Life is so sad.
I want to end it at a high.




If I could paint now, I'd paint a monster in a candy tree.


The first week of school has been, I would consider, relatively smooth-sailing. Save for my inability to be disciplined, and my insolence, (my RAG mates politely called it "strong-headedness") I am not yet jaded of this Higher Education. Perhaps I soon will be, as I usually almost always am. But then again, I have been too silent for too long. I think all my thoughts are locked away in some tiny box, hidden in some tiny drawer, in some tiny cupboard, in a tiny room, in a tiny house, on a tiny street, in a tiny state, of a tiny country in a tiny world in a tiny mind. And yes, that was meant to provoke.

Perhaps the two years have really watered me down. I don't remember being so tired of experiences. I don't remember not enjoying life. I don't remember being satisfied with imperfection. I don't remember giving up an option. I don't remember choosing practicality over fantasy. I don't remember being so upset in the first week of school before.

What is this feeling. What is this feeling?
Colour and laughter and melody and magic and people and games, and talking, and learning, and sitting and standing, and watching and waiting, and listening, reading, all while keeping the silence.

I remember once, you said, how I would finally be able to understand you. Understand. You? I cannot even comprehend the most basic of chapters now. I cannot even speak with conviction now, I cannot even determine for myself what to believe, or speak for myself what I want, too different from how you judge me. But you are no longer here. So now, yes, I understand your situation. I always have. Aside the glitz and glamour of Hollywood and Broadway, always lies the faded. Sunset Boulevard has taught me that lesson. And this, I suppose, is my Sunset Boulevard. Or perhaps some part of the Woods. Funny how the theatrical always seems to be able to filter itself into reality.

I suppose, we've always wanted to seek out a higher sense of personal fulfillment, but how much is much, and how less is less? Perhaps I should remind myself to seek out personal motivations, personal goals, and not one that entangles me with others. But will that be fulfillment of a university education? Keine Ahnung.

I, like you, have been crippled.


And my dears. You have seen me at possibly the most romantic of my stages. I am genuinely confused. What is the fine line between enjoying a person's company, and enjoying their time? I suppose my main defence now would be avoidance.


C'est la vie.


The butcher, the baker, the grocer, the clerk
Are secretly unhappy men because
The butcher, the baker, the grocer and the clerk
Get paid for what they do but no applause
They'd gladly bid their dreary jobs goodbye
For anything theatrical and why, why?


Maybe I lied. I think I am pretty jaded after all.





This has been a week of regrets.


June doesn't seem as happy as I remembered.
Just the other day, I had a dream about old friends, and I wondered when I woke up if I was delighted or sombre.
From the Bolt to the Anchor, the Anchor to the Lotus, the Lotus to the Spear, and now the Spear to the Lion.
What a long journey its been. And I've been through so many terrible times, and so many good times. I've been through so many levels, and so many places. And I've seen so many faces of people who are going to continue to haunt me in the years to come.

Today is the end of June, which means I have 31 more days to complete my To Do list.
Today is the end of June, which means I will have lost a few close friends.
Today is the end of June, which means Contemplation Day is near.
Today is the end of June.

And as Rebecca Black would gladly teach the months as she does the days, tomorrow is July.


Soft and slow don't seem like my usual traits.
Sometimes I wish I wasn't such a prick. Maybe then, I'd be less awful to people.
Sometimes I wish I was less awful to people. Maybe then, they won't think I'm a prick.

New bunch of people, all different backgrounds. I wonder if they are afraid of me, or they listen to me. Sometimes I feel that they seem to see me as a very strict character. And that is - a character. A very 2-dimensional character.

New task to do, faced with a whole set of problems. I wonder if they trust me, or they're just waiting for me to screw up. Sometimes I feel that they seem to see me as a very clumsy character. And that is - a character. A very 2-dimensional character.

New people to see, new plan to formulate. I wonder if I can trust me, if I can discipline me, or I'll just be a screwup. Sometimes, Simon, it is better to play a character, even a 2-dimensional character. There is no reality, and there are no expectations. There are no goals, and there are no failures. There is no truth, and there are no comparisons. There are no uncertainties, and there are no wishes.

I wanted to write something for you, Simon, but my personal shame didn't let me.
Also, I haven't been very well lately, so I'm afraid I don't have a steady hand.


I have attended some unique events these past 6 months. Take for example, my baking class. I now have contacts with a lovely bunch of people who are willing to share with me the recipes for pizza dough. I now have been acquainted with a little boy with a perpetually stubborn expression and an impudent manner. I have watched the King of Pop come alive. I have learnt basic comfort food that make me absolutely marriage-worthy. I have proven my success in German, and I find I have never forgotten my childhood memories.


My readings haven't sunk in.
I hope my arrogance doesn't prove me wrong.


I reflected. Poverty looks grim to grown people; still more so to children: they have not much idea of industrious, working, respectable poverty; they think of the word only as connected with ragged clothes, scanty food, fireless grates, rude manner, and debasing vices: poverty for me was synonymous with degradation.

"No; I should not like to belong to poor people," was my reply.

"Not even if they were kind to you?"

"I shook my head: I could not see how poor people had the means of being kind: and then learn to speak like them, to adopt their manners, to be uneducated, to grow up like one of the poor women I saw sometimes nursing their children or washing their clothes at the cottage doors of the village of Gateshead: no, I was not heroic enough to purchase liberty at the price of caste.




Proud this was created by an Asian artist.
Thank god for Asia and its weird tastebuds of mixing tea and coffee.


Sometimes, the life of an actor is easy.
I always thought the people working backstage were the most unappreciated people. People backstage search for materials, maintain costumes, maintain props, design lighting, plan sound, sell tickets, control the crowd, sometimes are even thrown into marketing of the performance.

I suppose I never really knew how it felt like to be in backstage, but now I do. At least, I know how it feels like to be the backstage of the backstage, and its an amazing, fulfilling experience, so different from what it is like in frontstage. Frontstage has become such a lure of critics, of praise, of high headed haughtiness, of competitiveness, of too much urge to prove oneself. I suppose it is the same, back or frontstage, but not backbackstage. It is really all about focusing, and doing the job well. In maintaining concentration in doing what you do, albeit repetitive, but the results are immensely gratifying.

I do sincerely hope that anyone who carries a pink canvas bag would appreciate how much work was put into each and every one, but then again -
One step at a time.

I regret I have plunged into a routine, but then again, I was perfectly planned until such a wonderful opportunity passed by. And there are many more things that I shall regret I have missed, all the performances and exhibitions - even if tickets have been sold out within 2 days of release for public sales, and not being able to be more involved. I suppose now that I have spoken to people whom I respect and trust, I would be able to make a more informed choice, possibly even having a goal as to what my next move will be.

On a lighter note, I have lost my powers as a training Ice Queen, which I tremendously dislike. But how can you ever push away someone who adorns your secret fetish?
Ugh, I hate you, you, whatever.
I need to give you a nickname.
Thank god I didn't look at your shoes.


Too often
the strong, silent man
is silent only because
he does not know what to say,
and is reputed strong
only because
he has remained
silent.






So - the Royal Wedding has spurned a million songs about love and marriage, and its really starting to annoy me. Along with other things that can keep me up at night until 3 am.


Ah, sweet epiphany.

I finally found layer after layer of plot, character, artistic direction and movie magic technology, the very basis of manga.

Manga is 2D porn.

I should have known it earlier, all the hints that Bryan Koh was dropping.

Plus all guys in manga usually only have one eye.


Uni applications have been (un)eventful.
Actually I'm not sure.

I once thought that applying for uni was bloody murder.
Now I know that the waiting is bloodier.


Conversation with Daniel and Catherine on Saturday was awesome.
Catching up on life and telling me why I shouldn't grow up.
Compliments are fun and shit, but everyone's got a motive.
Plus a damn ridiculous interview.

Man, I miss those people.

But man, I miss my Arch Rival the most.


And to end it off, here is a story (which I believe was once an Indian fable), dedicated to some people I know -

Once upon a time, there was a hill, which sloped down to a river, and beside the river was a tree. Upon the tree lived a blind eagle who had seven young chicks. Since the blind eagle had been spurned by the other eagles in her flock, she swore to protect her eaglets the best way she could, and she was certain she could do it alone, without their help. The resourceful eagle used her sense of smell, her sense of touch, her sense of taste, and her sense of sound to help navigate her way around, and with her sharp beak and nasty temper, she managed to keep the predators that threatened her and the safety of her children far far away.

One day, a hungry cat walked past the tree which the eagle lived. Upon hearing the chirruping sounds of the young chicks, the cat immediately climbed up the tree, ready to snack. At this point in time, the eagle came home, snarling and ready to attack. The cat was no coward, but faced with an angry eagle, it was scared stiff.

"Who is there!" shouted the eagle.
The cat was puzzled. The eagle was clearly looking at him straight in the eye.

"I am Mahat." the cat said, all the while wondering why the eagle would ask such a peculiar question. However, the clever cat soon noticed that each of the eagle's eyes had claw marks, and discerned that the eagle had lost it's sight in a fight.

"I am Mahat." said the cat again, more boldly this time.
"Mahat the cat."

The eagle snarled even louder this time.
"A cat!" she screeched. "Ah-ha! Trying to sneak a bite, are we! Well, see how I tear you to pieces!" She flapped her wings viciously and snapped straight at his face.

Shocked but still maintaining its composure, the cat sighed loudly.
"Ah," he said, shaking his head. "I have been wronged, oh great one."

The eagle, unaccustomed to hearing herself speak with such nobility, was taken aback. Seeing the eagle holding back its ferocity, the cat hurriedly continued. "I have come, from a land far far away, and have travelled for eight days without food and water. They say that a tree beside a river on the downslope of a hill, there lives a blind eagle which possesses all the knowledge there is in the world."

The eagle was now pleasantly surprised.

"Alas," said the cat. "I am most disappointed. What they have told me is not true."

Frowning, the eagle asked him what he meant by that.

"Well," the cat explained. "You must not be knowledgeable if you suspected me to be a bloodthirsty cat. You see, I am not an average cat. In order to repay my sins, I cannot kill, I cannot eat meat. The world is full of herbs and berries. Why should I commit a sin?"

The eagle was impressed with the cat's wisdom.
"Come, my friend." she said. "You have come a long way. Sit here in my nest while I fetch you something to eat. You have starved long enough."

The cat smiled gratefully as it stepped into the nest of the eagle. After making sure that her guest was comfortable, she flew away in search of food for the hungry cat.

When the eagle returned with exotic berries to please her guest, she found her guest was gone, and so were her children. The angry eagle then realised her folly, but it was already too late.

A little tale with a big message: Never be too blind to trust someone you don't know with something so precious to your heart.

Good luck, my dear.