paint splatters Tuesday, March 1, 2005 09:48 p.m.
Walk unafraid
I met a blind man at the bus stop this evening while waiting for the transfer.

paint splatters Monday, February 28, 2005 10:54 p.m.
Friday, I hear it is Friday
I am so tired.
But if I go to bed now I will only be awakened by screams again - screams and bangs outside my door which will only deepen the depression and steep the helplessness.
If I sleep, I will rise again, in the morning; like a fool I will chase the sun and tryto catch moonbeams in my hair.
I am so tired; but so what, the whole world is weary too.

paint splatters Sunday, February 27, 2005 11:20 p.m.
I always wish our conversations weren't such strange wooden things - it is rare enough to hear your voice already but somehow it is always ruined by circumstance - I cannot identify with what you are going through and you are entirely and completely removed from the outside world now.
Do you know that I miss you but even so that is illegitimate.
How do you forget something you cannot forget?

paint splatters Wednesday, February 23, 2005 10:46 p.m.
Love thy neighbour
Some things, like the above, are sometimes really hard to do. Especially when it involves, down the phone, at the end of an already very awful day, loud, forceful, and finally triumphant "no. no photo. no. No. NO. No. NO. NO. No story. No. Sorry for wasting your time. Bye." and the rude click of the phone slamming at the other end of the line. By the end of the conversation I was midway into my panic attack mode, unable to breathe or say anything except take loud raspy breaths, and trying not to crumple. And of course when the phone slammed I just had to break down, in the bloody office, thank God it was so late at night so there were only a handful of people behind but I am really hurt.
I feel cheated, it's not the story. It's not the answering I have to do to my supervisor (though partly it is). It's the fact that the newsmaker fooled and deceived me and admitted me into her confidence. And then takes apparent pleasure in dealing a crushing blow to my already bruised countenence.
I don't know how much more I can take really. Everyday I ask myself what I'm doing there. And I face so much rejection I really don't think I can last much longer before a nervous breakdown hits.
And when that happens the scary thing is I will have to be the one to admit myself into hospital.

paint splatters Saturday, February 12, 2005 10:15 a.m.
Nothing to scream about
A rather belated entry, but a very nice lunar new year present from the Paper - an unexpected (oh stunning!) front page. I think I just ruined my throat this morning, eating kueh baulu for breakfast and a couple of pineapple tarts but honestly if no one eats those things they'll remain there till July (as was what happened last year).
I need to think of three story ideas before my supervisor murders me (oh, Dave Almighty shall smite thee).

paint splatters Wednesday, February 9, 2005 01:06 p.m.
On Lexotan and Aurorix
At present moment both are not working. And according to Chinese superstition I have cursed myself to a year of tears and hard work after breaking down at 1130 in the morning and also after scrubbing the toilet to appease my mother.
For a lark, and since I was waiting for the trip to the columbarium - which will involve wiping the marble stone clean, staring briefly at the photograph and walking around looking at those younger than me or my age who have died and wondering why I am still alive - I have just discovered that I have reached 82 on the Goldberg Scale. Like okay, thanks.


Anyway, spoilsport or not, I wish everyone Happy Lunar New Year, blessed oranges doused with incense fumes and Father Tung's toothy greeting.

paint splatters Wednesday, February 9, 2005 12:14 a.m.
I have tranquilisers with me, prescribed by the doctor and I wonder if I take more than is necessary I will not wake up, ever.
The antidepressants haven't really worked I think. Or perhaps I should give them a chance, give them more time to take effect even though the doctor said 3 or 4 days was sufficient. It's been one week already and today has got to be the worst since then because of the cutting, mild as it was, and the constant i-want-to-die mantra going through my head and also the i-am-so-dead-selfish as well. Apart from my family however, there is no other reason perhaps, because it will just be like changing schools or emigrating and being steadily and slowly forgotten. And at the same time I don't think they really care either.

paint splatters Tuesday, February 8, 2005 11:23 p.m.
The damn drugs are not working
The drugs are not working, and I still plot and think of ways on how to hurt myself and possibly commit suicide (if i ever find the guts) because i am selfish and I keep snapping at everyone and regretting it immediately and my mum just called me a pig because I've been napping most of today because the damn drugs make me so drowsy and now I just need to go to sleep again. In addition to that fact I am still fascinated by blood, especially blood that beads out my wrist in little globules but not enough to really hurt yet. I think the world hates me and I cannot write or draw or paint anymore and that is killing me in its finality.

paint splatters Saturday, January 29, 2005 08:38 p.m.
Feeling really really tired now and also rather aimless, though I should be marking an English essay and prepping for tomorrow's lesson for JiaJia. I wonder why I am so tired and jaded. This is most unhealthy.

paint splatters Friday, January 28, 2005 11:34 p.m.
Seven precious minutes and thirty-eight seconds
Then it's lights out and I hear what sounds like absolute chaos in the background.

paint splatters Thursday, January 27, 2005 10:58 p.m.
You ain't from around here, ar' yer boy?
Listening to Bill Hicks's Relentless now, and I am actually laughing. The sarcastic bitter type of laughter, but it is still laughter.

paint splatters Wednesday, January 26, 2005 09:59 p.m.
A different sort of Tired
And I have never been so tired. Except this tiredness transcends all forms of physical tiredness- I am exhausted and speechless most of the time and must force myself to appear normal at all times- something which I realise is getting harder and harder to do.

paint splatters Monday, January 24, 2005 10:42 p.m.
Mummy I wonder if you hear me
As an intern they think I'm a polling machine
I wonder if you actually think I enjoy calling people up and doing surveys - this is my second survey/poll in 4 days and I hate pestering people who don't want to go on record. Yes, this job is probably not for me but oh god what can I possibly do? There are people who tell me to think of happier things but I suppose at present moment the happiest thing I can think of is being dead. Not a very happy thought is it.
Nobody really believes me when I tell them all I think of everyday is when I will die. This depression is driving me crazy and I am sick of living and now I think I don't care either I don't want to see a doctor for it I'll just continue my miserable existence and no one, not even the rain, will bother. I don't expect anyone to understand- for one even my own mother doesn't believe me. I am her flesh and blood but she does not understand or even listen. Mummy I wonder if you hear me actually. What can I do anyway? Nothing I suppose.

paint splatters Friday, January 21, 2005 10:03 p.m.
Unfortunately guns are outlawed in this country
Unless you're an NSF of course. In which case your wife is your rifle which you strip and assemble almost daily.
Interviews on Sunday and Monday, surely I ought to be nervous but I don't want to be tongue-tied. I am feeling empty and this has to be the driest spell I have ever experienced. Do you know what a parched soul feels like? They have cut all the lallang in the field next to the railway tracks and they have lain in swathes in the sun rotting and dying. The souls of the dead hover mysteriously in wreaths over the field when night falls, cut loose from the earth.
Directionless, meaningless nothing. I am taking up space on this planet and ought to be shot. I cannot create anymore and therefore must die.
If that were philoshophy on this earth a good part of it would be dead perhaps.

Aun aprendo. And so from one artist I draw inspiration, I am still learning. As Goya, frail yet in a shaky hand, wrote upon his canvas.
And Edwin claims that it can only get better - it is only the coccoon stage, the chrysalid has yet to emerge. I am sceptical about it, honestly. But there is nothing to do except wait perhaps.

paint splatters Sunday, January 16, 2005 11:25 p.m.
Sunday evening on the telephone
And so Jireh tells me simply I love you Em, twice in five minutes while trying not to put the phone down even though the phone battery is dead, and I cannot comprehend at all how shitty being an NSF is. Army is an anagram of Mary do you know that? I now pray the Hail Mary and to St Edith Stein her feastday is on the 9th of August and she is the patron saint of peace. How ironic isn't it that she died in Auschwitz and oh my god I just died. I simply just died. I keep talking rubbish but I have stopped breaking down so often. You can tell him that he should not be complaining and I have sprained my ankle at least three times already. You should not give up because love isn't rational.


Jireh yes I pray for you everyday, and I also pray for him whom you clear up after everyday too. Do you feel the same way too? Not the way Jireh says he does but in other ways in which only irrational people can understand. It is easy to turn away firmly in your mind and tell yourself it is useless because the next few years only mean going on separate ways taking separate paths and your brain tells you firmly that you must part ways and find your own path but of course the heart refuses to listen and still prefers to flick water at you, playfully, and grow jealous over silly little things that probably do not matter after all.
I am a barbarian.
Nostalgia is the scourge of the soul.

paint splatters Sunday, January 16, 2005 05:08 p.m.
Music makes the world go round
Violin lesson with Mary-Anne today was lovely. Squinting down the bridge of the woodwork and hearing it echo (and squeak, how embarrassing) and trying to reprogramme my brain to relax and lose control of my fingers- the violin has such a deep and beautiful sound.
I am also extremely bored.

paint splatters Sunday, January 16, 2005 05:06 p.m.
"If you are between 16 to 22 years of age, and are learning a foreign language either at Alliance Francais, Goethe Institut, Japanese Association, heck, just learning a foreign language out of school(it can be Greek, Swahili, Spanish! Anything!) Please drop me an email at titled "foreign language". I am desperate as you can see. Trying to angle a potential lead."
Email me at petrushka@gmail.com

Basically it's an article on youth and foreign languages, the 'why's and 'what's of it. Along those lines anyway. Thanks so much.

paint splatters Saturday, January 15, 2005 11:04 p.m.
What would you like to see on The Electric New Paper?
Please, do me a favour and forward me your feedback on the websitehttp://newpaper.asia1.com.sg because we are looking for comments and (constructive) criticism. personally I'm glad it's in for a TOTAL revamp. Whatever it is, as part of my homework I'm supposed to give suggestions and comments to those in charge of it.
Article out tomorrow (why am I excited? Because it's the first byline I've had in a LONG TIME and DARN I put off having my pic taken so NO PHOTO BYLINE. Crap.) and I might even get hate mail. Which makes it even more exciting.
Going a bit ditzy. I think it's the two cups of milky tea I've had today, seeing Sam(!!)'s photo full-page for Sunday's blurb in today's paper, and lunching with the 3 Ms Tans this afternoon. And to add on to that, nephew-gazing - one month old babies are such puzzles.
I still feel so uselessly directionless though.
Please, if you have a story idea, scream at me. I NEED TO FIND STORIES before they sack me.


==================
The Volkswagon Beetle is deliciously gorgeous.
CheekyMonkey's is on my not-ever-going-there-ever-again list
Thanks Fawziah, Celine, Shi'An and Eugene for being my security blanket on an extremely traumatic night.
Can someone kill me? I'm suicidal again.

==================
If you are between 16 to 22 years of age, and are learning a foreign language either at Alliance Francais, Goethe Institut, Japanese Association, heck, just learning a foreign language out of school(it can be Greek, Swahili, Spanish! Anything!) Please drop me an email at titled "foreign language". I am desperate as you can see. Trying to angle a potential lead.

I need help (in all forms, mental included), so it'll be much appreciated.

paint splatters Sunday, January 9, 2005 11:33 p.m.
Thank You, God
"depression can't always be articulated and when it is, its essence is not necessarily communicated. i think that it's an illusion that if you explain something to someone or even to yourself, that's a step on the way to making things better."



It takes the wisdom of someone about thirty years older than myself to articulate it this clearly.

paint splatters Sunday, January 9, 2005 10:20 p.m.
I actually wonder whether there will be a day when I can get over my depression, or what I suspect might perhaps be BPD. At present moment yes the streaks on my arm are hurting despite being unable to bleed - I only hope it won't get infected again. This time round it wasn't because I couldn't help it, but more because I wanted to- I took a shower, filled my bottle, downed the pills and took the knife from my drawer, cut myself, and then phoned Carol. That has probably got to be the most bizarre sequence of events and I don't wish it to be repeated too often. I want to get out of this, and yet I know I cannot do it on my own because I am too comfortably settled in my present state of depression- three, four years of it and you make room for the pain and leave it there without disturbing it.

I apologise if I space out, zone off and/or snap at anybody, I'm going through a pretty hard time (though that is a poor excuse, everyone is going through a hard time) now. Whatever it is I am so tired all I want to do is just curl up and give in to the sucking gloom.

But now I have to remember that God exists. And I am not here to be miserable all my life. To the cynics, atheists and whoever else (detractors of organised religion) well I've tried everything from attempting to ignore it, seeing counsellors, heck, almost suicide (the bottle is still in my bedside cabinet. expired now I'd bet) and nothing has worked so far, for the simple reason that "Man will always fail you but God will not". Let me deny myself again, turn inwards and listen to Him.

And yet, it seems so futile because, oh because I cannot pray properly and my heart remains closed and off-limits. How much more hurt indeed, how much more hurt. But I should pray for healing and forgiveness because I turn away from You all the time and insist that I should do it my way always. I should stop fighting and just trust and pray for forgiveness and strength.

paint splatters Sunday, January 9, 2005 06:26 p.m.
Twenty-six minutes after the chimes sounded.
A day after I swing wildly from vague happiness to utter and complete depression. With paracetamol coursing through my blood and six red lines to show for it. I have grown too comfortable, and dependent almost, on the sucking gloom that is now my constant companion.

paint splatters Friday, January 7, 2005 11:31 p.m.
My hair smells like incense now. I admit to giggling a bit during Mass because the censur was smoking so much the altar boys started coughing and squirming. And of course the dreadful boo-boo with the organ and thanksgiving hymn - with Father Yeo starting to look concerned and the congregation raising their eyebrows and singing delightfully out of tune.
Have mercy on us and the who-ole wo-orld.

paint splatters Thursday, January 6, 2005 09:47 p.m.
The Summer of my German Soldier
Well not quite, it's not summer and no one I know is German.
The guys enlisted today.
Nothing to say really, since there's really nothing to say. This past week I have been so bored I swear my fingers are rotting and falling off. I have been listening to Lush 99.5FM, oh how terribly pretentious, but it still kept me company while I half jogged and walked for 50 minutes in circular motion getting mosquito-bitten.
Will someone kill me right now? I am working myself into insane boredom and subsequently depression.

paint splatters Saturday, January 1, 2005 11:28 p.m.
Many will walk with angels tonight
From estelle, from Chris's blog.
Is there any more to say really..? The news programmes have covered nothing but the tidal waves.
Truthfully speaking I never thought it to be of such a magnitude when I opened the door on a Monday morning and saw the headlines.
Today is the first day of the new year, ushered in with a death toll, dressed in mourning black.
It's very emotionally draining, just talking to people who came back the stricken areas. I guess I salute both Kian Beng and Chwee Hwa...
Can't really carry on anymore.
But the images are horrific. Hands grotesquely clawing out, joints shrunken and clamped in rigor mortis. Bloated and exploded human bodies with maggots and intestines spilling over, grisly, gruesome, grim.

paint splatters Thursday, December 30, 2004 09:25 p.m.
Asia Mourns
Monday and Tuesday was spent at the airport, interviewing people who came back from the disaster-hit areas. I can't say anything much really, except that it is emotionally very draining and also very tiring.
Kian Beng and Chwee Hwa are in Phuket- they fly home tomorrow. I can't imagine what they are going through at the moment. In the afternoon there was a tiny uproar in the office because Melvin was on the phone with him and kb was panicking his head off because the whole world was screaming and running up a 70 degree inclined hill and ch got separated from him and he was running at the same time because another diasaster was about to happen or something. They found ch after that and I heard Melvin bellow down the handphone to stay together at all cost at least twice over. It is very scary to tell the truth. And here I am moaning about how useless I feel because I'm not doing any stories at the moment. Ching Ling and Kelvin are there too, and staying over the new year it seems. Welcome to journalism, it is not a glamourous job. I know. I had no illusions about it at all. It is still too early for me to say if I will stay or not but I think they want to sack me soon because I'm so freaking useless. The stench of rotting flesh and skin shedding away in slivers.
I am incoherent.
I remember what people who came back told me. And I suppose I remember the kids' responses because they were frank and to the point. And the slim Malay lady with her 7 year old daughter, eyes red at the reunion with her family at last.
"It was terrible. It was terrible..."
And I wonder when I will stop wondering whether I made the right decision. What am I doing here.


====
Exciting things happen too, like the near prospect of entering a Batam casino illegally. If the police caught me I would be finished, a risk too high to gamble with. Thankfully the reporter put his foot down, but I admit that I was seized with cold dread when Desmond highlighted the possibility of getting into trouble with Indonesian law. Don't play with fire. There are some things worth more than what you think your job is worth.
At present moment I still feel highly useless, and very, very tired.

paint splatters Monday, December 27, 2004 08:21 a.m.
And yet another, before I run off.

"May God bless you with His love, always fill you with His love; May he hold you in the hollow of His hand.
For the Lord is with you in goodness and love; May his light shine out in your heart."

A beautiful song we sang yesterday, with lyrics so meaningful and touching it makes you want to surrender and break down on the spot. I am so dangerously close to breaking down so often these days it is embarrassing. I think it is stress that makes the pain surface more often than I am comfortable with, at the oddest of times.

paint splatters Monday, December 27, 2004 08:13 a.m.
On a side note.
Thankfully I managed to run into the choir on Christmas while picking my way out to the Esplanade in the sea of people at Suntec. I miss them all so much.
And Jiawen is back, lovely, lovely!
Yes I have missed them all terribly.

paint splatters Monday, December 27, 2004 07:42 a.m.
Joyeux Noel, Deprivation
I hope I spelt it correctly. Haven't done the usual e-Christmas card thingy with all the different languages this year.
Christmas came and went, and along with it a lot of crying and stress and tiredness. Consecutive days of Mass, from MN mass on Friday to Christmas Day Mass to Feast of the Holy Family on Sunday is okay, it's the insane carolling schedule the 11am choir has that really tires. At the expense of our voices, tempers and relations with each other, we managed to rake in quite a bit in love offerings, but honestly I'd rather not-sing than sing.
Last houses yesterday, thank God for that, because the sopranos all had bad throats and couldn't reach any note higher than E. Not that we sing that nicely, but I guess it's the spirit and the lyrics that matter more.
Had a sip of wine at Jessy's house yesterday- Wine from the Vatican, with the Pope's seal on it. Indescribable. Fruity, full-bodied, rich, yet smooth, sweet and bitter in one simultaneous rush of flavour. We sniffed the wine before sipping it, but the smell did no justice to the drink though. The aftertaste was gorgeous. Bittersweet. And the warmth spreading from the base of the throat down the gullet and finally settling in the tummy was lovely.
I was told that was the wine offered up during Mass. Diluted of course, when Father does it, with a lot more water. I always wondered why Communion wine was amber for us and red for non-Catholics, seeing it in the flesh (no pun intended) and reading the bottle (or trying to, seeing it was in Italian) was rather thrilling. Deprived I am alright. And also incoherent.
Carol was making a lot of ambiguous remarks about corks, screws and the like while Andrew was wrestling with the bottle-opener. Which made us all laugh. How smutty. Here's another deprived person indeed.
Carol, Jon, Val and Jessy all sport tender and bruised arms now from Aunty Jean's special massage. Or pinching, as her receipients have screamed and sculpted suitable facial expressions to bring that across. I suppose it was funny, hearing them shriek. She's good though - she made my wrist better in October/November; I am grateful for God's blessings, let me not sink into despair.
If I have time, I would like to write a piece on Andrew's eyes- which are gorgeously beautiful. Unfortunately time is a luxury I cannot afford (stone me, please. I vowed to take the cliche out of my writing.) and I must scuttle off now to the shower, before I tread my way towards work. A great zoomorphic wake.

paint splatters Friday, December 24, 2004 05:12 p.m.
Glum is my middle name
I'm so tired I feel as though I could collapse from it.
Had breakfast with Crystal, then spent a busy morning at Novena Square trying to coax people to talk. Some were okay. Except now a certain man will kill all of us and sue the paper if he ever sees us walk within a two metre radius of his shop. Okay, yeah I get the picture. Sigh.
Bought a baby bib by way of belated birthday and Christmas present for my nephew, and while I was there had a look at all the strange things they sold in the shop. They have a mannequin in there with breast pumps attached to both nipples - horrific, is about all I can manage.
I can't write anymore it seems. It's dry spell or verbal diahorrea. I think I need to be on drugs or something.
Went back to office with chocolates for the sad buggers still in there working, and found a raving potluck going on in the meeting room that opened into the newsroom. Red or green only, even the Ed-in-chief was there with an enormous red and green checked bow on his wrist.
Was released unexpectedly early, so I took the bus home and collapsed on the bed, interupted by door bell rings (insistent, from the next door kids) and a lot of phone calls. Swaying and unsteady and my voice was a low croak. But oh wells. No sleep, so here I am.
I did manage to have a dream, weird as it was. They came home from grocery shopping and somehow brought Dad home. Before I could say anything or do anything the phone had to ring and rouse me. Thanks, aunty.
Sigh.
It's Christmas, merry merry Christmas.
Yah sure.
Don't invite me anywhere, I'll just be a spoilsport and sulk my way through. Even MaeLynn was sporting enough to wear a Shrek hairband with alien thingies poking from her hair. Her glumness is rubbing off me though. I look like my dog died yesterday and my whole family was struck by lightning as they attended its burial or something. Sigh.

paint splatters Thursday, December 23, 2004 08:56 p.m.
Depressing day today. And it looks like tomorrow is no half day for me. In all likelihood I will be working over Christmas too. Sigh.
I'm having enormous feelings of self-doubt at the moment. As a person I always felt worthless, as a journo I feel like I should be shot dead on sight. Trying to get people to talk to you is so hard. I wonder if it's just me - maybe I have a repelling aura or something. It doesn't help that I am so freaking tired. I won't start talking about the stress even, what's been said has already been said after all.
Been a long, hard day, and it feels like eternity. And tomorrow while people go frisking off work at 1230pm I will be returning to the office and beginning to type my story. The world really works in amazing ways. Well at least I have the editors for company. Hahaha. Thankfully we're doing this as a team I guess. But honestly I think I'm not cut out for this, I'm such a lousy reporter and I can't write for the newspaper for nuts. (Even though my pay is admittedly peanuts.)
Insecure at the moment. I'm not performing up to expectations I think. And that is very worrying. I'm really appreciating the amount of work that is needed for even a small article, but I still can't write in their style. It's one huge mountain, a real challenge, though people tend to look down on the paper. I did, I admit, but I've got respect for it now, and for the journos, and for the editors. Especially Melvin. No matter how perverted or crazy or horrible he is, he makes so much sense I actually can see that I'm learning alot. And I mean a lot.
Whatever it is, I'm just really worried and depressed too. Everyone seems to be coping fine, what's wrong with me? Perhaps I'm too weak and too brittle. I hate that feeling. I feel so tired because the struggle never ends.
I thought I went through hell coping with his illness, his death and the exams at the same time, and would be emotionally stronger somehow. Then came the next cycle of exams, the crazy juggling of schoolwork and choir and church and everything, and I thought I learnt something from that too. But now it seems like I'm not that resilient after all, that I'm still a silly softy who can't square my shoulders and remain calm and controlled in the face of all this crap.
Yes, weakling, that I am.
It's a mighty depressing thought and I wish it wasn't this way but it certainly feels like it. I'm just so stupid it's excruciating. Even now I swallow the lump growing in my throat and try not to cry at the fact that I am so bloody weak.


--------- O God I know without you I am nothing, but even now while I implore Thee I feel so pathetically weak and helpless. My faith is not enough, yet I am so weak and lame and can only lean on Thee meekly.

paint splatters Tuesday, December 21, 2004 09:36 p.m.
Christmas has come early
To my darling friends and classmates, thank you so much for all your support and listening ears. I'm sorry I can't do the usual and hand paint your cards like I always do. This year I have been (unprecedentedly) busy and up to my eyeballs in work.
That being said, I wish you all a very merry Christmas, and may love and joy come to you, and to all your loved ones too.
I really wish I could carol with the choir at Fullerton. I love that place. And it has lovely memories too, of sitting by the fish pool with the candles floating dreamily on the water, sunlight pouring down. Of singing, heedless of the wind and weather indeed, nevermind stares of passersby, while winding our way, snakelike, among the crowd.


===
Interestingly my family members are benefiting from my stint at the paper. At this very moment my mum is reading yesterday's copy and my sister is reading today's issue. Avidly, I might add. Not to mention how my brother devoured it.

paint splatters Tuesday, December 21, 2004 12:12 a.m.
I am so tired of everything now. All I want to do is to curl up in a corner and sleep. On top of being an insomniac I have become amnesiac too, as a result of the lack of sleep perhaps.
I crept into the upper room today and knelt before the host clipped in the monstrance, the glass case gleaming so pristine and beautiful and so quiet against the warm wood panelling. I am so tired, I whisper, please help me somehow. Last year I was about to kill myself around this time, but penitential service, the irony of all ironies, kept me from it. Today I was going to go home and settle my essays. After prayers and a reflective walk through the darkness I barely opened the front door before I got a call from the church choir. And yes, there went my precious 3 hours. Gone. I got home at 9pm, hungry, tired, tired, did I mention tired? And yes, I was needed. I wonder who needed me. Whether it was God or someone or something else.
It's bloody rambly I know I will soon pull an e e cummings and pretentiously leave all my letters in lower case and decide that i too, must somehow
d
i
e
Oh sweet Jesus have mercy.

paint splatters Sunday, December 19, 2004 03:09 p.m.
Because I complain to everyone who doesn't mind ranting

Hello
Unfortunately I don't think I can carol anymore... I might be able to work half day on Christmas eve but even so I've missed so many practices already due to work...

Haha to be painfully and brutally honest, work is extraordinarily shitty. Somehow I don't think teaching will be this bad. I'm wondering if I can last 2 weeks even. Was thrown my first individual assignment at 3pm on Thursday and told to file it by 5pm on Friday. I can tell you that I was fairly panicking. I worked till MN that day and that was on top of my other assignment.. not to mention how the whole world treats reporters/journalists with intense suspicion, and to cap it all off, since I'm only a lowly intern, with disrespect haahah. And technology also failed on me on Friday. At 2pm the archaic, dinosaurish software that I HAVE to use to file my stories decided to BOOT ME OUT and lock me out of the stupid system forever. I guess some parts are pretty exciting but i've still yet to learn the ropes. Having to keep being scolded by supervisors, cruel editors and badtempered colleagues and also the scarily intimidating photographers - it's not very fun. To survive I'm just being really angry if not I think I'll just break down. My aunt advised me to be as bitchy as possible - it takes a lot of energy though.

Yesterday I worked at Toys R Us as a salesgirl, roughhoused by a particular bitch (I scream it out. Bloody hell.) who deliberately TRIPPED me up and busted my already loose ankle and yelled at by a barking manager - on assignment no less - my editors and supervisors have a very warped sense of humour and promise it will only get worse. Like oh no.

Well just praying hard that I'll manage to pull through trial period (to me at least, they can drop me at a day's notice and so can I) of 2 weeks. Then perhaps a month and more. Who knows huh... but well guess this is for the sake of character building too (Oh wow how noble) - the most thankless job on earth...

You can tell I'm really lovin' it there huh.
My supervisor insulted me the other day and asked me if i could take photographs and various angles etc. I couldn't very well yell into his face like hello i'm an artist could I so yeah just let him humiliate me and swallow my pride. I left it outside the door before i entered the hallowed portals of the offic.

Most people there are from school of journo or mass comm... can't exactly connect I guess... except to a couple of people and another girl who's insanely crazy. Sitting with her yesterday I think I've inhaled about one entire pack of cigarettes already. Used to it I guess from previous experience but I can feel all the angst surfacing.

Bleargh I shouldn't be complaining really because this might mean I'm one step closer to getting a scholarship and being enslaved for a decade of my life (if you add 4 schooling years) but of course when you're stuck in this kind of shit you just get bloody pissed and it feeds to your anger. Next month I might start smoking, dye my hair and get a body piercing, just to relieve stress.
Because, yes, I am damn bloody stressed.

Glad you're gonna come home soon (:

with love,
Emilyn

paint splatters Monday, December 13, 2004 07:42 p.m.
Refined Sensitivities
For the first time in my entire life I bought a copy of the tabloid I work at, as self-assigned homework. Reading it I can say I'm a little aghast at the amount of Singlish that is liberally sprayed around in there. But well, a paper has to sell after all, and the readers are like gods - you just have to pander to their tastes. And I remind myself that the editorial I work for rakes in most of the moolah for the enormous press machinery located in that corner of our sunny island.
Well take it as it comes I guess. Everyday will simply be learning experience, so to speak, then. I still have to write my US university applications. It's no joke trying to think creatively when you're just about as alive as the coffee mug on the table before you.

paint splatters Saturday, December 11, 2004 12:20 p.m.
The Turn of the Screw.
Gothic novella indeed. I'm now totally and horrendously puzzled by it. But it made for a most interesting read.
Am now scouting for more books to read, after Arcadia, The Bell Jar and now The Turn of the Screw.
Perhaps Jeanette Winterson next! (Haha after Written on the Body I will backtrack to Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit, not Sexing the Cherry.)
I really should start on my application essays. But I first have to figure out how to stretcher my dead computer to the repair shop.

paint splatters Friday, December 10, 2004 11:52 p.m.
Well there it goes. 2 years of JC slipping past, just like that. I would write a proper piece if I could, but right now my brain is pretty dead after blasting our voices out at the Australian High Commissioner's residence early this evening.
Anyway, Zhuanghui's further claim to fame: the two audio recordings I have in my cell phone are inspired by him. One is a silly PW group giggle-laugh over "Ring ring. The phone is ringing" in Chengwei's mum's car after we had lunch- listening to it, we sound high on drugs or something. Giggling sillily and trying to imitate Zhuanghui's voice and his ringtone on his massive nokia phone. That was in October last year. Haha I still smile when I listen to it.
Before I left the hotel room(thank you Serene!) on Thursday morning, I picked up another memento from Zhuanghui (no, not his socks/shoes/tie-which-has-been-to-places!). It was quiet and most peaceful, well mostly anyway, discounting loud breathing noises from the various people slumped around in various positions of sleep. Chris was sitting on the floor with me and Alex was drinking Heineken and eating Oreos (for breakfast!?) in the armchair in the corner. Zhuanghui was spread over the bed, fully dressed, save for shoes and tie; Jo and Esther on the other bed, Eng Siang on the carpet (most critter-like! I had a good time observing his sleeping face with Chris), Chengwei stretched out and Kelvin next to the bin. My sunflower sat on the windowsill. And so sitting quietly there in the cool dryness of the room I listened to the breathing of eight other people around me, and smiled at Chris and collected my souvenir from the sleeping Zhuanghui.

I have to say one thing. I love my class.
Thank you all.

paint splatters Friday, December 10, 2004 04:58 p.m.
Come Monday I will sign my freedom away. Yes I start work on Monday! And my application essay thingies still remain unretrieveable from my dead computer. I am sooo behind time help.
They will be back this evening around MN so there goes my insane freedom cum housekeeping. So I can't walk around without (many) articles of clothing with my wet hair dripping rivulets now, but at least there will be more vegetables in the house - I have become very adept at cooking cabbage. I hope none of the fish have rotted yet. One's on a plate in the fridge and the other in the freezer (scaled! washed! pink and healthy!) solid as a rock. Which reminds me I need to give the kitchen stove a good wipe.

paint splatters Thursday, December 9, 2004 05:06 p.m.
typing this on my sister's computer now, as my computer refuses to start up and tells me i have a system disk failure. I have no idea what a system disk failure is but if i have to reformat my computer all I can say is noooo all my application crap is in that piece of metal! So I have to redo all that shit. This cannot be happening!

----
On a separate note, prom was horrendous. I hated every moment of it from the messy chaotic arrival at 715 (mind you, shouldn't 45 minutes allow for some order??) to the messy chaotic insane photo-taking frenzy, right up to messy chaotic insanely loud drivel from the DJ.

Dear classmates, I know you meant well when you bought that ticket for me, not that I don't appreciate it but honestly I know my specific reasons for not attending things like senior promenade. I know my threshold level at any rate. Besides, as pointed out by various other people, we could have spent less money and still stay giggling up to 3am in the morning outside shut bars with taxi drivers hawkishly driving around - no need to murder all sanity. Nothing against the Council or what, it's just me.
My lips are bleeding now from the dry air and dehydration.

Oh, the trauma!

paint splatters Monday, December 6, 2004 09:03 p.m.
Over the weekend we welcomed a new addition to the family, 0.47m in height and weighing 2.96kg, and suddenly we all felt intensely old. ZhenXi is now 2 days old, plump-cheeked and pink splotched, with itty bitty toes and tiny pretty fingers.
Beautiful child, sweet baby; how precious you are to the world you've just entered. Cradled and passed from parent to grandma to grandaunt to grandpa, swaddled in hospital linen. I stroked your head with my finger, feeling your hair soft and downy as a kitten's. As you curled and uncurled your fingers one after another, the silly daft smiles of tenderness bobbed and floated around the room, enveloped in the glow of yellow light. We felt so old suddenly, transformed into uncles and aunties, strange titles we wear with bemusement.

-----
Up till now I still puzzle over how people can pronounce confidently that so-and-so's baby looks like his/her dad or mum. Babies look all the same to most of us I guess, like Babies. It's the same clenched eyes, button nose and mouth unconsciously making sucking motions, the same balled fists and bent legs pulled close tight against the soft dome of tummy, wrapped tightly in fluffy blankets, mewing.
I thought I detected a tiredness in my cousin's voice as he answered his cellphone; his son was "very cute" (But all new babies are cute.) Perhaps I was merely transferring my tiredness onto my cousin, but his newborn son certainly looked most perfect and beautiful lying in the bassinet, innocently unaware of the chaos exploding in sprays around his sleep-fuzzed head.

paint splatters Monday, December 6, 2004 06:35 p.m.
The first day is always the worst.
It's not the darkness I'm afraid of but the loneliness; a different kind of darkness that lets it little fingers clasp around you and eats away at your fear, sucking you in and pulling you deep, deep, deep into a miasma of darkness. A dull gloop that slides around you and consumes you in entirety.

She forgot to tell me when their plane landed. And until 6pm today I entertained myself with thoughts of the plane crashing and refused to turn on the television in case something had really happened. I hid under the covers of her bed and read Plath's The Bell Jar from end to end, while the hours oozed by ever so slowly. Now night is falling- I was wondering if I should take a walk outside, escape from my prison a little while, but figured I might feel worse or even depressed at coming home to an empty, silent, dark, lonely house. As it is darkness has fallen and I feel loneliness creep around me already, licking and nuzzling the night air, fresh, crisp and sweet.

Tomorrow I might summon enough energy to cook myself lunch and leave some for dinner, perhaps visit the plaza to buy my bottles of gold and silver paint. But now I am trying to accustom myself to this quiet, sucking silence, get used to it like how I got used to it last year. It always happens of course. Seneca spoke the universal truth, as did Schweitzer.
"We are all so much together but we are dying of loneliness."
Like a curse, circling and curling around the dark, wreathing and breathing, beating with every pump of the heart. I am. I am. I am.