i feel thoroughly sickened.

i was on my mental Rant-Loop thing whining to myself about how i actualy like going to school but HATE the exams when it finally dawned upon me the reason for this absolute loathe.

in very typical izyanti reasoning, i hate it because well, it exposes all your weaknesses and makes me realize in very blunt terms that i am an incompetent student. how very reassuring. on usual days, i live with the innocent[?] delusion that i am doing fine in school because i know that i am not stupid. then the exam results come around and it just inconveniently CONTRADICTS this happy mantra.

grk!

and our grading system as we all know, is crap and every exam that we take only serves to re-inforce this! an A is excellent, B is good and C is average. why is then that we MUST get an A, a B is still frowned on and a C? shame on you! let's not even talk about the unmentionable grades, those are kept in the cobwebby regions of Academic Hell.

something must be wrong if i'm getting technically 'good' grades but still feel [figuratively, of course] like dying. finding a convenient hole to crawl in to just die.

so all that we have learnt, being students in Singapore and slaves to meritocracy is that 'good' just does not make the cut. we have to be the BEST and even then, you have to be the Bestest-Best to get into all the elite schools. my sour grapes say this is utterly unfair. i sulk being told that i do not deserve getting into this and that, and that i am not good enough because the annoying Voice in my head is convinced that contrary to what my grades prove, i deserve it. such is the extent of my delusions. it's as if i have two voices; the realistic one who accepts my mediocrity and the one who is really annoying with her constant Little Train That Could chant.

i have not failed to take note that if i were getting the As so desired, i will not be complaining. at all.

















my brain consists of one entire synapse.

and now am perturbed that i have exposed for all the world to see that i am nothing more than an angsty teenager upset with her mediocre school performance. oh whoopeedoo, i feel very special indeed. on a brighter note, the DV15 cookie is up; but that too upsets me because cassandra claire is becoming increasingly slashy. *sighs*

i think i'll go and have some cheese and Ribena to cheer myself up. it won't result in world peace or settle US politics once and for all, but pbbt!

i am still sore about the whole fiasco of my composition. but i shall not mutter on and on about it, because i think They are quite sick of my repeated mentioning it. i will though print out a few copies and ask some other english teachers to review it on monday. its my prelims.

speaking of english teachers, guess who called my handphone yesterday while we were having a girly window-shopping trip yesterday after mamma mia?

'hello izyanti, this is ms lee speaking.'
'oh, um, hi. yes ms lee?'
'izyanti..yabber yabber yabber yabbe-'
'um, is this ms lee? ms suzanna lee?'

i was very much confoosed. grk, how did she get my number? freaky-dicky.

to sum it up, she had called me to ask me for one of my techinically correct argumentative essays for the school trilingual digest, which to be honest and frank, i sighed in relief. cuz she hadn't and wouldn't ask me, and i got quite quietly insulted about the non-invitation. lol, how very..conceited of me. but whatever. and then afterwrads, she proceeded to lecture me about my english results, which was what i though she had called for in the first place. *sighs*

mamma mia, like it has been mentioned in all the other blogs, was absolutely enlivening. i think the best bit was when at the end of the show, the audience got up to do some lovely cheesy grooving hurhur. a few of the scenes and dance sequences were particularly memorable, i especially liked the choreography and directing for the Money, Money, Money scene and the finale with the OMG giant 6m in diameter glowing moon. it reminded me of Bear In the Big Blue House, which on a random note, is a very good kid's show by the way. muchos better that Blue's Clues which gets dumb after you get over the cute novelty.

i was inspired [so cliched, that word] to write after the whole mamma mia today. in the rough, about an extra in the cast of a play..and basically her obsession about not being in the limelight. very typical i know, but i'll work on it - some day when im free. hopefully, it won't grow stale like all my other half-baked [pun intended] ideas.

so anyway, here's a little muselet i wrote during religious class [hoho]. excuse the rather awkward names, i hate naming my characters *shrugs*.this takes place during in a cast after-show party:

There it was, all by itself on the table. She couldn't believe how Olivia could bear to part with the beautiful bouquet. If it had been her, she was sure that it would be permanently attached to her arms for the whole night, the rapturous burst of colours accompanying her to sleep by her pillow. But of course, for Olivia, this was just another well-intentioned gift that she did not really care about. What was one bouquet -and not a very expensive one at that- compared to the dozens she recieved season after season?

With that reasoning, Jean tried to inconspicuously toe to the table where the flowers lay. She turned to look around, reassuringly, as always, nobody was watching her. Gingerly, she reached out a hand, rustling the translucent crepe paper. She sniffed the air and inhaled the fresh greeness of the flowers. She savoured it, it was the scent of approval and even more wonderfully, admiration.

Her fingers caressed the velvety blooms lightly and allowed the sprigs of babybreath to tickle her palm. Once again, she checked to see whether anybody was watching her, she paused as she looked around, almost daring them to make eye contact with her. Holding her breath, as if about to do a very dirty thing indeed, she grasped a thin green stalk and with a quick tug, uprooted it from the bouquet. Hurriedly, she stuffed it in a pocket inside her jacket, wincing at the thought of bruised petals.

Walking to the bus stop, she felt the leaves tickling her. Her flower was a burden that was both unsettling and delicious. It thrilled her to think of the stolen, no, taken flower in her posession. Like a child slowly unwrapping a gift, she reached for the bloom in her jacket. In the illuminated night, the petals were dark crimson, almost maroon. She knew though that it was in fact, an exquisite ruby red. It was a bit rumpled, she lovingly arranged the petals to the perfect condition it had been the bouquet. A petal threatened to fall off and she considered plucking it out but instead, caringly patted it back into place. This is my flower.

She sat down on the cold plastic bench of the bus stop. It was just her and the flower, and some old man sitting at the next bench. She knew it must have looked stupid, constantly fiddling with the flower but as she grazed it against her cheek, she did not care.

"That's a very nice flower. "

It took her a full second to realize that the old man was indeed talking to her. Snapping out of her reverie, she said, "Yes, it is isn't?"

"Don't mind me saying this, but you look very much in love miss."

"Oh. Well, erm."

"Did a certain young man give it to you?"

"It wasn't ah, exactly given to me."

They fell silent. The bloom lay silent in her hands.

A bus finally rumbled near, and she and the old man got up to anticipate its arrival. As she did do, she tripped on a tiled chip and dropped the flower. It landed in a little patch of mud and she let out an almost whimper. She picked it up quickly, and gave a small cry. An unseen thorn had pricked her, she held up her index finger to the light and saw a droplet of blood. Instinctively, she sucked the injured finger. The taste of blood and mud mingled in her mouth.

She had reached home. With a click and tinkle of keys, she unlocked the door and stepped in. She flicked on the lights and headed to her bedroom. She placed the taken flower carefully on her bed and reached in her drawer for a box. It was silver with carved details, her mother had given it to her when she was very young. Picking up the flower, she wistfully caressed it with her sore finger. She opened the box, and placed the red bloom along with the other wilting flowers .

Cartoons

The beanbag in the living room is his throne and every afternoon aftere school, he reclaims it. Ian turns on the television and tunes to the only channel he watches, Cartoon Network.

He will sit there for an entire four hours until I call him for dinner and that too is scoffed down in mere minutes before he shuffles off to watch more cartoons. His life revolves around it, and I would not be surprised is he dreamed in technicolour as well.

That plastic box is at the same time, a cursed and revered object in the house. It is ridiculous to call it evil, but it is. I have lost my son to it, and my son has lost himself. Is it all my fault? He hardly talks to me and teachers have reported that my dear son, the once talkative and rambunctious Ian, has become withdrawn and reclusive. They ask me why, but I am never sure what to answer.

………………………………

My eyes are dry and tired from the unblinking stare that I have been giving the buck-toothed Bugs Bunny. Nothing interesting today, it is a rerun that I have watched do many times that I know the exact tauntings he says to all who chase him.

I mouth his lines. My lips curl into words that have no sound and hence, no audience. A bit like what I want to tell my mother really.

She thinks I sit here all day watching the slapstick antics of these running and talking animals. That is not what I do though, there are only so many time that a falling anvil can be funny and that novelty has left quite some time ago.

What’s up doc?, the rabbit asks.

Well, not much mother. I still resent you for leaving us, you know. Three years is a long time, I don’t think I can just let it go.

The lines on the screen go blurry as I sink into myself. I do not hear dialogue, just mufled sounds. No moving scenery of the Western desert, just washes of colour. Finally, peace. I have lost myself in the predictability of the cartoons. I am not really here. I am somewhere else, away from the tangles of the convoluted theads of my mind.

………………………………………………

He is still sitting there, catatonic. The television blares kitschy Western music. The Roadrunner is still running running running, he is a blur. No one will catch me!, he beeps.

He is running away, My son speeds of into the chrome sun of the desert, leaving me in this trail of dust. He refuses to talk to me and I sadly, do not know what to do. After three years of absence, I have forgotten how to be a mother. I reach for an apple in the fruit basket and wash it under the tap, The water feels cool against my tight skin, the thing that makes me feel trapped. I am uneasy in this new skin of mine.

The knife cuts the apple into neat slices. The apple is no longer whole and its juicy flesh is exposed for all to see and devour, vulnerable. Did I do that to him when I left?

I did. My heart wrenches in guilt. My hands feel the smooth skin of the ruby red apple, and I remember him, my child. Sitting in my lap, we were watching Snow White. How he squealed in delight at the glittering jewel mines and cringed at the ugliness of the transformed queen. Was I too like the queen to him now? Once beautiful, but now forever ugly in his eyes. He refuses to look at me.

The slices are on a plate, I walk over to his throne, wary. Silly of me to be afraid of my own son, but I am. I sense his animosity and ut does nothing but pain me. I am afraid that he does not love me.

That is my fear. My nightmare, that I probably deserve. After all, vilains must be punished. I set down the plate beside him. He will not touch it till I go away. I know your habits, my son.

I go back to the kitchen and look at him. He takes the apple, he bites. A smile creases my face.

…………………………………….

The apple is sweet and the juices run down my throat. Sometimes she gives me oranges, or pears. But I like the apples best. I would never tell her though.

I will not tell her that I still remember the first tome we watched Snow White. I loved it, and I think she did too. Popeye is playing, he is annoying I think. Spinach is disgusting, apples are much better.

I wil never be able to tell her that I wanted Snow White to eat the apple though I knew that it was poisonous. Surely an apple so red and saturated with colour must have tasted so good.

Bruto asks, how you doing?

Still angry, I reply. I still resent for leaving so suddenly. Why did you go? I wondered and pondered for those three years. You were unhappy with father I know, but did you not know that things will always end happily ever after? That was what you taught me with the Disney cartoons.

You left and I was alone with father, and he was alone with himself. We were sad, I think his heart broke the way Cinderella’s glass slipper did. Shattered into a million pieces. I hope you heard it. I did, in every second of his sullen silence.

And then, you came back. Father called you, you said, he told me that he had cancer. Suddenly, you were in our lives again and I did not know whether you were the villain or the hero. I wa still flummoxed, overwhelmed by your return, his illness and soon, his departure form our lives.

I am still very much confused, mother. I do not know what to do, and I think you feel that way too. When I see you, I do not know whether to run to or away from you.

Which is why I stay silent and watch cartoons, mother. Things are easy and simple here. Everything is defined by a clear black line. One day, I too will have my clear black line and these monologues will stop because then, I will know. The cartoons would have elucidated me, and things will be all right.

I will talk to you, and yes, that’s all folks.





















please leave commentary. will tell you full details of my reason behind this when it's not 0156.

yesterday, i discovered that i have *drumrolls* tear drop shaped nostrils. i revel in my unique-osity because i am the only one in my bunch of friends that have them. ohohohoho they who are owners of mere triangle and round nostrils, cower at the existence of my nostrils!

it was a thoroughly enlightening and entertaining ride on the MRT that we had yesterday. other than comparing each other's nostrils we also sang several enthusiastic renditions of the Birthday Song while hailing the Birthday Girl as well as recent clique favourite, Sticky-Outy Elbows [aww, it's dedicated to me, how uberly sweet of them].

i think it was at this point that our truly exhibitionistic selves were exposed. the more we glimpsed that some of the passengers were smiling amused at our antics, the more antic-y we got! and trust me, we are very full of said antics.

or maybe the above only applies to me. ooh-er.

but you know what's even more significant? i think we were more entertaining that Jack Neo and his crew. or it could be just my biased dislike against him that's speaking out. we should make a movie! based on teenagers!

man, that is such a good idea.

what did you say? oh, they have made productions based on teenagers? but i bet they didn't show the angst that we *sobs* face as students! ..oh, they have. well then, we'll make it completely light and fluffy! true, they did already come up with Light Years, and that was quite flobby too. but what about our luurve lives?? darn, i forgot about the whole Teenage Textbook thingamajig.

man, that is such a bad idea.

but i stil can't stand jack neo though. pbbt!

i am disconcertingly nonchalent about tomorrow's chemistry paper. mug session results are well, if we were to talk about percentage yield and such, it's really LOW. hours put in is much more than what has actually go in. actually, the getting in is quite easy. it's the retaining that is oh so bothersome.

i suppose it's also because of my lit paper. i recieved horrid news about mine yesterday. nadya says i have been whiningly harping on it but pbbt i do not care. i am still upset. to condense the whole traumatic affair, i found out that the marker cannot read my handwriting for my unseen essay and so even though he can tell it has substance and get an A, i will not be getting it. *quietly bawls in a corner*

speaking of korners, we were at the BP mcD under the pretense of mugging today and for some reason, it had literally turned into Mat-Minah Central! i think it's the rain, that's the reason for the sudden congregation. maybe on usual days, when the sun is happily shining, they head off to a Korner and do mat-y things but were hindered by the weather today.

they were very annoying. somehow i am not ashamed of my prejudice against them.

and and AND, we might have just discovered the reason why they like Korners so much. apparently, it is indeed magical and grants you wishes! why have we managed to come up with this deduction? see, nadalala was wistfully looking at a person eating potato sticks. look, he's so happy easting his fries. i want to be happy too. i want to eat fries, said she.

some time later, a friend and her boyfriend came over and lucky for our empty stomachs and more importantly, wallets, he knew the Team Manager. for the ignorant, a Team Manager is a very important figure in the whole McDonald hierachy indeed. so important that he managed to buy 4 Extra Value Meals at incredibly cheap prices! so HURRAH nadya and i stuffed ourselves to death with fries. oh yum.

apparently a stick of fry contains as much oil as the oil on your nose. that is a fact that is supposed to deter me from the yellow salty things [as well as disgust me, i suspect] but i am STRONG. you cannot easily sway me from my beloved nutrient-less food!

oops i digress. my point here is, the Korner grants you your wishes. automatically upon the dawning of this realization, i started chanting A1s for my prelims but i suppose that would count as a miracle.

on a random note, i have been busily printing out photos on my computer after a surge of Nostalgia and then went on a blu-tacking spree all over my desk. so now said desk is not only cluttered with normal debris and detritus but also pictures of your existence my Dear Friends!

here's a list on who's up on my desk:

• chaaaaarmaine
• gennie
• nadalala
• yeuey
• aini
• shi han
• yuzhen
• hui ting [in a slinky dress no less!]
• heng pei
• siim ynn
• matthew
• kass
• andrea
• bern
• siak
• vincent
• hazri
• jolynn
• and my alter-ego, Post-It Girl!

yayness if you're on the list, that means you are very significant in my life. cue: Warm Fuzzies! or..the photo is hilariously ridiculous. if not, it means that a] i have not printed it out yet b] I DO NOT HAVE A PHOTO OF YOU HOW COME WE DON'T? THIS IS AN OUTRAGE, YOU BETTER TAKE A PHOTO WITH ME BEFORE THE YEAR IS OUT AND WE LOSE EACH OTHER IN THE WIDE EXPANSE OF SINGAPORE.

THE PRELIMS ARE A BREEZE.

HOW HAPPY I AM, I NEVER EXPECTED TO LITERALLY FLOP EACH AND EVERY PAPER TAKEN, WITH THE EXCEPTION OF ENGLISH. AND THAT ONE ALWAYS WAITS TO SURPRISES ME, IT JUST LOVES DOING THAT. SO I COULD DO REALLY WELL, OR WELL, FLOB.

the way amoeba flob. flobbity-flob.

i am a funkeh amoeba.

BUT WHAT THE HEY, SAME DIFFERENCE.

I'VE BEEN DOING SO WELL THAT BOTH PRACTICALS WERE TRASHED, I HAVE NOT MANAGED TO FINISH ANY OF THE PAPERS EXCLUDING ENGLISH. MAN, I WILL SO BE UN-JCing FOR THE FIRST THREE MONTHS IN 2005. THIS IS JUST THE WAY I PLANNED IT. UBERLY PERFECT.

I COULD NOT ASK FOR MORE. BUT THEN AGAIN, I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN SO INDULGENTLY BLESSED..JUST LOOK AT WHAT HAPPENS TODAY.

APPARENTLTY, I ALONG WITH THE REST OF THE STUDENTS, HAVE MANAGED TO MISINTEPRET THE PROSE. let me ask you, can you actually misintepret prose? THERE WAS NO CLEAR INDICATION OF THE actual STORY PLOT. SO OBVIOUSLY, IN THE VERY SHORT 40 MINUTES, WE GRASPED AT THE NEAREST FIGMENT OF LOGIC. I DO NOT THINK IT IS COMMON HABIT TO QUESTION AND DELVE INTO SOMETHING TO SEE WHETHER THERE ARE OTHER ANGLES OF LOGIC THAT CAN BE USED.

WILL THESE YOU-LEARN-SOMETHING-NEW-EACH-DAY WONDERS EVER CEASE?

OTHER THAN THAT, I AM HAPPY.

REALLY.

...........................................

i also discovered today that with the growing dominance of my Inner Geek, i have also developed certain personality traits that are interesting indeed.

for example, i am very choosy with the pens that i use. i suppose today served to remind my mother of this particular idiosyncracy of mine. see, a few days ago, i came across this shop. a typical HDB shop selling a mish-mash of everything. it was a new place, walls newly painted in a garish and painful shade of orange. boxes full of cheap plastic artifacts likely to stop functioning in a month or so [even more possible, they don't have a function at all] were littered on the bare concrete floor. curious and irrelevently full from chicken rice, i wandered around the place and came to stop at the shelves of stationery.

i found a pen. it's ink ran surprisingly smooth and the nib was just right, 0.48mm. perfect other than its tacky design. but more importantly, only 80 cents a piece! oh how my stationery-slut soul cried out, cheap cheap you must get it!

and of course, so i did. three in fact, but only because $2.50 with me.

yesterday, i had a discussion with my mother. we had depthful discourse and i told her, mother dearest, you must get me more of those pens. i have fallen in love with them cheap skinny things, i simply cannot do without them for me Examination! inspired by my very inspiring speech, she said, all right daughter i shall get them tomorrow for you. oh how my heart leaped with the fresh joy that came with having new pens! i hurriedly shoved to in her hand the pen and conspiratorally, i whispered, this one. you must get me this one. in fact, BUY THE WHOLE BOX.

and so, i went to sleep dreaming of my new pens. well, not really. i was actually hurriedly re-hashing Warings gossip, but that is another point entirely.

today when i got home, utterly happy-ied up from the disastrous prelims, i skipped to my mother. 'mother mother', i cried, 'did you get the pens?' indeed i did, said she and pointed me in the direction of a yellow plastic bag.

'you got the same brand that i wanted, right?'

'no, i got (insert cheena brand) instead. they right better.'

i frowned. hmm, a straying in my very specific instructions but no matter, i trust her. peering into the bag, my mind careened off into a spin of confoosion amidst the rustling. not only were they a different brand, they were *GASP* in aqua blue ink.

i was utterly horrified and relayed my emotions by spluttering. in a thoroughly bratty manner, i wailed, 'i can't use these!! their, their, b-b-blue! you KNOW i only and ONLY write in black. oh mother how can you disappoint me so? i refuse to use them, give them to my sister.'

it is true, i have fully developed into a student with disturbing a diva-esque attitude.

..................................................

ohmigod ohmigod, mtv's playing an OLD spice girl video! --nostaaaalgia----

tree tree tree lamp post tree tree tree lamp post MOTORCYCLE tree tree tree lamp post tree tree tree lamp post tree tree tree lamp post tree tree tree lamp post tree tree tree lamp post tree tree tree lamp post tree tree tree lamp post tree tree tree lamp post tree tree [no tree] lamp post tree tree tree lamp post SIGN BOARD tree tree tree lamp post tree tree tree lamp post tree tree tree lamp post tree tree tree lamp post tree tree tree lamp post tree tree [no tree] lamp post SIGN BOARD bougainvillea bougainvillea bougainvillea l-l-l-liiiiiiiine LONGKANG fern fern fern fern fern fern fern tree tree tree lamp post tree tree tree lamp post tree tree tree lamp post tree tree tree lamp post tree tree tree lamp post tree tree tree lamp post l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-line SIGN BOARD. tree tree tree lamp post tree tree tree lamp post tree tree tree lamp post BUS STOP.

this was the game that nadya and i played on the 190 home. we were both tired, zonked and thoroughly pissed at the very unfulfilling Expedition To Town. hours spent there only brought us to the conclusion that we were not:
rich
pretty
thin
tall
with-a-cute-boy
rich
carefree
gorgeous
tall
thin
rich
enough. as you can see, it really was a vicious cycle; sometimes i don't even know why put myself through such torment. it is a very effective way of forgetting om all things true deep depthful ommm and meaningful.

anyway, i digress.

the two of us were sitting on the steps of the bus when it had reached the highway and we started counting motorcyles that passed us by and it was thoroughly upset when there were no more 2-wheeled vehocles for me to count. then nadya started mis-labelling the road plants as hibiscus and i pontificatingly corrected her. 'they are bougainvilleas, my dear nadalala', said I. she nodded with utter serious-ity and we started chanting the above.

today, we learnt that being singapore, roadside greenery is very well planned. we have no less and no more than THREE trees in between ONE working lamp post. however, there is an exception when there happens to be a SIGN POST before the lamp post, in which we will then only have TWO trees. also, sometimes, the bougainvilleas are nothing but scraggly leaves on twigs so all you see is the longkang. and behind that, the supposed 'wild' foliage consists generally of ferns, a few vines and heart-shaped leaves.

we have also discovered that we can appoximately gauge the speed of the moving bus by taking note of the increasing or decreasing speed of our chant. when the trees, lamp posts, occasional signposts and whee construction work provided diversity[!] moved faster/slower, we had to change the speed of our chant to keep up and hence and therefore, we can safely conclude that the bus driver had in fact, changed the pressure of his foot against the accelerator pedal. we however, were not able to determine the CAUSE of this change because well, we were not able to see from our positions. if we were to actually move in front of the bus to gather said data, we would have lost our favourable positions and therefore, wrecking the entire experiment.

and my mother says i did nothing educational today. pbbt!

........................................

on another note, i have found my soulmate today in a gorgeous tan blazer-ish jacket that i've been searching for eons from um, zara. i will like to appeal to the masses to help me unite with this beautiful creature; please, donate with utmost generosity.

today's Playlist: 'n sync and backstreet boys.

yes i have the cds and yes, i was listening to them. hah say what you want but the reason why they were pop is because the songs were engineered to be catchy and fun.

pbbt!

honestly, i'd rather listen to my olde boyband cds than the hip-hop trash dominating all the channels of music recently. here i again shall emphasize how much i cannot stand this invasion! in the car, i listen to *croons* Gold 90 FM because both Power98 and Perfect10 are playing some generic mainstream rapper. they're like UFOs. unidentifiable because they all sound the same *seethes*

and mtv, thank you so very much for filling my screen with images of flashy cars, gaudy bling-bling and girls wearing expensive fragments of cloth. i have learnt that to be happy and be -what do they say now?- ah, phat, i must have an ugly boyfriend wearing more jewellery than my entire family has with a huge car that probably consumes so much petrol, it only serves to aggravate the whole crude oil crisis. and of COURSE, i must learn to dress like a whore. whee mammary glands and gluts!

how can they pass this off as hip-hop culture? like kiss my friggin, wholly covered, and non-gyrating arse.

this is not culture. this is cheap trashy marketing. if you're going to take over the airwaves and screentime, at least give me Quality! i do not appreciate being bombarded with attempts of brain-washing and marketing. what i cannot stand i suppose is the degree of blatent-ness. it's so in-your-face, its offensive. because after all, being the consumers, the media is always trying to sell something to us whether its an actual tangible product or an idea or lifestyle, but with the way the media is using hip-hop as it's new medium, i feel like its being slammed right into my face. there is no choice, it is THERE.

this is not very fair is it? i turn on the radio, its there. tv, ditto. i go orchard and i see all the deluded wannabes in their over-priced clothes rattling of the lingo, pretending as if their in some kind of music video.

i feel like going up to them and telling them to WAKE UP. is it because they have no identity of their own that they cling on to this ready-made, instant image? to be fair, there are those who really are into the actual culture and the -do i dare say it?- art that is hip-hop but the buggers who parade around in their fake Von Dutch shirts and baseball jerseys without ever touching a baseball in their life augh.

and if the guys are not bad enough with their disturbing affinity for jewellery and loping around like the hal-evolved apes they are, the GIRLS. oh geez, where do i begin? ah yes, i know.

COVER UP.

who am i specifically directing this to? the minahs. i need other adjectives apart from 'trashy' and 'cheap', help me here.

what is wrong with everybody? or more logically, the malfunction must be with me since the general masses seem to like mainstream hip-hop music pretty fine. meanwhile, i will be huddling in a corner of my room listening to my robbie wiliams[!], britney cds and other non-hiphop stuff. yay pop indie um um bollywood! anything but the Eville One and it's equally schizophreni

fortunately, not everything has been corrupted by market-driven said genre. i am safe. there's still buffy, the Simpsons..harry potter. although i would bet somewhere out there some uber idiot who deserves to rot wrote a incredibly bad piece that was made worse with draco etc using terminology like,

'yo, homey. check out my phat new ride, its' the Nimbus 4500.'
'woah, that's [insert weird term here] dawg.'

ahahahahaha i crack myself up! at the same time, i have succeded in providing myself material for several nights worth of nightmares. *shudders* ...what would dumbledore wear? or auugh, snape.

my sister should not be allowed to choose the communal toilettries that we use.

grk, for some reason, she ALWAYS chooses the wrong thing. she is a total slave to advertising and marketing - she actually believes that we'll orgasmically scream yes! yes! yesss! when we use clairol's shampoo because augh how many times have i told her that it is just simply CRAP.

at least, that's the theory i have come up with to explain her lack of om wisdom in choosing bath soaps. om om i must teach her poor naive 12-year old soul. because i'm too lazy to buy my own stuff cuz when i do, she'll end u using it anyways.

but zenith of her lack of wisdom-osity has led me to this uberly annoyed state. ona grocery shoping trip with mudder dearest, she got us a nice new bottle of shower gel. it is an appealing fruity green and boasts aromatherepy benefits which again is good, i do like ylang ylang and such. like, yay man.

however, my sister chose something that essentially smells like. . . car air freshener. you know that sickening, over-powering, nausea inducing citrus scent? the one that plague taxis, making me hold my breath as long as possible? yes, that one.

and woe is me because today, my facial wash was for some reason in my room and not in its usual place beside the shampoo. typically, i was too lazy to run out to get it but i could not bear the thoughtof not washing my face, i would just feel so icky and uh, incomplete. but whatever, bimbotic idiosyncrasies another topic for another day.

so i had to wash my face with said shower gel and now my face smells like car air freshener. whee.

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oh hey, here's a survey.

generous readers out there, please, spare a few minutes and recall:

what aura was i giving out when you first saw me?

this is very muchos important for um, scientific research. your lack of participation may cause the dolphins to die and the aliens to come leading to the sad conclusion of the earth spontaneously combusting. *nods with absolute serious-osity*

............................................

i have not written in a long time.

blogging and the occasional school composition is all i've done this year, which is very sad really. i am for the record, never venturing into poetry EVER again *shudders*. the writing is fine, it's when you read what you've written that i cringe painfully and pray that the ground will swallow me to take me on an educational trip through hell. hopefully, that would teach me permanently never to write poetry again.

thing is, i have all these incomplete and half-baked ideas that never get the oppurtunity to be fleshed out because of the very lame excuse of insufficient time. bugger.

another point is that i almost fear writing a full length prose thingymajig because uh, i recently have been a rather harsh self-critic and opening this door might be rather detrimental to me already fluctuating self-esteem hoho.

exactly the same reason why i refuse to take an IQ test. recently in class [edit: hmm. actaully its only nadya but she's so loud its like the whole class hurhur] has been harping on IQ scores and well, i took a test last time and my score was [insert three digits here] and general pondering of where to take said IQ tests.

i do not want to.

i repeat, in case somebody in alaska has not heard, I DO NOT WANT TO. i have no interest in finding out my IQ largely because of the same self-centered ego reason [which i think is what pushes people to take these tests] except that in my case, it is the reverse. oh yes, of course, there is Curiosity. that's what everyone says. but well, excuse me, that's how the cat was killed and having recently seen an actual one, i do not wish to be that dead cat.

and besides, i have these niggling thoughts which whisper eville thoughts about my probable declining intelligence. evidence can be found in dipping quality of work. hmm. they say that every conversation you have increases or decreases you IQ by a few points. i wonder which egoistic genius came up with that theory. although at the same time, hypocritically of course, i wonder whether said hypothesis has a basis of truth. basis? of course it does. but is it ALL true in all situations and case studies?

interesting. interesting indeed.

What Happened This Morning.

there was a cat lying down beside a tree just outside the school. it was rather cute. white fur, and brownish-grey spots. i said hi. it didn't respond. i wondered why it was sleeping so early in the morning.

it's eyes were open. pretty blue eyes, i peered in. strange, why are its eyes not tracking? and why is it so glazed?

-silence as we realize the stillness of its torso-

i prod it with a stick. it was hard.


and dead.

it is uncanny. in my last post, i said something about giving up on searching for euphoria and instead just valuing simple happiness. and that's what i had yesterday.

the morning started HORRID though. i was uber rotten because i left the house fuming at my mum and there i was, seething when i got up the bus and i realized that all the other BPians were wearing their house Ts and i was in my full uniform! i felt so stupid and proceeded to call my friends and finally ONE of them actually picked up their phone and i found out that i was supposed to at school 15 minutes earlier.

augh.

and then we were late for assembly cuz we weren't sure where it was being held and were detained by the supremely eville and sneering Develline Ee. how i loathe her. she was a sore sight in top to toe maroon. i think she's taken the whole 'maroon is the new In colour!' thing to far. and it was a nylon tracksuit no less *shudders*

but yay jolynn managed to find me a purrrple house T to wear so *beams* no more trouble. and at the last moment, randomly, i remembered that i kept a pair of shorts in the art room so i then proceeded to the field, safely looking like everyone else to do cheesy line dancing.

and the thing with cheese is that taken with a generous amount of sodium chloride, it actually ends up fun because we were all fumbling and making up our own cheesiER dance moves complete with Muppet arms so that too was a barrel of laughs. then at the end of it, we gathered abumch of our classmates and did an impromptu mongolian circle dance as a tribute to our ex-form teacher, mr kuek. it meant a lot to us because some timep back, he had taken a lot of effort [he's usually a lzy bum kinda person hurhur] to book the laptop, carry it up four storeys and *gasp* plug in all the confoosing wires to show us this looong and painfully boring video of mongolian people dancing in a circle. basically, he wanted us to perform it for teacher's day and was a direct hint at us to you know, mend broken relantionships with each other because i suppose for quite some time, our class has been pretty divided. he was beaming at us when he saw the whole bunch of us, clique-less, chortling and poking fun at ourselves.

and the actual dance [swing dance thing] that we put up for the concert went surprisingly smooth [or as smooth as it can get] because even the day before, everything was still rather messed-up and timing was waaay off. *sighs* and i just received the video of our performance and am really just happy. cheers everyone, am so proud of ya! who knows? maybe we'll win the Most Entertaining thingy and get a hamper of junkfood for us to gorge on!

after school, we [ie. matthew, charmaine and i] trooped of to slack around cuz it was his BIRTHDAAAAY and that was uber mega fun too. we ended up bypassing the inoriginal original idea of drinking over-priced coffee hybrids and dropped into chijmes to check out the architecture that i've always loved.

stained glass and spiral staircases nice nice.

we randomly went to jason's and scoured the shelves for unknown food items. the japanese really have gross stewed veggie things. but of course, the cubes of blue cheese swimming with squishy olives in disturbingly murky liquid took the Gross Factor award. and we found out that matthew's favourite childhood food was uh, canned spaghetti+cocktail sausages.

an over-priced lunch at this soup and salad place but it was fine anyway because the cushioned stools were cushy and supported our bottoms muchos well and they played nice oldies music. the potato salad was weird though and matthew's dislike for onions reared its head again. hah i promptly pointed this out because earlier on, he had said my queasiness at the sight of dairy products was weird. *snerk* what can onions do to to you, may i ask? at least i have an ACTUAL problem. i have *dramatic pause* lactose intolerency. HAH! he is the sad irrational git snerky snerk not moi.

and the conversations was typically funnily Random and and oh oh oh i found out about the existence of a certain lurid video of a certain someone *PERVY LAUGH* i am however unsure about wanting to see it though. do i, or do i not? that is the seemingly unneccesary question. oh what the heck, matthew, you better somehow find it and /then/ i'll decide whether i want it or not mwahahahahahahahaha.

ditching the citilink way of going to the esplanade, we trooped of into the balmy outdoors. we walked through matthew's church and went saga seed hunting charmaine who i think, might be colour-blind cuz she walked over the things while looking for it hurhur. and then we discussed the merits of long swishy straight hair ie. charmaine's while she tried to defend my more, ah yes, medusa-ish *flashes big WHATEVER fingers at the whole world* but she should not have bothered. there is no hope of trying to convince the male species against something that i think, may be genetically embedded.

we dissed this installation 'art' piece at the E, it was basically a bunch of painted bamboo poles and honestly, looked like what might be the setting backdrop for those gongfu movies if the were on an anorexic budget. pfft! the same to a couple of those singapore Lions around, some were just shoddy. tsk tsk. we went to the library where i bemoaned my lack of musical ability which is hah linked to the same ineptness at all things mathematical. ah ho hum, pig's bum. at least i haven't managed to crack any glass items yet with my singing =
we snuck up the barricaded [under reconstruction] escalator to the terrace thing but the doors were locked, pfft! ah well, so went to the riverside and counted the crabs on the rocks. at first there were only two but quite suddenly, it was like Invasion of the Alien Crabs. there were so many and who would have thought they actually existed in so urban a place?

sadly and guiltily, i started thinking of my mum's crab laksa though.

it was really nice weather, just a bit shady the way i like it with a breeze and it felt just so zen sitting there with my closest-est friends. i didn't want to go home at all. but like we said later on, our afternoon was a paradigm of escapism and bleargh, we had to return to the Real World. that's just the sad way things work. on the way back though, we came up with brill ideas.

- coming up with my own line of stationery [we were at the uber over-priced notebook place and i was cooing over this really pretty one and then realized it looked kinda similar to what i do] the wheels in my head have been turning and thoughts have been churning, not unlike the way they make cheese. urgh squirmy.
- Gatsbying matthew's hair! hohohohoho. this if anything comes ou if it, will be muchos fun. charmaine and i have a great task about our hands.

and so end the tale of the Afternoon and we live not so happily ever after, but it is okay. The End.