Love is a game, a game! A game we play in our minds and a game where we leave out of hearts and pretend we're in love when we really aren't because we want to say 'I am in love!' Sometimes I feel the random urge to tell people I love them when I really don't, just because I want to say those words. That is not to say I don't love people, I do! I treasure those around me and I love them in a platonic-I-care-for-you kind of manner but convention states that saying 'I love you' in those situations is inappropriate.

Wheeeeeeeee. I feel (slightly more than usual) energetic now, it must be the 2 hour nap I had after I got back from school. I shudder to think of how I can possibly sleep at an acceptable hour tonight though.

Yesterday I followed Daryl and Ted Kin to go to Borders! Each of us bought more than 4 books, thanks to the combined discounts of 46% off all books. Daryl bought Suite Francaise which I wanted too, but it was an awfully thick book and I have an awful short amount of time. He has a backlog of about 80 books, mine is around 25. I do feel a little happy with myself though, since I managed to finish Updike's The Women Who Got Away in 2 days, something I have not done since I obsessively read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

I did get 4 more books of the Great Loves imprint, Stendhal, Virgil, Abelard and Casanova but alas was still unable to find Mansfield and Freud -____- I think I might have to order it online if I'm going to complete this collection! I find it mildly depressing to think that I have never before ever completed something quite fully. I also impulse bought the rather strangely named The Dead Fish Museum (I've been getting increasingly drawn to short stories as of late - an effect of the IB programme or an actual change in reading tastes?).

I have my fingers crossed it is not another Bed or No One Belongs Here More Than You - which are excellent books but have taken to the rather unsatisfying option of apparent new wave literature: lacking a real plot or having a simple one and words to evoke emotions with no real resolution and conclusion at the end (That being said I loved Learning to Love You More immensely, though it isn't fiction). In the end you leave with a feeling of dissastisfaction and strange emotions which cannot be explained. I half feel like reading such books actually kills my ability to feel more than making me feel more; but I like holding those books in my hands anyway. Meep!

When I close my eyes sometimes, I see two whisps of soul flying. They're a shade of light blue and white - or perhaps both. They're denser at the heads and wispier at the ends, like little balls of imagined gas.

They fly through the night sky, bright and shimmering against artifical warm streetlights. They turn a corner, they fly down an incline, they pass my house in the middle of the night. I was probably awake when they flew past, but I never knew.

Maybe they were laughing, maybe they were fighting, or maybe they were even making out. No one knows. We pretend we know. We say they were drunk and riding around in daddy's car.

They fly again up an incline. Maybe one of them farts and they're giggling. They swerve off just as the road slopes downwards and they cross the other lane and slam into a tree. Bang. The car ignites and explodes. The whisps disappear, only to reappear every time I travel down the road at night.

-----

I ate something I shouldn't have today. I don't know why I ate it, I never even liked it much even when I was oblivious and didn't know it was bad for me. I just felt like it. Felt like eating something I didn't like that I knew was bad for me.

When I tried to talk myself out of it, I reasoned that it was white and therefore would not splatter on my white uniform. White on white. Cream on white. I ate it. My stomach feels bad now. Maybe I wanted it to hurt, maybe that's why people get drunk. They don't care for the highs of the alcohol, but for the hangover it'd bring. They want a little pain, the feeling like you're going to die and never recover - but all the same you knew you'd never die from that anyway. Like Little Doses Of Suffering to make us appreciate our normal pain-less lives more, everyone a closet masochist.

-----

I wonder why there's something called 'Banana Plugs' and 'Female Jacks'. If a banana is a phallic shape that sticks out, why is it next to plug which implies a hole? Unless you stick a banana into hole, like how the little boy stuck his thumb to stop the dam from leaking. Similarly why is it a female Jack? Female Jacks are Jacquelines and only males (supposedly) Jack.

I don't understand the word 'cunt' either. I don't like the sound of it. It sounds harsh and unpleasant. It's a degretory term. The only thing it ever rhymes with is 'punt'. It's not like 'fishing' which makes sense because you fish to catch fish. It doesn't make sense however with 'hunting', because when you hunt you don't catch hunt.

I don't think I'm making any sense. I think it's my tummy.

THE PERSON WHO SENT A TROJAN VIRUS *TO MY LAPTOP (HER) IS IN FOR A WORLD OF PAIN IF I GET MY HANDS ON YOUR MISERABLE PERSON.

Stupid fuckers with too much free time, living in their parent's basements at 30. MAY YOU NEVER TOUCH A FEMALE.

*I did NOT open any dodgy attachements and a few days ago I saw some trojans being detected on avg and thought no more of it.

I probably won't be blogging or using the net much now that she's dying and sick, and I do hate the desktop keyboard. I feel like I'm being angry and punching away at keys when in fact they are just harder to push.

On the upside, Søren, my new 120GB portable hard disk joins the family, alongside Middlemarch II and Suharto. I swear I will name my laptop a less confusing name next time.

Ghost Filling

I began writing this in December last year, before I wrote Suicide? and today, I have finally finished to the tunes of Pink Martini! Hooray

Thank you Suat, for helping me with editing :D

----------
Ghost Filling

It happened almost too suddenly, but then again almost every death is ‘too sudden’. He walked out, slammed the door. She ran behind and flung open the door. He barked, “stop following me!” and crossed the road. She stood at the pavement, half wanting to follow him and half glued to the ground by his command. The red car came from the right, slowly, driven by a geriatric. He collided with the 20km/h car and wobbled about unsteadily for a few tender seconds. He fell forward, hitting his forehead on the edge of the pavement. The red car veered to the left and ended up on Mrs. Watson’s lawn.

When the ambulance came, they took her away too. She had bloodstains on her shirt from cradling him in her arms. They thought she was injured. They took away elderly Mr. Simmons as well, he had a heart attack at the very thought he hurt someone. Mrs. Watson felt faint upon seeing the accident, but then her first aid training kicked in and she furiously dialed 911 before running out with her kit.

They cleaned her up at the hospital, gave her some advice on how to remove blood stains from clothes, and told her the bad news, he was dead. She fainted.

-----

At the first day of the wake, she was the first person at the door. His mother greeted her wearily, weak from a full fledged day of crying the previous day. She wanted to say some words of comfort and assurance, but one glance at the woman and she realised she was a dam ready to burst – and she didn’t really want such an outpouring of emotion to deal with. As she looked around the room, she noticed to her horror that some of the pictures of her and him were up. Then she realised, almost immediately, that they didn’t know he had left her just moments before he left for good.

For the sake of not making the situation more screwed than it already was, she decided to keep mum. Let them think nothing has happened, she thought to herself, than to further aggrieve them. She sat in a dark corner of the room, next to a window with the blackout curtains drawn, staring mutely at the coffin. She was the last person to leave that night, and this continued itself for the next day.

She drifted like a boat tethered to a dock - till the funeral.

At the funeral the next day, she played the role of the good girlfriend. Sitting in the pew at the front, she sat at the rightmost corner of the left pew, ignoring the people that came to pay their respects. They, in turn, tiptoed around her, a massively petite black elephant in the middle of the painfully beautiful chapel – inappropriate orange and yellow hangings of the last wedding ceremony still up. Amidst the noisy wailings of a mother who lost her beloved son, she cut an almost scarily rigid figure showing no emotion.

At the burial she continued to maintain her silence, watching with barely noticeable glazed eyes as the mahogany coffin was slowly lowered till it touched the bottom of the grave. When it rested and the straps were removed, his mother’s wailings started to rise an octave and from piercing hearts it shifted to piercing the ears of the mourners.

At the funeral reception later, the few friends that dared to venture and ask how she felt were quietly sucked in to her aura of quiet despair; a great feeling of hopelessness and muted pain overtaking their thoughts and feelings. The moment they parted from her however, her aura would quietly fade from their thoughts; a self imposed unconscious amnesia in order to keep one sane.

One such braved soul who dared walk into her aura asked her cautiously, “How do you feel now, with him gone?”

She gave a half smile and laughed a liquid laugh – the kind where one tries to keep back tears and they flow down the nasal cavities – “At least I don’t have to torture myself with the thought that one day he’ll come back to me.” Her friend laughed nervously, and quickly excused herself. She half smiled inwardly at her wittiness.

After the reception was over, she left after hugging his mother. Walking back as the early winter sun started to set; she wandered past the bare skeletal branches of trees, swings abandoned for the warmth of the inside.

Her line had finally become untethered and she was drifting in the open ocean.

Stepping back into the cold emptiness of her house, she switched on the thermostat and put down her bag on a counter. Closing the door behind her, she stepped out of the house and sat on the pavement, watching the last remnants of the sun slip away from the horizon. Slowly one by one the streetlights lit up, controlled by some unseen hand, bathing the empty street in an artificially warm glow. This spot would have been one of the last edges a living him would have touched, she thought, running her gloved hands over the gritty tops of the cement.

She stood up on impulse and wandered over to the middle of the street, shadow trailing behind her apprehensively. He got hit about here, she thought. Standing still, she closed her eyes, trying to feel his presence around her, cold air swirling around. She thought she felt him for a second; however the feeling passed and he was gone once more.

Opening her eyes, she beheld the pavement on the opposite side of the lane. As she slowly advanced, the dark patch on the edge of the pavement grew larger. Presumably a neighbour with good intentions and short patience had tried to clean up the mess - for the blood stains were much smaller than she had last remembered. She could see him lying there, like he had that day. Peaceful, serene, perhaps feeling himself fade away.

Lying down on the asphalt, she shifted her body till her forehead rested on the blood stain. There she lay, savouring the moment. She breathed him, felt him here, but it was nothing but a faint presence. It was here that he had well and truly left her. She lay so still that she soon drifted off to sleep, only to be awakened by a neighbour who had let out her dog. Gathering herself up, she sat on the street and brushed off the bits of asphalt on her clothes before getting up and walking into her warm house.

After a warm shower, she snuggled under her sheets and closed her eyes. It was then that she really felt him, covering her and holding her tight like he used to. But she opened her eyes and to her immense disappointment there was no one there. For once in many days, she sucked in a lungful of air and started to sob on her pillow.

-----

The next few days were marked by nothingness as she drifted about the house, watching meaningless things on the television and sitting on the pavement blankly looking out at the street. Her parents had offered to visit, but her mourning was not yet over and she wanted to be alone with her thoughts without intrusion. She coped with the food concerned neighbours brought over, eating just enough to take away her hunger. Every night she shed a few tears, for she never missed him more acutely than she did when she returned to an empty bed and lingering memories.

Soon early winter melded into winter itself and all around the neighbourhood wreaths and colourful lights were tacked onto doors and roofs respectively. The magazines she usually freelanced for were hounding her with requests for articles; they filled out her e-mail inbox along with offers for penile enhancements and cheap Rolexes. She replied with polite refusal to the would-be surgeons and watch sellers and ignored the petulant requests from the editors. The tears at night were quietly replaced with sleeplessness and a deep longing from within her, one day she had no idea how to fill.

A fast diminishing supply of groceries forced her out, back onto the streets – for once in a few months she was forced to interact with beings that weren’t extra cautious around her, kid gloves taken off. As she drove downtown to the supermarket, she felt like a stranger in her own city. Colours seemed more bleached and darker at the same time and nightfall had further turned the apartment blocks into looming towers, creating shadows on the streets. The people seemed more unfriendlier than she remembered, each rushing off and oblivious to the darkness around them, some plugged into other worlds. She shuddered involuntarily and continued driving.

Reaching the safe fluorescent bright white lights of the supermarket, she headed in and slowly picked out her groceries and other essentials. Making her way past the people in the aisles without the slightest social interaction, she continued till the cashier and settled for a slight smile of thanks which went unnoticed by the woman.

Mentally and emotionally taxed by her jaunt into the city, she sat in her car to rest with the heater turned up, before deciding to head back home. She closed her eyes and pretended it was last Christmas, next to the fire. Just as she thought of him a car horn sounded in the distance. Gripping the wheel, she stepped on the gas and drove off.

This time she opted for another route though the city, which was faster and took her through the ghettos. There were more people out on the streets, some roaming in groups and others sitting outside their homes. She could hear loud music being played outside, reduced to a passable level in the interior of her car. As if triggered by the heady beats, the idea of returning back into an empty house and another night of sleeplessness suddenly came to her; it scared her and unsettled her very soul.

A wave of fear came over her; she had been content to drift for the past few months but now she felt so lost. The hole in her soul began to tingle again, and a feeling of immense loss hit her once more. She continued to drive, though slower and taking more frequent shallow breaths.

Just as she passed a woman dressed in the skimpiest of clothes, on a winter’s night nonetheless, a reckless thought passed through her mind. Before rational thought could take over, she wound down the window on the right hand side of the car and called out to the woman, “how much for a night?”

The woman, startled by a distinctively female voice calling out to her hesitated a few moments before walking over and standing as close to the warm car as she could. “$50 sweetie, I don’t really do women though, but I know someone who’s good for women if you want.”

“It’s okay, I don’t really need a specialist – I just need someone.” The woman raised an eyebrow skeptically, opened the car door and settled herself in front of the heater.

“The name’s Dionne, as long as you’re paying I’m game”. The car started to increase in speed and they headed for the suburbs, Dionne’s inane chatter slowly dying down as the warmth made her drowsy.

When she turned into the driveway and parked the car, Dionne woke up groggily. Getting up from the passenger’s side of the car, she followed her slowly into the house. Inside, she switched on the lights and opened her purse to search for her wallet and withdrew the right amount of cash. She turned to Dionne who was now rubbing her eyes and handed it to her without a word.

She walked off towards the bedroom, removing her boots and coat on the way and Dionne followed her apprehensively. Reaching the bed, she climbed up and curled into a ball and closed her eyes. She felt Dionne standing over her, then moving to the other end of the bed (though the creaks on the warped floorboards) and climbing on.

She felt him there, his presence, with her on the bed again; and his arms wrapped loving around her body. She felt tears prickling at her eyelids but refused to move and wipe then away and thus it was in that position she drifted off to the most comforting sleep had had in months.

She dreamt of him, he was holding her and laughing. He said he loved her, he said he was sorry and he said he would never leave her. She smiled in her sleep. She cried silently in her sleep. She felt the hole in her heart get filled again in her sleep.

The next morning she awoke to find Dionne gone.

Falling back on her bed, she closed her eyes and recollected the entire relationship, finger firmly on the fast forward button. She pictured him walking out of the door, that faithful day, door slamming sound ringing in her head.

She inhaled, exhaled, got up and slowly walked the first few steps of her new life. For the first time in months, she smiled blissfully to herself, at peace and at one with the world (she liked clichés, besides, magazine writing always called for clichés!) and drifted into the kitchen to prepare a cup of chamomile tea.

Outside, Mr. Simmons was taking a walk in the frosty morning air with the help of Mrs. Simmons. They waved to Mrs. Watson next door, who was out on her lawn, planning her spring garden (and surreptitiously trying to cover the frozen tyre track gouges with dirt.)

I'm starting to feel breathless just from talking. This is not a good sign.

(this reminds me of last year when I couldn't breathe >.<)

I've always taken a fancy to the idea of Carpe Diem, with my own twist to it. Seize the day, tell them you love them before it's too late. If tomorrow never comes, will she know how much I've loved her?

-----

I think I am going to die young. I have a 1% chance of having a brain tumor, a 1% chance of having a stomach ulcer, 10% chance of having heliobacter pyori, a 1% of dying from some really big asthma attack, a 0.1% chance of having a piano fall on me and a 100% chance of dying one day. I don't want to leave with regrets, the idea that I could have done more but didn't >.<

I wish my health was less fucked up.

-----

Yesterday I left school after Biology practical for an appointment at the Gastro's (Clinic L, Block 3, Level One; outpatient specialist) at SGH. He showed me the lab reports, and I have been checked clean for everything, technically there is nothing wrong with me - but if so why am I so sickly?

He said it was emotional imbalance, the failure of the emotions to right itself after blows. Depression. Bipolar. Tension headaches. Stomach ulcer like symptoms - they were all related. The problem is, how does one really get rid of something like that? It's not a problem you can throw tons of amoxicillin/dhasedyl/ventolin/travocort/anarex at. I can well say that I am fine now, no longer depressed, but there is always the issue of school stressing the hell out of me and that adds to it too >.<>.<

Just thinking about it all kinda depresses me actually. So I shall stop thinking about my health.

From;

Now.

Time has come, and time has past, and I'm almost 18. 18 years on this planet, 4 disappointments, 1 injury, 1 lung infection, 1 brother, 4 years of guides and 1 year of IB!

Now that I have been unshackled from a past tragedy, it is well nigh time to reevaluate what I want in life - what matters to me and how much I demand from this fragile winged thing. I want to fall in love again - to find my love and rediscover it again, somewhere out there. I want to be free to help those I can love unconditionally - oh if this life of mine were not restrained by such a thing as time! I want to do oh-so-many things. I want to be me again, to embrace this INFJ-ness of mine and write long long lists of nothingness, to feel the world and be moved and to wander about, a silent figure in an ever changing sea of nameless faces. Oh how I have long missed myself, functioning on a subsistence level of spirit for the past 5 months.

I feel new, young, reborn, un-jaded and probably equally unwise and foolish. I feel squee-ey and flippity flop and all in knots.

I want to fly fly fly! Let my soul take wings and soar, bound only by perhaps, bad health. And what matters the most of course, is that after it all - I am still me, ME, ME and ME!

I did this again because Elliot asked and I long forgot >.<

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

Friday!

I left my place around 6:15pm to take 77 to Dhoby Ghaut MRT station, the bus was crowded and I felt relatively happy standing up (I still think it's weird I can stand after not walking for a month - like they say you don't know what you've got till it's gone) and around Orchard Road the bus started getting emptier so I sat down. Then around Heeren this bunch of boys boarded the bus and ended up half repeatedly glancing in my direction (must be some hot babe behind me)/making juvenile jokes about some gaming centre/making jokes about crabs (or getting them)/calling some woman on the bus a bitch. My expression was -__________- and I was relieved to get out of the bus. They were so loud they overpowered Middlemarch II.

Then on the MRT to Clarke Quay, as I got on the train and headed for the glass panel right at the left to lean on, I tapped my head on the emergency stop plunger. I was more surprised than anything, and just as I was recovering from the shock, I heard this group of Caucasians laughing to my left, and looking at me. Wtf. Thank goodness for Middlemarch II - I could pretend I didn't hear them (rather unconvincingly) and pretend like nothing happened even though I was 'AHH SO EMBARRASING' on the inside.

Anyway I got off at Clarke Quay and wandered around for about 10 minutes till I met up with John and we wandered around Central getting a little lost in the odd architecture there till we met up with Gen, Darren, Chun Wui, Gerald and Elliot. Fast forwarding - Cielo, Jim, Nicholas, Mong came and we went for dinner at Brewerkz. I was rather surprised when they didn't ask for identification when we ordered beer. It tasted like crap anyway >.<

Afterwards Cheryl came and we went to find the Turkish Ice Cream man and a few of us bought ice cream as he put up his little performance, even scooping up the entire tub of vanilla ice cream to 'give' to Gen. Somewhere around there we met Patrick Ong and he joined us in walking around. We passed by a bar who had this powerpoint slide with bad sex jokes and the whole bunch of us stood there to watch, fascinated. We then continued walking to the G-Max because a Cielo, Cheryl and a few of the guys wanted to do it >.<

It was so scary oh my goodness :x Standing there watching this group being launched off, I felt like I had been flung around into the sky as well. Anyway Gerald kept deliberating if he should go for it (the other G-Max, the sling one which seemed less scarier), because he was really scared of heights but wanted to conquer his fear. Eventually he bought his ticket and all of a sudden I was filled with this urge of wanting to do the same - this was a significant day! I had failed to recognise him, this was what I needed, my significant event to mark my new life! So I dug around my wallet and found the money and went with Cheryl to pay for it >.<

Because we were away, we missed Mong, Cielo and Chun Wui’s launch off, but we later saw them bouncing around in the air all the same and screaming. Later watching the video we realised Cielo was just screaming for fun and all of them were actually laughing. Weirdos.

In order to cut the tension short Gerald and I went first with Elliot and Cheyl. As we were raised higher and higher, the capsule started to tilt till all that really held us there were the straps and the ground grew further and further and I closed my eyes so I wouldn't have to see how high we were. I was probably rambling something x-rated at the time, but I can't remember exactly.

What I do remember is Gerald saying 'ready?' and I felt his body twist from trying to pull the cord - but nothing happened! Then all of us were OMG and we yelled that he had tried to pull it to the ride operators so they said try again. Gerald tried two more times and we were still suspended up there till they eventually lowered us down. Oh my >.< I felt so unbelievably freaked out. Then after fiddling with the straps, they raised us up again and I felt more scared than before. This time I managed a few more peeks at the skyline than the last.

This time however the cord worked and as we flew down I felt my heart fly out from me and do a little dance as I screamed FUCK all the way down. I also felt something weird grabbing near my tummy/crotch and grabbed it - it was Gerald's hand (he managed to scare Elliot more though). After the first swing I stopped closing my eyes and continued screaming because I felt like it, though I managed to hear a few 'Chicken Nuggets' from Gerald. As the ride slowed down and we wobbled about Gerald said "MEL. You just made the entire ride M-18."

On the ground all of us felt trembly and couldn't walk properly for a while. I later found out from Mong and Chun Wui that there were some Caucasians complaining about how much I was screaming and how they wanted to 'climb up there and punch (her) to make (her) shut up' -________-

Mong, Chun Wui and Cielo were next and their first try went without a hitch and they were all laughing like mad from what we could see on the ground. Afterwards we all took a cab back because we had missed the last bus/trains back home. I still felt scared and trembly even on the cab back.

So yes, that is how I spent my Friday night on a superficial level.

I also bought tickets for Broken Social Scene and Múm yesterday so I feel rather broke now.

-----

I actually wrote that yesterday but for some reason the format kept going screwy and I transferred it to Word and never actually found the time to post it up >.<

Thursday is doctor day for me, leaving mid-way to go see the Gastro specialist in SGH and then after school I have a check up with the Orthopedic surgeon. Ugh I really wish I wasn't so sickly, today I felt quite sick and lightheaded for a good part of school and The Indian Preacher did not help me feel any better. I did have a good day today though, so hooray!

Daryl accused me of being mad for being happy suddenly >.<

I feel simultaneously of dying from embarrassment from teasing, shyness of falling again, and happiness at feeling so alive again - more than I have been in months.

Hauschcka was awesome, Colleen was pretty, Sylvain was avant-garde and Jia Hui, Pamela and I were like the youngest people in attendance!

I will blog more at a more acceptable hour, and I really ought to sleep now after a night of guessing games with Nic and Cielo.

Actually looking at my EE now, it doesn't look like it's in such bad shape after all. I can confidently say it's about 90% done - I just need to spend more time on it.

Colleen tonight. Ye gads, am I going to get any substantial work done this weekend at all?

I've always been afraid. Afraid of heights, afraid of love, afraid of bugs and creepy crawlies, afraid to be alone and worst of all, afraid to let go and be hit with the full realisation of what life alone means, entails, even though I've already spent more time single than being with him.

Hi, I get scared easily.

-----

I watched from afar today as he made his way down the stairs - but wait! That wasn't him. I had recognised the wrong person. I didn't know him anymore. It was over. O-V-E-R. The final shovel full of dirt over a decomposing coffin. When will the grass and flowers start growing again?

-----

I finally cleared my desk of all mementos, had a memorial service where I relived it all again and watched it fade again. I never removed them because I was caught in a limbo, not strong enough to remove them and make a formal declaration of IT'S OVER yet not delusional enough to believe that he'd ever come back. The absolute worst position to be in really.

Do I still love? Yes, maybe, perhaps, but I will let it die.

This may have been Elliot's birthday today, but hopefully it will be mine too.

Can-tu-ta-nah ba?

-----

Honestly as of right now, today, the 17th of January 2008, 15 days since the start of the 2008 school year - I feel ready to crash out and burn.

I just feel so tired and overwhelmed about it all, I have scarcely a minute to really just let go of all the things on my mind and just take a break. Breathe. Be free. I feel so tense now that you could literally break a brick on my back. This is bullshit really, I'm supposed to be in the prime of my life, getting piss drunk at silly hedonistic wasteful parties and maxing out daddy's credit card at the malls with my girlfriends and flirting with the boys and going out on dates. Instead I spend my weekends home, in front of Her (my laptop; sometimes called She depending on the grammar of the sentence) listening to music and doing work. I have no life at all.

The amount of work we have is simply insane, inane and none too insightful. It's just and endless pile of shit, one after another. At this juncture all I can think of really as a consolation is that 'Hey, at least I did my EE and TOK essay stuff already', but just looking at it makes me feel like I'm not better off than those who have yet to start/finish judging by the absolute shit I wrote. Right about now the entire sequence of my TOK essay sequence is:

- intro culture
- why not culture (as an influence)
- yes culture
- yes experience
- not experience
- other ways of knowing
- 'knowledge'
- 'objective'
- er some shit about soft and hard sciences
- how it can be both obj and subj, some linking of experience
- why obj does exist
- how obj can be subj
- conclusion (not yet written)

I feel like dying more. It's utterly depressing and discouraging just thinking of all the work that needs to be done and I feel literally thisclose to having a nervous breakdown.

-----

Things that make me feel better:
1) Bathing with Body Shop's Passionfruit liquid soap (Steph's Christmas Gift to me in 2005! It still smells the same though)
2) Listening to Philippe Rombi's Jeux d'enfants OST
3) I can't think of anything else. This is a bad sign.

Sigh.

For some reason I find myself unable to write properly now - my hand keeps trembling and is uncontrollable. Most frustrating.

Edit: I have just remembered one of my most favourite tales when I was younger (alongside Robinson Crusoe, The Swiss Family Robinson, The Call of the Wild and White Fang) was the rather strange and little known A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court (I haven't actually seen this title in the past 5+ years in any bookstore). Phillip Pullman's Sally Lockhart series was wonderfully awesome as well. I remember reading quite a bit of Sweet Valley High and Baby Sitter's Club, but none of them were rather memorable.

My hand still feels trembly and my heart feels like it's emitting a hum from vibrating.

Maybe my organs are being thrown round a centrifuge as I type - and when all the red blood cells explode the centrifuge will stop and I will die.

you think I'd crumble
you think I'd lay down and die
Oh no, not I
I will survive

-----

Crumbly crumbly bumbly. After a hiatus from baking after a most remarkable disaster circa Sec 2 - 3 while making muffins (I still have a nice little mark on my arm where the skin sort of melted off when it made contact with the hot grille) I have baked something again!

I am either regressing or moving forward, I can't quite decide which once it is yet.

And my head hurts >.<

I read with great interest an article in today's Lifestyle section about 'alleged' plagiarism (I've long learned that saying alleged means you don't believe it and saying 'alleged' leans more to the hahaha I'm mocking you and I believe it sort) in a romance novel.

At first I was about to dismiss it as one in a long line of controversies in writing, vaguely recalling this author attending some top name university who wrote a crap book anyway, lifting great chunks of prose from another crap book, then I read the bit where Nora Roberts owned her. Since the readership of this blog has greatly shifted from romance novel readers to the more highbrow sort, Nora Roberts is literally the Stephen King of Horror, the Herbert/Asminov of Sci-Fi (the comparison being made in terms of name visibility), in other words it's like having the biggest name in the industry own you.

The comparisons presented are most interesting and personally I find the sudden change in perspective in Cassie Edward's novels a little too stilted to be a conscious-stream-of-thought- actual-piece-of-writing. As for Cassie Edwards, I never heard of her till today. They should run her novels through Turn It In, ohohoho.

Anyway the original article is here, with a most delightful url of 'smart bitches trashy books'. If you want some lulz, click the adverts to the side of the article which provide some really really dodgy looking books with dodgier blurbs.

OMG I really hate Theory of Knowledge. I HATE HATE HATE HATE IT. No subject frustrates me and upsets me so much.

My scar tends to hurt more on a wet day then a normal dri-er one, but it's still livable.

Actually I was so angry when I got back and started ranting immediately I forgot to blog about what happened just now which was rather amusing but horribly embarrassing :x

At the Dover MRT station, Nic and I were walking to the other end of the platform to wait for the train when he suddenly said "Hey look, hot girl", so I looked. As I walked. (You can probably tell where this is going) Just as I was about to say "not hot what", I collided into something. Someone.

After I hit the person, in a daze I just looked at her and walked on like O.O then she sort of came after me and my first thought was "oh shit I should have apologised! I'm going to die now." But instead (next thought registered: OMG LITTLE OLD LADY!!! I HIT A LITTLE OLD LADY I HOPE SHE'S FINE!!!) she was (in Mandarin) "Are you okay? You hit my head where it's thick so I'm okay but it's very hard, did it hit your head? Is it painful?" and all I could stammer out was "not painful, but I feel like dying from embarrassment!" and true enough everyone there was staring at me >.<

I felt like taking a long walk over a short MRT platform.

Wa lao eh I feel damn pissed, I ran into a set of degenerates on the bus home, worse still it was a CROWDED BUS and I spent a few minutes staring into some tall ang moh's arm pit (which didn't stink thankfully) which I found a little amusing but yes I digress.

They were from MGS. (Is it me or has the school gone to tell since we've left? Everyone is carrying one of those weird homogeneous and totally impractical itty bitty hand baggies. Silly and irritating, get a brain you dumb cows, what kind of school books could you possibly carry in that small thing?) and I was standing up and listening to Middlemarch II when I spotted them. They were doing that usual whispery thing but loud enough for me to hear them. Talk about fail and lack of subtlety! Anyway this girl in MGS uniform with an ACS badge (also listening to an mp3 player) boarded at Holland V and they were like 'LOOK AT THAT ACJC GIRL'. Wtf. That got my attention real quick. Then they would take looks at me and say stuff about ACSI and then ACJC and wtf man we are right here! HELLO. I am 100% sure they were making comments like, 'omg look she's carrying a backpack!' and 'she looks like a nerd, ewwww'.

My dear girls, I can swear like a sailor if I feel like it and I still manage to be more graceful and elegant than you. I wanted to death stare them down, but in the end settled for looking their way enough and holding my gaze till they stopped talking.

They were not the only ones being tacky today. On the MRT train trip to Orchard, Nic and I were talking when these two either poly or university age girls saw us and started talking about ACSI and saying things like 'ehh I heard half of them can go Oxbridge. They that smart ah?' I don't know if Nic heard, but damn I was trying my best not to say 'Hi. I CAN HEAR YOU, YOU KNOW?!' Looks like Drong's publicity campaign has backfired on him -________-

AND AND AND I HAVE BEEN BOTTLING THIS UP FOR A WHILE. I FUCKING HATE HATE HATE THOSE IRRITATING NEW BATCH OF GIRLS I SEE IN SCHOOL.

I hate they way when they see me they just stare and stare. Then there was this duo of SCGS girls who did that whispery thing when they saw me walking with JLC, Daryl and Ted Kin. I felt like shouting at them 'WHAT? NEVER SEEN A GIRL BEFORE ISSIT?'. I know they're saying nasty stuff about me, but you know what? I'm not bothered enough to kill my eyes day after day by wearing contacts, nor bothered enough to keep high maintenance hair or etc etc whatever they deem to be 'cool'. Fine I look like shit, but it's not like I'm desperate for some guy to fall in love with me because of how awesome I look. I'd rather they look beyond this whole looks things. I can look good if I really want to, that much I know, so it's not like I'm some horrible ugly person.

IRRITATING.

Also wearing a black bra under a white t-shirt is tacky and disgusting.

I just read Daryl's entry on his delayed reaction to the Y6 results, you know the sort that comes after the euphoria has died down and the cow shit starts to stink again? Yeah that kind. Which was similar to what I had last year and this year again.

As Daryl and I wandered down, me clutching paper and pen to interview old friends on their feelings for the results, it felt like deja vu MGS circa 2007 again. The palpable tension mingling with nervous laughter, resigned looks from comrades, viewed this time from the outside but not quite outside at the same time.

Then the results came and blah blah blah we cheered for the 103 as they slowly snaked their way up stage and I recognised names I had read out over the past year for various awards - old friends long lost who had probably forgotten this little weird girl, but I felt happy nonetheless. This was their day.

As they were all assembled on stage, Daryl noted how there was now a marked separation of the 42ers and the rest both in physical terms and in academic terms. For a while we sobered up till the mass came to collect their results and we were swept away on a wave of overwhelming joy. I sought out friends who were on stage and congratulated them. I watched Alistair Soo tackle someone to the ground in glee and Kaijun running to take pictures of the scene. Reality kicked in again when I saw a certain someone storming about kicking over chairs as he walked about.

There were many screams of happiness and relief and jumping into the air, but in the corners I saw a few who wanted to do some screaming and jumping themselves for very different reasons.

I stood there quietly as the mass behind me continued their antics, a faceless person in the middle of a crowd, just watching her sob her heart out. It was simultaneously the saddest and most frightful thing I have ever seen. Her parents were at her side, loving her no less than they did the day she was born; but it was no use for she could only see one thing ahead of her and that was nothing.

Today is a day of great celebration for ACSI and all the Year 6s (you know what I mean, they will always be Y6s in my mind)! I can only hope we do just as well when it comes to our turn.

Okay sorely needed update as I have been too preoccupied with other things and am starting to like Population by The Most Serene Republic now:

Moses was found at 12 am that night in Pasir Ris, no, I don't know how he got there. He managed to make a phone call and his parents went to get him.

Ryan doesn't know how to speak or even dial a phone properly. I plan to get him tattooed next time or something with contact info :/

IB results out tomorrow! Zomg. I have heard rumours that the cohort has done most excellently, and as selfish as this seems I hope it applies to the Chinese Y5 results too! All I want is a teensy little 6, PLEASEEEEE!

This day cannot positively get any worse, I just received an sms from a church friend (fine, ex-church) telling me that Moses has been missing since 3pm after school today.

Problem: Moses suffers from Down's syndrome.

He's actually my age and I've known him my entire life, sometimes when I looked at him I would think of Ryan and indeed there are times Ryan has run out of the house and we'd have to search for him, but he was always to be found nearby the house.

At 3pm I was hanging around the old Audi watching the mass dance. At 3pm Moses probably decided to walk to God-knows-where and it is God now who watches over him, wherever the hell he might be.

Please pray for him to be found safe and sound asap!

Whoah NICE. This is the 666th post on my blog and today has been coincidentally so screwed up that it warrants a post.

This morning I waited 15 minutes for the freaking school bus to come, and guess what? NO BUS. And when I called the bus driver after about 5 minutes past the usual time, his handphone was switched off -_____- I ended up having to wake up my dad to ask him to send me to school. Horrible horrible. I've also tried calling him the past few times and his handphone is still switched off. What the fuck? Bastard. Then everyone on the bus would have been stranded as well. What a way to start the new year.

Then on the way home because Joash wasn't with me, I decided to take route 2 home which involved crossing a junction to get to Holland Road from Clementi Road, except I forgot which stop it was and didn't press the bell nor get off the bus -________- So there I was, cruising past Sunset Way when I decided I might as well head to the grandma's place and get ice cream at the same time.

Then Gen said he wanted ice cream too, so as the bus eventually made it was to the Bible College stop I got up and started rushing down the crowded bus, bumping into some people as I went through the mess, thinking Gen was right behind me. As I stepped out of the bus and onto the pavement, I realised that Gen had just reached the bottom of the stairs as the doors closed and drove on. LOL. This calls for another -______________________- except it's not for me because I was laughing hysterically at the bus stop. People were staring at me, hmm.

So I waited for Gen to appear after he got off at the next stop which was so damn far it was out of sight, then we walked to Island Creamery and he bought a tub of Nutella ice cream for home and I bought cookies and cream. Then both of us left.

As I was walking back to my mama's house, I spotted Jia Hui, Hui Ming and Sam from afar! :o What a coincidence because I just so happened to be there at that time because I was 1) waiting for Gen 2) missed my own stop way earlier so I followed them back to Island Creamery and finish my ice cream there then headed for my mama's place.

This is a weird day.