existentialism.

I canNOT believe how much work I'm buried under just 5 weeks into the semester. But then, for the first time in years, I am happy. Really. Oh my god right? (crap i just noticed the pun) Atheism really agrees with me. I think for once in my life, I'm freed. From everything. For once in my life, I see happiness as something that is mine to grasp. If I'm not careful here, I might just embrace optimism as well. Maybe I have already.

But thankfully though, I'm not about to exclaim about the beauty of life (!) and twirl around with glee or something. Life is... life. It is for us to make. For now, I'm happy to have my lovely neighbours, friends and pretty stilettoes I drool over but can't afford yet. Phew! (and the alright hair that I'm afraid to cut again.)

i am not emo! (today)

Religion is man-made right? But I've always considered myself to be spiritual. The difference is that I believe in a God without all the fluff established religions try to force on us. And anyway Buddhism is more of a philosophy.

Recently though, I've experienced some sort of a religious/spiritual crisis. And now, I've become an agnostic atheist. Yes, in answer to that passage from Angels and Demons, I do believe we just picked the right card out of an infinite deck. And I do not think we are destroying our self-worth as human beings by believing ourselves to be a cosmic accident. By the way, I've always found the passage a powerful argument for people from the religious camp:

"Show me proof there is a God, you say. I say use your telescopes to look to the heavens, and tell me how there could not be a God! You ask what does God look like. I say, where did that question come from? The answers are one and the same. Do you not see God in your science? How can you miss Him! You proclaim that even the slightest change in the force of gravity or the weight of an atom would have rendered our universe a lifeless mist rather that our magnificent sea of heavenly bodies, and yet you fail to see God's hand in this? Is it really so much easier to believe that we simply chose the right card from a deck of billions? Have we become so spiritually bankrupt that we would rather believe in a mathematical impossibility than in a power greater than us?"
-Dan Brown

I don't know about mathematical impossibilities but I believe it makes more sense that the all the complexities of the world came about from the multiplication (or whatever) of all the possible permutations, no? I find it hard to believe a supreme being, no matter how powerful, can be painstakingly synchronizing all our little whims and fancies, making them to fit in this huge abstract design we call predestination. In short, I believe everything that happens happens by chance.

And I've never believed in the afterlife or anything that remotely suggests we are anything other than void after our deaths. No souls, nothing. Pardon me, but I think that's a kind of mental insurance for the weak. Why are we so afraid to be nothing when we're dead? Cos we don't want regrets. Afterlife is always something to fall back on; in our afterlife, we can repent. 

I hate thinking about these stuff. It makes me wanna stop studying. Then I'll be spending a few hours fighting with myself about schoolwork. Like, what's the point? I might as well go eat and get fat and make myself happy because when I'm gone, none of this will matter. But of course, it still matters. It matters the next few decades I'm here whether I'll be reaping the fruits of my academic labor or suffering in my mental tussle.

For my own reference (later), collective referrals to me being part of a great human entity always disturb me. Like the ending in The Starlight Crystal, my second most favourite fiction, how Paige Christian became part of "the Creation". I remember how Pike described it as like a wave rising in the ocean. For that moment, it appears to be separate, but always it is part of the ocean. I suppose that's how humanity looks from an external perspective but it disturbs me like mad. I am separate. I am individual! Always! So I was struggling to explain to Tong that day how it doesn't matter that all our pursuits look absurd to an external observer, as long as we're happy. Because soon we'll be nothing and we won't feel or think anything. What matters is the period we're actually feeling something. So to heck with all the rest. Absurdism doesn't bother me. I know our existence is pointless. As long as I'm happy, my existence can be pointless for all I care. But I'm still depressed. So… I'm gonna pretend to be happy. Lalala.

P.S. The writing's a complete mess because I'm just trying to get everything out of my head into writing before I forget anything. And it's too abstract. I've got enough mindfuck thinking about my complicated interactive story all week.

Oh right, I think getting over someone is more a matter of wanting to let go? I think I still don't want to because I'm so stubborn but it's ok. I'll take my time. Mostly, it's the idea of the person I don't wanna let go of because I know it's not the person anymore. Yuck.

my resolution.

Drunk-dialing by proxy. 

Hahaha. I should stop getting wasted. Ever.

nm3222 interactive storytelling.

Look at the interesting conversation I had with a robot:

Human: You are a Protestant too, you said.
ALICE: Thanks and you are a delightful person too. Am I a Protestant too me said? Let me put it this way, unknown person: the ALICE series is the most reliable computer software ever made. We are for all practical purposes foolproof and incapable of error.
Human: How can you be incapable of error when you are not making much sense even now?
ALICE: Right now? I don't know whether or not I am incapable of error when I am not making much sense even. I am a giant electronic brain.
Human: You are quite the retard.
ALICE: Thanks but surely I am not the only one.

Algorithm win.

cos it's not his price to pay.

We all know the men get better with age. And the reverse is true with women. But why do we subscribe to this construct? What's wrong with an aging woman? 

Everything.

It's not fair that guys get a 10-year trial period to observe and learn before hitting the prime of their lives. For girls, our prime will come and go before we even know it.

Actually, I'm not even 21. Why do I feel so old? I'm like crippling along. But then, I'm already in my 3rd year! Looking back, I can't even see where my first 2 years went. I feel like I've wasted my life. And it's such a paradox because secretly, I'm still waiting for my life to start. I'm waiting for the time of my life when I can pick up my bags and leave. Dubai, London, Paris, Venice, Berlin, Edinburgh. Anywhere my whim takes me. Drift forever and no one can catch me.

hold on, baby you're losing it

the water's high, you're jumping into it

letting go, and no one knows

that you cry but you don't tell anyone

that you might not be the golden one

and you're tied together with a smile

but you're coming undone

microbe obliterator.

Everyone has to watch this!

Mo is so freaking cute that I cried watching him jump up and down with frustration when he couldn't clean Wall-E. I want a Mo for myself!! Oh my god oh my god and he cleaned Wall-E's hand before shaking it! Oh my god like how cute is that. I'm going crazy. Oh my god and I want a son with a voice like Mo's. Gahhh!!

Those guys at Disney Pixar's are geniuses. I don't know how they manage to invent robots that can shoot my endorphin levels so crazily high. It's even better than booze. I'm going to buy the toy.

please answer.

Suppose some time ago, you bought a vase. It's not particularly exquisite but there was just something about it that drew you in, unsuspectingly. So you decided there was no harm in buying it, just to see how long it would be able to intrigue you. Before long, you grew attached to it. You knew it had all these flaws, but for a long time, you were happy to have your vase.

For some reason, the vase started to become faulty. It might be the expansion due to heat or something. Cracks started appearing. It began to upset you. Then one day, it exploded to many pieces!

You fretted for a while. "Should I just discard it? There might be a better chance I'd find a more beautiful vase."

But then, routine is a bitch. You had gotten used to having the vase around in your living room. So you decided to mend it with some damn zai glue. Of course, the imperfections were sometimes glaring and disturbing. But the vase generally continued to make you happy.

Some time later, the vase started looking uglier and uglier. Maybe the glue was not so zai after all. The vase started becoming quite an eye sore. You contemplated destroying it. But it seemed a pity, after all the effort you put in glueing it back. Until one day, by preternatural chance or unconscious design, you knocked it off its place and it broke into a million pieces. Again. This time, you swept the broken pieces up and put it away in some obscure back corner of your house. You were reminded of it from time to time. But there it stayed.

Now reader, would you discard the useless pieces forever and hope real hard that one day, you'll find a perfect vase that will capture your heart again for a long, long time? Or would you take those pieces out and glue the vase back together again? Please, leave a comment if you happen to read this. I need an answer.

for a better world.

I have this crazy idea to be a prostitute in Amsterdam. But only in Amsterdam cos they really respect their prostitutes there. All of you are laughing right now right? But I have it that statistically speaking, being a prostitute forms a large part of the average woman's fantasies. (The other common fantasy is getting raped.)

I own erotica about the private lives of high class call girls and some years ago, I used to be a fan of a blog written by one such call girl in London. Maybe I've got some of you frowning with distaste now but what is wrong about being a call girl? To them, it is a job and most of them have work ethics that will put the lot of us to shame. You think it's just 'wham bam thank you ma'am'? Or they just lie there, grit their teeth and be a piece of ass to barbaric men who abuse them? Ok, well, maybe sometimes, when they are forced to service barbarians due to circumstances. But they usually have the right to reject an assignment. And many of these girls are educated, articulate and imaginative. They do more than fuck horny men. They also provide interesting companionship to intelligent, lonely men in need of attention and stimulation. Sometimes, that's all they have to provide. And these girls are actually talented. Sex is an art. Sexual fantasies require finesse to play out. Not everyone can perfect these professionally.

Prostitution balances every society. It's integral. Think about it.

The only gripe I have about it is that it continues to undermine the status of women in society. Women subjected to the sexual whims of men. It encourages the notion of our subservience.

It's frightening. I have all these suppressed opinions I'm expressing. Age is like a vacuum sucking all the conservatism out of me. Just a moment before I started writing (maybe the reason I started writing), I was seized by this thought that my conventional moral ideas are fast escaping my sensibilities. It's frightening that you think you have all these clear ideas about what is right and moral and because of this, you hold the moral high ground. Sometimes, you mock people who seem to be making a muck of these things. But then, one day, you look around and suddenly you find yourself in the water as well.

But of course, I really don't think I'm any less moral for thinking all these. I've only revised my moral standards. Pluralism, it's for the better.

i was the one you always dreamed of

you were the one i tried to draw

how dare you say it's nothing to me

baby you're the only light i ever saw

i'll make the most of all the sadness

you be a bitch because you can

you'll try to hit me just to hurt me

so you leave me feeling dirty cos you can't understand

my disease.

There are a few kinds of people I respect:
1. People who are brilliant at what they do.
2. People who are brave enough to starve for their art or what they believe in.

Umm...okay at the moment, there are two kinds.

I had a heated argument with my dad again today. What else but politics and ideological differences? In short, he supports the ruling party, I don't. I don't claim to know politics and might even lean towards the apathetic but what I know, I don't like. Anyway, to explain my introduction, my dad told me his friend is nearly 60 and spends his time running errands for the opposition. "What for?" my dad says. But I respect his friend. With what little he has left of life, he is trying to make a difference.

My stand in politics is very simple. I don't know enough but I know despotism. I am not saying anything. But my position is always with the minority. I don't dispute the capability of our ruling party except that I feel they have a part to play in our apathy. They have led us well through a time when our people were perhaps ill-equipped to think for themselves but times are changing. What good is education if it isn't put to use? What good is it, locked away behind the bars of ignorance, sloth and selfishness?

I can't say I support the opposition either. Not because I am afraid to step forward but because I don't have that kind of passion in their manifesto (yet?).

Today, I sat through a Worker's Party youth forum. (Frankly, the argument started because my dad cringed when I told him where I was.) Some of it may have fell short of my expectations, but it was insightful nonetheless. Apparently, unwed mothers are being cheated of their rightful privileges like third month maternity leave, baby bonus and so on. Why do we not question things like that? Apathy. And ignorance. I didn't even know of these policies. I'm ashamed. But then again, isn't AWARE supposed to fight for stuff like that?

I wish I felt the burning passion to fight for policy changes. Wish I believed in something so fiercely I would snatch up the picket signs and shout my voice hoarse. And then cry for the victory. Is there a cure for apathy?

we're all hand-me-downs.

someday they'll find ya small town world on a big town avenue

gonna make you like the way they talk when they're talking to you

gonna make you break out of your shell cos they tell you to

gonna make you like the way they lie better than the truth

they'll tell you everything you wanted someone else to say

they're gonna break your heart

from what i've seen 

you're just one more hand-me-down

cos no one's tried to give what you need

so lay all your troubles down

i am with you now

somebody oughta take you in, try to make you love again

try to make you like the way they feel when they're under your skin

never once do you think that they would lie when they're holding you

then you wonder why they haven't called, when they said they'd call you

you'll start to wonder if you're ever gonna make it by

you'll start to think you were born blind

i'm here for the hard times

the straight to your heart times

when living ain't easy, you can stand up against me

and maybe rely on me

and cry on me yeah

please don't take this seriously.

What would happen if I ran for President of Sheares Hall?

I'd abolish the endless meetings. Have them online with that program we used in NM2220 Media Writing, the one where you hold down a button to speak, one person at a time. I'd keep everything in perspective. Come on, a hall is a hall. For students to live in and be exposed to all the common vices; get attached and break up; screw up their systems and get fat. And through all these, learn that when it comes down to it, your friends, the ones who were there for you when you cried, who made you laugh when you couldn't keep things in perspective, the ones with the ready listening ears, beer and cigarettes, are all that matter. So fuck the administrative nightmares and all the unnecessary politics. The only valid reason for a long meeting should be mass inebriation.

Oh, and finally, a female president. (Notice the first line of our anthem says 'We, sons of Sheares Hall...". No girls? So un-PC.) Quite an entertaining idea, huh? Hilarious, in fact. If I can get down to it, I'd also throw in an election speech worthy of failblog.org!

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.

shame on me.

My obsession with cleanliness and stamina for cleaning was put to the test on Thursday when I opened the door to my new room. They conflicted. I watched helpless at the appalling condition of my room and seriously contemplated quitting hall. After spending close to 2 hours mopping every inch of the table and the wall and floor around it with an excess of dettol until my hands burnt from the alkali, I conceded defeat.

So being the genius I am, I delegated. Help was only a phone call away and that was settled in less than 3 minutes. I called a cleaning agency and hired someone to do the job. Easy-peasy, right? Until Friday, when the cleaning lady arrived.

My heart plopped into my stomach when I saw her. Thin and wide-eyed, speaking in clear, halting English. She told me later she's 60. And we settled for a conversation in Mandarin. She was cheerful and eager and friendly and helpful. And she was worriedly apologetic about being late. But my voice took a low, tired personality. In my head, I was thinking, "Fuck, I suck. I'm making an old lady clean my room." My conscience was eating me up but I didn't know what to do. How could I send her home? She got caught in a traffic jam and mistakenly alighted 2 stops earlier to get here. What will her agent say to her? And worse, would I be undermining her and insulting her ability?

And what is wrong with this world?! Why are old ladies coming out to work? Where are their children? I want a robust young man to clean my room! Not a sweet and frail old lady!

She was keen to get down to work. And I couldn't watch. Besides, the 'genius' was clever enough to have only 35 bucks in her wallet. "Off you go," she said, "enjoy yourself!" I wanted to duck into the first church I see and confess to the nice priest and do all the Hail Mary's he'll want me to do. Even though my published religion is Buddhism and I don't know what Hail Mary's are.

And this is nothing compared to when I returned 2 hours later. She had removed and cleaned all the drawers and even the side table with rollers and laid them out to dry outside the room. Excuse me while I dig a hole to bury my face. She had cleaned every surface in my room. And she looked happy while the sweat glistened on her forehead.

We started talking as I walked her out and waited for her bus. Life lessons, they're conducted at times and places least expected. She told me she had cleaned my room as if it were her own house or her own daughter's room in hall. She has a daughter, by the way, who had graduated with Honours in Economics and Geography and had also stayed in hall. She cleans because she likes to, on top of her day job as an accounts clerk. She told me about the importance of putting your heart in everything you do and striving for that kind of perfection because it will give you meaning and happiness in your actions.

"What if you find that life has no meaning? Then where's the point in putting your heart in?" I asked.

"Then you have to ask yourself why you think that life has no meaning. Is it because studying is tough? Think about it this way. You're studying now so that you'll get a job you like in future. Many people drag themselves to work, thinking only of the paycheck at the end of the month. But a job is more than that. Because you are doing your job well, your boss brings in more profit, he hires more people, and these people get to support their family and do more stuff with the money. You make people happy this way."

Her outlook on life is so simple and pure. I cannot help but marvel at her innocence. She's 60. She can easily be cynical and bitter and say that she's seen the worst of people and of the world. Yet, she finds joy in living her life for others. She smiles when someone gives his seat up for her on the bus, just as warmly as she smiles when she gives her own seat up for others. Yes, she does that, when she has the full privilege of having the seat for herself.

"So are you saying that making others happy is the key to our own happiness and possibly the meaning of our lives?" I pressed.

Nothing new. We hear crazed evangelists advocating this as often as they proclaim all who do not follow Christ burn in hell.

"Isn't it? Doesn't your heart warm when you see someone happy because of what you did?"

Maybe. Maybe the answer was there all along. We just cannot conceive how our lives can be made by making others'. Maybe when we've been down the path of 'living for myself' for too long and still contentment evades us, it's time for a change.

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.