there's no use trying

Forbidden chests remain locked for a reason. The thrill of discovering a wealth of gold and all you've ever wanted gives you a surge of inexplicable joy. You let your need for this joy overcome your common sense and before you know it you're picking at the lock, carefully lifting the heavy lid.

So what if we won't last forever, so what if she's too pretty and smart to be mine for long. I'll do anything just to have her for a few weeks, the boy thinks as he picks the lock, too excited, too excited for that one girl, ignoring God's warning that they were never meant to be.

He finally breaks open the lock, that barrier that has been keeping him from his goal for so long. He looks inside and is overwhelmed by paradise. The treasures sing out to him, beckoning, the mask of heaven concealing their curse. The sweet aroma of indulgence intoxicates him. For weeks, months, he dives into a golden world, one that was never his to be.

But God has his ways, too. What was never meant to be yours will eventually be taken away from you somehow, and when he is finally banished once again from that fantasy land, his soul falls apart. Why, he screams in rage. Why, when everything was so perfect. We were made for each other, I just know it.

But it wasn't perfect. It was missing the one element that makes everything truly perfect: God.

When He locks up a treasure chest, we have to accept that only His way will ever prevail.

in doubt

"The Bible was not written to tell us what God CAN do. The Bible is here to tell us what God WILL do."

- Reinhard Bonnke

Powerful.

a deeper burn mark

This time, she cries not for what could have been, but for the delusion she had been living in all along, fitting you into the oversized tee of the person you were in her mind. She cries for the silences and distances that she had always overlooked, almost too readily forgotten. They come back now. She weeps for all the tears she had shed before, in her bed, on the train, in the classroom, her heart knotted in lovesick turmoil, not realising then that this was never what love should be. She trembles at the realisation that it was never meant to be, the realisation that had always been a tiny little voice somewhere at the back of her mind that spoke up whenever an ominous sign showed itself, like dark warnings out of a storybook, that she laughed at and threw aside. She cries for how she gave her all so willingly, so desperately, all for a glimmer of you. How she abandoned all emotional sanity and let herself be Antoinette, that pathetic string puppet, being tugged swayed flung by your every move, every word, even when you had never intended to touch the doll. She hates herself for the glass heart that she herself willingly let drop, for the shattered pieces that she now trods on every now and then as she attempts to fix the crystal of life back together.

if you're feeling the way i am now

"God is there! See what He will do! It is intriguing to see how He beats the devil, shields you from the tornado, and gets you through when you face a brick wall. Don’t forget – He is there. ‘I am with you.’ Whatever you are, faithless, troubled, or downhearted – He is not. His moods don’t go up and down with your moods. He is constant, and being what He is, He will do what He will do. You will be ashamed afterwards for not looking to Him, for exposing your doubt. He will act for you anyway."

- Reinhard Bonnke

For potential ACJC students

Before I came into ACJC, I didn't really have the best impression of it. I had the idea that it was full of rich snobs. Well the former is a little true - there are some pretty rich people, although you'll find far more in ACSI - but the latter is not. Any apprehension I had about the school vanished on day one. Orientation was a m a z i n g and we continue to uphold our legendary reputation. A lot of J1s from other JCs come to our school for orientation, and when asked why, they reply 'don't you know? AC's orientation is the best!' :') Of course, Orientation's only the beginning, but it's very significant, a great display of our school spirit.

(T'was great being a part of it. Writing the Orientation booklet, being an OGL. YAY COUNCIL.)

Check out the Youtube videos of ACJC Orientation 2011. Morgen's walk-in dance was the bomb. My Orientation 2010/2011 blog posts can be found here.

I experienced a strong school spirit first in Crescent, of warmth, love and family. AC's spirit is of fiery passion, fierce love, unity. It's infectious and loud; it courses through our veins. My advice: during Orientation mass rally sessions where everyone cheers like mad, give it your all, even when you're tired and thirsty and dying.

One thing about AC that stands out is that you take out of this journey whatever you want to gain. During Orientation, be insanely enthusiastic and dare to plunge into adventure and madness, and you'll get the most rewarding experience. When I came to AC, I decided that I'd no longer be the emo girl I was in Crescent. No longer would I sit alone during recess, leading an unsatisfactory life, looking at the people with whom I wished to be friends. In AC, I decided that I'd go all out to make each day the best that it could be. I spoke up, volunteered to be OG Rep / Class Rep, loved the mass dances and school anthem, made great friends. It worked.

Alternatively, if you'd rather lead the easy life, not bothering to make the most of this, that's what you'll get, too. You have to work hard at anything to get what you want, but the results never disappoint. Don't choose a less taxing CCA just because you want to go home early every day. Plunge yourself into the deep end. Go for things that interest you, even if - especially if - they're strenuous and heavy activities. Or at the very least, try to be as involved in your activities as possible. It is through this that you gain the most rewarding experience. It is through a CCA that involves passion, commitment and perseverance that you find your family.

For some, it's in the performing arts groups, like the Dance Society - any Dancer will tell you that it was through the late-night, exhausting Bailamos / SYF practice sessions that the strongest bonds were formed. For some, it's in sports groups, like Netball. For me, the Students' Council transformed me, and it was the highlight of my life.

Previously, I had never wanted to join the Council. In secondary school I looked upon the Council a little cynically, like how everyone else does. I guess I put my name down in AC because I wanted to make the best of my time here. I went in with little more than burning passion and dedication, and these qualities got me incredibly far. Endless Council work? Three-hour meetings? Insane decision-making moments? Council was an exhausting journey, but that's what made it so amazing. In a 'heavy' CCA, you'll find yourself spending more time in school than at home, arriving in school before the sun rises and leaving after it sets. But trust me. The more you give, the more you receive, and what you receive will be priceless. You'll find yourself a fierce passion, and that's what makes the AC spirit what it is.

Soon, you'll find the people who will never leave your side, who will never make you feel like you're worth any less than who you are. You'll find the people who will always rush over to dry your tears when you need to cry. You'll find the people with whom you share a common strong passion, be it for singing, soccer or photography. You will also push yourself to achieve things you never thought possible, realise the importance of integrity and tenacity, do some amazing things. All you have to do is take a step forward.

P.S. ELL is an amazing subject. Contact me for more info. Email or something.

P.P.S. If anyone actually saw the iMovie video they were screening at the corner in the Hub during the Open House...that was the first time I used iMovie! Council. Brought a lot of first-times.

and lonelier than ever

As she walks in she's greeted by darkness and smoke and rapidly flashing green lights all around and deafening music whose beats pulsate through her skin, throbbing. Her pals drag her along and demand 'the strongest one' and she goes through the routine, three rounds of bitter fire. Before she knows it she is the song itself, it fills her head, the beat is all the knows, all she knows. She's cursing some guy's name, she can't remember who or why but it feels good just to curse it over and over again, laughter mixed with angry shouts. Soon she's light and happy like there's helium all around.

She knows everyone here, yet knows no one, only that crazy beat. It takes a while before she realises that she's in the arms of a superstar, and all she wants is to say did you know i love you? Suddenly as his hand slides down her back she feels the tingles all over and she needs, she needs to feel his body against hers, the warmth she knows. She presses hard against him and it's all that resounds in her head, the music and the friction, her superstar boy. That look he gives her just as their lips meet, like a signal, it gets her crazy. His hand's under her skirt, picking at her underwear -

suddenly it flashes through her mind. Him. That pudgy-nosed guy with one slightly chipped tooth and soft features, that soft smile, that soft gaze. There's something about imperfection that's so beautiful. Suddenly she remembers why she was cursing his name.

She draws away abruptly. Her heart grows cold. This stranger can't give her what she needs. You can't find love in a club. The physical touch is only a poor disguise; the mask falls off too soon and by the time you realise it's not what you were looking for it's too late. The next day you'll realise what was taken from you and the loneliness coulds you over again.

Run.

She needs to escape this monster that threatens to eat her up again but it catches up as soon as she falls to the ground that still threatens to tip her over. She feels the monster tackle her like a powerful force and reach right into her body to wrench out her heart. He leaves it on the floor beside her, covered in blood and tears.

saga seeds

(youzhuan-inspired)

The idea of you leaving doesn't seem real until you take out your passport. Until a female voice reads out a string of words and numbers that ring like warning bells through the air and you mumble 'that's my flight'. Only then does it hit me that after you pass that border, I'll be walking back to the car alone. The seat beside me will be empty. There'll be no one to pop in for dinner with the most beautiful song that is your voice. And the emptiness will linger for years - the ache of my arms when I've no one to wrap them round, the iciness of my hands when you aren't there to warm them. Years, until you came back again.

You reach into your haversack and carefully extract a translucent pink glass box. I know that box: it's my princess box, your mother's Christmas present to me when we were six. It has a crown ornament on the top and glitter all around and I used to to keep my most precious possessions in it. A rose petal from Mum's bath stuff, a small crystal keychain in the shape of an angel, a metallic red rock I found on the ground. When I was seventeen I emptied the box and gave it to you because you were too big to fit in it.

I open it: it's filled with saga seeds, tiny red hearts, whispers of childhood memories and of love. "They're all from Corie," you say awkwardly, your eyes glued to my hands, to the box. Corie. Even the way you it takes me years back. Corie was the tree we found at the end of the street where we lived; one Saturday when we were seven, you burst into my room saying 'Hey Dee, I found little hearts." Subsequent afternoons were spent underneath the little hearts tree, scouting for the red seeds and comparing whose were more heart-shaped, or lying in the shade waiting for one to drop on our faces. Soon we decided it needed a name: Corazone, Spanish for 'heart', but it didn't sound right for the tiny seeds it produced, so we called it Corie.

I put a few fingers into the box, feel the little hard hearts against them. Excess. "I've been collecting them since last year, when I got the letter." If you knew at age eight that you were capable of collecting these many seeds when you were older, you wouldn't have bragged about your find of five new ones every other week. You used to clench your right fist tightly as you walked up to me, the seeds carefully nestled in the middle, protected, the little hearts. Then you'd uncurl your fingers and reveal the bright red hearts, strikingly bold against your pale white palm. That was how you confessed to me, too, when we were sixteen; in the park a few streets away, you reached into your pocket and pulled out a closed fist and opened it to reveal a single saga seed: "that's my heart and I'm giving it to you."

As I slowly pull my fingers out one drops to the floor. You bend down, reach for it, offer it back to me: it's in your white palm, just like it was that day. I look into your eyes and I know you're recalling that day too, how I took the seed smiling and cautiously leaned into your embrace. How I said 'My heart's yours, too.'

'So I guess this is it,' I say. I close the pink box, slip it into my shoulder bag and manage a smile. Suddenly you're all around me and I let my breath be taken with your grip. The smell of you and the detergent your mum uses. It brings me back again. Me sleeping on your bed - at seven, and at seventeen. I feel a tear on your cheek - wait, it's mine. I let my arms soak you in one last time. Your soft cotton tee and the warm comfort of your skin.

You walk through the gates and all I can do is to stand and watch from the other side. The glass wall deceives: it makes me think I'm still within reach of you, before the cold hard truth hits me again, again. I sit on the short metal railings and watch you disappear. Then I take out the box again. The red seeds, fire, warmth, love, little whispers of love.

相思豆

que sera, sera

I've been spending the entire day on the computer researching universities and courses and wondering how I'm going to start my uni application essay all over again and I walk out to look for my specs because I'm getting a headache and he calls me over.

She's twenty five and a dentist and her dad proudly shows me pictures of her dog, her friends, her boyfriend, her life in Melbourne. Fragments of memories stir inside me - of me in her bedroom once upon a time, watching the dog curl up inside the closet. Everyone said we looked alike when we were younger. She even went to AC for a while, even though she knew she was going away.

Back in my room I stare at the pages of university rankings and the dilemma that's screaming at me in the face: law or literature? law or literature? and my incomplete uni applications and the decisions I have to make right now, right now, that will determine the whole life's path ahead. Time's running out two more days to the US universities' application deadline and I'm far, far from done, not much longer till UK's applications are due and I'm considering a whole course change, gotta rewrite my essay, talk to people who know better, pray like mad, pray like mad, make the decisions now

que sera, sera

something about lonely nights and my lipstick on your face

I don’t know this place and they’re going wild. A little too much vodka and they’re still not quitting so I say I’m out and leave the red room into the night. Josh follows me, takes my hand, stops me at the brick walls. His hand is on my waist and suddenly it’s you touching me, you saying my name, your hand on my neck your energy.

New place, new language, new identity. She puts down her luggage. Lies down on the off-white sheets, flips the channels – they’re all either French or tasteless – then gives up turns off the telly and stares at the grey ceiling.

Her mind floats back to that autumn night he forced sugar-coated strawberries down the back of her hoodie in Shilin and she made him reach inside to get them out. They laughed and held hands and took a random bus to a random stop just to get lost. Three stops after the museum and they were effectively in the middle of nowhere. They hopped off, it was chilly – it’s only chilly in Taiwan, never freezing cold – and quiet and dark. She would’ve been freaked out if she was alone, but his laughter lit up the night. He was fearless, and so became she. They walked aimlessly just talking and he stopped at a random alley. Reddish-brown bricks; no stale smell, but the air felt damp and creepers grew along the walls. A single dim streetlamp flickered at the other end. He sat on the floor with his legs straight, had his hands on his lap and his eyes on her, a request. She sat on his lap, her legs crossed around him, there in that damp alley in the dim flickering light. His faded jeans and her fruity scent. She looked into his hazel eyes and they ignited her soul. They sat there for almost twenty minutes just looking at each other and smiling, then he said “so are you going to kiss me?” and she said “do you want to?” and that was the first time they kissed. Gently at first, cautiously, then he pressed his lips harder against hers and they were in sugar-coated heaven.

Now we’re a few thousand miles and a time zone away, boy, and a gulf that surpasses all these – do you still remember all that I do? Do you still remember how you listened to my heartbeat, how our faces came so close, how all we needed was a long look into each other’s eyes for the whole world to disappear? Do you remember how it was like when I was yours and you could hug me whenever you wanted, like in the bus when I was sleeping and our stop was here but you wrapped your arms around my waist and said you didn’t want to get off? Or when we were in the lift, or when we snuck into the cinema? Do you remember the staircase hours when everything came so naturally? Do you think of me too, like how I’m thinking about you now, the tears forming a puddle on the hard pillow? When have you cried for me? – I forgot to ask you that before we parted – and do I seem like a dream to you now, the way our days feel unreal to me, like I can’t believe they ever happened? Do you feel a pang when you see people kissing on TV or couples on the street? Do you feel lonely too?

HELP WITH UNIVERSITY CHOICES PLEASE

To anyone who happens to be reading this post: I really need information about Royal Holloway University of London, University of East Anglia and Lancaster University! Maybe University of Manchester. I'm looking to do English Lit with Creative Writing. And US universities that are good for those kind of courses? Desperately looking for universities that will suit me! I've applied for University of Warwick, Nottingham and Exeter so far in the UK, and Washington University in St. Louis in the US. I took the SAT once and scored 2170; really regret not doing it another time because my essay component killed my writing score. Maybe I'll take two subject tests in Jan, if it makes a difference to the unis I'm trying for.

HELP ME PLS

MRT Breakdown - lessons to be learnt:

1. How about an easier way to get people out? Like a non-electricity-operated way of opening the train doors. Like a lever system or something. Even if only for a few doors per train.

2. Or a safer way to break certain windows meant to be broken in case of an emergency if that's possible. Like buses have it! That thing that's supposed to be a hammer to break the window but is so small and harmless-looking.

3. Even when you think a message is kind-of-private, the public eye is always ready to devour and criticise, especially if you're a big company that represents the government and take the people's money (and raise fares). Especially if you represent the government.

4. My brother offered a much more reasonable explanation for that 'income opportunity' alert to taxi drivers. See, taxi drivers would avoid a place that's said to be crowded, because there's bound to be a traffic jam, so 'income opportunity' is a way to bring them over, or any phrase that focuses more on the money than on the potential congestion. After all, they're at work; they're looking for business, not inconvenience.

5. Making the top person step down might not even make any difference really aiyoh it's such a huge company, the top person isn't always at fault with every single detail. And the person responsible for whatever there is to be responsible for (that 'income opportunity' message, I guess) has probably already learnt his/her lesson well from this incident.

And how is stepping down taking responsibility!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! That's AVOIDING responsibility!!!!! The right thing to do would be to wipe away the tears and get down to work resolving all the problems and ensuring minimal chance of these happening again, not step down, so people should stop unnecessarily suggesting that top people 'step down'. In fact, not stepping down is harder, because it's facing up to the mistakes and the humiliation and criticism and taking it in your stride. Yes, they have a huge pay and yes there's a mistake that they need to account for, but that phrase gets annoying when it's used unnecessarily.

anesthesia and gold medicine

True friends are like surgeons. When you find yourself on the brink of death, when your entire being seems to have fallen apart and you don’t know if you’ll be able to get out of this mess alive, they come ready to receive your shattered soul. They know exactly what to do to piece your heart back together again, and slowly, they’ll help you find your way back to the life you once lived. With reassurances and promises and embraces, they’ll stem the flow of pain; they’ll stitch up your wounds and make you believe you’ll be better again.

'i just wanna stay here forever'

your words

your arms

your hands

your smile

your kiss

you

my hopes and plans with you after the a levels, the phrase i chanted again and again: 'everything's going to be amazing just hang on', my daily indulgence in the memories, our message log,

your words, i remember them all

'you're sweet as heaven'

mutual acceptance, thank you for tolerating my temper and waiting it out and bringing me through and holding back for me.

I don't wanna fall another moment into your gravity

Prom was fun, a celebration of friendships. Spending it with the 35ths made me realise how much I missed and will miss their company. Had a great time, even when I was crying in the room.

I'm tired and my eyes hurt too much to cry anymore but fresh rounds of pain never seem to stop coming. No girl should bring herself down this low, chaining herself to someone else and willing herself to be dragged on the floor, so one day I'll find the strength to believe I'm worth something more. Until then, I'll be waiting for you to prove me wrong.

Did you forget everything we ever had?

Did you forget what we were feeling inside?

Now I'm left to forget about us

Did you regret ever holding my hand?

Never again, please don't forget, don't forget

We had it all, we were just about to fall

Even more in love than we were before

I won't forget, I won't forget about us

But somewhere we went wrong

Our love is like a song

But you won't sing along

You've forgotten about us

(don't forget)

The weaning-off period

Suddenly I don't feel like going out to town to get my nails done anymore, don't feel like trying on my prom dress to see if I can do that rose knot, don't feel like getting my hair done, makeup, don't feel like going into that room, don't feel like walking in heels, don't want to try to put on that mask of cheerfulness, don't want to try to be pretty, don't feel like spending the night with y-

So I'll change out of that dress - that I put on to try to look pretty for you but it doesn't matter anymore - and sit in front of a laptop to type, and then retreat to my bedroom where I'll curl up into a ball. I've cried too much in the past few months, and therefore I forbid grief. No need to cry anymore, you said. It was my fault really, I shouldn't have asked when I already knew the answer. I knew what it was inevitably coming to - an end. Didn't expect it to come so soon, maybe, before anything had the room to blossom again, take away the pain of months of silence. It wouldn't be half as bad if we tried to seize each day left now.

During that time I just kept thinking, if all it was coming to was an end anyway, we might as well cut the line now.

Pain is to be cut short, not prolonged.

So I'll focus on those who bring me up, who can't stand to see me push myself down into a pit of pain. Who put a stopper to the tears and stay with me till I laugh again.

Repel darkness

Give thanks to the Lord for He is good; His love endures forever.

With all I am and with all He is, He takes me into his angel arms and there is love. Teach me what love is, dear God; your version of love, not the kind that drags me down into the pit of darkness, not anymore. Teach me what it is to live in Your light, love me with the love of Paul, of Mary, of any servant...of any sinner. I won't write about the dark. I'll write about You and Your embrace. Keep my tears for the things that break Your heart, not the useless things that break mine. Teach me to see beyond these days, months, years, into eternity, into the heavens. Take me into Your light and teach me to love without getting hurt. Let me be a lamp atop a hill; use me, fill me, fill my heart so much with light that it overflows. This darkness I plunge into is not of You. You can bring me to safe ground. I don't have to fall to feel, all I need is You and Your love of light. I don't need to fall.

I'm sick of the pain, sick of trying to convince myself, sick of trying to build this unstable wall. Oh God come. I know what it's like to be filled by You and disregard the world. Help me make my decisions because I seem to make all the wrong ones. Teach me how to expect nothing from this world but everything from You. Batter my heart...restore Your image in me.

Sick of wondering what's real anymore. Isn't it ironic that the only thing that's real is intangible?

Batter my heart, three-person'd God ; for you
As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend ;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy ;
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

(John Donne; Holy Sonnet 14)

-

when you lose something you can't replace

lights will guide you home

and i will try to fix you

Twelve hours from now, twelve years of education

will come to a conclusion.

Farewell, English Language & Linguistics. I'll miss studying Singlish (optional marking for plurality, optional tense marking, omission of articles and 'be', the passive 'kena', the perfective 'already', discourse particles at the end of sentences...) and Afro-American Vernacular English (invariant form of 'be', [d] voiced stop in place of initial [ð], non-standard subject-verb agreement) (oh the opacity of the language of linguistics with all its technical jargon) and my favourite, Inglan Is A Bitch. (CHECK OUT THE LYRICS. IT'S ENGLISH. REALLY.) Descriptivism desrciptivism. And watching a video about the study of swearing in British schools. And Ted & Ralph.

95% of New Zealanders are monolingual in English. China introduced compulsory English lessons for all students starting from third grade, but a few poorly-resourced, mostly rural schools were exempted. David Deterding has written extensively on the various linguistic features of Singlish. (poor guy.) BBC introduced an audio- and SMS-based English learning program called Janala in Bangladesh at just 4 US cents per lesson to help reduce inequality and help make up for the shortage of English teachers. South Korean parents fight to get their children places in English-speaking kindergarten centres even though they cost twice as much, and wealthy parents send their children overseas to learn English. (Seokhoon, Hyun and Park, HAHAHA)

Crap why am I online?

Speak

In love

I'm not the person I know myself to be. I am a lonely person with love's happiness in my head, who hopes, dreams - that's what keeps me alive. That longing and the pain becomes a part of me, such that when the dream comes true - warped still with other forms of pain, but love nonetheless - it doesn't feel real, just feels like another one of my dreams. That's why I always say it feels unreal.
So why should I feel sad when it goes away? It was just a dream afterall; we all have to wake up someday, remember who we really are. It doesn't feel like anything more than a fantasy, too; I tell myself a lot that I was so lucky it ever happened to begin with, and even that was too unreal, too dreamlike - so in line with my hopes that it couldn't be real, couldn't ever feel like the life I was entitled to live.

Yet, of course, maybe it was, since it was (and is, and will continue to be) so riddled with pain. Most relationships have honeymoon periods and they're "honeymoons" because they're sweet, amazing, worry-free...not laden with tears and doubts and "I really think you'll get tired of me someday"s and "my eyes are too red to go out"s and apologies. That's not a honeymoon, so I guess it's reality. So even when my hopes from the world of fantasy come into reality the pain is the price I have to pay.

Of all the things to misplace

DID I EVEN BRING HOME MY OUTSTANDING SERVICE AWARD?! WHERE'S MY OUTSTANDING SERVICE AWARD

When someone brings up an old blog post of mine I realise I NEED TO FIND A WAY TO DELETE THEM OR SOMETHING NOW. SUPER EMBARRASSING

Random: The Impact of Fairy-Tale Language

The stereotypes. Only beautiful princesses / damsels have brave handsome men who would die for them; a witch is an unattractive woman in black with a protruding chin, ugly nose and a huge pot of boiling stuff; damsels in distress are attractive; stepmothers are wicked.

Is that a label of primary potency? "the wicked stepmother"

Even now, everytime I see/hear the word "stepmother" I think it weird that they use a word associated with evil before I realise it never really had a real negative connotation attached to it, it's just what we were fed with in fairytales as a child, and things ingrained into you as a child with repetition and emotional attachment (who doesn't love fairytales?) can and do spill over into teenagehood and adult life as subconscious thoughts / associations.