Uniform-ity

We are the outsiders-
A Diaspora of navy pleats, white pants and khakis -
Too short for respect.

Donning bigotry, in a mishmash of colours
Distracting in its purpose. Our modus operandi lurks,
Beneath the shiny sheen of badge

From the high school section. Reputation
Swathes us in its shroud, we flounder-
Like fish out of water

and all encompassing love. This is diversity,
Bubbling on pursed lips in a constant stream of expulsion-
Gentle as froth. But we, swim only in our own schools

mirror images atop a watery canvas.

Unity, in swirls, thrashes our hill top like rain.
We run for cover under a roof full of holes-
pleading protection.

Brown is the colour of dirt,
and the sarcophagus of days bygone.

We are your people now.

Curtain Call

its the end.

though we meet everyday after school at the class benches, regaling each other with stories of yet another ersatz scandal, forcing customary laughter with proverbial jokes told for the 23124th time, and making the same combinations of cards (and numbers) morph mathematically into the magical 24.

we have, officially, ceased to be.
no matter how much we go on kidding ourselves.

in fact, our real parting should have been on march 19, 10:45pm, in victoria theatre. When the final screams of ke-bah-bah resonated around the muffed walls of the vt, and the swish of the heavy curtains closed in and cut the last threads that held us and the audience together.

We were sundered, then and there, but reality proved too cruel on newly-tender ears.
And so we dreamt on-

even in states of semi-conciousness.
deluding ourselves, stubbornly clinging on to remnants of our works, thinking to keep memories alive when they lie, torn and broken, in the dark recesses of the rubbish truck- a world hidden behind metal walls.


How gloriously we sang, our school song, club song and songs awash with promises of eternity. Our world- immortalized, or so we believed, as this melody of hearts beguiled, throwing the euphoria-thirsty us, yet again, into another mirage.

You are my oasis- and falsities, our refuge.

Then came thursday, dear thursday, when our self-constructed heaven threatened to crumble under the weight of separation; three from our number, leaving to seek sunnier shores. Their farewells, like cold drops of reality, raining onto our vulnerable selves. We rant and rail, throwing tantrums like children being denied their candy, wringing sympathy from the afore-apathetic crowd. We want our utopia back!

Tears, bitter as bile, flood new shores like tsunami waves.

our final bow?

we have come to the end of the end.
thorns are growing amongst the snug bed of roses-

let go, before one shreds your paradise.

Tangible recollections

A can of colours, hardly costs as much
As a fine spray of hairs, gently bathed in sunlight
And your shadow.

Nor; can a dozen crystal vases,
Outdo the dazzle of diaphanous dust
Lightly drifting from paint-weary hands.

It is easy to buy memories, they sell them cheap
In stores out of town- manufactured
By machines that groan like abattoirs.

The cracks are remorse- they speak,
Of the ravages of time, an abstract
We all race to posess. Whilst You

And me. Stand in the mocking loneliness
Of a few crates on slate.

Remembering what they once were.


(wk, know its on your note.haha. but you very nice right, hope you don't mind. (:)

哟，道具

(This is what I originally wrote for the daoju quote before it got mutilated by the lep's room merciless delete key. Now that huang cheng is officially over, I am finally allowed to reveal it in its full crappiness.)



“我要唱一首道具的歌”

--------

下午四点。
熟悉的笑声从amphitheatre 中传来。我，匆忙地放下沉重的书包。之前的一切，早已抛置脑后。因为，道具就要开工了。

六点。
换场，SM喊出的每一个“灯暗”，犹如战鼓激起我们的奋斗精神。舞台是我们的沙场；几秒的拼搏，让我在你的双眸中看到抹抹玄影，一个个的你，一个个的我；他们，都是道具的将士。

七点．
我们来做道具slam！大家情绪激昂，步骤错了，拍子也乱了，唯有我们的呐喊绕着华初的食堂，反复地回应。休息是为了走更长远的路——道具，吃饭！

九点．
催场来了！催场来了！Erherh，怎么办，道具还没做完…还是催场先走吧！我们的道具组，大概一百年后才散会！

--------
“ 道具哟, ”

三个月的黄城，三个月的道具，
三个月的夕阳西下。

途中，不知流过了多少汗与泪，听过了多少次周杰伦的“七里香”。
脚酸，心酸，鼻，也酸。

三个月。我陪你数过了三个月的星星。月圆月缺？
我关心的，只是人；
悲欢离合的人。

三个月的梦快要结束了
当最后的掌声响起，它就结束了。

这你是知道的，

道具上的指纹会模糊，铁钉会生锈，油漆会脱落——
三个月以后，你还会记得谁？

你，我，他？
全都忘了。

记得的是，你曾经是道具的，
陪我度过一段飞蛾的永恒——

来朋友，我们来唱歌。

--------

“我要唱一首道具的歌，一首永远的歌，在这如同梦般的黄城， 唯有道具最精神! ”

Snapshots.

You are the traveler, armed with your
spanking new Polaroid
eager to capture that moment from Providence. Your experience,
neatly printed on glossy paper, filed, laminated-
stamped like a credential.

Ink will fade, with time-
Their edges, yellow like autumnal foliage,
Furling in unfurling mockery.
Humus.

Whilst the moment leaves, foot prints in the earth
Of my evergreen reminiscence.

It is the song that never ends.

All the blogs of the huang cheng people are getting rather melancholic, something which I cannot seem to comprehend. I mean, huang cheng’s not even OVER yet! We are creating memories at the same time you guys lament about them being just that. Okay, so I am still stuck in my moth-ish philosophy, but that makes life much easier doesn't it?

And anyway, who, after seeing the rows of grand, great grand, great great grand... seniors singing the hua chu ge on performance night, can confidently say that huang cheng ends on march 19? (:

a little piece of incoherence

besides the characteristic navy pinafore and the occasional politically suicidal remark, i guess nobody can tell that i used to be an rg girl anymore.

I needed to talk.

talking to linette on msn yesterday was a mistake. we haven't even gotten on to our third sentence when we realised how much we actually missed each other. I mean, we used to have these hc-rj discussions in which i would extol hc and she compliment rj. now i don't even bother. whats the point of discussing your differences when you know that there is something else that binds unites your souls? whats the point of discussing the next-best-thing when in both your hearts you know what tops the list?

i vaguely remember an essay i wrote in sec 3 about 'The three rgs(s)".

It went something like this-

'There are three rgs(s). The rgs as the public sees it, a functional machine churning out machines churning out A1s; the rgs as the parents see it, a trophy whose sole use is to humble all relations into meek acquiescence of their dear daughter's brillance, and our rgs, which we will always remember."

for we are those whose shadows have glided through the same portals, shone through that stained glass irisdescence and beheld the marbled glory of Athena.

Do you know what i am talking about?

the countless soles that have come off from splitting in the foyer, the low frequency reverberations reflected off dusty mini-amphi walls, the shreds of shiny purple sticking unceremoniously out of rubbish bins, and handprints, size 7, left behind by enthusiastic gymmers walking upside down on tiles.

I know what you are thinking about.

You perceive, in the distance, a white tower, heavily guarded by swirling mists. The white fortress; cold, aloof. Far too removed from your own earthly origins, you think. Hearken! A low rumble of thunder comes from behind the pristine walls. Your mind runs through images of knights decked out in armored splendour, lined in rows upon rows of ivory magnificence; visors down, swords, unsheathed, glinting silver in open challenge of the sun. O for heaven's sake! Your ashen lips, crumpling in human scorn.

the wind blows,
and all the clouds scatter.

Get me?

parched lips. with a third degree burn.
elitism-ironed on. you walk away in your new embroidered shirt-

Forget it. Let's just talk about hc.

听周杰伦之《轨迹》有感

“我会发着呆　然后忘记你　接着紧紧闭上眼
　想着那一天　会有人代替　让我不再想念你”

　――――――――――――――
我以为
在幕落的时候，你会在我的身边，为这段美丽的时光作个漂亮的总结。
当时你会牵着我的手，一齐呐喊着你我心中的最珍贵，
何其开怀，何其潇洒，何其…

观众散了，脚步声不再入耳。幻想的你，也不见任何形迹。

哎，
我是我，你，也是我。

地板上的线条，映着我一个人的轮廓－
幕微微地摇摆着，重重的身子，如猛兽般吞噬了我的热情，我的灵魂－
好冷。

灯，暗了。
我在生命的舞台上演着一场无奈的戏，
等着那最后的掌声。

Painting over

Voice it out, damn it. Or risk choking, upon your own, whitewashed rhetorics.

Ragnarok

Finally watched 《一步天堂》。The ending was rather thought provoking, which is one of the few redeeming factors for an otherwise poorly acted and rather monotonous "ju". (Yes, I am probably going to come under fire for this oh-so-blatant display of disloyalty, but I am simply presenting an opinion here, and most people would probably still come for huang cheng anyway JUST to see our professional DAOJUS.(: { Ignore me, I am disillusioned.} )

As I was saying, the "ju" set me thinking about human vulnerability, which is what makes life so sacred and its destruction so horrendous in the first place.

And so,

If doomsday be tommorrow.
i would,
........
........
........
........
........

Darn, am falling asleep, shall continue ---tommorrow.

The bottom line (both literally and figuratively) is this- Doom is self-defined, don't ever define it. So there.

Dao ju Song Book

Ha ha, yes, huang cheng makes me crappy,this is something I wrote during huang cheng. It is a parody of the original daoju song , and it takes a playful dig at the dao zhangs, so they either love or hate me now. (: The chorus is especially crappy, but thats probably because it was written first, and it takes time for one to get into the more sentimental mood you know. Yep, so here goes.....

道具05的告白

道长请你　不要太慌忙
放下天书　我有话要对你讲
就算道具　今天赶不完
要相信　团结　的力量

我在道具　短短几星期
却已感受　真挚永恒的友谊
让我经得起　路途的风雨
把这爱　放在　我心里

*有jiayi（有jiayi） 还有liting（还有liting）　
还有很矮的wee kuan (ha! ha! ha!)
尽量成长　还是没办法
永远停留在一五三*

道长是道长　始终很能干
在我们心中荡漾

We are planning to sing it to the dao zhangs...SOMETIME.