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.

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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.

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*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.