☮

Happy Valentine's Day

2012-02-14T00:18:00.000+08:00

13 years as friends and only one as partners.

Plenty of lost time to make up for, buddy.

You make me so, so happy.

A cavernous vagina by Xiaxue (don't judge. read first.)

2012-01-12T14:04:00.004+08:00

I've always liked Tina Fey and when I knew she wrote a book called Bossypants I immediately wanted to buy it...

Tina Fey is awesome! And I love reading new books because it always inspires me to write long rambling blog posts which are awesome to read later on in life when I forgot the jokes I made...

The funniest paragraph that is in the book is this:

(Tina Fey recounting how the boys she likes never likes her back, in which this particular one is always asking her out for late night dates but never telling anyone about her. This time round he brought her to climb a mountain called Old Rag.)

He had brought his friend Gretchen up here (Old Rag) for lunch. He really liked her, he confided in me. Liked her so much that he didn't quite know what to do about it. After they have gotten all the way to the top and had the picnic lunch he'd prepared, he offered her a piece of Trident chewing gum, and Gretchen - he had to stop and smile at the adorableness of this - Gretchen had asked him to tear the piece of Trident in half because it was too big for her. "Can you believe that?" he marvelled. A girl so feminine and perfect that half a piece of Trident was the most she could handle.

I tried to process what this meant for my evening.

"So, you and I will not be dry humping, then?"

~

As I crawled into my bottom bunk I thought of how I climbed Old Rag. I thought about Gretchen, the girl who could only accomodate half a piece of gum.

"I hope you marry her," I imagined saying to HRW (the dude), "and I hope she turns out to have a cavernous vagina."

The last sentence made me laugh out loud like a maniac on the plane because Tina Fey (from now on referred to as Tina as she is clearly my soulmate) had just summed up my love life in a paragraph.

I was telling this to BFF about how I hate these frail vulnerable girls that all the boys are so eager to protect, leaving the funny, sarcastic ones like Tina and I to be friendzoned - which is even worse for the girls than for guys because we provide benefits in hopes we can get out. And not to mention that girls are way more emotional so we start thinking WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME I'm smarter, I'm funny, I like star wars and I don't even think I'm uglier. I'd never find love should I be a lesbian but I do like penises oh dear god WHYYYYY

And just like that all my life I wished that these girls have cavernous vaginas. I didn't use the exact words of course, I usually vary between "dua cheebye", "smelly cheebye" and "hairy orh cheebye" which is way less refined than what Tina wrote but essentially the same thing.

Bff then replied that she thinks I don't like these girls and I don't want to be like them and yet men love them so I hate them.

I told her that's not true because 1) I actually don't give a shit about this girls if they were just being themselves, in fact, what's not to like about a mild tempered sweet girl who is probably really nice? 2) I actually WANT to be like them but I don't know how and simply can't without laughing out loud and then puking. 3) I hate them for the one reason that men like them over me and I don't think these girls deserve it.

To expound a little more about what I mean by "these girls". If you are Chinese or have read my super old blog entries when I was single and bitter (before 2006 when I met Mike) you'd be familar with the words 淑女. I used those words all the time. Boring. not-so-smart women who probably "only wear a bit of concealer" and are just... vanilla.

In my naive youth I didn't realise that their biggest attraction was not anything else but their vulnerability. I should understand, I have raging maternal instincts afterall. People want to protect the weak and those we cannot chew a whole trident.

These girls make me feel like if all men drop dead right now due to a deadly testicular virus and woman are forced to pleasure each other then I'd be the one wearing a strap-on and hunting wild boar and restoring democracy. Which is really not their fault but just, URGH.

Let me make something clear. Afterall, I have female friends who are frail as well. Take Audrey for example, who recently got engaged and her ring size is a ridiculous size ONE, the smallest her ringmaker has ever seen in his whole career. I'm sure she didn't mean any harm or to boast when she blogged about that - it was just trivia to her and she's not a show-off, but suddenly my own finger, a bulging size 3.75, is a fucking fat salami in comparison. Why can't I have dainty fingers? I'm an Amazonian woman!

And when I went with Cheesie and Aud to Hongkong, the girls were talking about shoes and since Audrey and I are about the same height I made the mistake of presuming Aud will have the same shoe size as me (5), which is already considered small. But to my horror BOTH Cheesie and Aud have shoe sizes of THREE. -_-

They have the tiniest baby feet and Cheesie has the skinniest chicken legs I've ever seen in a girl. I know because I made the mistake of standing next to her on the Napbas stage where my calves were twice her size and photographed by numerous cameras, mocking me in photos that keep turning up.

When she does foot reflexology with me I think the masseuse is surely going to break her bones. And to make things worse, when they discussed their weight... SUB FORTY KG.

30+ kg of preciousness and perfect feminine vulnerability. They don't even diet or exercise, God just made them this way for men to go crazy over. I've never felt manlier, so manly I checked for a handlebar moustache. When it wasn't there, I roared my displeasure and put my fist through a wall.

And yet I still love them because despite their apparent attractiveness to the male species, they do not let this, this... vulnerability-thingy become all that defines them.

Aud is Aud because she is funny and always laughing with googly eyes and Cheesie is Cheesie because of her crazy vanity, weak puns and secret bitchiness that she reveals to very few people. They don't flaunt it in front of everyone (especially to men) like some disgusting girls with no females friends do. They are awesome. And as long as they don't ask MY man to bite a trident in half for them, I am ok. (Which they don't)

Ok I swear this rambly entry has a sort-of conclusion. The conclusion is that all my life, sorta like Tina, I thought I'd never find a man who will love me but I did, and so did she.

Amazingly enough Mike managed to get past the hard shelled outside and get to the gooey stuff inside. Close friends who see me with him will tell you they are super disgusted because with him I talk in the most disgusting cutesy voice and whimper when I open a jar, hoping he will notice and do it. Not because I can't, but because it makes me feel LOVED... I've never acted like this in front of other exes, I suppose he must be something special.

There, I could be all vulnerable and cuddly - I just needed the right person to unlock it.

Are you vulgar and too independent for your own good too? Curse all the rest of the girls with cavernous vaginas and may you find the man who makes you the disgusting act-cute person you always hated. :)

And meanwhile, don't do it to all the men you see because the rest of the girls notice and they don't appreciate feeling like an unattractive troll standing next to you.

Same goes for the girls who say statements like "I love doing blowjobs, I always swallow because sperm tastes good" or "I only wear thongs, I just don't get why some girls don't want to feel sexy"or "Dammit my nipples are too big, they always need to be moisturized" in front of everyone, especially other people's boyfriends. The girls will all hate you forever, and you deserve it. I hope you have a cavernous, dua, smelly and hairy orh cheebye and no bridemaids at your shitty wedding because you have no friends.

crap & cigarettes

2012-01-05T01:24:00.002+08:00

Best time-wasting activities.

People who wanna get into relationships are funny creatures. They stick their neck out and look for a nice fit to spend time with/talk to/do stuff with to fill the void in their hearts
(romanticised version: they spend their lives looking for someone to make them whole)

in hopes of being happy. The hearts they open for the other party are not just their own but their friends', family members'. They polish up the once perfectly acceptable looks and personality to ensure they present the best of themselves to the other party.

They work so, so, so hard. The more I type the less of this entry's purpose I remember, let alone the purpose of putting oneself OUT THERE to fulfil the things one can perfectly well on his/her own. We're not talking about slightly pushing the neck forward; by Out There I mean REALLY extending your neck all the way over the chopping board until it rests nicely below the knife.

And then we wait. From the corner of our eyes we see the knife gleaming in the light, a reflection of life-threatening danger. We know we're all at the knife's mercy. We know we might die anytime yet we refuse to budge. What is this prize we're eyeing at? Companionship?
(romanticised version: soul mate), aka loneliness/void/emptiness which sprouts from

1. The dream of becoming the main character of a romcom/chick novel
2. Being the only person in the pack who's alone (unlike loneliness there's nothing subjective about being lonely so stop putting connotations to an objective word!)

Scepticism is a sign of old age. Like how we no longer believe in talking animals or superheroes, ideals like true love, long-distance relationship, and the pursuit of eternal happiness have been chucked into the "who the fuck are you trying to kid/how the fuck old do you think I am" box along with, for some, Passion and Hope in Mankind. This box I speak of is labelled, -clears throat-
"PLEASE LAH FOR GOODNESS SAKE. SERIOUSLY?!"

Name me one thing a perfectly functional human being cannot accomplish without a partner, bearing in minds the role of a soul mate by general definition.

- Sharing of ideas? It's just too bad that you're so dumb even the voices in your head cannot be bothered to talk to you.
- Having sex? You've obviously not been treating yourself right.
- Going places?
PLEASE LAH FOR GOODNESS SAKE. SERIOUSLY?!

Yes I'm in a relationship. In fact I've been in a relationship since I was 15. And that puts me in the position to say all these. That puts me in the position to tell you to fucking wake up.
-grabs the coffee you were smelling and splash it all over your face-

the weather for death

2011-12-23T15:00:00.002+08:00

so dark is the sky with thick clouds hanging so low they drown out any colours on land
so heavy is the indefinite rain with no plans of stopping for the rainbow to come
so suitable for death.

exactly a week ago, we were running about in the temple making sure the setting's perfect for an auction. a gathering of friends and family obliged to join you simply to fill in the numbers to make a Crowd, signs of a 'successful' event. turned out everything else was a success except for the audience.

today, we once again gather in a temple. this time, also for an event but without a success. for the purpose is already a failure.

he died.
he was at the temple last friday. he was there too today. he was the star of the event this afternoon.

much significance is often placed on Last Words. in novels, movies and music videos, Last Words are usually full of hate/frustration or at least contain SOME meaning to leave regret and no chance for closure. which actually helps the living to remember the dead through the regret and I Should Haves. even if the daily memories of that person's gone, the living won't forget the last fight.

"never mind la, very light only." how insignificant, how normal... how forgettable.

i hate it when people start to reminisce the minute someone gets into fatal trouble. "he was such a nice man... he got along so well with everybody in the office... he used to bring his son out for supper all the time... he's always been so proud to be a part of us..."

STOP IT. JUST STOP. STOP. STOP. STOP.

IMPULSIVE BUY OF THE YEAR!

2011-12-12T11:59:00.001+08:00

From this

to this

Lana Del Rey

2011-12-08T17:52:00.001+08:00

It's you, it's all for you.

hold me in the arms of your words.

2011-12-05T14:19:00.001+08:00

- taking a glorious bite out of the world,

I'm telling you: objectively, there's no such thing as Objectivity.

2011-11-21T10:50:00.001+08:00

& so you wait.
You're too proud to turn back, too proud to call.
You have too much to fear so you rather live on Hope.
Then, loss.

Problem?

2011-11-06T04:47:00.002+08:00

Countdown: Turi Beach in five hours. Replaced laptop, Photoshop and Nescafe with tanning oil, bikini and an ice cold Pineapple juice (embellished with a tiny paper brolly). Why're my narcissistic fingers not flying all over the keyboard trying to tell the world everything running in between my ears? It's as if every time I step out of Toa Payoh my brain and I walk our separate ways. Fortune Teller aunty said my nails (yellow with black shatter) looked like a wooden door (I assume which has been painted years ago and met with harsh weather conditions and angry children). It's been 9 months and you still can't spell properly.

jak jai chao singapore

2011-10-20T00:30:00.000+08:00

to return from flood-stricken thailand only to be overwhelmed by people complaining about the singapore weather and traffic is actually more exhausting than personally distributing relief packages to the villagers.

that used to be a road leading to the highway.

the lucky one is I.

2011-10-12T10:11:00.001+08:00

you're my wonderwall

2011-08-29T11:26:00.000+08:00

"... if i'm a puzzle then you're that missing piece that completes me and makes the picture perfect."

nick+maria • england wedding from Paperback Weddings on Vimeo.

Why can’t you be alone without yoko?

2011-08-22T17:05:00.001+08:00

Lennon: but i can be alone without yoko, but i just have no wish to be. there’s no reason on earth why i should be alone without yoko. there’s nothing more important than our relationship, nothing. and we dig being together all the time. both of us could survive apart but what for? i’m not going to sacrifice love, real love for any whore or any friend or any business, because in the end you’re alone at night and neither of us want to be. and you can’t fill a bed with groupies. it doesn’t work. i don’t want to be a swinger. i’ve been through it all and nothing works better than to have someone you love hold you.

When I grow up,

2011-08-08T11:51:00.003+08:00

I wanna be a wife.

CANNOT WAIT to wake up with 'Wife' as my portfolio.

Not humanitarian worker (one day I'll get too old for this),
not animal activist, not environmentalist (I don't think I was ever one)or events manager. But a Wife.

With my own home, my own pet, my own bed. I can then finally buy that damn kids wardrobe from IKEA, a swing, a rattan chair.

And yes, my own Husband.

It sounds like something the lead actress of Little Women might say but it's a much harder job than you think. One day we'll all be sick and tired of being part of the rat race. One day I'll wanna spend all my time Loving. And Loving doesn't come in the forms of looking after your man (well that too but it's not the primary job scope). Looking after your husband and your home is the effects of this feeling of being in love. Because you love them, you want them to be happy. Because you want them to be happy, you do stuff for them. One day I'll wanna wake up not rushing to finish a proposal, run an event, save a country from disaster. One day I'll wanna wake up in my cocoon.

And when that day comes, for the rest of my life, I just wanna be a Wife.

You know you've attained enlightenment...

2011-08-05T11:35:00.005+08:00

... when you just don't give the fuck.

When you feel like you have nothing to prove.
When you admire but never envy.
When you feast without guilt.
When you love without reservations.
When you laugh straight from your lungs/diaphragm, with your mouth open (especially when there's food in there).
When you don't notice when people stare, even if it's full of approval and acceptance.

HOW TO TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY HAHAHA.

Dharma and Greg Season1 Episode 5: The Ex Files

2011-08-01T14:59:00.002+08:00

Greg: Dharma, it doesn't matter if there's somebody out there who on paper is perfect for me because I love you.

Dharma: Yeah, well, a dog can love a chicken. But eventually he's gonna want another dog 'cause chickens don't chase cars and all the love in the world won't change that.

Then Dharma meets the bartender who's perfect (on paper) for her who's, in some cultures, ten times hotter than Greg. Yet she chose to go home with the man she loves.

So put your hands down my pants and I'll bet you'll feel nuts

2011-07-29T15:56:00.000+08:00

Gets to me every. single. time.

2011-07-29T11:24:00.003+08:00

Dharma: I, Dharma Freedom Finkelstein promise to never, ever become my mother.

Greg: I, Gregory notsayingthemiddlename Montgomery promise that I will not bottle up my feelings for thirty years and spew them like a volcano at our children’s wedding.

Dharma: Hey, I promise to always let you be you and me be me. As long as every now and then we get to get naked and switch.

Greg: And do you promise that you’ll always look at me with that light in your eyes?

Dharma: And do you promise to always brush my hair off my face like that? And kiss me like that?

Greg: You make me feel like the luckiest man in the world.

Phoebe: When I was growing up, I didn't have a normal mom and dad, or a regular family like everybody else, and I always knew that something was missing. But now I'm standing here today, knowing that I have everything I'm ever gonna need... You are my family.

Mike: Phoebe you're so beautiful. You're so kind, you're so generous. You're so wonderfully weird. Every day with you is an adventure, and I can't believe how lucky I am, and I can't wait to share my life with you forever.

Phoebe: Oh wait, oh I forgot... and I love you... and you have nice eyes.

MARC ANTHONY FEVER

2011-07-26T10:41:00.001+08:00

50/168

2011-07-25T18:10:00.004+08:00

Assuming at this point of our lives we'll be spending the rest of our lives working. Assuming our partners will be going in the same direction.

Assuming, best case scenario, that we all have jobs that allow us to clock out at 6pm sharp.
Assuming, worst case scenario, that we all go to bed at 1am.

If you do the math, essentially we only have about 6 hours a day to spend with our partners. That's 6 out of 24 hours, which is a quarter of everyday. And that's the best case scenario.

Now, assuming, best case scenario, that we spend every single weekday after work with our partners. Add 10 hours on Saturday AND Sunday to that equation and you get 50 out of 168 hours spent together.

In the BEST possible scenario, we get to spend slightly more than a third of our entire week together.

And sometimes we choose to spend that time arguing, proving a point, getting upset, putting each other on guilt trips, fighting and never back down/off until your pride wins...

All in that a third of your week which is supposed to be your escape from work and obligations.

50/168 is the best case scenario. Calculate based on your lifestyle and working hours and think about how much of the time with each other are you wasting. Sure you'll be spending the rest of your life together but until the day you die there's hardly any opportunity for the BOTH of you to Do Nothing together for a long time.

That means you'll only be scoring 50/168 on the average until you become man and wife. And this is supposed to be the time when you're cruising on the love boat, singing in the rain, promising You jump I jump.

And yet sometimes we decide to spend this time together fighting.

World's Most Dangerous Countries for Women - The Big Picture - Boston.com

2011-07-21T11:16:00.000+08:00

World's Most Dangerous Countries for Women - The Big Picture - Boston.com

Dharma and Greg, Season4 Episode12

2011-07-20T16:10:00.005+08:00

Dharma: ... you think I'm holding you back
Greg: Well you're not exactly pushing me forward either

Dharma: And I never will... If you wanna make more money or be more successful that's great. But that's not what I'm in this for. I love you and frankly I don't even care if you make a dime.
... I will say this again. I will support you in any life that you want to live.

sigh

VICTORY. MUST. BE. OURS.

2011-07-19T16:09:00.004+08:00

Click and vote please please please please please please. Please.

"Hi, my name is Selene and I'm a Facebook addict."

2011-07-13T14:15:00.004+08:00

when the only reason facebook.com isn't your homepage is because you're worried of judgement,

when you don't feel the need to attend gatherings because chances are you already know what they're currently up to, who they're dating, what's on their mind, what music they like, their religious beliefs... nothing that they discuss during a gathering would be news to you,

when you bump into strangers on the streets and go, "hey i know this girl. she's somebody's somebody's exgirlfriend's friend who just came back from melbourne she just broke up with her australia boyfriend and is a hardcore clubber who frequents zouk on wednesday and attica on fridays her favourite singer is john mayer she just attended the taylor swift concert with her secondary school friends..."

when you spend time planning your status updates,
when you surf the net looking for interesting news to share on your facebook page that would increase your popularity or position yourself in a certain way to your 'friends',
when you feel a certain exhilaration when you see Facebook (1)...

i can go on and on and on but the point is, if you can relate to any of the above, you know you have a problem.

and i do.

Like this entry, please?

I'm capable of more I promise.

2011-07-07T13:27:00.001+08:00

by Og Mandino

2011-06-29T16:37:00.000+08:00

“Live this day as if it will be your last. Remember that you will only find ”tomorrow” on the calendars of fools. Forget yesterday’s defeats and ignore the problems of tomorrow. This is it. Doomsday. All you have. Make it the best day of your year. The saddest words you can ever utter are, ”If I had my life to live over again.” Take the baton, now. Run with it! This is your day! Beginning today, treat everyone you meet, friend or foe, loved one or stranger, as if they were going to be dead at midnight. Extend to each person, no matter how trivial the contact, all the care and kindness and understanding and love that you can muster, and do it with no thought of any reward. Your life will never be the same again.”

THE CRANBERRIES ARE COMING TO TOWN!

2011-06-29T10:14:00.003+08:00

Being in a relationship does crazy things to you. Besides causing blindness, it also makes you tone deaf.
And while we should be our partner's worst critic/biggest fan, unless we're hopelessly in love enough to tell them that THEY SUCK AND IT SHOULD NEVER BE LEGAL FOR THEM TO SING IN PUBLIC, none of us want to be the bearer of bad news because we all shoot the messenger.

How does one document that whirlpool of thoughts in the head? Perhaps I've gotten so used to talking to myself that it makes no sense to keyboard them down for my phantom readers/for future references. I'm telling you, fellow beings, such reliance on the worldwide web isn't going to do us any good. If your social network sites have become not only your file-sharing platform but an archive of all your memories, may I suggest you place more faith in yourself and less in technology. What happens when your account gets hacked? Or if Mark Zuckerberg gets charged for outraging the modesty of his domestic helper/Facebook becomes the platform for improper spreading of propaganda and it has to be shut down?

And yet I'm blabbering away.

by Ashton Kutcher

2011-06-27T15:09:00.000+08:00

I was shooting a scene in my new film, No Strings Attached, in which I say to Natalie Portman, “If you miss me. you can’t text, you can’t email, you can’t post it on my Facebook wall. If you really miss me, you come and see me.”

I began to think of all of the billions of intimate exchanges sent daily via fingers and screens, bouncing between satellites and servers. With all this texting, emailing, and social networking, I started wondering, are we all becoming so in touch with one another that we are in danger of losing touch?

It used to be that boy met girl and they exchanged phone numbers. Anticipation built. They imagined the entire relationship before a call ever happened. The phone rang. Hearts pounded. “Hello?” Followed by a conversation that lasted two hours but felt like two minutes and would be examined with friends for two weeks. If all went well, a date was arranged. That was then.

Now we exchange numbers but text instead of calling because it mitigates the risks of early failure and eliminates those deafening moments of silence. Now anticipation builds. Bdoop. “It was NICE meeting u” Both sides overanalyze every word. We talk to a friend, an impromptu Cyrano: “He wrote nice in all caps. What does that mean? What do I write back?” Then we write a response and delete it 10 times before sending a message that will appear 2 care, but not 2 much. If all goes well, a date will be arranged.

Whether you like it or not, the digital age has produced a new format for modern romance, and natural selection may be favoring the quick-thumbed quip peddler over the confident, ice-breaking alpha male. Or maybe we are hiding behind the cloak of digital text and spell-check to present superior versions of ourselves while using these less intimate forms of communication to accelerate the courting process. So what’s it really good for?

There is some argument about who actually invented text messaging, but I think it’s safe to say it was a man. Multiple studies have shown that the average man uses about half as many words per day as women, thus text messaging. It eliminates hellos and goodbyes and cuts right to the chase. Now, if that’s not male behavior, I don’t know what is. It’s also great for passing notes. there is something fun about sharing secrets with your date while in the company of others. think of texting as a modern whisper in your lover’s car.

Sending sweet nothings on Twitter or Facebook is also fun. in some ways, it’s no different than sending flowers to the office: You are declaring your love for everyone to see. Who doesn’t like to be publicly adored. Just remember that what you post is out there and there’s some stuff you can’t un-see. But the reality is that we communicate with every part of our being, and there are times when we must use it all. When someone needs us, he or she needs all of us. There’s no text that can replace a loving touch when someone we love is hurting.

We haven’t lost romance in the digital age, but we may be neglecting it. In doing so, antiquated art forms are taking on new importance. The power of a hand-written letter is greater than ever. It’s personal and deliberate means more than an email or text ever will. It has a unique scent. It requires deciphering. But, most important, it’s flawed There are errors in handwriting, punctuation, grammar, and spelling that show our vulnerability. And vulnerability is the essence of romance. It’s the art of being uncalculated, the willingness to look foolish, the courage to say, “This is me, and I’m interested in you enough to show you my flaws with the hope that you may embrace me for all that I am but, more importantly, all that I am not.”

in a better world,

2011-05-31T11:17:00.003+08:00

Would you save the life of a man who cuts up the stomach of pregnant ladies for fun? Would you continue to love the boy with a dark past who nearly caused the death of your son?
Would you start a fight with a man who's accused and insulted you in front of your kids?
Would you forgive the man who cheated on you, and forget that point in time when all he ever saw was her?
Would you be able to forgive yourself?

When I grow up, I wanna be...

2011-05-24T14:32:00.000+08:00

a Jackass.

still unfreakingbelievable

2011-04-26T06:31:00.001+08:00

I mean for the love of god he gave me trash for my birthday.

:)

2011-04-14T09:36:00.000+08:00

How bad do you think it is?

2011-04-05T09:25:00.002+08:00

Now multiply that by ten.

MR RESPONDS TO QUAKE IN JAPAN

2011-03-14T20:43:00.002+08:00

Singaporean humanitarian NGO, MR has deployed a 2-man preliminary disaster response team to Japan to ascertain ground needs and procure initial batch of relief supplies.

Following the devastating 9 magnitude earthquake and resulting tsunami, immense damage have occurred across three worst-hit coastal prefectures of Iwate, Miyagi and Fukushima. With over tens of thousands reported dead and missing and a looming nuclear radiation threat, the Japanese authorities are stretching its resources to overcome the severest earthquake to hit the country.

The MR team will establish logistical network for relief supplies distribution with UN agencies including UNICEF and WFP in the Japanese capital. The team will be collaborating with its local NGO partners namely Peace Winds Japan and Basic Humanitarian Need (BHN) Association to support their relief efforts at the affected locations. With an initial tranche of USD $20,000 provided by SAP Asia Pacific Japan, the team will help address the pressing needs for food, water and quilts.

Explaining MR’s mode of operation for the mission, Chief Executive Hassan Ahmad said that “The main function of the preliminary team is to support the local players to stabilize the prevailing humanitarian crisis and lay the ground for further assistance”

The preliminary team is expected to be in Japan for two weeks. Relief supplies such as ready-to-eat porridge and water systems are ready to be dispatched from Singapore.

MR has been appointed as the beneficiary charity of the ‘GAMBATTE! Japan’ fundraising event organized by the Wakyo Association in Singapore. To support or participate in the event, please visit the facebook page.

What a splendid party!

2011-03-09T16:25:00.003+08:00

merci for Mercy

2011-03-02T11:41:00.002+08:00

I'm often so tired I wish to be knocked down by a car so that I may rest for awhile. Every blink makes me wanna fall asleep. Just this morning I curled into my swivel chair and took a power nap to make up for all the lost winks. Sometimes I look like I've been living out of my backpack without any money to eat or place to shower.

But I love it. I love my job. It's one of the best things that's ever happened to me.

Yoga's one of the other best thing. My mind and body go crazy when they go through one day without it. I love waking up everyday knowing it'll be a day of Work (Ravenous)- Yoga (Ravenous) - Dinner (Mad tired) - Nap - Work (Ravenous) - Yoga...

There's also the mother who's so unbelievably giving.
And a plant.
And, much importantly, a perverse and overt (to say the least) flasher.

The thing about chicken rice is this:

2011-02-17T15:10:00.002+08:00

It's so fucking delicious right, that you can't bear to waste any of it. So you eat it and you eat it and you eat it some more. Before you have any time to savour the yummy aftertaste (more like garlic breath. See, the delicious-ness of chicken rice is more like a For-the-Moment sort of indulgent), you feel sick. You want to (and often do) throw up, leaving the taste of puke and garlic at the back of your tongue so deep there's nothing you can do it to get rid of it. There's no such thing as moderation when it comes to chicken rice. Yet the next time you're presented with the opportunity to have some chicken rice, you forget about the afterbreath and gets overwhelmed with nostalgia at how you felt while you were eating the previous packet of chicken rice. So you buy it. And It's so fucking delicious right, that you can't bear to waste any of it. So you eat it and you eat it and you eat it some more...

I am an onion.

2011-02-08T15:04:00.004+08:00

And you deserve nothing more than shallots.

The water was filthy. It was reeked of disrespect, lies and undeserved self-righteousness. I washed the filth off and watched them get mixed with phelgm, pee and blood. I am now clean and full of anger, which is excellent. And now all that's left is pity. For you there can only be pity.

I should have known that I will never win. I've never won in your battle among shallots. Onions can never win shallots. But in that sense, I won.

I will never lose to you again.

Mama,

2011-02-01T12:51:00.005+08:00

She checks my blind spots, cleans up my shit and gives me that kick in the ass. It's so easy to forget about her because she's always got my back while I race through life head-on. I haven't been slowing down to look over my shoulder to pay any attention to her or how she's doing.

(chides self, stabs own eyes, plucks out nails and soak fingers in salt water)

Disoriented.

2011-01-25T16:42:00.002+08:00

Have you ever witnessed the sun lighting up the world around you after the rain? One minute you were just getting used to the after-effect of a shower (droplets as big as grapes falling down from the ceiling's edge, people rolling up their umbrellas) and next the world lights up and the grass becomes greener, trees taller, children happier.

1 Feb would mark my 7th month here. My priorities, beliefs, habits and anything else that made Me me have changed rather drastically. Someday I will "eat mercy, breathe mercy, sleep mercy" but for now, I just have to get used to disappointing some people for canceling our appointments because of work and disappointing myself for choosing play to work (St George's is a huge distraction I tell you but it's also the best kind).

I was always defined by Love. Years ago I was the girl who was very much in love who was walking on rainbows and had sunflowers sprouting out of her hair. Everyday I woke up grinning to myself thinking that I was the luckiest girl alive to be in love. Soon after, the rainbows become cold concrete and sunflowers turned into streaks of damaged white hair. But I was still smiling; it was more like a polite smile of content rather than the usual grins you would give to your best friend but a smile nonetheless.

Am I still looking for Love? Yes. Have I found it? I don't think I ever will. How can you find a love that's made up of figments of imagination by Sparks and Marx? Am I making any effort to look for it? Not at all. I'd rather be looking for chimpanzees.

I don't know if being here makes me wanna give up my dream to be in the planet of primates but it sure is making me reconsider my passion. Should we be serving humans before animals? Is there even such thing as priorities when it comes to relief? Who does my heart and loyalty lie with? Each time I speak to Fossey or Goodall I feel like I've betrayed some other people. What do all these even mean?

Do I still wanna auction off all my assets withdraw all my money from the bank and buy a one-way ticket to Africa? ........Yes.
Do I still have a backpack ready for mobilisation any time? Yes.
Do I love what I do? Yes. Do I love what I think I wanna do for the rest of my live? Yes. But I do feel a part of me drifting away from primates and closer to the homo sapiens. Is this because of duty or a shift in my goals?

With so many things to think about, how does one have time to look for a partner? The more time I spend here, the more a partner becomes nothing but the stem of my sweet, juicy cherry. Then comes the question of whether I should tape the stem back to the cherry since it doesn't make a difference anyway but it makes you feel rather complete, or do I pluck it out completely and be The Cherry Without a Stem?

NONE OF THIS IS MAKING MUCH SENSE!!!

Disoriented.

(channels concentration/energy to anticipating the arrival of tomorrow evening)

You Should Date An Illiterate Girl

2011-01-23T19:44:00.001+08:00

by Charles Warnke

Date a girl who doesn’t read. Find her in the weary squalor of a Midwestern bar. Find her in the smoke, drunken sweat, and varicolored light of an upscale nightclub. Wherever you find her, find her smiling. Make sure that it lingers when the people that are talking to her look away. Engage her with unsentimental trivialities. Use pick-up lines and laugh inwardly. Take her outside when the night overstays its welcome. Ignore the palpable weight of fatigue. Kiss her in the rain under the weak glow of a streetlamp because you’ve seen it in film. Remark at its lack of significance. Take her to your apartment. Dispatch with making love. Fuck her.

Let the anxious contract you’ve unwittingly written evolve slowly and uncomfortably into a relationship. Find shared interests and common ground like sushi, and folk music. Build an impenetrable bastion upon that ground. Make it sacred. Retreat into it every time the air gets stale, or the evenings get long. Talk about nothing of significance. Do little thinking. Let the months pass unnoticed. Ask her to move in. Let her decorate. Get into fights about inconsequential things like how the fucking shower curtain needs to be closed so that it doesn’t fucking collect mold. Let a year pass unnoticed. Begin to notice.

Figure that you should probably get married because you will have wasted a lot of time otherwise. Take her to dinner on the forty-fifth floor at a restaurant far beyond your means. Make sure there is a beautiful view of the city. Sheepishly ask a waiter to bring her a glass of champagne with a modest ring in it. When she notices, propose to her with all of the enthusiasm and sincerity you can muster. Do not be overly concerned if you feel your heart leap through a pane of sheet glass. For that matter, do not be overly concerned if you cannot feel it at all. If there is applause, let it stagnate. If she cries, smile as if you’ve never been happier. If she doesn’t, smile all the same.

Let the years pass unnoticed. Get a career, not a job. Buy a house. Have two striking children. Try to raise them well. Fail, frequently. Lapse into a bored indifference. Lapse into an indifferent sadness. Have a mid-life crisis. Grow old. Wonder at your lack of achievement. Feel sometimes contented, but mostly vacant and ethereal. Feel, during walks, as if you might never return, or as if you might blow away on the wind. Contract a terminal illness. Die, but only after you observe that the girl who didn’t read never made your heart oscillate with any significant passion, that no one will write the story of your lives, and that she will die, too, with only a mild and tempered regret that nothing ever came of her capacity to love.

Do those things, god damnit, because nothing sucks worse than a girl who reads. Do it, I say, because a life in purgatory is better than a life in hell. Do it, because a girl who reads possesses a vocabulary that can describe that amorphous discontent as a life unfulfilled—a vocabulary that parses the innate beauty of the world and makes it an accessible necessity instead of an alien wonder. A girl who reads lays claim to a vocabulary that distinguishes between the specious and soulless rhetoric of someone who cannot love her, and the inarticulate desperation of someone who loves her too much. A vocabulary, god damnit, that makes my vacuous sophistry a cheap trick.

Do it, because a girl who reads understands syntax. Literature has taught her that moments of tenderness come in sporadic but knowable intervals. A girl who reads knows that life is not planar; she knows, and rightly demands, that the ebb comes along with the flow of disappointment. A girl who has read up on her syntax senses the irregular pauses—the hesitation of breath—endemic to a lie. A girl who reads perceives the difference between a parenthetical moment of anger and the entrenched habits of someone whose bitter cynicism will run on, run on well past any point of reason, or purpose, run on far after she has packed a suitcase and said a reluctant goodbye and she has decided that I am an ellipsis and not a period and run on and run on. Syntax that knows the rhythm and cadence of a life well lived.

Date a girl who doesn’t read because the girl who reads knows the importance of plot. She can trace out the demarcations of a prologue and the sharp ridges of a climax. She feels them in her skin. The girl who reads will be patient with an intermission and expedite a denouement. But of all things, the girl who reads knows most the ineluctable significance of an end. She is comfortable with them. She has bid farewell to a thousand heroes with only a twinge of sadness.

Don’t date a girl who reads because girls who read are the storytellers. You with the Joyce, you with the Nabokov, you with the Woolf. You there in the library, on the platform of the metro, you in the corner of the café, you in the window of your room. You, who make my life so god damned difficult. The girl who reads has spun out the account of her life and it is bursting with meaning. She insists that her narratives are rich, her supporting cast colorful, and her typeface bold. You, the girl who reads, make me want to be everything that I am not. But I am weak and I will fail you, because you have dreamed, properly, of someone who is better than I am. You will not accept the life that I told of at the beginning of this piece. You will accept nothing less than passion, and perfection, and a life worthy of being storied. So out with you, girl who reads. Take the next southbound train and take your Hemingway with you. I hate you. I really, really, really hate you.

2011 is about:

2010-12-31T13:16:00.004+08:00

HYPERVENTILATES AND DIES.

He will:

2010-12-14T17:11:00.005+08:00

like Bob Marley or at least knows who he is.
watch the Northern Lights with me.
look at me with pride in his eyes, knowing that I'm different because of who I am and not because of who he's made me become.
watch Love Me If You Dare with me again and again and again.
watch Love Actually with me every Christmas.
be spontaneous, adventurous, yet grounded and rational.
be smart. And funny. And witty. And sweet. And real.
have an acceptably strong command of English.
understand that I don't know how to express myself.
not need to see The Point in everything I say. Someone who'll let me go on and on without looking puzzled or annoyed. Bemused maybe.
not find someone else even if I go on a 2-month pilgrimage.
understand that it's not just about exchanging companionship with financial stability.
have the temper of the matriarch of the elephant herd.
let me fall, but be there to clean my wound and bring me some chocolates without saying I told you so.
challenge me mentally. Spar with me verbally without getting angry or giving up.
will accept even if he doesn't understand.
be whole.

want to be with noone else in this world but me.

In the life of:

2010-12-01T12:09:00.003+08:00

Zainabo Alfani:
In June 5 2003, Zainabo Alfani, a widow and merchant living in Kisangani, travelled to Bunia to sell diamonds and gold. She boarded a bus with three of her children, two girls and a six-month old baby.

14 other women were on the same bus. Between Mambassa (135 km west of Bunia) and Irumu (56 km southwest of Bunia), a series of shots ring out. The passengers ask the bus driver to turn around and head back to Kisangani. He suggests instead that they get out of the bus and hide in the jungle of Muvuta Bangi until the fighting ahead stops. Thereafter, he proposed, the passengers can continue on their way to sell their goods in Bunia as planned. Convinced, the women accept to get off the bus. Thereafter, the driver abandoned the passengers and fled.

Approximately half an hour later, in the middle of the bush at Muvuta Bangi, about 18 armed men in army fatigues appeared. One spoke to the women in their native tongue, Swahili. He told the women to take off all their clothes. A witch doctor told the soldiers that long vagina lips can protect them from bullets. Zainabo is the only one who met this criteria. While the others were ruthlessly massacred, Zainabo is alive. But she was mutilated; the men cut off her prized vaginal lips then raped her. Zainabo fainted.

When she regained consciousness, she saw her attackers sharing the piece of flesh they cut from her loins. They cut into her right foot, her left forearm, and underneath her right breast, in order to extract her blood. Five of them shared a mixture of her blood and water, along with pieces of her flesh. They then took her and her three children farther into the jungle.

The men in uniform seize Zainabo's two girls, 10-year-old Alima and 8 year-old Mulassi, and submerged them, one after the other, in the barrels. Their stomachs were pierced to ensure a proper cooking. The soldiers ate one of the bodies with foufou (a Congolese specialty, dough made of manioc) and saved the other for later.

Zainabo asked the soldiers to of a favour: that her body and the remains of her baby be left on the main road, so that someone of good faith may find them and give them a proper burial. The man simply proceeds to cut her stomach open. She faints.

Zainabo awakes at Bujumbura's Nouvelle Espérance (New Hope) hospital and was diagnosed with AIDS. She leftthe hospital two years later and traveled to Kinshasa to present her case before MONUC's Human Rights Section. She died a month later.

Sea Shepherd Organisation:
New vessel has the potential to stop Japanese whaling.

It's a date with MOTHER DANGER.

2010-11-29T17:33:00.003+08:00

Just like how it used to be, only this time I'm taking her out.

He is not he, is not a she, ball is not a ball.

2010-11-10T11:58:00.001+08:00

2010-11-08T13:35:00.003+08:00

I never understood why couples with children address each other as Mummy and Daddy, even when the child isn't around.

"Go and ask your Mummy/Daddy." - this I understand.
"Mummy/Daddy, can you pass me the milk bottle please." - ?!?!?!!!!?!!

Now I think I see some light.

Because when a child is born, he/she is nothing more to her/him than the Daddy/Mummy of her/his child.

Otorhinolaryngology (ENT)

2010-10-22T14:37:00.003+08:00

S: Insufficient sleep contributes to a decreased ability to focus and concentrate, lower productivity, a weakened immune system as well difficulty managing anger.

D: WHO SAY?! WHY YOU TALK NONSENSE? I KILL YOU KILL YOUR WHOLE FAMILY!!! BURN YOUR HAIR!!! ANYHOW SAY.

*

HA giving a lecture in SP on HA.
"So Felicia, do you know what's happening in Pakistan right now that started about three months ago?"

After much deliberation with her friends,
"Err, is it the earthquake?"

Funeral for Earth

2010-10-20T12:35:00.004+08:00

The haze looks like a great funeral is happening somewhere nearby. We're all a part of it; we're enveloped by the product of this procession. Somewhere, there's mourning. Is the haze a reminder of our involvement? Something we have done in our lives, maybe even today, contributed to this death. Our outskirts filter the punishment so all we get is a slight irritation to our noses, a slight sting in our eyes. If each and every one of us were to receive punishments parallel to the decisions we've made to cause this great death, we should all have began suffering until our own time to die.

And a funeral IS happening. Somewhere out there, someone is mourning for something that has passed on. As the government mourns for the death of the successful lady who's stood beside a successful man, Nature mourns for its own death. Every minute it dies alittle and it's in the little things like haze that it fights back. "Fuck you" is the message the haze is trying to bring. Fuck you for my mother's death.

And our response to Earth? Well boohoo, fuck you too.

Wednesday, October 27, 10:15am, Mount Elizabeth.

2010-10-19T13:27:00.006+08:00

Life has not been the same without you.
Jeff Corwin's doing food shows now. He went from saving whales to eating tuna.
Discovery Channel, Animal Planet and National Geographic are full of gimmicks. What happened to pure love for wildlife? The introduction of animals into our lives through television? What happened to the good old documentaries? I refuse to believe the focus of the supply shifted according to demand. I want to see snow leopards hunting in their natural habitats. I want to see meerkats falling asleep doing sentry duty. I want to see whales mating in the ocean, the males fighting off one another for the love of the only female.

What happened to people like you?

And your daughter! Your wife! Sigh.

*

tonsilLITIS - I need to work on my bucket list.

woe be me.

2010-10-14T15:28:00.001+08:00

shiok sneeze. hehe.
friday, then saturday, then stop. then friday, then saturday, stop.

je ne veux pas travailler please please...

eat. pray. hrrak.

2010-10-11T14:41:00.002+08:00

GO AND DIE LA.

2010-10-08T16:11:00.002+08:00

like lard, but oilier.
like fart, but smellier.
like retard, but dumber.
like wal-mart, but larger.
like tart, but sweeter.
like Mozart, but composer.
like dart, but sharper.
like cart, but further.
like Bart, but lamer.

Be my Greg

2010-10-06T12:24:00.002+08:00

SEASON 5 EPISODE 24. DONE. NO MORE. HOW NOW.

Voyage de la vie - it's not about the destination.

2010-10-04T11:22:00.004+08:00

'Fat' is an honest and straightforward word that's voided of emotions. 'Fat' is matter-of-fact. 'Chubby' and 'Plump' are different. Filled with innuendos, almost as if to say, "Could be so much more but is too lazy" and "Not brave enough to go all the way, not disciplined enough to cut it all down". Almost as if to say, "Whatever, major loser." Which is so ironic because if I were such a loser I wouldn't have to worry about gaining any weight.

my postsecret today

2010-09-30T12:29:00.003+08:00

Sometimes, if I feel a crap coming during the second half of the day, I'll keep it in until tomorrow to hit my Crap-A-Day quota.

I TOLD YOU THEY WERE TONSILS DAD. It isn't because I eat too much.

I don't feel bad about making fun of them. I feel bad that I felt bad only after knowing that they're special. Shouldn't I not make fun of them in the first place, or continue to mock them even after knowing they're different? Feeling bad about feeling bad simply emphasises our differences, no?
Too much Dharma and Greg, I reckon.

"You like Greg more than Chandler because you like Dharma more than you like Monica."

What if my kissing tonsils decide to get married and never want to leave each other?

sigh. i'm actually alittle afraid...

urbandictionary.com - somebody's watching you.

2010-09-28T10:00:00.002+08:00

Selene, the super chill girl, generally very short, who has a very dirty sense of humor. Selene, the moon goddess. Persistent and determined, placid and security loving, jealous and possessive. Enjoys art, making love, luxuries, made for talent, beauty (recoils from anything sordid or ugly) and music. Reliable, practical, methodical and ambitious, within a framework of obedience to superiors. One who takes in strays. Cats, dogs, humans, doesn't matter. Their kind nature is only rivaled by their bad choice in friends.

Foolish pride.

2010-09-27T15:22:00.002+08:00

Pride had to win every battle. It had to be the first to shred its white flag into pieces and the last one standing after a blood bath. Didn't matter that the battle would be long and leave permanent damages. Win first, worry later. In fact, it occasionally stirs shit up just so it could Win. Nothing matters more, therefore nothing can hurt as long as Pride wins.

But that was before the battle was against you. With you, Pride admits defeat even before drawing any blood. Pride looks you in the eyes and evaporates. It doesn't even want to exist.

Because now, nothing matters more than you.

It's not supposed to be like this.

2010-09-20T14:49:00.002+08:00

2010 Natural Disasters update

Taiwan: Typhoon Fanapi - Sep 2010
Mexico: Hurricane Karl - Sep 2010
Mauritania: Floods - Aug 2010
Hurricane Earl - Aug 2010
Indonesia: Sinabung Volcano - Aug 2010
Typhoon Mindulle - Aug 2010
Chad: Cholera Outbreak - Aug 2010
Bolivia: Wild Fires - Aug 2010
DPR Korea: Floods - Aug 2010
DR Congo: Floods - Jul 2010
Russian Federation: Wild Fires - Jul 2010
Central America: Floods and Landslides - Jul 2010
Mexico: Floods and Landslides - Jul 2010
Peru: Cold Wave - Jul 2010
Nigeria: Cholera Outbreak - Jul 2010
Pakistan: Floods - Jul 2010
Ethiopia: Floods - Jul 2010
Yemen: Floods - Jul 2010
Sudan: Floods - Jul 2010
Typhoon Conson - Jul 2010
India: Floods - Jul 2010
Nepal: Floods and Landslides - Jun 2010
Hurricane Alex - Jun 2010
Brazil: Floods - Jun 2010
Panama: Floods - Jun 2010
West Africa: Floods - Jun 2010
Myanmar: Floods and Landslides - Jun 2010
Bangladesh: Floods and Landslides - Jun 2010
Cameroon: Cholera Outbreak - Jun 2010
Kyrgyzstan: Mudslides - Jun 2010
Afghanistan: Floods - Jun 2010
Tropical Cyclone Phet - Jun 2010
Ecuador: Tungurahua Volcano - May 2010
Philippines: Floods and Landslides - May 2010
Central America: Tropical Storm Agatha - May 2010
Guatemala: Pacaya Volcano - May 2010
DR Congo: Landslide - May 2010
India: Cyclone Laila - May 2010
Central Europe: Floods - May 2010
Sri Lanka: Floods - May 2010
Azerbaijan: Floods - May 2010
China: Floods - May 2010
Gabon: Severe Local Storm - Apr 2010
Afghanistan: Earthquakes - Apr 2010
China: Earthquakes in Qinghai Province - Apr 2010
Colombia: Floods - Apr 2010
India/Bangladesh: Severe Local Storm - Apr 2010
Tajikistan: Floods - Apr 2010
Indonesia: Floods - Apr 2010
Brazil: Floods and Landslides - Apr 2010
Mexico: Earthquakes - Apr 2010
Peru: Floods and Landslides - Apr 2010
Russian Federation: Floods - Mar 2010
Solomon Islands: Cyclone Ului - Mar 2010
DR Congo: Floods - Mar 2010
East Africa: Floods - Mar 2010
Latin America: Dengue Outbreak - Mar 2010
Fiji: Cyclone Tomas - Mar 2010
Kazakhstan: Floods - Mar 2010
Madagascar: Cyclone Hubert - Mar 2010
Southern Africa: Floods - Mar 2010
Serbia: Floods - Mar 2010
Haiti: Floods and Mudslides - Mar 2010
Chile: Earthquake - Feb 2010
Madeira: Floods and Mudslides - Feb 2010
Caribbean: Drought - Feb 2010
Pakistan: Avalanche - Feb 2010
Cook Islands: Tropical Cyclone Pat - Feb 2010
Ecuador: Floods - Feb 2010
Afghanistan: Floods and Avalanches - Feb 2010
Mexico: Floods and Landslides - Feb 2010
French Polynesia: Cyclone Oli - Feb 2010
Solomon Islands: Floods - Jan 2010
Egypt: Floods - Jan 2010
occupied Palestinian territory: Floods - Jan 2010
Haiti: Earthquakes - Jan 2010
Mongolia: Dzud - Jan 2010
Montenegro: Floods - Jan 2010
Bolivia: Floods - Jan 2010
India/Nepal/Bangladesh: Cold Wave - Jan 2010
Pakistan: Landslides and Floods - Jan 2010
Solomon Islands: Earthquake - Jan 2010
Tajikistan: Earthquake - Jan 2010

In the name of freedom.

2010-09-17T12:27:00.002+08:00

This is how we're all going down. All because we want to be heard.
In the name of freedom of speech, this is how we're all going down.

Seems like everyone wants to fight for peace with war.
Like the hippies used to say, BOMBING FOR PEACE IS LIKE FUCKING FOR VIRGINITY.

http://everyonedrawmohammed.blogspot.com

A flower in flight.

2010-09-16T11:19:00.005+08:00

There's been a fascination with flowers among the ladies probably ever since the first chick lit got published. How the men must hate the book/person/movie who poisoned the minds of the women to adore men with a bouquet of nicely arranged floral. Perhaps flowers helped to express emotions men can't with words. Slowly, flowers became symbols. Roses were no longer simply red (whose concert I will most definitely be catching soon), violets not just blue. Sunflowers meant You Are My Sunshine, Lilies a symbol of mature love etc. Of course the dangerous thorny devil went one step further so now the NUMBER of roses have their different meanings too. 1 for I Love Only You, 999 meant I Have Plenty of $$$ to Buy Over Your Materialistic Love and so on.

So tell me this: Do you like FLOWERS, or the RECEIVING of them from man? Might it make any difference if he presented it in public/in the privacy of your home, on his knees or haphazardly, accompanied with a song or red plastic bag, on Valentines' Day or to say he's sorry for being a jerk?

Louis bought for yours truly a bouquet of flowers yesterday. Please understand how much of a SHOCKER it was to receive something I never thought was in the equation. The initial surprise was quickly overtaken by an awkward joy which thankfully he understood. It's rather unfortunate that his girlfriend was never taught the art of expression appreciation.

Then what? You leave the flowers aside, have your usual dinner conversation (of course now with 10 extra tablespoons of romance), occasionally meddle with the petals, enquire the decision-making process, enquire the monetary value of the bouquet (sighing and awwing, saying that he shouldn't have spent the money), then go back to life.

Then what? You take some pictures of it, tell some people about it, perhaps post the photos on Facebook. Slowly but surely, the focus is no longer on the flowers. You don't take a picture because of the colour of the petals, the shape of the leaves, the hard work put into wrapping your gift up nicely (thank you, florist from Flower Matters!). You're not happy because you now have in possession seasonal flowers.

Then what?

I don't like the smell of flowers, nor do I particularly appreciate the kind of materials used to wrap them up for presentation. However, I feel a sense of joy just looking at them. Not in plastic, more like a garden. Like an orchard where you can run up and down the aisles and be surrounded by a whirl of fresh colours nature created. I don't soak their butts in water for a longer life nor I don't sit on them for days and make the dried petals into bookmarks. They're now on my table, a constant reminder of how I finally got flowers after 16 months. Soon they'll wilt and collect dust. Soon I'll have to dispose of them.

It's not the flowers we love. We give them too much credit and the men too little. What the object is doesn't/shouldn't matter. What I love so much and is making me feel like mush inside is the thought that while we were apart, he was thinking of me.

Mooncakes can be pretty gross things.

2010-09-15T10:19:00.003+08:00

I have an obsession that's quite like that of H. H.'s. If this obsession was allowed I would put it on display and let Hell run loose. But I know we can't, that much I know.

I am a liar, a sinner, a perfect example of a human being. Being funny is my thing because laughing masks plenty of other emotions I cannot express. You are my defence mechanism - when I'm awkward or when I need validation, I make a joke out of you and be secretly, often not so secretly, gleeful of my success.

For a moment it feels like life just runs its course on autopilot. I'm truly awake only when I'm with you. I enunciate my words, I think clearer, I laugh louder, cry harder. In other words my physical and mental self are as one only when we're together. Other times I feel schizophrenic.

I just knocked my head on the wall bracket while bending down trying to fix a loose connection. See? That's what I mean. I'm not in tune with my environment or my mind. Only when pain sets in and I start cursing myself will I begin to feel like One again.

Nothing I type make any sense. Don't ask me about it tomorrow because I will not remember. But the throbbing sensation in my head is making things difficult.

Throb throb throb.

It has to be destroyed.

2010-09-13T12:09:00.002+08:00

To keep it real, it just has to. It's too perfect. When something's too good to be true it probably isn't.

Until then, all I wanna do is keep the fire burning in my loins.

It's strange to see a banana on the table, even though it's mine.

2010-09-06T17:06:00.007+08:00

Chunkfest 2010 has confirmed the fact that Ben and Jerry have completely milked their cow.

Exclusive, sure. Different, not exactly.

But how I can complain, when they were ALL FREE FOR ME? Ice-cream makes people happy but FREE ice-cream gives you a certain kind of high. Of course I put on my tie-dyed dress for the occasion! If only more people had the same sentiments, I wouldn't have looked like the staff/mascot.

"FOR PEACE, LOVE AND ICE-CREAM!"

It's about time I revealed the heroine behind my email - akazukin77@hotmail.com. Akazukin Chacha was, at that time, the most adorable witch besides the Sailormoon Girls. Move aside, Naruto. This is the godmother of anime.

ISN'T SHE LOVELY? :)

I get most inspired when I'm taking a crap...

2010-08-31T12:03:00.006+08:00

...That doesn't mean the intensity of inspiration is correlated to the intensity of crap. Sometimes the brightest light comes from the slightest trinkle.

People have asked how I can stand spending every single day with my boyfriend and not get sick, tired or bored. Well the truth is, I'm not spending every single day with my boyfriend. At least it doesn't feel like that.

When we're beating each other up, he's my buddy. When we trespassed into the National Stadium (yes trespassed), he's my partner-in-crime. When we're cuddled up in bed, he's my lover. When I'm up to my usual sarcasm stint, he's the victim. There's nothing I can't say to him (little white lies and sneaky adventures not included), no compartment I can't open. With so many personalities, I'm essentially spending time with many people. Couple that with the voices in my head and it becomes a party!

The only problem I see with this lies in the transition. When we're both in the buddy mood and one (usually me) switches to lover-gear, the other is too slow (usually him) to warm up. It takes a couple of smacks at the back of his head for him to catch up.

Rainy/chilly/gloomy days are the worst to feel like crap.

2010-08-27T11:31:00.003+08:00

The best way to wallow in it, since the clouds isn't clearing in the sky and therefore not in your heart, is to listen to Coldplay, Keane, The Beatles and other melancholic, old-time classics. Even http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VILWkqlQLWk sounds alittle blue.

Instead of feeling down about feeling down, indulge in it! Bring out the melodramatic diva in you, arch your back and hit your forehead with the back of your hand. Give a loud sigh to the sky and ask, "Why...? Why must this happen? Why... ME?" Continue to blast melancholic classics on repeat with raindrops beating down in the background.

Because I'm free...
Nothing's worrying me...
(Le sigh)

Some things never change; some just have to.

2010-08-25T17:46:00.004+08:00

I've been dreaming about you.
In my recurring dreams, I'm doing the same thing.
I'm reaching out slowly and touching your face.
In my recurring dreams, you have the same smile.
The smile that says happiness, contentment, warmth, sincerity and love.

And then I wake up and read: STARCRAFT II.

Some things never change; some just have to, some just do.

*

PHUKET REDANG TIOMAN LET'S GO LET'S GO!

Revenge

2010-08-13T17:43:00.001+08:00

by Ellen von Unwerth

Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.

6/6 no more.

2010-08-11T10:07:00.001+08:00

I really just want to whine about it. It's really not that big a deal...

Ramadan day (I)

2010-08-06T18:21:00.004+08:00

Chewing gum in the train now becomes even more exciting. It makes me feel even more badass to know that 1. it's banned in Singapore and 2. eating (i.e. sucking on a candy that's not even individually-wrapped) and drinking (we now receive same punishment for bottled mineral water and wine in a glass) is not allowed in stations and trains. Always having to look out for the vultures on patrol hunting for preys, occasional giving the gum a few good chews -some smacks even if I'm certain that the coasst is clear, not because I like to; it's more like a smack of victory.

The reason why i sound bitter is because I am. For someone who eats all the time, this new rule suck. I remember how my aunt and I used to have an entire McDonalds meal on the bus. Granted, it was a non air-conditioned bus but the point is, now I can't eat everywhere.

Aunties are the bravest of the lot. Braver than you and I combined. They make their intentions known without worry of losing their pride. If they want your seat, they'll hover like vultures making impatient sounds almost in your face. The creme de la creme would complain about their aching feet and growling stomach to their imaginary friend hoping you'd get the hint. The thing is, we ALWAYS get the hint.

A trip to China has hardened/humbled me more than I expected. Singapore's not so much better, really. What do we have that they don't? What do they have that we don't? The scale is severely slanted. And yet we're so proud. It's embarrassing. We only think we're awesome because we've never been out. When you stand in front of an old Sakyamuni, you feel small and helpless. Totally overpowered by its sheer size. Multiply that by a googol and that's how small we really are. And yet, we're so proud.

I think if I had to fast I'd rather kill myself. Given the evil thoughts I have running in my head all the time, even when I die I wouldn't go to heaven. The two forbidden: Food and Evil thoughts. EPIC FAILURE. It's like a GO DIRECTLY TO HELL DO NOT PASS GO DO NOT COLLECT $200 combination.
I'm going to hell and you're coming with me.

cap ou pas cap?

2010-08-06T17:36:00.001+08:00

cap.

have mercy.

2010-07-23T15:55:00.002+08:00

Is it weird that I'm not psyched about going to China? Maybe it's because I'm going with a whole bunch of men. Maybe it's because I'll either be sleeping alone or with another woman from the media (what if it's Chang Hong and she can't stop quizzing me on current affairs?).

Or maybe it's because I'm leaving ah lim behind. Using this trip as an excuse to go mad shopping for boots (harsh terrain), clothes (conservative, wrinkle-free, flattering and comfortable (although half the time I'll be in Mercy's polo tee but you know, just in case)), travel toiletries (I'm not allowed to bring my spongebob electric toothbrush), a new bag (must have The Look, fits my laptop, attached with raincoat and the whole she-bang) doesn't make me feel any better.

Redevelopment projects are honestly not as exciting as relief projects. Nobody's dying, nothing's going to collapse on you, nature isn't threatening to eat us...

Which is what's so sad about redevelopment. People there are in constant poverty. It's not like their comfortable lives were uprooted a few hours ago. Water has never been potable, light and heat has always been created by firewood, toilets never had doors or flushes. They're always hungry, always dirty, always uncomfortable. These people never knew better. And when even the government doesn't want to help you, who can? Who will? Maybe it's better that they never knew better.

But I do.

GO. AND. DIE.

2010-07-20T17:02:00.000+08:00

Tue, Jul 20, 2010 (TODAY)
Regarding your recent Lucasfilm job application

Dear Selene,

We thank you for the chance to review your information along with that of many talented applicants. At present, we have determined that other candidates have backgrounds and skills that are more appropriate to the needs of this particular position.

We appreciate your considering us as a prospective employer. As your job search progresses, we encourage you to continue visiting our career center (https://www.lucasfilm.apply2jobs.com/index.cfm). The Lucasfilm companies will continue to offer unique career opportunities to hone your professional skills and expand your creativity.

May the Force... well... you know,

The Lucasfilm Recruiting Team

It's always better when we're together.

2010-07-15T14:26:00.004+08:00

How can we trust ourselves to be objective when our judgement is always tainted by our emotions? If we can't trust ourselves to be objective, how can we expect the same from others?

I hope systems never kill my imagination.

... where work is integrated into our lives.

2010-07-12T16:35:00.003+08:00

'Twas a wonderful weekend!

Spongebob electric toothbrush, Love Never Dies CD, Despicable Me, got my hair washed and blown for $8 (it's seriously becoming a chore to clean this mop up)

AND A SPONTANEOUS DRIVE TO MALACCA!

I don't know what I love more, the spontaneity or the place itself. Lucky us, Jonker Street was having its weekend bazaar and I bought plenty of spoons. I think it's because I didn't buy any during my trip to Bali so I bought utensils with a vengence this time.

And what good fortune! WE HAD LUK-LUK! The novelty of having steamboat on a stick standing up gets me everytime. If not for the senses-numbing chilli I might have cause the Malacca franchise to fold.

Smelly cat, smelly cat, what are they feeding you?

2010-07-09T10:16:00.000+08:00

Lost in translation.

2010-07-08T14:44:00.004+08:00

Each time after I unreel that roll of toilet paper and wrap it around my four fingers, I'll unreel them, pull them straight and calculate the percentage to be used for my fingers after I wash them, and for my ass. I usually give more to my ass because I can shake dry my hands but not my ass. I can, I just don't want to.

Why don't I just use whatever I unreel the first time for my ass, and unreel another bunch for my fingers? Because it's always too much for my ass the first time. It's not like I have an entire nation to dry, you know what I mean?

So why don't I learn from my mistakes and unreel less the next time? Because I like a substantial roll to wrap my fingers. It makes my fingers feel safe, guarded and warm.

Can't help buy feel proud of myself...

2010-07-05T18:19:00.005+08:00

... after spending the whole day translating Vietnamese/Malay articles to English.
Did I mention that I might be going to China at the end of the month?

Tôi ước này có thể kéo dài mãi mãi

Adrenaline rush

2010-07-05T09:53:00.003+08:00

Over the weekend, all I could think about was to get back to work. Every available time I had on my hands, I spent it on reading 'The Effectiveness of Foreign Military Assets in Natural Disaster Response' (one of the contributors is MR's Chief Executive). I can't wait to buy a duffel bag from NGstore so I can be ready for mobilisation should the plates decide to move. I can't wait to write for the world to see, or maintain good media relations so that more people will know about Mercy Relief and what we (WE oh my god) do. Recently there's been this sudden exhilaration I feel in my gut which makes me draw a deep breath and exhale in giggles. The mornings have formed a routine - STmobile, iToday and Al Jazeera in the train; USGS, MR, ReliefWeb and Tibetan Review before Facebook and digg; the occasional blogging all accompanied by Koko Crunch. That's all I can/want to think about right now.

SCHWEINSTEIGER!

2010-06-30T00:29:00.002+08:00

World Cup DOES bring people together.

2010-06-28T00:51:00.002+08:00

If I had slept over at Janice's humble abode tonight, it would probably have been my 7th time in 14 days. Essentially all we do is talk, eat, drink and make merry but it's terribly necessary. Usually the post breakup effect hits the hardest moments after you turn down the bed but it doesn't happen when you have company. Janice's return couldn't have been more timely; the school holidays couldn't have come at a better time. People usually sleep during sleepovers only when we're exhausted. As long as there's still an ounce of energy left we'll spend it somewhere before we finally surrender to the sheets. By then, there's no more energy left even to switch off the lights, let alone worry. On top of that, they have a living room that always draws me into contemplative mode, cats that nestle next to you and most importantly, an endless supply of Yakult. How about that for therapy? Haha.

But it gets to a point when you feel like you've overstayed your welcome. Janice's family is not only generally hospitable, her mother makes me feel like their newly adopted daughter (they already have three). Basically, there're no rules in that house. If there were, the (real) daughters have already broken them all. And they actually prefer guests to make themselves at home, not so much because they're being polite (that's secondary). Primarily it's so they don't have to get stuff for you. YOU GET THEM YOURSELF AND IF YOU CAN'T FIND IT, ASK SOMEONE ELSE. I think it's precisely because they're so hospitable that you need to constantly remind yourself of the limit, and Jamie's basically my excuse. Haha.

With updates from my previous entry, I'LL BE A PART OF MERCY RELIEF COME THURSDAY! I actually heed Hassan's advice seriously and "bade farewell" to my friends by spending an incredible amount of time with them. I even sat my mother down and told her to take me seriously when I said I would be selling my soul to MR. Fortunately the family's generally supportive. Those who doesn't know what the hell MR does nodded their head in approval after hearing about the salary and incentives. Haha.

There're permanent residents and tourists in our little lives. Some people arrive and stay for good, others depart as quickly as they arrive. Some leave permanent damages, others simply threaten a drizzle. Some inject joy deep into your core, others simply put a faint smile on your face and disappear like a strange dream you don't remember much about the morning after. Whatever type they're like, they all visit for a reason. Even if everything/everyone decides to leave for good, the reasons for visit should always be remembered.

Much has happened over the past couple of weeks that gave shape to what was before simply a block of wood. Slowly but surely, my personality is crafted, surface (literally) polished, even my sense of self-worth is chiseled. Slowly but surely, I'm beginning to see who I really am. Soon this masterpiece would be unveiled. I'm not being melodramatic it's just the figure of speech in my head right now I deem most appropriate as example to the point I'm trying to put across. Fortunately my values and beliefs were defined long ago so that's taken care of. I'm definitely still 'unconvictable'. Haha.

D is a clear representation of the kind of man I would like to spend my life with - mature yet witty, honest yet tactful, convicted (ironically) yet relaxed, optimistic/hopeful yet grounded... It's POSSIBLE to find someone like that! Availability uncertain but POSSIBLE! Haha.

His short stay has put plenty of things into perspective. On top of the aforementioned revelation, he's also affected my personality. I've used 'Doesn't matter' more times these few weeks than I did my entire life. I've walked barefooted around Singapore, up the bus, in the train, in the shopping centre and under the rain an entire morning and it felt GREAT. Seeing bewildered fellow citizens doing double-takes at my feet makes me want to snort in their faces and ask, "Is it really such a big deal?" aka "See what see? Never see before ah? Cannot don't wear shoes meh?" Haha.

Trust isn't something that's built over time. It's the feeling you get at the beginning. The Vibe, some may call it. It's strange how I can put my trust in someone I barely know for a few months and not in someone I've been in a relationship with for more than a year. The lesson learnt is this: If you generally don't get good vibes at the beginning, RUN. Run before your feelings voice over your vibe. It's just much safer/wiser to trust the latter.

"The sun will still set, tomorrow will still come."

2010-06-24T02:12:00.000+08:00

Much has happened since that incredibly ugly yet beautiful picture of us. Being a person without convictions has been absolutely relaxing - no responsibility for whatever comes out of the gift they call my Gap. I think those tight panties have been stretched over granny standards. They're now qualified diapers. The least absorbant ones, of course.

The books I've been reading recently make me feel the importance to start a biography. Sometimes I say something so amusing/weird/if I do say so myself, intriguing, that even I personally get amused/weird-out/intrigued. That says alot, doesn't it? Like if self-praise is no praise at all but you think you deserve a praise then surely It must be something pretty amazing. As they all say, you'll never know when these things you pen down would be deemed deserving of a proper spine, someone would offer to give it a proper cover, title and attractive illustrations and who knows, SOMEBODY MIGHT WANT TO PUBLISH IT. Think Adrian Mole and Christopher Boone (The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time). Soon I will create a doppelganger, a.k.a. The Author and I'll be the character. How would I introduce myself during my book signing? As The Author or The Character? I suppose we can always figure that out later.

One night, I had an epiphany. Like how all epiphanies are, they happen when you're the least willing to have an epiphany. Like when you're trying to enjoy a night out with the girls when the most brain power you use is on deciding what drink you would get. Or when you're trying really hard trying to stab the most perfectly-shaped fishball with your chopstick.
Or, when you're in stage three of Sleep (introduction of delta waves). If you don't already know, it takes just about three days for me to even attain Sleep stage two. The transition from stage three onwards is usually quick, but apparently not swift enough to temporarily block out the big E. It struck me then that perhaps I should heed the casual advice of The Immortal Benz. I woke up, sat in front of the computer again with the CPU still grunting, and sent the emails. It felt like I was on autopilot mode because when asked about the process in detail, I just couldn't answer. I didn't know how I got the email addresses and how many emails I sent and to whom. All I know was this: I got a reply.
And while I can't say The Rest Is History yet, whatever happened after was perhaps truly meant to be. Instead of receiving a threatening phonecall regarding the ungodly hour that email was sent (4am), I got five trying to wake me up from my slumber in order to make it in time for an interview before they cordially invite someone else they already had in mind for the position. Now, after two intensed interviews and written tests and one charming charming Director, I just need them to dial my number once more.

If not, if not? If not then it's off to Cambodia!

In other news, a part of me has been de-virginised. Shut up, it's got nothing to do with the labia. I'm talking about my hair/mane/horse's tail/crown. Yes, it's finally dyed. That innocence gone forever. It's only the beginning of my journey. Soon it'll not only be briefly de-virginised, I'm going to rape it.

It's been well over a week since I've been widowed and still I'm questioning if this is what I really want. "Because I'd rather die than do something I don't love." Do I love myself enough to love a life without him? Do I love him and his bed of lies? Honestly, I don't know. The Immortal Benz has been my guide ever since I got confused. Sometimes I venture out on my own thinking I can do this alone but when the option is made available, I hang on to it with a grip as strong as those my love handles can handle (hahaha). I must admit I did cheat during this Healing Process by spending much of my time with the girls. They're an excellent source of validation rich in confidence, assurance and kicks in the ass. My superficial battle scars have healed at deity speed but the core can only be healed by the Self. Something's always able to take my mind off things but the sudden pangs of emptiness make me inconsolable (I learnt this word from the Backstreet Boys). But hey, as long as I'm not bawling (not one bit), wallowing in self-pity (maybe alittle) or confusing milkshake with manure then I'm fine!

Did he cheat? Essentially he didn't. But he did more than that. He pissed all over us. That little contempt he has for me is insulting. Why am I still so hell bent on returning to a man who treats me with so little regard I might as well have been a cashier in 7/11 (hahaha)? Because there's so much good but only one Big Big bad.

Then how now?

2010-06-18T19:36:00.002+08:00

I hope we'll all find men who loves us just as much as we love one another.

JAN RETURNS IN 25 HOURS.

2010-06-15T01:32:00.003+08:00

HA! SUCKERS.
June 13: ACRES is looking for wildlife rescue officer.
*

HORSESHOE CRAB RESCUE
Hi all,

Many thanks for your interest in our horseshoe crab project at Kranji. It is great to have some new folk. Horseshoe crabs are very appealing even though they are not soft and fluffy and cuddly.

The key safety issue is to wear proper footwear. No open sandals, crocs, flip flops or the like. Well fitting trainers, army boots, dive boots or boots are all fine. The mud is strewn with debris and sharp things so no bare feet.

There is a hose pipe for cleaning afterwards, but if you could bring your own scrubbing brush so that you can clean up a bit using a bucket with water would save a lot of water. A small bucket would be good too, We have garden cutters for the nets so no need to bring those.

We need some volunteers to spread out over the mud, search for crabs in the mud and bring them in the buckets to a work station where a team of scribes will record size and other details. We need to collect at least 200 crabs or so. They are not difficult to find, and we will put you with one of the experienced people till you get the hang of finding the crabs. It takes about 2.5 to 3 hours or so depending on how many volunteers turn up. Some volunteers will search the site for abandoned nets, and cut the trapped crabs free and release them, recording numbers and sex of those released.

Bring along the usual gear for a trip out in Singapore; water, hat, apply sun cream, old clothes that can get muddy.

Looking forward to seeing you all on July 18th.
*

The pressure to get a job is stifling. Whether it's coming from myself or the whispers I hear round the corner, it's taking a huge toll on me. It's like I can't enjoy myself entirely because a part of me would be feeling guilty about where this money is coming from. While everyone else worry about waking up late for work, I ask, "What work?" Sigh. I only hope this wait is leading to something wonderful.

I never realised how much I've changed since Ilhammi and I broke up until recently. Perhaps it's the recent series of events that brought about this revelation. Or maybe it's because I spend so much time with myself that I have time to find out the Root of Change. Maybe it isn't really the break up. I mean, it was the breakthrough I needed to grow as a person (not literally that certainly didn't work) after hiding in an enclave for years. Maybe it's Time. It gets awfully disheartening when a friend points out how negative this Change is but, at the end of the day the only person we need to answer to is ourselves. I THRIVE in change. I live for change. My ONLY regret in life was to pull out of NDP because of Fahmy. I must say that's a pretty impressive record after 22 years. Am I ashamed of how I've become? I think quite the contrary, I'm actually PROUD of what I am today. Although I never stay convicted (please, get used to it by now), I think this is how I live each day - according to the winds of change. I follow when it beckons and make the best of where it takes me to. Resistance is futile, my faithful friend.

One of the worst feelings in the world,

2010-06-10T12:16:00.004+08:00

is to leave home with an almost finished, easy-to-read book, especially when you have a long day ahead. You can't bring another book because your bag isn't big enough, you don't want to bring another because you really like this one and you want to finish it, you can't stay home to finish it first because it'll take too much time.

How like that?

So much thought required to decide when to read how much. So much meticulous planning to make sure you won't finish the book midday and carrying a finished book in your hands for the rest of the day. So much decision-making to find alternatives to kill time and take your mind off the book.

Thank god for blogger on-the-go. Well, since I'm at it I might as well make the best of it.

Maybe Sue Townsend is really Adrian Mole but she/he decided to put herself under a different persona. Maybe Adrian Mole is writing as Adrian Mole under the name Sue Townsend. I really like Adrian Mole.

*TURNS OUT I RESERVED TOO MUCH DURING THE FIRST HALF OF MY DAY SO I WENT HOME WITH THE BOOK BARELY READ. TOMORROW THIS CYCLE BEGINS AGAIN AND THIS TIME I'M SURE I'LL FINISH IT TOO EARLY. *&^*^(%$$##$%()*(^%^##$%#

they say carpe diem, right?

2010-06-08T03:19:00.000+08:00

I'm going to quit my job to attend a solemnisation ceremony tomorrow.

Afterall, we're nothing.

2010-06-06T03:10:00.005+08:00

Thank you Mom and Dad for the optimism I was blessed with. For the gift of enjoying even the most rotten lemon Life throws at me (or rather, I throw at myself). For the ability to only look at the half-filled portion of the glass. For self-denial too, because we all know its power. For that overwhelming joy when a bird took a crap on my shoulder (which I showed Kim before wiping off). For that tingly sense of excitement when a huge fight was rumoured to happen in Clarke Quay (the most I got all night was two police-on-duty handcuffing and pinning a guy against the wall. I felt so special to be one of the few who took notice!) It was like Zoukout all over again when we didn't manage to make it pass the entrance but the huge helicopter, Dawn Yang and Chen Han Wei was enough to make the night unforgettable.

I'm proud of you, self, for the strength you find within to stop hurting so quickly. To do the right thing for yourself. To mourn and wallow in self-pity for awhile and move on. Yes, self, I'm proud of you for being capable of moving on.

However,

what they say is partially right. We can have everything we want but if we don't have someone to share them with, they mean so much lesser. To say nothing would be making an overstatement - surely they're still SOMETHING. But they mean lesser because there's nobody to share it with on the phone, over dinner, at home...

Were we compatible? On some levels yes. Very, even. But we didn't get the fundamentals right. The base we built was based on good fun and companionship, not trust. Fun and companionship are like balloons - medium of excitement and joy but beyond that, they're nothing but air. One probe and they become nothing.

The saddest thought of all is how we didn't make it through the test of time and didn't emerge out of this a stronger, happier, loving couple. The saddest thought is how afterall, we are nothing.
The first weekend without

When one door closes, another opens. Hours after the break-up I GOT THE PHONECALL. SEE YOU AT FUR FRIENDS (YISHUN CENTRAL) I AM YOUR PETS' EDWARD SCISSORHANDS!

A stir-fry of Genius.

2010-06-02T08:10:00.004+08:00

I never understood. Heart swelling with pride, sweat collecting on your forehead and upper lip, frowning with concentration, pausing to come up with better ways to make your next move, taking a step back and admiring your work, extremely concerned about judgement... All you think about is the next opportunity to do this all over again.

I never knew how it felt to cook for someone you love. Perhaps the novelty hasn't wear off. Or the fact that there's room for novelty at all. If I were under any pressure to do it, I'd probably hate it. I fell asleep last night planning it all in my head: the sequence, the condiments, containers, timing... When the alarm went off, unlike other days, I jumped out of bed, tied up my hair (like the sister in A Series of Unfortunate Events) and began. Somehow the actual act is always full of surprises one can never plan ahead for. Like a better-fit container (you thought your sandwich was triangular (it's round and you bought the bread yourself), stabbing a toothpick through the burgers to hold them in place (it could also be used as a utensil for the chicken when he stops for shade and a bite), putting extra of his favourite chilli in the burgers so he could use it with the chicken too...
And putting the cheese when ham and toast are hot so the former would melt, GENIUS! Credit must be given on the account that 1: I never cook. Only recently did it become a crazy hobby I can't stop thinking about it (just for the record yesterday marked my advancement from boiling and frying to actual put-garlic-and-stir fry thanks very much). I've also received my cooking rite of passage: a burn.

Relax, I'm not intending to join Hell's Kitchen or taking this to the professional level. I'm just proud to know that I can cook! No signs of severe diarrhea or foam forming in the mouth. I'm just proud.

So if you have a party, you know who you can call to whip up a storm (perhaps literally) in your kitchen!

*

"All roads lead to Rome."

I forgot my Africa.

2010-05-29T02:18:00.002+08:00

While I worry about things that are most inconsequential, I forgot. While I fret over whether my boyfriend's cheating on me, while I worry for my friends, about my weight, about my interviews, while I busy myself with superficial validations, I forgot. I forgot that I had a world to save. I forgot I had a partner-in-crime and rescue. I forgot to Hakuna Matata.

Most disappointingly, I forgot my Africa.

So thank you for reminding me. For the awful but necessary kicks in the ass. For fighting my battles. For still keeping the faith and keeping my dream alive (partly because it's your dream and passion too). You keep me in check so I won't drive myself insane.

One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs,

2010-05-19T01:51:00.005+08:00

or the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls.

To love is a privilege. To be loved is so much more. Imagine growing up in a place so harsh it denies you the gift of Belief. A place where you learn 'that Love is a damaging mistake and its accomplice, Hope, a treacherous illusion'. A culture so deeply-rooted you weren't taught to disobey it even though nothing about it makes much sense to you. You obey so you will not disappoint and not because you agree with it. Hell, you don't know what to disagree with in the first place.

Perhaps I'm so upset because unlike Mariam, I know better. I have the gift of Knowing. If she'd never met Laila, she'll never know anything more than chores, tragedies/war and an abusive, gender-biased husband. Laila was privileged with education, love and protection. Laila was privileged with things/people she was afraid of losing/lost; Mariam only had her prayers. Is this why people seek religion for solace? Everything and everyone can be taken away from you but your Faith.

Perhaps loss isn't a tragedy - we need to first own it in order to lose it. But to have nothing is a gift too - that way we'll never grief. I think that's what my father was trying to tell me when he warned me against getting too attached to anything. Everything must end. And when they do, attachment can only bring about pain. Should we then risk feeling pain for a period of happiness; or should we simply be contented to have nothing so we have nothing to lose?

I once had this conversation with a friend: to love and lose or never love at all? To experience extreme highs and risk hitting rock bottom or ensure that you're always in the safety buoy? My friend felt safer in her enclave of serenity but I choose to live and risk. I, for one, indulges in pain. I have a gift of converting even the most grievance into something worthy of a celebration. Sometimes I cry with an inward glee of how sad I'm feeling. The extreme, raw pain and suffering.

Ultimately. 'this too shall pass'. 'The sun will still shine, tomorrow will still come. With each breath comes hope. As long as I'm breathing, no wound is impossible to heal. We're stronger than we think. One day, after all this pain, we'll surprise ourselves by how we can withstand so much suffering and still keep functioning. As long as we have breath.

Books are like worthy reactive companions. They provide different perspectives and help us to see things on different scales. They make you realise how little your seemingly large problems actually are, how delightful the apparent tragedies can be, how fortunate we are (contrary to our belief that our little lives are shit because the waitress keeps getting our orders wrong). Books remind us that many things we deem as givens (our body, fellow mankind, technology) or troubles (common slight ailments, long queues, a monarchy) are gifts. Privileges.

Instead of calling for God each time something unpleasant happens, we should be thankful. For everything we learn is a gift of Knowing. To make informed decisions. To add to Life. Is it really that bad to miss the bus, get yelled at by the boss, get ditched, have too much work to do...? Are your troubles/worries really that tragic?

*

While the Gulf of Mexico worries about the oil spill spreading to Florida, Europe frets over inflation and EU funds allocation, while Thailand psyches itself up for an imminent civil war, Singapore also has our own breaking news: the importance Mother Tongue has been further reviewed!

While people are getting shot, while tyres are set on fire as a barricade, while marine life burns, we crack our heads over who'll have the worse performance tonight on America Idol. We complain about the delayed streaming of the latest Glee episode. We curse for being dragged out of bed on this chilly morning for work. While wars are declared on fellow mankind or the environment, I'm waiting for the Xbox and new television to be delivered, sulking in private we can't afford a Band Hero set yet.

Can't help but belittle our troubles, can I? What're you complaining about this morning? Perhaps just 5 minutes of Primetime Morning every morning will help put your worries into perspective: Is it really that bad?

We're not even talking about the ongoing civil wars happening in places far away that nobody is interested in anymore. Civilians are but statistics. Names become numbers. Perhaps the crackdown in Thailand is so saddening because of our geographical proximity. Nobody cares about Afghanistan or Africa. Why should we? They don't affect us. But Bangkok does. Where will we buy cheap apparel from now? We've lost a weekend getaway hotspot. Nooooooooo!

Expiry date: Four months.

2010-05-10T17:39:00.005+08:00

When you need a little less, or you want a little more, that's what I'm here for.

Worry.

2010-05-04T00:46:00.005+08:00

We all have some all the time in our little lives. How apt that the song by Ray Lamontagne is ringing in my head. From what we eat to the people around us and even about what's happening to our world. Consciously, sub-consciously, gladly to unwillingly, we worry. It's like it validates our existence! Like pain! Not pleasant, but essential.

My friends have been worrying much of late. One about her boyfriend who (kind of) cheated on her, another about work-life balance and her obligations... Some have (by my definitions) smaller worries. Like whether the new hot dude in her life could potentially be The One, about exams (like I said, by my definitions), about returning to someone she was just recently so thankful for but now has doubts about,, worrying about whether to wear a bra or not under her LBD for her date tomorrow... Nonetheless, they're worries. I'm just glad nobody I know is worrying about money. When I say money I mean paying for the next meal, bills and other necessities.

Me? Oh boy do I have worries. Honestly I'm kept pretty busy just mulling around worrying. When I'm not worrying about myself, I worry about others. And I worry about their worries. Then when that's done I have wildlife and the whole Earth to worry about! If only companies need a Full-time Experienced "Worrier" I would be so high in demand. But I'm sure there're enough Librans around to ensure supply.

Previously I was worried about my relationship. When that's done, I was worried about a dying man. Now that that's done, I'm beginning to worry about my career. Actually I've been worrying about it since I quit my job. Since the Zoo and ACRES spat me out (yes, still bitter). Basically since I decided I was done with Temasek Club. Sure, being jobless with sustenance gives you a chance to do absolutely nothing, it also gives you the title of a total slob. A useless blob of lard (especially when you're fat). A general potato (not confined to the couch). All you do is sleep, eat (i.e. grow fat) and worry. The more you eat the more you worry. The more you sleep the more you worry. The more you spend money given to help pull you through this income-less time, the more you worry. The less you work your brains, the more you worry.

Worry.

Some can be eased. Some only happens AFTER the point of return. Some are just ideas those little elves in our heads came up with to make our lives miserable (but validated). Perhaps we all indulge in worrying more often than we think. Perhaps we enjoy worrying. Perhaps it's the process of working through our worries that make us proud of ourselves. Proud that we've overcome a deemed 'tough time' in our lives! And even better, other people's tough times! Validation!

Dammit, this is like my I-like-people-to-make-use-of-me entry isn't it?

Has it really been a year?

2010-05-01T04:51:00.003+08:00

Happy anniversary old man.

Said & done.

2010-04-25T09:29:00.003+08:00

We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out.

... For he knoweth wherof we are made : he remembereth that we are but dust.
The days of man are but as grass : for he flourisheth as a flower of the field.
For the wind goeth over it, and it is gone : and the place thereof shall know it no more.

Happy times among the not-so-happy ones

2010-04-20T01:00:00.020+08:00

Perhaps a rare moment of joy is what's worth living for. I shouldn't say that; life besides these moments are worth just as much. Every minute makes the world of a difference to a dying man because 1. he's dying and 2. he might not remember this minute when the next 60 seconds come along. Although it seemed like an awfully long hiatus, his condition actually deteriorated tremendously over the pass month since his fall in January. After spending so much time around old (and senile/demented/confused/depressed/frustrated) folks, the circle of life seems apparent: born a child, die child-like. You know how they say a woman/man's prime is between a range of 10-15 years? I say a person's prime is from the time they can survive independently until the time that they can't. Time waits for no man; we ALL take life for granted because we WAIT. Procrastination is a sign of complacency because we know we can always DO IT TOMORROW. Well guess what? Some people have no tomorrow. So we wait until an expiration date's been stamped on our lives before we begin to panic. Some people are lucky to know in advanced, others simply turn into dust overnight. Realising the need to carpe diem doesn't mean I wouldn't take the rest of my days for granted. Like I said, we ALL take our living days for granted. It is a GIFT to be able to draw your next breath, not a given. You may alter the course of your life (which job to take, how to split your money, how to behave etc) but you don't control it. It could be taken away and you don't have a say (rhymes!)

When Louis and I brought him down for a smoke the other day, I was conscious of the sun's warmth. I marvelled at how green the grass was and longed to roll on it to smell the earth. The cranes were part of the completed architecture and they were so colourful. I don't want to wait until I was bed-bound/disabled before I embraced life. I have my health! My youth! My time! My eyesight! My teeth!

Fortunately for my Lists, life hasn't felt wasted in awhile. A list lists (haha) the little things/people I'm living for. Do-able in a minute, achievable in a month... A list is a list no matter how long or short, silly or serious, easy or hard to achieve. Here're some things on my current list:
-Get my PAssion card (so I can be an aunty and take classes in CCs)
-Driver's license (this has been with me for a long, long time)
-DONATE BLOOD! (28 April)
-VOLUNTEER ORIENTATION! (24 April)
-Drop off stuff at Salvation Army
-Find out who the hell can make these can tabs useful
I wonder how Uncle's doing. Every time I think about that 3/4-filled bottle of tabs my guts wrench. I should have spent more time with him before he got fired. Instead, I left him waiting many afternoons.

Here's where I left off on 16 March:
Two years ago he lost his mother overnight. He didn't need to deal with the process of loss. Now this has to happen to his father - lung cancer with a 80-90% chance it's spread to the abdomen, liver, chest and brain and signs of stroke: numbness, aches, sudden weakness. Over the weekend he found out his father had nose cancer 16 years ago (his mother told him daddy had stones). All he wants is for his dad to feel no pain. All he can do is wait (his father is bleeding internally but the doctors don't know where from yet) but patience is a virtue he doesn't have.

I've no experience with death. Everyone I love has attained immortality. They won't die or fall terribly sick. It's impossible for me to empathise with anyone who's losing/lost someone because I can't imagine this happening to me. When Steve Irwin died it felt like someone chewed off a part of me. I don't know what to say, what to do, how to deal with this. Should I pretend nothing's happened? Should I try to make them laugh? Should we start preparing for the worst? It doesn't help that his dad doesn't talk much. Whenever I visit he merely grunt an acknowledgement. But I know he worry and worry. When he lost weight, we thought it was because he worried. When he began to sleep more, we thought it was because he worried. I can only bring flowers. And listen. That I can do.

At the hospital, there's always so much to see. Everyone admitted has a loved one waiting, praying and worrying for them (or so I believe). At the A&E, a boy waits. Did he wear the cross specially for this occasion? Whose call was he waiting for? Whenever he closed his eyes did he pray? Turns out his granny was dying and he was waiting for his friends. Parents were overseas, relatives lived abroad. It was just him, granny and God.

In the Acute Stroke Unit, Mr. C asked Mr. A if his children visited. "When children grow up, they wanna lead their own lives. I don't force them to visit." I wonder how the children would feel to hear their father defend their absence on their behalf.

*

When life gets dull any form of spontaneity is liberating. Hopping on a bus without a destination is especially worrying when you're like a control freak like me. So I concentrated on controlling myself to stay out of control, if that makes any sense at all.

Bought an ice-cream (green apple flavour burst is gross) as prop so I could people-watch. Clear up after you leave and it's like you were never there. Three MAC-dweller pigeons fought over a piece of the burger. Shouldn't the loser pigeon simply wait by the tosser for the next piece instead of chasing the winner to no avail?

What's more interesting than eavesdropping is to imagine the conversation. An innocent old Western man's conversation with the Indian male staff could become a dying man's homosexual proposition.

Throughout the evening there was a band performance by Ahmad Ibrahim Secondary outside Ngee Ann City. I sat in the front row like my own child was performing. I was actually jealous of them. They're so far from adulthood, so far from worries,

Here's where I left off on 10 April:
You know the hand that reaches out to you when you're lost? It doesn't make you wanna take it in yours. It makes your entire body and soul crumble hoping it'll take all of you. You thought you needed guidance but what you were given was solace so you crash into it and turn into crust.

Maybe it's because I no longer wake up with a wrath for work. Perhaps it's the amount of time I spend in the hospital. Or it's the result of the series of events that's unfolded recently. Whatever the reason, there's a new found sense of serenity/calmness. The only thing that's ruining my moment is my fucking shoulder. Surely a metaphorical burden can't cause physical damage? Soon enough I won't be able to feel my entire right arm.

Here's where I left off on 16 April:
It might not be the longest hiatus since I last blogged but it sure feels like it. Nothing much changed since April 6 (last blogged); the worried still worry, the short still not any taller oh you know what I mean. But there's been a liberation. A revelation.

A few weeks ago I figured whoever was playing this game of The Sims probably had 2010 all sorted out before he/she started working on 2009:
"Let's see now, since 2010 would be a pivotal year when my character would have to make decisions that would define who she becomes, she should have all the fun she gets in 2009. Tweak the stats slightly to increase Wealth and Spontaneity... I don't think she needs Rationale she'll be using plenty of those later so I'll drop that..."

What a heavy year it's been so far. Don't get me wrong it's not all bad. The greatest good that's come out of is probably my relationship with Louis.

Writing provides a form of escape and more importantly, it helps me to remember. I wonder what would happen if blogger/www fails on me and I lose all my posts like how I lost mystxkalene. It no longer mattered if anyone reads this (please I hope you didn't just waste your life reading all these because even I wouldn't). Convictionscontradictions is a place for me to verbally vomit. Few weeks ago I started selenology.tumblr thinking that the Reblog button was my salvation. But the thing about tumblr is it makes you lose all your eloquence. It makes you wanna let other people tell your story. It makes you lazy to even add in your own two-cents worth. So now it's just a bunch of images, quotes and comments. Nothing can ever replace a clean white space that requires work/words to fill. Nothing gets done on this space unless you do something about it. YOUR space so YOU fill it.

Nothing feels the same anymore. Nothing will ever be from now.

It's not selfish. It's selfirst.

2010-04-06T00:48:00.002+08:00

How can anybody litter in public without feeling embarrassed?

I'm sitting in McDonalds' finishing a book when I felt like devouring a cheeseburger. But why was I suddenly yearning for a piece of grinded sick cows? Was it because I was mad at ACRES?

Most people are comfortable to eat animals they have no relationships with. In my head, I'm rescuing wildlife. So yes, I thought I could watch whales while enjoying a chicken wing. That's before I read Portrait of a Burger as a Young Calf and Eating Animals.

Why do we have useless hair on our fingers and toes? Might they be a reminder of evolution?

Say you travel twice a year with your family/friends. Can you say that you love travelling? Your love should stay the same in variable context, e.g. when travelling becomes a job, when you travel with your enemies, right? Since it's travelling you love not the company.

Who would you want by your side as you draw your last breath?

*

It's only March and so much has happened.

All I want for Christmas, Valentine's Day, Chinese New Year, my 22nd birthday...

2010-03-22T14:11:00.003+08:00

... is for ACRES to say yes.

Is that so much to ask for? $700 a month, 6 days week, occasional overnight shifts, located in the heart of Lim ulu Chu Kang... Are there really so many people like me out there vying for a place in ACRES?

IS IT BECAUSE I WORE A LEATHER WATCH? BUT I CAN EXPLAIN MYSELF!

I can only hope the person they eventually pick will be exactly what they dreamed of or imma whoop ACRES' ass.

:(

HAKUNA MATATA

2010-03-09T15:19:00.004+08:00

I'm really happy today. I pride myself as someone who doesn't need reasons to be happy but requires plenty to get upset. And on an unpleasant day it only takes something tiny to make me feel all better!

So the Zoo and ACRES might not hire me.
So some people might annoy the bejesus out of me.
So I might be beyond broke (I'm not).
BUT!
I have an incredible mother, a pretty amazing boyfriend, roof over my head, food on my plate, I'm healthy, I have my youth... I have things that nobody can take away from me. Occasionally I might have to remind myself of their existence but they're nothing music can't evoke.

So thank you Diana Krall, Timon and Pumba.

Today I learned that I'm mean, proud and anti-social.

2010-03-05T23:07:00.004+08:00

Woke up at 11 checked gmail mobile and SHIT! interview with ACRES at 130. Realised I've been spelling Choa (Chua) wrongly since the first time I had to spell it. Louis FINALLY admitted he's uncomfortable with the ideIa of me working in the heart of ulu Lim Chu Kang so I decided to postpone the interview until we sorted ourselves out. Why couldn't I breathe? Have I not been nervous in such a long time that I forgot how it felt like?

People rarely make good first impressions in my head. Quickly they're sorted into the two main categories: Slimy/Stupid. In my defense I have substantial justifications to why most people belong to either/both bodies. They always give me reasons to roll my eyes until my pupils get stuck in their sockets! Seriously if you hate the weather so much you carry a fan in your handbag, if artificial beauty matters so much you put on fake eyelashes, WHY ARE YOU APPLYING TO BE A SHOW PRESENTER?! If you can't speak Mandarin, why apply for a job with that specific requirement and even lie over the phone ONLY TO GET BUSTED DURING THE INTERVIEW?! Even a 10-year-old kid would know that a contract is valid only after you start work AND NOT DURING THE INTERVIEW WHEN YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW IF YOU'LL BE SELECTED! I'm only talking about 3 people. And when Serene Goh stepped out to distribute the application form I swore so much in my head it hurt.

So I rejected the Zoo's offer because A. it's got nothing to do with animals and B. I have to work really closely with the Republicans of China and quickly felt like I was being too picky. Surely beggars can't be choosers? Louis suggested trying out for the TRAINER PRESENTER's position but I just can't imagine myself as a performer. I hope the interviewers would really be kind enough to hand my application to the department in charge of hiring keepers. What I'd like to do, is mind my own business and be given the chance to study animals alone. Like Jane Goodall in Gombe.

Interview with ACRES on Monday!

Haven't been able to sleep well at Louis' at all these days. Jr's been under siege by ticks and I've made it my personal mission to exterminate all of them. Whenever I close my eyes I itch all over it's completely psychological and is seriously driving me insane imagining ticks crawling in my ears, manifesting in my middle ear and private areas or worse, clipping itself onto my pupil and having to remove it with a pair of tweezers!

Today I'm also reminded about how paranoid I can get. What a day full of self-discoveries!

some mad Hope

2010-03-04T15:35:00.005+08:00

There're songs that romanticise heartaches, songs that make you wanna rush for a glass of wine or cup of hot milo and thick blanket, songs that make you wish it was pouring outside. Songs that make you fall in love all over again, songs that make you pick up the phone and apologise for this morning's silly fight, songs that remind you how life isn't that bad at all.

Songs that make you believe, make you forget, songs that take you higher so you fall harder, drown deeper.

Singers like Matt Nathanson have a way of making me hopelessly romantic.

*

On yesterday's OKTO ANIMAL NIGHT,
World's Deadliest Animals counted down the Top 12 deadliest animals in Asia Pacific. They include (in no specific order):
- Komodo Dragon
(Their saliva contain more than 50 types of bacteria!)

- Green Pit Viper, Malayan Pit Viper, Banded Sea Krait and pythons
(So unbelievable that a python can detach its lower jaw to swallow a whole chicken! The Banded Sea Krait's lungs fill up most of its body so it can stay underwater for a long time. Vipers will sink their fangs into their prey and wait for the vemon to work. After which it will slowly push the prey into the mouth inch by inch with its fangs.)

-Moray Eel
(IT HAS A SMALLER MOUTH IN ITS MOUTH SO THE MAIN MOUTH BITES ONTO ITS PREY WHILE THE SMALLER ALIEN MOUTH PULLS THE PREY IN!)

-Irukandji
(World's smallest jellyfish, about the size of our pinky. Grab by the long tentacles which has spikes that would drive straight through into a human's blood stream.)

-Lion Fish
(Pretty but dangerous. Its venomous spikes are only used for self-defense. To catch its prey the lion fish spreads out its fins to confuse the prey and corner it then CHOMP!)

-Tiger and Cassowary
(No special weapons. Just sheer strength and aggression.)

SQUIDS were featured on Rogue Nature this week. Chimpanzees were up last week. Apparently squids have mouths like beaks. They use their eight arms and two tentacles to grab their prey then peck on it slowly. They swim in packs and are highly intelligent. Octopuses are solitary animals though. Yesterday in the Seattle Aquarium they showed how an octopus unscrewed the lid off a bottle full of herrings.

I'm almost done with Listening to Whales. Here's a part I'd like to share with you.

"Acoustic Harassment Devices (AHDs) are specifically designed to cause pain. They work on a simple theory: induce sufficient aural distress and you'll drive away seals, sealions, otters, porpoises, whales and other potential predators. A whisper registers 20 decibels, a home vacuum 80, a jet engine taking off at a close range hits about 140, which is commonly accepted as the threshold of pain. AHDs registered 194 decibels. With their exquisitely sensitive hearing, this does not bode well for the marine animals at all."

Human beings are threatened by marine predators. In order to trump our opponents, we find ways to finish them off. Low-blow, don't you think? Why can't we just CO-EXIST? Because there's no need for human beings to inconvenient ourselves for Them.