A few hours in hall and I wanna move out already. I just wanna live alone. Not in hall. In some new place, devoid of memories, free of suppressed emotions and longings. A place where I'm truly by myself. Where I feel placid and independent and strong. Not in hall where I'm weak and struggling but I just can't talk about it. The words get stuck in my heart, bursting, but all that bursts out from me is laughter. The few moments of meaningless, crisp laughter and tough words when I'm around people before returning to my shell, where it's dark and bleeding.

I'm begging for a clean slate.

lazy ways.

I'm gonna be frivolous today.

My fingernails are protruding at least 0.8cm. For some time now, they've been clean and unpainted because weeks ago, I cut them really short and now that they're long and witch-like, I've been too lazy to get down to painting them.

I love painted nails. They're an endless source of eye candy and great for pretending to be occupied when you're sitting around idly. Though arguably, they make a girl look insipid. I have to allude to my all-time favourite book now: Lazy ways to make a living by Abigail Bosanko. Maybe I should write a review for this book except I can't really articulate my love for it. I've read it at least 28 times. When I'm sad, or happy, or nostalgic or just because. Why? I find myself in the female protagonist. Maybe it's all narcissism. But when you're lost and you don't know who you are anymore, it's so comforting to find a constant. Rose Budleigh and I are so similar in our foibles that each time I feel alone in the world, I only have to turn to her and it's like a sharing between sisters.

But I digress. Rose is an accomplished chess player with a passion for painted nails as well. And she declares that seeing her painted nails poised over the chess board gives her a psychological advantage that no male players can achieve. It is amusing but Bosanko says it so earnestly.

Since I'm idling anyway, I'll evaluate all the ways we are similar. From memory. She reads when she's upset. Rose has read Jane Eyre many, many times. She calls it comfort reading. And she carries a book wherever she goes. She also fidgets when she's upset. I don't know if I do but nobody should ever hand me a piece of paper if it's important because you won't wanna have it back when I'm through with it.

Rose struggles a lot inside but it comes out comically to the world. Somehow, people are amused by her problems because of the way she seems and the way she seems to take them. It appears all airy and fluffy to everyone else but she cries behind closed doors and does things like write 'help!' with her mascara on a piece of toilet paper and stuff it into an empty bottle of wine she just finished. Whimsical but heartbreaking.

She is really clumsy; she is actually able to trip over empty floors. Rose is a romantic and she's gullible. But sometimes, she doesn't let on because...it's not all that funny to her. She's a hedonist. She'll spend her last dollars on a good bottle of wine that she'll drink by candlelight in the bathtub. Ok, that is…I think I'm a little more practical than that. And more of a worrier.

She doesn't really know what she wants. She thinks she has all these shiny principles but she's easily swayed and enticed by dolce far niente. Especially if it involves a clever suave arrogant man suffering from wealth ennui – Jamie Cameron – learned and full of vice, caring and presumptuous, with a weakness for her and quotes dramatic poetry, sprawled in his rose garden after a throwing a wild party, when she leaves him. And when she falls, she falls hard. Then she starts losing all her strategy. Not that she has much of that in the first place.

Look! I've succeeded in writing about nothing at all.

that forgotten tingle.

Why do we sometimes care so much for a person that every single time we think he's sad, our hearts crack? But what if we don't feel happy either when we think he's happy?

How can a cynic be a romantic as well? The combination is odd and fatal.

Oh! It must be the weather! I miss the heady feeling of newfound love. The quickening of your heartbeat when you hear the beep of your mobile. The soft smile that stays on your lips all day long. The bounce in your step. The boundless good humour. And the wonderful feeling that nothing bad can come your way.

When can I see the pair of eyes that will jolt my heart when we lock gaze? When can I hear the voice that will cause the colour to creep up my cheeks unsuspectingly? When can I feel the touch that will send a frisson of surprise through my being? When?

Must I forget first?

resounding gongs and clanging symbols.

This morning, I woke up to this text:
"(...) Do you believe that you only really love once? (...)"

Haha I feel like Sophie except my food for thought doesn't come in small white envelopes.

But isn't that interesting? We're always thinking about love. If there's anything as mystifying as life, it would be love.

No, I don't believe we only really love once. And anyway, feelings are not static. But love should be mutual (all the time or at least at some point). Love comes in different forms. It might be the flaming passion that this person ignites in you or a mellow steady kind of love that comes from years of stability. I like the second kind of love; it grows on you and it feels more sincere. The flaming passion seems like it will fizzle and die out, like a supernova. And of course, it may just be lust. But the best kind of love is a combination of both.

Actually, this is so half-hearted. I don't want to be talking about love right now. Only people who are blooming in love and romping in the sea of passion want to talk about love. I'm bored with this. I wanna be serious and prim and career-minded. Please go away, love, and leave me alone. Knock on my door when I'm ready...someday.

I'd rather be talking about stilettoes.

when they're pushing up daisies.

What good are sweet gestures when the receiver is no longer alive?

Why is it that we never see the people in our lives until they're no longer around? Why do we try to ease our conscience by being extra nice and generous to them at their graves? All your flowers and tears and apologies are in vain. Why do we do this? Why is it that we never learn these things until it's too late and then we make that same mistake with another person?

We're all selfish bastards. We are the centres of our universe, so puffed up and arrogant and self-important. Until our worlds come crashing down and we get buried in the debris of our damn regret. And then we realize we're all so small and we need our pillars of support and they went, not knowing how much they meant to us.

Some time later, we return to being selfish bastards.

I reckon we'll give an arm and a leg to bring our loved ones back and we're still not going to learn how to cherish them when they are. We're almost certainly going to fall into that same narcissistic routine and cry all over again when they're gone. Again.

Why don't we save those remorseful tears, apologetic flowers and desperate promises? Get a better bargain. All they need now is a bit of uninterrupted companionship, an occasional whispered 'I love you' and you, just being you, beside them, with your mind, heart and soul.

Oh but we'll never get it. I know I won't. And all these words, I'm using them against me. One day, when my parents are no more, I'll scream and wail for them to be back and beat myself up for never letting them know how much they mean to me. But for today, and many more days to come, I'll continue snapping at them. Why do I do this to myself?

of life ennui.

Joyce Huang asked me last night what it really means to be jaded. This has got to be one of those hackneyed words thrown around carelessly by tired people, most of whom have probably never given the word its due consideration. I am guilty of that. So, I gave the first answer that came to mind. "For me, it means I've stopped believing in things. 'Cos I've seen some bad stuff."

That's true, though. It's one of those few times I'm grateful for to be able to come up with a prompt and sensible reply. (Not too witty.)

I can't remember when it was that I stopped floating around on the happy clouds, proclaiming "life is beautiful!" (Eww.) But yes, the owner of this depressing blog was once upon a time an optimist. I can't remember when it was that I stopped believing in myself and what I can achieve. Truth is, I'm scared to death of facing my life of mediocrity. God only knows when my laughter stopped reaching my eyes (I can actually feel it not reaching my eyes, I swear) and warming my heart. And please don't forget I'm barely 21. I feel crippled and old in my heart.

I don't have the energy to be around cheerful young girls who still skip merrily around with their shiny bright faces and high voices. In Tong's words, they'll jump in and say "Yay! We're playing poker!" with their cards still left unturned. For us, we'll take a peek at the cards and say "What the fuck" with, you know, that ennui voice (for lack of a better adjective). And so, yeah, we wait until Life comes around and gives them a slap across the face, spectacularly.

We're all so care-worn. When we meet, we never talk about happy stuff anymore. We laugh about things, make cynical quasi-sophisticated jokes, but we're not bright and shiny and wide-eyed anymore. When we talk, we discuss about internships and careers and dysfunctional relationships. We talk about marriage with the passion of a 60-year-old spinster/bachelor; a pragmatic and meaningless stage in life rather than a blessed union of two whatever. It's just that we are so very afraid of loneliness.

Do you still believe in marriage? I don't know. I don't wanna think about it because I don't wanna see so clearly the person I've become. What the fuck, Life? I hate you.

it isn't such a big world after all.

Something left me shaken today. You know how in everyone's lives there'll be a couple that they know, who's been together forever and you look at them and think 'there is something like that in this world'. And the world is better because of them, there's hope for everyone and all. And then it's over. And everything is shattered.

There isn't room for idealism in this world. It seems the word was invented for people to negate its very existence.

And like I said, loving someone doesn't make it better or right.

Oh fuck it.

warwick avenue.

It's too broken to be fixed. I don't want it. But I'm afraid of giving up.

because what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

I read that people have a tendency to break up when the friends around them are. If it's not happening to you, it probably looks hilarious right? I think, if you're breaking up because your friends are, it's downright stupid. Because, love plays a very important role in our lives. No material comforts can replace it.

I am going to be honest because this is my own blog. I think...I kind of miss the familiarity of being in a relationship. I've even gotten used to the dysfunctionality of it, all the disappointments. Even though, in true dysfunctional style, I don't exactly share a lot of thoughts with him, sometimes I'd still be on the verge of updating him.

Somewhere down the road, I know I'll be thanking myself. But right now, it's emptiness I'm battling with. Much as I know he's unsuitable, he's become a familiar part of my life. And even the people I've gotten to know because of him, I feel a certain sense of duty towards them. In fact, deep down, they're probably one of the reasons why I've held on.

I've learned a lot. Like self-preservation, cautiousness, and definitely, not diving head-first, full-body in, because getting involved is tons easier than breaking free.

i am a stoic.

Somebody tell me everyone makes bad decisions in their lives because I find it hard to convince myself.

Tell me I have my whole great life to look forward to because I'm not feeling that.

Tell me I haven't made a mess of my life.

On a sweeter note, I started my internship at The Alchemy Partnership Monday this week, a blessing for several reasons. Most importantly, it has helped quell some of my fears about graduating jobless, so my friends and basically nearly everyone I meet can be spared the torment of hearing me paint exceedingly bleak pictures of our future. I think I actually caused several of them panic. Sorry! Issues like that are practically fodder for my pessimism to chew and roll and expand on. Only consider Dean's complaint that talking to me can drive him to insanity because I 'scold everything from the food to the government' (that's at breakfast, I'm capable of finding all sorts of other things to gripe about). Okay, not that this internship will guarantee me a job in future but it's a good start. It has put my faith back in the workforce system. Sort of. And then there's still all that self-actualization stuff to contend with but that's another gripe for another day.

Also obviously, it's helping me take my mind off things although I have next to nothing to do! It’s mostly the new environment. No memories whatsoever; nothing to prompt my whole wave of nostalgia. But really I am so free I want to run myself into the walls. I'm so free I would gladly volunteer to paint the walls (but cleaning anything would be pushing it a bit too far cos it'll get me dirty). I feel almost bad that I'm surfing the internet and reading magazines (arguably for research purposes. Oh god I just love this line! The excuses for frivolity!) while all my colleagues are so harassed with work. Almost, because it wasn't for want of asking. I swear Petra is getting traumatized by my constant hunger for things to do because each time I turn to her expectantly, she hastily proclaims the feedback isn't back yet. Well, I did write one ad. And it was exhilarating. I could be a copywriter forever. For now.

Oh and happily, I haven't bawled, haven't felt physically ill, haven't had intense convulsions of emotions, haven't exactly lost my appetite, or looked physically appalling. Hell, I haven't even got wasted! Because of the breakup, that is. (I do have a nagging feeling that I probably haven't internalized it yet, that's why. That's odd because I took weeks to consider and come to terms with it before settling it.) But I'm really proud of myself about the wasted part; I'm growing up! Or he probably helped too. All the times he came for me when I was smashed and nearly on the floor until he finally lost it and caused me to wake up my idea. And when everything blows over, I'd rather fancy the idea of him as a friend.

real music. yes?

Leona Lewis is
sexy without being trampy.
provocative without being revealing.

And her voice is great and I love her better in time mtv. It is understated, classy and reaches right to your heart. Much better than the regular pop that's manufactured to impress but instead shocks and appalls, don't you think?

"Even though I really loved you, I'm gonna smile cos I deserve to."

It will all get better in time.

true?

"It might be hard to be lovers, but it's harder to be friends."

Bon Jovi

is this it?

Singapore Dreaming scares the shit out of me.

a bit of pre-conclusive depression.

So I was the last victim of the seniors' ponding spree and it happened right after I walked out from my bath!! But it's okay, I kicked their balls, literally, and clawed them (their arms, not their balls).

I'm supposed to write a piece that best expresses myself but I am so stuck. But check this out, my brainchild:

1. We get your mind off safety, and on pleasure.

2. For your pleasure, we take care of the safety aspect.

Ad slogans. Guess what product? Actually it's a no-brainer.


I'm actually a bit depressed thinking about my future (not only career wise). Sometimes, liking (or loving) a person doesn't make things right or help them work out. But it is so effortless to make do with the status quo. Zero risk and all. Why are you like that?

Besides the really immature lyrics, I actually rather enjoy Potential Breakup Song.

who, me?

I was the type of girl who will burst out laughing in dead silence because of something that happened yesterday.


Where is that girl now?

The pointlessness of our existence

At 20, I have come to find that life has nothing more to offer, nothing better.

Isn't that a sad thing to hear from a person who is supposedly at the prime of her life?

I am going to read Le Mythe de Sisyphe.

This is me being unprofessional

I do realize I am getting increasingly unprofessional in this blog because I started it with the noble intention of writing about things that matter. And my last few posts haven't been about things that matter.

But I must write and I need an avenue to release my latent...feelings. I cannot believe how a reasonably rational person can get so caught up in this. Maybe I will delete this post one day. Right now, I just need to proclaim it, for the sake of my sanity. I must have been really deluded to tolerate that kind of selfishness and narcissism. Tell me how narcissistic a person can get. For all the things I saw and liked, I must be crazy to think they can make up for this.

For the past weeks, I have been blindly bashing downwards, voluntarily or otherwise, trying to seek the bottom of my own abyss. Every single time I think I've reached it, I manage to sink further. It must be some kind of a bottomless pit. I pray it isn't. Because I want to reach the bottom and then only can I stand up. I have no wish to dive head down forever because it is one hell of a sickening feeling (and I get really bad motion sickness).

I wanna scream, I wanna curse, I wanna throw something that breaks with a really loud crash. I want my life back. In one piece. The only concession I can offer is a discreet scar.



You never were the best for me. Said Daughtry in his infinite wisdom.

Curtains Closed

The whole fiasco was a huge and elaborate infatuation.

Nobody deserves to go through this kind of misery twice if they can help it. But it is tough to be a discerning customer of love because it is so easy to surrender to the luxury of feeling in love but we can't be lazy. In fact, I don't think it should take more than one failed relationship to see that real love is worth the wait but life is really unpredictable (it is a hackneyed truism, I insist). And it is true that we learn from our flawed pasts. I believe nobody goes into a relationship seeing its end. We are only blind scavengers searching for the love that will exalt us to saintliness, or fall forever into the abyss without it. Sometimes, we face mirages and scramble towards it in unseeing haste, only to find that it is not the real thing. And we cry. Our hearts break. But the people before and around us will tell us it is only part of life and we learn. Because it is part of life.

But the funny thing is that we never actually learn. We think we learn but we just become more deluded. The next time we see a mirage, we may be cautious but we may still find ourselves tricked. And that is the biggest mystery of life. We never even really know if we have found the real thing. When do we know? When we take our last breaths and find that the person is still with us, and the feeling that remains is still so profound and real. It's like taking an examination and never knowing whether we passed or failed until the very last moment of our lives.

Love is such a profound concept. To people who seek to understand it, the meaning eludes us time and again. Like how we can never comprehend the vastness of the universe. But the elusive Love is such a beauty, nobody can deny they strive for it. Some people’s whole lives are a consecration to it. True love for me is an ideal and cynicism does not stand in my way.

Stardust

You know the movie Stardust?

They should become a binary system and orbit around each other instead. How aching is it to spend the rest of eternity staring at each other from a distance (of a few light years! gosh), not being able to hold and touch one another?

It's such a tragic end for a beautiful story. But then again all great love stories are beautiful because of the tragedy. Exquisite misery. Only when you're the one watching it.

And slightly digressive, Karen Carpenter sang it well with 'because the best love songs are written with a broken heart'.