and comparatively insignificant tributaries get clogged up and forgotten. Certain thoughts that once flow freely are suddenly arrested and inspected, detained and quarantined - sometimes they do regained liberty and freedom to float across, albeit with its original meaning diluted and at times lost; other times they stay within one's mental sphere to stifle and rot.
Sighs. What are the appropriate criteria to screen and select certain manifestations of our mind to go through to the other innocuously, innocently, and uncuttingly? What are the limits to saying sweet words so excruciatingly meaningful to oneself, but may appear too coy, unctuous and dripping with insincerity?
Of course, I'm in a much better position to take control of my emotions now then the past week or so. Still I know not what to do, or how to treat him nice after slashing and clawing at him with all the ferocity that a lioness jabbed in her butt can muster. My irritability had perfused the air, and my frustration made the whole place smell bad. I know it all, yet I can't do a single thing about it until now.
How can one make amends? How can one try to resuscitate and rescue something as fragile and as ethereal as a relationship? Will the process of salvaging a relationship be akin to fixing a broken vase, and the unfortunate one end up getting badly cut from mending it?
For him I try. He asked for more time. I pray he gives me a chance to love him in the fullest way that I can too.
1:39 PM
Tuesday, February 17, 2004
"Next time if situation permits, stand beneath a tree and I'll climb up and shake the brances. Then maybe it'll be good for you too..."
Thanks dude. =)
I haven't felt so doink doink doinkily happy for a rather long time. I kinda missed gallivanting in school *ops* and throwing flirtatious winks at Profs, and going up to them and "deh" them into letting me go off early. It's been a while since I've chatted up total strangers waiting in line for the same thing as me, or say a simple "Hi!" with a gigantic toothy smile at fellow coursemates (and of course my neighbour). It's only today that I realized that I've been throwing them spikiously dirty looks for the past week or so, in spite of their daring ventures to wave and smile.
I wanna love him and hug him and squeeze him. Right now. Share the wonderful joie de Jimmie with him. =)
It's funny how things seem to take on different hues as one's mood changes. Shades of blue, green, red, black. Now it's a warm glow of yellow, orange and gold. I'm rather fond of gold recently. It's got that Cleopatran charm to it. *beams*
Things haven't been a bed of roses for him and me. May I wish upon the soul of every rock and tree and creature, that our future will be of a rosy hue, and that we wil indeed be fine.
There may be certain inconveniences obstructing our small small steps that tire out our stumpy stumpy legs. Why can't we take things a lil' slower, and rest on the green green rolling hills of love together? The world is our oyster - Him and me, for as long as can be.
For a few days each month I go through a tortorous hormonal-induced process - the terrifying psychological isolation of a cramped, nervous, and discomforted individual.
Does anyone remember urban legends about bonsai kittens a few years back? Cute furry lil' animals bred in rectangular jars. After four weeks of confinement, their bones and tissues get crunch and scrunch and takes on the shape of the grossly undersized cell.
I feel like that (sometimes).
When two people are in love, there's no right or wrong. Everything is simply done in the name of love.
Because I love him, I rather use my kitty claws to scratch the four walls of my cell, alone. Meow.
Because he loves me, he gave me words of assurance like "I will still sit by your side quietly and smile at you."
I need time to get used to the effects of something. It'll prolly take me two or three months (as stated). From now till then I'll be lashing out at every small lil' thing like a lioness nipped in her tail. My words will be fixated on my own feelings - hailstones of frustration and brooding clouds of suicide. But I have not forgotten his kind intentions and sacrifices.
I know, and I remember. For one who thinks about every possibility and every cause and effect, how can I not? Which makes me wanna stay away from him more. In case I bite him; in case I sink my teeth and claws into him.
I was so afraid last night. So overwhelmed by the urge to swallow twenty lil' somethings, so wanted to black out the mess and turmoil and war within me, so wish I could sink into a dark fluid oblivion where nothing could touch me.
I get so short of breath too. My sudden shifts from my study table to my bed must have puzzled him somewhat. I can't breathe. Sometimes I just feel like lying on my bed and let my flesh melt into the fabric. Getting up is a chore. Going to school is an uphill battle. I have an hour to decide still. Should I go?
He said he'll never leave me. Yet he made a comment that contradicts his previous statement. "As long as we're together, [it's] yours and..." I felt like a tree being yanked out of the soil, with roots dangling in the air - the nakedness, the uncontrollable chills, the surprise, the speechlessness. Erms, I do make bad comparisons. But my words reflect the images that are being conjured in my head. I am a tree.
Aikes. Tree. Bads. I don't really like trees. Trees bring back memories of broken words and empty promises. I had a big tree once. That big tree, who told me he'll always be my big tree, ended up saying he's still under the shade and protection offered by his parents. Ergo, he can't be my big tree.
I can't really blame the tree, can I? At the time when people say anything, it's almost always true - for that moment, at that time. A friend once told me "If someone tells you that he loves you, he means it. And even if he no longer loves you, he has still loved you, and loved you truly while he still did."
I need a big hug. Unconditional, for no reasons. Just to "luxuriate in his aura".
Friday, February 13, 2004
Spit. Fire.
Drip. Venom.
Dribble. Saliva.
Gush. Blood.
8:04 AM
Sunday, February 08, 2004
Right now, as of present, this minute, this second, I'm going through one of the worst pangs of pain I've lived through. One of the worst, not the worst. The most diabolical of body-splitting torment are those hellish headaches that blinds and drives me crazy. Only one thought rules my mind when those evils hit me: Smash, smash, smash. Smash anything, everything. Smash my own head against the wall. Anything. Everything.
Pain anywhere else on the body isn't quite as tough. I'm not sure where to rank this tummyache of mine. It's not the usual dull discomfort in the background that is simply pesky and annoying but otherwise benign and harmless really. This current one that's plaguing me is reminiscent of the one time (or rather, two or three times) that I, not being able to take the pain anymore, crashed onto the floor in pain and drew my knees up in a foetal position in an attempt to ease the acute distress.
It is painful, but it's not blinding. Dissociative in the sense that your brain starts behaving holier-than-thou and regards your body condescendingly, totally unable to apprehend and comprehend the excruciating pain that the latter is going through maybe, but not blinding. It only blinds if one is suffering so much that one can't think. That luxury is exclusive only to the brain. Anywhere else, it almost feels as though the brain is on an astral travel holiday while the rest of the body continues in its suffering. The brain can still work as per normal, carrying on perfectly sane and rational conversations, working on godamnit term papers, yet totally separate and disconnected with the pain. Dissociative.
Have you able been twisted in the arm before? Imagine the classic police and thief scenario: The law-enforcer pins down the offender with academy-trained arm-entangling moves. Nods. Bingo. You got it. That kind of pain, only a few degrees sharper and more intermittent and unpredictable than the aforementioned, will describe the misery I'm going through now. I feel as though I'm all knotted up inside. Not loose knots, mind you. Tight double and triple knots.
I wonder if an imp is within me right now, playing around with my intestines as though they're lashings used by boy scouts to secure structures during pioneering sessions. He must have encountered much difficulties, them intestines being so wet and slippery, it's rather hard to control them, isn't it? Then I also think about the possibilities that my internal organs are taking turns to fail and malfunction, playing a game of musical shut-down. Sometimes it's on the left side of my tummy, sometimes on the right, other times it feels as though my ovaries are popping like the seeds of explosive balsam plants. Still there are other times when my spine whimsically threatens to dismember into multiple parts or fuse together. But today the left side seems to be down on luck, for the tune almost always ends when its turn comes.
It'll be nice to have him around, to have him holding my hands, and have him whispering words of comfort into my ears. But nice doesn't necessarily translate into rational, logical or sensible. If the pain didn't go away with the medication, it prolly won't go away with him singing lullabies to coax me to sleep. It prolly even won't do any good if the sandman himself comes along to sprinkle sleeping dust into my eyes. The pain strikes, and the pain stays. Capricious, whimsical, fickle. It'll not follow the wishes or commands of anyone. It'll go away, when it will.
Wednesday, February 04, 2004 Acceptance. If the need does require as so, I will hold your hand, and sit by your side. Chew at me, rip at me, take out your unhappiness on me. Let any unhappiness out and you will feel better. I will still sit by your side quietly and smile at you.
I want to put my arm around your waist and hold you by my side and feed you =).
I want to hold your hand and hold you close to me.
Where is the hand,
And the body by my side?
Where is the smile,
And why does my tears river that of the Nile?
Steaming red blood rankles behind ominous floodgates,
While claret streams trickle from vulnerable crevices.
Holding, holding,
Holding back the angst and pain.
Drained, tired, wearied, sapped,
Devoid of energy and empty of life the next day.
I woke up thinking, "Why
Did I wake up?" and
Cursing and swearing about the ineptness of the
Yellow lil things.
I weep, I weep.
My eye swells and my tummy rumbles;
Sweet beginnings and sour ends does cause a wall to tumble.
Or does the vagueness of start and stop points
Mould and petrify misplaced feelings into a fortified castle
With moats of detachment and spikes of defense?
I sink, I sink.
Offer me a hand, lest I forget to
Breathe.
Monday, February 02, 2004
woolgathering \WOOL-gath-uh-ring ("th" as in "the")\ noun
: indulgence in idle daydreaming
How apt! Does that mean every time I think about my baah-baah I am woolgathering?
4:47 PM
Sunday, February 01, 2004
Has anyone ever noticed how very similar, yet totally different, the words "crave" and "craven" are?
Main Entry: crave
Pronunciation: 'krAv
Function: verb
Inflected Form(s): craved; crav·ing
Etymology: Middle English, from Old English crafian; akin to Old Norse krefja to crave, demand
transitive senses
1 : to ask for earnestly : BEG, DEMAND 2 a : to want greatly : NEED b : to yearn for intransitive senses : to have a strong or inward desire synonym see DESIRE
Main Entry: cra·ven
Pronunciation: 'krA-v&n
Function: adjective
Etymology: Middle English cravant
1 archaic : DEFEATED, VANQUISHED
2 : lacking the least bit of courage : contemptibly fainthearted
synonym see COWARDLY
Which brings to mind what a prof said about sibling species - an uncanny likeness in form, yet distant enough genetically to constitute two separate species.
Scientific allusions aside, the relationship (or the lack of one) between "crave" and "craven" struck me when I finished reading a book on natural history. It always happens. When it comes to procrastination, I am Queen. I can think about everything under the sun or moon or clouds or sky. OK, nearly everything other than the matter at hand. The thought of writing a term paper lingers at the back of my head like an oversized tumour, but I refuse to acknowledge its existence.
Ignorance can be blistering. Pui.
Ah, I digressed. Can one crave for something, but is too craven to go after it?
In the light of what I crave for now, I better be craven. Morbid as usual, I crave for nothing more than to escape from this suffocating reality, to seek comfort in sweet tendentious surrealism, and to soar, free in the night sky under the stars, prancing and preening around on puffy clouds. God knows what I'll do if a glass ceiling of cravenness isn't there to stop me from leaping into outer space.
Maybe I'm an emotional Peter Pan, refusing to conform (and maybe incapable of conforming) to conventional definitions of adulthood. In any case I've got this serious urge to bail. I am craven. Gone are the days when I-got-hit-by-a-truck-and-I-dared-it-to-hit-me again attitude dominate. I am craven, a lil solitary raven, and huff and gasp for air.
Do you always find yourself groping for some good poetry or song in the aftermath of any stressful episode, reading or listening to it like you'd take a painkiller, or maybe an antibiotic? I first heard this particular song in Faye Wong's album way back in Sec 4.
Every time I listen to this song, images of a solitary figure draped in a white flowing cloak strolling down the pristine sandy beach comes into mind. On the left would be a mass of dense verdant growth, shades of green and grey under a blanket of shadow. It actually appears a lil sad. On the right is an undulating spread of liquid emerald and aquamarine, reflecting splashes of bright light that resembles an artist's stylish strokes. A big big orange of various hues, cool and softened at the edges, rests just above the horizon.
The cape slips, revealing the lady's fair countenance and glorious locks of hair. She looks wistfully into the distance, and smiles poignantly.
I wonder what happens after we discard our mortal shell and leave our earthly abode. Is there the slightest chance that we'll move on to live in our dreams, like going through a video-tape replayed over and over again?
Morbid. Why did I even link death with something so beautiful? Maybe, just maybe, only in the name of death do we know the true name of love.
Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps.
Do you sometimes have the feeling that daydreams and castles in the sky are not much different from classic fairy tales popularized by Disney and Dreamworks? We do not know anything about events that occurred prior to the scenes played on screen. We do not know what exactly "they lived happily ever after" entails. Did the cartoon characters go through school? Have they ever done anything naughty? How did Rapunzel wash her hair and keep it tangle-free? Where is my Peter Pan who will take me to Never Never Land? Or am have I already gone past the age limit for entry into that magical world?
Just as he can't read my mind, I can't read his. If he doesn't tell me what's troubling him, I'll automatically have to assume that something that I've done have affected him adversely.
Today's been a bad day. I've been at the receiving end of every blow from almost everyone. *smiles* Does anyone know how something in me had been pried open like a giant spiky durian - the innards sucked clean and seeds strewn all over? *smiles with tears*
I really am not very strong. I've said it countless times and I'll say it again: I'm a broken rag doll. Very broken.
May God have mercy on doctors, for hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Blahdee hell the doc today was an asshole.
Why do we always have to take something at face value? On the other hand, why do we sometimes not? It's all about the perfect timing. And I happen, almost inevitably, always at the wrong place at the wrong time.
He likes to ask "Why?" But today he did not. I knew what was bothering him and I tried my best not to change anything. It took a while to force back those shiny globules back to where they came from. Yet there are times when I actually do have sensible, tangible and cogent reasons for doing, or rather, not doing certain things. And when I do not have one ready, I would gladly admit that I don't. But the period of stoic silence today was purely to hold back tears.
Of course, certain names will strike certain awful chords of memory and cause one helluva clamorous confusion and associated mood swings. Link. Connection. Domino effect. Sometimes I wonder if his recollection might dig up certain scenes of the past I rather delete from my neuronal cache, throwing me back into a thick gossamer of bad dreams that I've took ages to disentangle myself from.
I wonder when I'll start weeping blood tears. *smiles*
Wednesday, January 28, 2004 Your wings are BROKEN and tattered. You are an angelic spirit who has fallen from grace for one reason or another - possibly, you made one tragic mistake that cost you everything. Or maybe you were blamed for a crime you didn't commit. In any case, you are faithless and joyless. You find no happiness, love, or acceptance in your love or in yourself. Most days are a burden and you wonder when the hurting will end. Sweet, beautiful and sorrowful, you paint a tragic and touching picture. You are the one that few understand. Those that do know you are likely to love you deeply and wish that they could do something to ease your pain. You are constantly living in memories of better times and a better world. You are hard on yourself and self-critical or self-loathing. Feeling rejected and unloved, you are sensitive, caring, deep, and despite your tainted nature, your soul is breathtakingly beautiful.
Tuesday, January 27, 2004
Carcinogenic life-reducing pleasure vs aspartame-induced neuronal damage rapture. Which one is more detrimental to one's health, I wonder. Being limited to a mug of diet coke a day is tantamount to being restricted to only lighting up a stick a day. Aikes. Bad.
I'm suffering from withdrawal.
Coffee is just as bad. Even worse, maybes. I read an article somewhere which says that a prolonged intake of caffeine, of all things, increases the chances of miscarriage many folds. Hm. =)
I just chanced upon my Muslim cluster mate making dinner with her boyfriend in the kitchen, again. She and my PRC cluster mate take turns occupying the kitchen to make dinners with their partners. It's one kind fun to cook for someone, for it's just that bit inconvenient and too much of a hassle to do it in PGP. The works of a kitchen - from crockery, utensils, cutlery, dish washing liquids etc etc - must be brought over. Then comes the storing part. Leave your stuff near the kitchen sink, and be prepared to have them used, and left unwashed in the sink. Not nice right? So forget it. Aikes.
Don't you think cooking is an extremely *erm* uxorial thing to do? To make a home-cooked meal feels so much more intimate, warm, and loving, then an expensive meal at the restaurant with tongue-twisting menus and a towering violinist arching his spine next to you. The two feelings are completely different. The former, contentment; the latter, wooed.
Erm I think I am one kind slow. Does "Bape" mean ape babe/ babe ape?
Mood: Sleepy, yet unable to sleep due to an inexplicable and out-of-place excitement
Music: All the vagabond MP3s that reside quietly in various folders of my lappie (Da Pump! Da Pump!)
I tried to sleep a while ago. Yet I can't get to sleep. (Hmm...that sounds familiar. Does this always happen to me?) Flitting thoughts flapped their gaudy butterfly wings in my head as I laid on my bed, taking in the residual pheromones that drift up my nasal passages from my sniffable and huggadelic pillow. I love enveloping my arms around this lil Sniffy of mine, feeling the coolness of the fabric and the softness of the fillings. Like a baby resting on a puffy cloud up in the heavens lit by starlight. =)
Thought: It's amazing how soon he and I -we- got together. B-Boss, Lips, Heaven and Earth, Raffles Annex, SPE basketball court, Centro/ Marina Square, and finally Hideout. Wait, that's more than I expected. It felt like a really short span of time though. All the events seem stringed together like a pearl necklace - it's rather hard to know where everything started and where everything ended. I can vividly remember my erratic heartbeats and nauseating confusion when he held my hand across the basketball court and outside Centro. All that stuttering and stammering, with words choking my every breath... =) Sweet memories. Sweet December. Dolce vita.
I feel as though I know him, so much so that our souls are entwined together, every one of our cells fused in continuity and every capillary weaved together in a grand, complete tapestry. His brain fibres teasing my mind; his smile, forever mine. Yet on the other hand, I sometimes see a stranger beside me, his thoughts and mental processes warped and spiked and totally alien and difficult to appreciate and comprehend. Those times I can only tell myself to step back and accept him for who and what he is, and wait patiently for understanding to dawn much later.
What attracted me to him in the first place? Or what prevented me from being attracted to him at the beginning? I suspect excellent marketing, heavy advertising, ceaseless persuasion and countless words of encouragement played a major part in swaying my position as a high priestess in my lil nunnery on a hilltop. That is undeniable. Nothing else could have explained my crush for him that dwelled on the borders of madness and insanity. Sense and logic vs feelings and desire. Head vs heart.
Within the sixty days or so that we've been together, he's taught me more things about life than I could ever have hoped to learn in the same time frame on my own. I've said it and I'll say it again: His words have a strange effect on me.
Why do I switch off and "conveniently" forget things? Hm... do I really have such a powerfully brilliant memory to start with? I recollect a conversation with a Melbournian friend once. He ICQed me out of the blue to ask a rather hard to answer question, "Do you really have a photographic memory?"
Erms. I'm afraid not. My reply to him was short and simple, "I am human." I may remember certain things that others don't. But I find it hard to remember things that most people come across as easy. I can remember certain numbers that I've dialled a few years back, I can remember certain faces and heaps of names. Or should I say, I could? Nowadays I often find myself with a blank state of mind, totally lost and spaced out. I can get so indulged in sending text messages that I don't realize that I've already venture out onto a road. Good thing that aren't a lot of traffic around when such temporary pseudo-out-of-body occasions take place.
Why do I so easily dismiss the things he says? I believe I just stumbled upon the answer. He layed a thick wall of bricks somewhere in my heart a long time ago, when he asked if I would watch the movie Underworld with him. "Next week", he said. Next week came, and next week went. The next time I hear about the show, he has already watched it.
Some things I do, I really have no idea why I do them. True, I agree everything happens for a reason. But it's equally true that some reasons are extremely crafty and elusive. It takes a while to figure out a simple why. Other times some reasons simply exhibit too much diffidence and shyness. They hide and refuse to come out of one's mouth.
Internal conflict. Contradictions. Where do we ever begin to look for keys to the contradictions we all exhibit, every day of our lives? At one level our faculties tell us that death is final; but another we reject the notion and grasp at the most improbable alternatives. We are simultaneously nostalgics and neophiliacs. We commit crimes in the name of a loving God. We invent lies and we believe them. We want autonomy in our own lives, but we want to interfere with the lives of others. We have marvellous rational powers, but we follow the dictates of reasons erratically at best. Examples of our illogicality are endless. Why?
Does your brain simply run through a standard algorithm that weighs the facts and produces an optimized solution? Does mine? Or is the rational weighing of the evidence supplemented by all kinds of other inputs that may range from generalized unease or inconfidence to outright fear, or a nagging feeling that one or another decision will be the right one? The resulting conclusion, while arrived at by pondering the facts, may not be the one that you or I can rationalize verbally - or even if we can, it may be just that: a rationalization. Do you concur?
I get tired so very easily nowadays. In a way I think I might have aged considerably since my Upper Sec years. I can't focus on something to the extent of being oblivious to the rest of the world anymore. I can't spend hours on end working on my art assignments, or furiously work on assessment books just for the fun of it. Nah, no more. I can't even sit down to read a book without fidgetting around these days. Bads.
There are so many things I wanna discuss with him. Even the notion of discussing anything with him is a novelty. Weird. I find myself reporting every lil thing to him, and the strangest thing is, it feels totally el naturel. To let him know who messaged, who called, what happened in class, where I'll be going, so he won't wonder. I'm even beginning to learn how to anticipate his needs and feelings, so he won't ever need to worry. I may be a fast learner in all the vices that one can invent, but for all things good, my progress chart has a really gentle gradient. Pray he'll be patient with me. =)
Saturday, January 24, 2004
I can't get to sleep. Plagued by an inexplicable and unknown fear and numbed by anxiety and helplessness, I'm afraid of something I don't even have a name for.
Spiked. Something's gripping my heart. Something's hammering down on the diligent soft pink muscles with a club studded with venom-dripping spikes.
I look around me. This feels like home, yet it's not quite home. Recently, I feel strangely out of place everywhere I go. Then again, when have I truly belonged to anywhere? I am nobody. Nobody is me.
Sliding. I wonder how Jonas felt when he slid down the whale's throat. Did he feel like what I'm feeling now? A sensation of being swallowed whole, down a warm wet squishy dark channel, not knowing where or when the journey will end.
Do I hallucinate? Perhaps. Not in the way most people do though. My body sends me strange signals. I feel strange things.
Strange. Strangely, I've used the word "strange" repeatedly. Tonight is indeed a strange night.
Wake up darling. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Why can't you wake up, silly Jimmie?
Wait a minute, didn't I say I can't get to sleep? Doesn't that mean I'm awake? So Why should I wake up? Who's trying to wake me up? Why should anyone care whether I'm awake or not?
Wednesday, January 21, 2004
Cute hor? I think the dragon looks like bluespikydevil. This is purplehuachidragon.
But I love the sun. =) A sun with an "aum" symbol right in the middle, and two cresents flanking it. The middle circle co-symbolizes the moon. I want it right there at my lumbar region. =P
Sunday, January 18, 2004
I just chewed on something like 10-12 packets of seaweed and gulped down a huge mug of iced milo. I wonder how you're doing now.
Are you tired?
Are you feeling cold?
Are you febrile?
Have you eaten your fill?
Are you resting?
Does your throat still hurt?
I don't think I've worried this much for a guy before. The sense of helplessness and despair was overbearing when I touched his burning hot forehead, yet couldn't do anything to lower the temperature.
No dear, I've not forgotten about the ba gua trip today. Besides the practicality of coming back to school first, I just didn't wanna take for granted some of the things you say. I don't ever wanna feel the pricks and piercings of empty words and broken promises again. That much fear of being let down again was gradually and progressively instilled in me by different people in my life. I didn't wanna stay at home to wait for news, or be pesky and ask you about the ba gua thingie.
You thanked me, when I should be the one thanking you. Thanking you for meeting me in your sickness, thanking you for bringing joy and laughter into my life. Thanking you for feeding me and buying me soft cones. =)
Tabula rasa. Learn and unlearn. I wanna start loving you with a new clean slate. What others were or are doesn't matter. You are different.
Saturday, January 17, 2004
A ball with spikes as an outer layer of defence. What if, and I mean WHAT IF, I choose to flip the deadly skin inwards and let the menacing spikes press against my skin, then exerting an ever so slowly increasing pressure to pierce into me? Or, WHAT IF I choose to forcefully puncture myself with a swift and sudden blow? The spikes have to go somewhere.
Letting the walls crumble; dropping the vicious spikes. My outer layer is as smooth as a baby's bottom, but just under my skin lies a mesh of holes and wounds resembling a labyrinthic honeycomb, thick, sticky and diseased. Poke, squish, eeish, squash, quash.
Gross imagery. Pui.
I find myself treading water a lot nowadays - half the time struggling to keep my head above water, or sink and choke on uninviting brackish water. I fear the occasional kelp deviously winding around ankle and tugging me down, deeper and deeper, my mouth agape in a failed attempt to grab a last gasp of air, and arms reaching for the heavens where I do not belong.
Yet I must fight to conquer this fear and this sweet madness. I nodded my head in agreement, and I said "Okay." I will dull my natural responses in an effort to understand him more, or even if I did that to no avail, accept him for who and what he is. To that I'll tailor and alter myself to make him happy.
That doesn't sound quite right either. I want us to be happy together. I laugh a lot more with him by my side, but I cry a lot more too. In a way I'm happier, but along with happiness and contentment comes an elevated capacity to feel an army of other emotions - jealousy, madness and insanity included.
Am I still free to blog? Or have I never been really free to put my words down on screen?
I am one kind groggy now. I turn my head, then only after what seems like an eternity later the world starts to turn after me. It's like when I moved my head, the world in front of me is left behind for a while, unaware that I've shifted, then only upon realizing that it made the most languish effort to follow suit.
Friday, January 16, 2004
Right now I just feel like hugging him. Like I did after I ran across the road. I wanted to, but I didn't, for fear of him pushing me aside, just so very afraid that I might do something silly to exacerbate the situation or add on to the tension that was already there. I really didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to do and I had to concentrate on pushing back the tears that threatened to flow out in torrents. Quick fix and deep breaths didn't do any good either. The effort to control my own feelings only created an awkward and uncomfortable silence that lasted through the later part of the bus ride home.
I wanna tell him how relieved I felt when we finally strolled down Botanical Gardens together, that I felt frail and feeble in her presence, and that my hands were shaking when I helped her pack up the place. I felt so small, so diminished, that I wished I could fade into the wallpaper or vanish in a puff of smoke on the spot.
Am I over-sensitive, or has she never looked at me in the eyes before? And I mean never. Not one single time. Not even after all the encounters I had with her. Never.
I looked at him, and I looked at her. But I can't see myself.
Am I being slowly influenced by him, so much so that I've assimilated what he thinks about certain issues and how he treats certain things? Am I not, in my own words, more disciplined than him when it comes to handling bitter memories and necessary burdens of the past that each one of us is doomed to carry?
I tell myself it doesn't matter. Mind over matter - If I don't mind, it doesn't matter. Wasn't that the mantra I always chanted to myself in the face of adversities? Wasn't that what I told him the night when he first held my hand? So why the hell am I still affected by her?
Or am I not?
Maybe I've always been like that. Out of sight, out of mind. Ears hear not, heart shows not. Alrights I came up with the second part myself. If I don't voice how I feel, no one would ever know right? Then I'll forget about the whole incident, and it'll seem like nothing has ever happened.
I guess I'm always caught up in my own world, perpetually self-absorbed, forever oblivious to the existence of other people around me. I confess I have an extremely low EQ. I really do. I need to install a filter between my mouth and my head. I say things that hurt people, and it takes me a long long time to find out that I've actually done something emotionally detrimental with my words. It's almost like stuffing my two pockets with thumbtacks, then walking blithely and carefreely, preening and prancing, whistling and skipping, totally unaware that those piercing sharp metal pieces are deviously dropping outta my pockets. Then some unfortunate soul comes along and steps on them, and grabs me by the shoulders and chew my head off.
Yet I am guilty. Mea culpa. The thumbtacks shouldn't be there in the first place. I dare not carry any more of those stuff. Yet how can I ever be sure that my pockets are empty of them? The alternative would be to walk gingerly, careful not to let any sharp object fall out.
I'm not making much sense here. I can't be. That much I acknowledge. I also pronounce myself an emotional imbecile and insensitive girlfriend.
I've got no idea how it came to such a standstill, or why he hollered at me all of a sudden. Wait, let me correct myself, I DO understand why, but at that point in time I felt slapped in the face.
My mind is like a tub of batter for marble cake now. Twirls of cream and chocolate in one cake tin; two separate issues sharing one blog. They take turns emerging as the winner in a WWF style challenge inside my head, hence the seemingly incoherent entry I've presented here.
I couldn't breathe. I said, "Hush..." Yet he went on and I was pushed into a corner. I felt like slamming my head against the glass pane to break free. I really didn't know how to answer his scenario question. Don't ask me why, I just really couldn't. Perhaps that just me. Like he said I almost always react the same way in all other situations. I factor in too many things to try to get an answer.
Just one other time I cried because of a misunderstanding in front of someone I was in a relationship with. That was before I was due for a three-week long expedition, and SR was ten minutes late for a date. I never was patient with him to begin with, having to fly off the next day just made things a hundred times worse. But crying, because he, or something that he said or did drove me to tears, on the spot and in front of him, was something I never had in mind.
I wish I had locked up the floodgates and remained nonchalant. If there's anyone I look down on, I despise myself for crying in front of him.
He's got a brilliant mind. His thoughts have always intrigued me, energized me, and kept me thirsting and lusting for more. How could I ever look down on his thoughts and the going-ons in his head?
I can never hope to be on par with him. He intimidates me sometimes. I'm almost always left choking in the dust and quietly reflecting "Aikes, I never really know that things are meant to be done or said this way." I'm learning, from him. From him, I feel a kind of stress and pressure that no other teacher has exerted on me before. I feel that I'm nowhere good enough. I'm afraid of doing the wrong things, and saying the words that are not pleasing to his ears. I am in fear of failing him in everything that I do.
I feel crippled and mangled and maimed. I feel pathetic and dejected and worthless. As I feel this way I feel even more compelled to look down on myself for having such low esteem. And I feel disgraced by myself for crying in front of him.
Thursday, January 15, 2004
I have an important reference book with me now. It holds the key to my argument as to whether the sexy, red, protruding, everted human lips have evolved to mimic our genital regions. BUT, there is just one problem. The entire book is in Chinese. All available copies of the title in my world-class uni are in Chinese. The only order for an English copy got cancelled by the library. Hallelujah. Zit bai see liaoz.
9:45 PM
The list of things I have to do seems to be growing. Aikes... things to pass to people, things to collect from people. Forms to fill in, claims to make, and notes to print. Yet I dropped all my obligations to mass mail a picture of a cute lil' thing I found at Lower Peirce Reservoir Casuarina Walk to any email I could lay my hands on. It's so cute, I just have to do it. Sometimes it takes reminders like rainbows and fancy caterpillars to keep us believing that the world is indeed beautiful. It is, I swear by it.
Today is an "okay" day I guess, having its fair share of ups and downs. The bottle of Vegemite on my top shelf fell down for no reason and hit my precious lappie right smack in her middle. Ouch. My laptop screen is flickering now and I am just that lil' bit worried. That is bad. I had to wrestle with a duck in the lab and it ended up pooping all over my practical protocol. That is very bad. Pui. But I finally received news from a certain agency I do not particularly like with regards to my claims for all the application and registration fees which amount up to like 500 bucks. That is hm.. half good. Because that means a lot of work has to be put into filling up those pesky forms and digging out old receipts (erms what receipts if they haven't issued any?) and mailing them to that agency. Double pui. Also I have to do some messy accounting at home and I don't particularly like working with money. Even though it is totally essential for my survival, I still do not like banking stuff. So that's another half good and half bad. Triple puis.
Lab coats here, lab coats there, lab coats everywhere. I lent my lab coat to a friend, and silly me didn't realize that I have a pract which does need a lab coat today and ended up having to borrow one for myself from another friend. Damn dumb right? As a result, I walked in late for a lecture and the Prof jokingly asked me - the latecomer- to make coffee for him. He's one cute old man. He makes me laugh, and he inspires me to read his reference materials even though there're like tonnes of them. I have to remember to return the lab coat to my friend tomorrow. Aikes.
More things to collect. Speaking of that I still have two boxes of contact lenses and two bottles of cleaning solution left uncollected in the shop. Pui. Shall grab them along my way home after lecture tomorrow. Now what else have I got left which I haven't collected or returned? Aiyah, still gotta buy a USB cable for my newly bought printer. Multiple puis. I haven't heard of printers not providing the USB cord together with the printer. This one blahdee doesn't. And I have to get one myself. Aikes. Good things don't come cheap I guess, and cheap things don't come good. I hope I get the correct one tomorrow man. Oh yar, gotta collect the head piece set from that cute vendor tomorrow too. Kaoz. My brain feels overloaded already.
Even then, amidst all the pui-ey incidents that happened today, I really did enjoy a two-hour long conversation I had with two girl friends in the canteen. We were bitching about everything under the sun, not that we're bitching about anyone else, but we really did talk a lot about the silly things we did during exchange and how screwed up our academic lives are. We even went back to talking about health checks in Primary schools and how imbecilic dental and medical nurses can get. A friend of one of my friends actually didn't know that she/he was taking a blood test in P6, and of course he/she didn't know what As and Bs and Os are. So he/she forgot and he/she just made up some letter to satisfy that intimidating mee-see that loomed over him/her ominously. It's one kind amusing, yet it's one kind dangerous for the person involved. I mean, touch wood la, but WHAT IF? It so happened that our names on our ICs are one kind screwed up because we just said OK to everything and anything those obasans suggested(?) that we make changes to in the process of making our identity cards. Wah raoz. Primary school days. Damn gong.
I met a lot of other people as the day went by. A lot of interaction. It felt weird really, after one month of hiatus from the hustle and bustle of campus life. So many of my friends are graduating after this sem, it's scary. And yes, I do get reminded that a 0.11 drop in CAP is really a huge plunge. Don't ask me how I'm gonna pull it up. I don't. As the semesters go by it gets harder and harder to pull anything up. Yet somehow, the slippery slope gets ever more slippery and the tendency of one sliding now increases. Shalala. Pui.
Jeez, I typed for forty minutes already? I'm not going for my run tonight. Sighs.
7:41 PM
Wednesday, January 14, 2004
There always is a first time. Each time he does that to me, it feels like the first time. =) Each time he twists my thorny words around to poke and scratch me, that is. Few have done it with such natural grace and blithe, yet hammer the point across my two-inch thick numb skull like mean-looking nails.
I believe I've been through this all before. Others have shared with me how they felt after receiving blows of tactless words from me or otherwise. Simply by listening to friends relating stories of how so and so hurt them blindly with intended/unintended words of anger, I understood. I understood, but not understand to the degree I just have. Few have underscored and highlighted my very possibly offensive mannerisms and big-time turn-off tones like he did. He made me realize I can really be a brat princess at times.
Using words from his profession for a really fortunate and charming lady a while ago, "[He] makes me understand".
I understand that certain things I do or do not do, even though I think them perfectly alright (at least to me), can hurt him and/or other people around me more than I ever thought possible; I understand that my words can be tactless or even caustic sometimes, and such outbursts of blatant insensitivity and inconsideration can potentially spoil the day for someone else.
I plead guilty and I resolve to better myself, for him, for me, and for everyone else.
I am rather surprised by myself. As to whether I can extrapolate it one step further and say for sure whether I'm pleased by it all, I really do not know.
Last night was a suffocating haze of poignant happiness and content, as well as overwhelming fatigue, nauseating anxiety and extreme paranoia. I was pondering over the notion of blogging down my intense thoughts and feelings in those moments of darkness and despair, deliberating whether or not to let him know that I felt like running away and not letting him know that I was troubled.
I guess I spent too much time deciding and undeciding, and hence ended up not letting him know about my desire to dart away suddenly like a streamlined fish in a still pond. Whoosh, I did not. =)
I cleared some of my doubts and confusion this morning, though I still feel ever so slightly nauseous with inexplicable trepidation and fear. It's as though there's this convection current of unctuous fluid within me, causing waves of queasiness and discomfort to circulate all over my body. I still see bright specks of light clouding my vision every now and then. Not so much now, but last night it was like a mini disco light display, totally cosmic and psychedelic.
Like I said before, I'm surprised by myself. I actually let him know how I felt. It might not be through the best means that I let him know, but I did. I won't have carried across my message any other way. I would stutter and stammer and try to push everything to the back of my mind and forget about it, simply because it requires too much effort and takes too much outta me to explain certain things to him.
Friday, January 09, 2004
Current mood: Reflective
Current music: Wo Meng Jian Titanic - A-Mei
I've been told this blog reads like a book. Twice in fact. Journal of A Crazy Girl. =) *smiles sweetly* That would be the title I'll give it. Siren's Song is far too pompous and pretentious. Besides, the contents of this blog is so self-absorbed, it has to be called Journal of A Crazy Girl.
I am crazy and I think weird things. Was at the KTV last night, and I saw this scene in one of Jay Chou's MTVs: A young girl in a pure white dress and shoes blithely skipping away against a backdrop of coal-black walls of a run-down house. It haunted me for a while, and a torrent of thoughts rained on me. Is she Hope? Does the entire scene remind us that ignorance is bliss?
Such airy-fairy rhetoric doesn't bother me all that much. The sight of the happy girl yanked out another girl - lurking in the deepest, darkest shadows within me. Behind this other girl is the setting of a marble palace. This girl is dressed in black. This other girl cries blood tears. Claret tears that are of a dark red that is near black and are thick and voluminous, reeking of evil and anguish and pain. A sparkling red drop of blood clings at the edge of her rose-bud lips. This other girl has a rope too. A rope not to skip with, a rope that twines around her neck, strangling her and lifting her above ground, in a perpetually limp and broken state, like a rag doll mistreated and unwanted. Her nails are long and of a shimmering blue-black hue, like ten black opals against her skin of alabaster white.
I felt a sudden jerk of surprise. I just realized how negative a person I really am. =)
He told me he teared slightly simply by looking at me and smiling to himself, but he knew not why. I bet he too, knows not that more than once my eyes very nearly betrayed me with drops of naughty tears that impiously tried to worm their way outta the corners of my eyes - for all the wrong reasons.
Agonizingly sweet was the song; painfully beautiful was her voice. Her mere presence sent shockwaves across the room. My powers of imagination are somewhat extraordinary. His passages of her are etched into a lil' corner of my heart, and I feel as though I was standing in his shoes, sharing his admiration for her. Her independence, her achievements, her aura. She sings, and she dances. A virtuoso in the performing arts. A lady who knows exactly what she wants. She is his sweet soft spot.
My heart floated around like the magnificent Titanic making its grand maiden journey for a while, as I looked into his golden brown eyes dotted with dark specks. I felt myself loved, and loving in return. I felt happy, contented, and as though I was experiencing all things beautiful in that one instant, when his eyes are locked on mine, and mine on his.
Then like Titanic, my heart sank. Titantic - The song's playing for the sixth time in a row now. =) Kai bu liao kou. The song which accompanied him through his darkest hours when his gaze was in her direction. My own soft bleats of baah-baah sound pitiful to my ears. Is this all an illusion? Will I turn out to be a deluded Cinderella whose glass slippers get smashed into smithereens in the end? Will I be left trampling on shards of broken glass pieces and swallowing my own salty tears? The same naughty tears are ruthlessly banging on doors to be let out. I'm glad he's not here. I can finally cry.
Wednesday, January 07, 2004
Once again I stare at the sight before me from my "throne room". It seems like yesterday when he spoke of my aerie as a "throne room", and I am Queen Nerdette. Shades of green, shades of grey.
It must be a beautiful sunset. It has to be. A split second after I drew up my blinds and was awed by the magnificence of it all, Al texted me to share the exact same sentiments. A flawless pulchritude. A beauty that brings one to his or her knees. So simple, yet so powerfully and hauntingly beautiful. Even as I type now I'm amused by the sight of Andy standing at the staircase visible from my window taking pictures (of the sunset I hope *evil grin*). Funny. I was shooting with my faithful Canon V2 just a moment before. Seems like I'm not the only die-hard romantic around.
Shades of green, shades of grey. More grey and blue than green now. Al just texted me again. He said the clouds have returned, and so will he. To the dread and ?dreggs? and ?droggs? of school. Impressive guy. He's always struck me like an onion. With each layer being peeled off, I see more of him, and each layer is deeper and more intriguing than the previous. I'll always remember his sudden statement about taking me away and planting me at a place where I can be free. The bittersweetness of it all. How can one be rooted and freed at the same time? =) And his inordinate love for Don McLean's Starry Starry Night. And the book he shared with me - The Giving Tree.
You honour me with your acquaintance with me, my friend. You are brilliant. =)
Indulgence. There are so many things for one to indulge in. I love indulging in the extreme sweetness of my Snicker bars, not that I really like them all that much, but they're good nutrition for someone staying miles (alright I'm exaggerating) away from civilization. I indulge in the sun, the sea, the pool, the shower, and more recently, scent.
A few days ago I sprayed a quarter bottle of Kenzo all over my room, among mountains of stuffed toys, in my cupboard, on my bed, and in my drawers. Psst psst psst. A youthful, light fragrance that reminds one of watermelons and tropical fruits. I read a comment somewhere in Cleo or other trashy magazines a long long time ago that this guy found it extremely tasty. Hmm. A perfume. Tasty. Hmm.
But that's Kenzo. I've been trying to use up that bottle for ages. It's bubbly, it's cute, but it's so not me. The only time I'm in the mood to wear it would be at the pool or at the beach, when I'm clad in only my bikinis. Tropical, you see. =) But I feel weird in it anywhere else. Why should anyone wanna smell like a giant walking watermelon in a seminar room? What would the poor soul sitting next to me think? Would he or she be tempted to sink his or her teeth into a juicy watermelon?
Today I took my indulgence one step further. I misted my cupboard with Estee Lauder's Pleasure. The sparkling edition. It makes me feel a lil' more grown up, slightly more than Clinique's Happy, and very very much more than Moschino's OH!. Pleasure can only lose out in terms of the maturity level it makes me feel to Lancome's Miracle. Miracle's so overpowering it knocks me out sometimes. Ah, my fault, coz I like to overload my senses with scents. Miracle makes me feel... womanly? Prolly because of its more pronounced bottom note of jasmine and amber musk. Musky. That's right. It's musky. Almost animistic, if you strain to detect the muskiness within.
And there's always my aromatherapy lamp. The fresh top notes of dunno what. Aikes. A friend got me this scent and I can't make out what it is coz the label's torn off together with the price tag. Doinks. Add a mug of sizzling Diet Coke with lemon and Voila! A perfect way to indulge.
P.S. I have a surprise for someone. And I wanna keep it a surprise. I must. I MUST!
6:19 PM
Tuesday, January 06, 2004
Half an hour and a couple of small cuts later, I finally opened that unco-operative bottle of Diet Coke. Among the destructive tools employed to cut through the cap that's annoying fused to the ring below it (normally one would expect to see something like a dotted line all around the circumference of the cap) are my trusted penknife, metal ruler, and ballpoint pen. After breaking three blades and suffering itch-causing incisions on my left palm, the cap finally surrendered and yield to my attempts to force it open. Damn it. Why must Georgie's always sell inferior products?
Weird. If it were anyone else who got cut I would attend to it like an overreactive caring granny. Anyone else but myself. Even as I type I feel the half itch half sting pain across a small section of the flesh below my left thumb, yet I refuse to wipe alcohol swaps or apply a band aid over it. I realize I don't care a lot about myself, yet I care an enormous amount for him. I do. I was so worried.
X X X
He misse(d/s) me! I am happy, and I am glad. Thank you dearie. =) You can't imagine what joy you bring.
8:11 PM
I am Blur Queen. As blur as any sotong can be. I very nearly forgot to file for graduation, partly because of my bochupness, and partly because I didn't think there was a need to file. Why should there be? I mean, isn't my college efficient and "smart" enough to automate the process for us? Besides, I don't recall receiving any emails or reminders whatsoever with regards to FFG. Oh my goodness gracious me. I am blur.
Please remind me to file for grad tomorrow. Anyone. Please. I may really forget. I can only access the site at 9 am tomorrow. I am sotong. I am squid. I am blur queen.
I am also ganjiong spider. I have this unstoppable urge to spring into action, even though I really am all limp and flaccid now. My hands were shaking when I deliberated over adding a sixth module to my five-day week. I don't know what I'm doing. I am lost.
At the pool my feeble mind started rhyming again. An eerie tempo, very much like a nursery rhyme, but haunting and disturbing, like a woman trapped within the shell of a lil' girl, condemned never to grow up. A lady with so much hate and vengeance in her, masked by the innocence of an angelic child, seething and hissing with all things unimaginably negative and evil.
I Stand Alone I stand alone and bawl,
Without you around the hands of time do crawl.
I stand alone and weep,
Holding on to something I know I cannot keep.
I stand alone and cry,
My arms are bleeding I know not why.
I stand at your door and knock,
Blood tears stream down to stain my frock.
I stand alone and sigh,
Embracing death as the light draws nigh.
I stand alone and pray,
that you'll not see me in the state I'm in today.
It doesn't carry any secondary connotations. It's not even an extension of my own feelings. It is simply, a fragment of my imagination, thinking that I'm someone else. Some maniacally depressed soul (though I can be one sometimes) who wields an icy sword that can cause serious damage with its emotional blows.
No, that's not me, or at least not today. I'm not in exceptionally high spirits, but I'm not in a murderous or suicidal mood either. I am so full of my doubts of myself.
Wilson, why do you have to move out of PGP? I so do need a bitching partner right now. A coffee break on either the second or the sixth floor. Instant coffee break (meaning anytime we choose to have one) with instant coffee.
I'm off for a shower. I need to clear my thoughts.
Second day of school. And I don't feel like going for classes. Damn it.
I wanna hop down to the pool and tan and roast and bake and be chao tar. The weather is perfect for a pool lizard. YET, I have to attend two lectures, one at 12 and another one at 2, for which I dun even noe the names of those modules. Well done. I really have lost the touch of studying, haven't I? Sighs.
I have made someone worried last night. I am rather extreme, I confess, when it comes to a certain condition. I'll go berserk and run amok and wreak havoc to myself in order to eliminate a certain discomfort.
Monday, January 05, 2004
When the times comes for you to hold another hand,
Grieve will the heart whose walls have crumbled into sand.
To let you know and remember,
After my heart has been torn asunder;
To hold onto your hand, squeeze it real hard and tight,
My darkest hour be the moment you left me, my wits taken flight.
All that remains for me would be memories sublime,
When you have moved on to happiness in another place, another time.
Sunday, January 04, 2004
Gone is my sweet December. Much of it was spent on dolce vita with him, as the Italian saying goes, dolce far niente, or sweet doing nothing. Even as I write this blog now, I think of him, and I wonder if he's thinking of me too. His grand entrance into my life exerts such a strong pull on me that everything he does or says tugs my heart, as though a viciously sharp hook is dug into my insides. When we had our worst bickers or disagreements I could almost imagine my torso being torn open by a mystical and powerful force. I haven't felt so rattled and shaken for a long time, so inexplicably helpless and out of place, so unsure of what I want and what I should do.
A profound loneliness in the Queen - the solitary vigil of the cynic watching over her vulnerable heart, lest anyone surprise it into trust or tenderness. But has she always been so wary? Or has she learnt from bitter experience not to open herself to love? Or has she simply never been exposed to sweet simple love?
I am happy when he's happy; and I'm disoriented and thrown into a panic frenzy when he is blanked out or sad.
Sorry Smash, I believe I agreed to trash reading with you in school before the hols, and we haven't had a chance to meet up at all. Sorry D and E, I've flied enough aeroplanes to take over Changi International Airport as the best in the world. Sorry Wil, I haven't had a decent conversation to find out how you've been doing for ages. Sorries to everyone else. I haven't been myself much, not that I've ever been, but during vacation time I almost always lose myself to bumming.
Dread and anticipation, hope and despair. In a funny way I kinda dread going back to school. If things had been easier I might have anticipated it with much more zeal and excitement, but the situation doesn't seem to agree with me. Aikes. Of course, all difficulties and inconveniences are self-perceived. Eventually things will be done. But still I am entitled to sulk and lament about certain comfort and luxuries I do not have, am I not? Then again, upon closer scrutiny, I am blessed, and very much so too. Touched by angels and surrounded by love, care and concern, who am I to be the eternal pessimist, the disbeliever and the cynic?
-- Name: Li Jingmei (for simplicity sake ppl know me as Jimmie)
-- Birth date: 10 August 1982
-- Location: Singapore
-- Eye Color: Black
-- Hair Color: Sun-bleached
-- Height: 163 cm
-- Zodiac Sign: Leo
LAYER TWO:
-- The shoes you wore today: Trodded around in my house barefeet today
-- Your weakness: I think and ponder and deliberate and presume and assume too much
-- Your fears: Losing my loved ones
-- Your perfect pizza: Super Supreme
-- Goal you'd like to achieve: I failed to achieve my dream three years ago. There's no turning back the hands of time now. For now, I just wanna take good care and provide for the ones I love, taking it as it comes day by day, bumming and indulging till the day I reach 30 and then slowly and quietly fade and wither away.
LAYER THREE:
-- Your most overused phrase(s) on MSN: doinks, gahs, erms; borrowed from him: pui, aikes
-- Your thoughts first waking up: hmmmm?
-- Your best physical feature: my tan
-- Your bedtime: anytime really. I slept like a baby for like almost the whole day today, alternating between periods of sweet oblivion and reading a most predictable and somewhat trashy book
-- Your most missed memory: The time before the age of awareness, when I was like any other child born to light. When was it? I cannot recall or define.
LAYER FOUR:
-- In love? =) Loving someone is different from being in love with someone. Tony Parsons made that distinction rather clearly and succinctly. There are times when I feel like a merciful, saint, utterly, entirely, and completely washed over and overwhelmed with love for everyone and anyone, yet there are also times I feel so very alone, all alone in my own world wrapped by a shroud of suffocating solitude. At times like this my flow of love dwindles to a pathetically miserable trickle that is channeled only to those most important to me. Ah, I digressed too much. In love? =) What do you think?
LAYER FIVE:
-- Smoke: Intellectual smoking? That I do a lot, and I humbly think I excel reasonably at it. As for carcinogenic life-reducing nicotine-laced pleasure, I do succumb to internal struggles to self-destruct once in a blue moon. Not so much for the pleasure, no, not that, but to concentrate and focus on breathing in the puffs of fluffy white smoke that curls around me like wiry phantom-like phalanges. Inhale them and have them permeating within me instead of temptatiously and seductively circling around me. To feel, to experience, and maybe to understand and appreciate the reputed therapeutic relaxation smoking can bring.
-- Cuss: Erms. Does "cuss" refer to "curse"? If so I do silently scream and shriek it mentally, but the worse I can utter under usual controlled circumstances would most likely me "qu si".
-- Sing: Baah baah black sheep have you any wool?
-- Take a shower everyday: Nods.
-- Have a crush: Hee. All the time. Right now my eyes are locked on this baah baah he-lamb...
-- Do you think you've been in love: In love and yet not so in love with all things romantic or anything pertaining to romance. I am Donna Quixote.
-- Want to go to college: I think I am already in college.
-- Like(d) high school: =)
-- Believe in yourself: Not all the time
-- Get motion sickness: Yea man
-- Think you're attractive: Depends on which part of me that's under question
-- Think you're a health freak?: I used to be, in a destructive sorta way
-- Get along with your parent(s): =) (Mona Lisa smile)
-- Like thunderstorms: If I could sit under a shelter, wrapped in a thick warm blankie together with my other half to enjoy the spectacular display of Nature's pyrotechnics, why not?
-- Play an instrument: Aikes.
LAYER SIX:
In the past month... -- drank alcohol: Nods
-- Smoked: I think I did.
-- Done a drug: Do aphrodisiacs count? hur hur hur =D
-- Had Sex: Erms
-- Made Out: Erms
-- Gone on a date: Finally, a question to which an answer is rated accepted and suitably catered to public opinion, YES!
-- Gone to the mall?: Sheets. Not quite. Passed by for food or what not, yes, but to shop... Hm..
-- Eaten an entire box of Oreos: I don't fancy Oreos that much. Kinda biased against them. Oh don't mind me, I boycotted Nike for a while too, together with those Oreos.
-- Eaten sushi: Nods.
-- Been on stage: Eh
-- Been dumped: I hope not.
-- Gone skating: No leh.
LAYER SEVEN:
Ever... -- Played a game that required removal of clothing: I might have. But I don't recall. What kinda games are we talking about here anyway!
-- Been trashed or extremely intoxicated: Hee *hic* ~burp~
-- been caught "doing something": I nearly caught a fish. Can't remember if anyone caught me doing anywhere, alone or otherwise.
-- Been called a tease: YES.
-- Got beaten up: Bitten or beaten?
-- Shoplifted: NO
-- Changed who You were to fit in: I learnt a lot from him. He made me understand certain things. I might have changed, but not to fit in.
LAYER EIGHT:
-- Age you hope to be married: Not thinking.
-- Numbers and Names of Children: I might go on an airy-fairy soliloquy and start rambling on about naming my children Panadol and Paracetomol (so I can call them Dolly and Molly for short), but I rather they stay safe and happy in my castle in the air, never to be tainted or hurt by this cold and harsh world.
-- Describe your Dream Wedding: Have you ever been to the actual NDP parade? Have you seen those awesome fireworks lighting up the sky above you, just beyond your reach? It is fit for a princess's wedding. When I was there a few years ago I just exclaimed to the person next to me that "I wanna get married!"
-- How do you want to die: Warm. I wanna feel warm, but I wanna feel the biting cold at the same time. I'm one kind weird. I wanna be in this flowing white dress that drapes over my shoulders, to be resting on a boulder by the sea, feeling the wind in my face and then plunging a bejeweled dagger into my middle. Then I'll slowly feel the cold creeping around me, seeping into my veins and sending chills up and down my spine. I'll slowly, ever so peacefully, wither and fade away, slipping into oblivion...
-- What do you want to be when you grow up: I had a dream.
LAYER NINE:
In the opposite sex -- Best eye color? Brown
-- Best hair color?: His hair now’s brown
-- Short or long hair: Doesn’t matter as long as it’s him
-- Height: His height
-- Best weight: His weight
-- Best articles of clothing: Anything he wears really
