2007 has been the most fucked up year of my life - so far. I hate it, I really do. Would I go back and live it again? Well maybe, but making a few choice changes (I have NEVER once said I would change anything in my past, this gives you an idea how much I hate this year).

Next year is no comfort too. There's the hassle of getting adapted to 2008 which usually takes me the entire Jan to get used to, then new class numbers and etc. If anything else next year actually looks worse than this year (of course due to other factors than those listed above).

Fuck.

Nowadays I feel very far from the friends I used to know and love. It's almost astonishing to me to read their blogs and think of how happy, superficial and innocent they are, I haven't recalled feeling so high and floaty for such a prolonged period in a long time.

And I wish I could go back to feeling that way too. I want my easily sated high and floaty-ness back.

But no! As 2007 fades to 2008, never is it clearer that this so called innocence is gone forever and will continue to be stripped away as we youths turn into adults and then the elderly. No wonder the old people are so damn grumpy, they've been through the shit we've gone through times (total difference of of years)^3 and that damn thing ain't going to ever asymptote (I blame technology and the news for this).

I should be asleep by now.

I went book shopping today! Borders was having 15% discount and Kinokuniya 20% discount (till the 30th December) and armed with vouchers my uncle and aunt gave me for Christmas (he actually protested and said he didn't want to get me something so nerdy) I went a-book buying :D

I was surprised to find Of Human Bondage there (Daryl told me he couldn't find it here!) and Bed by Tao Lin. I was also surprised to find Oryx and Crake missing from the shelves >:( Another nasty surprise I encountered was The Rape of Nanking being displaying prominently on the 'New Fiction Release' shelf -_____- Now I don't want to jump to conclusions here, but you know Japanese bookstore and Japanese denial of the Rape of Nanking? I feel like sending them a letter to complain, but it might be an accident (yeah right).

Anyway I bought:
Jeffery Eugenides - Middlesex
Sylvia Plath - The Bell Jar
Tao Lin - Bed

And from Borders (this was a gift from my mother, the bill was insane :/) I continued my epic quest to find more books from the Great Loves imprint by Penguin.
Sorin Kierkegaard - The Seducer's Diary
James Baldwin - Giovanni's Room
John Updike - The Women Who Got Away

(This all seems very materialistic, I actually felt happy going around look for the books and holding them in my hands. And goodness I have not felt that happy in a while. I live my life through buying books.)

D.H Lawrence - The Virgin And The Gypsy
F. Scott Fitzgerald - Magnetism
Anton Chekov - A Russian Affair
Francoise Sagan - Bonjour Tristesse
Thomas Hardy - A Mere Interlude
William Trevor - Bodily Secrets

I'm still missing Vigil, Aberlard, Boccacio, Casanova, Stendhal, Freud and Mansfield to complete the lot. The one I really want is Freud, but I simply can't find it anywhere! The phallic symbol on the cover makes me giggle though. So fitting for the father of father fucking. As for Casanova I picked it up and it made me feel sick to the head (ugh I am such a prude?) so I put it back.

I have no idea how the hell I'm going to finish all of this...

I keep sneezing and having to blow my nose and my eye is red and slightly swollen. I hope I'm not falling sick! ):

So anyway as some of you know, I was in Southern China for a short visit from the 19th to the 25th December. In attempt to preserve the memories and *still* be lazy at the same time, I present you people with a little photo montage (since 1 is supposed to be worth a thousand [why can't my TOK essay be 2 pictures then?!]).

In Guangzhou we went to see my grandfather's cousin (apparently removed a few times, this confusion was made worse with the destruction of the family temple by the red army, but whatever, we're related). He was quite a nice men, and as my dad (and apparently grandpa) said, he ain't gonna last long. But they said that 3 years ago and he's still around. Tough dude. He barked at his live in maid, bought lap cheong for us, critisised me for not being able to speak Cantonese and basically came off as being a really awesome person.

I managed to capture this picture, which I'm really proud of, a picture of him laughing naturally with my father.



What was kind of freaky however, was when I watched him pause to breathe deeply, choke and etc, it occurred to me that at 17, I did the same things too - on a regular basis.

He thought so highly of us he even kept a picture of our family in his living room.



I felt terrible when I saw this, imagine a man so far away caring for us *just* because we were blood relatives when 50% of the people in that picture never met him or knew him at all. It was almost as if we were so ungrateful (for the record I requested for the visit).



This is his grandson. In some far out universe I am related to him. Maybe he'll like reading, or maybe he'll be an INFJ, or maybe he'll have some weird nose (like his grandpa, me, my dad, etc.)

My family's village is in Bai Yun Chun, Guangzhou (White Cloud Village), and specifically some name I clean forgot which has the word Dai (Da/Big) in it. The village wasn't too bad, quite affluent in fact. My family lived in a Chun Wu (Village House) which was 3+ stories high, crammed onto a small patch of land, which is supposed to indicate the family is filthy rich by China standards and the rooms were named Ipoh, Melaka and Singapore to remember how the overseas family helped when the family was starving during the cultural revolution and great leap forward.

But of course, a village is still a village.

I actually like this picture a lot as well. There was some guys playing pool on pool tables lining the road to the village as well, but er, I didn't want to get beaten up.

In the middle is the family temple, which the Red Army ransacked and screwed during the cultural revolution. Buggers. The pond in front of it is bloody disgusting, I saw lots of trash floating at the shore and the water was a toxic black colour. Fengshui my ass, it looked like it'd bring more bad luck than good luck.



This is the prized family tree which was destroyed. Right now we're at about the 26th generation, the Red Army destroyed literally centuries of my family history without regard >:(



This is my attempt to mindfuck the Wong elders. They left a pile of cards on a card table inside the temple so I went to rearrange them.



Imagine! Every single person caught in this frame is related to me somehow (well Wong elders loafing about outside the temple). I find the whole concept mindboggling. All my life family = immediate families and no more, and suddenly it's BOOM huge family.



Anyway onto to what Guangzhou is good for, shopping - upsized! I didn't really take pictures but this is a shoes wholesale centre. Imagine if Vivocity was nothing but cheap 45 yuan (S$9) shoes, and then add in IMM too. That's how mindboggling huge the entire place was.

In Shenzhen my Uncle KL's family joined us and we did the usual kitschy tourist thing, visiting Shi Jie Zhi Chun (Window of the World - I loled like hell at the name). It's exactly as described, imagine viewing the world as Gulliver and you'd get an idea of how surreal it feels like. While buying tickets my dad had his handphone pickpocketed, so it really does provide an authentic feel of the world.

They even had a Merlion, which made me LOL.



And people taking wedding pictures! The bride wore slippers, the kitchen kind under her dress.



The scales were done pretty accurately, they had the Savannah as well with little figurines of animals.



Except one thing: The monkeys, elephants and lions were all the same size.



I also love this picture I took. It does not get more mindfuck than this. A mini Taj Mahal, a rented Indian dancer costume and increasing modernisation all in the same frame.



Jesus approves!



And of course to remind you that you're still in China, here's a picture of a kid shitting at the Grand Canyon exhibit (it was in a corner and people tended to take pictures from afar).



It was onto to HK the next day, and damn, I do hate that place. It was way too crowded for my liking >:( My dad brought us to the escalators at the mid levels, I would have probably enjoyed it more had I not been so tired after 4 days on consecutive hardcore walking.



I found this sign at Sculpture Place? Square? completely awesome because it was written in Tagalog as well as other languages, and damn if that place wasn't filled with Filipinos. They sat on every free space and were spread out for a few kilometers around the main square area.



We even took a Tram up the Peak, which I hated because we had to stand and I was holding onto a pole, then this skinny bitch leaned against it AND HER SPINE DUG RIGHT INTO MY HANDS THE ENTIRE TRIP. It was so painful it was unbelievable. I felt less pain splitting my foot open. I couldn't even let go because that would mean plummeting to the lower end of the tram and falling on ever other poor sucker standing up as well -____________________-

And then the best part of that agonising Tram Ride, all we saw was this:



Hello lousy HK weather. That's supposed to be the Pacific Ocean down there, maybe if you look enough you'll see something.

The only consolation is that we didn't pay more to see that by buying tickets for some weird indoor viewing platform. Unless they had laser x-ray googles for their patrons, I fail to see how they had any advantage over us.



HAHAHA YOU SUCK MORE THAN I DO.

One of the last stops we made was to Bu Ji Tu Hua Chun (Buji Art Village) which sold art reproductions for dirt cheap. Imagine a poster sized painting of Mona Lisa for 50 yuan (S$10), and then think about how the artist was probably some art graduate with big dreams and ended up doing shit work for dirt pay. Glorious stuff.



I like this picture too, it almost seems like there's a crying elderly lady at the window. Haunting.



Here's a picture of one such 'artist' in question, working away outdoors.



This picture made me LOL damn bad, my dad too. Apparently it was a special commission, and as my dad puts it, 'fucking gay!' I am immensely amused.



Then on our last few moments on China soil, I took this picture of a China sex shop. I like the way it actually looks less dodgy than a Singapore sex shop.



Anyway, what is China without amusing Engrish?



Boiled Fish Labia With Mushroom


Fock Dance


And last of the lot, Coconuts (you need to read it to get it).

I need to sleep now.

I'm starting to do a little work again, in anticipation of the upcoming school year, starting with the most braindead - compiling Math Studies Survey results (please do it if you haven't already done so!) when I came across this:


I kept thinking Arjun did it, not sure why, but it's probably due to the prim and proper way they questions were answered (okay so the respondee misread the rate using numbers bit) - then I saw 'To Get Rich Is Glorious'. Hurrrr Deng Xiaopeng.

Speaking of which I just finished Huckleberry Finn (and damnit King Lear does not look inviting) so I should start on my Fairbank book soon.

Sometimes I think I am less of a person than who I used to be, fire-in-blood and carefree, for everyone who has upped and left has taken a chunk of me away with them - never to return. That means I am 12.5% of who I used to be in 2003.

He finally spoke to me, talked to me like I existed again and we were friends and all was normal and right with the world. The last time we spoke was in September, during the Holidays - since then I have ceased to exist in his eyes, nothing more than a veritable shade; a unknown walking along the corridor; a being, just a being.

It was a dream of classmates and fun, familiar faces, love and the past (or was it the future? I can only wish it were so!). It was a dream I was most reluctant to wake from. Where everything felt right and safe and calm. But it was just a dream.

Tonight I head off for the grand land of Chaos, to my ancestral home bearing gifts of 3-in-1 coffee and eating roasted chestnuts along the street. Taaa!

I'm rearranging my meager book collection, because braindead shouldn't be put next to awesome.

I really do hate shopping. Today I was out with the mother and she was at Massismo Dutti for the approximate time of 10 minutes + 1 Fujiya & Miyagi album + 1 Los Campesinos! album. Meanwhile I sat on one of the chairs in the store and kept very still, pretending I was a mannequin. I almost lost the game however when a bored husband came and sat in the chair next to mine and kept looking at me like I was mad, waiting for me to move - I almost burst out giggling.

From my nice black leather chair I also observed how all the female shoppers there walked and even acted like predators. Their stalky sinister walking, the holding up and examining bits of clothes, surveying the room for a suitable prey. Surreal. What the hell do females do with so many clothes anyway?!

Then hours later, I ended up spending like 1 hour in Zara holding clothes for my mother even though I was damn tired and wanted to sleep. I was also really bored so I was finding all sorts of ways to amuse myself. This included me stroking the soft suede elbow patches on some knit sweaters when another bored boyfriend came along, saw me stroking the patches and proceeded to play with the patches on the black knits (I had grey). When I wandered by a few minutes later he was still playing with them.

Anyway on the upside I have more books! Hooray!

Friday with Sharyl:
Kunal Basu - Racists (This book came out late last year and I spent forever looking for it, only to be told it was out of stock!!! Then I kept forgetting the author's name -_-)
York Notes on Twelfth Night
Something Notes on King Lear

Today:
Mark Twain - Huckleberry Finn (I thought I had it, but turns out I didn't so I had to buy it for English)
Vladimir Nabokov - Mary
Ivan Turgenev - First Love
Leo Tolstoy - The Kreutzer Sonata (I just realised all 3 are Russian)
Anais Nin - Eros Unbound

The last 4 are from a wonderful new imprint of Penguin ^_^ omg I love the covers. I want to get more of the series, like Chekhov, Freud and Hardy to name a few. It's kinda pricy though, for such slim volumes, though it also means I can probably read them really fast if I want to. Meanwhile, I have a Fairbank book on China to plow through before anything else, or maybe I'll read something else first as a treat....

Montag was wonderful (: He was a veritable one man show, bouncing between playing his violin to tapping the cymbals and gently ticking the wind-chime like instrument dangling beneath his electronic drums (or possibly mixer). As you can tell I'm not very good at identifying instruments. A Melodie I am not.

After the end of the show (well worth the $21, even if only for an hour), Montag was hanging around taking pictures and autographing stuff. Jia Hui was all, LETS GET AUTOGRAPHS, but I felt like :x because I felt scared of going up to ask him. I also had to get her to help me buy Alone, But Not Alone because I was afraid. Of what, I don't know. If Jia Hui wasn't there, I probably wouldn't have gone and gotten an autograph even if I really wanted to, because I was afraid of asking. I felt really shy.

This started me thinking once again of who I was - who I am, who am I?

According to Nic, my reputation in school is that I'm a psychotic bitch. Unfortunately cold is not lumped into that, for that did hurt me. Then I thought a little further and realised that if people wanted to think I was a psychotic bitch, it was alright because they probably didn't know me - at least they won't be people from 5.9. My Mama says I'm very 'innocent' in a sense that I am naive. My aunt says I'm exactly like my dad and the people in the office say I'm a copy of my uncle (aunt, dad, uncle are children of Mama). So who am I really?

If I'm really a nice person, why do I do mean things and hurt others? If I believe in sacrifice, why can't I sacrifice some of me for the happiness of others? If I'm really intelligent why is it that I don't understand a single thing about Theory of Knowledge (something like Philosophy)? If I am pretty as my daddy says (but he is my daddy after all), why is it I've never been hit on, never been asked for a phone number? Oh it is a confusing mass of contradictions! Who who who are we really? Who am I really? Would Jane Goodall throw away a plastic bottle or would Steven Hawking read a Tom Clancy book?

At least I can take comfort in some things which I know is true about myself.

1. I like violins. The sound of it melts my heart and moves me, even if it is a horrible song.

2. I like young children, provided they're not bratty

3. I like foreign and/or indie films. At the same time I like stuff like (prepare yourself for the
shock :o ) Scary Movie.

4. I like people who don't like the USA. Even if they are raving mad and act like idiots. (Go Hugo Chavez, Michael Moore and Mahmoud Ahmadinejad!)

5. I like meaningful and/or poetic lyrics. Music plays a huge role in my life, bringing me back to old memories or opening new paths for me. This is also why I hate mainstream shit now like YOZ FUCK DAYUM BITCHES HARD. Kindly explain the merit and usefulness of such music to me.

6. I don't like blood, nor blood tests. In fact I hate anything that involves drawing even a bead of blood, so even injections are !!! to me

7. I like to believe people are true and genuine even though I say that I believe that mankind is doomed to hell and everyone lies. I often end up following what I like to believe in instead.

8. I'm not pretty. The only one who ever complimented me was a pervy Japanese teacher I had, a boy who was trying to poeticise his life and a dodgy scout from a dodgy modelling agency.

9. I enjoy reading immensely, though I have yet to read as voraciously as Daryl or read the level of books he's at. I am happy muddling about with my Middlemarch with hopes to finish Crime and Punishment, War and Peace before I finish college. Ulysses will probably be when my children pop out children of their own.

10. I like passion fruit. I always buy passion fruit smints, lakerols and soap if I can find it. One day I vow to actually eat it.

11. I like green! Most shades, except sea foam green. I have no idea why. It started when I was either Sec 1 or

12. I like other deeper, autumnal shades as well like olive green, forest green, browns, berry shades, dusty rose, etc.

13. Autumn is my favourite season of the lot. Pity we don't have it here.

14. I like French even thought I don't understand more than the anglo speaking layperson. It sounds so smooth. I'd never like it enough to learn it as lessons though, I have Cantonese and Japanese to finish first.

15. I like 3s. Anything to do with them, multiples, things 3 is times by. My handphone number is an example: 9127xxxx. 9 and 1 are 3s in other forms, and 27 is 3 x 9!

16. I like to write stuff down. I get frustrated when I get ideas and can't write them down, I fear I will forget them.

17. I like Montreal. I have never been there, only heard of it, and sometimes not positively either. Somehow though, it fails to lose it's attraction to me. As a whole I prefer Canada above all other countries (my dad too he was educated there). Someone used to tell me that the 'anyways' I used to say was singlish, I later realised my dad said it too, as Canadian slang.

18. I am interested in Politics, but at the same time not so specifically. What I would really like to know is why the hell political leaders do the shit they do and why we as the voting population accept/fight it. Social psychology is interesting too.

19. Contrary to popular belief, I actually prefer polar bears over tigers. The whole lao hu shit started as a joke in Sec 1 Chinese and never died. This included writing LAO HU in large words that covered half the page for Chinese compo and saying that Singaporean population policies should take the lead from lao hu mating habits. According to my Sec 4 lao shi I was infamous in the Chinese dept. Everyone knew who I was.

20. I like sad things, sad movies, sad stories. I would love to bottle up sadness in little bottles, label it and hold them tight. As an emotion it speaks the most, means the most and somehow is so precious in my eyes. It is also one I am often familiar with, whether personally experienced or through empathy.

21. I don't like moving or running about a lot. I'm actually quite lazy, but I enjoy walking. Till I hurt my foot. Now it hurts to walk >.<

22. I like detective shows like Law and Order and Criminal Minds. I don't really like CSI very much though, I have no idea why. Pity though, since they only show the stuff I like at the oddest hours, like say 2am in the morning -________________-

23. I like the number 23. This was long before I came to ACSI and I found out Yeang's fanatical obsessions with it. My register number in Sec 2 was 23, and I put 23 as the age I'd like to get married at. Since then I always had a fondness of the number. Nothing more :x

And ta dah. 23 things I know for sure about myself, even if I really don't know myself (I have half a mind to ask Alchemist to do this too, but 23 is quite a bit - perhaps your favourite number? You can pretend it's 5 if you like). I also know another thing, that early doctor's appointment + insomnia + Montag = tired. Goodnight.

Oh yes that reminds me, if you haven't already done this survey for my Math Studies project (yes I know -_-) can you help me do it? Especially if you're older than 20 or not Chinese. It'll take no more than 20 minutes. Thank you! :D

suicide?

For many years, Frank never quite saw the need to draft a will. However on a rather ordinary day for this ordinary churchman, he woke up with a sudden epiphany and rose rather cheerily. Should Mrs. Frank have seen this, she would not have failed to pass a comment about how he looked younger, but as always she lay asleep with her back facing her husband.

As Frank started out the window, watching the raindrops pelt the windowpane on yet another dreary English day, he felt freer than he had in months. Worst of all was the pretense he had to put up for his dwindling congregation that yes, all was well with the Franks. Thankfully, the eyesight and hearing of the parishioners had grown so bad that they now could neither discern sarcasm from actual happiness, nor a blatantly forced smile from a real one. Their eyesight had also spared them the agony of seeing Mrs. Frank sneak Mr. Williams into the parish house, which is what a rather distressed Frank saw one day in a security camera he had installed on the church grounds – to stop the theft of the church’s prize winning roses.

The next blow came when he saw who the thief of the roses was, none other than his son, Frank Jr. As if Frank Jr. didn’t upset his father enough, the video camera also captured him giving the roses to another boy and a gratuitous make out session ensued. Such debauchery! Frank felt sick to the stomach and head and dirty all over. He leaned over and puked into the paper bin and started to cry. Perhaps this is how God feels like, he thought, able to see every single sin we carry out, rendering him sick, as his tears washed the puke off his mouth.

The final blow came a few weeks later when because the rose bushes were too bare of roses that they were disqualified from the annual county competition – for Frank was the sort of man who had a marked disability in confronting loved ones and Frank Jr. had literally deflowered the bush in addition to being deflowered in front of the bush.

Frank soon started to think rather dark thoughts, which all too often drifted to suicide from the ‘manlier’ thoughts of killing his entire family with a chainsaw. However he was a man of the church through and through, he could not possibly take his own life for it was against God’s wishes, it was a sin! What was the point of living such a Godly life and leaving a sinner? Besides, he told himself, there’s so much suffering in the world that I should at least try to alleviate some of it before I go or else my life is a waste. At that very thought, he drifted off to sleep and dreamt a dream of a land far away where he would be able to die soon without sinning and awoke the next day with a grin.

-----

Frank got into his rather small and economical car after preparing breakfast for the entire family and set off for the nearest town where the family solicitors were located. Parking his car, he headed straight for Bingham & Botts; Advocates & Solicitors. He drafted his will, leaving his wife and son the princely sum of 2,000 pounds each and willed the rest to Adulterers Anonymous and Help for Homosexuals. Feeling pleased with himself for being so witty, he then headed to the travel agent’s to book a one way ticket to Iraq, economy class, thank you very much.

Errands done, he went off to the grocers and bought the weekly groceries, giving himself a little treat by buying his favoured Polo mints. Popping one into his mouth, he loaded the groceries into the car boot and got into the car and set off for home.

He found Mrs. Frank and Frank Jr. at the breakfast table eating the breakfast he had nicely laid out earlier and he greeted them cheerily, receiving guttural grunts in return. He decided there and then to announce his plans to his family. “Can I have both of your attention please? I’d like to say now that I’m going to Iraq for a trip this Saturday.”

Mrs. Frank paused from drinking her tea. “Isn’t it dangerous my dear? What if you die there? What will happen to Frank Jr. and me then?”

Frank smiled, for he knew his wife too well, “I’ve already drafted a will with Bingham & Botts, so in the event I don’t return, I have already made provisions for you two.”

“Oh”. Mrs. Frank then returned to the morning papers and her tea. Frank Jr. didn’t even say a word and continued devouring his scrambled eggs.

Unable to contain his excitement further and eager to get away from the degenerate lot, Frank headed to his room and started to pack the things he wished to bring along to Iraq. He held each article of clothing dispassionately, old fond memories forgotten in anticipation of the future.

-----

Saturday morning came and the Franks pilled into the car, Frank Jr. quiet as usual and Mrs. Frank prattling about how it was quite unfair the parish was disqualified from the yearly rose competition. Frank himself kept quiet but smiled and nodded, acting like he was listening to Mrs. Frank.

At the airport he hugged Mrs. Frank tightly and ruffled Frank Jr.’s hair. As he walked towards the immigration counter, he shouted out for Mrs. Frank to take care of herself and Frank Jr., and with a wave disappeared from view.

On board the flight to Dubai, he promptly fell asleep, awakening later only for the on board meal and then proceeding to fiddle with the amenities provided. Waiting at the Dubai airport, he couldn’t resist calling home just to hear Mrs. Frank’s voice one last time (for he did still love her as much as she didn’t love him). As Frank said that he loved her and would miss her, he could hear Mr. Williams in the background asking where the toothpaste was kept. Still having a little time to kill before his next flight, he explored the airport a little, playing with the automatic sensor taps like the little child he felt he was.

Upon reaching Iraq and clearing immigration (he told the immigration officer his occupation was as a paedophile, a pea collector), he found the directions to the market square he had seen in his dreams and took a cab to the vicinity. Getting out of the cab, he was assailed by the punishing heat of the Middle Eastern sun and headed off to find a drink from one of the many stalls there.
Finishing his route around the entire market, he walked to a corner where he continued to gulp down his bottled water. Saving a little still, he closed his eyes and emptied the contents on his person.

Around him, the sounds started to evolve from the chatter of people to the more animalistic screams of terror. Frank opened his eyes and saw the source of it; a convoy of large militaristic-looking humvees were speeding into the market square, kicking up magnificent clouds of an ochre dust – in pursuit of a dirty blue car filled with men. He turned to look behind him and saw a woman (or possibly a cross dresser) dressed in the typical black burqa, eyes shining with fear and holding on to two young children by the hand. The younger one started to cry, sensing the tension around.

As the car shot through the market square knocking over various wares, Frank took a deep breath and thought, this is it – this is my dream!, he couldn’t help but give a completely situation inappropriate grin. He popped in a polo mint as he half watched and half anticipated as the car, now a few meters away from him, failed to make a right turn for it was simply traveling at too fast a speed, slammed into a building right behind him. The car now cut Frank and the woman off from the main market. The humvees were almost within firing range. Frank turned and ran towards the woman and the children and tackled them to the ground, covering their bodies with his rather large one.

The last things Frank experienced are as follows: Felt – Wet from being peed on by one of the children; Heard – Wail of a child mixed with the sharp ratatat of the guns; Saw – The woman crying from the little window to her eyes; Smelt – Jasmine perfume that originated from the woman; Tasted – The polo mint he had been sucking.

Today I watched a movie about a purple butterfly, saw 93 drive by on both sides of the road and wore a shoe on my right foot for the first time in a month.

Hello December.

American Trash Television is the best invention ever!

Funnily enough I understand the idea of wanting to have a child at a ridiculously young age and wouldn't mind having one myself (if it didn't mess up my education plans that is) - but isn't promiscuous behaviour going to make one wind up with some nasty STD that completely kills your ovaries and womb?

Also: WHY THE HELL IS SHE POSING AND TALKING LIKE A BLACK PERSON (+ collecting baby stuff: she's totally warped)?!

Alright I will finally get around to posting a far more safe and ethically correct Ice Cream Flavours post now rather than a post in which I relate the most I have ever lied in my life before - and got away with it. Till WTY remembers what I said and correlates it with the CAS logs*.

Like I would tell the man the only reason I refused to reply his e-mails and pretend I was away (which I told him in advance about) was because I was depressed and couldn't deal with his bitching for EE.

-----

Unfortunately I completely lack the style to describe the flavours that the Alchemist posses. So favoured ice cream flavours here we go!

In no order at all:
1. Pineapple Tart - I've never actually tasted it, just heard a lot about it - but it reminds me of a happier time long past.
2. Vanilla - It's the only flavour my mother ever eats. When I was younger I went through a vanilla phrase as well, but I soon realised inferior vanilla ice cream tastes like absolute shit. It has to be the premium stuff or nothing else. Strangely enough it also reminds me of someone, why I don't know.
3. Teh Tarik - The only flavour I ever eat from Island Creamery! It's real life counterpart is one thing I will sorely miss if I ever leave Singapore.
4. Quintessential Chocolate - Oh how I love love love! But too much makes me feel sick and queasy inside. The best is the Turkish version (available at Anatolia Restaurant at Far East Plaza!) where they do a little performance as well. The ice creamy is sticky and gooey and not too sweet.
5. Dublin Mudslide - Only one place does it, and it's the only thing I eat there. Really rich, impossible to eat without a glass of cold water to accompany it.
6. Vanilla (Japanese) - In Ise I tried this really nice soft ice cream. I had seen advertisements around and finally decided to try it. It was about 400 yen, really nice, had a special taste to it. It wasn't overly creamy and still retained it's soft ice cream like texture. I thought I saw it selling in Isetan during some Japanese food fest, but that one had too many ice crystals.
7. Lychee Sherbet - There used to be this gelato place in Holland V which was tucked in a corner and sold relatively cheap ices. It died - no surprise. But the lychee was nice, tasted exactly as the syrup does from canned lychees.
8. Mango Ice Cream - I bought it because 1) I like mangoes 2) It's bright colour reminded me of play-doh. Exceptionally sweet, not much of a natural taste though.

-----

*no I'm not cheating for CAS. Don't be daft.

Somehow no matter how flaky and fucked up I feel, nothing beats watching a particular person log into msn with a new name every time.

Like just now her name was something like: FUCK FUCK CANNOT GET FLIGHT HOME ON TIME KNN* (personal message) NO ONE TALK TO ME UNLESS YOU WANT ME TO GET PISSED AND SWEAR AT YOU.

Now it's: Before for a while it was: CHIEF DANNIEL AISHITERU!!!

And then one which I saved as the final thing which irritated me enough to get pissed with Steve Irwin mourners (anti-turtle organisation ftw!):

Also, I'm not sure if I should continue blogging anymore because it might actually encourage some bad trait in me which I've come to notice recently. I should also probably start talking to people less too till I can get it under control. (And this is possible another sign of something else. Vicious cycle of psychological problems full steam ahead!)

*in worse English of course

Hah I really can't go online now. I keep getting distracted from EE >.<

Today I met a ghost from months before, it told me things I should've noticed earlier but didn't and it sang oh so softly to me pricking my heart once more. Hello November.

I'm being really selfish tonight so I shall just hide offline and pretend I am doing work when I'm really getting distracted by a thousand and one things and just avoiding lots of people because of the bitch I am when what I really want is for someone to kind find me ala Virtute.

Horrid? Well you don't say.

It screams Marshmallow Float Dream all over it.

1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
9.
10.

I'm a horrid person anyway. Should have just bled to death, trust me to even fuck up cutting my leg, hitting a vein instead of an artery. Bleed bleed. Drip drip. Look all gone! There there, good girl. Good girl.

7. 街も人も夢も　変えていく時間に
ただ逆らっていた
言葉を重ねても　理解（わか）り合えないこと
まだ知らなかったね
8. 于北苑路

Okay back to pretending and being selfish. Bye world, we never cared for each other.

As I sit here, on this badly made (presumably some hypermarket bought) poor excuse of a computer table, nursing a dizzy-dache (dizzy-dake: what you get as a slight headache but makes you feel dizzy all over), I am treated to the full view of my grandmother getting upset with my younger cousin refusing to do his homework and in general being a playful child.

Nothing quite remarkable you might think, except 10 years ago I was in the same position, grandmother a-scolding and trying all means to get out of doing work. Every day I'd get a 'stomachache' and go to the toilet, or when new assessment books were bought I'd steal the answers behind and hide them between books in the loo - then bring my homework to do in the loo because I was such a studious girl.

The location has changed (500m away from the old house), the child has changed, people have changed, situations have all changed, but it's comforting to know my grandmother's bad temper is always there, good intentions veiled by frequent pauses in her own activity to shout HEY at a cousin lying prone on the table.

I'm sorry, I can't stop LOL-ing at this.

O world you are indeed terrible.

Hah I'm listening to Stars now (albeit 12 hours+ too late), beat that.

This heart is a stone
No one will ever break it
This heart is a stone
Close to you it breaks easily
‘Cause everything that they say
It tells me to go away
But everything that I feel
It tells me to stay

Sometimes when I watch, read things, I feel the past with you flash back and play unhappily in front of my eyes. Mistakes magnified, wounds rubbed raw again and a feeling that refuses to die a peaceful death, not to mention an everlasting scar on my foot that will never quite go away.

The Angel Clare to my Tess, Casaubon to my Dorothea, Jian'er to my Lizhen (so I watched a Chinese drama just now, sue me), the beginning, the middle, and the end all there nicely packaged up (there are more names, but I wrote them down elsewhere and forgot about them).

On another note the Thai government has started another new advertising campaign to promote tourism in their country. Talk about more cells being added to my disappointment ball. At this rate I will either die soon or discover if I have been blessed/cursed with a ball which is far away from the edge of the cliff.

Also: I got the date of the doctor's appointment wrong. It's tomorrow, as I originally remembered but entered wrongly into my phone.

How cruel!

Sunday night I had a dream of rushing about, packing clothes for the Thailand trip. There was no cast on my leg and even had sweat on my brow for my labours. In all earnestness I did feel like I was truly going for the trip. Then of course I woke up, remembered the truth of it all and went back to sleep because I didn't want to carry the feeling of disappointment with me.

Then just as I was watching television earlier as I ate my breakfast, I saw Channel 5's new advertising campaign to show off their 'new' lineup of shows which employed the usage of airport imagery, luggage, check in counters and silhouetted planes. I then switched over to Kid's Central (Channel News Asia was some talking head, had seen it earlier) and it was some Singaporean produced kid's expedition to Thailand.

Before I had time to react and change it, the screen which had a second ago merrily flashed "THAILAND" now cut to a scene of driving on road which looked quite similar to the ones in Khao Lak, tarred road bound by the greenest greenery you could imagine with sunlight filtering through and hills in the distance.

Oh how my heart breaks. Doctor's appointment in a bit to remove the stitches, but I doubt he'll give me the green light (not to mention the father said a firm no and I've never defied him in my life; but maybe, just maybe?) as much as I do wish and pray for it.

Somehow this trip means so much more to me than anything else, I really really do want to heal.

I don't think I can now.

Sometimes I do quite wonder at why mankind chooses to remember the things that they do.

For instance almost everyone can tell you who Frank Sinatra is, even Richard Nixon who left office in a trail of disgrace. Everyone knows who Brad Pitt is, and most people can name the entire cast of Friends.

Much less however, but still a sizable number know of Oskar Schindler thanks to the award winning movie Schindler's List. In short what he did was that by providing employment during WWII, he managed to save a few thousand Jewish people from the gas chambers. Much less however, know of John Rabe, a Nazi who also saved thousands of lives during the Rape of Nanking.

Then there are those we have clean forgotten to document at all. It wasn't till today I found out of Shinozaki Mamoru who similarly saved thousand of lives in Singapore during WWII by issuing papers which ensured protection to the Chinese people and only from one reading I have by the National Archives (in Singapore).

I've always had a fascination with acts of altruism during wars, the idea of being able to save lives at the risk to oneself. These are the kinds of people I regard as my heroes. Most of them will forever be nameless, remembered perhaps only by their descendants. If you ever do ask them however, if they regard themselves as heroes - I know for sure the answer would be a firm no.

And yes, I'm doing my EE reading now. WTY really thinks I'm in France now, which is just as well since I don't really have mood to do any work. TOK and World Lit be damned.

5 Things That Happened to Me in 2000
1. I went to Korea with my grandparents, my mama's friend and her children. I was the youngest there at 10, the 'children' in question were 20+ and weird as hell (remember this comes from a 10 year olds perspective) and by that I mean plain flaky, not even nice golden brown baked flaky.

2. I had one of my first crushes on a boy I met there, his name was Jerome and he lived in Sengkang. We exchanged addresses, but I lost his and he never contacted me afterwards. For some reason he'd wriggle away from his group of friends and family and come follow me around instead with my grandparents. He was 12 and used to sound like an old man telling me about his 'streaming exam' experiences since I was due for the same exam soon

3. I got sent to the EM2 stream, and I remember not really caring what stream I went to, except that I didn't want EM1 because I heard it had more Chinese. Brrrr, scary.

4. I was the teacher's pet. I used to sit in front of MrsDavid's desk and be made monitor every time she popped out of class. Sitting in front of her also meant that I got to peep at stuff she confiscated, even this salacious story of naked mermaid lesbians that a particular someone in class had written.

5. I started listening to music around this time, my dad got me a discman when I was P3. I remember telling Mansheel that my favourite bands/singers were The Corrs, Eminem, N'sync and Backstreet Boys. Oh my.

adapted from a Learning to Love You More assignment since I wasn't even a fetus in 1984.

I think the only thing that can cheer me up nowadays is reading more Ouran manga :x and even then it's a temporary boost.

If only love could be found that easily!

Okay I have finally, painstakingly updated the Anna blog (link above) and gotten frustrated and upset over the html giving me problems and whatnot.

With every day life feels less meaningful than the day preceding it and little distresses all cumulate and pile up most unevenly and drag one's soul further down.

I feel very frustrated and under an immense load of emotional stress.

Sometimes it seems like disappointment is one big ball of cells, like for every little disappointment there is, a cell is added into it. Disappointments like:
1) Patrick
2) Not being able to go to France
3) Not being able to go to Phuket
4) There being no Campbell's soup at home
5) Middlemarch being spoilt
6) 'Spoilt' not being in Firefox's dictionary
7) Only being able to understand 9/18 references

And then the ball grows and becomes larger and more grey (I don't know why but these disappointment cells look grey to me).

8) 'Grey' not being in Firefox's dictionary
9) Thinking I've spelled things wrongly only to find that it's American English being a bastard to it's far more elegant and original British English counterpart

Contrary to popular belief, happiness doesn't actually make the ball shrink. Oh no, the ball only grows, it never gets smaller. What happiness does it is hugs the ball, it doesn't mind it's weird jelly-ness. Happiness loves disappointment, it embraces it and in doing so it stops disappointment from growing bigger and slipping. But when happiness goes, disappointment is left alone again - ever ready to drop.

Then one day the ball will grow so big and huge that it tips over and starts to roll down a hill, and when it finally reaches the bottom of the hill you die.

On my left hand there is a scar.

It's tiny, a mere dot.

It was where the needle once was, mis-poked and quickly abandoned. It was where goodness and life were supposed to flow through and enter me, nourish me. Instead it opened a passageway for me to escape, little droplets of blood leaking out.

Now, the hole has been plugged by a mixture of platelets, plasma and suicidal red blood cells. But inside? Oh it looks like it still bleeds.

A small hole, minuscule. Underneath the skin a small amoeba shaped bruise like colour. Blood flowing, but blood trapped. I think it wants to run away, just like me.

I want to touch it, perhaps the colour will dissipate if I do, but it looks too much like a bruise. I don't want to make it worse. The prick spot looks like a nucleus of the cell of this newly foreign spot on my body - one of many.

I opt to kiss it instead. A gentle grazing. It feels lukewarm to my lips. I look at it again, no, nothing has changed, the colour remains. I wonder if anyone has ever kissed that spot before, had it ever been loved before someone came and rudely stuck a needle into it?

I wonder if it still bleeds, like me - or has it managed to move on faster than I have?

I'm gonna make it right
Some future in my eyes, bright

I finally fell down today.

My foot feels throbby, but no sharp pain - so all should be okay?

I hope so :x

I think I'm very afraid of people leaving.

I feel unremarkably depressed right now.

And no, suicide is not an option after spending $5000 on hospital fees. If I was going to commit suicide I'd go back in a time machine till earlier in the week and then hop off a cliff. Or I could always not lose my temper and not have a sliced leg to reckon with.

Hospital 1

Short, official version of what happened yesterday: I lost my temper when I found out Ryan destroyed Middlemarch (figure what this is yourself) and was kicking things to vent my anger when I kicked the glass door. Door broke, sliced open foot, rushed to A&E, had an operation, 1/2 class came to visit, discharged at 11:30~ from Gleneagles.

Long, more insightful version of what happened yesterday: This all began with an attempt to fill a hole. A Patrick Leow sized hole in my heart. Instead I wound up making a hole in a door instead.

Those of you who know me more intimately than this blog might know how much my life revolves around a few things: books, music and films. In the recent departure of one huge aspect of my life, I have been desperately trying to fill up this hole and make it full again by OD-ing on the three, especially music since I am able to use it in tandem with others things.

So yes, Middlemarch was promised to me if I did well in my exams and she came on Monday night. Tuesday night when I came back from dinner I found her lying on the floor (brother). Wednesday morning I found out she wouldn't play music anymore and hung when I tried to switch to others things. I was raging and complaining to my father because I was 1) upset she had been hurt 2) worried it might not be repaired in time for the trip to France. My dad just laughed at me, so I got even more pissed.

As I was making a call to Nicholas for help, I was kicking things in my rage. I kicked the sofa, it was unsatisfactory. I turned and kicked the glass door. It shattered loudly just as he picked up. OH FUCK. So I ended up screaming into the phone in a mix of anger, frustration, and fear of the trouble I would be in. Father came running, screamed, and picked me up and threw me into the car.

In the car I was still screaming and crying but it was more OH FUCK I'M DEAD/WHY THE HELL DID I DO THAT rather than it being actually painful. Thank you adrenaline. Meanwhile the father was cursing like hell and alternatively screaming at me. After a while I didn't feel like crying anymore, but decided to continue or else the father might think I died or something. As he drove, I felt something on my leg flapping around and some sort of cold liquid running down the seats of the car. I decided I didn't want to open my eyes.

When I finally did, I recognised the apartment next to Gleneagles (I was lying stretched on the back seat, right leg propped over left leg) and soon my dad parked the car, picked me up and ran into the A&E holding me, yelling for help. Some people came running and I was settled into a stretcher and I started to cry again at how surreal the entire thing was/sad that I let down Elliot because we were supposed to go out/afraid of getting owned for destroying the door.

I was wheeled into a special room and there the people cleaned my foot up. The A&E doctor came in, took a peep at it and decided an Orthopedic surgeon was needed. I cried again when I thought how expensive this entire thing would be, and how much I missed Patrick. I managed to borrow a phone from a nurse because I was worried at how I left Nicholas hanging/needed to tell Elliot to cancel and then I realised a problem: I only remembered one number, and that was his. Irregardless I dialed the only number I memorised and when he finally picked up I felt like melting away and dying.

Call done, I was wheeled into the x-ray room to get an x-ray done to make sure there were no fragments left in my leg. Back in the holding room, I continued to cry when I thought of him and the upcoming trips. When the surgeon finally came, he said he needed to operate and quoted a price of $4,500, I started to cry again at how expensive it was >.< (I don't think I've ever cried so much in a day before)

Throughout the entire thing, when I wasn't crying and getting upset I was remarkably alert, to the point of making snarky observations (which I kept to myself) about my predicament and life in general. Examples: it seemed like everyone in A&E was Filipino while the nurses later in my ward were China Chinese. What happened to the Singaporeans? Also there were no 90 degree corners in the hospital, like every room was shaped like an octagon for easy turning of stretchers.

My mama and yeh yeh were waiting at the ward just as I got wheeled into it. There I changed into the hospital clothes and sat there on the bed, messaging with my phone to various people when the anesthetist came in to insert an IV. Another needle! Oh my. I ended up staring at my yeh yeh's belt (brown, silver buckle, glossy, looked cheap) as he inserted in the needle. Then he started making comments like, 'oh dear', 'where is it?' to which I started rambling rubbish about the belt and how he should keep his comments to himself. After I took off the plaster today, I found two puncture holes on my left hand >.<

I hated the IV. It gave me even more pain than my foot did.

After a while, just as I heard Cielo/class noises from outside my room, the nurse came in and started preparing me for the operation, paper booties, paper hair cap, the like. I was wheeled out and caught a few glimpses of them before being sent to the operation ward. There was more paperwork and waiting before I was wheeled into the operating theatre and the anesthetist greeted me. He is a PAP man and a patriotic Singaporean. I decided not to state my stand and appear moderate in case he messed around with my dosage of anesthesia. The nurse there (she had Maria Concepcion in her name) asked me to not kick her if I got angry. I LOL-ed.

Then they put an oxygen mask over me as PAP man inserted some stuff into my IV tube. It felt cool and menthol like (which was the last thing I remember saying).

I woke up later, body feeling like I was pumped full of lead but brain alert as ever. One of the first thing I remember saying was, "Is it over?" to a nurse, even though the ward I was in didn't look the least like the operating theatre. I saw the clock, it looked close to 6/perhaps past 6?

As I was wheeled back into my ward, my father appeared and told me that apparently I had severed tendons in my leg, and it would take 4 weeks, not 2 weeks to heal. Worse still: I can't go overseas at all. I started to cry because they were my P-replacements and I needed them to move on.

Quite ironic isn't it? Because of one P-replacement, I lost 2 other P-replacements, and it wasn't like dashing my leg through a glass door was going to bring him back to me either. If you want to look at it from a more dramatic point of view, it was like wrist cutting.

Okay I tire of this, will continue at another time.

So anyway as some of you have heard...


FUCK FUCK and FUCK


Here are some bloodstains.

Thanks to all who visited me in the hospital, Chun Wui, Jim, Gen, JLC, Cheryl, Anne, Cielo, Mong, Elliot, Nicholas, Joash and Patrick (hope I didn't miss anyone).

And once again: FUCK WHAT HAVE I DONE!?!

WTF HELP WTY IS CHASING ME FOR MY EE DRAFT. (look 3 acronyms in one sentence!) and getting pissy at that >.<

Who the hell starts writing an essay with nothing and then refers back to source materials?

Tomorrow you leave for America, till the 24th November. I remember because I marked it down on my calender when we were still together.

At the end of this week, I'll be gone too, to France from the 2nd till the 14th, then a quick breather till the 16th where it's off to sunny shores with .9 and finally back on the 23rd. Funny though, we'd be gone around the same time, far and awayyy from each other.

I hope this is the *huge* break that I really need, to get through all of this mess.

Taaa.

*edit: Just found out he's leaving on Thursday instead. Oh well, my information is old and outdated as always, which should be a good thing really.

'Cause I, need time.
My heart is numb, has no feeling.
So while I'm still healing,
Just try, and have a little patience.

Speaking of numb, I feel like my brain hasn't been used at all for the past 6+ hours I've been awake. First off was Chinese, in a very warm classroom with no air conditioning and students who were merrily taking the piss from the Chinese teacher. I felt about as mentally engaged as conversing with a peanut.

After Chinese, I headed off to the Biology lab to redo the graphs that The Bio Teacher wanted us to do, the only SL person amongst the bunch of HL people working on their Biology EEs. I honestly can't think of a subject (besides the other Sciences + Math) which would make me go EEEEEEEEEE more (okay yes, done to death pun!).

Then it was off to Bukit Timah Plaza on the usual 74. As the bus drove past the bus stop before the junction of Holland Road and Clementi, I spotted two books lying sedately on the grey bum rest - no human being at the bus stop in sight. It got me thinking of the movement, the one where people leave their old books around for others to find and take. There's a proper name but I can't quite remember it nor care enough. Anyhoo the books didn't look very interesting at all, one had SUCCESS! merrily singing from the cover while the other looked like either a bible or a book with a missing jacket. *there is probably some significance to this but I can't quite pin point it*

At Popular I was hanging around the file section to buy files for EE and CAS stuff (since they both made my old files explode painfully) which also happened to be where the sole speaker in the entire store was located. Just as I was musing how the last time I was there I was with him, Take That's Patience came on full blast. Ohohoho, mainstream shit-ness. I'm sure he'd have died there on the spot and demand we get out of mainstream music land, but I'm not so persnickety myself. If the lyrics have a meaning that I can identify with, I'll listen to it and identify with Patience I did, feeling how surreal and apt it all was.

As I went off to pay for my items, I met a freshly shorn Gerald reading some football thingamabob and leaning against a low bookshelf which made me stop in my tracks and give him a O.O look. Strange stuff.

While queuing up later for fried-chicken-which-will-appear-as-pimples-on-my-face, I was zoned out and half listening to the guys in the next queue. "Eh, Where to fark (fuck) ah?". Zoom. My radar for all things controversial was alerted and I started to listen to them intently, "I think Engineering facility..." !!! IN A SCHOOL OH MY! "... has lots". Er wait what? Then I realised the guy had problems with p/f sounds. Talk about a let down >.<

On the bus back, I spotted a certain Chinese Teacher from school with the initials TJ and rhymes with pang xie (crab in Chinese) board at King Albert Park. I am ashamed/amused to note that I LOL-ed when I saw him and was silently sniggering as he came on board and saw me. I have no idea why I was even so amused, but I conclude it was because of all teachers, it had to be him who I crossed paths with today.

Meanwhile I still have a pile of EE related readings to get through a a urge to play The Sims 2 >.<>

I think that the worst of it is is that you choose to ignore me, to pretend that I don't exist. When I draw near to talk to a friend, you slowly move away. When I try to engage you, say something to parry a point you've made, give you something when handing out report slips, there's this look on your face, almost as if you're annoyed that I dared to exist in front of your nose after it all.

Beside the intertwining of our lives and experiences, there are times (oh and are they so often) when I listen to someone new, pick up a book to read, visit a place, hear of an upcoming event - and I know almost instantly that you'd love it. Montag, The Most Serene Republic, Miracle Fortress, Eeeee eee eeee, oh the list could go on and on. (Besides that, how much I'd love it if you could help me buy Stars when you watch them in concert - but this is even more than a pipe dream: it's like a marshmallow float dream, I don't dare entertain the thought more than a minute)

I could cry and lament that fact that we said we'd stay friends, but that was only one more lie that you promised me and nothing more. You pushed me away, you left me, you broke me, why are you playing the role of the defensive partner now? Moreover, why can't I stop caring? You have an exam tomorrow, the AO Chinese levels and I actually feel slightly worried for you even though you would not give a rat's ass if a grand piano fell on me tomorrow.

This must be one of the only times I've been able to post a blog post about you without actually tearing, no I'm not over you yet, just a little too hardened now after my last upset to be soft and crumble. Everyone around me can't comprehend why I'm still so stuck on you, they call you bastard and all sorts of other names and they're emotionally exhausted by my constant upsets. But fact is, and will always remain, is that you were simply all I wanted in life, the mind, the interests, the quirks, they were all there. However the most important thing you lacked which was the heart and the soul. Funny though, I was willing to live with that - but you couldn't live with the fact that I actively wanted to do good in life, the fact that I ran out of time and energy to be entertaining to you.

At the end of the day what bites so much is the fact that I asked for so little of you, but you asked for so much of me - more that I could have humanely given without risking my sanity (and goodness nows, IB is good at stealing that from you). However even after it all, the hurt and the pain, I still remain the same - my feelings - they remain the same.

I know it won't be for long however, I don't want to be stuck living in the past forever. I would love to suddenly break out into all the female empowerment stuff, oh it's your loss, you lost me, not the other way round, you're a blasted eejit, but as true as it is (ohohoho!) it's going to be all hollow with me because I still miss you at the end of the day,

especially when I see you online listening to music and popping onto msn.

Baby I'm going on without you
Maybe I'm even gonna get through
But baby I'll tell you something that'll never be true
Baby, I'll get over you

Enjoy this feeling of being loved unrequitedly though, because it isn't going to last for very much more longer (or so I tell myself)! Ohohoho.

Learning to Love You More! (cue a Cielo *squee!*)

This is quite interesting if you can navigate your way through the German-glish to read the stuff properly (die means the, at first I was wondering why the creater hated The Sims so much, then I remembered it meant 'the'). Not a very wide selection though.

We all lose one another along the way

I shall attempt to judiciously post more sober blog posts in order to try and rein in control of my life and appear less fucked in the head, also for posterity's sake because when I'm older I don't want to look back upon this time and think that my life was one big black hole - it's not. It's just that thoughts, experiences and feelings experienced during the day when (more often than not) I'm not in a depressive state are sometimes (okay liberal usage here) overwhelmed by the darkness of the night and that is all I can think of.

I know I should move on, and the opportunity to do so has presented itself to me through someone. So it is here I stand, one foot in the past and one in the present, the future hidden from me. I could easily choose him, and perhaps the future would not look so dark and dreary, so foggy - after all is not one of my greatest needs security?

But no, it's is too much for the wrong reason. I could never give all of myself when most of me is still stuck on him, remembering his words, touch, actions, quirks, the places we went, the things we shared. Funny though, if I died I don't expect him to shed a single tear for me whereas the one I can't return affections to would no doubt be distraught.

As much as I hate the idea of being viewed as an amusing bipolar exhibit, it can't stop the fact that I have no control over myself anymore and that my inner life is falling apart. Ha ha ha!

I don't feel like anything now.

I am a bitch and deserve to die.

Everyone will be happier with me dead anyway. Har de har har.

No more person to depress others. No walking reminder of a failure. No irritating female that can't get over someone everyone declares is a bastard and took her for a ride. No one who throws tantrums when she doesn't get her way.

I want to sleep and never wake up, but that is probably too good an end for all of this.

I have my Middlemarch and Possession! At Borders I was disappointed to find it missing from the display of Vintage imprint books (Murakami and Carroll were notedly missing as well) and went off to try and find it in the Literature section.

Daryl found Middlemarch for me, and it had the same cover as the special edition issue, but the price was $15~ standalone! What a rip off ): So I refused to buy it and we talked about heading to Harris at Orchard MRT to go look for it.

However we were detained at the cashiers as Daryl paid for his Joyce while Stephanie and I stood by the Vintage display and I ranted about there being no Middlemarch while telling her to read more. Just as I held up Grimm to show her, I espied a Middlemarch on the bottom! :O JOY JOY JOY!

Seizing it up, I ran over to Daryl who held me pay (hello borders discount card :D). The heading back to the display, Stephanie and I sifted through the stacks and came to the conclusion that it was the only Middlemarch left in the pile - and I found it! (with Stephanie as my lucky charm)

At Harris however, sitting forlornly on a side table lay 3 Middlemarch bundles among a few other bundles of Vintage books. Talk about a disappointment, I felt so let down by the fact that I had searched so hard for my books whereas mere plebeians who did not share the same zest I did would be able to get their grubby hands on Middlemarch - GRAWGH! NOT FAIR >.<

Anyway I have Middlemarch and Possession now, hooray :D

I have a fantastical dream to one day move and stay in Montreal for the rest of my life.

Elevator, elevator, take me home.

I would like it very much if I could just clone myself and change the gender of the clone.

Then I would marry him and we'd feed off each other's depression and drown in each other while enjoying good music, films and books at the same time.

At the very least he filled up that 'superficial' criteria.

(And if I ever fall into a relationship/self-induced state of liking again, he'd have to have those bits at least!)