'O WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge is wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.
-La Belle Dame Sans Merci
John Keats
__________________________________
What can ail thee,
But a smattering of self, broken
reflections in age-worn mirrors
Too old to back-date.
On which you weep elegy,
Scrawling lines of woe etched,
Of who where when,
sometime or
Other, life trampled hard enough,
though not nearly.
Is it man who breathes, yet
With each gasp, manacles one’s throat
To stifle breath? Is it man who drinks,
Yet with each gurgle, envision death?
Is it man who lives, yet
With each moment spoil,
the steady beats to which life pulsates?
Is it man who loves, yet
With each moment deny,
This gentle loving gently wake?
Lave, lave the suffixes
of full Abandon! The man drowning in sand,
will at his last soliloquy take
some living weed, to make lavish
His sepulcher.
This is your Dionysian joy.
For which you live,
For which you, will I destroy.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Friday, October 10, 2008
No man's land.
Amazing how in the grand scheme of things,
between the mad-rush and voting boxes,
You stand dictator,
as ailing Democracy is vetoed,
and majority loses its last war.
This is no time for mavericks,
Bombs tick your ambition
while all other dreams
Detonate.
Seemingly self-defeating
Seemingly triumphant
Stoically non-partisan
You slash the jugular –
Knife curved like a smile.
Soon there will be three bags full.
between the mad-rush and voting boxes,
You stand dictator,
as ailing Democracy is vetoed,
and majority loses its last war.
This is no time for mavericks,
Bombs tick your ambition
while all other dreams
Detonate.
Seemingly self-defeating
Seemingly triumphant
Stoically non-partisan
You slash the jugular –
Knife curved like a smile.
Soon there will be three bags full.
Friday, September 12, 2008
The Memory Refrain
The place hasn’t changed;
The dusty tiles bear the colour
Of paint, splattered, across days months years-
Layer upon layer, tile upon tile
Of memory coagulated onto a knowing canvas.
The change is mine.
I smell sawdust, long settled into cracks.
I hear the grating drill, plunge into
Pliable wood; incessantly, persistently,
Stubbornly. For at the very last note
It all ends. Or will end.
Or ended.
I go to our haunts, now haunting,
Like ghosts ill-revenged, wailing
For a second turn.
I trail the corners, shy of light,
Like children demurred, crying
For a toy returned.
I don’t remember why we sang
Like crazed lunatics; seesawing
Ungainly shoulders to a tune.
I still remember why we fanged,
Like taskmasters, gainsaying
Innocent laughter far too soon.
I must look stupid, remembering so much
And yet too little. The mind records
What the heart scoffs,
And now, the tiles rebuff
And mock
this Delightful Loss.
The dusty tiles bear the colour
Of paint, splattered, across days months years-
Layer upon layer, tile upon tile
Of memory coagulated onto a knowing canvas.
The change is mine.
I smell sawdust, long settled into cracks.
I hear the grating drill, plunge into
Pliable wood; incessantly, persistently,
Stubbornly. For at the very last note
It all ends. Or will end.
Or ended.
I go to our haunts, now haunting,
Like ghosts ill-revenged, wailing
For a second turn.
I trail the corners, shy of light,
Like children demurred, crying
For a toy returned.
I don’t remember why we sang
Like crazed lunatics; seesawing
Ungainly shoulders to a tune.
I still remember why we fanged,
Like taskmasters, gainsaying
Innocent laughter far too soon.
I must look stupid, remembering so much
And yet too little. The mind records
What the heart scoffs,
And now, the tiles rebuff
And mock
this Delightful Loss.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Lotus Song (inspiration from 12 lotus, royston tan)
Prologue
How pitiful you are dear lotus,
Cast into the murky soil.
The wind murmurs your name now-
Dear girl, will you sing?
(i)
Dust falls low in Sana’a
Lightly brushing the smells of porridge
That wend its way through every household.
We sit by the well, all *baltho - waifs
chewing hallucination under a veil.
Ah, the pleasure of being unseen!
-from fingers, hand, and the occasional foot.
In this shrouding sarcophagus
the world unravels its whole brilliance.
Identities fade, our bodies strain, come loose,
deconstructing into the most basic algorithm
Allah used when he lovingly moulded humankind.
Unspeakable joy-
Soon our man will return
And we will bloom like prescient flowers,
My sisters and I, as we scurry
To gather buds that wither down below.
(ii)
We had not met-
As custom went, but fortune, face, and family
Had gone ahead of us to make their loves;
Ours they sealed in dowry.
Hand henna-bound, forehead etched red.
The mark burned, though less,
Than the husband’s searing glance
As he pledged to worship the ground
That I walked on – his part is easy,
For that pledge I walk these steps-
How quickly does sari turn to ash?
Flesh to dust, bone to fine sand?
Till death do we part? Never.
Not even so. I breathe,
A short breath-
Before I take my place beside him, in his pyre.
(iii)
To him whom I have loved before-
Write me no letters;
I wish you death, quick and easy
Let a bullet stop your gentle heart
and make no mark upon your face.
So many men have kissed the dirt, mouths agape
In this roughly hewn piece of hell;
But let no penance singe your beloved face,
Or tear the laughter from your brow.
May youth dance its graceful Art,
Upon your lips, and go you to some greater sphere,
Heights my flights of sorrow cannot scale.
I only pray – that some strains of music
Ease down below, not to pleasure me
But to know you are now in joy,
And not the dank trench where good men sweat
tears, fester, and bring on
This bitter wasting of a woman’s years.
Epilogue
Out of the muddy water,
She stands like a queen above the murk,
And nature gifts its purest perfume,
And light bequeaths its finest livery,
And love sings its most piteous song.
*black robes that women in the Yemen wear
How pitiful you are dear lotus,
Cast into the murky soil.
The wind murmurs your name now-
Dear girl, will you sing?
(i)
Dust falls low in Sana’a
Lightly brushing the smells of porridge
That wend its way through every household.
We sit by the well, all *baltho - waifs
chewing hallucination under a veil.
Ah, the pleasure of being unseen!
-from fingers, hand, and the occasional foot.
In this shrouding sarcophagus
the world unravels its whole brilliance.
Identities fade, our bodies strain, come loose,
deconstructing into the most basic algorithm
Allah used when he lovingly moulded humankind.
Unspeakable joy-
Soon our man will return
And we will bloom like prescient flowers,
My sisters and I, as we scurry
To gather buds that wither down below.
(ii)
We had not met-
As custom went, but fortune, face, and family
Had gone ahead of us to make their loves;
Ours they sealed in dowry.
Hand henna-bound, forehead etched red.
The mark burned, though less,
Than the husband’s searing glance
As he pledged to worship the ground
That I walked on – his part is easy,
For that pledge I walk these steps-
How quickly does sari turn to ash?
Flesh to dust, bone to fine sand?
Till death do we part? Never.
Not even so. I breathe,
A short breath-
Before I take my place beside him, in his pyre.
(iii)
To him whom I have loved before-
Write me no letters;
I wish you death, quick and easy
Let a bullet stop your gentle heart
and make no mark upon your face.
So many men have kissed the dirt, mouths agape
In this roughly hewn piece of hell;
But let no penance singe your beloved face,
Or tear the laughter from your brow.
May youth dance its graceful Art,
Upon your lips, and go you to some greater sphere,
Heights my flights of sorrow cannot scale.
I only pray – that some strains of music
Ease down below, not to pleasure me
But to know you are now in joy,
And not the dank trench where good men sweat
tears, fester, and bring on
This bitter wasting of a woman’s years.
Epilogue
Out of the muddy water,
She stands like a queen above the murk,
And nature gifts its purest perfume,
And light bequeaths its finest livery,
And love sings its most piteous song.
*black robes that women in the Yemen wear
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Cinematic Magic - Thoughts from NTU Cinema studies
It is quiet here,
like all other human senses,
our curiosity stretches
Out, like a cat
trying, too hard, to claw
at the fringes of existence.
Nary a mew-
For what is reality but what we can
tease cajole and coax, belly up
into purring obeisance?
Life is what i record-
with my eyes, ears, mouth, heart,
Places you have touched, lingered
and forgotten,
in a time too long past for antiquity.
Life is what you interpret-
At once high fantasy touches your shores,
At once I am archaic in its backwash.
like all other human senses,
our curiosity stretches
Out, like a cat
trying, too hard, to claw
at the fringes of existence.
Nary a mew-
For what is reality but what we can
tease cajole and coax, belly up
into purring obeisance?
Life is what i record-
with my eyes, ears, mouth, heart,
Places you have touched, lingered
and forgotten,
in a time too long past for antiquity.
Life is what you interpret-
At once high fantasy touches your shores,
At once I am archaic in its backwash.
Monday, July 14, 2008
The Clown.
And then there were none.
Fourth was the prisoner, who held me thrall with his predicament. With him I felt the first stirrings of motherhood, and so I learnt that to be female was to be vulnerable to the weaknesses of men. Many were the nights where I cleaned the grime from his fingernails and soothed him to sleep in the godforsaken cell. Moonlight was only our company, and each other’s breathing our sole distraction. When he grew stronger, he broke the bars of his entrapment and walked free, and grief took me as his form joined the darkness and slipped away.
The fifth and dearest was the lover, the man who came to me in the night and made me belong. His words stoked fires, and all of life was ablaze in his presence. I bathed in his light and power, and felt eternity within grasp. But arrogance took him, and he was finally consumed by his own radiance, leaving me to weep Daedalus’ tears.
I knew them, if only like how each blind man knew the elephant. If only like how we all know and believe in the mysterious Mr Quinn.
The man who stands before me now is familiar, but stranger this familiarity makes him than strangeness. I trace the tousled criss-cross edges of his hair, inching my finger between the rough curls before lowering slowly to the face. Down my finger skims, leaving a faint line across the thickened brows and painted nose, to the obscenity of the plum red lips that instinctively tease themselves into a pout. I rub the soft flesh of my palm against those lips, feeling the colour rub off onto my skin, soaking in, initiating recognition. The contact singes my nerves, but I push on as the lips start to surface an earthly brown.
The face cracks, and peels, into a warm grin.
Dear god, I know you.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Look down, look down.
I read my old posts and hmm. Ji Ching is sick of being pretentiously intellectual. No more theasaurus.com. My old posts make me feel like an aspiring Adrian Mole.
This is my new resolution. To be uncut, uncensored, but not RA.
This is my new resolution. To be uncut, uncensored, but not RA.
Bottled
Asphyxiate this emptiness
And it will be a tight squeeze
As the ball of gall gets rolling
Clinking,
Clank
Clunk.
Into the brains that were,
Taste the ambrosia of full-bodied
Amnesia. It is difficult,
To ponder, or stow-away
This endless rolling
On sharp ends.
Thud. On. Thud.
I remember the times when life was water,
Weaving in between set strands
Melodic like a fine tuned guitar,
Energy stored,
and then flow.
But the present make heartless
Grind. A drawn out sulk
Gives more comfort
Than this merciless banging
On sharpened nerves.
I need a break from rest.
And it will be a tight squeeze
As the ball of gall gets rolling
Clinking,
Clank
Clunk.
Into the brains that were,
Taste the ambrosia of full-bodied
Amnesia. It is difficult,
To ponder, or stow-away
This endless rolling
On sharp ends.
Thud. On. Thud.
I remember the times when life was water,
Weaving in between set strands
Melodic like a fine tuned guitar,
Energy stored,
and then flow.
But the present make heartless
Grind. A drawn out sulk
Gives more comfort
Than this merciless banging
On sharpened nerves.
I need a break from rest.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Ji Ching lives.
For all those who think otherwise, I'm still alive. Just older, richer and a lot dumber.
They say wisdom comes with age, but in my case wisdom is long overdue. Poetry now only exists as an old friend, one of those you lose contact with as wealth, fame and other such social goodies get in your way. Not that poetry = wisdom of course, indeed the wise usually keep their words to themselves instead of blabbering them out in stanzas. But what i sorely miss is the presence of language as friend and companion, something to tide me through my most misanthropic moments. Perhaps wisdom did come after all, it came upon the wings of cynicism and crude rationality, wisdom in the context of our world of concrete and tarmac, not the labyrinth of passions and pathos that reside within art's chrysalis.
HAHA. There i go again. The self proclaimed cynic. NO MORE.
I'm so tired of waiting (and not wanting) A level results to come. I'm also so tired of sitting around in my office stool with either too many or practically nothing to do. I'm also tired of looking at pretty girls (Why the hell am I looking at pretty girls!) and trying to figure out which part of my genetic makeup went wrong. I'm so tired of turning my eye outwards towards the external world. All my life i've been jealous of something or someone. academically, emotionally, physically, it makes life very very difficult as everything morphs into distractions and I find myself floundering in waters only I can rescue myself from.
Which is most probably a good thing.
My uncle recently gave me a book written by this Australian monk who used to be a theoretical physicist. (Somehow people who take physics always end up believing in some higher power. Only something truly divine can create a world where the laws of nature (and physics) work so perfectly. ) The book contained stories that he collected when he was training as a forest monk (I know that sounds funny, but don't laugh, it's hardly polite.) There was one story that could probably apply to this situation.
I shall be concise. It told of how he once had to build a wall for this shelter they were constructing. He had to make it brick by brick, and every brick had to be aligned properly, in line and not tilting to one side for it to be a 'good wall.' And so he plodded on, meticulously labouring until at the last the final brick was laid. However, as he drew back to admire his work he noticed to his dismay that there were two bricks at the side that were grossly out of line with the rest of the wall. He knew that he had ruined the wall and even asked the abbot to let him destroy it and start all over again. However, there wasn't time, and so he had to let it be. From then on he tried his best to avoid the wall when taking visitors around the building, the two 'bad bricks' were so firmly embedded into his consciousness. However, something changed his feelings about the wall one day when a passing visitor saw it and commented, 'That's a nice wall you have here.' He looked at the visitor in surprise, pointing to the two misaligned bricks at the corner of the wall. The visitor smiled and said, 'But there are so many other good bricks here!' It was then that the monk realised that the two bad bricks were only minor factors that did not stop the wall from being a 'nice wall.' That was when he started noticing the 'good bricks' and the wall became an emblem of pride instead of a thing of shame.
When i first read it my first reaction was 'What a stupid monk. How silly it is to fret over a wall, much less two bad bricks!' But then i realised that i've been fretting over even sillier things all my life, from the number of people who talk to me over msn to grades to the measurements of that girl's hips/waist/thigh. Life has been a smogasbond of silly and time consuming jealousies. How much time I've spent on those two bad bricks!And to think that the monk actually wanted to destroy the wall of so many good bricks just because of those two bricks. I wonder how much of my happiness has been destroyed fretting about such irrelevant things!
Actually i'm quite happy about how my extended holiday has turned out. Not only do I now have a reasonable source of income, but I'm still able to do the stuff I like, such as getting involved in a production, shopping, reading cheap classics bought from the bookstore near my work place, going back to huang cheng, joking around with my family, spending time with that special someone, catching up with old friends, and even having the opportunity to pick up my pen once in a while. I stand in wonder of how i failed to realise it all earlier. Most of these are things that i always had, but never appreciated, and thus never enjoyed. They were there all along, patiently waiting for me to stop chasing after someone else's footsteps, waiting for me to be content.
What can I say? Thanks for waiting. (:
*ADVERTISMENT* (the box office is one of those things that are never content.)
For Huayi festival, the etceteras are putting up a play about this couple of ten years who decide to play a game (and hence its title) which allows each partner to get involved in an affair with a third party, though sexual activity is out of the bargain. Its on this friday and saturday at esplanade theatre studio. For more details check the link below!
http://www.huayifestival.com/game_play.html
Its pricey, but I think the way the actors interact with the set would be something to watch. And yes, I know its really really late notice, but procrastination's my bad brick! haha.
Anyway, having bored my pants off at work I decided to do something even less productive and came up with an unofficial synopsis for the play. It's my office computer's fault that it is not in chinese. It is even more potato than I am. Here goes.
Life is like a roll of the dice.
You have to take turns, and you need to come up with a stake.
You might win, you might lose, all in all, the minimum goal is to recoup your losses, but that would mean ending up at the same point, which is a hideous waste of time and everyone knows time is precious.
But whatever it is, giving always comes before taking, you always need to wager something of your own first before you can start to deprive other people.
It boils down to a question of either or. Either you trade sorrows with yourself or you trade sorrows with the person who sits right across.
Gameplay is a roll of the matrimonial dice. But they should be lucky. Ten years of dice rolling gives great probabilities.
Of course, this is purely an adult’s game. Children own nothing, thus take nothing, and then what’s the point?
Only adults have enough to lose.
Only adults have the power to possess.
Tragedy seeks them out.
They say wisdom comes with age, but in my case wisdom is long overdue. Poetry now only exists as an old friend, one of those you lose contact with as wealth, fame and other such social goodies get in your way. Not that poetry = wisdom of course, indeed the wise usually keep their words to themselves instead of blabbering them out in stanzas. But what i sorely miss is the presence of language as friend and companion, something to tide me through my most misanthropic moments. Perhaps wisdom did come after all, it came upon the wings of cynicism and crude rationality, wisdom in the context of our world of concrete and tarmac, not the labyrinth of passions and pathos that reside within art's chrysalis.
HAHA. There i go again. The self proclaimed cynic. NO MORE.
I'm so tired of waiting (and not wanting) A level results to come. I'm also so tired of sitting around in my office stool with either too many or practically nothing to do. I'm also tired of looking at pretty girls (Why the hell am I looking at pretty girls!) and trying to figure out which part of my genetic makeup went wrong. I'm so tired of turning my eye outwards towards the external world. All my life i've been jealous of something or someone. academically, emotionally, physically, it makes life very very difficult as everything morphs into distractions and I find myself floundering in waters only I can rescue myself from.
Which is most probably a good thing.
My uncle recently gave me a book written by this Australian monk who used to be a theoretical physicist. (Somehow people who take physics always end up believing in some higher power. Only something truly divine can create a world where the laws of nature (and physics) work so perfectly. ) The book contained stories that he collected when he was training as a forest monk (I know that sounds funny, but don't laugh, it's hardly polite.) There was one story that could probably apply to this situation.
I shall be concise. It told of how he once had to build a wall for this shelter they were constructing. He had to make it brick by brick, and every brick had to be aligned properly, in line and not tilting to one side for it to be a 'good wall.' And so he plodded on, meticulously labouring until at the last the final brick was laid. However, as he drew back to admire his work he noticed to his dismay that there were two bricks at the side that were grossly out of line with the rest of the wall. He knew that he had ruined the wall and even asked the abbot to let him destroy it and start all over again. However, there wasn't time, and so he had to let it be. From then on he tried his best to avoid the wall when taking visitors around the building, the two 'bad bricks' were so firmly embedded into his consciousness. However, something changed his feelings about the wall one day when a passing visitor saw it and commented, 'That's a nice wall you have here.' He looked at the visitor in surprise, pointing to the two misaligned bricks at the corner of the wall. The visitor smiled and said, 'But there are so many other good bricks here!' It was then that the monk realised that the two bad bricks were only minor factors that did not stop the wall from being a 'nice wall.' That was when he started noticing the 'good bricks' and the wall became an emblem of pride instead of a thing of shame.
When i first read it my first reaction was 'What a stupid monk. How silly it is to fret over a wall, much less two bad bricks!' But then i realised that i've been fretting over even sillier things all my life, from the number of people who talk to me over msn to grades to the measurements of that girl's hips/waist/thigh. Life has been a smogasbond of silly and time consuming jealousies. How much time I've spent on those two bad bricks!And to think that the monk actually wanted to destroy the wall of so many good bricks just because of those two bricks. I wonder how much of my happiness has been destroyed fretting about such irrelevant things!
Actually i'm quite happy about how my extended holiday has turned out. Not only do I now have a reasonable source of income, but I'm still able to do the stuff I like, such as getting involved in a production, shopping, reading cheap classics bought from the bookstore near my work place, going back to huang cheng, joking around with my family, spending time with that special someone, catching up with old friends, and even having the opportunity to pick up my pen once in a while. I stand in wonder of how i failed to realise it all earlier. Most of these are things that i always had, but never appreciated, and thus never enjoyed. They were there all along, patiently waiting for me to stop chasing after someone else's footsteps, waiting for me to be content.
What can I say? Thanks for waiting. (:
*ADVERTISMENT* (the box office is one of those things that are never content.)
For Huayi festival, the etceteras are putting up a play about this couple of ten years who decide to play a game (and hence its title) which allows each partner to get involved in an affair with a third party, though sexual activity is out of the bargain. Its on this friday and saturday at esplanade theatre studio. For more details check the link below!
http://www.huayifestival.com/game_play.html
Its pricey, but I think the way the actors interact with the set would be something to watch. And yes, I know its really really late notice, but procrastination's my bad brick! haha.
Anyway, having bored my pants off at work I decided to do something even less productive and came up with an unofficial synopsis for the play. It's my office computer's fault that it is not in chinese. It is even more potato than I am. Here goes.
Life is like a roll of the dice.
You have to take turns, and you need to come up with a stake.
You might win, you might lose, all in all, the minimum goal is to recoup your losses, but that would mean ending up at the same point, which is a hideous waste of time and everyone knows time is precious.
But whatever it is, giving always comes before taking, you always need to wager something of your own first before you can start to deprive other people.
It boils down to a question of either or. Either you trade sorrows with yourself or you trade sorrows with the person who sits right across.
Gameplay is a roll of the matrimonial dice. But they should be lucky. Ten years of dice rolling gives great probabilities.
Of course, this is purely an adult’s game. Children own nothing, thus take nothing, and then what’s the point?
Only adults have enough to lose.
Only adults have the power to possess.
Tragedy seeks them out.
Friday, July 21, 2006
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
blockage cleared
Liberation liberation liberation!
haha. not that my elation's really justified, since I've hardly been what (considering hwa chong standards, ok no, considering ANY standard) one might consider 'hardworking'. So erm yeah! So happy to be erh....EVEN MORE SLACK THAN USUAL. :)
(mailto:%&@#*$*(#&$(#$^&$. Forgive me while i try to get the fact that prelims are like around 6 weeks away outta my head. )
Anyway, back to the point of feeling happy. Now i can watch the world cup in peace! yay. Though actually i think my new found interest in the game is more because i don't want to mug rather than because of actual interest in the game itself. But in a way i am happy i got distracted, since that means that i can blame whatever shitty grades I get on the world cup. (A world event! FAR FAR more important than blocks!)
Funnily though, every team I support immediately gets kicked out of the game. First it was Argentina, then Ukraine (shevchenko!), EVEN BRAZIL (kaka!). -_- Maybe some sort of sadistic girly instinct is trying to put me off the sport. (What are you doing staying up late for soccer! You could be midnight shopping at suntec!) But yeah, blocks are over so soccer may prove to be boring again. Not that my interest is really authentic anyway, its a fickle on-off sort of thing, heavily dependent on mood, other leisure alternatives, and whether the team has enough players worth watching for factors other than their fancy footwork. HMM.
Lep was horrendous. I was so embarrassed during the paper because the teacher startled me THREE TIMES, making me jump in my seat and resulting in offensively loud banging noises caused by my knee hitting the table. All that spasming left me in cold sweat more than the fact that the paper was the most anal piece of examination i had ever taken. Reservist and a sunshine overdose make people cruel.
Huang cheng meeting tommorow. (: They seem so much less ominous now that huang cheng is over. haha. Good luck juniors. You have many seemingly insurmountable obstacles in front of you, and some are, but eventually even skinning your knees become a sort of pleasure. Approach us with caution! We might either be bandaid or salt. But not to worry! You'll recover, your skin will thicken, and you'll bear your wounds with pride! (to the extent of overindulging in them sometimes. haha.)
- I apologise for putting it in such an icky biological way. Pardon my lack of more aesthetic analogies. -
But yeah, all problems resolve themselves! It might seem like crap at the start, crap in the middle and crap at the end, just that at the end the crap is in the very fact that it has to end! Beneath this seemingly masochistic human behaviour there is a value in the huang cheng experience that only you and your batch will slowly define and understand. (since every batch takes something unique out of huang cheng) So just believe in yourselves and your batchmates!
haha.
Actually I also don't know why i am suddenly saying all this. Maybe it's because I remembered the fear and apprehension when I just got appointed. Its not so much the real difficulty of the work itself as is the sense of bewilderedness at the sheer perceived impossibility of the task. But I guess once you get past the fear and get to the work everything seems to become much more manageable. Sure, there will be hiccups along the way, but really, as long as everyone's moving in the right direction why worry about veering off course? I must say I enjoyed the journey. Its almost like a bullock cart ride, every bump just made us cling together tighter, every bump just made the whole experience more worthy of recollection.
haha. not that my elation's really justified, since I've hardly been what (considering hwa chong standards, ok no, considering ANY standard) one might consider 'hardworking'. So erm yeah! So happy to be erh....EVEN MORE SLACK THAN USUAL. :)
(mailto:%&@#*$*(#&$(#$^&$. Forgive me while i try to get the fact that prelims are like around 6 weeks away outta my head. )
Anyway, back to the point of feeling happy. Now i can watch the world cup in peace! yay. Though actually i think my new found interest in the game is more because i don't want to mug rather than because of actual interest in the game itself. But in a way i am happy i got distracted, since that means that i can blame whatever shitty grades I get on the world cup. (A world event! FAR FAR more important than blocks!)
Funnily though, every team I support immediately gets kicked out of the game. First it was Argentina, then Ukraine (shevchenko!), EVEN BRAZIL (kaka!). -_- Maybe some sort of sadistic girly instinct is trying to put me off the sport. (What are you doing staying up late for soccer! You could be midnight shopping at suntec!) But yeah, blocks are over so soccer may prove to be boring again. Not that my interest is really authentic anyway, its a fickle on-off sort of thing, heavily dependent on mood, other leisure alternatives, and whether the team has enough players worth watching for factors other than their fancy footwork. HMM.
Lep was horrendous. I was so embarrassed during the paper because the teacher startled me THREE TIMES, making me jump in my seat and resulting in offensively loud banging noises caused by my knee hitting the table. All that spasming left me in cold sweat more than the fact that the paper was the most anal piece of examination i had ever taken. Reservist and a sunshine overdose make people cruel.
Huang cheng meeting tommorow. (: They seem so much less ominous now that huang cheng is over. haha. Good luck juniors. You have many seemingly insurmountable obstacles in front of you, and some are, but eventually even skinning your knees become a sort of pleasure. Approach us with caution! We might either be bandaid or salt. But not to worry! You'll recover, your skin will thicken, and you'll bear your wounds with pride! (to the extent of overindulging in them sometimes. haha.)
- I apologise for putting it in such an icky biological way. Pardon my lack of more aesthetic analogies. -
But yeah, all problems resolve themselves! It might seem like crap at the start, crap in the middle and crap at the end, just that at the end the crap is in the very fact that it has to end! Beneath this seemingly masochistic human behaviour there is a value in the huang cheng experience that only you and your batch will slowly define and understand. (since every batch takes something unique out of huang cheng) So just believe in yourselves and your batchmates!
haha.
Actually I also don't know why i am suddenly saying all this. Maybe it's because I remembered the fear and apprehension when I just got appointed. Its not so much the real difficulty of the work itself as is the sense of bewilderedness at the sheer perceived impossibility of the task. But I guess once you get past the fear and get to the work everything seems to become much more manageable. Sure, there will be hiccups along the way, but really, as long as everyone's moving in the right direction why worry about veering off course? I must say I enjoyed the journey. Its almost like a bullock cart ride, every bump just made us cling together tighter, every bump just made the whole experience more worthy of recollection.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Monday, June 19, 2006
Early in the morning, i put breakfast at your table 一夜都没睡但我 不曾如此清醒 我早餐准备了你 爱吃的东西 这次换我等你被咖啡 的香味叫醒 想要找回每天早晨 对我微笑著的你 还能够 做些什麼代替我的歉意 总是望著我 小心翼翼顺著我呼吸 而我竟然理所当然 让你精疲力尽 You were my superwoman 安静的在身边 无条件给我 梦寐以求的温柔 but i am only human 我怎麼不懂你多寂寞 残忍的犯了错 不能失去你 ooh—babe--- You fought your way through the rush hour try to make it home just for me 月光下静静靠著彼此 只求夜长一点 有多久没有好好看你 只是认定了我 无论在什麼时候回头 都有你的笑容 是我忽略了你也会有 想要哭的感觉 没有一种付出应该永远心甘情愿 再给被宠坏的男人最後一次机会 换我忍耐换我等待 不要真的弃权 (---baby)是我把爱想得太简单 以为只要我存在就能让你取暖 心裏唯一的superwoman没有人能代替 不能想像更不能原谅这样让爱化成 灰烬
I want to be a superwoman, 让你无论在什麼时候回头，都有会我的笑容。
But I am only human, and I can’t help letting the tears fall, just as I try to stop yours.
I want to be a superwoman, 让你无论在什麼时候回头，都有会我的笑容。
But I am only human, and I can’t help letting the tears fall, just as I try to stop yours.
Alone.
I wish brazil would score. (Shit. Just as I was typing this, they did. Talk about lousy timing.)
You would probably have watched this with me, if you hadn’t had to wake up at the ungodly hour of 6am tomorrow. I don’t know why I’m staying up late alone to watch men kicking a stupid ball. I don’t even LIKE watching football as an alternative to advertisements most of the time. But I guess watching it reminds me of the times you were there at the other end of the line, giving your expert commentary using terms I only pretend to understand. The exhilaration we get at every goal - your exhilaration as a fan, and my exhilaration as your mood gets progressively better, indicating a nice goodbye at the end of the day.
I wish you were here to explain why Australia makes more shots on goal than Brazil, what kind of game tactic each side was using. Never mind that I wouldn’t have understood half of it, or that your explanation would probably have been interrupted by times when the game picks up speed. I don’t understand soccer, not without you. But it’s become almost a habit, I can’t sleep before two, and I still wait, almost as if you’ll call this time as usual to bet on the score line, and to laugh at this pseudo-soccer fan.
I am grateful for the world cup. Watching this match has been a comfort, somewhat. Perhaps it’s just because I’m too good at deluding myself. Perhaps it’s because the football field is a vat containing too many good memories of quiet and not too quiet nights of soccer indulgence. Even pretend indulgence. However far away, your presence lingers on in the noise and excitement that is football, noise that fills the unbearable silence which comes after my half-hearted cheers give no echo.
Final score: Brazil –Australia 2-0.
You missed a good game.
So did I.
You would probably have watched this with me, if you hadn’t had to wake up at the ungodly hour of 6am tomorrow. I don’t know why I’m staying up late alone to watch men kicking a stupid ball. I don’t even LIKE watching football as an alternative to advertisements most of the time. But I guess watching it reminds me of the times you were there at the other end of the line, giving your expert commentary using terms I only pretend to understand. The exhilaration we get at every goal - your exhilaration as a fan, and my exhilaration as your mood gets progressively better, indicating a nice goodbye at the end of the day.
I wish you were here to explain why Australia makes more shots on goal than Brazil, what kind of game tactic each side was using. Never mind that I wouldn’t have understood half of it, or that your explanation would probably have been interrupted by times when the game picks up speed. I don’t understand soccer, not without you. But it’s become almost a habit, I can’t sleep before two, and I still wait, almost as if you’ll call this time as usual to bet on the score line, and to laugh at this pseudo-soccer fan.
I am grateful for the world cup. Watching this match has been a comfort, somewhat. Perhaps it’s just because I’m too good at deluding myself. Perhaps it’s because the football field is a vat containing too many good memories of quiet and not too quiet nights of soccer indulgence. Even pretend indulgence. However far away, your presence lingers on in the noise and excitement that is football, noise that fills the unbearable silence which comes after my half-hearted cheers give no echo.
Final score: Brazil –Australia 2-0.
You missed a good game.
So did I.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Playground
Love is so fatalistic, the familiar ‘I would DIE without you’ proves that.
How everything goes into the hyperbole just because. The logic of love is like the way the narcotics bureau nabs ‘offenders’. ‘Want a drug? No? You sure? YOU SURE? I know you want it!’ *stuffs packet of ecstasy into person’s hands**flashes CNB id* ‘We’ve caught you red handed! Hee hee hee.’ It sounds just like, ‘Look at that girl! She’s pretty right? Hot right? You think she’s pretty right? You were ogling at her right!’ *burst into tears* ‘You ALWAYS look at other girls!’
It’s almost like going fishing using but yourself as a bait. The logic is so horribly warped it would look ridiculous anywhere but in the context of love. I guess a relationship is a safety bubble where seemingly normal people can do crazy things just because. Its like a playground for a society too long immersed in decorum and etiquette. No wonder hwa chong is called a love nest; too many Monday morning assemblies have resulted in a repressed student body begging for release.
I guess there won’t ever be a happy medium. But why are mediums happy anyway? Why does simplicity have to be bliss? Simplicity would only reduce life’s range of experiences. A whitewashing of life’s canvas to cover up flaws in artistry. But I find that I am as partial to sorrow as to joy, as reverent to folly as to virtue. Perhaps it is only in extremities do we find the vein that life throbs in, strong rhythmic pulses unyielding in their anguish and pathos.
Oh well. Just because!
How everything goes into the hyperbole just because. The logic of love is like the way the narcotics bureau nabs ‘offenders’. ‘Want a drug? No? You sure? YOU SURE? I know you want it!’ *stuffs packet of ecstasy into person’s hands**flashes CNB id* ‘We’ve caught you red handed! Hee hee hee.’ It sounds just like, ‘Look at that girl! She’s pretty right? Hot right? You think she’s pretty right? You were ogling at her right!’ *burst into tears* ‘You ALWAYS look at other girls!’
It’s almost like going fishing using but yourself as a bait. The logic is so horribly warped it would look ridiculous anywhere but in the context of love. I guess a relationship is a safety bubble where seemingly normal people can do crazy things just because. Its like a playground for a society too long immersed in decorum and etiquette. No wonder hwa chong is called a love nest; too many Monday morning assemblies have resulted in a repressed student body begging for release.
I guess there won’t ever be a happy medium. But why are mediums happy anyway? Why does simplicity have to be bliss? Simplicity would only reduce life’s range of experiences. A whitewashing of life’s canvas to cover up flaws in artistry. But I find that I am as partial to sorrow as to joy, as reverent to folly as to virtue. Perhaps it is only in extremities do we find the vein that life throbs in, strong rhythmic pulses unyielding in their anguish and pathos.
Oh well. Just because!
Thursday, May 25, 2006
And i'm feeling good.
Dance night was fun. Opinions are diverse, but whatever it is, I haven’t felt that kind of exhilaration in a long time. Okay, make that two years. Haha. I miss the rg dance culture. It’s just so much easier to go full out basking in that sort of atmosphere. But whatever it is, I think I have finally learnt self-indulgence on stage, it’s the ability to isolate all other factors – sucky lighting, disintegrating (and indecent) costumes, demoralizing audience (matinee!) , urge to pull up tube/shorts, physical insecurities, and what-the-hell-why-do-I-not-see-him syndrome.
Maybe I am a closet exhibitionist (what an irony!), but yeah, it felt really good. I guess there’s something in dance that releases feelings in us we don’t usually set free. Now thinking about it all still makes me euphoric. I feel a compulsion to dance! ARGH! I feel like taking up latin during the holidays, but I think blocks demand my fullest attention so OH WELL. After As then, I guess, provided I find someone strong enough (bingeing during As is almost a certainty), someone who doesn’t have two left feet. xP.
Anyway, back to the subject. Dance night not only helped me recapture some of that old delight in bodily expression but also changed my mind about quite a lot of people. I have developed a greater tolerance level for mindless whining and bimbotic speculations, just for the fun of it. Its an acquired taste, I guess. It just depends on how much pressure you want to put your ears through before you get to the core of the person, a really nice core I must admit, so I don’t regret it at all. (:
A big thank you to all those who came, yes, even those who made really weird comments. (CHER. -_-) haha. Thanks for flattering my ego so much Ame, you are the anti-thesis of aaron. (‘I have good news for you jiching. You look slightly less ugly with make-up.’ ---he shall have a taste of my condescension on Saturday! wahaha ) Oh yes, and thanks for the peasant girl analogy. Sorry I disappointed you guys by not doing anything incriminating. xP It feels good to be on stage again , after huang cheng at vt. Admittedly hwa chong audi is a poor substitute for dear vt, but I guess this time my relationship with the audience is more direct. (Sitting at the sm table calling cues construes another sort of excitement!) Now I know what the actors feel like when they need to ru xi, though I think my ‘acting’ cmi. But hey! Acting sexy is difficult, you either are it or you are trying too hard to be it (which means you are not it.)
I don’t dare to wash my costumes because all the sequins will come off and 3 hours of work will literally go down the drain. Oh well. But at the least the modern costume is somewhat wearable, if a bit too flamboyant. The nazi costume is just weird and the corset and shorts getup is just incongruous with my wardrobe and my moral sensibilities. I think I would chuck it down the bin if I didn’t spend so much time sewing the gold ribbons and beads on.
Aiya, shit. Don’t feel like blogging anymore. The song is stuck in my head again. It’s a really nice song though. I like the first verse.
'I can fly
Maybe I am a closet exhibitionist (what an irony!), but yeah, it felt really good. I guess there’s something in dance that releases feelings in us we don’t usually set free. Now thinking about it all still makes me euphoric. I feel a compulsion to dance! ARGH! I feel like taking up latin during the holidays, but I think blocks demand my fullest attention so OH WELL. After As then, I guess, provided I find someone strong enough (bingeing during As is almost a certainty), someone who doesn’t have two left feet. xP.
Anyway, back to the subject. Dance night not only helped me recapture some of that old delight in bodily expression but also changed my mind about quite a lot of people. I have developed a greater tolerance level for mindless whining and bimbotic speculations, just for the fun of it. Its an acquired taste, I guess. It just depends on how much pressure you want to put your ears through before you get to the core of the person, a really nice core I must admit, so I don’t regret it at all. (:
A big thank you to all those who came, yes, even those who made really weird comments. (CHER. -_-) haha. Thanks for flattering my ego so much Ame, you are the anti-thesis of aaron. (‘I have good news for you jiching. You look slightly less ugly with make-up.’ ---he shall have a taste of my condescension on Saturday! wahaha ) Oh yes, and thanks for the peasant girl analogy. Sorry I disappointed you guys by not doing anything incriminating. xP It feels good to be on stage again , after huang cheng at vt. Admittedly hwa chong audi is a poor substitute for dear vt, but I guess this time my relationship with the audience is more direct. (Sitting at the sm table calling cues construes another sort of excitement!) Now I know what the actors feel like when they need to ru xi, though I think my ‘acting’ cmi. But hey! Acting sexy is difficult, you either are it or you are trying too hard to be it (which means you are not it.)
I don’t dare to wash my costumes because all the sequins will come off and 3 hours of work will literally go down the drain. Oh well. But at the least the modern costume is somewhat wearable, if a bit too flamboyant. The nazi costume is just weird and the corset and shorts getup is just incongruous with my wardrobe and my moral sensibilities. I think I would chuck it down the bin if I didn’t spend so much time sewing the gold ribbons and beads on.
Aiya, shit. Don’t feel like blogging anymore. The song is stuck in my head again. It’s a really nice song though. I like the first verse.
'I can fly
But I want his wings
I can shine even in the darkness
But I crave the light that he brings
Revel in the songs that he sings
My angel gabriel'
Crap. I miss dance.
Monday, May 15, 2006
Random Network CheckInstructions:Name 20 ppl u can think of at the top of your head. Dun read the below questions before you write and tag 5 ppl to do this survey.
1(: {enough pple know. Don’t want to advertise le.}
2.amelia
3.linette
4.wing
5.angela
6. mon
7. pheywa
8.rachel (she kicked me! How can I forget!!!!)
9.cher
10. geri
11.wk
12. mommy
13. evelyn
14.esther
15. Justin (sry ame. I think of you I think of him. Heh)
16. ailene (dance overload)
17. jamie
18. boonie
19.guifeng
20.aaron
How did you meet 14?
hwa chong humanities. In the midst of decadence and sin.
What would you do if you never met 1?
I would probably have more time to tease ame and Justin haha. but yeah, I guess I would be happy still, just that life might be so much more mediocre.
What would you do if 20 and 9 dated?
I would get a job as their translator.
Did you ever like 19?
NO. that would be INCEST.
Would 6 and 17 make a good couple?
perhaps. If they discover their lesbian tendencies soon enough.
Describe 3.
prettier than ever (:
Do you think 8 is attractive?
DUH. Another pretty one.
Tell me something about
7.She sweeps guys off their feet. Haha. judoka!
Do you know any of 12's family?
yep. Every single on of them, myself included.
What's 8's favourite?
dance? Kicking people’s eye? xP
What would you do if 11 confesses that he/she likes you?
tell him to get leg extensions. XP
What language does 15 speak?
don’t know. Weird acronymic stuff that only ame understands.
Who is 9 going out with?
lan guang feng. Lao fu lao qi.
How old is 16 now?
17/18
When was the last time you talked to 13?
rj gym night.
Who's 2 favourite band/singer?
ji mo de ji jie/ zhi zu. – Justin?
Would you date 4?
NO. she would be late for all our dates.
Would you date 7?
NO. she would throw me if I was late.
Is 15 single?
NOPE. But they do single themselves out. xP
What's 10's last name?
xu?
Would you ever be in a serious relationship with 11?
we would be heading for serious trouble.
What school does 3 go to?
rj. In the wondrous land called bishan. SIGH.
Where does 6 live?
FORGOT. Oops. Fairyland I guess. Goddess what.
Whats your favourite thing about 5?
non-threatening eyes. Because they are so small. (:
Have you seen no.1 naked?
nightmares should only begin after marriage.
tagged
1. (:
2. zhixuan
3. darren
4. zhu zhang
5. wk
1(: {enough pple know. Don’t want to advertise le.}
2.amelia
3.linette
4.wing
5.angela
6. mon
7. pheywa
8.rachel (she kicked me! How can I forget!!!!)
9.cher
10. geri
11.wk
12. mommy
13. evelyn
14.esther
15. Justin (sry ame. I think of you I think of him. Heh)
16. ailene (dance overload)
17. jamie
18. boonie
19.guifeng
20.aaron
How did you meet 14?
hwa chong humanities. In the midst of decadence and sin.
What would you do if you never met 1?
I would probably have more time to tease ame and Justin haha. but yeah, I guess I would be happy still, just that life might be so much more mediocre.
What would you do if 20 and 9 dated?
I would get a job as their translator.
Did you ever like 19?
NO. that would be INCEST.
Would 6 and 17 make a good couple?
perhaps. If they discover their lesbian tendencies soon enough.
Describe 3.
prettier than ever (:
Do you think 8 is attractive?
DUH. Another pretty one.
Tell me something about
7.She sweeps guys off their feet. Haha. judoka!
Do you know any of 12's family?
yep. Every single on of them, myself included.
What's 8's favourite?
dance? Kicking people’s eye? xP
What would you do if 11 confesses that he/she likes you?
tell him to get leg extensions. XP
What language does 15 speak?
don’t know. Weird acronymic stuff that only ame understands.
Who is 9 going out with?
lan guang feng. Lao fu lao qi.
How old is 16 now?
17/18
When was the last time you talked to 13?
rj gym night.
Who's 2 favourite band/singer?
ji mo de ji jie/ zhi zu. – Justin?
Would you date 4?
NO. she would be late for all our dates.
Would you date 7?
NO. she would throw me if I was late.
Is 15 single?
NOPE. But they do single themselves out. xP
What's 10's last name?
xu?
Would you ever be in a serious relationship with 11?
we would be heading for serious trouble.
What school does 3 go to?
rj. In the wondrous land called bishan. SIGH.
Where does 6 live?
FORGOT. Oops. Fairyland I guess. Goddess what.
Whats your favourite thing about 5?
non-threatening eyes. Because they are so small. (:
Have you seen no.1 naked?
nightmares should only begin after marriage.
tagged
1. (:
2. zhixuan
3. darren
4. zhu zhang
5. wk
Thursday, May 11, 2006
The stars debate...
The moon shines by coincidence,
How the sun chanced upon her with his light;
dowered her, that she too might dance in shadow
And how –
When another shields his beams from her-
Her eclipse waxes pity.
How the sun chanced upon her with his light;
dowered her, that she too might dance in shadow
And how –
When another shields his beams from her-
Her eclipse waxes pity.
Friday, April 21, 2006
thieving on time
What do you do after your 4As, two S paper distinctions and A1 for GP? Apply for a scholarship perhaps, President, SAF, PSC, firefly, DBS. Go overseas. 4 years degree. 2 years masters. Come back to serve your bond at some ministry with the job scope that involves prolonged stays out of Singapore. Like some sort of high class refugee with a 200000 – 300000 annual income. Work your way up the hierarchy – 20s, 30s, 40s, 50s, 60s. One should live life without regrets.
But what I regret about my life so far isn't the 2 A1s I didn't get at o levels, nor is it the 1st place we didn't clinch for cheerleading. Instead, I regret the photos that I didn't take during huang cheng, the primary school friends I’ve forgotten, memories too far back to remember, and incomplete farewells.
No, the PSC scholarship talk didn't inspire me to work towards the top. It instead reminded me of the people I would be leaving behind. Those people who might become one of my many regrets ten years from now, when I cease to be able differentiate between one from another, when the subtle intonations of their voices merge and chorus into one barrage of loss.
12 years of study, 18 years of people, 2 years of you. I guess this is the theory of opportunity cost. But which is the greater? Throw away 12 years of study for the people I love, or the other way round? I am so tired of having to make decisions. How can we measure human beings with economic models?
Why must there be a trade-off? Yet at least where you are concerned there must. To do otherwise would be selfish. Man is innately selfish. Egotistical hedonism. But there is no greater guilt than to deprive someone else of life's chances. Life is abundant, and no man should have the right to make another stand still in the journey of time. Time waits for no man. Man shouldn't need to wait for time, or another man.
I hate wishy-washiness. Either a clean cut or no cut at all. The agony of execution is greatest mid-stroke. Spare us that. I sacrifice or we sacrifice. If only time and space can be crucified.
Pardon my hypothetical nihilism. Rationalisation is a great anaesthetic for pain.
Still, thank you for your offer.
But what I regret about my life so far isn't the 2 A1s I didn't get at o levels, nor is it the 1st place we didn't clinch for cheerleading. Instead, I regret the photos that I didn't take during huang cheng, the primary school friends I’ve forgotten, memories too far back to remember, and incomplete farewells.
No, the PSC scholarship talk didn't inspire me to work towards the top. It instead reminded me of the people I would be leaving behind. Those people who might become one of my many regrets ten years from now, when I cease to be able differentiate between one from another, when the subtle intonations of their voices merge and chorus into one barrage of loss.
12 years of study, 18 years of people, 2 years of you. I guess this is the theory of opportunity cost. But which is the greater? Throw away 12 years of study for the people I love, or the other way round? I am so tired of having to make decisions. How can we measure human beings with economic models?
Why must there be a trade-off? Yet at least where you are concerned there must. To do otherwise would be selfish. Man is innately selfish. Egotistical hedonism. But there is no greater guilt than to deprive someone else of life's chances. Life is abundant, and no man should have the right to make another stand still in the journey of time. Time waits for no man. Man shouldn't need to wait for time, or another man.
I hate wishy-washiness. Either a clean cut or no cut at all. The agony of execution is greatest mid-stroke. Spare us that. I sacrifice or we sacrifice. If only time and space can be crucified.
Pardon my hypothetical nihilism. Rationalisation is a great anaesthetic for pain.
Still, thank you for your offer.
Friday, April 14, 2006
Rain
the rain eats away at skyscrapers, memory’s wisps
Linger; the wet smell of grass, drip dripping into
Ephemerals unspoken. Silence hums the low bass of time
as we bury seconds in each other’s warmth.
Elegy is the rain; life’s breath retreating, but we dutifully sing its tune.
(is it you crying me crying or just sky misting around our eyelashes?)
Raindrops chafe at the immortality of water puddles,
while two pairs of feet splash
Laughing evanescence.
how many more times do i have to endure this?
Linger; the wet smell of grass, drip dripping into
Ephemerals unspoken. Silence hums the low bass of time
as we bury seconds in each other’s warmth.
Elegy is the rain; life’s breath retreating, but we dutifully sing its tune.
(is it you crying me crying or just sky misting around our eyelashes?)
Raindrops chafe at the immortality of water puddles,
while two pairs of feet splash
Laughing evanescence.
how many more times do i have to endure this?
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