i had planned for myself a rather calm day today. shopping with an unexpectedly stubborn person ("let's do it the girl way") and the usual starbucks trip with buddies.

but oh no.

to cap(!) it all off, we had to watch a flick. and since the squinting-at-subtitles french movie wasn't out yet, and i kinda only like jim carrey slapstick, we did not watch that no paddle seth green thing or hurrah shark tale.

saw was a fabbity fab fab flick that was freaky-deaky sick twisted morbid psychotic unexpected and really, just OMF. on the "WHOA Scale", i would rate it 5 times better than the 6th Sense; which comparatively is absolutely tame when taking all the gore into consideration.

gore izyanti?, you ask, but i thought you usually don't like all that fake blood.

well yes i still don't like it when its senseless. it gets tiring when blood is splattered and spewed over and over again with the same old usual boring cheesy tacky male-driven gun fight. can i say, yawn? it's redundant, unneccesary and on the whole just sensationalism to get the testosterone driven to buy over-priced tickets, and over-priced poofed corn kernals and an over-priced tank of soda that will corrode your innards.

but this movie however, the gore i thought complemented the flick. it wasn't just a marketing tool or a way to spend millions of dollars in movie production. it was carefully calculated to heighten the terror felt as the plot twists turns and entangles until you feel like you're going to die.

which is why, in a sick way and i honestly never thought i would hear myself saying this, i actually appreciated the gore. it was not silly, nor excessive - it was part of the story-telling. it did freak me out, and i will probably have a few shadows of it in my dreams to come but well, it's also really handle-ble. c'mon it's OUR censorship board!

sadly, i have this tendency to overlook the director but this flick was really a notable one. the pace and tension was built up with such precision, that it kinda just grabs you and holds you and you don't even realize that you're actually in a very near semblance to terror or at the least, intense fear.and the level of confusion that the director managed to maintain was just right so that it didn't become predictable or 'uh, whaaaat?' - just enough so that when added to the fear, it became this heady potent mix that made the adrenaline feel so much more colder. i could taste mine.

the plot is so layered, it's like jennifer aniston's old hair cut oh haha.

but most of all, i like the way the uber intense plot handles the voyeurism theme so effingly well. it goes beyond the first or secondary character, it's in the minor characters as well which i realized while i was delving through the scenes on the bus trip home. its honestly a wonderfully wriiten, VERY original screenplay.

so go on, watch it. i don't say this often, but it was worth my $8.50.












(whaaaat, that's half a cd you know!)

i realized today that in moments of tension anxiety and mild unsettlement, my face becomes contorted into that patented 'constipated rupert grint as Ron Weasley look'.





















hmm.

something i want more than the Zen micro, something that i will want forever and ever and ever and ever and ever:

i want to be brilliant.





it would be wonderful i think, to be that enthrallingly intelligent. and not for the reason that mugging would automatically become redundant, but for the simple reason that when you're brilliant, everything is more or less easier. you can do anything at all, the world is at your feet. and if you're not the world-domination sort, it is at the least you're very own stage. to be that uber talented in that one thing that you adore, nothing else would matter even if you were damn fugly.

the exception to this of course, would be to be unloved. that possibly is much much worse than being un-brilliant.

the beauty of brilliance is success, and by this, i do not mean sheer monetary or career success. what i want is the ease and assurance that whatever you do does not suck. although thinking about it now, being brilliant does not mean a lack of self-conscious perfectionism. i want to be brilliant because then i will never have to worry about sounding stupid as i am wont to do, or producing works that at first i find pretty decent then in retrospect, find that it belongs in the damned grime of the trash.

for example, i read through one of the prose pieces i did, furiously editted and re-printed it out. i then took the old copy, stuck my gum in it and is now awaiting trash removal. i hate the way that in the end, i always hate what i have done. and really, hate is NOT too strong a word to describe this.

what makes this want for brilliance worse is being surrounded by the brilliant. i suppose 'surrounded' would be an exaggeration (whaaaaat? don't kill me!), but it is enough to have a few friends or acquaintences (i can't even spell this!) who are truly of above-average intelligence. It is enough for me to make sufficient comparison and thereby making a conclusion that i could never be like them. i do not think brilliance is something that can be acquired really, you either have it or you don't. talent is another thing of course, likewise maturity and insight that is gained through normal living. this would mean then, that brilliance is absolutely unattainable and therefore, I MUST HAVE IT. oh haha.

i suppose i am just being wistful.

i am worried by my need to seek approval.

think happy thoughts think happy thoughts think happy thoughts think happy thoughts think happy thoughts think happy thoughts think happy thoughts think happy thoughts think happy thoughts

can't fly without the fairy dust. ho hum pig's bum i feel a spurtt of incoherence coming on, i should run off before this incoherence is converted into a tangible form. ah too late. i want to write, i really do but every time i try i can't. the first block is the habit i have of dismissing a lot of ideas because i think their immature or cliched. the second one that i face is more scary.

it is like the principal compared to someone who actually makes sense like ms tay. the principal yabbers on and on and really you've heard it before and you wish you could throw it into those old rubber boots that always surface on bad fishing days, but you can't because unfortunately what she says applies to life. so you nod and hmm and aah just to pass the time, because this phase does not matter much since it is expected and well, more dismiss-able.

the second roadblock is the scarier one because what is being said actually makes sense. and you can see no way out of it, because it is all True. there is no loophole to wiggle your way through! and this block is the mere fact that i have no experience. i have not lived nor seen the world, not really. what have i been doing this past few years?

child, daughter, student and teenager.

which honestly, is not much. and you know, you write what you know. and when you don't know much, well that's a very small box i'm stuck in! how exactly am i supposed to venture out of the genres when i know nuts? and i do not think i could write a discourse on the merits of pistachios instead of walnuts and macadamia nuts and why chestnuts are not nuts, they are CORMS.

a solution would be to write fantasy, but i am very horrid with plotlines, and so it would most probably result in a one-track page filler. which i suppose is a start. except that I don't take fantasy seriously. it's a good example of fiction i agree, but i find it difficult to put it under literature. i do not know why, i just find realistic prose resonates more for me. it could also be why i really like B&W photos more than coloured ones.

and you know, i don't actually mind speaking malay. i just hate speaking it in the company of people who know how rare such a moment is. because it makes me uncomfortable when it is pointed out, and when it brings laughter even when i know its friendly. ah yes, i know why. i hate having this weakness being pointed out. because god knows i hate being seen as weak.

which brings to mind this cassandra claire Dravo Veritas quote:
"i can't use sex to get what i want, sex is what i want!"

oops wrong one.

mmkay, found it; ginny says this to him
"You despise weakness, and that means you're capable of real cruelty towards the helpless, and you despise your own weakness most of all"

which i find true of me as well, cassandra claire has managed to articulate why i loathe some people with such a vengeance. oh bravo! this is why i love her dearly.

past few days have been fun. two very very fruitful shopping trips to town.

items bought

• a really nice viridian green kint top.
• this oh so funkay bangle.
• does my spongebob tee count?
• a very very nice sky/grass print zipped bag thing
• mystery gift for someone (i)
• mystery gift for someone (ii)
• canvas-es for painting!
• ribbon and lace from spotlight for this-and-that
• brother's birthday present.
• photo album for myself (plain black cloth bound!)
• 2005 calendar organizer.

hmm. a uncomfortably long list.

more things that i have to get

• mystery gift for someone (iii)
• mystery gift for someone (iv)
• smaller mystery x'mas tokens for close buddies (vi)
• bits and pieces to complete above-mentioned mystery gifts.
• good black pinstripe pants.
• a funkay tote bag.
• a hair cut.
• The Creative Zen Micro.

i however do take comfort in the fact that at least i'm not buying things ALL for myself. but anyway, PLEASE fund my chronic shopping spree-ing, i do not think my NETS card can take it any longer, even though considering i had deposited all current Hari Raya Funds inside said bank account. oh no, i cannot afford this lifestyle. and maybe it'snot so bad because even though i buy a lot (for me anyway), i reaaaally try not to get overly expensive stuff.

i was at funan today with gennie, and we ran into a model of the Zen Micro. of course, i have already wanted it since it first came out. but holding it in my palm (yes, only my palm), it fit so beautifully and perfectly that i think i was actually experiencing momentary lust for that beautiful thing. granted design-wise, it is not quite as gorgeous as the iPod, but then again i am getting sick of the latter's persistent advertizing and now rather annoying VERY simple capabilities. and now i am reading online reviews of the Zen Micro, and it is generally..how do you say? WONDERFUL. in fact, they rate it better than the iPod Mini! *swoons* http://www6.head-fi.org/forums/showthread.php?t=93151

I MUST HAVE IT.

cue momentary (hopefully) period of angst:

a few weeks ago, i was sure what i wanted to do, my plans post-Os and post-secondary school were cemented in concrete. haha kill me somebody. i suppose this only confirms it once again that concrete is not that permanent after all.

then i put aside the ? that ended everything by telling myself that it doesnt matter, we shall get through the Os first, and then we'll settle it. except now, it IS after the Os - and in a few days i'll need to have made my decision and pray that it's not a mistake. it worries me the most, making a mistake. and my plans for this-and-that after the Os feel strange because suddenly, I HAVE A LOT OF TIME. i can do what i want, and this sudden onslaught of 'freedom' is just strange. it thrilled me yesterday, realizing that i could go out the next day, and the next, and the next, and the next. but now it just daunts me, because i am not having a schedule of mugging and school-based activities imposed on me.

for the first time, i can actually do what i want (well, kinda. but enough).

oh and i ran into kass today in town! so, is the mrt busking thingamajig still on? ho hum, pig's bum. ENTERTAIN ME so i won't have to think. oh wow the moon looks positively creepy tonight. the partially clud covered, eerily yellow-orange glowing kind from B-grade horror flicks.

i will not allow myself to devolve into a non-active blob of a thing during the holidays.

yes this is all i have to say about the OVER-NESS OF MY O LEVELS.

ugh the people at tag-board are all doofi. its down, yet again. i think someone must have spilled coffee over their server. or maybe donut crumb got into the machine and did funny electrical things that messed everything up. or maybe a wild orgy was held the night before and in all the heaving and um, squirming, someone knocked a very Important Wire loose.

oh i don't know. but it is very annoying, am almost tempted to get it changed. fortunately for the blokes at tag-board, my chemistry exam starts in a few hours, so i really should not be here. and, i have a general tummy ache and its not a good situation to go twiddling around with html code.

why do i have a tummy ache? this does not make any sense, i did not eat any dairy products -wait, there was that slice of cheese, but that's usually quite okay. and i was having quite a healthy diet yesterday ow ow okay i IREALLY have to go shit there, much better. so anyway! what i ate yesterday included very little of those yummy red chips that i usually gorge on and LOTS of raisins. raisins, i tell you! its the snack that all health books talk about, the snack that mother's tell their blonde blue-eyed children to eat in prettily illustrated kiddie books.

i do not understand the workings of my bowel system. other than the fact that it may be more temperemental than me im woken up half way from a muchly needed nap, hungry and the person who woke me up is my very annoying brother.

i am picky about the raisins i eat. yesterday, i found a bit of raisin-fied leaf in the box, in addition to all the disturbingly dark and rottish looking raisins. they are small, discoloured and squishier than usual and i REFUSE to eat them. so i only eat those that are a nice unblemished yellow or golden. its just that the spotty ones look really..unedible.

this idiosyncratic behaviour got me thinking about all the other weird habits that we have. like when i iron my uniform, i strictly strictly iron the collar first, then the sleeves, the shoulder bits, then the left front panel, back, and then finally the right front panel. i do not know why. same for the way i get dressed. always bottoms first, and any other way just seems weird. which is why i was left disturbed watching my sister dress for school. she, like everybody normal, put on her blouse first - it was the pinafore bit that was strange. she put it on from the bottom, and who does that? not only is it weird, but it is also against logic because well, the blouse will get crumpled under the pinafore, which is uncomfy.

maybe it's because she's a lefty.

in accordance to my theory that fungus, fungi and doofus, doofi - is anus, ani? sounds even too strange for me. and i can't think of any other -us words, such is the limit of my sad brain.

I can't sleep tonight
Everybody saying everything's alright
Still I can't close my eyes
I'm seeing a tunnel at the end of all these lights
Sunny days
Where have you gone?
I get the strangest feeling you belong

Why does it always rain on me?
Is it because I lied when I was seventeen?
Why does it always rain on me?
Even when the sun is shining
I can't avoid the lightning

I can't stand myself
I'm being held up by invisible men
Still life on a shelf whenI got my mind on something else

Sunny days
Where have you gone?
I get the strangest feeling you belong

Why does it always rain on me?
Is it because I lied when I was seventeen?
Why does it always rain on me?
Even when the sun is shining
I can't avoid the lightning

Oh, where did the blue skies go?
And why is it raining so?
It's so cold
I can't sleep tonight

Everybody saying everything's alright
Still I can't close my eyes
I'm seeing a tunnel at the end of all these lights
Sunny days
Where have you gone?
I get the strangest feeling you belong

Why does it always rain on me?
Is it because I lied when I was seventeen?
Why does it always rain on me?
Even when the sun is shining
I can't avoid the lightning

Oh, where did the blue skies go?
And why is it raining so?
It's so cold
Why does it always rain on me?

- Travis.

i have always loved this song, although its very embarassing to admit that i only realized it's by travis while scouring through limewire. its one of those songs that automatically come to mind when you're wondering around alone, it's plaintive tune fitting those moods when you're just simply taking an observatory role in the world.

yes, my limewire is back up and running. i am happy, because i have a chock load of new songs. which i swear, is the reason why i'm online so often, i'm listening to all the sparkling brand-new songs. why not burn them into a cd, you ask. well, because among the songs, i'm sure some of them suck or are damaged, and its such a waste to burn a spoiler into a cd. i'm not as neurotic as charmaine in this area, but it does leave me considerably annoyed. feed my music junkie; send me songs when you see me online!

sometimes i fear that i have not been taking my O's seriously enough. which admittedly, is quite a belated admission, since mine ends in a day or so. i feel quite calm about it, and no..passion in mugging. i see people adrenaline-charged in their mugging spree, powered by panic. and me, there simply is no panic. but this is not to say im nonchalent.

i'm taking it as if it's just another exam but it's not, is it?

Things to Do After the O's

• movie marathons
• beach picnic at sentosa
• plan class chalet
• take up pottery classes
• AsiaMediaFestival
• work on writing/art portfolio
• shopping in 'town'
• shopping not in 'town'
• madCAP outing
• gallery thing with gennie (come with us!)

i think i am just bored.

ENTERTAIN ME.

even having a crush doesn't keep me amoosed anymore, because i know myself so well so i know exactly how it will turn out. musings and imaginary conversations get tiring because between the happy daze is the simple and bare truth that it will never happen because i will never do anything.

and i would rather risk death by boredom than tell.

on another note, is it possible to feel tired by a friendship? it gets..difficult, because of the constant effort to accomodate each other. because both try so hard to keep it going despite everything and the constant non-contact. i am not used to working at something, friendships have always been spontaneous. i have fun with those who are there, and those who aren't - i usually accept it and let it go. except in this case, of course it can't be just let go. it would be ridiculous to. but it has come to a point that we both hardly know anything about each other's current going-ons, and i feel the strong inclination to point a very angry finger at the bloody exams. IT IS ALL YOUR FAULT THAT THIS FRIENDSHIP IS WITHERING AWAY. and what makes this situation even worse is that friends who are not as close, now know more about me than said friend. which goes against logic, although it is logical.

it is an un-fun situation. i hate socially difficult moments, and i think its safe to say that this is a long drawn out one.

hello all. i shall amaze you lot with the extent of my scattered brain as succintly proved by today's art exam.

half an hour into the exam, i looked at the clock and swiftly decided all right, i shall start the painting now and looked calmly around my desk for my paint set. peering under the debrus consisting of numerous sheets of A3 paper and other art junk, i realized with equal calmness that said paint box is not with me. how strange, i muttered and proceeded to raise my hand. with a very apologetic smile, i told the invigilator that i think i left it in my bag, may i please go get it?

and so i did.

the bag was opened, and all i saw was the usual bag detritus; loose papers, the occasional pen cap, sweet wrappers and biscuit crumbs. and no paint. by this time, i had of course lost all coherent thought. flashing red lights that morse coded PANIC.

considering that what i was doing consisted largely of acrylic, and that i had only a measly set of colour pencils (which i hate), it was a very very very very bad situation. this i'm telling you, karmic retribution. i'm not sure what i did wrong, but it must have been something bad! how incredibly doofus-y can you get?? i brought everything, especially all the inane and unneccesary stuff like said loathed colour pencils and tracing paper BUT I FORGOT TO BRING THE PAINT. i had actually stopped halfway down the stairs from the car park to re-check whether i had brought the SINGLE bottle of matte black poster paint, but i forgot to bring the entire BOX of paints.

d'oh!

but i suppose i have not been that eville, because i managed to convince the invigilator to scurry down to my art teacher to get me a box from the art room. seriously, that was too close a call for my liking.

i might be turning into angeline wong.

also, i realize with much regret that i should have bothered to study for only less than 2 hours (and not even that because most of the time was spent giggling chortling hysterically laughing - but more on that anon) for social studies because HEY I DID WELL FOR HISTORY TODAY. although i have to specify that here we're talking about my standard of 'well' which by ordinary and expected standards, is not actually 'well' at all. in fact, it is quite ill.

wait - i have to stab myself in the eye for that last line.

and nadalala (yes nadya huang yanyan of 406) kissed the Principal today. a historic and um, frightful event indeed. mark it down in all your calanders, kiddies! hopefully, this event shall remain a thing of the past, and will not occur in the unforeseen future. i fear that her lips might be severely damaged by the scrubbing with industrial handsoap detergent (euchy stuff!) that ensued afterwards. but then again, damaged lips could keep her quiet. is it worth it, do you think?

according to charmaine lee yun hua, when i blush, it starts with my nose before spreading to my cheeks, other facial regions before finally conquering my ears. O what i would do to be a delicate blushing english rose - but no, i am more of rudolf the red-nosed reindeer. tis very sad, and more importantly, very ugly. even more disturbingly, why do i have reindeer DNA? such are the things that will keep me awake tonight.

events that are described in the following may not be very accurate due to dilute emotions of euphoria that enveloped the writer. think of her poor brain addled by endorphins: for a moment in the library today, i think someone might have figured it out. it is a hunch, but a scary one - like the hunchback of Notre Dame's deformity. i do not think i shall elaborate, because the the little details that i have are already very fuzzy. But the point here is, i think if anyone finds out, i will
a) be mortified at my ineffective disguise of affection. the thought of me being unknowingly obvious is the peak of utter embarrassment.
b) and from such onslaught of severe emotions, i shall die.

i am hyperventilating.

few things get me into this state, and it usually involves an overwhelming onslaught of emotions. and she has managed to do so, once again, better than ever. i don't quite know how she does it, but she does every single time, and this hit is the worst yet.

CASSANDRA CLAIRE, I LOVE YOU!

how i adore thee so, love's night is noon! thank you for draco thank you thank you thank you. DV 15 is out! it could very well be my unstable hormones, but this half-chapter is possibly the most heart-wrenching yet. i could ramble on and on, but i think a single word would suffice

beautiful.

Has been a long time since I blogged. Which is already a surprise – what makes it a bigger shocker is the fact that it’s not as if I have not been online. I have, unfortunately, numerous times. Several times a day, at times! The point is, I have nothing that I want to blog about.

I hope this does not mean a dry spell induced by the 0’s.

The funny thing is, there is of course a LOT to write about. The whole examination process, for example. Lots and lots of stress and drama there. It is just that after blog-hopping, I start feeling whatever I have to say will either be
- redundant/pointless/waste of space
- verily incoherent, lacking eloquence and basically, sounding very immature compared to the better blogs out there.

Which is why I refuse to comment on the american elections.

But anyway, its making me wonder, what exactly is the point of me blogging? Though I am thankfully, not a complete waste of space like the blogs that painfully go over inane details of their day, mine is nothing particularly outstanding either. Its presence means nothing, its absence would mean nothing either. To be honest, I am starting to feel very silly when blogging. I suppose it is rather presumptuous to think that people actually are interested with what I have to stay. I could stop, I don’t feel the urge to blog anymore (read: novelty has faded). Currently, there is nothing in my life that is particularly interesting and I would rather stab myself in the eye than spill details of too often moments of angst.

I might have out-grown my blog.

This has nothing to do with the privacy issue, of feeling your blog isn’t what it used to be because of the guaranteed readership. Even if I were to start a anonymous and private blog, it would serve no purpose because the main point being ranted here is..what?

Ah yes. I am not sure why I blog.

If it could be more prolific as a 'writer', I suppose that would be a purpose. If I could produce mature in-depth witty scathing commentary on the world around us, I suppose that would be serve as a purpse too. So once again, mediocrity has become the issue of the day.

this is my 250th entry on this blog. a cause for celebration, indeed. party and balloons people, everyone help themselves to generous tagging!

i had a fairly unusual moment while writing this entry. i looked out the window, and the sky was blue. no no i have not been suddenly cured from colour blindness, nor a chronic bout of navel-gazing. the thing is, i have been on the computer, (my buttocks cry for mercy from this uncomfortable chair) from 3 am. and as we all know, the sky is dark during that period of the morning and the next thing i knew, it was BLUE.

it was DISCONCERTING.

my usual computer habits see the blue sky darken, not the other way round! augh augh augh.

perhaps, it is just my sleep deprivation. or the trauma taking effect after seeing john travolta blubbing like a wuss on oprah. wherefore art thou, my trim and charismatic danny zukoe? hidden underneath all that excess flesh, i suppose.

oh look. everyone should be arriving at school now. and i'm still sitting here in my pajamas. somehow the pleasure usually felt during this situation has been numbed by the need for sleep. kingshaw and hooper can die for all i care. take a nice swim in the bloody pond. hey, they ought to drag helena kingshaw too. hopefully, she'll get attacked a rabid mass of leeches. then she'll know what it's like to be her HAH. and joseph hooper? well, he's H2O intolerant so no watery fun for him.

meanwhile, mrs boland and fielding shall revive that nasty old tractor and bulldoze down Warings. and yes, i do know that only bulldozers bulldoze. but then again what do tractors do, track? in conclusion, i think i'll do the dozing before i drive myself into an incoherent shamble.

*peers around* is it safe for me to come out yet?

how very annoying it is when overly vindictive people have the tendency to over-react. and for like, 5 whole minutes - ah scrap that. i was going to launch a discourse on how my blog does not feel safe anymore for me to expose my *sobs* truly vulnerable self in ranty tirades but i have decided not to care. it is very bothersome.

it is true that now that we (blogger and i) have a faithful readership consisting of my friends and assorted acquaintances *waves*, i no longer have an avenue to privately and more importantly, anonymously bitch about the little annoyances that plague life. a price to pay i suppose. this could in the long-term, if in extreme conditions, cause me to develop into a full blown misanthrope.

but you know, recently, discussing my feelings leaves a very sour and bitter after taste in my mouth. even when i'm thinking too myself. it is rather strange because i actually used to be a very let's dissect and analyze your feelings why do you think you reacted that way perhaps a childhood trauma or plain old angst kind of person, and now the whole act of combing through any form of reaction that veers to the negative side leaves me cringing. i might be turning into a guy.

maybe in the whole growing my previously boyish hair out so i can later chop it into a funkeh bob, i am translating the outer (maleness just sounds uberly wrong) non-feminity into an inner thing. erk and i'm getting that sour taste again and shall stop this stupid chatter. its a theory, nevertheless.

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

i have finished reading zoe heller's notes on a scandal. remember the author that was recently featured in the newspaper for winning the 2003 Man Booker Prize for her controversial novel about the middle-aged woman sleeping with a teenage boy? and wow, that was a very long sentence. anyway, i actually found it in the CCk library and this, as we all know is impressive enough because this particular library has a rather crappy selection of books. i suppose its because the librarians figured that the minahs/mats who hang out there are not surprise surprise, there for the books.

i figured that the library picked it up (new book *beams*) mainly because it was as mentioned earlier, in the newspaper and for at what at first seems to be a completely sensationalism plot. and i did assume that; a wham bam book revolving around the perverse relantionship. but out of curiousity, i borrowed it.

it is very good. so good that i was cringing throughout the entire read because it was just so painfully poignant. the subtle power plays between the characters were in retrospect, beautifully constructed just because of the subtlety. it gets very annoying when the writer shoves something in your face and she does NOT do this. thank you. the characters, whether major or minor were so complex you can actually feel the threads that make up their personality when you push apart their being as you go through the book. nobody is this OR that, but more of this and that and that too and maybe this as well. the most externally non-descript person in the book can be filled with malice but at the same time, terribly pathetic.

to be honest, the reason why it's moving is because of the patheticness (is that an actual word?) that the characters have. it is so real and horrid that you cringe. you cringe and cringe and cringe but keep on turning the pages and feel like slapping them all out of their delusions and yes my favourite theme, obsessions. the book is ugly in a sense because geez, the writer just loves to explore the ugliness that the humans are capable of in their daily lives. we're not talking about big controversies here, (and the relantionship scandal though pivotal and crucial to the plot is not really what is being discussed) but the little ploys that happen everyday. its a discourse on cruelty.

well, now why does that sound familiar? too much king of the castle and susan hill.

just be glad we don't have to study this for literature. i would die. do not let the fact that it's written in a very dry, non-partial and seemingly stoic tone (read: boring) fool you! this dark thing left me thoroughly disturbed and again in retrospect, should not be read as bedtime reading argh. i had to have a good flip through a forgettable saccharine chick-lit book before sleeping.

thankfully, its only 244 pages long. any longer, i might have just slit my wrist.

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

moving on, What Happened Today.

O Level chemistry practical, it was uh. all right, i guess. i could not do the extension question as expected but the others were fine. sadly, no potassium manganate. i might have failed to mention it before, but i like watching the vivid purple decolourize with vigorous effervescence. so pretty! and uberly cool.

and am i the only one who feels testing for oxygen (yay bigorous effervescence!) with a glowing splint verily awesome? it makes me feel like at hogwarts. glowing stick glowing gloowing *WHOOMPH* flame!

no time to do that today though. augh or ever again! it just dawned on me that today was my last ever ever chemistry practical since even in the small possibility that i go to jc, i will definitely not be taking the science stream. oh oh i mourn. and i didn't even manage to say goodbye. fare thee well bunsen burners tedious titrations precipitate cocktails choking ammonia chlorine gas and stinky damp rags.

i shall save my weeping for later.

so after the practical, we were herded into the hall and detained for another of the Eville principal's tirades masquerading as inspirational speeches. i've always felt she should stuff her snarky smiles and overall fakeness up her arse. with absolute vulgar vehemence, i say this.

today's speech was about the level-wide prelim moderation. she kept on saying this is a gracious act, a favour by the school you do not deserve this you do not deserve this you do not deserve this at ALL. uh huh all right. thank you for treating our fragile adolescent esteems exactly the way with your tender care and concern. and she had the cheek (and this is what makes me uberly furious) to at the ending bit of her talk suddenly change into this cooing incubus. as if she thinks we're that stupid to buy into her act. no OUR RUFFLED FEATHERS WILL NOT BE SMOOTHED DOWN. THEY WILL STAY RUFFLED.

everytime she talks to us, she succeeds in insulting our intelligence. which is the main reason i hate her with every fibre of my being. apparently, she does this to the school staff as well. i wanted to throw my shoe at her. or better still, large pointy things.

the thing is, i actually agree with her. i do not think moderation is fair at all. i do agree that we should not be getting it, and therefore, do not deserve it. but she is so insensitive, such an idiot. so condescending and patronizing. AUGH.

i digress.

moderation i think makes a farce of the entire examination. and despite being sour grapey towards the 6-pointers, i do sympathize with their plight. it is not fair that others too get to be in their elite group because of school policy when they got their marks through sheer hard work. it cheapens the entire thing and even though we know that their unhappiness stems from the very un-noble ego, ah well.

and yet, hypocrisy strikes again. because with the moderation, i get the more decent under-20 l1r5. it makes it easier when relatives ask, despite the ugly niggling feeling. i have not tried it yet, but i expect to feel no more comfortable answering. it is more likely that i shall respond with the oh so typical teenage non-commital grunting/whimper sound.

ngmphh.

but the more significant hypocritical moment here is that with the moderation, they have given me the A2 i deserved for english. HAH they have retracted my failing grade that was so unfairly given to me for my composition, and got the distinction i should have gotten. in this sense, i very obstinately feel like refusing to count this as the moderation. my mother says the above two statements are very presumptious and proud of me to make, and unfortunately i feel compelled to agree with her on this one.

cue the return of that very annoying niggling feeling.

ah, dearie me.

it's getting a bit hot in here with the whole flaming brou-haha (such a funny word, that), isn't it?

but you know, in all the essence of adolescenthood, all i have to say to avoid the 'this is my blog i get to say what i want and up yours pbbt!' rant is whatever. in a few years time, i will have to stop using that word, and i shall rue the moment when that day comes.

in three syllables and hardly any intellectual effort, this single word efficiently manages to dismiss situations that we, being apathetic teenagers

• do not care about
• cannot be bothered to care about
• and most conveniently, do not want to think about.

in fact, i think there was this time during rmun that this girl, while making her speech *gasp* inadvertantly allowed this word to slip into her otherwise, technically flawless delivery. uberly funny i thought, but Boss Guy With Lisp didn't think so.

“Nice summer place, Malfoy. Where’d you spend Christmas? Mordor?”
“Disneyworld, actually, but the resemblance is stronger than you might think.”

- Cassandra Claire.

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

you know what's the annoying thing about having a fever?

it gets very annoying to sleep because you can feel yourself radiating heat despite the fan blowing directly on you AND you make the bed annoyingly warm. which means you consistently have to change position to find a cool spot. which turns (unbearingly) warm in a few minutes.

but i still managed to take a loong extended nap despite the renovation works next door, HAH! i rock. constant drilling and hammering, thou cannot beat me; i shall sleep and sleep and sleep and sleep and sleep.

frighteningly though, i have the worst case of bed-hair ever.

let's dissect the hypocrisy that plagues the world of blogging.

recently, somebody flamed nadalala's blog. she was furious, naturally. somehow though, i didn't think she should have gotten that angry. WHY: because i think that by putting your thoughts on a blog, you are exposing yourself, WILLINGLY even its unintentional. the blogger has every right to say what they want, but on the other pointy tip of the stick, the blog-hopper too has every right to say what she wants and make her commentary because the blogger in her own free will, put it there for the general public. this is the internet after all, where rules are blurred and the lines are not just grey, their dust.

so well the other day, i started randomly blog-hopping, something that i don't usually do. and to add to my spasm of unusual -in all sense of the word- behaviour, i felt compelled to comment and criticize. it's very freeing, really. in a world where you feel bound to the laws of tact and consideration, its refreshing to say whatever you want; but i though it would be a tad cowardly and immature to flame someone just because online, you're invisible.

which is why i again felt compelled to leave a link to those i commented on. it's only fair, really.

which is why, i have this agitated tagger(s) on my tagboard. i'm fine, say what you want. i still stand by what i said and you know what? i think everyone should too. blogs as tools for character-building, kill the meekness in you. hah, now i can tell mother dearest my blogging is educationaly (somewhat). if that's your opinion, stick with it.

i still cannot stand pop masquerading as punk. not that i like punk, its the whole farce that irks me. heck, i can't stand anything that's pretending to be what it's not. like calling the local shows on singapore tv comedy. last i heard, people laugh at comedies.

i still cannot stand the values that rule mainstream hip-hop. thank you, i now know that chunky jewellery and representations of vulgar affluence makes me cool. and that women should only exist for the purpose of displaying their mammary glands and gluteus maximus in skimpy threads of cloth. and to go with the lack of cloth, let's put dignity in the same pile as well! i am so honored that after the years of women's liberation, we have been rightly put in our place -a gyrating trophy in some arse's harem.

i still cannot stand mats/minahs. other than the fact that i think they should try using the dusty brains that im sure has almost-fossilized so they'll stop being mindless drones with their fugly tapered pants, i think they should get a life. actually, hmm. the main reason why i cannot stand them is because of their drone-like quality. i was going to say their noisy and vulgar but geez, we all know that we're kinda like that too. and what is with the no eyebrows rule?? or worse, at school where eyebrow pencil isnt alllowed, they have this 1cm long spurts of hair on their forehead; i saw it upclose once and damn, it was TRAUMA. the mats/minahs even have a uniform to conform to, and it applies to what they do and behave as well. you know, there WAS actually a time when mats/minahs didn't exist in such conformity. so it's possible that they can return to that state! right? AND, being a fellow member of the Malay race, i find their presence in their ridiculous costumes embarassing.

i just let out a enormous sneeze followed by a coughing fit. i think i burst a few cappillaries.

you know, it's hard getting over the complete screwed up-ness of your prelims when everything that everybody's doing revolves around it. just when i thought ' all right. it sucked, but that's ok. i'm just gonna work harder' then i read a blog about someone not entirely happy with their 11-pointer [yes this means you matthew] which makes me feel pretty miserable thinking about my I'm-Not-Going-To-Tell-You L1R5.

grk.

and im currently dissecting my papers, which doesn't make things easier either.

this is a perfect recipe for an unhealthy bout of self-loath, but fortunately i cannot be bothered to go down that tiresome road. i am in angry, frustrated and thoroughly disappointed with myself. in other words, I AM AN ANGSTY ADOLESCENT!

behold world, i shall besiege you with an onslaught of painfully mediocre and painfully gloomy writings! thou ears shall bleed oh oh crimson blood from my eternal whinings and moanings. die, ALL SHALL DIE facing my merciless hormone-charged wrath! be afraid O little creatures, be very afraid. *eville laughter*

yes. something to that extent. wow, i feel much better now after voicing out my Inner Tyrant.

on a more random note, the quality of Garfield has tragically deteriorated. this does not please me at all, i can assure you. somebody is being lazy. the gags are cheesy and corny, and lack the witticisms that made the strip so funny. pfft.

i think i'll make myself a list to cheer me up.

Things i am not happy about:

• the current state of garfield.
• the reruns that are constantly played on cable
• my prelims [of course]
• the cake thing my mudder tried to feed me just now.
• i couldn't find The Choirboys on limewire, but i just have and now worry that i am downloading a subtitles-less french movie. *sighs*
• the whole 'its mainstream therefore i hate it' concept
• Herr Hitler and the sagEe one.
• recently reading crappy books.
• realizing that i wrote 15+1=17 on my emath paper and other such 'miscalculations'
• Russel Crowe.
• hip-hop's obsession with bling-bling and degrading women with their affinity for almost-nudity.
• my hair. [bimbo moment!]
• really cute shoes out there that are not in my possesion [maan, the moment is lasting longer than expected]
• jk rowling. she takes EONS and its not that great what she writes anyway. so why do i bother? i do not know; it is the fan-geek in me.
• cassandra claire. no slashy, no slashy PLEEASE. i cannot bear draco giving a peck on harry's cheek even though it is supposed to be platonic because we know your Inner Slash is giggling with much mirth. i cannot have a draco that exudes gay vibes, it..is against the law of nature! see, if it was harry going all poncy, i couldn't care less.

Things i'm happy about:

• A Knight's Tale. i dont care if the online reviews generally hated it, i LOVED it pbbt!
• i found my Dior lipstick thingy and bought ear studs [oh no. what if this bimbo-ness is *gasp* permanent?]
• the buffy finale is next week! oh oh i hyperventilate
• DV15 cookie is up!
• am reading King Lear.
• at least, despite everything, my chemistry really improved.
• my new monochrome desktop colour scheme
• LIMEWIRE *beams*
• Zits and Get Fuzzy.
• the death of my corpus luteum gave me cramps but no MORE
• oh oh oh chaaaarmaine has something for me on monday! =D
• this is harder than i thought.

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.