Not cut for sales.

I'm sick on my birthday. Went to see the doctor and got shitloads of medication. The replacement working in Harvey for me has sold 3 sets as in less than 6 hours.

I sold 1 in 8.

Maybe it's just me. A good sales person shouldn't be affected by variables.

Maybe it's just me. Me.

Birthday Weekend.

I'm going to work over the weekend at Millenia Walk. I could have rejected it but I really wanted to improve all that sales shit, earn money and feel useful.

Well after all, it ends at 8. No problem. I'll just schedule the dinner after 8 at around Suntec City area.

I'm down with an awful sore throat. Imma dig for things to eat. Yeah.

I hope Harvey Norman at Millenia will do me better. Urgh.

Bitch.

I will be having Human Resource Management classes on bloody Monday mornings next semester. I FUCKING HATE THIS. THE TUESDAY CLASS WAS FULLY BOOKED EVEN THOUGH I LOGGED ON AT 5:45. THE BLOODY ECR EXERCISE ONLY STARTS AT 5:30. CRAZY SHIT! FUCK! I DON'T WANNA GO TO SCHOOL ON MONDAY MORNING! I'M CURSED! AND I THINK JIALIN WILL SCREAM AT ME! I'M SORRY! IT WAS THE ONLY CLASS LEFT!

Well, at least I get to party on wed thurs fri and sat because my classes all allow me to sleep in late for the next day.

BUT STILL. I fucking hate this. And my throat is bitching with me. Godammit.

Jobs.

I finally got my mobile back. And, well, I had my first tuition student last afternoon. Secondary 2 China girl at Yuying Secondary.

Her grammar's fine. Only her vocabulary's quite weak. But frankly at Secondary 2, my English was bits of useless nuts too. I don't blame her, her assessment books have really freaky vocabs that I only learnt in Junior College.

Well, gave her a bit of homework and I'll be working on essay writing next week.

I stood for a total of 16 hours at Funan IT Mall over the weekend. Sold only 3 mp3 players, which is a disgraceful number. People usually sell more than that. My only salvation was that it was my first time at Harvey Norman generally had less agressive and, well, helpful staff.

But the truth is that, there were only 8 mp3 players sold over the weekend and three were Samsung players. With Creative having bitching prices and Ipod with it's branding, it's not much of a competition to speak of. And there was this 99-dollar deal. So, that pretty much killed me. But a good salesman is supposed to be able to sell anything. So the excuses made are kinda redundant.

Jobs really get me going. Almost had to pay a penalty when I had this teeeny problem with a tuition agency. No idea what's going to happen but they cancelled the assignment and the lady told me not to worry about the penalty at all. I have no idea what shit's going on.

I just hope I get more tuition assignments and temp jobs. I wanna freaking earn money and feel useful.

And sorta, well. Gap up the void in me I have been filling with mortifying means.

My phone's back. My baby's all tight again. With nice keypads and a no problems, as of now. I'm really happy.

I've gotta choose my course tomorrow. So, yeah. I'm kinda torn between the units. Shit.

I'm at this, state of mind that. Is a tad more selfish but that much more healthy.

A Job.

My first job after the exams. I'll be at Funan Centre.

You wanna buy mp3 players, particularly Samsung ones, come look for me.

Thank you very much.

Yipee. Supposed to wear blackpants but I've got no black panks. Lol. I'll settle for a skirt and heels.

Water.

My phone is at the Nokia Care centre. diverted my calls. Thank god I've got two phones.

Yes I'm still reachable. Very.

Layout.

It's time to change the layout.

Love Poetry.

I should start reading some love poetry and be a little more moonstruck.

I'm getting so cynical, I'm worse than a communist.

OH NO!

I'm going to start something with Lin. Some concept site. It's going to be good.

I've been heading out more, which really is cool. And yeah I need a job.

Anyone who wants a makeover and stuff like that, lemme know.

Prices negotiable. Makeup, hair will be covered.

If you have a party or anything like that, services can also be arranged. I can go over to your place, hotel room, or anything like that, for dinners and such.

Look and colours can be discussed upon. I can even offer a trial.

Let me know. janathema@gmail.com

I seriously need money.

Red Nails.

I'm just fucking emo LAH.

Higher Being.

Murphy's Law is perfecting my singledom.

My bladder's fucked and I don't like it. It's. Just. Bad.

I'm perpetually feeling a sense of urgency. What the hell is wrong, dude!

All Saints - Never Ever.

My songlist is as diverse as how Singaporean culture is claimed to be. Shit. Lemme try again.

My songlist is as diverse as my alteregos. Ah. This sounds better.

You might find it freaky that I'm speaking to myself. I don't, anyway.

The song always gets me down. Especially when it's a Sunday evening, no one on your MSN list is chattable, your head hurts, your best friend's mugging bad. And you have no one to speak to.

Maybe I should read. But my mind's a messy blob I don't want to sift and untangle. Maybe I should get mindfucked by shakespeare. But I'm in no mood for this. None. I just wanna type.

Nah I'm not feeling all ashened and crumbled. I just feel. Stagnant. It ain't good or bad. It's just. There.

Maybe it's time for a poem.

Seeya.

UrbanOutfitters.

I WANT THIS!!! Click here.

Monster In Law was kinda nice. Black pepper udon at crystal jade kicks ass. My breakout's getting better. Next week's packed. I'm happy.

Star Wars.

The first time I watched the anything from the series from credit to credit. It was done oldschool. Funny. Yoda looks like a bittergourd.

My friend's ran away from home and none of us knows where she's staying.

I'm heading to Orchard later. I can't help but worry about my friend.

I need clothes. I don't know. I can't think. Liqing, are you alright?

I'm having a breakout. Hah.

TOUT VA BIEN, ON S'EN VA

I wanna watch this french film! Well.

JIALIN. DO YOU READ THIS? HINT HINT.

It's not a good night, tonight.

I SPENT LESS THAN MY MOM.

This ought to be momentous. I actually bought less stuff than my Mom did today at Orchard.


I've never been into blue things. I almost hate the colour but. This looked pretty. And I found an eyeshadow to match.


Card holder. Pretty pink. You see my fluctuations? I go from being morosely black to all soft and pastel. Omfg!


The card holder and my student card. If only SIM could market itself like SMU. Oh wait. I'm glad it didn't.

I was at this cafe at Tanglin Mall with my Mom. I FOUND THE SUCCESSOR TO MARMALADE PANTRY'S STICKY DATE PUDDING! AT $6.50! LARGER QUANTITY! WHOOPED ASS!

I got so excited I rang Prasad up after I took the first bite. Had some egg, tomato and ciabatta thingie. It was very good. I'll definitely head there again.

But it's bloody off Orchard. Oh man.

VASANTHAM CENTRAL.

Don't tell me I'm not Indian. Don't!

Little India.

If you want undivided attention from a good hoard of people, am Chinese, preferably female with fair skin, dine at Little India.

Somehow I never got that kind of scrutiny when I drop by with Prasad. But last night was different. I was a little bewildered by the lack of tourists at my almost favourite restaurant Ganga. It was surprisingly quiet for a Friday night. The food sucked. I couldn't quite contemplate.

When I stepped into the restaurant, there was this Indian family, all looking seemingly modern but was eyeing me like I was some Albino. Somehow they smiled weirdly, spoke to each other in Tamil and it was their turn to be seated in the restaurant.

They were probably wondering why this Chinese girl is out with this guy who looks Indian. Friggin racists!

The racial purity there was peaking (how nazist) with the lack of tourists to dilute the racial intensity. Well. I really didn't mind. I know what to eat at an Indian restaurant.

I can't deal with Indian kids though. I always have them irritating me at Indian restaurants. The previous time at Riverwalk Tandoor, I felt like I was in Iraq with their trooping and silly war games. And last night, there were kids crouching over our table, playing. Their parents didn't freaking stop them, well. Not ebfore I stood right before them with a plate full of food and an expression that spelt a serious "excuse me".

I have no respect for parents who can't be bothered or cannot discipline their kids. I didn't grow up in the military, although that would very much be a debatable fact but. I can't deal with kids who don't know how to behave themselves.

What's so fun about irritating people and running around a restaurant, tell me really.

Maybe I was just too preoccupied with my Barbie dolls when I was young, especially with the addition of Ken to my collection.

I prolly gre up before I knew it. Damn.

It's Over.

It's over. And that means I'm now fully susceptible to an intellectual stalemate or mental suspension. I know, this is bad. But I'll keep reading.

And finally get to live my double life as a Literature student.

Today's management essays were pretty okay. I enjoy writing so much, you can't imagine. It's tiring yes, churning out near 20 pages of words in 3 hours. But it's the satisfaction you get when you fill in the last word as the invigilator stops the clock. It's euphoric. Literary Fetishism.

My MSN Messenger's dying on me. Last night I thought it was some divine intervention coming to play, telling me to concentrate studying what I ought to eons back. I read my study guide and browsed through my mindmap. I think I'll survive.

But it's still cranked up. My brother's complaining about the same problem. So does that mean that our internet connection's going bonkers? Oh my starhub.

And well, I'm heading out tonight. Nothing fancy or rad. Just dinner.

I left my group of friends to head home in desperate need to catch a wink. But. I'm bloody awake now after a face wash. Don't you just hate this.

I bought female and herworld. I have to get in touch with the bimbo me although it's the summer edition and everyone knows I live a perennial winter even in sunny singapore. Just today I wore a black knitted sweater to the exam halls, looking as if I'm really taking a University of London paper in native London.

Things to do, officially. Besides searching for a job. Urgh.

1. Read my shakespeare consolidated works.
2. Tarot
3. Astrology
4. Poetry. I ought to head to the library already. I need something lyrical in my life. My school notes are far too bland and grammatical for enrichment of any kind.
5. Nokia Care Centre. I noticed something wrong with my keypad. Argh. My worst experience with a Nokia phone. *snorts.

I don't know. Time to stop eating. Sleep late, wake up later, watch loads of tv, read loads of crap and start thinking about how to really love myself.

Don't I sound like a fashion magazine already.

Once bitten, thrice shy. And this is only the second time.

I'm repeating my mistakes. But at least, it isn't that late yet. I'm studying for management now. Well.

I love Natalie Imbruglia's new album. It whoops ass. It ain't all impressive when you run it for the first time. But it slowly sticks to you, hinges itself. The lyrics get louder. And you grow akin to the songs. Really. I'm attached to them so much, I can put it on repeat, sit through the whole album. It's therapeutic.

I won't be happy when I finish my examinations.

I don't know why. Although I've got a new top and bag and heels to show off to the world.

No, I'm not content.

Schedule.

Well. Last paper. I ought to redeem myself already.

12-2 Chapter 10
2-4 Chapter 9
4-7 Chapter 5
Three hours in the night Chapter 5.

That shall be all.

My Mom.

I crammed for my Sociology paper this morning. Whether it had done me any good, it's not up to me to decide. But well, before I left my Mom, we have breakfast together everytime I'm up and have to head somewhere early, I threw her a worrying "I'm very scared."

She called me up later. And told me. "Don't worry girl. Whatever happens. You're still my daughter."

I had a momentary emo tear dropping moment in the washroom. Freshened up. And continued trying to psyche myself up to awakeness.

I mugged till 3+ in the morning. Woke up at 5.45. And went for exams. Crammed and mugged last minute. I realised I can only crap when my mind is blank. My flow was stumped. Too many fragmented thoughts. I was joking to Jialin. "I'll write. Here's a piece of my mind for you. Only a piece of it." LOL.

Well. I napped. And just woke up. Felt like it was morning already but it's only 10+. I'm feeling tired again, already.

Oh yes. I'm skipping dinner. I'm getting way outta scale. I realised, when I couldn't find anything to wear this morning that wasnt black.

The Exams.

I flunked 50% of what makes up to be my first year. Wellwell. Nevermind.

So I'm left with essay based Sociology and Management. I'm going to study for them.

And although I've slacked for the whole of this saturday, I do have a conscience and thus am going to start studying after a bath.

Let's make it 8. 8-12. Then the PC yet again.

I'll finish my section A theories and section B on Social Change.

And tomorrow I'd be left with bureaucracy.

I just hope I get my writing fling back. It lost me last week. My thoughts got stumped so often, I lagged behind.

I'll see you guys, soon.

Faking It.

Faking indifference when my mom asked me about my exams. I couldn't hold any longer and told her the truth. I flunked. Am ashamed. And. Yeah. This sucks. She's actually mentally prepared that I takeaway the subject to year 2. Maths, Stats, Econs. The two subjects I flunked, failed, dropped and swore off. She wasn't really surprised.

Maybe it was the over preparedness. And the anxiety to not mess up and spend time and money going through the whole ordeal again. Without friends. As a retaker. This is bloody demoralising. I seem to do better when I'm ill-prepared. My mind is blank and it's on high alert. I know what I don't know and so there are so little things I can choose from in the question sheet. I pounce on the little that I know and do them dedicatedly. When you have knowledge, you're spoilt for choice. I can fake knowledge. Really. My Sociology, Economics and Management mocks got good passes.

Fakey watch at 18 bucks at Heartland Mall. Decided I need some motivation for time management. During exams.



Yeah. It's darned fakey. But who cares. I found out the three small clockfaces on the big clockface don't move. For show only. Wow.

I found my black bangle! At Tampines. $1.90. Yeay.



Loads of black stuff. Yeah. Faking a Goth. I'm crazy.

I've never faked an orgasm. Lol. Oh what a thing to say on this blog. I don't know why anyone should. Honesty's more difficult but you can get used to it. When you don't you don't. When you can't, you can't. No use making someone feel so full about themselves that'd guarantee the perpetuity of that. Imagine!

I pinched my nose to speak. Released it and I sounded the same. Yeah. That bad.

Gonna study Sociology later. Took a break last evening but dozed off too early. Oh man.

And my cramps aren't helping.

Snorkelling.

I sound like I'm snorkelling. I can almost see the fishes swimming past my nose now.

I'm down with a bloody flu. Doesn't help when today's Mathematics and tomorrow's Economics. Oh dreads.

Well. I really need sleep. Ie. I really need to get over this.

People tell me I'm strong. The one person who will survive confrontations. That while people can deal with hidden, silent gestures because they can't take hard words, I'm someone who loves going up and getting myself scalded. People think I'm crazy and downright stupid but. Hey. I like the pain. I always believe that intense pain comes and goes easily. Stalemates kill me.

*grabs tissue to stop my nose from running*

This is bad. Bloody expo is artic. Sniff.

Sometimes I just wonder if I gave up the wrong things in life for the even wrong-er things in it. I wonder what I've done to myself. What really matters anymore.

I hope Prasad can distract me with the shit he gets from camp. And I can distract myself with exams. And later. Books. Loads of them. Shakespeare always make me feel like this intelligent whore ready to take over the world.

I ought to write more. If I want anything literary to develop in my life.

I realise the emptiness of my life. I don't really have that much to do.

I have friends who do this learn that. Blah. I just. Sleep, get woozy and watch MTV.

And write about Sex. Oh god a redeeming factor.

I might meet Daniel when my exam's done. But he's like this forgetful bastard so I won't put my stakes too high on the 20th.

I don't feel happy, or sad. Or anything. I just feel like doing Math. Man. Now I'm fucked.

Statistics.

I bloody studied hard for it but nothing really came out of that. I thought I flunked it.

Ahhh, nevermind. I justify my hatred for all things numerical all the time.

My throat's way better. I can talk properly without crumpling my face together when I swallow my saliva. I like the way I sound now. I have a thing for blocked noses. I always thought it sounded cool. Well, since primary school. I appreciate it cuz I don't get it easy so. I'm only human.

Mathematics. I was feeling groggy studying and stuff. Waiting for dinner.

It's Daniel's birthday tomorrow. And Natalie's the next. Well. One doesn't accept presents cuz he's this chauvinist. The other, I have no idea what to get for her yet. Well, thinking about it, she might just read this. After Exams darling, after Exams.

Prasad almost got into shit in camp. But he's okay now. He called me wanting some sympathy but I kinda. Told him he should have expected it. He's in the military! He grumbled about my apathy but kinda realised the reality of it all. Haha. Well. I always think best friends would appreciate honesty. I did tell him how lucky he was and... How his camp mates are bastards. But sometimes. We just do the wrong things and. He will understand. He knows my way to consolation as odd as it might be.

I'm feeling way better today. The mood plunged deep down after Stats for a while but I forget easy. Sakae at the airport and heading back with Jialin to study at my place.

I believe I say this too often, but I can't wait for exams to be over. Godammit. Not that I have anything planned but. The simple thought of doing nothing is enough to make me fly.

And yeah. I think my poetry's getting way too morbid. (Refer to previous few) All about. Inaction. Stoicism. Lifelessness. I feed on this. Still, breathless moments in between my writing when I'm drafting it. Everything flashing by like movie scenes. Digging for appropriate words. But they often mean so much, too much. Tad too intense and it dislodges itself from my initial intentions. Everything spreads like wildfire, the emotions all tangled spat out like a furball. That I don't really know which comes from where. Culmination of thoughts sorta thing. I always enjoyed crescendo-ed climaxes in Opera more than murmuring solliloquys. I suck at lighthearted themes because the blonde me supercedes and makes everything sound like a flypaper jingle.

Prasad liked the poem. But he still prefers Last Spring (In Poetry link.). He thought that one suicidal. You know why we like Virginia Woolf now. We're self excavating people.

I once complained about my inability to write romance. But nowadays, I can, even if not very well.

My Sex Blog is getting mechnical. Sadly only one reader was discerning enough to sniff out my disengagement. Enough, enough. It only takes One reader to make a writer an author.

I think I just made sex and romance synonymous. They're not. They just correlate. There might be causation. But there are intercepting variables that might make the relationship unauthentic.

I love using technical terms I learn in school when I write. It's a mildly egotistical act I like.

After A Long Time.

One of my only first few pieces this year. I ought to be ashamed. Nonetheless. I'm glad I wrote something.

Disposure

Poignant in its still clarity,
Vicious,
The careless polygamy.
She bears pregnant with dreams,
Bound hands and feet,
And a heart rampant
With silent clamouring.

The Muse tells her she ought to abandon
The Opium of her soul
That drains her senses to depletion.
The mutual dependency
Proving too costly.
She's a child intoxicated by
This worldly addiction.

Stranded and strangled
By a stinging anticipation,
Seething with suspicion.
Virulent.
Malignant.
The ailments of a woman's heart,
Intricate and putrescent.

The bane of all lovers-
Obscurity
And dubiety,
Connived and contrived conspiracies;
Bleached stains
And faint intentions.
The art braves sanctity.

She sits motionless like a doll.
Speechless, restless.
Contemplating,
Her mind meandering.
Her sad eyes blink,
She draws an dire breath in.
She's alive but much less awake.

I'm not in the most. Excellent of moods. Well I could use Menstruation as an excuse but I know it's not. My throat isn't well at all and somehow, it's just making studies that tad bit harder. Sometimes you feel disposed by everyone, higher being or human. Luck, chance and people. Things like that. This isn't nice.

Softcore.

Nothing outrageous nowadays. Just loads of money spent on things I always wanted.

But before that.


My industrial bitched with me. So I took it out and ear-stuck it. Ouch, yeah I know. Bled and all. But it's feeling better now. The main culprit being.


This rod pierced me hard. My stick that comes with two removable heads. Beat that.


See the stone at the right top corner of the lens? The Minah got Blingblinged!


Bind me hard.


Bind me harder.

Had nothing to go with my studded belt anyway.

Now if only I had a corset...

I mean a REAL corset. I have this corsetish looking silver top. Well.

And a garter belt! Ooo.

Boredom.

I finished a Mathematics and Statistics paper each. Cool huh. I know.

What I should do after my exams.

1. Look for a job.
2. Look for tuition kids.
3. Sleep. If not sleep more.
4. Blog more.
5. Write poetry.
6. Study Tarot.
7. Study Astrology.
8. Study Shakespeare.
9. Study poets.
10. Shop.
11. Get rid of dark rings.
12. Wax my legs. Yeowch.
13. Drink. Alot.
14. Crash on DVDs.
15. Visit coffee places regularly.
16. Meet up with Prasad, Florence and the girls.
17. Lose weight. That's perennial.
18. Pack my wardrobe.
19. Bake.
20. Do nothing at all.

Well. I'm trying to tire my brain to sleep. And it's not succeeding. Nevermind.

Birthday Wishlist.

Now I remember what I wanted to write about!

When you're bored studying, you write letters to everyone on Earth, think about what to wear tomorrow even though you aren't going anywhere and. Well how long it is before your birthday and how you're going to spend it, what you're going to get and consequently what you want.

Besides the intangible like a better love life (or actually, simply the existence of one), better complexion, better health, my industrial healing, weight loss (that to me is intangible because it never happens) and perpetually moisturised hair, I have a few gadgets I want to get.

1. USB cable for my Nokia 6260. A Bluetooth device could work but USB transfer's faster. So. If you have too much money to spend, money-laundering or shit like that, you could just do me that favour.

2. 512 Memory Card for my Nokia 6260, too. There's no use getting a cable without enough memory to download songs to and other kickass stuff. So. Doesn't matter where it's from. As long as it's got humongous space. I'd really love that. Even without the USB cable.

3. A better handphone battery. Something's wrong with it. You could get me a spare batt. Lol. I'd be going to Nokia Care anyway but. You know. The more the merrier.

4. A manual on how to use my phone, functionally. Includes teaching me how and where to install rubbish software and things like that.

5. Necklace with my name. If you hate me enough, you could put Bitch or Slut or GrandWhore instead of Joanna. Janathema would do too but online aliases on chains are kinda. Passe. Overdone. Overkilled. Overrated. You can get me gold, white gold, sterling silver, rhinestoned, diamonded, blingbling whorish. Don't get me one with Goddess. Although you might worship me, I'm really not that omnipotent.

6. Black bangles. In any form.

7. A new bellbar. I'd have to check the length of mine first. I'll be removing it soon.

8. LV monogram purse. Ahlian what. What to do.

But actually, all I'd want is. A meet up. Enough to make me happy oh the easily contented me. Dinner treat or even just dinner would suffice. As long as you'd bother to call me up to fix a date.

Because too often, people take that for granted. I'm working on scarce resources here!

And if you fear that what you'd get might have already been gotten, don't worry. I don't have that many friends to repeat gifts. You might just be the only one choosing from the 8 options godammit.

I seriously should get back to study. Farewell.

Birthday Wishlist.

Now I remember what I wanted to write about!

When you're bored studying, you write letters to everyone on Earth, think about what to wear tomorrow even though you aren't going anywhere and. Well how long it is before your birthday and how you're going to spend it, what you're going to get and consequently what you want.

Besides the intangible like a better love life (or actually, simply the existence of one), better complexion, better health, my industrial healing, weight loss (that to me is intangible because it never happens) and perpetually moisturised hair, I have a few gadgets I want to get.

1. USB cable for my Nokia 6260. A Bluetooth device could work but USB transfer's faster. So. If you have too much money to spend, money-laundering or shit like that, you could just do me that favour.

2. 512 Memory Card for my Nokia 6260, too. There's no use getting a cable without enough memory to download songs to and other kickass stuff. So. Doesn't matter where it's from. As long as it's got humongous space. I'd really love that. Even without the USB cable.

3. A better handphone battery. Something's wrong with it. You could get me a spare batt. Lol. I'd be going to Nokia Care anyway but. You know. The more the merrier.

4. A manual on how to use my phone, functionally. Includes teaching me how and where to install rubbish software and things like that.

5. Necklace with my name. If you hate me enough, you could put Bitch or Slut or GrandWhore instead of Joanna. Janathema would do too but online aliases on chains are kinda. Passe. Overdone. Overkilled. Overrated. You can get me gold, white gold, sterling silver, rhinestoned, diamonded, blingbling whorish. Don't get me one with Goddess. Although you might worship me, I'm really not that omnipotent.

6. Black bangles. In any form.

7. A new bellbar. I'd have to check the length of mine first. I'll be removing it soon.

8. LV monogram purse. Ahlian what. What to do.

But actually, all I'd want is. A meet up. Enough to make me happy oh the easily contented me. Dinner treat or even just dinner would suffice. As long as you'd bother to call me up to fix a date.

Because too often, people take that for granted. I'm working on scarce resources here!

And if you fear that what you'd get might have already been gotten, don't worry. I don't have that many friends to repeat gifts. You might just be the only one choosing from the 8 options godammit.

I seriously should get back to study. Farewell.

Evolution as the World's Foolproof VirusScan.

I'm studying Sociology in school now and am getting fervently thoughtful all out of a sudden. Well I shall sort my thoughts out and put them into philosophical jargon, which I always indulge in. You guys might not understand but I get the kick out of throwing Christians off tangent. And yes. The thoughts I have have a religious slant to them.

I'm in school! Been long but. Well. I'm glad I'm here soon enough before I realise the exams have ended without me. Lol.

And I'm thoroughly bored. The library desks proving to me that they do not conduct and condone sleeping. Oh buzzer.

There's this two Chinese PRCs beside me now. Their accent's darned distracting. Don't their tongues get cramps?

I'm meeting the Holy Slut Prasad for lunch later. He's dropping by from Maju Camp. Isn't that exhilarating!

I lost my chain of thoughts. Ooo. God's way of telling me I should resume my revision, if I'd started at all.

I'm very. Happr/prancey whatevery now. Can I skip in the school library?

Evolution as the World's Foolproof VirusScan.

I'm studying Sociology in school now and am getting fervently thoughtful all out of a sudden. Well I shall sort my thoughts out and put them into philosophical jargon, which I always indulge in. You guys might not understand but I get the kick out of throwing Christians off tangent. And yes. The thoughts I have have a religious slant to them.

I'm in school! Been long but. Well. I'm glad I'm here soon enough before I realise the exams have ended without me. Lol.

And I'm thoroughly bored. The library desks proving to me that they do not conduct and condone sleeping. Oh buzzer.

There's this two Chinese PRCs beside me now. Their accent's darned distracting. Don't their tongues get cramps?

I'm meeting the Holy Slut Prasad for lunch later. He's dropping by from Maju Camp. Isn't that exhilarating!

I lost my chain of thoughts. Ooo. God's way of telling me I should resume my revision, if I'd started at all.

I'm very. Happr/prancey whatevery now. Can I skip in the school library?

Reds, whites and 17 year old boys.

Reds. I've been on this coincidental red wine drinking streak. It's all good, besides the fact that I get really frisky after this kinda stuff and couldn't really do anything. Think. Parents.

Which is good, really. My drinking outings with my ticket-giving friend's been. Well. They don't happen anymore. I might resume it all after my exams in May. But it's not exactly only up to me about that.

Whites. So the London Examiners bloody love my crap. My classmates are borrowing my Mock Exam Scripts to grasp my Art Of Crapping. Because I went in with a blank mind and managed to pass all my papers. Except for the subject I actually studied for. Statistics.

And it's cool. I know what the angmors want. I'm a product of British Education. Aren't we all? I just did it more literarily. I was in Arts. Talk about hardcore paraphrasing.

17 year old boys. I know three of them, currently.

1. He's into self-injure. Because of a girl (No. Not the one who's doing it for me. This guy's actually kinda cool. He doesn't whine about it hurting. He sorts his own shit out. Ie. I'm not mothering him and he's not smothering me.)

2. The notorious Psycho Boy. He's sick. Said he wanted to die and all. Threw away the necklace he bought for me. Tells me he wants us to be friends. Still haunts me with his phonecalls. And. And. Told me he wants to keep both of us in a bubble. What the holy fuck. Oh and he said hearing from me again will make him the happiest man on Earth. Ironically, that's sad.

3. My Ragnarok "husband". Well. The game works in the way that. Getting married will bring about some. Leeching advantages. Norman knew him too. Oh god. The whole Ragnarok community shit. Well. His girlfriend was in the game too and. She sorta broke up with him. He messaged this morning asking who I was and he couldn't remember. Told me to call him. He sounded like he's 7. From my. Uh. Gentle interrogation (I'm kinda good with dealing with emo/mental people. They sorta open up.) he got admitted into the hospital. Lost his memory. Got some depression shit. Internal bleeding thing that he's told me way before so that's like. Not surprising. And. He sounds like he's in a bad shape. He can't even remember his parents. He might be fooling around. But I knew he loved his girl deeply. She kinda dropped him bad. BAD being IN THE GAME. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH GAMERS.

You'd say I know really interesting people. I'm surrounded by mental people. Those who appear to be fine currently have a past too so. Well. Don't ask.

Somehow teenagers nowadays like snapping and crashing for girls and relationships. I wonder what would have happened to me when I was younger. I went through worse misfortunes and turned out fine. What's wrong with the 1988 batch of boys. They're so. Fragile.

And if you thought having this kinda people around's fun, it isn't. Because although my friends tell me to not give a shit about them and ignore the heavens out of hell, I can't do it. I've got this passive thing in me. Super-absorbent emo sponge of sorts.

I don't think I can help them. Because. I'm not that well placed in life anyway. Maybe it's all about the weakness in my character. That I can't reject people when they ask for help. That I'm afraid of hurting people. I'm the most civil person I know. Just because I never learnt how to say no.

Minah Shades.

Things like that make me happy. Yee hah.


Nobody told me shades and floral print pj-dresses don't match.


I could be a rockstar if I wanted to. If I wanted to. I'm emo.

I got a webcam by the way. And a new mobile phone. My new baby's a 6260. Battery problems. I'm going to slap it swiveling onto the Nokia Care people's faces.

I'm so bimbotic! Laters!

Self Injure.

Someone said he did that for me. Woah. I never got such emo guys.

Most boys just. Scamper away when the attractive fizzle of perkiness dies out on me, when they don't find my humour (A dry concoction of brainlessness and ignorance. It's actually kind of deliberate. The easiest way to make a joke funny is to make it unfunny. Let people laugh at how silly you are and vice versa.), bitchy retorts and all that intellectual banter and repartee of sorts. It's kinda sad. But what happened last night made me feel even sadder.

The 17 year old boy said he cut himself. Told me he loves me deeply. Wants to be the best boyfriend I've ever had. Deserves a chance for his very perseverance.

Things don't work out that day, boy. I have no idea how to snap you outta this teenage hogwash. The very fact that you're doing all this irks me on a certain level but more importantly, makes a lover for small spaces like me claustrophobic. I have no sexual intentions on you. You're too young. Not that age matters. But when a 17 year old behaves like a 13 and wants to date a 20 who feels like she's 30, the gap is appalling.

I'm not saying I'm bloody mature and crap. But the thing's that. I don't feel a thing for him.

And all his threats and cutting and telling me his life sucks just makes me feel that he's. Well. I'm sorry to say but not that much of a winner.

Who'd fall for someone who wallows in his sorrows, indulges in self-pity and refuses to leave the rut. I got out of my previous relationship because of stagnation. People who are stationary gets on my nerves as bad as nails on a chalkboard.

I hope that guy's just fooling around. I'm not saying cutting is right or wrong. It's not for me to judge how useful it is in alleviating the more intangible of pains. I have friends who do it. But never for a girl whom they've never even met in real life, who's nothing more than just an MSN nickname, display picture and a voice to a phone number.

I think he's sick. I know it's possible to like someone before meeting him/her in real. But. To fall in love and want to injure himself for it all, that's impossible.

He thinks he's in love. Makes me wonder what kind of crap girls of his age are.

He could message my friend (a guy under the guise of a female identity) "Good Morning, Sweetie." and that he is cutting himself for me both in the same day! What talent!

I ought not to be humoured, really. I ought to feel worried. I do. But you can't say I'm not amused.

Piercings.

I'd want to get more. But I can't. And this screwed up industrial isn't motivating me to put more metal into me.

It's better already. But I'm not exactly feeling good right now.

I don't know. I can't lay a finger on how or what it is. Maybe it's just hormonal.

Whatever it is, I ought to start studying.

My throat got really bad yesterday after a rhumba frap. It ironically got better without me drinking a sip of water.

I'm tired. Tired.

Industrial.

It's very screwed up. Swollen. An blue back and all. It's really really worrying me. Taking it out is going to cost. I wonder if there;s anything i can do to it to salvage the whole thing. OMFG!

Phonecalls.

A boy in the expiring prime of his teenage, seeking for some kind of mature exhaltation from the young fucks he's been having, texting and calling night and day telling me how I'm so indispensible in his life, how I make him insomniac, how his moods and feelings are tied to my actions like a puppet only that he's the one synchronising to my movements instead of the other way around. A boy in such youth that I feel both inapt and over-qualified to deal with. It almost seemed evil to be toying with boys. I'm not. He's toying himself. Amazed at how he manages to make himself enslaved in something non-existent. Prasad and I talked about the over-development of the imaginative right brain in young punks these days. Maybe school has made these poor youthlings hallucinative. I don't know. Nothing is ever going to happen between me and a younger boy because, of all the things I felt I wasn't getting enough from whatever had come before romantically, he offers lesser than any precedent tragic romantic comedies in my life. Well. And. Who ever can tolerate a nasal voice that expresses himself in a little less than coherence. We're not even talking about content, substance and other things sensible.

The lack of phonecalls from someone. I fascinate at how my love life is almost Shakespearean a comedy. The cynic can only snort at the cheesy ending, which by itself is locked in a timed eternity. I'm not complaining. Because there is nothing to complain about. I'm the tragic hero who doesn't die or get liberated by some kind of resolution. I'm the tragic hero who's always, a tragic hero. You know how it feels when things just go in this irritating cyclical motion, going so fast and repetitively that it gives that sickening winding sound, almost buzz-like. You want to get it out of your system but the harder you try, it gets louder. The louder it gets, you try harder. Two concurrent vicious cycles fucking your life up.

Late night talking with a certain someone. I wouldn't give up sleep for anyone less than interesting. The funny thing is, I know the person might just read this some time soon, I don't know. And hereby, I shall profess my wish for a spiffy birthday present in two months for the appraisal. Thanks.

Martin has faded in and decided to stay as much more than an apparition. I realised reconciliation's one of my innate talents. One that I never bothered to develop and put to practice. Because besides the god-sent ability to be accepting, forgiving, understanding and logical (ie. I give heed to explanations. I'm a sucker for them.) I am extremely adept at evasion, delusion and other things dodging. But well. Somehow a little effort went a long way. I think it was Martin who got the whole thing started. And I'm getting all excited like a puppy to make this once-lost friendship work. Because. We know how many people we can't trust these days. And when we can, it's insane to let them go.

Prasad. I've been talking to him less. He's so busy. Well. Sparing him from all my disses and cusses about my, and our love life (or the lack of. or the failure of. whatever makes it pathetic.) and of course cutting him his supply of the kind-hearted sceptic. I actually think I'm way cool being able to be pessimistic and encouraging at the same time. I know. It's just another way of saying I'm bloody jaded.

I think all this emo prose should stop. Because it's starting (or started off) to make no sense at all and is just my little attempt to play around with language and failing miserably. My inferiority complex is rooted in over-confidence. I bring myself down because I'm proud enough to know that you'll tell me I'm nothing like how I think I am, that I'm smart, intellectual, unique and simply supreme. I know.

In fact. This entry's got no purpose at all. It's just whatever comes to my mind, which is severely lacking of sleep and doesn't exactly function properly even when fully-charged. No I'm not perplexed. I'm just fucking crappy.

Oh by the way, someone just told me that I'm over-narcissistic, in the unhealthy sorta way and they can't be bothered to read my blog. Well. I realised how weird it is people like to tell us what to do, how we should be. I'm not a social person. Whether I try to be or not try to be, it's as useless as a is the glass half full or half empty kinda rhetoric. But since I won't burn in hell or on a stake or by the very sublimation of my soul, I'll just conveniently stay as who I am.

MON

This guy's scrutinising at all my entries, past and present. I gave him my address and realised he's got access to all my old pictures and crap. OMG! MONISH I KNOW YOU'RE READING THIS!

New layout.

Cool eh. Cool! My sex blog's linked. Read discerningly. And please do not enter if you're underaged or are potentially disgusted by sexual materials.

Martin Chen.

I wrote this for him.

The 1st time I met this horny bastard was at VCH's fountain.I was still into platforms and peroxidised hair, he was still into ahbeng shirts, we were holding Ericsson 388s.
Were you trying to spell biatch or were you getting too high on the asterisks? Surfing porn right. You didn't have to censor yourself, we're capable of worse.
Martin's my Soulmate. Because we're "Tried & Tested" Best Friends. Even after a long period of miscommunication, misunderstanding and the meteoroid clashing of our 8-characters, we were able to catch up with whatever we've missed out on either sides for 2 years within a couple of hours. That's almost supernatural, I know. That's why I call us Soulmates.
We click on many levels. Religiously, chorally and our lives mirror one another. Unfortunately for me, the reflection only works on the emo department. We get strung in similar crap and blame each other for it.
I'm glad we worked out the kinks. There could never have been another Martin.
Really.
Thanks.

Ousting Outbreak.

I'm thoroughly traumatised. I'm going to see my derma this evening. This has to come to an end. My lifestyle's getting the better of me. Well. I just want clear skin dammit.

My Sex Blog's working fine I guess. I'll link it up again when I get a new layout done. But before anything happens to my skin to make it better, I doubt that's gonna happen. Because. I've got this thing about putting my pictures in my layout so. Well. Nevermind.

I met Siwei and Chichi at the SAJC Concert last evening. Well it was fine. Silver shouldn't be difficult.

And I heard that Anderson Secondary School didn't get a Gold with Honours (the wonderful things ccac is coming up with these days godammit.) which distressed me a little.

Going to watch Porcelain with Jialin on Sunday evening. Woo. And the Sistic guy actually pronounces Matinee as MAT-TEN-NEE. Right.

No more drinking peeps. I've suddenly aged. And no one EVER feels like fun with a dotted face and a bloated chin.

As much as I feel rock bottom, I'm happy I'm going for classes and stuff beyond that. Hanging out with friends are cool, really.

I've been trying to evade this for a long time but. Norman and I's off. He deleted my testimonials. And. Well. I still have his. I don't know what to feel. Really. It's a whole mix of regret, reminisce and that tinge of residual emos to the whole issue.

You know what. He didn't even do anything to hold back the break up. And that kinda got to me bad. The previous time he broke up with me, I salvaged things at all costs. This time, with me initiating the whole thing, he did nothing but keep silent, continue playing his game and hung up on me.

You might call me a heartbreaker. Yeah I do all the right things to be one. But I don't get the right guys who will get heartbroken. Am I that faceless to be chucked away?

I need to club hard. Just you wait. My bloody complexion better clear up. Gonna blow money on all this superficial stuff again.

I suddenly feel like cutting myself.

Overeating.

I've been getting my stomach crashed with all sorts of alcohol and now it almost feels numb. I can eat an elephant and not feel a thing. I might regurgitate in a minute of two but wouldn't have felt anything coming.

So now I shall go on a diet again. For the thousandth time, I shall skip dinner and just have breakfast and lunch like I did a couple of months back. I figured that if I didn't write it here, it virtually won't be happening.

And I very much yearn for stability and constancy these days.

I don't know. Well. I don't know how it's going to happen.

Partying.

I've been partying too much for my own good. Thumper was bloody crowded last night. Saw Tuafik Batisah, met an Italian chef, spoke to two Mass Comm girls from NTU, said hi to my Bartender friend.

I took 4 Lychee Martinis, 5 Chocolate Martinis, 2 Vodka Cranberries, 1 Vodka Ribena and another drink I can't remember its name. Something Jon made and told me to give it a try.

And I was still sane. The Martinis were weak. Well, not the ones Jon made though. I could taste the difference in alcohol content because my new found friend, someone who looks really like Jamie Yeo bought me a Lychee Martini and I got her one back, done by Jon. We halfed our drinks, pouring in and out of the Martini glasses. The Bartender saw me doing that and added more alchohol into my diluted cup. I couldn't taste the lychee-ness of the drink after that.

I'm heading to Avril Lavigne's concert tomorow. Mosh Pit tickets. The most expensive, in fact, courtesy of my friend. It's really sweet ain't it. It's bloody free.

So I'm heading for the concert with Prasad. We don't DIG Avril THAT much but I'm curious and hey, she does have a few nice songs, right? Prasad's goin because I'm going and he thought it'd be fun. Going to Sizzler for a salad buffet before the whole thing. Cool huh. I just might club again tomorrow. I don't know. I'm partying too much for health.

Thumper Night

I'm going down Thumper tonight. Be back.

Setting Things Straight.

I wrote this entry initially for my Sex Blog. But I've decided to post it here too.

I suppose the majority of you here should be Heterosexual. Because this is a straight blog, well almost, and it only seems logical that it caters for the straight public as well.

But I do have Homosexual inclinations. Although "tendencies" is a word loathed by the gay community because there's no such thing as "tendencies" to them, you either are or you're not, it's a word that I'd use, as a young Lesbian finding her way under strict scrutiny. Because I am not that sure or experienced as of yet to call myself a woman-lover. I love pussies. And breasts. I can wank off to female masturbation video clips and women moaning. I'd fuck a girl, strap-ons, fingers, cunnilingus and all. But I won't say I'd fall for a girl as of yet. She might be alluring but to me, it all still pretty much maintains at a physical level.

People have commented that I seem to fuck like a Man. That is, the very talent I have to separate Sex and Love altogether. In fact when I fall for someone, Sex isn't the first thing on my mind, though it trails closely behind as the second.

In fact, this entry has a certain element of self-reflection encompassed within it. I'm trying to sort out my Bisexuality these days. Looking at the sexual-ness of things, I can call myself a Bisexual in full blown pride. But emotionally, I still am Heterosexual. I believe many women out there are alike. That they'd fuck a girl but wouldn't date one. I am almost ashamed that I feel this way. Why am I unable to pull my attraction for girls up to my heart from my pussy?

However confused I am about myself being Lesbian or not after all, I'd want to say, when it comes to girls, I still feel a great sense of coyness. It's like going through dating school from square one. I've come a long way with men. But with women, I feel like a pubescent 13 year old again, exploring the ways and means to interact with attraction. Maybe I need a mature Lesbian to tell me more about an "L" word, regardless whether it means "Lesbianism", "Licking" or "Love".

Maybe I am unable to feel for a girl romantically because I just have yet, that I haven't met a girl who sees me as a love interest or treat me like one to spark off this awaiting part of me. It's like living in a nunnery and not knowing how much men can offer me. Maybe this inability stems itself in inaccessibility.

I'm delighted. I have found an answer. Or rationale. Whichever makes it more convincing.

Coming to terms with my Homosexuality doesn't make me any less as a Man-Lover. I don't suppose I will ever be able to give up Men and their Anatomy. This attraction to me is basic, instinctive and essentially and primally carnal.

***

Nation 04 has been refused license for it to be held at Sentosa. The one event that stretches over 3 days, correct me if I'm wrong that could possibly generate revenue beyond our belief is being denied access to, not only Sentosa but significantly the whole of Singapore.

Suddenly, Homosexuality has become Taboo all over again after the precedent, what almost seemed like a relaxation of attitudes towards it. When reports of HIV-postivity on the rise got whored on TV, it almost became predictable, but definitely not logical, that the public would be on high alert.

Everyone was just getting a little more comfortable with the concept of same-gender sex and relationships when the appalling statistics threw everyone back into bewilderment. The Gay community now steps back into that murky dark area which is dodgy and almost as mysterious and inexplicable as a UFO sighting. They want to make the Gayism unacceptable all over again because it is wrong, immoral, blasphemous, heinous, unnatural and most importantly "directly" related to HIV-positivity.

They're trying to make it sound deterrent. You're Gay, you're fucked, you're HIV positive. But on a further almost girl-talk kind of analysis on this current affair with a very close friend of mine, this whole informal campaign against Homosexuality, cunningly finding its way silently while roaring out loud in papers and news seemed to be spearheaded towards, very ironically, the straight, prudish public instead of the Gay community.

Because we all know you can't switch in and out from Homosexuality like how some people become religious overnight. It's not an "illness" some people think it is, it's not a "condition" or "ideology". It is both IN a person and OF a person. Not some contagious air-borne disease you catch and recover after a dose of anti-biotics. Not exactly how a person is but what a person is. That is to say Homosexuality isn't simply a state of things, not a fad or a trend that comes and fades away like phases. It is what a person feels that he/she is and belongs to as a being.

So there really is little point preaching to the Gay community about how being Gay isn't the best way to live - because having kids is the greatest joy in our lives because our workforce is depleting and it's one of the only few solutions to solve this problem of lack of human resources - for the simple reason that they (or shall I say we) won't just stop falling for or getting attracted to the same sex with a tap from the magic wand. The only reason we (my friend and I) could think of which was viable and rational enough for the central control to execute these measures against same-sex relations is to appease the clamouring general conservative public, probably clerical, because they will eventually need their holy votes when the time comes (and yes we know it's coming). Isn't it ironic?

I have a couple of friends perturbed by this retraction of attitudes. It is as if they are trying to revoke a process, disregarding the previous loosening of things and tightening the noose again. It's like being rejected by someone who has been dropping you hints to get him/her into bed.

Frankly speaking, the Generation-Y existent today isn't really that Homo-sensitive anymore. Give us a good 50 years and Singapore will have less than half the amount of Homophobics we have today. Maybe that's something the central control is afraid of too. Because if everyone turns Homosexual, no one's going to procreate and it'd be the end of our economy. I was jokingly complaining to my friend how the onus now is on us straight (or shall I just say Coital) Lovemakers to work doubly hard to make up for the amount of babies made void by same-sex unions. How anal, in all senses of the word.

I guess they're focusing on the wrong thing here. Telling people to not turn Gay and booboo-ing at same gender sex aren't going to drop HIV-positivity. It might just make it worse because there'd be less willing to go for the HIV tests in fear of relentless public scrutiny and criticism. It works both ways. A straight guy who goes around having unprotected sex will be apprehensive about stepping into a clinic requesting for HIV tests because he doesn't want to be seen Gay. A shy Gay male who isn't that prepared to be socially "out" as of yet would shun going for HIV tests, as anonymous as they are supposed to be because he isn't ready to be known as gay by the general public or even the kind, harmless mother-of-2 clinic assistant at the counter.

We aren't just going to just stop having Sex. In all things changing in the world today, Sex is the universal constant. Nothing much is going to steer us away from it, not even the lack of lubricants. I believe the way to go to is promote these free HIV tests, tackle this issue with an open mind and make the community a protected and tested one. A reason why HIV spreads is because some dimwits who're probably too proud to go for tests are fucking everyone unprotected. If everyone gets tested regularly and realises contagion early, the whole situation is going to be controlled (don't we just love this word around here), monitored and transparent.

The root of the HIV problem isn't Homosexuality. It's irresponsibility and ignorance, whether you're straight or gay, coital or anal, horny or narcotic.

I am extremely agitated by this whole flaming thing because some journalists think they know everything about Homosexuality. Actually if you do, you won't be Heterosexual anymore.

And I'm not saying that I'm a Guru in Homosexuality since I'm only a 20 year old sweet young thing coming to terms with it myself and many other things in life simultaneously. A couple of you might disagree with what I've said about Homosexuality - the technicality of things. That, I'm totally fine. But I doubt there'll much disagreement to my view that the approach to this whole issue is really kind of flawed and untactful.

And I hate the term "The Gay Minority". It's as good as being racist. If not as bad.

Lunch

My lunch's cancelled. Probably going to find some pasta from my fridge and do something about it. Well. I'm craving for it. That is. I don't know why I'm posting something such dimwit. I guess I'm just bored.

I'm still smiling at the thought of grinding Lin. Which officially took place last night after months in the making. Cool.

Complexity.

Loads of things have been crashing in. Studies being the constant anal factor and people around me being the variable. I guess I need to be that tad bit stronger. That bit more confident of myself and what I do.

I lost the weight I gained. I don't know what's wrong with me but well. I'm living. Supposed to go for lunch with a girl this afternoon but it might just be postponed. If it doesn't work out, I'll cook myself some pasta and wait for school to call me back to sanity.

Was at ChinaBlack last night with Lin and a couple of friends. My dear friend signed us in straight without queueing. I realised I CAN drink pretty much. Almost lost my bag. Though the money and ez-link's gone, my IC and ATM card's still there. Together with my lipgloss and face powder. The security found the bag in the GENTS. So. Yeah. Thank God I met the bartender at Thumper who knew the people there. Thank God. It's not only a waste of money to get another IC it's too much of a hassle. I tend to have this fear for anything bureaucratic.

Well. Mr Bartender disappeared after Lin and I, with this friend and his friend went on to the dancefloor. Our jugs went to waste. Loads of them were left untouched. But I was already whorish and a little gastric-ky. Yeah. Kinda rave a night. But I survived.

Dreadful.

I've mentioned earlier that I have this Erotic Blog somewhere out there. I linked it to this page for a while when it was Pistol Pill. Oh well.

It's interesting how many over-testosteroned men there are here in Singapore and actually, out and about. Well. I've been losing inspiration. I could write something purely fictional but the thought of my exams coming just makes me feels lazy and thoroughly kills my libido.

I'm going to catch some sleep now. And hopefully, I'll get to study later today. Shan't eat anymore. I've put on 2.5 kgs in 4 days. I hope it's just water retention god dammit.

Flickr's Recovered!

So here are the rest of the pictures I took on Saturday. Was darned high that day. Met Linda to just sit in for this gig audition thing and Florence for her 20th birthday party. I haven't been to birthday parties for long. Yeah. I was running all over Singapore (think Sengkang -> Queenstown -> Tanjong Rhu) that day on cabs. Well since dinner for that day was paid for, there weren't really any worries about money. (I took a cab back home eventually from Flo's home.) So there's the pictures and an edited one. I just like things black and white.





And here's my Flowie Baby! I'd never have survived Junior College without her.





LOVELY! Gotta try to some studying soon.

My Lovely Fellow Camwhore.

I'll write more about yesterday another day. More pictures to be uploaded. But for now.







More to come. Really. Flickr's a bit screwed tonight.

I LOVE YOU LIN I LOVE YOU LIN I LOVE YOU LIN.

Snippets.

He paces up and down along the balcony, keywords popping ino his head, arguments trying to fight among themselves. He is bothered by the inflammation of blood vessels that are showing spots on his face; stress, the wicked pill to destruction. He walks into his room, sits down before his laptop, watching how his anime BitTorrent downloads are doing online, walks out, takes a sip of water from the cup placed on the dining table where she is sitting, clumsily trying to do a pen-flip between her fingers, pushing her spectacles up her non-existent nose bridge.

She stares at her notes and the view beyond the balcony, which happens now to be a flattened piece of red-soiled land from the estate of four-storey flats that were deemed too old. Her mind is nowhere near Management or the Civil Engineering coming to play outside. Her mind is nowhere as composed as her thesis writing brother. Somewhere at the back of her head, she thinks about her studies. The other, issues about love and this and that. A stagnation of sorts. Stuck. It isn't her style. She loves progression, change, movement. But this is a silent stalemate deafening her most intricate senses to maimedness. She heaves a heavy sigh and suddenly realises the sun pouring into their hall might darken her skin. She stands up, walks back into her room, lies on the bed. Her mind now in dedicated plodding. The two-dimensional argument within her becomes singular. And within this one theme, so to speak, factions form and they start fighting one another. She closes her eyes, her insides twitching her. She feels as if she has a layer of plastic stuffed in between her eyelids and eyeballs. Like wearing contact lenses without tearing, forcing her eyes to open to some kind of super-conscious state of mind. She keeps her eyes shut, her insides messed up by a torturous is this it? Is that it? Yes? No? The talent in her to delude is remarkable. She sinks into a light afternoon slumber.

******

He is still bothered about his skin condition. But feels much better now knowing his Honours classmate has done much less than he has. He is seeking solace from another's panic, which always happens.

She wakes up and rushes to the toilet, hanging her head over the toilet bowl, still composed enough to keep her long black hair away from her face with her left hand. She starts vomiting. No she's not bulimic. She hardly wants all that whisky to get out of her system. Apparently, it's been fully absorbed. The overnight high resides. She vomits her hydrochloric acid, burning her throat. It gushes out, without effort. Her stomach churns. She flushes the toilet clean, staggers out, begging her brother to get her something to eat from the neighbourhood food court. She pleads. Her brother obliges and seeing his sister in such a state, gets mildly worried. Still, he finishes typing that last bit of his thoughts that had taken so long to settle.

The vegetable rice mixture took her 3 runs to the toilet to be fully expelled from her system. She feels better, bowling down some cereals. She rests for a while, sipping on some fatalistic Fanta Orange Squash which has real juice added to the carboxylic acid, talking to Prasad on the phone. She feels tired, wanting to sleep. Just as her mind slumbers itself into comfort, nausea returns. 3 runs to the toilet alike from the previous ordeal. The Oreo cereals have been reduced to a squid-ink-like substance. Besides the cereals, she pukes out a little more of what she suspects is water. The looks up at the toilet seat and realises it's Made In England. Cool. She thought. Of all things made in China at home, the toilet seat's from England. So much for Anglo-superiority. The regurgitation is so smooth it scares her. Her stomach is cleared, sometimes being aided by her index finger because she is feeling so terrible inside she needs everything out. She settles for some sleep with a glass of water by her bedside.

She wakes up at 6. Feeling like an Angel in Heaven compared to that wasted little thing before sleep. Her class starts at 6. She bathes, changes, rushes down in a cab, glad to realise they have yet done much. She sits down awkwardly after creeping into class with Natalie, her hair wet against her back, chilling her whole body. She glances at the clock pinned on the ceiling. 7.05. She feels like a strong young lady. She probably is. She wants to be. Upon finishing her Math question, she turns to Natalie, who has by now moved her possessions over to sit next to her, and starts ranting about the schism within herself and with someone else. The silence that is puzzling her, the irregular greeting messages that do not promise any reply at all. She is puzzled, feeling semi-cheated and perplexed. A resolution is found.

She reaches her Dad's workplace at 9.40. She picks up her handphone, breaking her resolution and goes messaging. Finally, there is a reply. But by the time she reaches the Teochew porridge stall near her place, the replies stop. She feels jaded but half anticipatory.

She waits as she tries to sleep. She wakes up in the morning and realises she might not be getting a reply at all. Her face sinks. She turns on Britney Spears and dances before the half body-length mirror in her room. She feels better. A strain of hope still exists. But she is starting to prepare herself for the worst.

*****

I was privileged enough to be invited to a Chivas Regal 18 year old event at Thumper by a friend who's name I have yet seeked consent to appear here. Interesting, as plastic as he had warned and later reminded me again about. Wonderful time. Nice. A novice whisky drinker in a room of veterans. A 20 year old student in a room of accomplished grown ups with namecards boasting the most desirable of positions and equipped with a plastic smile. The smiling part, that much I can do. I truthfully confessed my occupation. Being studying Business helped a bit. At least I didn't sound like an idealistic little girl studying Literature or something else that doesn't have a specific value in the corporate world. No problems communicating with them. Maybe it's because I was sober enough to just giggle at things I couldn't fully understand. Beats staring blankly into someone who's trying to enlighten this young lady. Clinking my glass for voluntary toasts, I thought I passed as a social individual. I thought I did. I was surprised at how much I have drunk in that one night, still being able to walk straight and wake up the next morning without any trace of rashes. Cool. I realised my body doesn't accept house pours. Having that little knowledge that my body's systemically made for the finer things in the world excited me. And took my mind away from the almost insignificant but extremely bothering things in life for a while.

Just why is this happening.

Preparing for Mayday(s).

I'm going to have my finals this coming May. Am planning to start studying and stuff. Tomorrow. My mind's more settled now. And ready for those indigestive notes to be fed to me in chunks.

And suddenly I realised the importance of sexuality in a relationship.

And maybe, maybe, I'll get something for Florence tomorrow. I'll try, after studying in school.

Somehow I really want to feel useful all over again.

Menstrual breakouts are making me feel darned eeeky. But hey. It'll pass.

Iced Mocha Latte.

Somehow there are many people who get the wrong idea about Frappuccinos and Ice Blendeds at both Starbucks and Coffee Bean.

I'm always asked. Iced Mocha Latte? The one with ice cubes right?

Of course I'd answer with an acknowledging smile. We all know how dumb Singaporeans can be. When they don't get what they want, the blame it on the counter crew. To have a uniform policy on both sides to have this re-confirmation tells alot about people here. Maybe they can't read. Maybe the TV has all made us myopic beyond word sizes smaller than an inch.

And as we're on the topic of caffeine intake, I have ten reasons why you should have a Starbucks to a Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf.

Starbucks has

1. Thicker coffee.
2. More chocolate in their Mocha.
3. Rhumba Frap. No one complains about it.
4. Sizes of Tall, Grande and Venti. That's how a coffee place should be.
5. They have the Green Tea Frap thing.
6. They have Mango Citrus.
7. Their bagels kick ass.
8. Their drinks don't separate into a water, ice and powder residue at the end of the drink. Which SUCKS BAD ASS.
9. They came up with the covered straws thing first.
10. Their warm chocolate cake is the next best thing to orgasms in a lift.

If you're a Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf fan, well. Maybe you like your drinks sweeter, more diluted and tasting like some McCafe crap.
So yesterday I ordered my Mocha Latte. A sudden fad on my side. I used to be a Rhumba fan. But recently, my stomach's been fucked and I can't take things that are too heavy.
But it's cool. I don't get to eat till I feel pregnant anymore.
It was great fun last night. Really.

Aries.

It doesn't help that both of my bestest of friends have their birthdays less than a month away from one another. Both of the are Aries. From SAJC. People I can trust totally to accept me and my problems.

So Florence has hers on the 21st of March and she'll be having a barbeque party on the 19th over at her condominium.

Prasad the Slut has his birthday on the 8th of April. We're most probably going to spend some dinnertime together. I've thought of what to give him but not where to get the money from.

Doesn't help that I'm supposed to be studying all this time but am fussing over what and where and whatevers about their birthdays. The worst thing is that I'm not going to complain. Beats Management notes and who the hell is Iaccoca?

So. That's that. On getting presents, most of the time I'd get something I'd like them to have. A signature kinda thing and screams "Don't You Dare Forget Me". Last year, I got Prasad this vanity box kinda thing with loads of pink bottles and loofah and yadas, with a cute little Tiara that he has most blasphemously tried on Orion and a strawberry flavoured condom. He's says he can't bear to use it. I was thinking he might just eat it. It does taste kinda nice, to think about it.

Well. This year I'm going to get him something boring but had vaguely heard him talking about wanting it.

It's exciting getting presents for Prasad. Because no matter what BLONDE shit I come up with, he'll still give me the I'm-A-Surprised-Britney-Spears look when he unwraps the present. He'll say "Awww..." and give me a hug. I usually do that too. But my reaction can get a little cynical at times.

The only time I didn't do the teensy "Omigod! That's so sweet of you!" thing was when he gave me a 10inch Dildo. I was just rolling my eyes and knitting my brows together to a condescending look. How was I supposed to react to that? I was in a "You could have gotten be something more Asian?" state. That THING he got me looked more like a pre-natal pussy-stretching device. What the hell.

Big dicks intimidate me like Peter North does.

I really wanna go Riverwalk Tandoor with Prasad. It's so long overdue.

I'm heading out tonight by the way. I hope it'll be cool.

hauling everything away.

i'm just a little tired. jaded. that kinda thing. i just need a space to write and read properly. the layout prior was all nice for a short period of time. but i got tired of it. i need more space for my words to be. i'm not thinking enough these days. writer's block? probably. and i wanna get outta it.

What Are You Waiting For?

Love Angel Music Baby's fantastic. I actually managed to sit through the whole album. Which doesn't come easy these days, given my short attention span.

Loads of Japanese influences. Eclectic, eccentric mix of this and that. It's exciting.

Prasad and I love this album.

Long long long overdue.

This picture looks kinda. I look like some rich, spent, angmor-speaking girl. Woohoo.



Prasad looks good right? Oh by the way. His brother is on Cleo's Eligible Bachelors. He's the extreme right on the cover and No. 40. Cool eh. The description and interviews are all screwed. They have a CAT not CATS! Poor Orion.

BBA NUS.

The add looked like someone zipping up his fly after wanking.

Somehow, the pair of jeans looked weird.

The battle between the business schools have started. Everyone knows the Biz Ad offered in NUS isn't exactly the most practical and valuable thing on earth despite it's demeaning cut-off.

SMU has spent pretty much a load of effort on branding and brain washing their babies to think they're unique. Not that I don't think they aren't but just not very.

And then again, there's NTU who's always silently gritting its teeth to it's slow becoming a dumping ground for science faculty students. Their Accountancy course is surprisingly hot now. For not much a particular rhyme or reason. People just wanna go there and do pure accountancy when there's ACCA. I never really figured out. Of course, they're a local university so their certificate's a bit more glossy then the other accountancy schools. But as far as I know, ACCA is pretty much essential in this whole accountancy field.

There's my beloved SIM, what I'd always call an ALL-PROFIT organisation (yeah. pass me the money) who's attracting students who most probably got rejected by NUS, mainly arts and social sciences faculty because of GP grades and things like that.

I'll have to take accountancy sometime along my course of studies. I'm planning to take ACCA later.

Somehow it seems to me that in accountancy, the path doesn't really matter. But well. I'm still aiming to be a marketer so to speak. Or a banker, who are often so busy they bang in their offices.

Back to the commercial. I guess the ever so complacent NUS is feeling the competition already. Seriously. Many are considering SMU to NUS although they're offering an external degree, which can be both a good thing and a bad think from how you look at it.

At the end of the day, NUS IS a profit-making firm after all. Fuck all the noble sculpting the future crap. Of course, nobody comes as clean as SIM on how we don't care about how you're doing as long as we earn the cash from you.

There are things that never go out of trend. Like french manicures and hoop earrings. But academically, we bloody well have to face the fact that requirements from the business world and the cohorts change. A business admin certificate isn't going to bring you that far really, no doubt it's from NUS. People have realised this and chosen alternatives even if they cost more. It's not hot anymore. Arts and Social Sciences are the only thing worthwhile in NUS already. Who would people choose? SMU who's specialised in the field or NUS who's been criticised for the longest time for having too narrow a scope in their degree syllabus?

Think about it. Even SIM has been commented to have more coverage than NUS. Why strive so hard with all that cross-faculty and bidding shit for something far less worthwhile?

Song List.

I hate waiting when I know I don't need to but I want to. Get that?

I'm just this far away from petitioning for this group being signed by some record company. With so much trash on the airwaves now, it's high time to get something a little more decent.

Second Person

They did an independent release. Go download the songs off their site.

They make my insides settle so much I thought my blood froze. Songs that remind you that you are meant to be alone.

I don't like waiting.

Starvation To Feast My Mind.

My brain malfunctions when I eat properly. And my "properly" translates to excessively for the good common folk.

So since my examinations are starting and for a much healthier self, I've been going on this diet kinda thing. That isn't too strict about what I eat but how much I eat a day.

It's my own diet. I rationalised my own way through it. But well. I can still have my berry tarts and lasagnes as long as I keep the quantity in check. Carbo's all welcomed here but just not too much of it.

I've been skipping dinner and my mom thinks I'm over-starving myself. She'd have known better that her daughter really isn't that resolute a person, and will bend to sporadic desires once in a while.

I'm not like some people who eat small portions a day and not stuff themselves. I like the feeling of being full. It's a really satisfying feeling. And I love food as much as I love taking pictures.

No snacking of course. If I snack, I'll have to not eat anything else for the day.

It's pretty easy to follow. Because you aren't meticulously avoiding food groups. But just cutting meals. I'm not having dinner these days. Lunch is essential. You HAVE to have something to eat in the first half of the day. Get yourself happy and going. And you can start barely eating anything.

Drink loads of water in the day and 2 hours before you sleep. I can see my eyes these days already. The water retention is going down a bit.

It actually helps with your complexion, not eating that much. It is.

I'm making myself sound like some nutrition guru here. But hey. I'm no doctor so don't follow my whole diet plan if you think you can't make it.

Oh did you guys know that eating fruits can put weight on you too? Sugar is evil.

It doesn't make sense to block carbo and stash on sugar. It's like changing your shillings into notes when you want to take a feeder bus. Doesn't make sense.

Never eat anything after 8. Never.

Ah. That said. I'm glad I've got my whole diet plan written here already.

Been a boring Sunday. I'm getting tired of it already.

Good Charlotte.

Hold on's extremely sad. You should watch the MTV. Stepping out of my Ministry Of Sound phase, I'm into bands now. Regardless of what they play. I just like to hear the drums and bass.

I realised I've never been to a hardcore headbanging gig. I mean. People don't headbang at the Youth Park.

Sources tell me Simple Plan is coming soon. But they sound whiney. I don't know. I'd rather have Good Charlotte.

I always thought they were like the Goo Goo Dolls in image. They're always dressed dark with all the goth makeup and stuff. Goo Goo Dolls too. But they play far from Death Metal. It's like. The bad ass with the soft core. Naw that's cute.

I cried last night to Good Charlotte's Hold On. Because it recalled me of the short clips in their music video. Of parents and friends of those who have suicided themselves to escape.

I always dreamt of singing in a band. If I really had one, I don't know. I'd wanna sing everything from Big Runga to Kittie.

Nothing much this Sunday. I'm really thinking about getting an eyebrow and hand piercing. I don't know what that's called. Just a bell bar stuffed under the skin on the back of my wrist. Nice.

My industrial isn't healing all that well. But it's surviving. I should get my bar changed soon. Maybe to a thinner one. Mine is like. 3mm in diameter-thickness.

I'm going to jump around in my room to soft punk rock. I wanna live my 20th year of my life as teeny as possible. I'll attend as many gigs I can this year I promise.

Obviously, I've screwed my growing up thing. Maybe in mentality. But I just want to have fun. Without booze.

Wallpaper.

I am a narcissist at her full glory. I used to gasp at Prasad's wallpapers cuz they were always his pictures. I'm definitely having double standards here now. But well. I'm too high to get intellectual.

Camwhore Strikes Back.

I realised I haven't been taking any pictures since before I rebonded my hair and everything. This session was overdue. It's always good to be flicker happy.

And alot of you would be wondering why I still stick to pitas.com although it isn't as user-friendly as Blogger and doesn't provide all the comments thingie its competitor does. I thought it minimalist enough for me really. I don't like fancy stuff. And I don't like being commented on. No one hardly comments anyway.

New layout.

It's almost customary this practice. New layout!