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....
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Thursday, December 13, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Saturday, December 01, 2007
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)?!
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)?!
Thursday, November 29, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
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
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
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Friday, November 23, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
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
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.
Monday, November 12, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
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.
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.
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.
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