FANNY - Sink your teeth into my balls.

Ends.

2006-09-27T02:45:00.000+08:00

"They come and go. Take and give. Fuck and kiss. That's life."

That's life. Its been close to a year, and an pretty enjoyable one at that. I had a swell time writing entries to entertain, to cure a lonely saturday night alone, to trip the mind of an einstein, and most of the time to be one hell of a bitch.

I've shared your joy and shed my tears and now this blog finally comes to a closure. An end. A finale of sorts.

I am still blogging, but on a different; somehow similar platform where I don't have to suffer the scrutiny of the watchful eyes. I don't want to crush something I so love just because I'm afraid of finding out one day people start staring at me through tainted glasses. I need comformity of that fact, but more importantly I need some breathing space.

Thank you for all the months of support if you've been reading since day one. To the friends I've made through blogging, friends who have become more than just internet friends to me, you know your names and I don't believe you guys need to be mentioned to find out - I love you guys and I am so damn sure this will not impede our friendship. Definitely, contact will still be kept and you guys are too precious to be true.

This is getting too sappy. So let's put a stamp to this envelope and drop it down the mailbox. I hope I made an impact to anyone who have read and inspired. I hope I brought a smile to anyone who suffers a little case of depression. I hope I evoked a tear to anyone who have been holding it in since forever.

I hope, and I can only hope.

Goodbye, bitches.

Escape.

2006-09-23T16:02:00.000+08:00

I'm feeling unsatisfied.

I drop my sister's blog a rare visit, and I'm left jaw wide open by her tales of her strolls down St. Kilda beach back in Melbourne, the dry muffins that she fed to the flocks of birds that scattered around her feet, the crashing waves. I remember all that on our last visit, a pity I wasn't old enough to really savour the many satisfying moments then.

Having gotten myself updated with her life, I look back at mine and a frown escapes my cracked lips. I'm either at work moaning or at home suffering from pangs of pain in my head and a bloody nose.

I need an escape. A period of time sliced off my life when I don't have to be the 16 year old student struggling with school and work. I'll just be a wandering minor with a burning cigaratte in one hand while the other hand scratches my butt intently.

Happy Birthday, Kenn Boy.

2006-09-17T02:34:00.000+08:00

It happened once, amidst a horde of people sipping onto their coffee, chatting up about office politics and where they got their hair done. I allowed myself to black out, waking up to my friend's nagging shake, a whole mess of vomit splattered all over my shirt and having to listen to my friend's rendition about how I started vibrating like a handphone put on silent.

A fit. I had a fit and I thought, or was hoping, rather that that would be the last of it. Maybe I didn't hope hard enough.

Perhaps that's why it hit me for a second time today. Sipping onto a nice, frosty cup of Spinelli while enjoying the radio-friendly hits being performed by two guys outside Heeren - it was a lovely night to tap your feet to, whip up some night lovin' to the beats but a giddy trap had to snap at my head just as I answered Kenn's call and before I knew it I was slumping down onto the wooden chair.

I woke up to strangers gripping onto my shoulders this time round, without any friends around. I didn't know if I spasmed throughout the time I was unconscious, but I remembered vaguely I had probably a million dreams penetrating in and out of my head. I was covered in sweat and I could taste the vomit halfway through my throat.

I quickly recovered back to a slouching position and raised my hand slightly as a gesture of appreciation to the guy, but my mind was still in a swirl. Another phonecall from Kenn came shortly and I was struggling with trying to comprehend his words. It just felt... shitty.

I survived the rest of the night with a mild throb in my head and a lousy appetite, but it was still fun, nevertheless. Watching Kenn and Chris discuss about cars and army life makes me feel 16 year old but it was cool, not having to feel pressured to take responsibility for anything or anyone. I didn't have to be responsible for keeping the crowd entertained. I didn't have to be the one to kill the awkward silence. I could slip right back onto the couch and chuckle to their jokes. Maybe I never had a brother figure in my life. I had one for a short while - my brother-in-law. But ever since the divorce, followed up by my sister falling out with my mother, me falling out with my dad, and partly with my mom... nothing felt salvageable and I was just too tired to bother.

Dinner at Balcony was good, only if I had a better appetite I could've finished the whole thing but the stench of the vomit was still lingering down my throat.

We drove down to Bugis for pool after dinner, and of course by we I don’t mean me because I don't even know how to start reel down the window panes to start with. Kenn's car had some good music, almost like a place to hideout after a busy night of socializing. Well, the ambience would have been more appropriate if Kenn wasn't busy cursing every car that drove past him. 'Twas cute though.

I haven't touched a cue for month, but luckily I didn't exactly suck. We played a couple of rounds, inserting conversations about hedgehogs and hibernating them in the fridge.

Chris sent me home after an hour or so along with his pretty girlfriend Jessie. It was swell being able to catch up and all, especially on a sacred (as Kenn would put it) day like Kenn's birthday. Happy birthday beanie boy, hope you score a swell fuck soon ;)

Now that I'm back in my own room with the silence of the night all to myself, the fits incident is starting to branch itself out into million of possibilities I simply cannot register. What if I contracted epilepsy? Or is the disease even possible to be contracted like a common flu? What if this goes on? Am I going to faint and fall onto the grainy floor in the middle of a busy traffic? Who? What? How? When?

Why?

I'm scared, because for once I have no control over the process and the outcome.

(Ok Chris sent me a photo of four of us but I LOOK TERRIBLE so I decided to make everyone look terrible.)

Yet again.

2006-09-15T01:46:00.000+08:00

For probably the hundredth time, I'm tired.

I know its something that hangs by my mouth everytime I come back from work but I can't help it. I am at the verge of quitting, but as there are things that tempts my resignation, there are just as many things holding me back. The money, the friends made there, the life I grew to get so familiar with over at Cartel.. I don't know.

The hours are killing me, and I didn't even ask for half of it.

I should stop moaning about work and how I'm feeling all chewed up and spit out. Yes, I should.

But I'm too tired to bitch about anything or anyone else.

Please ignore.

2006-09-12T04:25:00.000+08:00

I feel empty.

Hmm, I don't know. I just do. I feel so disconnected from the rest of the world, as if I plucked myself out from the lives of others and justified a space reserved for one. I slog myself at work to please an unappreciative management and the only serenity I derive is from the 4, 5am re-runs of Oprah and Ellen's talkshow.

The only people that are keeping my knees from crumbling to the pressure are my colleagues, the little friends I am left with and my hourly doses of nicotine and tar.

The feeling of being unplugged from everyone else's life has been downright miserable. Cold, mouldy wisps are preventing me from thinking otherwise. I want to quit my job and step once again into the lives of my loved ones, but my situation is giving me every reason to hesistate. I cannot assure that they are willing to re-open doors that I slammed shut and walked out once, furthermore work has been the only thing that has been keeping my urges occupied and taking that away is as good as pulling me into another string of incidents I might live to regret.

Me being happy has always come first ahead everything else, but I am starting to query my beliefs. My actions so far have been telling another story of a life I am foreign to but I am starting to accquire a sense of familiarity and I am afraid everything might end up irreversible.

By then, who am I supposed to turn to when I cannot even recognize myself?

Shut up.

2006-09-10T03:38:00.000+08:00

Hmm.

A lesbian pub and a gay club in a short span of a Friday night. I am so glad I finally got the night out I deserve. The booze was great (enough to make me fall apart) and the dancing bit was quite the eventful moment to remember.

Work on the following day just crushed every last pieces of aching bones in my body, and the only thing that I could remember instinctively is the immensely obvious lack of sleep. My bar shift was completely a disaster. Orders started piling up like crazy and I already had trouble keeping my eyelids open.

We need another night of drinking soon, Leraine.

Tired.

2006-09-06T01:45:00.000+08:00

I'm tired.

I have this nagging feeling that I'm pushing myself to a brink when I'm liable to fall and break. Its not just work, its my life as a whole. Work, home, friends, emotions. I'm bombarded with doubts and answers that don't seem to fit that I have lost track of the things going on around me.

Disappointment comes after a lapse of cheer, leaving me empty and wondering what's coming my way next.

I don't know. Sometimes you just want to force everything out of your mind to make space for a huge disappointment you anticipate in dread. It becomes a cycle, and then your misery starts to make sense. Everything falls into pieces and you know you're crap.

Is this the kind of life I want to get used to? Using work as an excuse to keep myself busy, using friends as an excuse to embrace companionship, using my home as an excuse for a bed to rely on at the end of the day, using people that hardly matter to me to satisfy my internal dysfunction?

It sucks, but someone has got to serve the mudpie.

Burnt out.

2006-09-05T01:45:00.000+08:00

Here I am, sitting behind the closed door, 6, 7 steps away from my parents room but yet it feels like a mile away. I guess its a fair trade, I lost the proximity our hearts once used to share but in return I gained some breathing space.

Sometimes I question myself if all that entitled oxygen is worth the relationship I have let slipped out through my fingers and scooped back up again time after time, but I often shake it off with my rigid stubborness.

I don't know. Like I said to my sister, respect is mutual and if I'm not getting any from them, they're getting shit from me.

Buttpie.

Rubbish.

2006-09-04T03:28:00.000+08:00

Its songs like the suite from "The Devil Wears Prada" that makes you want to believe, believe that there is something beyond what the is veiled before our eyes. It is the curiosity that triggers our emotions and their adaptions, leaving us gushed with thoughts and considerations yet action hardly takes place.

It is about our series of thoughts, carefully weaved against one another to portray a web of perception, like a tinted mirror it gives life's ugly disfigurement a new face, a fresh dip.

Don't. Ask. Me. What. That. Was. All. About.

Overworked and underpaid, everything sort of explains for themselves.

Bad.

2006-09-01T01:06:00.000+08:00

The previous two days have been horrible.

I have every possible reason to be joyous, but it seems like that's not going to happen too soon.

Its so clittish I don't even want to blog about it. Hmm, I could get used to this silent war that has invaded my house.

Best friends.

2006-08-30T00:09:00.000+08:00

You have successfully received C:\Documents and Settings\Owner\My Documents\My Received Files\12 - Phantom Planet - California.mp3 from absentimental.

FUCK SIA says:
I feel like im in the orange county!!

absentimental says:
oh god shaddup already

Carolyn (Happy now? :D)

2006-08-28T23:17:00.000+08:00

"Today I threw a book in your face. Maybe tomorrow I'll throw a fucking knife."

The exact same words snapped right at the man lying in the room across mine. The man who only plays the role of a father figure when he's well-fed and he's immense male ego is satisfied. Maybe she's right, I do have a life that can give Joakim Gomez a run for his money.

I can't get along with anyone in the family these days. Just when things started to look positive, this big, fat pie has to come crashing right into my face. Its like a vicious cycle that has played on and on ever since I stopped freaking out over sprouting pubic hair. It never ends, and often I make myself believe that its just part of the whole rebellious-teenage-years-and-weird-parents thing but at the rate this cycle has been repeating itself over, and over again - I'm really at a lost what to believe now.

We quarrel, I apologise, we become this big happy family, we quarrel, I apologise... BLAH BLAH BLAH.

Getting back together with them used to be a bittersweet thing because I know finally there will be some sort of peace in the house but on the other hand I'm certain that its not going to last and I will have to unwillingly trudge myself through this whole cycle of shit. The bitterness of the whole situation has taken reign and numbed any amount of sweet lovin left in this family.

You know what's really sad. Its the fact that I'm actually getting used to this revolving pile of shit and cum. Its becoming like a routine to have pins slapped all over my body.

I need a break. Really do.

Hmm.

2006-08-28T11:31:00.000+08:00

I'm feeling a tad guilty.

Its hours to my first paper and here I am, listening to Lindsay Lohan croon about her father's dying love (no prizes for guessing song title) whereas my father's in the room opposite of mine, probably trying to invent a digital light bulb or something.

I don't know. Well, don't really want to know either.

Oh look who just barged into my room like the door was locked for an absurd reason. Its mother, with the dog rushing in to grab the toy chicken he left in my room last night and making a dash for it out of the room. Oh and you're just in time for the favourite time of the day, Mother's Lecture. It seems like she just noticed the ashtray in my room and look at her go on and on and on. What a windbag, its a pity we don't have the technology to harvest all that hot air and put it to a good cause.

I think she's finishing.. oh then again no. She's got a whole life story to tell, but sadly hardly a earnest listening ear.

I never thought I'd say this, but I love my house.

Something I'll probably regret an hour later.

2006-08-27T20:38:00.000+08:00

You've changed.

There was so many things I wanted to spit onto the high and mighty existance you portrayed, but I figured what the hell, at the end of the day even if you don't spell it out I'm still eventually the one at fault. No matter how much I try to voice out my displeasure, it'd be voided out by your "Farah's Right" attitude.

Maybe you caught me at a wrong time, and in fact if you think about it you've constantly been getting to me at the wrong time and place. But then again, I can imagine you going like you always do "I don't really care, Daniel."

Then tell me, what do you care about? Do you even care about me, as a friend?

No I don't think so. I wouldn't degrade someone I care about with harsh sacarsm one after another and then blatantly slap an excuse over it saying "You only react when my words sting." I wouldn't tell my friend I can't be more than bothered to give him the time of the day because I am very contented with my life right now.

I wouldn't. But it seems that you would.

The last time we caught up at Starbucks you were ranting about your new, cool friends. Well hooray for you, Farhanah. In comes the new, do away with the old, am I right? Afterall you often catch yourself in awkward situations where you're so ashamed of friends like me. Well, today has definitely save you the misery of being caught in another sad, sad situation. One crossed off your fucking list, a few others to go. Great job, bitch.

We haven't drifted. I find it a joke that I thought we actually drifted. I was busy with work, school and life. (Oh but you wouldn't care, right?) but I still made at least the slightest effort to pick up pieces I left behind. But you, it seems like you dusted our friendship off your shoulder so as to not shame yourself of hanging out with the unglamorous and once in a while you pick it up so as to inflate your friendly farhanah persona.

Half the things I say here probably don't make sense, but that's the vibe you've been giving me lately. I may be wrong, I may be right. But it doesn't really matter now, does it?

You're probably like "Jeez what a bunch of bollocks that's really mature of him I can't believe we were once friends oh well as long as I get my 14 dollars I'm contented" *dials up cool friend's number to make it into a whole bloody joke*

Well guess what, Farhanah? I'm really sorry we're in such a sorry state right now. And by sorry I don't mean the apologetic kind. Go ahead and continue thinking you're contented with your life now. Well maybe you really are contented, but looking at your sorry figure, you sure are easily pleased.

Suck on this.

Nobody's Business.

2006-08-27T03:07:00.000+08:00

Its been a while since I slept on my own bed.

Belongings are cluttered all over the sheets with the ends hanging loose. Bags, underwear, hangers, towels - the thought of clearing it all up is clearly a sore in the pantat. Nowadays I make do with a big, fluffy blanket draped on the floor, a pillow and a bolster. Once I really wanted to take a chance with the bed and shoved everything onto the floor.

Big mistake.

I had to throw everything back up onto the bed the next morning, and I was back at where I started. Nice move, buttpie.

Anyway. (Why did I even discuss about my bed?)

Lepak-ing with Karin at night was definitely something I haven't done for goddamn ages. The solemness of the night set the perfect atmosphere for our heart to heart talks, which is another thing I haven't done for way too long.

Its so easy to talk to Karin, maybe because we're somehow similar at so many personal levels and it comes to a point where although we don't seem to have much to talk about, it feels like I've bared every minute detail of my life to her. (Or then again, maybe I just don't have much going on in my life right now. Holly-hoe.)

Don't get me wrong though. People always have this annoying idea that I like here and all. Yeah, sure I do in fact I love her but as a friend, a lepak partner, a talker, a listener, a fat pincher, yada yada. Sometimes we connect at so many levels it gets funny and I often question my intentions, but what the hell - some questions are just meant to be answered later on in life, or perhaps never. Either way, I don't really care because at 16 - I have the right not to.

And for the first time in months, I have snapped endless shots and saved my camera from degrading into dust. Heavy photoshop applied and once again, when you have a measly 4 megapixel camera - you have the right to photoshop like its your birthday.

Time to wank.

I need your grace.

2006-08-24T01:46:00.000+08:00

http://i-need-your-grace.blogspot.com

A collection of dirty little fantasies brought to light in a style of flair and stupidity. Mostly erotica, bits and bits of thoughts conjured up in the solemness of the night.

A tribute to whoever seeks a night out alone.

Short.

2006-08-23T01:14:00.000+08:00

I'm sad. Feeling wrong and crappy altogether.

I don't know.

I hate goodbyes. They mark the end of something close to my heart, turning it into a mere memory.

Sucks.

Served on shit.

2006-08-22T01:17:00.000+08:00

I'm a terrible person. And waiter.

Customer: Hmm those chicken wings on that table looks good. What are they?

Me: Chicken wings.

Customer: They come in four?

Me: No, three.

Customer: But she (the person from the other table) has four.

Me: No she has three.

Customer: Ok fine get me one of those.

Me: Anything else?

Customer: Not at the moment.

Me: Good.

Caught up.

2006-08-20T02:56:00.000+08:00

"When I was just, a little girl
I asked my mother, what will I be
Will I be pretty? Will I be rich?
Here's what she said to me.."

The old vinyl record sang its favourite track as the needle scratched across the disc, over and over again. A haunting melody churned out of the gramaphone, its erotica as infectious as a common cold.

Feet were heard shifting across the dance floor as couples swayed alongside to the mesmerizing vocals, faces sunk deeply into each other's shoulder and hands clutching tightly onto their partner's embrace. All was bliss, or so it seems.

Dark, a shade of crimson red, as if blood was spilled across.

He could see his distorted reflection wobbling in the bowl of punch. It captivated him, how he could see the reflection of his eyes through his own reflection in the bowl of fruit cocktail. It was a ladle which plunged into the beverage that shook him out of his reverie. He looked up, only to see a man, much more bigger built than him, pouring for himself a greedy serving of punch.

Mr Muscle in tuxedo let out a mock chuckle. "Dateless eh?"

He could see the demented joy in his eyes, as if he lived on sucking the pride out of others. But if there was one thing scraping through 2 years of high school has thought him, it would be that brawn usually comes without brain.

"No, just thirsty."

Mr Muscle started to open his mouth as if he was about to say something, then closed it, shrugged and walk off with half the bowl of punch with him.

A smile spread across his face at the thought of victory, but it was short-lived. He didn't feel like he had won anything at all. He glanced over at Mr Muscle who was chatting up with a bevy of attractive women dressed in gowns so low they might as well just walk around with their breasts bobbing up and down. And here he was.

Alone, with hardly a soul to notice his existence. If he'd dumped the whole bowl of punch over his head and ran around the ballroom, he doubt anyone would notice him.

Heaving a sigh of desperation, he returned his attention back to the fruit punch.

Eff.

2006-08-19T02:50:00.000+08:00

Ben Harper has the effect cigarattes has on me. Especially when I need to wring my fat little fingers around someone's neck.

An F for Essential Graphics - why am I not surprised? Can't say I'm not disappointed, but its not exactly the end of the world for me. Failing isn't exactly new to me, and I've learnt to accept failure with a pinch of salt.

But sometimes when I'm sinking in so comfortably to failing every little test I take, the salt becomes a bucket's worth.

I fear my ability to take many things for granted sometimes, and when I do so I inevitably overlook many opportunites, leaving myself with a limited amount of choices and that is when the moaning bitch in me arises.

Anyhow, I wished I could be a little more bothered sometimes. Afterall, it is my grade and F doesn't exactly stand for Fabulous. But oh, I don't know.

Fast and furioooooous.

Dig.

2006-08-18T02:00:00.000+08:00

So my father invaded my laptop this afternoon.

Whammy.

And he "claimed" that he accidentally stumbled upon my collection of porn.

Double whammy.

In which contains a couple of straight, gay and bisexual titles.

Fuck.

So right now I'm assuming that he knows about my orientation, one way or another but the conversation we had wasn't as awkward as I assumed it would be. Well, I don't exactly remember what he said, but it was somewhere along the lines of "found gay porn" and "don't get into trouble".

Adults, pffft.

He conveniently ignored all the straight, pussy whacking clips surrounding the one or two happy ones, if you know what I mean. I am 16, and at 16 - porn is the centre of your gratifying universe. People from third world countries are starving and half dead but you really can't think of any good reason to give a flying fuck when you're going through your sixteenth year alive, kicking and with a constant hard-on.

My iPod is starting to bore me. All that angsty emo bah bah raarr shit is starting to sound meaningless and has been tainted by countless repeats on long rides home.

Now all that's bearable in my iPod is Spice Girls and Shakira - the 90s and loving it. Like, vintage lor.

Aye my eyes are starting to droop. Anyhow, if the content in my blog is too explict or liberal for you, shut up and don't read. The last thing I need is another commotion just because I have porn in my computer.

Dig, dig, dig.

Hmmmm.

2006-08-17T01:18:00.000+08:00

Touch that ass.

I have grown up taking responsibility for others, for myself, for how others feel, for how others suffer; whether in my expense or not. It is something I have grown accustomed to, and to hate.

I never did like seeing people I really love cry, or get angry. Its worse if I'm partly a trigger to their problems and even if I'm not, I still feel responsible to bring up the corners of their lips. The responsibility grows into a burden, and they add up to the load I have heaved over my shoulders. I cannot whine or grumble because I had every opportunity to walk away from a tearing friend, but I didn't.

Maybe I did, once or twice.

But different circumstances brings about different possibilities, and sometimes I'm just too tired with my own problems to be concerned about yours. We all have little secrets shrouded behind the veil we sew painstakingly through the years, and as we age we get better and better in doing so. Lies then erupt, and sins are committed.

Sins so awful I refuse to share. But maybe its because how my morals have been bended and stretched so wantonly for the past few years, I have become to repeat offender I am tonight.

My rice is turning stale and cold, a perfect meal. Goodnight.

Like, wtf.

2006-08-15T21:54:00.000+08:00

As the rush comes. says:
eh your blog is (in)famous among cmm, did you know?

As the rush comes. says:
cos of the kenny yong entry

Bite the wood chips. says:
YEAH I REALISED.

As the rush comes. says:
now everyones talking about it

Bite the wood chips. says:
Jesus.

As the rush comes. says:
i mean EVERYONE

Bite the wood chips. says:
..

Bite the wood chips. says:
Are you kidding me.

As the rush comes. says:
even the class nerds

As the rush comes. says:
no

Bite the wood chips. says:
fuck lor. it was just ONE entry.

As the rush comes. says:
only the really 'out' people havent at least heard of it

Bite the wood chips. says:
out?

As the rush comes. says:
those uh..

As the rush comes. says:
how to say

Bite the wood chips. says:
I must be really fucked up now huh, since everyone is in love with kenny yong.

Bite the wood chips. says:
D:

As the rush comes. says:
nah a lot of people dont like him what

Oh wow thanks alot this is really getting attention in the worst ways for the worst reasons. Now everyone hates me because they're so in love with Mr Kenny Charming Yong, and whereas I have successfully given everyone the impression of me trying so hard to project the image of being bold, different and defiant. (as per the comments left in my entry on KY)

So let me get this straight, now I'm a wannabe because me and my group tried to do something different for our project, got a F and I bitched about it. Oh wow I didn't realise it only takes 3 easy steps to become a wannabe. Maybe one day you want to try it out too since it seems easier than impregnating a cow.

I don't know lah.

This is not how I envisioned the course to be, and it has been sorely disappointing for the past few months - getting shit from teachers, getting shit for teachers.

And now this. D:

I have so much more things to be concerned about than trying to appease the Kenny Yong FC - work, school, exams and so many other things not meant for public's scruntiny. And this girl, under the online moniker of Cherry left her comments, leaving this blog address of a blog she just started. At first I still had some form of respect for her since she was the only one who didn't sign off as anonymous - but then word came across that she was quite the Kenny Yong fan.

All that respect soon disintergrated into a sizzling pile of poop.

Maybe if you want to throw a bitchfest at my blog, show yourself some respect and start leaving identities. And by identities I don't mean stupid monikers like r0xY_gUrL5352 or qUiks!lv3r_b0! 1314. That isn't showing yourself respect - that's just your own little parade of idiocy and stupidity all put together.

Ok case closed, pursuing the matter would only drain the self-esteem out of both me and all of you. Move along now, kiddos.

Curacao.

2006-08-15T02:24:00.000+08:00

Troubled frowns have invaded my forehead yet again.

Isn't it weird - how there is absolutely nothing worth fretting about, your life isn't perfect, neither is it a tragedy as well but yet you still find no reason to smile? Worries start flushing into your mind as a harried mean of replacing the emptiness within and soon your pace picks up as a hectic reluctance deals your cards.

You end up back at where you started, feeling stupid and down.

Tu.

2006-08-14T01:44:00.000+08:00

Monzee said:
don't try to grow up faster then u are

Monzee said:
cos u arn't

Bite the wood chips. said:
well how'd you know? u havent been around much. nvm.. i gtg sleep. bye

I seriously don't know.

There are so many things in my life I wished I could tell my sister. I often hesistate and question my hesistance at the end of the day. What am I so afraid of that has erected an unforgiving barrier between me and my sister? The problem with the both of us is that our personalities are so alike, they often crash. What results is a silence that engulfs our anger, only to replace it with a pseudo respect we hold for each other's opinion.

It never was a respect between siblings, but a mutual fear of leading our conversations to somewhere forbidden for our better good.

I hate that feeling, the shifty eyes darting in an uncomfortable manner. Why is it that after all that has happened this year, I am still stuck and probably already rooted in between you and our mom, trying to conceptualise a family as the both of you vow your hate for each other.

Just because I have both a mother and a father doesn't equate to owning the perfect family. When you made your decision then, you took a large chunk of that family from me and you never gave it back. Nothing was replaced, and I've always wondered if I did ever hate you for doing that.

I tried so hard to convince myself its not a resentment I feel for you, but no other emotion fits the bill so accurately as it does.

You judge me when you haven't been spending the past year acting a role as a sister in my life. I question your credibility but I am so afraid of lingering on for an answer because your way with words scare me. Often your words hardly stand at any extremes in the scale of truth and false - your lies often seem so true.

Your lack of presence has tired me out for the past year. I want to escape from the asylum you have converted this house into, but the responsibility that piled up after you left scares me. It dissolves the temptation with the immense pressure of acting as a son, and as well as the daughter that they never had.

I'm constantly in fear, but I never had the chance to present it. Thanks to you, your selfish desires and actions that compliments the former well.

You.

High School Drama.

2006-08-13T02:02:00.000+08:00

You're a song
Written by the hands of god
Don't get me wrong cause
This might sound to you a bit odd
But you own the place
Where all my thoughts go hiding
And right under your clothes
Is where I find them

Today was a little more constructive than most other days. Oh wait I just took a peek at the clock, its yesterday. Anyhow, the urgency of the exams are starting to get to me. For instance I was merely reading one chapter of my Media and Society textbook and BAM, it felt like my head was ran over by oil tankers one after another.

Not a good sign, obviously.

Its been too long since I read a book, or a paragraph rather, and try to keep it in my head for more than 10 seconds. I tell you, its a terrible feeling.

I just downloaded High School Musical off the net and I still don't know why the obsession from my classmates over it. I mean, sure - the female and male leads are hot in a Disney kind of fashion (think Lindsay Lohan and Mickey Mouse) but the lip sync was so terrible I felt like I was sitting in one of those dubbed foreign movies. Also, the singing was so obviously tampered with and the most annoying part of it is how predictable the movie is.

Its like they've totally covered the "high school" themed movie checklist. You might as well have shot me halfway throughout the movie and spared me the agony, and I will still be able to predict the later half of the plot - word for word.

New kid in the block - check.

New kid doesn't fit in the 'cool' crowd - check.

New kid is some geek - check.

New kid somehow comes from a mysterious land that does not have any high school so he/she is so overwhelmed by the different species of student loitering around the home ground which they call "The Hallway with Lockers and Doors" - check.

School bitch (often belle as well) sees New kid, hates New kid but still pretend to like New kid anyway - check.

New kid, by some act of fate knocks into the hottest jock in school - check.

Hottest jock in school somehow has some secret hobby (poetry, baking, singing, studying) that no one knows of - check.

Hottest jock click with New kid because by yet another act of fate, they share the same hobby - check.

Oh do I even need to go on? You probably guessed the rest even before I started anyway. Yes, high school movies are that annoying, but we all still watch them religiously anyway. Yes, I am a fan of high school movies but High School Musical was really bringing stereotype to a new low.

But who am I to condemn? Coming from someone who has watched A Cinderella Story five times in a week, this is a unbelievable.

Saturday afternoon gloom.

2006-08-12T16:36:00.000+08:00

I'm heading out alone for a little study session after this entry. Alone. Again.

Farhanah and Vanessa were right. I hardly socialize, and thus my lack of PR skills enforces greatly on the many dilemmas I've caught myself in one too many times. I used to think that I want to socialize, but the chances never seem to come at the right moment.

Now I've come to realise it was never my thing to mingle around and build a web of friends I can count on when it comes to my popularity count. The chances always seem to be presented before me unbarred, but my hesistance constantly found reasons for me not to take those chances.

I'm almost afraid to start a new friendship at this point. The ones I made for the past few months are fun and pretty cool, but to find a friend that can be as close to me as possible, but at the same time as distant away from me as well - its difficult.

You probably don't know what I mean, but I don't really understand myself sometimes either.

Like, bye.

I hate Breakfast.

2006-08-09T23:25:00.000+08:00

You work 365 days a year, and public holidays are the only time of the year when you can spend quality time with your bed and make up for all the sleep you lost to your life-devouring work.

But NO, you rich motherfuckers refuse to stay quietly in bed, but have to wake up at such an ungodly hour of 9am in the morning just so that you can come down to Cartel and have eggs and hashbrowns.

And in turn making my morning bar shift a living hell. If I have to brew one more cup of coffee I will kill myself right before your eyes and you will have to make your own coffee or just munch on a cup of coffee beans.

KY SUCKS.

2006-08-08T02:44:00.000+08:00

This is the comment my lecturer gave for my group's Essential Graphic project after he happily slapped an F on it. The words in red are obviously me trying to point out his stupidity.

"You have page 1 that doesn't make sense. Text, content, handwriting and placement are so random that it shows you have learnt nothing at all. (Hello in case you didn't notice, the theme of our whole newsletter is randomness. You have just proved to the world your disability to process anything in that mind of yours at all.) Image extraction on page 1 is sharp and random. Font sizes of page 2 & 3 reminds me of a children's illustration book. (Obviously you'd know, being the avid fan you look like you are.) The lady holding the speaker makes no sense but reflects the last minute work in this project. (The speaker belonged to the mac lab where CMM students spend most of their lesson time in, thus the photo. Just like if the newsletter was about you I'd have used photos of the food my dog eats.) The extraction and feather are also poorly done. OUCH on page 3 shows no relevance. (Once again, you failed to even notice our theme was randomness even with random pictures in every page. What are you, like stupid?) Photos on page 4 are poorly selected, cropped and edited. (Maybe if the TP website wasn't such a bitchface and didn't use such small and ugly photographs of our lecturers, we'd have come up with something nicer.) There are lecturers without arms, (The cropped out photos of the lecturers are overlapped, DUMBASS. What you think take class photo ah, hands side by side and in a row?) amateurish Photoshop filters randomly used (Congratulations you have sunk another level lower in terms of stupidity - only one filter was used) and it is obvious that you cannot differentiate between work and play by using my personal photograph in this project. (If it is so personal to you, keep it off Friendster and stop being a whiny bitch.) Now comes to my personal comments. This is the worst project I have ever seen that was completed by a group of 5 members. (Well whaddya know, that feeling is definitely mutual.) It seems that the room full of Macs that hardly function properly could produce newletters WAY ABOVE your standard. (Maybe so, provided that they'd stop hanging and shutting our programmes off halfway.) Giving you the latest G5s and Adobe Suite to produce this quality of newletter would be an insult to the hardware, software and myself as your tutor. (Please, you as my tutor is a degrading shame to me.) This is not a borderline failure. (Go fuck yourself.)"

Seriously, first look at it and the whole paragraph hit me as the ravings of some computer geek that has let his overbloated ego get into his head. Then when I read carefully into it, it became clearer that it was just Kenny Yong being the little sore cunt he is.

Oh sorry for ripping your poseur looking photo off your friendster account and using it for our project, because I just did it again.

Now, go fuck yourself.

Bored shitless.

2006-08-07T03:08:00.000+08:00

Excuses resolved the blame, but what about everything else?

Expose.

2006-08-05T23:00:00.000+08:00

I'm bisexual.

Now, you can take it and deal with it, or you can just hate me for who I am.

Or who I think I am, rather. I don't know and I'm past trying to figure out where my preferences lie, or what turns me on (if you have to put it that way). Its like this line in stress that you should never cross, and its stupid to stress yourself out by thinking what's right and what's wrong.

And I think being 16, I still have every legal right to be confused.

I've been experimental and all in my younger days, but it gets tiring. You draw this whole map in your head trying to figure out a direction but at the end of the day - you're still lost. So I just decide not to deal with it and leave it as it is.

I'm past being concerned over how your eyes judge me, and I'm past trying to conceal a part of my life from my friends. Its unfair to them and a painstaking process for me as well. I know this comes as something rather sudden to you guys, but think about how its been torturing me for the past few months.

You can justify a distance away from me if you see me being bisexual as a shortcoming, I'm alright with that. I end up losing great friends, but I also end up acknowledging the greater ones.

I tend to keep thoughts confined in my head and going helter skelter all over, so maybe its really just me being confused. But I don't care, and I don't wish to give it another thought. I'm not going to sit down and sort out my thoughts, pointing at a path and say "Alright, so this is who I am and where I'll be heading."

Its just not me to do so.

And if you're worried I might be attracted to you or something, don't worry because I draw the line at friends. Its just how things work for me - when I get to know someone better, any infatuation might that have existed disappears. Don't ask me to explain it though, I often act without giving the consequeunces much thought.

Thus this. I just hope that me as myself would be able to redeem our friendship despite all that I've said above.

With much love,
Fanny.

Bitch.

2006-07-28T23:40:00.000+08:00

I can't find the word to describe how I'm feeling right now. Or rather, trying to feel.

I used to have this little female poodle with only a right nipple.

She whines, she whimpers like the world owes here. She comes to you only when its dinner time, and other than that she can be found curled up in a little corner of the room, licking her short, black fur. She doesn't eat her meal unless its placed right under her nose because she likes to be treated like a princess. She hates people to stroke her belly, but she plays along whenever I do it because she knows I'm her source of food. She's never remorseful about the miserable amount of love (or lack thereof) she displays to her owner because she's from Egypt and in Egypt cats are treated like gods.

Today I drew the line on patience. I took her palm out, placed her left nipple in it and kicked her out of the house.

And it feels fucking good, bitch.

Jalan Jalan le Crisps.

2006-07-25T19:30:00.000+08:00

Singapore Idol advertisements have really dragged our local media standards down to a new low. I mean, have anyone watched that music video they made of the wannabes singing to Bad Day by Daniel Powter and not go like "WHAT THE FLYING FUCK?!".

There's a line between cute and downright bullshit, and the Singapore Idol people, year after year has crossed that bloody line like they own it.

Oh yeah they have decent faces but they moo.

The first season we had to endure countless of Sylvester Sim's trademark wink with some lame handsign (cue 13, 14 year old girls shrieking), and now for the second season, we have to endure bad productions, mediocre vocalists who rely more on gimmicks than anything else that it makes us wonder what pile of shit lies behind all that mascara, eyeliner, and fringe that seems like its going to spring flowers sooner or later.

It makes me wonder if the Board of Censorship is going to even allow the third season to air on our tv screens because I don't think we have to keep being reminded every wednesday how Singaporeans cannot sing.

Has anyone noticed how Joakim Gomez incurs the audience's tendency to vomit everytime he steps onto stage and does that "I-can't-dance-neither-can-I-sing-but-I-still-do-it-any-how" routine? Who is he trying to reach out to - five-year-old purty little girls prancing around the room to Hi-five? For fuck's sake, they don't even have a clue what this retarded son of a bitch is singing, and even if they did it'd be Blue's.

Get it? Like.. Blue's Clue? Argh nevermind the fact that I even tried.

He's out he's out die motherfucker die.

And Paul Twohill, need I say more? He isn't ugly, and he doesn't sing badly - but the whole eyeliner and floppy fringe with braces too small for his teeth look - its FUCKING annoying. And am I the only one who is so sick of his little joke about laughing at the peanut butter guy in the fridge? I see it in almost every interview that features him, and here's a hint - Get over it.

Maybe next time if I become rich and famous and reporters start hooking me up with interviews I'd go..

"Oh so I have this thing with my fridge everytime I open it I start laughing I don't know why but write that down please and I will point at that baby kai lan and start laughing till I get stomach cramps because its just so random and so funny I mean come on, baby kai lan? That's like so funny oh and write that down too.. with all the wrinkled leaves don't they remind you of something? No? No? Come on, give it a guess. It starts with C. Oh come on, guess, don't give up.. COME ON guess the answer.. ok the last letter is T.. hey.. don't continue on.. guess it first.. this is the funny part come on don't leave it out hey hey come back -"

Oh and can someone please tell Rahima Rahim (Is that how you spell her name? Because if that's it, it's a stupid name then. Might as well call it Rahim(square) x a) to stop stuffing herself with crack and pot before she appears on national tv? I mean, just look at her. Someone slap her with a restraining order thank you very much.

Alright I'm done with my little rant here. Its my two cents on Singapore Idol and if anyone disagrees, good for you that you enjoy to support the show that disintergrates your ear drums week after week.

Mommy's proud of ya.

Conspiracy.

2006-07-17T22:59:00.000+08:00

Desperate Housewives always seems crappy and going nowhere with all the twists planted in every five seconds of each episode, but the last 15 minutes never fails to unleash a little calamity over the women of Wysteria Lane and makes you go "Aww".

Anyhow, moving along.

Life is full of parodies - that sentence never made sense; until today. Trust myself to spend just one day alone, without work or school and I find myself landing in so many uncanny situations till it gets tiring. I should be glad that I have work to keep me occupied. Throwing me alone with all the time in the world can lead my ass to certain places that should long be banned.

I like happy music, for a simple reason - it keeps me happy. Swaying your head in a jerky fashion to the lalas and tapping your fingers on your legs which coincidentally is tapping the happy floor. You feel like spring is here and flowers are blooming in every possible colours inside your happy ear.

You feel happy.

But sometimes, you really just feel happy. Everything else is pathetic, distorted and just plain wrong. As long as the happy music keeps coming, you are safe from all the ugliness. But when it stops, everything marches down your throat you feel like crawling up into some place warm.

So don't stop, happy music players. Give Barney a run for his money and keep the world a happy place.

Friends.

2006-07-16T01:54:00.000+08:00

Baybeats is probably the only time of the year when me and my secondary school friends can actually get together and have a blast.

Its already so depressing they've been conformed to the label 'secondary school friends', but besides a few I can't really consider them close anymore. We hardly keep in contact and when we do, we tend to get on one another's nerves.

Ok so its just me but aiyah.

Anyway Baybeats was good. Holding such an event at Esplanade is really the balls. You get the river, the breeze and the captivating visuals accompanying good music, and the fact that its an annual thing just makes it all the more.. special.

The moshing bit (if you'd call that moshing) was pretty fun, and it took all the deadlines, work and troubles away for that half hour, but everything pours back soon enough and you get dragged back into reality again. Everything hits you without a warning even when your tired mind seems to be cracking a vein.

It sucks.

Karin held my hand today. That bitch couldn't resist me, I knew it.

Anyway getting together with Farhanah again is so precious I could jiggle her. We click in an instant - she'd know how I'm feeling although I present it otherwise. (Or at least I think so.)

Like this instance when I was trying to hear my colleague on the other end of the phone and Bird was going on and on about needing the toilet and Vanessa was doing the same about wanting a cigarette right beside my ear and I just blew it.

I don't know what came over me, but I wasn't angry. Just annoyed. Well in a way its the same thing but this is my blog so its NOT. Anyway Farhanah stayed with me when they left to go poop and get cigarettes and she was SO motherly. And they say mothers know best.

Well, yeah.

And our sense of humour grew on each other's. It feels so weird telling jokes to my other friends who hardly seem to appreciate it. With Farhanah, she can laugh before I even finish my jokes. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but anyhow, moving along.

Like when we were in the arena and this girl in front of us was wearing this black shirt with the words "THURSDAY" printed in bold, white font behind. And I was whispering to Farhanah that someone please go tell her its Saturday today ah, wear salah shirt. Oh my god that is so funny I swear I could go hysterical if someone told that joke to me.

But its not cool to laugh at your own jokes, so buzz off.

Oh did I mention this - Farhanah introduces me to the greatest bands. She is like my Halal Kazaa with breasts too big for her heart.

Oh jesus I miss my friends.

Peeeeeenny.

2006-07-15T03:31:00.000+08:00

Karin was right.

I've been working so much my whole life revolves around Cafe Cartel lately. Its where I laze around after school hours before I'm supposed to turn up for work, it appears in almost every 3 sentences I say and (this is ridiculous) according to my mother, I've been having trouble waking up because everytime she tries to wake me up I ask for her order and tells her the soup of the day.

And no, I'm not kidding.

My studies have been flopping recently too. I've attended less than 3 lessons this whole week and I'm really pushing my attendance to a limit. And alas, all thanks to Cafe Cartel.

I've contemplated the thought of quitting school, but its a no brainer. Quit a perfectly idealistic course to pursue the life of a waiter? I can't believe that thought even came into my mind in the first place.

Ahh I need a fag.

Badass.

2006-07-08T02:36:00.000+08:00

That is probably the most sacarstic way of putting your message across to the masses.

Face-value Meaning: Thank you for not smoking.

Actualy Meaning: Smoke here = Fine $200. Heh heh heh.

Lala.

2006-07-05T15:27:00.000+08:00

Behind every glint of joy in her eyes, I see yet another tear-jerker in the making. I contemplate over and over again when to draw the line, but when I finally pick up sufficient courage to do so, months of rain has corroded the earth and the chalk happily sinks into the mud.

I gave my actions a thought, and that thought cost me my actions.

Why do I always hesistate even when everything is picturesque perfect. That second of falter left me with nothing, and most of the time, nothing remains as nothing.

And so here I am, clutching onto an ideal that has long turned stale, yet I lack the plywood a craftman needs and iron the blacksmith needs.

Chauvinistic Dumbass.

2006-07-04T01:20:00.000+08:00

He was cold.

No one else seemed to be shivering like he was. It felt uncontrollable, this chill - pouring through the hairs over his exposed skin. He felt naked, his garments swept away by the terrifying gale.

He stared at the table opposite his.

Sitted was an old, grouchy and nonetheless stereotypical couple donned in cloth so minimal they were better off wearing nothing at all. They weren't cold - or at least they didn't seem cold.

The stare soon wore off as a frown took its place an inch below his eyes. Why was he the only one who seemed to be aware of the freezing air. It was strange, but his frown soon relaxed to an empty expression when he realised it was his life he was pondering about - and nothing could be too strange to handle when he was living his life.

Then again, it wasn't like he'd lived someone else's life before. But he could have, in his previous lives. He could've been an ant, crushed to a morbid silence by a muddy boot on his third hour from birth. Or a leopard, leaping across the grasslands in search for his next prey.

Or worst - he could've been a woman.

Bullshit.

2006-06-27T21:33:00.000+08:00

I came home earlier than usual today, confused and feeling empty.

My work seems to be doing too much of a good job for filling up my free time till its suffocating me right this instant. The extra job was initially to spend my time on something more constructive rather than waste it all on my habitual vices, but now I feel like time is slipping out between the minute cracks of my clenched fist, and I'm left in a fluster with no idea what to start with first.

And its not helping much either that my addiction to the cigarattes is starting to creep out of the experimental phase and into something much more deeper, something I cannot conclude lightly with a snap of my fingers.

But I guess its a good thing to feel that certain slight bit of guilt, since it restrains me from straying further into a hopeless encagement. But they always disappear as fast as they do appear - which leaves me back with a whole load of shit heaved onto my shoulder and not a single solution.

The sun crackled as an aftermath of a gigantic explosion, blinding the supposedly quiet night. Her knees jerked a little yet her head remains low, arching heavily by her neck. She was ashamed, conducting a sonata of a silent remorse.

Random.

2006-06-25T01:08:00.000+08:00

I've finally broke down today.

It was anticipated, for my body wasn't exactly at its peak and even if it was, there wouldn't be much of a difference as to now anyway. I don't know why I pushed myself so hard just for that couple of extra dollars, but the tough bit is going to be over in one more day anyway and it'd be school school school.. and still more work.

Oh my god.

I hate being seventeen. Alright, I hate being sixteen going seventeen.

A Terrible Person.

2006-06-24T02:55:00.000+08:00

We seek and betroth forgiveness all the time, but often we fail to realise that we're only forgiving his mistake, but not him as a person.

You could let the fact that he lied to you go away quietly, yet your eyes carry hints of biasness often when they cross path with his. It is never easy to totally forgive someone, because he has disappointed you by going against everything your morals represent.

But can we ever forgive someone completely? Are we able to commit to a non-judgemental perception of him if he makes the same mistake twice?

We aren't, and you'd be lying if you said you could.

Because even if it doesn't contain any negativity, it is still, in the end - a memory. And memories cannot be forced out of our heads by force, or any means at all. We shove them to an isolated corner, but their presence still lurks.

Judging people based on a single mistake that might not even be intentional in the first place - what kind of person would that make you?

Pay it Forward.

2006-06-23T03:39:00.000+08:00

I seriously believe this is the best movie I've ever watched.

Both times I've cried at the very last scenario, where a dispersed crows forms around the yard of Trevor's (played by Haley Joel Osment) house just before the break of dawn as they deliver their condolences, clutching onto candles that bring hints of life into the desperate dark.

I have to admit, the idea of paying it forward seemed rather stupid when I first watched the movie as it holds a tacky resemblance to The Ring, a series of popular japanese ghost flicks. But a second time at it allowed a keener observation, and I fell in love with the whole idea straight away. I won't watch it a third time though, the relationship between Helen Hunt and Kevin Spacey is almost too endearing to watch a replay.

As usual, Haley Joel Osment delivers a heartwarming performance that easily makes you go "Aww", but then again, what's new?

Its a story about seeking possibilities in the impossible, and determining the lack of a difference between those two aspects.

Too tired to contue, tomorrow thanks.

A Sad Movie.

2006-06-22T01:58:00.000+08:00

I've realised that no one actually reads this anymore.

For all the better, I guess. I don't need to please anyone, or take any trivial matters into consideration.

At that instance, you feel an icy cold trickle down your cheek, slowing down at your jawline and gradually coming to a halt at the edge of your cracked lips. Pushing apart your lips, you can't help but feel an emptiness coming from within as the liquid escapes into your mouth, slipping past your lips and rolling across your tongue.

The saltiness excites you, yet you have sunk too deep in your own reverie to realise that. Instead, you start hearing the soft tumbling of salt, dried from the stream of tears as they dripped down your eyelashes, seeping into your pores and as you squint and your skin tightens, you hear the salt beads being crushed into nothingness.

You feel another wave of emotions coming, yet you can't help but resist another league of salt marching down the tattered terrain of your cheeks. Your resistance deals a blow to your strain of thoughts, cutting it off in the middle and leaving you in a helpless confusion.

A sigh becomes of you as you sniff back some of those tears that has long ran dry.

Tired tired feet.

2006-06-20T01:14:00.000+08:00

Its been too long since I worked such long hours.

11 and a half hour - and I'm feeling like crap already. I used to breeze through 10+ hours of work a day without even coming up with a whimper, and look at me now - tired and desperately fucked up.

I don't know how I'm going to survive the rest of the week. I mean, its only Monday for fuck's sake and I start limping when the dinner crowd was dispersing.

I HATE MONDAYS.

Sucks to be a waiter.

2006-06-18T02:52:00.000+08:00

Having worked in the F&B line for all the part time job I've taken up along these few years, I realised there's such a thing I coin as inner frustration that builds up as you take orders and bus tables. Basically, the customer is always right, and we're being paid to serve them (and even wipe their shit if we have to.)

If the customer asks for 18 pieces of fries and there's only 16 on the platter, its the waiter's fault. If the customer wants warm water and it turned cold while she's saying her grace, its the waiter's fault. If the customer has her menses tonight, its the waiter's fault.

We get all the shit first-hand, and trust me if there was ever a policy for waiters to carry guns to use on unreasonable customers, I'd embrace that policy like my life depends on it. But sadly, no such rule was ever implemented because service staff are meant to be treated like dirt, trampled all over and kicked around.

We can't retaliate - and I'm guessing the only thing that is stopping us is the 10% service charge, but hey, then where are we supposed to relieve all that pent up frustration we got from those annoying sons of bitches?

On our loved ones, that is. People we are close with, comfortable enough to scream and curse at. We end up inflicting more harm on them just because people don't know how to treat their waiters with respect.

Here's a big FUCK YOU UNDERSTAND to every customer who patrons a restaurant and tips like the waiter killed your mom, to every customer who asks the obvious about why a particular item is sold out, to every customer who forget he actually has a plate and dump all the bones on the table, and so on and so forth.

Just wait till they approve waiters to carry a gun around, that'd totally bring the phrase 'People are dying everyday, perhaps even this very minute' to a whole new level.

2006-06-15T02:13:00.000+08:00

Before all this, what did I miss?

The cars, the pedestrians, the loud, loud night - it seemed almost unreal for a couple of seconds.

Her shoulders sunk slow and gradual, the blaring horns dripping pricks into her system. She wasn't bothered though, it didn't seem right to give them an ounce of her attention when she hasn't been receiving any from anyone for the past 32 years.

"Thirty-two.. what a beautiful number," she mouthed her words, not bothering to compete with the chatters and engines from below.

"Too bad there isn't anyone to appreciate it."A voice drummed in her head.

"Who're you?"

"You'll find out."

She peered between her legs hanging by the rooftop, straight down at the streets which were starting to quiet down. People were home, sipping down hot cocoa at the expense of their own comfort. But she could never share that experience, or even taste how hot cocoa taste like. She brushes the idea off, yet a secret longing lingers by her lips.

"There?"

"There."

"Alright. Will you come with me?"

"Sure."

A bloody mess greeted the remnants of the shocked pedestrians, cars slowing down to take a peek at tomorrow morning's headline. Gasps escaped their lips, yet the empathy in their eyes were as genuine as a plastic diamond. Until people have experienced it, death would be an appalling matter; and would stay as only an appalling matter.

Suay ah.

2006-06-13T18:25:00.000+08:00

I am so fucking suay. Its that kind of suay which really leaves you speechless and keeps you wondering if its retribution for pinching my dog's pretty little thing, if you know what I mean.

It was supposed to be a happy day, a good one for that matter. My first day of work and it turned out to be rather easy money, easily one of the most relaxed job I've ever taken up. I like Siglap. Yep, I like Siglap.

The one thing I do not like about the place, is the brush rule. I've never heard of a more ridiculous rule than the brush rule, which I shall not emphasize on because ITS SUCH A MOTHERFUCKING STUPID RULE.

Well, here comes the bitch part.

So I come home, legs sore and crying thank-you to finally be able to sit down. Guess what?

Last night, Kennysia.com was holding this little contest for 2 premium seats for Jamie Cullum's concert in Singapore, so I just tried my luck and answered this question that is something about the stupidest thing you've ever done to get something you want.

I turned on my email, great, I got shortlisted.

BUT.

BFUCKINGUT.

I didn't reply my postal address on time because I was busy enjoying my first day of work, thus losing out a chance to SEE JAMIE CULLUM LIVE IN SINGAPORE WHILE SITTING ON ONE OF THE PREMIUM SEATS.

...

Ok lah, so I was planning to sell them but HEY, that would definitely be easy money. I so hate myself now.. its like one of those situation where you're getting a Nobel Prize award and a $2000 saving bonds from your school, but they both happen on the same night.

Fuck.

I was so clooose to winning because I reviewed most of the answers and the stupidty of the answers was so close to turning Singapore into a third world country. ARGGH, why can't I ever have my cake, and eat it as well.

If there ever is a God up there, here's a shoutout to you: "DO YOUR FUCKING JOB, YOU JERK."

Okay time for me to go and mope around in misery.

p.s. Anyway, if you're even interested in my answer for my answer to the question about the stupidest thing I've done to get something I want:

"I asked."

EHH SO MIND BOGGLING RIGHT. RIGHT?! RIIIGHT?!!??!?!

Rich Girl.. nananannaa.

2006-06-12T19:24:00.000+08:00

Let's show them how to live
Accept the pain.
Always forgive
Watch the sun go down
Learn the sound of following.
All that's complete.

My bitch of a life is currently getting what I'd call a, 'motivational shove'.

So I landed myself with a job that pays well, considering the fact that with the current economic situation I am positioned in (a.k.a deep shit), $2/hour would still qualify for 'well'. I'm not going to be choosy and skeptical about the job scope now because beggars just simply can't be choosers.

I'm already drawing up a mental plan on how I should splurge all that dough I'll be getting at the end of the month on, and I suppose my friends deserve a part of this salary since they've been tolerating my $10 a day schedule for the past weeks, but that just wouldn't be me, would it? >:D

But alas, life can never miss a rain check on making my day doesn't end up too perfect.

THERE'S A FUCKING PIMPLE RIGHT ABOVE MY EYE GOOD LORD OF ALL PLACES YOU HAVE TO PLANT IT RIGHT THERE!

Planting one on the bridge of my nose last year was plain bad, but this time you're pushing it, pimple planter. Eyes on you, nigger.

Ouuch.

2006-06-11T04:19:00.000+08:00

My head is throbbing like crazy right about.. now.

I was forced (yes you heard it, forced) to this gig at some industrial building in Paya Lebar by Karin, since I'm literally her only friend. When we were waiting outside for the gig to start I got rather cynical because all the punks were hanging around and the last time I went to a gig with punks it turned out really bad.

But it turned out pretty ok, especially the second band, some metalcore screamo bullshit. Tsk, such a confused band. But it was cute, the two malay girls with their screaming and lalala-ing. Eh, I like :D

(Omg why am I starting to blog like Karin now.. shitzfuckx)

We left after Karin's friend's band since we weren't really interested in staying on. The rest is rather mundane, went back to Parkway for our usual shit - pool and lepak!

(Ok this is freaking me out I got to stop writing like Karin I FEEL LIKE SUCH AN IDIOT TSK Oh my god there I go again)

Eep, the later part of the night was my virgin clubbing experience, BUT LIKE SO PAISEH THE LOR. Because it was that cheenah club Rush, and I got a big, bloody 'REJECTED' stamped on my forehand. Fuckshit I hate to be 17.

Eh but I like, dance lor. So its like, so paiseh lor but I like, still managed to survive for awhile on the dancefloor lor. So I'm like, can dance one lor. Don't think like, fat people cannot like, dance one lor. Because its like, not true one lor. Next time I like, dance show you lor. Somemore is dance to like, tetno lor. Is those like, cheenah cheenah type one lor. People down there like, point hand sign shout poem one lor. Like, so stupid lor.

But I'm contented at least I got to drink. Life is perfect as long as you got a drink in your hands, yep that's right.

Oh my god everyone like, ignore this post please I'm a little woozy I don't think I'm inculcating any sense in this entry. I'm blogging like how Karin blogs lah EH SO MALU SIAL.

And like how Karin would say it, "You sucks one the lor."

Sinners.

2006-06-10T13:30:00.000+08:00

Arson, stealing, lying, smoking, murder, fucking, drugs, all these sins - I think each and everyone of us are entitled to at least a try without being condemned.

Why barricade our lives to meet society's standard when the society constantly fails to meet ours? Who are the real sinners, the man who didn't pay his taxes, or the people who refuse to give him a job? The boy who lunged a knife into his teacher's belly, or the classmates who applies the disapproving stares, yet secretly are glad to be rid of the teacher?

The sinners dare, while the passer-by condemns in jealousy. Jealous of the fact that they're never going to harvest enough guts to sin freely like their neighbour has done so. A raging jealousy, so strong it stinks.

They are the real pricks, circling a denial that is backed by the law, the majority. The sinners remain sinners.

Cuppa.

2006-06-10T01:36:00.000+08:00

"I couldn't even give a rat's ass if Beckham grew a tail."

Those were my exact words to Huda when she questioned my take on soccer, or I think it was. Anyhow, I guess this shows my enthusiasm, or lack thereof, for the World Cup that just started tonight, I think.

I can never comprehend the attraction between soccer and men - the beer, the peanuts, the LCD 42 inch screen television, and all that shouting. Though I have to make this clear, for not loving your dumb sport does not make me any less of a man!

I jack off to porn and I hardly bathe unless deemed necessary, oh yes I am so fucking manly I smell the part most of the time.

Oh I hate the World Cup.

Sheesha didn't go exactly as planned, because all of us (apparently) looked fucking young tonight. It sucks to be 17, you're neither too old or too young, thrashed around the society like chopped liver. I can't believe we went all the way to Arab Street only to end up back in Siglap for lepaking.

But still, I wasn't expecting much. When there's Karin, we always end up in Siglap's cartel, one way or another.

Ahh I can't wait to be 18, when I can actually do some justice to my self-acclaimed 63 year-old mental age. Nothing's perfect when you're 17.

Shag.

2006-06-09T11:45:00.000+08:00

The mid-term break is here, and yet it feels like I just reported for my first day of orientation (which wasn't very memorable, FYI) in the convention centre just yesterday.

Time flies, a variable of life beyond our control. As it proceeds along its habitual route, it diminishes old memories and create new ones. All we're entitled to are memories, all we have to cherish are memories.

Its not the people that I miss, but the times we shared, the things we do that I desire for a second go at it. I meet up with Karin once or twice a week at least to lepak and fags but at the end of the day I'm still on my bed, missing the times the bunch of us tried to set the teddy bear on fire as a present for our little friend. It feels so helpless, to be lingering amidst things you're denied access to.

Oh god this is dramatic, has to be the early morning blues. I NEED A FUCKING SMOKE KBYE.

World through eyes.

2006-06-04T21:53:00.000+08:00

Turning around, her eyes darted to mine.

It was probably the cutest thing on Earth at that point of time when she looked into my eyes, her short, stubby toes poking out of her tiny little sandals as she was straddled on her mother's lap. Her eyes were beautiful, carrying along a pinch of innocence that sparkles.

The pair of large, beady eyes held my attention for the entire bus trip. Once in awhile her attention would flicker away and she'd turn her head to face the window, her cheeks brushing across her mother's hair as she watched the cars pass by, but eventually they'd return back to me, both of us trapped in each other's captivation.

The inqusitivity of her stare was seemingly contagious.

The more I looked into her eyes, the straighter my lips tightened. A smile didn't seem appropriate anymore, somehow. It seemed as if she was looking for an answer in my face - a simple smile to depict for her a picturesque world where candies flourish the grasslands and ponies ruled the streets, or rather, a nonchalant frown which protruded the ugliness of the world, where people die everyday and people are so busy with their own lives they forget to look up and smile at their neighbours.

So what was I supposed to do in order to appease her curiosity? Return her smile with yet another just to register into her mind how perfect this world we're living is, and only to disappoint her when she grows up and sees enough of the world to realise perfect is the last word anyone'd use to describe it?

Or do I just save her the cumulated agony and ignore her ignorance.

This isn't a world where fairness brings you to places. It never was.

Pointless Post.

2006-06-04T02:47:00.000+08:00

I don't quite like this coming home at 12 midnight, eating cold leftovers in front of the tv till 2am, blogging till 3 and sleeping at 4am routine. Its embraces my obvious lack of a life, and I feel more distant from the rents now.

Its an annoying, disgusting and filthy habit. Probably much worse than the habitual thesaurus-activist I am.

I've never felt more broke than I felt today in my whole entire life. My bank account was running on a brand new low and it feels so wrong to take anymore money from my parents especially since I'm hardly home accompanying them and most of the money I get is spent on cigarattes and Starbucks.

That isn't a good thing, but somehow it seems like nothing in my life can be defined as 'a good thing' nowadays.

I often find myself barricading a part of myself from my friends, my families - the people I love. Its suffocating my lungs and taxing on the heart, but I can't seem to break away from this habit. Karin says I'm always the friend who listens, but have hardly anything to relate.

Which is true, actually.

I don't like talking about my issues very much. I'd rather surpress it and leave it for another day's worries than to heave it up someone else's shoulder. Watching happy people do happy things is enough for me to get by, but occasionally I find everything too tremendous to keep under control.

But I still do.

Because these cuts would only leave wounds and scabs, which would eventually dry up and flake off the ground. Pulling someone into these inflictions would only prolong the healing process, although sometimes I can't help but wonder if they ever heal.

I don't like to be a penniless fruitcake. You have to plan your finances for a whole fucking week in advanced, like I don't have enough shit to handle in one day.

ARGHHHHHHHHHH I am fucking pissed, on the edge of being suicidal and yet no one gets it.

Who Condemns?

2006-06-02T02:03:00.000+08:00

Who judges who's right or who's wrong?

The god you make a silent prayer to every night before the bed? Or is it what you read on those morals education textbook? Or could it be your parents? Your siblings? The artiste you idolize?

Who, exactly has such a right to differentiate between right and wrong? What makes you think what you're doing right now is wrong? What makes you think by helping the old lady cross the road this morning makes you a righteous man?

Everyone has their own definition of both ends, and towards the end of the day - what does that leave us with? An empty conscience, barred of sins and filled with a generous amount of holes.

There's a fine line between being right and being wrong, and often we find ourselves crossing that line, trying to complicate a wrongdoing with a reasonable explanation. Then now, which is right and which is wrong? How much of a righteous person are you when all you've been doing is denying your ownself of a sin you ravenly commited.

She is a prostitute, whoring her body off to auctions of the lustful gropes and groans of a thousand men. Every night she find herself trapped in an unforgivable situation, yet every dawn she manages to mask it with yet another beautiful lie. How long can a liar survive before she runs out of lies, and when realization starts to sink in as she fails to convince herself?

I never liked to stop and ponder consequences when I attempt something fresh, for that only leads to a questionable conscience, which ends me up in an alienated whirlpool, trying to grasp a hold of what's right and wrong and place them over one another.

Liars are forgivable sinners, but at the end of the day - they're still sinners.

Why?

2006-05-31T09:40:00.000+08:00

I'm stuck on the brink of desperation, shut tight from any form of hope that might befall me.

Every night you promise me a better morning to wake up to the next day, but every morning I still have to smoke your screams out of my system. When will my entries stop revolving around the pain that you put me through, and move on to something more reproductive of me.

The countless scars you inflict on my skin is starting to sting, the sting is starting to really, really hurt.

Annie.

2006-05-28T22:30:00.000+08:00

All it takes is a phonecall from you to destroy the rest of my night, and throw me into a guilt-ridden dilemma I often find myself in.

Why do you often press your ideals on me like a paperweight? Why does love coming from you always come across as a different emotion altogether? Why am I constantly reminded of the guilt that was never intentional?

Why do your wrinkles pain me so much one second, yet they scorn me so deeply the other. Why do you even bother to ask me for an explanation when all this time you've disregarded my attempts to do so?

Why do I feel so foreign to you as the days passes? Why do I not laugh along with you anymore? Why am disheartened so thoroughly I cannot find a reason to forgive you? Why am I not coming home to a warm embrace nowadays?

So many questions, so much time; yet, your refusal to condone has thwarted the redness off the apple way too many times.

I can't love you as much anymore, but still, I couldn't ever hate you as much either.

X Men 4.

2006-05-28T02:39:00.000+08:00

The words of a rambling mutant wannabe, this I present you. A story I sketched based on whatever I know about X-men (which is so little its almost insignificant) and sprinkled all over it are parts of my wannabe persona trying to make a point.

X-Men - Publicity Gone Wrong

"Logan, office, now." Professor Xavier's voice boomed across the intercom, sounding loud and relatively pissed. Now, if you've lived long enough in the mansion, you'd know that the professor has a temper of a hamster, and he often comes across as someone wise and gentle. For someone to incur his wrath, the person must have done something so uncondoning and sinister, it could mean the end of humanity.

But if anyone's taken a peek at Wolverine's face, they'd know he's capable of all that.

"I think the Professor's calling you, Logan." Jean gave Logan a nudge, knocking the sandwich off his hands and onto the cafeteria floor just as it was halfway into his mouth.

"Got that!" Two arms stretched over to below Logan's feet, one holding onto a dustpan as the other held a tiny broom as it sweeps the remnants of the squashed sandwich into the dustpan. Logan stared at disgust as the hands brushed against his furry cheek while retracting back to the cafeteria lady, all across at the other end of the cafeteria.

"She's hitting on you, Logan." Kitty giggled as she took a mouth of the rice on her platter. He shot a deadly stare at Kitty, and another one back to the cafeteria lady who winked back at Logan.

"She could be your mom, squirt." Logan mumbled under his breath as he grabbed the deluxe cheese burger Bobby was holding in his hands and munched onto it before Bobby could retaliate.

"HEY! I was about to eat that!" Bobby protested, his eyebrows curling up.

"Tell that to Jean," Logan said in a muffled manner, chomping on the burger.

Just as he was about to take another bite off the stolen burger, a ball of blue smoke exploded before his eyes on the cafeteria tables and a blue creature started to materialize and reach out for him. He heard groans of protest from the rest of his mates around the table but it slowly faded out and before he knew it he was dropped from mid-air onto the cold marble floor of the Professor's office.

"NIGHTCRAAAWLEEERRRR!" Logan yelled as he leapt up and sheathed his claws, taking a shot at the blue creature, but he was too fast for Logan as he disappeared, leaving a trail of blue smoke behind.

"Damn that son of a bitch!" Logan sheathed his claws back as he was about to spit on the floor when a loud, intended cough from behind the desk stopped him which nearly caused him to choke himself on his own spit.

"I summoned you over the intercom, Logan." The bald man sitting on a metallic wheelchair said.

"I'm sorry, Professor. I was kept busy." A sheepish reply, one that the Professor didn't need his psychic abilities to see through.

"Let us assume you were, I have much more pressing issues on hand." Xavier said, his tone got sterner at the later part of the sentence. "Remember the posters I had you to do up so we could let the public be more aware of our school?"

"Yeah, it took me hours to figure out how to get the computer started." Logan replied almost immediately, as if proud of his idiocy in mechanics.

"Yes I'm sure you did, but I don't think the time you spent would justify for the mess you got me into." Xavier raised an eyebrow over to Logan who casually picked up one of the posters that was lying on the Professor's desk. "Read it out for me, will you?"

Logan looked up at the Professor and back to the poster. Mumbling, he read it out aloud, "Xavier's Academy - The Perfect Soultion for Special Children. Think you're different from the society's norm? Or are you often seen as a freak? If you are, Xavier's Academy wants you to join us."

Logan blatently flipped the poster back onto the desk, still not having a single clue what trouble could a publicity poster get the Professor into.

As if already reading his thoughts, the Professor answered, "Well Logan, ever since that poster went out I've received 5000 over calls from children interested to join the academy."

"Well will wonders never cease, so my poster was a hit, what's all the fuss about?" A cheeky smile spreaded across Logan's face, as if proud of his achievement.

"The problem, Logan, is that half of them are homosexuals who think they're different from society's norm and the other half look like cross breeds between Michael Jackson and Celine Dion and everyone sees them as freaks of nature," Professor Xavier said, annoyed by the recollection. "And out of the five mutants that has called me the whole morning there is this girl who shapeshifts."

Logan was left speechless, but the professor seemed to be pressing him to give an explanation of sorts. "Well at least all that publicity got us a new shape shifter."

The professor sighed. "Logan, I have enough shape shifters in the academy to start a book club already. Furthermore, this one can only shape shift into a tube of toothpaste."

Logan raised an eyebrow. He've seen shape shifters who can morph into certain things like animals or famous personalities but he has never come across one who can only morph into a tube of toothpaste.

"I don't care for any explanation right now, Logan," The professor drew his desk open, took out a badge and threw it over to Logan who catched it almost instinctively. "That's your new instructor badge. You're going to be the instructor and trainer for this group of five new recruits, including toothpaste girl."

Logan tried to reason himself out but the Professor read his mind and beat him too it. "No leeway this time, Logan. I'm expecting results." The Professor put his glasses back on and buried his head back into his desk. "Dismissed."

Anything.

2006-05-27T00:37:00.000+08:00

You seemed to be getting tired, as your grip on my hand started to falter. I sense your indecisiveness, so I thrusted my other hand and clasped your sweaty palm with it, dry from the panic.

But you let go before I could reach you, and slowly you slip away from the minimal embrace we shared seconds ago. Now its gone, and you're gone.

**

I hate making decisions, but not as much as waiting for people to make a decision.

Nobody likes to start a trend, they merely follow. Nobody wants to be the trigger of bad news, they rather be the bearer. Nobody wants to make a bad decision, they just want to condemn the one who makes it.

People can be so deprived of an initiative sometimes. When ask to choose an option and eliminate the other, they just flick the responsibility over to someone else with a simple 'anything'. Does no one actually realise how fucking irritating that word sounds, when being repeated time after time?

Neo sure didn't reply 'anything' when posed the tongue-scrambling 'red pill, blue pill' question. I mean, can you imagine the prospective of the movie if he actually did say that? Watch Neo make the ultimate decision to answer fate's call or deny it - ANTHING!

I'm not saying being open to all options is a bad thing, but for fuck's sake someone take the fucking initiative and work your brain a little. Is it so hard to pick one out of two, will you contract brain cancer just by answering a yes or no, or a can or cannot?

Everybody just wants to conform, and yet no one wants to do anything more than that. It is a selfish world, where people learn how to take, but somehow never did learn how to give. When judgement bestows, no one is actually selfless. They may give, but they give only as an investment to a receipt in the near future. Human perceive one another in a depth too succumbed, when actually everyone is just selfish and finding ways to hide that flaw.

Ghandi may advocate a world without violence, but that could, for all we know, be to satisfy his phobia of gore and a bloody nose.

Life stinks, and so do the people living it.

Jessie. (Completely fictional)

2006-05-26T01:29:00.000+08:00

Jessie never cared. She was in her mid 20's, her body still bustling full with hype and energy but sadly, she couldn't be more than bothered to channel even a pint of that enthusiasm into her students. Her role as a teacher hugs strictly around the very fundaments, but that was it. She arrives in school 9am sharp everyday, walks into her class, teaches her theories and concepts and strides out faster than the students, without even bothering for a note of appreciation from the class.

Not that her class ever gave her any. The cold gaze she emits in school is disgustingly notorious among the students, and secretly even among the staff themselves. Nobody could understand why she is staying on as a teacher when she obviously lack the intention to teach in the first place. There has been rumour going on around the staff lounge that the only reason she hasn't been fired is because of her affair with the Principal.

And that's not even half of it. The Principal's a she, which makes Jessie gay if that is true. Such amusing irony, since the term gay's other meaning would be jovial, which doesn't even come close with Jessie.

(I've reached a point when I'm getting tired and I just want to end this story.. so..)

If you think that's bad enough, think again when I tell you that I forgot to mention earlier that Jessie is actually a three legged terrapin which has herpes.

Um whatever.

2006-05-25T03:16:00.000+08:00

The sight of smoke, twirling out from the burning end of the cigarette, dispersing into the night sky is somewhat, melancholy.

Life works you around in a funny manner. Sometimes when I'm out with a group of friends lazing around at night, I wish for solitude. Other times when I'm out alone, trying to get a peace of mind from the humble night, I'd wonder how its like to share this moment with a friend. Its not me who's indecisive, life is.

When I was ten I knew I wanted to serve God faithfully and eventually grow up, be a saint of sort and go to heaven because it had white walls. Now that I'm 17, I find myself ending up as an atheist, doubting the existence of any God at all and spotting purple walls in my room.

Fickle decisions leave me with regrets in life, but none I truly gave much thought about. My motivation, or lack thereof comes as quick as it goes, and I just end up stuck in a miserable realtiy.

I try so hard not to stray away from my focus in school right now, but once in a while I feel a twitch in my fingers, as if the ridiculous antics from secondary school were back to haunt.

This entry is really a mess, I'm just tired I guess. Good night before I bring you a level above clueless.

"Read me your tombstone
tell me you're sorry
fax me your will
you owe me something still."

Channel 5 blew.

2006-05-23T23:28:00.000+08:00

"Congratulations, you're going down to Cadelcott Hill!"

Like, duh.

Just when Taufik Batisah was getting out of fashion and people could actually stop talking about him, they bring the damn show back to our screens again. This is one of the million reasons why I really really really really really really really really really really want cable TV.

Baybeats & Transition.

2006-05-23T01:37:00.000+08:00

Oh you're going to the underage party at MOS this end of May?

Big fucking deal.

I'm putting my cash on Baybeats 2006 this coming July, this time hoping I can bring home with me some nice EPs, a hell lot of fun and booze in my pee. The former year was my virgin experience, and despite it turning out to be exactly how any virgin experience is like (awkward and misfit), I'm pinning my hopes on this one.

I don't go to gigs, so this is like an annual thing for me and what's more, I'm going to be chilling the night with some of my closest friends from last year, and hopefully others too. Last year marked my maiden voyage (I like how I sound so gay tonight) into a world of alternative and indie rock, so I hope this year I won't be as fidgety as before and can actually enjoy the music. Anyhow, I'm just glad I'm going to be sharing this awesome night with my friends.

Let's go for all three days this time round, ok? Three days of non-stop tar, booze and awesome music down at the Esplanade, what more can I ever ask for? Heck its better than sex.

Aw fuck I miss the Breasties and the Motley crew, supposedly affliated but no one could be any more than bothered. I WANNA PAAAAARTAAAAAY.

Fuck the photography CCA shit, its closing to the end of the semester and they still haven't contacted me yet.

***

Have you ever felt a transition in life whilst you're in it? I don't know about you, but I never did. Its always months down the road when you're doing the most random things (picking your nose in the lift, feeling up your left ear lobe) does it suddenly occur to you how much you have changed and gone through in those past few months.

Funny, isn't it?

You stare at yourself in the mirror, your face barred of expressions. You start twitching your lips at each corner, wondering to yourself if you had looked any different before. You start moving your palm across your chin, cheeks, occasionally brushing across your lips, trying to get a feel of your face to see if it has grown any sharper or bigger. You then raise your eyebrows, blow up your cheeks, wiggle your nose, checking if your face is still functioning as good as before.

You let a sigh of relief escape you, believing that you have not changed much in terms of your physical appearance and just as you are about to walk away from the mirror, you spot a pimple.

You gasp, your life is deemed worthless since that moment began and your fingers start scurrying all over the perimeters of that tiny dot erected on your almost flawless skin. You retract your finger as you reach to feel the oily little pimple, hoping you hadn't aggrevate it worser.

You feel as good as handicap.

I feel like Oprah.

2006-05-22T00:16:00.000+08:00

"What will happen to a face in the crowd when it finally gets too crowded, and what will happen to the origins of sound after all the sounds have sounded."

I have this friend of mine who's inching towards the rather plump side of the Society's Well-Defined Line Between Obesity And The Beautiful, and she confided in me about how she's suffering from a ridiculously low self-esteem, so much so that when she hears people laughing behind her she think she's their object of mockery.

Being way larger than her, of course I could empathize. It is impossible that any overweight organism has not gone through this phase in their life, and for some it carries them till death. I'm no exception, in fact, its only until recently have I managed to shake off this phobia that many of my kind face.

Its hard, I tell you. The extra weight not only pulls your body down, but it drags along your emotional self and throws you into a world of vivid colours but you appear to be the only desaturated one. You feel like the centre of attention in the very worst ways, which explains how you can easily misunderstand someone's laughter to your ridicule. It makes you jumpy and easily offended by those fat jokes circulating around the more fortunate ones who are blessed with toned, tanned bodies people my size would kill for.

What I can offer to you if you're facing the same problem would be - screw it. True enough, looks may take up a huge percentile in making the good first impression, but that's just surface. What really matters is your personality, which would slowly appear before your friends as you seep deeper and deeper into a friendship. Ultimately, you may be slim and beautiful but its your actions and thoughts that differentiate you from being the gossip target or the awesome friend.

Why risk the chance of developing a wonderful relationship with another party just because you keep fidgeting on your first date or dart your eyes all over the place but on him/her. Believe in what you can deliver and stop wondering what the other party is perceiving you as. Let loose and have a ball, instead of boring your date to death with the uncomfortable silence and shifty eyes.

Confidence isn't something instilled in us on the day of our birth, its something that takes time to nurture. If you don't have the looks to flaunt, try channeling your beauty point to other areas, your creativity, your party-animal persona, your intelligence; there are so many aspects of yourself you can present to your friend - why be so bothered about just one of them?

Explore your strengths and put them on your frontline. That doesn't mean you have to conceal your weaknesses with tons of make-up or 352,124 accessories. Instead, turn the odds against you and mould your weaknesses into your strength.

You may snub your nose and rebut me with something like 'its always easier said than done'. Well I say fuck you, because I am too an obese kid and I've been through all that. Its not easy to conquer, but why waste another minute of your life deciding on whether to approach that girl/guy on campus just because you're afraid your looks might turn her off. Everyone has their shallow side, but everyone loves a jovial chap as well.

Think about it.

Dysfunction.

2006-05-21T01:00:00.000+08:00

Oh my god, this hurts like hell.

With a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of Jim Beam Cola in the other, the night was as excruciating as hell, and the only difference from that feeling and that of a surgery gone wrong would be that in the latter's case - you have the option to stop feeling the pain.

Whereas mine just stays and lingers on, failing to cease.

I have this love-hate relationship with the moon, and strangely enough tonight the hate overpowered every ounce of love I used to feel.

I love the moon for its appearance signifies the beginning of dusk and the fall of the night, when they sky is pitch dark and all that is guiding us are the street lamps that flicker consistantly. Shadows take their leave and we become the shadows aimlessly manuevering on the streets.

I hate the moon for bringing the day to an end, and me back to the hellpit they call home. Screaming from my mother ensues and it is hardly anywhere near bearable. I hate to hear her scream and me, I hate to not being able to resist the urge of screaming back at her, I hate to want to leave the house so much, I hate to hate her.

It is terrible, hating someone you require love and comfort from. It throws you into a foreign land, despite the same old purple walls lying lazily in your room. You want to leave but your unfamilarity with the night scene leaves you with a hesistant sigh. You are unsure of a destination if you were to leave, but you can't stand another minute of it.

Being flung into a compressed middle, you don't even have time to suffocate.

And I'm back swigging my Jim Beam and fagging my cigarette, sitting beside my close friends and wishing the night would never end and cars would just keep driving by my feet. I want to break into a drunken stupor but things are holding me back.

Things I'd never get to understand completely, things that'd never stop surprising me.

Randomness in a nutshell.

2006-05-19T16:40:00.000+08:00

I'm seated in some weird corner of the library, trying to think of something impressive for my marketing journal and at the same time admiring how tapping on my laptop keyboard somehow sounds so loud over here.

Ooh I'm starting to love TP.

Lighter Chew.

2006-05-18T23:36:00.000+08:00

"I'm not getting used to it, I'm not going to get used to it."

For blue, blue skies.

What a night, what a night. Its one of those nights I'm actually glad I picked up smoking, getting shit from people I barely even talk to, getting shit from bus rides, getting shit from family, its like I'm at everyone's dispense and god forbid its a nice feeling.

Things between Karin and me turned slightly sour today, and I keep thinking this is just part and parcel of friendship, but I can't help to think otherwise.

You say you're confused, probably at my sudden lack of affection for your dear boyfriend. Here's my take of things.

He's angry at you because you can't meet him today, that I don't really care. You've been going out with him for the past few days and he can't even give you a day with the people you call friends, that I can't even be bothered about. He told you to tell me to shut the fuck up when I was just fooling around, and followed by calling me lardboy. That bit, he's the one I'm pissed at and why don't he drop the fucking act with me and say it in my face.

But, the fact that your boyfriend insulted your friend and you were so nonchalent about it, that irritated me. If my girlfriend (if I ever have one) even insulted any of you guys, I'd have told her to get the fuck out of my face. I know its hard for me to expect that least bit of courtesy from you, being the oddball you are, but its harder for me not to get annoyed, pissed and channel my displeasure to you.

I don't want this incident to stretch the proximity our friendship is already suffering from, so I'm just here to say my piece.

And it just hit me what a waste of time this entry is since you told me a few hours ago you can't access my blog. Praise the lord, motherfuckers.

Son of a BITCH.

2006-05-18T02:57:00.000+08:00

Amara hotel is seriously pissing the fuck out of me. Its my third day back at work and I can't wait to wring the neck of some of the personnels there.

I really don't understand the point of hiring old, senile security guards who respond with a gaping mouth when I try to point out the fact that my locker's empty and my bag is fucking gone. No, he doesn't even have the proper decency to ask me what or why, and even if he did how the bloody fuck should I know? You security people have so much free time to spot check our bags one by one before we leave the hotel, walk around the hotel hunting down people who're eating your hotel's food (which FYI, sucks) or smoking in prohibited areas, but you can't even help me go look for a bag?

And the most amazing (or rather stupid) thing of all is that when I tried to tell him 'your key like fuck' he suddenly became this roaring dragon whose pride I just stabbed and started yelling at me about 'not respecting him and his uniform'. Eh, go fuck a spider lah. Its not like I was even scolding you, and its a fact your locker keys are fucked up, one key can open so many lockers.

I don't see the point in making 20 over keys when all you need is one key to open half the lockers there. Pointless, stupid and very retarded.

We got into this yelling, cursing spree which I decided to walk away from halfway because I have no interest in trying to knock some sense into this senile son of a bitch. He's a goddamned security guard, not a nurse in uniforms with frills. My bag ended up in the security office in the end, which was like a slap across his face because if it was there all along he could have fucking said something and not make me try to open 20 over lockers with one stupid key.

I'm never even going near their stupid lockers again. Retarded motherfuckers.

Entry that ends adruptly.

2006-05-17T00:19:00.000+08:00

I'm supposedly supposed (that's a weird way of putting my words) to be sleeping right now, because I haven't been on time for a single Media and Society tutorial and I don't think Chuah Soon Soon will like me any more than she is liking me now if I turn up late tomorrow, yet again.

But still I feel compulsed to blog, wrap the day up with an entry.

I'm sick and tired of being the rebel of the class. I remember my days in secondary school, when I can't point out a single teacher who was happy I'm in their class. My notorioty built up through the four years, and I wish I could say it was because I was this super punkass who walloped up rich kids, extorted their lunch money and distributed it to the poor kids, but no. Me being notorious came in forms of my tardiness, my forgetfulness, my angst for sickening teachers (who always end up being my teachers), half my life being wasted trying to suck up to the OM in the detention corner, et cetera et cetera.

I don't want my name to be slapped on the blacklist this time, I'm going for the mild, reserved and fat look. Not like I have any difficulty in doing so, especially the fat bit.

I thought I'd share a little something with you guys, this little encounter of mine with one of nature's most beautiful creature - the butterfly.

I was sitting outside Starbucks, watching pedestrians pacing all over the place, often with a suitcase or a shopping bag. Ok who am I kidding, tons of shopping bags.

So there I was, smoking a joint when two of those fluttered right into my view. One seemed to be chasing the other, maybe its some mating ritual dance or whatsoever. They circled this particular bush, the chase seemed endless. Maybe the butterfly was unwilling, maybe its an enactment of butterfly rape. The chase continued, and continued, and for a moment or so it seemed as if they had batteries in them.

Maybe, countless of these suggestives prefixes strewn across my thoughts. I didn't know, exactly. No one did, it was one of those moments when you let your imagination scribble their story.

And it got me thinking, about this phrase someone once said to me - some things are better left unsaid, untouched, and unnoticed.

Figure out yourself lah fucking hell I NEED SLEEP.

Fuck you.

2006-05-16T11:26:00.000+08:00

I'm sitting in the mac lab, watching 21 people rant about good logos and bad logos, and here I am thinking who the fuck cares.

I take back all I said about my family being the noblest and all, because this morning it became apparent that they're a bunch of endangered hypocrisy and everything I knew before evolved to bullshit.

I hate how shit tumbles over me in the morning before I even have a chance to say 'Good morning'. I'm so hungry if I don't feed myself soon enough my stomach is going to end up eating itself.

I hate Tuesday mornings.

Dislikes.

2006-05-15T01:40:00.000+08:00

I like quiet nights on my way home, when pedestrians share that same, tired look on their face, keeping to themselves and letting make believe invade their night.

I don't like to work near the VIP table, when everything is so hectic and the tables are so squeezy. The guests sitted there are so fussy, I won't be surprised if they asked for a foot massage. Everyone's packed together so tightly its like a fight for oxygen in there.

I like the auntie I worked with today. Man, she's so fast and her service is so good she forced me to read the comment card, reflect and see what I can improve on.

I don't like how the guests never seem to sit down, shut up and eat their damn food like how they're supposed to. They simply have to get up and prance around in their tight little cheongsams and suddenly turn deaf when I say 'excuse me'.

I like Light Years Away by Mozella, despite its long absence from my iPod. Its like, the Lepak Song.

I don't like how I'm pushing all my projects and assignment to the last minute. I feel so guilty that I'm actually so free now to blog this kind of rubbish and yet I can't devote an hour to my school work.

I like a backrub, foot massage and a blowjob right now.

I don't like how my mom die die also don't want wake up and give me a backrub, foot massage and.. yeah.

I like rice balls with peanut paste.

I don't like.. eh fuck lah.

Bye.

Happy Mother's Day.

2006-05-14T00:03:00.000+08:00

When I was seven, in my first year of Primary school, I asked you what you wanted for Mother's Day, and you said you wanted me to do well in my studies. Your simple request became my motivation, which led to me topping the class in my year end exam. The prize was a book of my choice, and I remember the beam on your face when I waved to you whilst collecting my prize on the stage.

Since then, it became tradition that I asked you what you desired on Mother's Day.

When I was ten, in my streaming year, I asked you once more what you wanted for Mother's Day, and you said you hope to see me streamed into the EM1 stream. With the same motivation as before, perhaps only stronger this time because of the bond we've strengthened through my better understanding of the world, I studied hard and got into the best class in the EM1 stream. I became your polished pride, and in return I got to see you smile.

When I was twelve, contesting for a place in secondary education, I asked you what you wanted for Mother's Day. You wanted me to excel in my PSLE and score enough for a good secondary school. I did my best, and I scored a pretty aggregate of 250, but I opted for a neighbourhood school instead of one of those better ones you wished for.

It was the first year I started to break tradition. And like glass, breaking it left bits of it littered on the ground, and reversing the act would be impossible.

When I was fourteen, and once again finding myself in another streaming exam, I asked you what you wanted for Mother's Day. You asked for grades good enough to keep me in my current position. I crushed this gift for you with the buffers throughout the year that impeded my studying process. I ended up failing the streaming exam and dropped into the express stream. I landed my sorry ass in the second last class, and despite breaking your heart with your utmost disappointment, I felt a glint of anticipation for my years ahead in a normal, express class, doing away with all the stress and stereotyping that I suffered in the years when I was in the top class. I desired a fresh experience, something revolutionary to me. I felt like a beast, as if I subconsciously introduced the buffers into my life and failed the exams on purpose.

When I was sixteen, in my final year of secondary education, I asked you what you wanted for Mother's Day again. My academic progress showed a certain amount of improvement, but it wasn't enough for you. You wanted to see my results soar and see me enter a JC. I tried, believe it or not, I really tried. And my results turned out to be surprisingly good, but I opted for a poly, into a course I chose based on interest rather than how much of a future it can ensure me. You were disappointed, but life had greater obstacles for you to face then. You got over the disappointment quickly enough, but I still see it lingering in your frown sometimes.

This was also the year I nearly lost you to cancer, and it threw me off my threshold. Realising that there is a possibility of you fading away from my life scared me, the threat of your existence made me treasure you more.

This year, I asked you what you wanted for Mother's Day. You replied casually, conformed with the disappointment you suffered the past few years, "I wish you'd quit smoking."

I hate to add another year of disappointment onto your already heavy heart, but I am afraid it is inevitable. My life has been sinking in a swirling pool of fucked up uncertainty, and I'm not liable to make any changes to my life now.

Or rather, I just don't want to.

Your selflessness contrasts my selfishness heavily, as every year on Mother's Day you wish for me to do well but as the years surpass us, but my failure to oblige has weighed your heart deeper and lower.

I yearn for a Mother's Day when I can fufill your wish and make something out of my life as much as you do. I'm sorry for being so selfish, and I wished I could say something to alleviate the pain, but all I can say that I really mean is,

I really, really love you.

Mindfucking.

2006-05-13T04:31:00.000+08:00

I am so, mindfuckingly tired.

There's this eternal ache that's squeezing on my left arm, I can't even seem to lift my right arm without squinting, and my legs are screaming for a massage. My body is draining, and I feel like I just pushed myself down the sixth floor and landed in the drain.

I didn't know returning back to Amara Hotel after a couple of weeks of absence could kill me. Eventually I thought it'd make a great get together with the bunch of colleagues me and Karin used to hang out with, but only three of them turned up and we hardly had a chance to exchange words during service because the dinner only started at 9pm.

Starving, impatient guests aren't exactly nice to handle, and when they're seated among a table full of people they hardly knew, they like to focus their point of ridicule on the service crew. There was a point in time when the next dish was coming up and my table just couldn't eat their damn prawns, so I thought I'd just shift them to a smaller sideplate so I can go pick up the next dish.

I was getting impatient, since people were serving the next course and my table was still taking their own sweet time, peeling their prawns at a ridiculously slow speed. I went up with a sideplate and was supposed to ask if I could put their prawns on a sideplate, I don't know why but I went:

"Can I keep all your prawns?"

This woman on the table burst out laughing, and then the whole table started laughing and laughing and laughing and still fucking laughing. I didn't get what was tickling them so much, until I went back to my sidestation and pondered over it, then I realised it must have sounded very wrong then. They must've thought I wanted to put the prawns in my pocket and bring them home for tomorrow's breakfast or something.

But what I don't get, is how my blunder remained the joke of the table even until towards the end of the dinner, the woman was still laughing and making such a big hoo haa over it everytime we exchanged eye contact.

Eh I don't want you damn prawns lah bitch.

Work politics still reeks like hell on the third floor, and I'm feeded with information about the backstabbings and unfairness of treatment and this fella's lousy work attitude and this and that. It's the perks of just nodding off to people's statements and grinning meekly when my colleagues or executives try to crack a joke.

They think you're harmless and you don't care, so its perfectly fine to spill the secrets of the trade with you. Here's where I go,

"Hee hee suckers."

Photoshop.

2006-05-11T00:36:00.000+08:00

Dear Aunt Agony,

I'm an avid reader of your column, and I never fail to purchase a copy of Teenage every fortnight. Your column is just like heroine, disgustingly addictive. Every fortnight I get bombared with tons and tons of useful information about how a girl is not having her period often enough, or how a boy can't ejaculate without breaking a rash. Its so informative and I can actually relate to some of the issues the people who write to you are facing.

I know you must have received letters like this since forever, and are probably sick of fans like me, but this is my 32, 583rd time posting to you and I really really hope you can actually reply me this time. You see, I am having issues with my infeority of my looks. I'm fat and ugly, eternally sweating and my eyes are smaller than watermelon seeds. Its bad enough people are making fun of my size, but I just wish they could leave me eyes alone! Its an asset I was imprinted with since birth so NOT MY FAULT RIGHT, CHEEBYE PEOPLE.

My hair colour is very sianzx also, its so typical and in Singapore to be a youth YOU CANNOT BE TYPICAL! You must have your own style so I want a very chic, modern, trendy, yet subtle but very very classy hair colour. I want to stand out in the crowd, I want people to notice me, I want to be the centre of attention, I WANT TO BE CELEBRATED, I WANT FAME, I WANT POWER, I WANT RICHES, I WANT A BLOWJOB.

I really hope you will reply this time, you're way better than Oprah.

xoxos
Fannyowemoney.

***

Dear Fannyowemoney,

I am really, really glad you bothered to write me a 32, 583rd letter, despite my failure to reply all your previous 32, 582 letters. It warms my heart to read your letter for the 32, 583rd time, and I really, really, REALLY do hope that there will be a 32, 584th one coming soon.

Anyhow, attached to this letter is a really powerful tool that can wipe away all the inferiority you have of your appearance - Adobe Photoshop. The CD Key is 0000-0000-0000-0000.

Have fun, really looking forward to another letter coming from you.

xoxos
Aunt Agony

P.S. I can't wait! ;)

***

I love Essential Graphics Software tutorials, its almost like Hogwarts.

):

2006-05-10T01:13:00.000+08:00

My camera is not connecting to my computer, despite the thirty few thousand times I've tried for the past three hours. Therefore I am cranky, and unhappy, and disgusted, and annoyed, and you probably can figure the rest out.

I can't even get to sleep without having my mind wander to my bitch of a camera. It really peeves me when something that's more advanced than me in terms of technology fails on me, and there I will be, feeling so helpless and all, cursing and sulking like some vulgar brat.

Its not fair, if only I could have screws and iron plates slapped all over my body, storing information I collect from my surroundings in my 9000 gig brain, built-in photoshop that clears my pimples away whenever my hormones go crazy and decide to start an oil rampage on my face, and not to forget with BitTorrent, Limewire, iTunes, Realplayer and 32,000 other interesting computer games downloaded into my C drive.

Otherwise, life sucks.

Chemical to a Knot.

2006-05-08T22:56:00.000+08:00

"I'm wary about taking on the new subjects. It's a whole new kind of education from what I'm used to; it's like a culture shock thing. I'm learning things that can be applied immediately in a real job, and it requires both theoretical knowledge as well as out-of-the-box thinking. It's kind of like a sharp knock to the skull - mechanically learning a block of text by rote is no longer a guarantee of a pass, and what you learn, you don't necessarily apply to your work. Creative thinking isn't a plus here, it's crucial."
-Part of Leraine's intake on poly life.

Its hard to find things on the net nowadays that you can read and slap your palm on your forehead followed by an exclamation of something that most of the time goes like, "That's exactly it!". Although that'd look completely stupid, but hey I'm just trying to make my point sound.

Leraine's in the same course and polytechnic as me, so our take on how the lectures and tutorials have been so far are almost identical, but she seems to be getting to know her classmates better whereas I, am still unable to remember half their names.

That's bad, huh?

I don't know, they all seem like really nice people, but sometimes nice just doesn't cut the deal. I'm not choosy, but its just that there are some traits in certain people that irks me, and for exactly what logical reasons should I bother to befriend a person who has irritable traits.

Not that any of my classmates have irritable traits (haha I'm being a fucker here) though, I don't know them well enough to be aware if they possess any. But its just so hard to find a friend that's like, custom-made to bump into you one day and become a part of your life. Wouldn't life be so much less taxing if you managed to figure out the equation of a perfect friendship? Like what attracts you to the other party, and vice versa. How the other end reciprocates this beautiful attraction with one of their own, creating a bond of its own, a stronghold for the quarrels, jokes and tears.

Now, life'd be perfect, wouldn't it? And the best part about this whole revealation would be that you get to have countless Friendster accounts of yourself to store your millions and billions of friends from all over China, L.A and even Russia.

Everyone loves the popular kid.

New Layout, Same old Life.

2006-05-08T00:54:00.000+08:00

As the obvious states, new layout for the same old bitching spot. And with an added incentive - now fucking viewable in Mozilla Firefox. Its like buying a vacuum cleaner that not only sucks, but blows as well, if you get what I mean.

The bit that stinks about this whole new revamp would be an uglier layout that took less than 15 minutes to make and all the links, archives and tagboard has been scraped, leaving only the bare neccessity, which is, like duh the blog.

I've decided to do without the statcounter as well, because at this point I really cannot be more than bothered about my average reads a day. I have far more important things to take note of - like how pretty the sky is today and trying to figure out which line on my palm represents my love life.

Four hours of Esstential Graphic Software lessons tomorrow, saying that I'm anticipating it would be an understatement. I can't wait, finally its here. I'm going to sleep now so I can wake up at 7am in the morning, get clean and dressed up, sit by the door and grin like an idiot until 1.30pm when I can finally leave for my lessons.

Oh I love CMM.

Polling Day Blues.

2006-05-06T19:11:00.000+08:00

Vrrrrruuuuuuuuuuuuuum.

A delivery motorbike appeared from the corner of the road, coming to a halt at a curb. The man, donned in a black polo tee and jeans got off his bike, opened up the box bulked on the back of his bike and took out a pizza box. He made his way into the building, treading across the wet puddles left by the shower in the afternoon.

Someone's having pizza tonight, I thought. He's probably stuck in his apartment with nowhere to go, nothing to do, killing his Saturday with a pizza for dinner and ridiculous TV programmes. Pathetic little fucker.

Just like me, only without the pizza, or rather, without dinner at all.

I was at my usual corner in my room, by the window and with my first stick of the day clutched between my fingers, burning slowly and softly. My first stick at 6 in the evening. Now that, ladies and gentlemen, is a good sign. I need to cut down on my tar intake before I become one of those puffy eye addicts that can't last a day without at least a pack. I picked up the habit to kill time, not kill my bank account. My thoughts drifted back to the dude having pizza for dinner, a little web spinning in my mind.

He could be looking at the pizza and thinking, 'God I must be the most pathetic person ever, home alone on a Saturday evening with no plans and thus equating to no life at all.' He'd grab a slice of pizza, watching the strands of mozzarella stretch as he pluck the slice off the pizza. The cheese strings would break apart and dangle helplessly over the edges of his slice, and he'd break out a twisted little smile as he pushes half the pizza into his mouth and starts
chewing, savoring the cheesy tinge as it mashes its way down his throat.

"Yum yum I love pizza," He exclaims.

I should stop here, because the later bit involves the pizza growing a mind of its own and starts to eat him up fervently, and gradually the rest of the citizens in Pasir Ris, and then the nation. It then starts making its way to all over the world, passing this stupid legacy to every pizza that ever existed and voila, total world annihilation before you can say 'pepperoni' and Saddam would be like "Aw damn!"

.. I know.

It has got to be the cigarettes, it fucks with the mind.

Its polling day today, which marks a symbolic day for our nation, as today deems what's in for us and our future, our lives, both directly and indirectly are thus going to be affected by this special day.

That's right, after today, this honorable day that should be recognized world wide, they are finally going to take those stupid posters of the different political parties down.

They have it everywhere, bus shelters, lamp posts, void decks, et cetera et cetera. I'm surprised they didn't stick one on every pedestrian's forehead they came across. What exact purposes does those poster serve anyway? To remind the residents again and again how ugly the politicians running for their districts are? The posters are made of such high quality materials (personally tested it myself with a cigarette butt) and can you just imagine how
many smiles you could put on those poor, starving families if you could have spent the money you spent on the stupid posters on those low-income families that really need the cash?

Do the math, you dirty, stinking politicians.

If you all really cared for the nation, (and if I'm pushing it by saying the nation) or rather the district you're contesting for, is there a need for a poll at all? Couldn't you all just come together and work things out to make the lives of the residents a little less taxing? Isn't that what the eventual goal is? To push Singapore up to further heights, and without the citizens' support, who are going to be pushing this little dot on the map with you politicians? Your moms? All the money spent on campaigning could jolly well be put to better use, on people much more deserving than your struggle for a seat in the great, umm.. sitting area for the umm.. government or whatever you people call that.

What's the point of shoving all these promises and incentives in our faces only during the campaigns, when to you, is the time when all these really matters? I may be only sixteen, I may be clueless about politics or even how Singapore is governed, but I do believe in one aspect of all these bullshit, and that is, if you can't put a smile on every Singaporean's face, ease their lives
without taxing that of others, then you stink, you fucking stink, and most of all, you failed your task, and role altogether.

Laugh at my naivety, my bluntness in the whole political circle, laugh all you want - but I am a Singaporean and I believe I am entitled to a ideal for the nation.

I'd continue, but THE PARENT'S TRAP IS SHOWING ON CHANNEL 5 NOW so goodbye for now because it'll probably be long before you see such a serious side of me again. Singapura, SAT SAT OEI!

P.S. Its been five minute into posting the article, and I can't stop laughing at myself already. The horror of being sixteen.

Given up.

2006-05-02T23:29:00.000+08:00

One little entry before I hit the sacks. Lessons start at 9pm tomorrow, whoopeedoo.

And for the credentials part, this little entry was inspired by my life, Anna Nalick, and a cigarette butt.

Ok, so three cigarette butts.

The night was humid, but deep within me was an unexplainable shiver that froze over my heart. A stick was in my right hand, and my left was wrapped across the grills of my window. I stared into the view out of my window, the night sky mostly clouded by the buildings around the vicinity. I started counting the number of windows that were lit up.

One, two, three, four... twenty-two, twenty three, twenty four.

And mine made up number twenty-five.

Then I counted the thorns stabbed across my heart.

One, two.. two, there were two hairy thorns my heart was bleeding from. It bled profusely, refusing to hold back its agony. It scared me though, how I could shove it right across the other end of my mind, not letting it gain control of my mind, my nerves, my lips.

Every cigarette I smoked, it just pushes this inner demons further, and further, and much further away from me. It was like a painkiller - all it could do was kill the pain, but exterminating the source seemed almost impossible.

Despite the nicotine dripping into my veins, I tried to trace these pains of mine, back to its roots, back to the seeds that the roots sprung out from, back to the variants that gave the seed life, back to the person who planted these rooted seeds in my heart.

It seemed wrong to pinpoint at any of them, because they are afterall dead and lifeless shells. All they could do was aid the growth of the thorns, but what, exactly what was it that blew life into them? The answer stood firmly under my nose, I knew it from the start. It was there, right before me all along, but I refused to believe, I tried to stray away from it and search deeper for more answers that might be relavant, but it was all pointless. The harder I looked into it, the clearer the answer I refused to be religious to became.

It was me.

My decisions, my actions, me. If I didn't waver and give in to these seductions, these thorns might never have been planted in my heart. I was the water that moistened the planting ground, I was the sunlight that showered the seeds with vitamins, I was the fertilizers that gave nutrients to aid their growth.

I was the gardener, the fame, the pain.

I was the final and main catalyst. Such an irony should be deemed illegal. I have been frowning over issues that began from me. What rights do I have to frown, to be unhappy? Why should I point fingers at anyone when towards the end, I am the only culprit.

Life's a vicious cycle, everything traces back to you.

You are, your greatest enemy.

Punk Shimmitz.

2006-05-01T11:46:00.000+08:00

"It takes a night make it dawn, it takes a day to make you yawn, brother." Life is Wonderful, Jason Mraz.

The gig was horrible.

It got worse towards the end, with the booze and the nicotine dribbling into my system. What equated was a throbbing headache that lasted for the rest of the night. Oh, and standing beside the giant speaker sure didn't help much in easing the pain.

I don't even listen to that kind of shit in the first place, and the only reason I went was for the drinking session after the gig, but that never happened as well. The mosh pit was like a giant blender, with all the punks in their studded leather jackets. Really, I don't know how anyone can get high to music that goes "BROOOOOAAAAAAAR BROOOOOWWWWAAAAR RRRRRAAAAAR" and then repeats the same sentence, just faster and messier this time round.

Giant misfit on the loose.

Still, getting to spend time with my bitches is worth going through all that raging, roaring shit. Although the day started out on a slightly sour note (shall not digress), but all still went pretty smoothly towards the end. Vanessa getting wasted after a can of Baron was pretty much our entertainment for the night, that bitch is fucking weeeak.

To end this entry, assortment of photographs. Have a swell labour day.

Adly the gentle punk. :)

Group photos always make me look like a damned child.

Drunk bitch wants me.

I was pretty stoned myself.

She was just.. horny.

BIRD.

My best friend HAHAHAH.

Life is wonderful.
-End-

Ugly Love.

2006-04-30T09:39:00.000+08:00

"To make a mountain of your life, its just a choice." - Always Love, Nada Surf.

How much do we know of love, really?

Or rather, how willing are our minds to decipher the complexity of a heart? Often we find ourselves in love, thinking love has to be the exact tingle creeping down your neck right at that point of time, but when this tingle starts to wriggle itself out of our grasps, we find ourselves in an uncomfortable and foreign situation, and we realise we know shit about love.

When the love between both parties start to decay, they will develop a love for themselves, to mend the alter-ego that has been badly wounded in the process of a break-up. This self love becomes a protective mechanism so powerful, slowly it transforms into a gnarling hate for the other party, for all the hurt they have inflicted on one another. This hate, a defect of love, grows so out of proportion, ugly and uncontainable.

Love is not an easy game, afterall.

Love, however, is not sympathy, or an appropriate mannerism. It is a flaunt of emotions, the buttery feeling washing throughout your beating heart, when everyday's a perfect day to be together, and you just want to lie on a empty meadow with him/her, with a baskets of fruits and a clear, blue sky.

You don't love someone because you think its only right to do so. There's no exact reason to love someone, you love someone because, you just do. Treating love like shopping is a downright disrespect to this universal dessert. You do not love a person just because he/she is in your eyes, the epitome of beauty. You do not love a person just because he/she worships you like an idol. You do not love a person just because you enjoy letting the world know you're attached, and you're not the lonely old miser anymore.

You don't, you don't, you fucking don't.

Its not right, and unfair to the other party. You're loving for selfish reasons, and towards the end you'll just end up hurting both yourself and the other party. Just because in the first place you failed to understand the concept of loving someone. When you're wounded, and the other party's left, what will become of you?

You'll end up way further back than being back on square one, mind you.

I don't want to digress any further, but this is just a post I made for a certain friend of mine. I just hope you know what you're doing and stop making me and vanessa such worry-warts.

Hogwarts.

2006-04-28T23:28:00.000+08:00

I've signed up for the photography club in my school, and hopefully I get to learn some techniques and develop some new angles and perceptives because I'm getting sick of my old ones.

And I'm feeling the gap closing in with me and some of my classmates, although I do admit I don't put in the most effort when it comes to making friends out of accquaintences but I'm like, trying damn hard liao hor.

Ok I'm getting a little sleepy right where I am so I don't think I'm going to press on any further. Isn't there this saying about how a picture could speak a thousand words? Well here's your fucking 1000 words, now goodbye.

Zippity.

2006-04-24T23:14:00.000+08:00

"She's only a human traffic accident, and everyone's just slowing down to look at the wreckage." - Grey's Anatomy

Its really nice to come home after a tired day of school to read lousy comments about myself on my blog. It gives a warm and fuzzy feeling up my chest, you know?

And its even more than amusing to know that people actually believe that I'm going to be so bothered by them and go lock myself in the room and cry or something. Well, go knock yourselves out with that thought or something, while I whisk on with my boring little life.

I've never paid so much attention in a class before as I did today.

And yeah, that about sums up my whole hour in school today. Oh I'm sure some excitement will come along as time passes, but for now let's move on to something a little less boring.

Like watching girls shop. I spent my whole afternoon watching them prance around expensive little boutiques, twirling from rack to rack, holding pieces after pieces of dresses against their tight little chests and staring at the mirror for what seems like forever as if waiting for the dress to grow a mouth and swallow them up or something.

Isn't there this old saying about how the men don't get it? Well of course they don't fucking get it, trotting behind the girls faithfully as they chase after every piece of bargain, being their personal hanger as they hang their picks without shame over any part of our body that makes a good hanger. Unless the guy is getting really solid sex from this girl, I don't see any sane reason why he should even waste his time being the manslave-of-the-day.

But for me it was my noble act of selflessness for my pretty little bunch of hoes. And I get to lepak with them after they blow all their dough on those overpriced fabrics, so what's there to lose?

Hmm I'm starting to like Grey's Anatomy, which makes my Monday night tv so much more exciting. Desperate Housewives, Grey's Anatomy and then Scrubs. This is like an express bus to a heaven where God is a hippie.

Two-faced pagoda.

2006-04-23T22:07:00.000+08:00

She lent me her shades and I fed them to the chipmunks under my toes.

It didn't feel right today. Of all days for things to fuck up, it had to be on my last day of freedom. Go take a flying leap, Lady luck.

I went out with Farhanah, dragging along a heavy heart and a drooping pair of eyelids. My sleeping habits are starting to put my patience on a threshold, constantly wavering back to its irregular form. It must be just as excited (sacarsm sacarsm 50 cents a piece) as I am about the start of poly life.

I know I seem apprehensive about the start of a semester, but only because it puts a closure to everything I was once comfortable with - my old class, lazing around with my friends outside Starbucks without any plans, talking about their lives, my lives, series of aimless planning for an agenda which seems to get nowhere.

It was all good.

And now I'm torn from all that, locked up in a prison-monkey cage and flung into the deep abyss I'm strangely unaware of. The lack of awareness pushes me out of my comfort zone, and I find myself drifting along a foreign current, seeking for a hopeless cause.

My frown remains calm, but my heart is skipping beats.

I sound like a kid, but I can't help but feeling like one. Nobody likes closures, but these sort of things are imminent in life. I can only do my part as a human pawn and move myself away.

On a totally different note, I just realised some people in my course are downright fucked up. I never did like orientations, in fact I hated them deep down into my pores. BUT I still turned up for the TP orientation anyway. Note that, I fucking did turn up.

So being the snoop-dog I was I managed to squirm into these fella's (who I shall name 'W', in short of WAHLANEH-CHAOCHEEBYE-THIS-KIND-OF-PEOPLE-ALSO-HAVE) blog through a series of intensive bloghopping and guess what I found?

Well I wouldn't quote the whole thing out but basically it was about me being UNCOOPERATIVE, ACT COOL and ugly. Wow, all that into less than an hour of talking to me, why, W must be quite the character analyst.

Well to set things straight, I admit to being all 3 of those traits she blatently slapped onto me, especially ugly because so sorry my mom and dad didn't work out too well in the looks department too so obviously their offspring failed miserably. I'm so sorry if I offended you with my scorching, horrendous looks. So very sorry.

My uncooperativeness and pseudo-coolness must have affected you so much that you felt such an immense need to mention it in your blog. Ok then, I'm so so so very sorry for wanting to keep to myself, thinking that by making an effort to turn up for something I dread as much as cough drops is good enough. Well apparently it wasn't good enough for you and your moral high horse. Zhen dui bu qi.

But, but, there's always the BUT. But, I can't help but to wonder if you are so disgusted by everything I exude, why bother trying to act so friendly? So friendly, I almost thought it was genuine. Why pretend to be so friendly with me, and then go behind your computer and spew out all that negativity towards me in a platform you knew I would never access.

Why?

Let me tell you why, because you're a fucking two-faced bitch. You play both sides of the field, thinking people like me are blind and naive enough to believe what you offered was really genuine. And just for the record, I did turn up for the second day, only leaving halfway because I was bored senseless and didn't see the point in staying any further. You have problems with that? Spit it in my face, right up my nose.

Tell me I'm being such a snob, tell me I'm trying so hard to act like some lonewolf ranger, tell me I look worse than a fucking pig, don't tell your fucking blog, tell me. You have issues with me, I suppose my large frame stands out enough for you to hunt me down in school and slap it across my face.

Don't blame me for throwing such a tantrum and acting like such a big bitch, but there are some lines not meant to be crossed with me and playing the whole two-faced act is a fat, red button. Don't even analyze me before you even get to know me, because all you see is a front, and all you have bitched about is a mere front.

Its funny how the title of your blog is asking for respect, when what you're writing in your blog is making it seem so undeserving for you. The play of irony is mocking you, alongside with me.

My first day of school has not even started, and I'm already overly aggrevated by some bitch act. This is not a good sign, definitely not how I envisioned my first day to be.

Anyhow, I've done enough damage here, and I'm just going to leave the whole matter right at this very little corner of my blog and drop it. But if W's going to be expecting any smiles along the hallway, she can definitely count me out.

Michelle the Cootie Girl.

2006-04-23T07:46:00.000+08:00

Citizen Cope - Bullet and A Target

Hello skankies, meet Michelle. Michelle, meet the skankies.

Its nice to know that despite our very rare get togethers, Michelle and I still fit nicely into a relatively tight knot. I have no qualms about going out with her (a living, breathing female with cooties) alone and neither does she, unlike the many other boys my age who are so determined that the only pussy you can go out one-on-one with is either your steady or your grandma.

Its called a date, people. Not a cootie breakout rampage.

We catched a flick called "Take The Lead", and it was surprisingly good. Being the local cynic I was, I quickly condemned it to be an instant rip-off from the other dance flick back in 2004 called Honey. Well it seemed pretty much like a rip-off actually, but a rather good one at that. The blacks, asian and white (notice 'asian' and 'white' are singular nouns, well only got one asian one white what) all dancing together a fusion of ballroom dancing and hip hop for a five grand prize.

Almost like Power Rangers prancing around in their colourful tights.

It won't be long before you put yourself away.

CMM, OEEI ki lan ah.

2006-04-22T11:26:00.000+08:00

Ohkaaay, so the previous entry was a tad too short. Well I'm here to compensate.

I guess I'm really being dumped in a flurry tangle of words right now, thinking how poly starts in just a day and I'll actually be having a proper timetable then. Which means there'll be lesser time to lepak around with Karin, Vanessa(s), Bird and all the other little insignificant breathing slugs I'm fairly accquainted with.

That sucks.

To pile up to the wreck, I'm still not making any friends in my class. I don't understand how come the odds are always on everywhere but my side. When everyone is enthusiastic and raring to go with their stupid little cheers, there I am finding the enthusiasm repulsive. Every bit of it starts to irk me, and I can't wait to get the fuck out of campus ground.

I mean, I don't even know how to make my way around the business school and there the SL's are trying to shove in our faces their great love for the business school and expect us to be just as enthusiastic and grateful to a school we barely even stepped into. That's like forcing spinach into a fucking T-rex, for fuck's sake. Try to employ a logic for that.

So what if Mr Darryl David is the course manager/head/leader/whatever the fuck you people call it? I hope that isn't supposed to be the star attraction of the course's marketing pitch because jesus look at him, he hosted the pyramid gameshow thing in the 1990s - when people wore oversized spectacles and wore their paints like the had a wedgie everyday.

Maybe my negativity is just my lack of anticipation playing mindgames with me. It could be otherwise, but I don't really want to go any further into it.

And just for the record, I went for both days of the orientation anyway, reluctantly giving in to Vanessa's persuasion. She's having a swell time in her design school, what does she know about the horrible $6 lunches they provide in the business school. We used the lunch time to sneak out anyway, so to me it was a $6 well spent, if you know what I mean.

Oh well, what's done cannot be undone. I must lepak my remaining two days of freedom away before crushing it with my own fat hands next Monday.

Goodbye, cruel world.

Don't touch her there.

2006-04-22T09:51:00.000+08:00

Oh wow is this a sign or what, but right after the orientation ended my iPod sprung back to life.

Blowjobs.

2006-04-20T19:35:00.000+08:00

You know what irks me the most about orientations? Oh yeah, right, everything.

No, I mean seriously, you're thrown into this group of people you hardly know and then you're made to play stupid games or a.k.a the so-called "icebreakers" and the only reason you're laughing is because you feel so stupid you need to force a laugh to make yourself feel better.

Still, I wouldn't call the orientation horrible. It was just plain unbearable. Sorry for my lack of enthusiasm but that's just me. I don't see the logic in shoving all that rah-rah-ness in my face when I can't even bother to be receptive about the whole thing. I'm really bad at networking and it shows in the little conversations I try to make with the people beside me.

Me: Hi I'm Daniel, what's your name?
X: (insert name here)

*a few seconds of awkward silence*

Me: So what school are you from?
X: (insert school here), you?
Me: Oh, ngee ann secondary school.

And it pretty much ends there. That's pathetic, and who knows if this catches up in 3 years due the only thing I'm going to know about X is that he/she's from this and that secondary school.

Oh my god.

Anyway let's put my first day at orientation aside first.

Sometimes I wished I had a handgun sheathed nicely in my pocket all the time, so when that bastard child Dejian comes glaring down my neck again I can just draw it out and unload 30 shells into his hollow fuck head. That miserable little son of a bitch can't put the past behind and fucking get over the goddamn thing.

I can't believe my luck. After four years of being in the same secondary school as him (and two miserable years of being accquainted with him), I'm still stuck in the same school as him. I don't know what's so difficult for him to tuck away the past grudges and put it behind him, the fact that I'm probably the only one in school who punched him (TEEHEE) after he gave me 3 blows or it could just be that he needs to get a fucking life.

You're 17, stop acting like some pre-pube kid.

On the other hand, I'm still contemplating whether to turn up tomorrow or not. Orientations really cramp my style. B..b..but I already paid $6 for the food!

Sigh, decisions decisions.

Bliss, or the lack thereof.

2006-04-18T07:07:00.000+08:00

I'm caught in a dream and I can't get out.

The morning is so serene, and lately I'm waking up early enough to enjoy the beauty of it all. The pre-dawn sky casts a lukewarm, purple glow into my room, and once in a while you can hear the sound of the lorries reversing, bringing those over-fried curry puffs to the minimart downstairs. The silence shrills in my eardrums, a very blissful remedy for the morning's blues.

I snuggle up under my blanket, catching a shut-eye once in a while, but otherwise I'd be staring at the kiddy prints on my mattress, not allowing thoughts to enter my head. I intend to savour every moment of the dawning sky, without having to worry about what's for breakfast, where should I go later, are my pants dry yet, et cetera et cetera.

As they say, good things never last long enough.

Halfway through my stomach will start to growl, cutting off the barrier in my mind, and all the thoughts start gushing in like ever-so-predictable females into a sale. My head starts to throb, and the shrilling silence starts to get more unbearable, tearing my eardrums apart.

The more I struggle to keep my mind free of troubles, the harder they hit me, running helter-skelter in my head. I let a sigh of resignation escape my lips, as I push myself out of the bed and drag myself onto the floor. I lie there for a couple of minutes, allowing the icy cold floor to bite into my senses, nudging them awake.

And there goes a perfectly fine morning.

What's Worth.

2006-04-16T19:44:00.000+08:00

You flick what's left of the cigarette butt onto the floor, exhaling a cloudy swirl of smoke into the humid air, watching it dissipate into nothingness. Another wave of emptiness flood your mind as you stare blankly at your two friends, chatting among themselves.

You try to make up what they're saying, but a throbbing sensation overrides your senses at every attempt. You inhale the cold, biting air and hold it in your wanton lungs. You look at the raindrops hanging at the edge of the roof, slowly pelting onto the littered floor.

You try to smile, but your face seems to be stuck on an emotionless rampage. You exhale.

The emptiness seems to be consuming you, but you are helpless, stricken with a greater sensation. You allow the wind to rape your skin, letting its biting frost numb all thoughts. Your breathing gets heavier, but you couldn't care less.

You would, but you couldn't.

The iPod was playing a slow song, the sound of the piano thumped in your brains, your senses were giving up on you as you let the haunting song linger in your body. You lean your head back onto the chair, the ceiling opening up to your view.

Your friends start to take notice of you, breaking away from their self-consuming chat they ask if you're ok. You don't reply. You can't reply. Something was gripping onto you, clinging onto your nerves. A swirling darkness appears in the ceiling, you look at it, amused.

The swirling darkness got bigger, and bigger. Its gigantic proportion is getting out of hand, out of control. You try to look away but you're afraid. It is until soon enough did you realise the darkness is coming for you. But all is too late.

Before you know it, you are being engulfed by this surprisingly relaxing darkness, and you shrink into a dark corner, where no one can reach you. You can hear faint noises, but the relentless capture has forced you to a helpless state. Your ties with the world has been servered, you are alone.

A poke on your shoulder flings you back into realisation. You feel your all your senses slowly returning to you, slowly, but gradually. A stench invades your nosetrils, filling it with a puzzle you cannot comprehend. Your sight returns to you, and you see your friends looking at you, their eyes a serious flutter. Their mouths are moving, but you can't make out what they are trying to say.

You look down at your body, and a stricken fear shocks you so bad, you start tearing. Your shirt and pants are stain with yesterday's dinner. Your tears flow harder, and you can't seem to cut the flow off. Your friends ask you a million questions of concern, but you can't think of a reply. You start to rub off your tears, smearing your face with the vomit on your hands.

The harder you rub, the more your eyes stung.

You reek of a nauseating stench, everybody seems to be staring at you, whispering. Their whispers tremor your self-conscience, but you are more absorbed in the mess you've created. You try to find your calm, and trying to ignore the stares, you make your way to the nearby toilet.

You push open the toilet door and the man washing his face looks up in the mirror and stares at you. It is a curious stare, infuse with disgust. You start washing your hands at the tap and smearing water all over your shirt, trying to get rid of the mess.

The stench won't go away, no matter how hard you rub. Your brain can't come up with any better solution, so you continue scrubbing it with your hands, scraping the bits of vomit onto the floor.

The stench lingers on, standing its stronghold. For a moment you think "Fuck it." and you look into the mirror. For the first time in the past few minutes, you see your face. There is still remnants of the vomit stuck onto your face, and your lips were pale and cracked.

You have an idea what's the cause of this, but you quickly shake it away with a thousand other excuses. But like a lost love, it haunts your conscience and you can't help to think,

Is it worth all this?

Homework.

2006-04-16T12:13:00.000+08:00

Junior Colleges are evil.

I can't help but sigh as I watch my friends who went to JC one by one let their lives be consumed by homework, turning them into pathetic little whores of good grades and time-tables.

Oh how much lower must we bow to the education system before they start trampling over our heads. I say we fuck the system, and stop telling me you can't come out because you have to do your fucking homework.

Jesus christ. God don't bless you ah.

I HAVE SYPHILLIS.

2006-04-15T04:20:00.000+08:00

THE TITLE AIN'T KIDDING YOU I HAVE LITTLE SPOTS OF SYPHILLIS GROWING ALL OVER MY PENIS AND THEY'RE FORMING A GODDAMN BOOK CLUB DOWN THERE.

...

Alright now that I've got your attention, let me hit you with something so boring you wished my mom aborted me back then when she had a chance to. And no, snuffing me with a pillow when I'm asleep won't do any good either cause I only have one pillow AND YOU AIN'T GONNA TAKE THAT PILLOW AWAY FROM MY HEAD WHEN I'M ASLEEP BECAUSE IF YOU DO I'M JUST GOING TO sleep my life away anyway.

So..

It seems like the whole world's talking about it. How this JC student allegedly named "Redpony" called poly students childish, immature blah blah (Well sorry I tend to speed read this sorta stuff) because the poly students are too free during their holidays (which JC students are not having HAHA LOSERS) and end up ks-ing in an online game called (ugh) Maplestory.

Maplestory.. where should I even start? How about.. it sucks so much that its giving the vacuum cleaners a run for their money.

Nah that wasn't even worth a giggle.

It seems like every other blog is talking about it and they're all either taking the JC rulezzz side or the poly rockz bawlz side and some are pretending to sit in the middle but secretly they wished either side would just fucking burn and die.

Anyhow, I'm not going to take any sides or pretend to be nonchalent about the issue. Why? BECAUSE HELLO PEOPLE, IF YOU'RE EVEN INVOLVED IN THE MOST STUPID ENTERTAINMENT KNOWN TO MANKIND A.K.A "MAPLESTORY", YOU DON'T DESERVE TO LIVE, CUNTS.

I don't care if your online moniker is "Redpony" or "TurquoiseBunny" but quarreling over such an accurate defination of idiocy like Maplestory is just plain, fucking ridiculous. Like, its bad enough you guys are actually alive to begin with, so why can't you all just shut up, play your fucking games and leave the media (which in turn influences the general public) alone already.

Don't you guys have anything else to do? Like hacking away at evil mushrooms or roaming around the fun and mystical land as you explore the exciting adventures awaiting for you at every corner of your stupid little 2D maps.

So what if Mr Redpony is an elitist, he's going to study his ass off in JC, get an A level cert and head on to the University where he'll have to hike a mile to get from one end of the campus to the other, and then come out, get a great job, tons of awesome promotion until he's like, Chairman of some bigshot company. By then his ego will be too big for any girl's liking but with his endless flow of cash he could have a hooker every night and still have his cake. We all know hookers don't exactly have dirt-free records so he's bound to end up with some STD and sores all over his penis. Soon he can't even wank because the sores have engulfed his penis into one big hole and all his semen will collect itself at his scroctum. Before you know it his balls erupts together with all of him and what's left would be a hot, steaming mass of cum.

Or, he could be gay and that makes things easier for us.

Alright, despite all that baloney from above, I still have to be serious and make my stand clear to all of you. I may come from a polytechnic, but I do have friends in JC too, and are we going to let the words of one individual change the fact that

MAPLE STORY FUCKING SUCKS? OH YEAH YOU HEARD ME. YOU MAPLESTORY..ERS SHOULD JUST GO JACK EACH OTHER OFF INSTEAD OF MAKING SUCH A RUCKUS AROUND HERE. REALLY, WHO GIVES A FUCK ALL YOU MAPLESTORY..ERS HAVE FOR FRIENDS ARE ONE ANOTHER. HIT YA HARD THERE DIDN'T I? WELL FUCK YA YOU MOTHERFUCKERS. GO BLOW ONE ANOTHER OR SOMETHING. FUCK YAAAAAA.

Yeah, God bless you too.

Lagi Best Friday.

2006-04-14T06:56:00.000+08:00

You see, the problem with irregular sleeping hours is that in most cases, when you're awake, everyone's fucking asleep. And when everyone's fresh and roaring to go after a good night's sleep, you can barely keep your eyes open.

Sometimes I wonder why I'm trying so hard to commit my very own social suicide.

You know what amazes me? Its the fact that I've been going to church to celebrate Good Friday every year faithfully (until I turned 14 when I realised he's not Santa) but up till now I still can't figure out what exactly am I supposed to commemorate - his first blowjob?

And also, why do they call it Good Friday? I mean, if its a special occasion it should be more than just a mere 'good'. People back then really have no imagination. If Jesus could have waited till the 21st century maybe it'd be called Spankin Swell Friday or something like that. Hell if jesus was born in the 21st century he'd be shaking his pimp bootie swinging his bling bling with Ciara on MTV, like he'd give a fuck what's going to happen on Friday.

God it feels so good to know beforehand that after I die its a straight trip down to hell for me.

Whatever.

Cut-out demo.

2006-04-14T02:58:00.000+08:00

So my first day at work turned out to be coincidentally, the last.

Tough luck, huh? Well the place is pretty ok, its just that I have issues with calling my managers and CEO's blah blah "sir" or "ma'am" because that's just plain stupid. And they make it sound like a freakin' family tradition over there.

Well well well, no one told me I was signing up for a maid agency.

Putting that all aside, I have once again somehow manage to land myself in a jobless state, hobo style. Now won't any kind soul please please please offer me a job.

This is life.

2006-04-12T23:34:00.000+08:00

This is one of those entries where I just randomly put stuff in my life together and let you make out what's of it.

I've just discovered one of life's greatest pleasure, and no sadly, it ain't sex, yet.

I'm going for my first day of work at Seoul Garden tomorrow. Actually its an orientation (so as the nice auntie manager calls it), so I figure its really make it or break it tomorrow. Hopefully I make it because it sure ain't easy supporting the little pleasure I mentioned in the previous paragraph.

Oh and the $4.50 and hour is really, really, really a big turn-off. But hey, who's complaining? Oh yeah, right - me.

To the dude who just randomly skyped me just now, I figured you found it from here. Well, sorry for cutting you off so adruptly (although I did say bye) but that was seriously gay. I mean, you don't randomly ring up a guy and asks him where he lives. You shouldn't even ring up a guy in the first place. Well I hope no offence was taken, has been taken, is taking, whatever lah hor.

Vanessa Ong told me I'm her third best friend. Wow, does that mean I can accompany you on your bikini shopping trip? Please Please Please with three capital 'P's~!

I hope the course I'm taking doesn't have people too stuck up to be true or people who think they're too cool for school. They're the reason why kids don't like to study anymore.

Farhanah should just have my kids so we can piss our parents for bearing a slit-eye, brown skin, no-pork-eating, every-festival-also-can-celebrate child. Wouldn't that be nice...

Inside Man is the best movie I've watched for a very, very, very long time. No seriously, you should go catch that flick. They make Ocean's Eleven and Twelve and probably every other consecutive sequel (Originality was never their niche, so it seems) looks like what my baby cousin draws all the fucking time with her smelly crayons.

I'm not kidding, they really, really, really are smelly.

Citizen Cope is probably the only musician I've felt so strongly for. He's almost like those screaming, hair tugging bands you see on MTV, only minus the angst (which by the way is totally uncalled for), minus the culture-hugging clothes they wear, minus the screaming, minus the grunge, minus the lyrics that makes no sense, minus the confused-kid-smoking-pot-because-he's-gay gimmick, and that's just about all. I'm not shitting you, he's really good.

Sideways is a personal favourite, its perfect for every scenario. Sipping down a cuppa hot, steaming coffee in a cozy little cafe, watching the people going in and out through the door. Or or or sitting along the kerb of a road, watching cars drive by as you stone yourself with a cigarette. But at the end of your day, it's a really good sleeper. It makes you want to sit at a corner of nowhere and enjoy life as its minions passes by, slowly, and you're seeping deeper and deeper into a reverie.

Oh the magic of music.

And that's about all I have for now, my friends. Well good luck making out how's my life going along but I know despite all the little setbacks here and there, towards the end of the day I still manage to pick myself up and all is good.

Finger lickin' good.

*An almost interesting add-on
Well, I was waving my hands around in my room (don't ask why) and I knocked my (no seriously, don't ask) alarm clock (that hardly rings anymore) on the floor. Being the hero I was I raised out my foot to make the fall a little more bearable for that miserable bitch of an alarm clock.

Bad move.

It landed on my toes and bounced off onto the floor, where the batteries flew out and landed under my cabinet and god knows how many things have rolled under that damned thing ever since I was a kid.

Well, goodbye alarm clock you were better off without the batteries anyway since YOU NEVER DID FUCKING SERVE YOUR SOLE PURPOSE OF EXISTANCE (which is to wake me up you dicktick) AND ALL YOU COULD DO WAS TICK YOU LOUSY MOTHERFUCKING PIECE OF -

Goodnight and god bless you america.

You cried foul on me.

2006-04-10T22:55:00.000+08:00

I look into the pair of cracked lips sitting restlessly on your face, and all I see is your faltering trust in me. Trust that I'd be the abiding son of yours, the one that understands and draws the line right next to his sanity.

You don't understand. You never do. No matter how hard I try to open my life to you, letting you in on all my secrets and vices, you are blind to that and only yearn for more, more control over me. You miss those days in my childhood when you dominated my life, and you see my act of honesty as an opportunity to make up for all those years during my teenhood phase where you lost the grip you had on my life.

The phase is more or less over for me now, and I've managed to struggle free from your hold. But I made sure that at the end of every day, I have my fingers slipped back into yours.

That isn't enough. It never is.

Your satisfaction will only seep into the ego you cling so dearly too when you can reign over me, my beliefs, my morals, and make me into the son you wished I'd become.

Well, news flash momma but I'm afraid Ghandi would have made a better son than me so why don't you just send me packing and kick me out of the house, get a nice portrait of him with those really chic bronze frames and put it on my bed. You might just feel better about the family.

And so would I.

I wished you would stop making me feel like the hypocrite I think I have become. says:
but people change, circumstances are inevitable and things just happen.

That's right, and things just happen.

Shit shit shit.

2006-04-10T02:19:00.000+08:00

It feels as if I've just poured 16 years of principles down the kitchen sink, washing it down the pipes with guilt and disappointment. The stench lingers down the hallways, my brain a total wreck.

I feel the whole reality of the situation sinking into my bloodstream, pulsing through my veins. You appear surprisingly nonchalant, but your words are cold. They become the complication to what I assumed was a simple decision. I wished I could pen down the exact explanation for my actions, but I know right now my mind is incapable of such a task, and I doubt any logical reason would appease you.

It could be a fiction of my imagination, yet it could be true. So true, it stings.

It feels awful, so damned awful I hoped I had dropped the whole idea in the first place. But as much as I wish, time is ultimately irreversable and a deteour would be impossible. I just wished.. I don't even know what I want from all this mess now.

It seems selfish for me to want more.

Kelly Who?

2006-04-09T08:23:00.000+08:00

Check this shit out.

I know Singaporean singers based on singing contests don't get much exposure and their record label has to keep coming up with new gimmicks to sell their artiste, but this is just fucking ridiculous.

I mean, what are the odds of actually guessing it correctly. For all you know it could be a fucking tomato.

Fling.

2006-04-09T03:31:00.000+08:00

I hesistated at first, but I did it anyway. And it turned out pretty good, despite the seriously awkward first half of the conversation where all I went was "So like, yahh.. hahahhhahah" and she was like "hehehehehe" and we were going nowhere because we were busy freaking each other out.

It got better when I realised it isn't really very funny and stopped laughing, there were awkward pauses in between, but other than that I'd say it was a breeze.

Ok so not exactly a breeze. Oh shut up.

I betcha don't have a single clue what all that was all about. Well I had one of those, face-to-face, decent and really fucks with the mind conversations with Farhanah earlier into the night over supper. And as always, that leads to me pulling off crazy stints I'd never have the guts to pull off if I was sober.

Like calling up Vanessa and clearing up the whole shitty mess I created.

Usually I'd have just sms-ed, but I decided it was time for me to stop acting like a whiny 3 year old and live a life of (oh my gawdz this sounds corny but what the hell) no regrets. So I made that damned phone call and it turned out I am quite the charmer. HAHA OK THAT WAS DEFINITELY SHAMELESS.

.. Which brings me to my other blog plug this ungodly hour in the morning, my live life shamelessly campaign. Its called L.L.S.C for short (or "Lesuck" if you want to be an asshole). I'm sick and tired of constantly letting my self-consciousness get the better of me. Laugh you may, but when you have a frame as oversized as mine, its not exactly difficult to overhear what people are saying behind your back. Or the looks they give you like "oh you're so fat you should go fucking burn in hell and die oh wait or is it the other way round this shit is so confusing jesus help me".

Sometimes I wonder if its my inferior persona acting up and I could be making up all this shit in my mind, but what are the chances, really.

Well, imaginary or not, I'm getting sick of letting people who hardly know me rip me into pieces and judging them piece by piece without even getting to know my favourite colour first. You can waste your three hundred seconds doing just that, but just for the record I'm not going to let you rape my system.

Farhanah said no one's going to take me seriously in mass comm with my gold, unkempt locks but hey, fuck them too. Its their loss and they can rave all the like but ultimately, they'd be the shallow ones with a whole load of vocabulary to belt out but no personality to exude. Your loss, motherfuckers.

Live life shamelessly, I like the idea of it. The whole unpredictable lifestyle, exuding confidence that seeps through the pores on my fatty meat and out into the open. I've heard this somewhere on some TV show, I can't remember which but it went something like turning the tables and making your disadvantage into your favour.

I have not a single clue how I'm going to go about doing that, but confidence would be an ideal start. Confidence, yeah I think I could live with some extra confidence. Slowly, but persistantly kick the self-consciousness back to where it belongs.. wherever it belongs.

Farhanah, however insist I go to the gym with her. I've never really stepped into a gym my whole life and I never really pictured myself working out but hey, it isn't going to kill me to give it a shot. Gym it will be, then.

Why do I have a nagging feeling that this is going to just end up like some overnight enthusiasm thing, ugh.