meme. one. word.

You.
Can.
Only.
Type.
One.
Word.
No.
Explanations.

1. Yourself: C
2. Your boyfriend/girlfriend (spouse): boyscout
3. Your hair: straight :)
4. Your Mother: menopause
5. Your Father: overweight
6. Your favorite Item: diamond
7. Your dream last night: no
8. Your favorite drink: cherryade
9. Your dream car: jag
10. The room you are in: blue
11. Your Ex: spikey
12. Your fear: lizards
13. What you want to be in 10 years? Mummy
14. Who you hung out with last night? Gilmore
15. What you're not? toned
16. Muffins: banana
17. One of your wish list items: jade
18. Time: evening
19. The last thing you did: TEEVEE
20. What you are wearing: heh.
21. Your favorite weather: snow
22. Your favorite book: mockingbird
23. The last thing you ate: corn
24. Your life: dramatic
25. Your mood: bitching
26. Your best friend: piglet
27. What are you thinking about right now? cold
28. Your car: feet
29. What are you doing at the moment? singing
30. Your summer: ending
31. Your relationship status: love
32. What is on your TV? gilmore
33. What is the weather like? dark
34. When is the last time you laughed? yest

in light of the weekend to come
i went to kinokuniya today, and blew
too much moolah on books, glorious
glorious wonderful books! 7 books, 150$.

oh my.
what's going into my bag tonight:
1. cloud atlas- david mitchell
(finally. it's in stock!! i cannot wait!!)
2. sputnik sweetheart- Haruki Murakami
(as much as i told myself not to venture into said writer again, i saw the book, and seriously, who could resist a depressing, black-white-red book with manic-depressive lesbian characters?)

["My head is like some ridiculous barn packed full of stuff i want to write about," she said."images, scenes, snatches of words...in my mind they are all glowing, all alive. write! they shout at me. a great new story is about to be born-i can feel it. it'll transport me to some brand new place. problem is, once i sit at my desk and put them all down on paper, i realise something vital is missing. it doesn't crystallise--no crystals, just pebbles. and i am not transported anywhere." --Sputnik Sweetheart, Haruki Murakami]

i think 2 books should suffice!

it was a lovely time, lovely lovely time.

there is little time left and my hands are truly tied
so friends bear with me, i'm swarrrmped, with trip preps
and fighting the tide of things to do

busy busy, just the way i like it
the dream disturbed me on a very elemental level
and i cannot get it out of my head
and wondering just what my subconscious is telling me

i think i know why sooli's this important
no one sits there and listens to me talk about my very vivid dream
and actually listens, like really listens instead of hmming it away
because it is a dream.

it'll get better, little li, it'll get better
busy is good.

ps: mariann i promise to bring home a kangaroo.

seething bubbling
overflowing spewing

for once i'm up at 7 odd, without having stayed up through the night, awake not because i have to be, but because the body, for some reason refuses to adjust to my lovely pink-ping room. (it must be the too big bed, and for once having 4 pillows + 1 bolster + 2 blankets about me, all for me)

i spent last night tossing and turning, finally just refusing to move or open my eyes, and after nearly what felt like 30 mins of frustration, i opened my eyes and it was 650! hoho. i love these sleep surprises.

the morning is dewy, and silent--with nothing but joni mitchell for company, i sit here, rather content, eyes droopy again.

Who will buy this wonderful morning?
Such a sky you never did see!
Who will tie it up with a ribbon,
And put it in a box for me?

i had a beautiful pair of rimless Silhouette
whose lens shaped i designed on my own--
my father's friend has one of those specs lens
cutter machines and cut and recut it until it was the shape i wanted
perhaps about 1 & 1/2 years old

i broke the bridge of the rimless perhaps a year back
and i've been meaning to fix it, as long as i take it to
a siloette dealer, pay him maybe 40 bucks
and get the broken part replaced.

but i waited and got lazy and forgot
and now, now when i have to get my current 2 day old
specs replaced.. i cant frickin find it.
:( i think the maid threw it out cos it looked broken

ohh dear pink Silhouette

PS: i said yes to GOING; the parents said yes to GOING; the boss said yes to GOING-- so heehee.

sifting through history 1

had time on my hands today, so i re-read some old posts from the old blogs.
exerpts coming up.

#1
there's no way i can wipe the slate clean
your sins were etched deep
so you will see my constellation
twinkling and sparkling a bright brillant white
against the velvet black night sky
million miles away from your grasp
light years away from your sticky tainted finger tips

stare at the picture of my star
and know that was in reality, many many moons ago

#2
right now the sky is a shade of purple-pink, and it reminds me of a purple rose i once received that i dried--the edges lined with black, that's the color of the sky from my window.
thank you for coming to see me, as tired as you were, and as much on your plate and on your shoulders. thank you for coming to see me because i was sad, and for remembering how i cannot sleep mid-fight. thank you for giving in when i was unreasonable, for being the matured one thinking of the future, when i was pissed off at what now feels petty and uncalled for.

But things just get so crazy,
living life gets so hard to do
And I would gladly hit the road,
get up and go if I knew
That someday it would lead me back to you
That someday it would lead me back to you"
-Sunday Morning, Maroon 5
thank you for seeing my heart.

#3
I have carried these scabs of old--
Enough, enough, fingers stop your pickings
What is it, to see the fresh blood--
Just to know you bleed red like everyone?
Enough, enough, I rather carry the quiet scars
And soon, soon, to forget the pain.

#4
"i've got all the time in the world"
i had a dream, of an abandoned one story house--well, abandoned isn't an accurate word really, the word is "vacant". the stone walkway is split into two, but to put one's feet on either and walk would be hard--one would choose the grasspatch in the middle. but in this house, there was no television, no adornments, no cupboards either. just a too-small sofa, facing a too-big fish-tank, with ten arowanas swimming back and forth. and in circles, and circles. they all looked the same, with varying degrees of grade, and colour--some are pale, and look like silver knives; some are flecked with gold and red, sleek, like someone going for an oriental dinner.

i fed them through a tiny hole at the top of the tank, and put the orange tongs back in the kitchen.

as the house moved away from me, or i from it, it is never clear in these dreams, i found myself outside, beneath the banana tree and what looks like chiku to me, and under these trees, i found a quiet little spot, to sit and relax, to perhaps read a book or have a cold beer in the middle of the day.

i lingered there, for a short while, perhaps too long a while, because now when i think back, it was a rather long while, but too short a while.

#5
The Golden Age of Girl

Eighteen;
The Piazza’s alive and made for her
Its brick walkways and billowing tents
Piques her interest with its blue baubles and red scarves.

Eighteen;
She Dances at midnight with vodka in her hand.
Deafening punk-rock, fast cars and cigarette smoke,
She blooms at midnight, and is drunk by dawn

Eighteen;
Heartbroken and reveling in it, the world will never be the same
Depression writes its comedy, with tissues, soak-stained.
She tattoos her hurt on her heart, “This love is the last.”

Eighteen;
Poetry in the Burettes, Novels in the Laboratory,
She stirs a glass beaker of aphrodisiacs
In her own mind, and smiles to herself

Eighteen;
In love, and lovers frolic in the park
The swings stop in motion—she touches the stars
Legs dangle, entwine and reach the
streaks of the sky.

Eighteen;
She looks at Prospectuses and global education
Yale, Columbia, Beijing, Sydney, Ottawa, Bristol
Anywhere, everywhere, she sprouts wings on her back
She Catalogues her room and worries what clothes to bring.

Eighteen;
She fights for Feminism, and Equality of all Men (and Women)
Cares for Mandela; Salutes the lone soldier of Tiananmen
And cares not for Grassroots, or GRCs or Single-Wards.

Eighteen;
And Beautiful, brimming over with wit and a quick laughter
She laughs at others, with others. At herself too.
The world was made for her: and heeded her calls.

#6
it's my first day off.
pleased as punch.
kinda lonely at home though--
my boyscout's a workaholic; (like my boss is too)
my bestfriend's probably nursing a hangover from her romp last night at MOS
my rabbit's in UK
my wife's working
my commando bastards are i-dunno-where, either in camp or playing computer games

i want to go to i t a l y
and p a r i s
and b a r c e l o n a
and b a n g k o k
and e g y p t
and i n d i a
and t i b e t
and m y a n m a r
and i r e l a n d
and c a n a d a
and m a l d i v e s

i've got wanderlust.

#7
been in a funk today
and it all cuminates at boiling point
and here i am
a pulsating pustule of agitation
waiting to erupt and spew
to ::you::
because this time--it's indifference.
because this time, i'm not angy
because this time, i'm not sad

because i stopped expecting anything from you
i've stopped pinning my ceramic hopes on you
when you carelessly and predictably
smash them on the ground

we're done, i'm through.
i've got the boyscout, you've got the leech--
it's quite evident which of one of us
picked someone of more worth than our exes.

so ryan, now i shrug,
as you are in bali with your little slut.
i shrug, and my heart stops breaking for you.
it stopped breaking a long time ago.
i just never noticed till now.

no more tears behind the smile.
no more hanging aeroplanes on the wall.
save your lies.
i'm through.

you fade into nothing.
and my heart stops breaking.

#8
basketball was never my thing--
but it has always been yours.
despite the torrents of sweat
pouring down shaq
and despite the crazy haphazard
running as if they were air molecues

i loved that you sat through
1 and a half hours of bad singing
just to be close to me.

so i sat there, watching spalding balls
fly through hoops, after hoops
and scores that dont increase in any order.
:) and enjoyed you.

#9
so the saying goes
"Live and Let Live."
you are a contridiction onto your own.
a walking antithesis of speech and deeds.
a juxtaposition of right and wrong.
an oxymoron.

and a fucking irony.

#10
a blank screen of emotions,
the static sounds,
and the hiss the little flecks make
as they race across the screen.
a moment red
a flash of yellow
an explosion of blue
and races between cyan, purple and green.

the television's on
but no one sees the picture
and no one hears the voices
drowned in the multitude of distracting lights
and the static song of interference

there's that feeling i hate, more than anything in the world
as if someone plunged a stringe into your veins and pumped
in gallons of ice water, the kinda ice under your skin
and under your scalp, and your belly button pulls inwards
in an unexplicable force and it feels like there's a huge
stone that suddenly thumped in your stomach
giving you that terrible stomachache
coupled with the shivers under your skin
leaving you caught in that limbo
between crazy and unwell..

a friend emails. and talks to me of the weather there and how it gets impossibly cold, and i can't wait, i can't wait for my next winter's night, with snowfall on my nose and the way it's so cold it becomes hot. i love the many bundles of clothing one has to put on and the scarfs and the beanies (which i have a neck of losing) and the gloves and the mufflers (yes, cold ears) and hoo boy, do i love those trench coats and those that plumps one up to look like a little duck waddling, i love mine, mine--not a hand-me-down, all mine. my thick fluff coat sadly does not have a fur collar, (i think they're sexy ok), but i love every inch of it. :)

a winter's night sure sounds lovely doesn't it? the terms suggest warm cuddles and hot chocolate, of the musky scent of wood burning and for some reason, pine and eucalyptus. it resonates this bundled romanticism, of coated lovers hugging in the cold, lying in the snow making snow angels and snow ball fights? surely, you say, surely the slush and the wet feet and the cold are not funny after a while--but you know, for that moment, it's just the perfect time, perfect time for anything really.

like a postcard, i see the house alit with fairy lights, i see the trees covered in snow, i see the chimney with its curly wisps of smoke, i see the candles on the table and the fluff coat in the corner--an amazing magical white coated world.

but as for tropical little singapore, the rain will just have to do.
:) but as the boyscout would remember, not too fondly, sitting under this red blanket in the rain at mac ritchie, and as the ex-boyfriend would frantically try to pull me under his umbrella given my enjoyment of running into the rain.

to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go. to go or not to go.

to go or not to go?

miss victoria secrets is having her clearance sale everyone!!
:) victoriassecret.com

there is a tap a tapping on the inside of my brain
a tap a tapping that would not cease
and would not go away

because of that ugly exchange so early in the morning
because i said bye and and you didnt
because i said hi and your silence made me feel small
because i'm over sensitive

there are good days, friends who bring such comfort.




i'd miss you wife when you're all the way in milan
and jingxi i'd definately want to visit
and rach dearie, hang in there, things can only get better

exhausted.

just like that valentine's day episode of martha's vineyard, i just want to frickin get away. get away like in get on that snazzy little jet plane with the packet nuts and get away.

somewhere close, somewhere far
somewhere away.

i guess there's really no end to this
codswollop, but for now
there's always "the boy who lived"

yay for JK Rowling.

so the whole family (8 in total) trooped down to the esplanade for
MY FAIR LADY;
a thoroughly mind-numbing musical (draw your own conclusion)
then after to BEDOK for bak chor mee
and chicken wings
and ah bor leng
and orh luak
and otah
and satay
and stingray (go steve irwin, you're not forgotten)
and sugar cane juice

too full.

:)

at this time of the night there is a certain magic in the air, the air just becomes plumped purple, stuffed with night-secrets. the crickets don't chirp this time of the night, as if this time were suspended mid-strike--trapped in its own silence, drowning in its own thoughts. the estate is silent, and from my window there is no movement, not of the trees, or of the roads or of anything at all and i stare and stare and blend right into this frozen night

but 6 o'clock will come too soon, and just as quickly i will fall asleep;
goodnight.

there was a faint glimmer
that so quickly faded away

the stain of your being hovers above my head
like cirrus like rainfall that refuses to depart
that you might lie there, lie here
along the meanders of me

smelling of danger and red wine roses
no doubt, without doubt
like warm red wine-blood
on a winter snow flake
that melts like butter over flame
that melts over the icicles and shakles of us

that history or now i cannot tell
ejects a funny runny watercolour
of bamboos and lotuses of us
of us lying supine atop a glassy sea
or of a cigarette left crushed underfoot

and the stain which rises off your body
sublimates dew like
like those knitted woolen jacket
that unravels at a tug at a pull
unravels me

this drug induced sleep in which
like a lover seduces and beckons
a haughty slave, an abused woman
a love-child, yet smiling atop a bicycle

wind in my hair i run and hide
in between the grot of the drain
that empties the vestibules of the heart
and amidst that torrent
that manic pulsing torrent
i drown i drown
and grasping
i die

a student of mine sent me this.
and for some warped reason i wanted to tear up watching it.
it's how sad la.

so baby when you pick me
with that tank full of gas
let's run away together
and drive till the morning light

please everyone just give the girl some breathing space.

a call from an old friend, after years of silence.
:) i was just thinking of you, old chum, a few days ago.
there's something almost sweet
about this feeling of refinding old friends.

at 7 this morning i went to the toilet with a heavy head to find my right eye swollen. at 7 this morning i felt sick to the stomach at the phone call; and sorrys stop mattering. then the headache hits.

the past 2 days have been nothing short of a big whirlwind adventure
but i think my body is telling me a very stern warning
to rest and keep my moods balanced

i think my fairy god lovers are back which is only a good thing
because i've missed seeing the lot of them--for some reason or other
considering how little they are around anyway

sleep eludes me;
and my heart breaks.
into little bleeding pieces

that take the shape of you

you and me; lifehouse

What day is it? And in what month?
This clock never seemed so alive
I can't keep up and I can't back down
I've been losing so much time

Cause it's you and me and all of the people with nothing to do
Nothing to lose
And it's you and me and all of the people
And I don't know why, I can't keep my eyes off of you

All of the things that I want to say just aren't coming out right
I'm tripping on words
You've got my head spinning
I don't know where to go from here

Cause it's you and me and all of the people with nothing to do
Nothing to prove
And it's you and me and all of the people
And I don't know why, I can't keep my eyes off of you

There's something about you now
I can't quite figure out
Everything she does is beautiful
Everything she does is right

Cause it's you and me and all of the people with nothing to do
Nothing to lose
And it's you and me and all of the people
And I don't know why, I can't keep my eyes off of you
and me and all of the people with nothing to do
Nothing to prove
And it's you and me and all of the people
And I don't know why, I can't keep my eyes off of you

What day is it?
And in what month?
This clock never seemed so alive

so we had park night tonight, unplanned and melancholic
both of us left grasping at rainbows and broken dreams--
and both of us off to bed, i believe, more confused and lost
then when we woke up this morning/noon depending on which one of us you ask.

we've become pretty good at fake smiles.

then again, i wonder if we'd ever be this happy,
at this one point in time.

i wrote an exceeding long entry about 2006 but somehow it got deleted--and as angry and upset i was at said point in time *cues fond memory of celia screaming vulgar things-unbecoming-of-a-girl* now i sit back and realise i didn't quite lose anything at all.

well, 2007 snuck up on me like a memory of an old lover, a quiet benign presense that just came to be; an odd familarity, and somehow looking back in the year it merges with the year before and the year before they all feel like big chunks of time just put through the potato masher--try as you might to pick the peas out of the potato salad, the smell of the darn things cling to the rest of it, cueing of course in my case the gag reflex.

the festivities from christmas till now have been nothing more than disappointing, and that is giving it some credit. as soon as christmas left the calendar last year i've been looking forward to this year, like a hound on a blood trail, like a child wide eyed infront of the pink candy floss machine. but this year's christmas snuck away from me, as a thief, leaving nought but a quiet sadness, which i cannot and will not attempt to explain.

if i saw things in colour, i know i do, but bear with me--if this season were a colour it would be grey, or mud brown. none of that fancy magenta or cyan or lime green like i wanted it to be; but mellow grey and dirty brown, ordinary even almost repulsively un-sexy colour; think of the sludge that is left in a water-and-ash filled ashtray--the dirty brown grey mix that smells as foul as camels; pun unintended.

2007's birth or days leading to its birth has brought with it: swollen eyes, burnt fingers from sparklers no less, slight fever, sake induced headache, powder induced vomitting (don't ask), itchy scratchy scalp from having those aerosol streamer sprayed into one's hair, not to mention the Cramps, capitalised because it was a real bitch.

so as you discerning people can tell, i haven't been one happy puppy--and 2007 looks bleak to me; again cue connotations of sludge brown-grey. i would like for 2007 to be a year of hard work and achievement; though realistically i don't need for big bamb! explosive achievements, but small ones that warm the very cold heart would be nice. i don't ask for manic laughter, just hold back on the tear-jerking will be enough for me.

i don't remember 2006, i'm sorry dear year; apart from finally being licensed to drive, i'm quite through with 2006.

but i will remember how you stood with me in the rain, and how you held me in my sleep.