done deal. closed the door.

I know I've blogged today. And it's only 9 minutes before I can make a long-awaited escape from a totally boring day at work. But...I'm so bored I wanna blow my own brains!! And I need to say something.


HAHAHAHAHAHA

I feel ridiculously happy. But I think I should be discreet about it. 'Cos I don't want that meddlesome Life to notice and come deal me another slap. So, I'll be cryptic.

I have found the full-stop. Hohoho.

maternal instincts.

Saturday night, I dreamt I got a cat. I don't know why I got a cat instead of a kitten, and why a cat instead of a dog or a little boy.

It's not even cute ): so I couldn't love it. And it slept all day (on my bed! why?!) and when I left it for babysitting at my friend's, it told my friend I look like a Chinagirl ('cos of my fringe). After some time, I wanted to abandon it.

I don't like the cat. I want a dog.


Oh right! And I'm gonna be a wedding singer! Yips!

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.

more than man's best friend.

I seriously think, now, that it's wiser to invest feelings in a dog than another human. At least, after you've really bonded with a dog, he'll stand by you and never disappoint you. He'll love you with his whole being and his loyalty is unwavering. He'll be there when you're down; he'll be there when you're happy. When you talk to him, he may not know how to reply, but you'll know he's listening because he's looking at you with understanding eyes (as opposed to staring at blank space with a stoned face and no reactions, ok I'm being a bit mean).

Here are the 10 promises, and they're really touching:
1. Please live patiently with me.
2. Please believe in me. That alone makes me happy.
3. Please don't forget that I have feelings too.
4. There is a reason when I don't listen to you.
5. Please talk to me frequently. I may not speak human, but I can understand.
6. Please don't hit me. Don't forget I'm stronger if we fight.
7. Please don't neglect me even when I get older.
8. I'll only be around for about 10 years, so please spend more time with me.
9. You have school and friends. But I've only got you.
10. When I die, please stay by my side. And please remember, I've loved you all my life.

when what you see isn't what you get.

How do I describe the feeling of having fixed my hair to its somewhat normal state for the first time in nearly 2 weeks after the haircut?

It's like being given a new lease of life after an unexpected, gruesome demise.

It's like thinking wrinkles and age spots won't ever happen to you and then one horrifying day in your early 40s, waking up to find them starting to invade your youthful skin. And then living with their growing community for years. And one miraculous day, a saviour (God? Plastic surgeon?) comes around with new skin for you and your much-desired (but not cherished) youth is restored.

You may think I'm being unnecessarily dramatic, bimbotic and vain. But let me tell you this, beauty is not overrated. People judge you by your appearance everyday, every minute, no matter what you do. And unless you are spectacularly genius like Einstein or Newton or Chaplin (who are, by the way, mentally deranged in their own ways, proving the idiocy of discriminating against mental people), your looks will always be factored into your perceived potential. Good looks are, by far, the quickest way to pick up your confidence and self-esteem.

When you meet an ex, for example, or just anyone for that matter. There is a reason why someone said: "Looking good is the best revenge." I can't remember who. Looking good probably won't you help feel better about your breakup but looking like something the cat chewed and dragged in will definitely make you feel worse.

And anyway, my main gripe about the disaster the hairdresser has made of my hair is that it isn't me. I look in the mirror and I can't find myself in my reflection. I am apparently almost unrecognizable to friends. Joel ran into me last night and he had to take a while to make sure it's Valerie from Sheares. "God, what did you do to your hair?" Or something like that. I am even having trouble choosing clothes to wear because they don't match my hair! My personality! I feel robbed of my identity. And of course, this translates to being late for work everyday.

From now on, nobody comes near my fringe except me, or a very experienced and qualified stylist specializing in fringes.

don't write me off just yet.

I love lyrics. You know how the people who're really musically inclined go crazy about a certain riff or whatever? I go crazy about a certain phrase in the lyrics. Other people shout out song titles the moment they hear the start of the melody; I usually need to hear the start of the lyrics.

It's a pain to be musically UN-inclined when I love singing this much. And the lyrics.

How do you improve your writing, anyway? Sometimes, I feel trapped in a spluttering, inarticulate human shell. I grasp all the emotions I wanna convey, the emotions I wanna arouse in readers, but no words apt enough to weave that tapestry. I listen to Bon Jovi and beyond the beautiful melody, of course, I am moved by the picture he paints with his lyrics. It's not the words per se, but how he strings them together and the recognition you get when you understand the meaning of the phrase.

It's what Drew Barrymore said in Music and Lyrics: "A melody is like seeing someone for the first time. The physical attraction. Sex. But then, as you get to know the person, that's the lyrics. Their story. Who they are underneath."

Bon Jovi.

i am not yet a feminist but.

After thinking,
and thinking,

and thinking and thinking and thinking!
(and also reading happy people's blogs)

I've come to a conclusion that every girl should know: A Woman's Worth.

So fuck all the guys who come and think they can get away with trampling on a woman's self-respect. I am so done. And I have this to say: GFY.

Heaven forbid I ever forget this again.

P.S. For the ignorant, I'm not about to burn my bras. You don't need to be a radical feminist to love yourself.

val disagrees with agreeing.

Have you ever thought about the phrase 'agree to disagree'? Like 'ok, let's agree to disagree'. I can't remember my line of argument anymore.

But well, I disagree with agreeing.

Think I'm just sprouting rubbish. I'm not thinking straight today. (Some people will argue that I almost never think straight anyway, in the sense that I come up with quite a number of sexual innuendos. But no, not that kind of crooked.) How can I think straight when I can see my cap everywhere I look? I feel like a suspicious, perverted man. I miss my irritating hair that's all over my face and giving me a lazy eye.

Here's an example of my defective brain patterns today:

THE REASON THAT PEOPLE ARE DYING OF CARBON MONOXIDE POISONING

tagline for a family MPV (I hope you're able to make the mental leaps.)

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.

grrl power.

"You were born. And oh, how you wailed. Your first breath is a scream. Not timid and low, but selfish and shattering, with all the force of waiting nine months under water. The rest of your life should be like that. An announcement."

- Wieden & Kennedy for Nike