I could show you a whole new world, you know, a whole new world, one you've never stepped into before. A world you've seen from the outside and wondered about - you probably don't want to step inside it just yet though.
But yes, it's a bad thing, it's a bad thing. It's one thingto have your own purity tainted; it's another thing to taint someone else. I know what happens when someone is initially pure and becomes tainted because of another. I've witnessed the aftermath with a certain friend. It's bad to spread your taint to someone else. It only grows; once you've been marked with that impurity it'll never go away; you'll never be able to get rid of it, and then you'll wish you were pure again. Or thirst for more, which is worse.
You've been on my mind so, so, so, too too much for the past few days. I don't know why. I think I just can't take it anymore. Usually, I can compress my thoughts about you into just an incessantly buzzing fuzzball in the corners of my mind, but lately this fuzzball has been expanding. Rapidly. Maybe it has to do with all the hair I've been losing (maybe it has to do with my increasing MSG intake - I hardly have home-cooked meals anymore because we're now maid-less).
And now you're all that's in my mind and my head is this crazy grey whirly mess. I just can't stop thinking about you. And imagining what might have been. My world is three-quarters imaginary. I live in an idealistic world in my head. Reality hits me when I see you. Or when I realise you really aren't here with me. Or when I see you flirting with some other girls (maybe you realise it, maybe you don't).
This should stop. Especially because I'm certain you don't feel a thing for me (anymore). I shouldn't be wasting my life away like that.
Since June. Wth.
I got 17/50 for my H1 Math 2009 Promos practice paper.
They say Shakespeare was an INFP. I don't know how they managed to arrive at that conclusion.
Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.
Oh dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers; I have not art to reckon my groans. But that I love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu.
People who have friendly, 'harmless' faces:
Willie Lim, Ng Ching Sheng. Even when they're stoning they usually look happy and friendly, and that's rare.
People you wouldn't be afraid to go up and talk to for the first time.
Not that people with 'harmless' faces don't have their down times - no matter what we look like we experience the same hellish emotions all the time. I'm just talking about appearances. I'm not even saying they're definitely harmless. They could be horrible people behind harmless faces ;)
I'd put their pictures up here if it wouldn't make me seem like a weird horrible stalker. Why don't most girls have the same kind of 'harmless' faces?
Because there's something slightly scary about a lot of girls even when you look at them. Something acidic. A second face you see a hint of, hiding behind the not-entirely-opaque mask; one of lethality.
Ooh I never knew lethality was a word. I was just guessing. HAHAHA.
I know! Elvira has a harmless face.
Does anyone get what I mean?! Sheena knows Ching Sheng has a 'harmless face'. She's the one who gave me the term.
I'm just talking about faces here. I'm not talking about personality and I'm not saying that all girls are evil.
'My life is a lake - my exterior is a sheet of ice, with all my troubles concealed underneath. I appear fine on the outside, but when you break through that sheet of ice, you see who I really am on the inside. It's quite screwed.
I don't only see the good in people. I tend to ignore the flaws, yes, but I can be very, very aware of them too. It's just that I make excuses for them - maybe it was influence from his mates in secondary school; perhaps she was spoilt by her parents since young; upbringing, yes, it is definitely a matter of upbringing. I believe that all of us are born pure and good. Yes, there is that 'mole of vicious nature' in every one that may develop into a negative trait later on, but nobody is born bad. External circumstances shape one's character and the way one responds to things. It is up to us to forgive, tolerate, accept and pray - or try and change with love. Will bitching ever help anything? Would you like to be bitched about for your flaws?
I have flaws. I also possess qualities that irritate some people - my obsession with perfection when it comes to certain things; my inability to ignore a tiny imperfection in a piece of work; my impatience; my thirst for idealism and the way I tend to think back about things and search for ways I could have improved on it, even after it's over; my suffocating passion for the environment. And some things I'd rather not change, and I'm hoping to be accepted for being who I am too.
thank you for every thing you've given me. Thank you for every word - you've never, never been discouraging - thank you for your ability to make me feel so much better every time I talk to you. I could confide in the whole world but only you make me feel that peace. In the chaos of confusion you bring me the relief I need so badly. There's something special about you I can't quite put my finger on - it's a sort of magical beauty. That sounds weird. I don't know how to describe it. Maybe you're what angels are like. Now this post is beginning to sound superficial because the words I'm using seem too nice, too anxious to flatter. But it isn't, what I'm saying about how I feel is as true as our friendship. You've always been there and I just.. I just don't know how to thank you. You give me advice, but you allow me to move freely - you don't restrict me - you give me the freedom to grow and explore and learn - you watch me bang my heads on walls because I want to, but you're always there for me when I fall. I don't know what made you fight for me two years ago but it changed my life. Without you being there for me each step of the way on that bloody tough journey - tears, gossip, friends turning their backs on me - I wouldn't have made it out alive.
And because of you, I had a chance to shine. To live. I realised what I was capable of. Truthfully speaking, if not for what you had given me all that time back, I definitely wouldn't have even thought of joining Council now. I wouldn't dare take up leadership positions - even stuff like being the OG and class reps. I would never have the courage; I'd never know what I was capable of doing.
Thank you, Guin, for opening me up. For freeing me. Up till Sec 3 I was lifeless (apart from SYF'07) and totally content with it. Thanks for... bringing me to life, opening my eyes up to a whole new world.
You've got a certain magic about you, have I said that before? I'm just so sorry I can never repay you for all you've done for me - you made me alive.
I love you.
Your biggest fan,
P.S. I just realised I haven't given you my autograph (:
There's this trip to Fukuoka, Japan, that a teacher is organising, and it's only $800 for 9 days. I really. REALLY. want to go. There'll be homestays, experiencing school life, visits to a college and a university and an amusement park and a recycling plant and stuff. I really want to go. The problem is that it clashes with my class trip to Taiwan by around one or two days. )))))))))))))):
"I always think it's better if the other person doesn't like you back, because if he does things could go out of hand very easily."
...Bimbo Cheng speaks sense.
I'm certain you don't feel a thing anymore, and I really do think it's a good thing now. I've come to accept it and appreciate that fact. If the heart doesn't soar it won't fall. If the heart doesn't soar it won't fall.
I just can't bring myself to trust you, with your silent charm and unintentional flirting, the way you make girls feel special without realising. And because I can't bring myself to trust you, I'm glad you don't like me (or you don't feel anything anymore) - things wouldn't be able to get out of hand anymore.
Perhaps there was once a little something in the air between us, perhaps once things got close to 'getting out of hand'. I still imagine the possibilities. Of what could've happened that night in the school, and maybe of what might have happened had I responded differently when you asked me if I still liked you.
Whatever, gross hormone-raging boys who can't wait to experience love. Puppy love. Thank goodness you don't feel anything anymore. I could hopelessly fall into your trap anytime. Thank goodness you don't feel anything anymore.
I live in Singapore and although it's a relatively clean place and all, I'm not fond of the scenery. The occasional jungle at the roadside at expressways are just about the most natural thing you can find while walking around here. It's all concrete and grass and palm trees planted by hand in neat rows. The city area can be nice to look at, but cities look the same all over the world, don't they? Shopping malls, HDB flats, glass-windowed condos... the buildings I really like are the shophouses near Clarke Quay and the British colonial-rule-period buildings, like Red Dot Traffic Museum and the white one next to it. And the Fullerton Hotel. But really. With regard to visual appeal, Singapore is hardly anything as compared to the rest of the world.
I remember walking along the sidewalks of a little town in Japan. There were pretty vegetable farms and the air had a sort of bluish-grey hue - like England, I'd imagine - and a really cute ice-cream-truck-ish tune played when the green man was on at the pedestrian crossings. Mountains in the background and little boutiques and tea houses and ice cream shops and the chilly grey air and complete peace, apart from the little tune - it was so beautiful.
Shucks, go away, all you despos who treat girls like... objects... like as if it doesn't matter which you get, as long as she's hot - you just want 'somebody to love'.
Then again, with you - only you - all I need is a whisper, or any form of affirmation... and I'm hopelessly, helplessly yours. Even if I knew the only reason you asked was because I happened to be the most plausible choice out of a... selection. Even if I knew you just wanted to know what it felt like. Even if I knew you'd probably have a change of heart three months later. Even if I knew that with you, I'd feel no security - I'd constantly be worried about the other girls you might happen to feel something for after a while, after the 'dating honeymoon phase' dies down. Because you're such a flirt.
Dating honeymoon phase - that's the term. The first few months - or weeks - where everything's sweet and glittery and fuzzy, where you're drunk, intoxicated with infatuation.
Doodling while chatting with Roobz, when I was supposed to be studying Econs. You know the little pen-in-hand icon whenever there's a space for you to draw graphs?
- So Close - Jon McLaughlin. You know the first song Amelia and Shuzhen used in the item they choreographed with Sebby and Wen Han, Heartburn, before Time for Miracles? The really beautiful, heart-melting song. This is it.
Woah woah woah, the temporary high hit me, and then I felt like squealing and screaming in the middle of the road, and then I realised there was much, much more to it than that.
I'm in the wilderness - trees and thick bushes and lots and lots of grass - and I suddenly see a pool of honey. And it calls out to me and I rush to the honey and drown in the gleaming golden sweetness. Drown in the sweetness - before I realise I'm going to drown. With the sweetness will come the huge, choking, excruciating pain of drowning, and then the sweetness will disappear and leave me suffering to death. But I only realise that danger too late. I run to the sweetness before I think about what it'll do to me - kill me painfully, slowly, and the sweetness will fade and give way to pain.
I unintentionally said the F word during the sex ed talk today. Sorry it just felt really weird to talk about post-sex erecting and looking at pictures of kena-STDed male genitals in a mixed school with guys howling away at the back.
Learning about the birth of English is fascinating.
(for my own reference, and you guys who might be interested)
The Anglo-Saxons were a pagan race and traces still remain in the names of four days of the week: Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. They commemorate the gods Tiw, Woden, Thor and Woden's wife, Frig.
1066 Normanic (French) rule - Most of the Anglo-Norman Kings were unable to communicate at all in English – though it is said some used it for swearing.
Does anyone remember Devon? I blogged about him in the beginning of the year. (Youtube: thiscityisdead)
i dont count pills i take them. you dont have to wait long before you hear the whispers, growing into words. people standing in door ways and secrets on your sholder. plans and directions. world domination. crawl out of this skin, like the spiders from his lips. oh you'll make so many new friends.. but none will be there by morning.
i've found passion in capturing; words, beauty, ideas, moments. my life is a mess of all of them, an absolute mess. they spill from my lips and fingertips. i keep the rest locked away in journals. i simply would rather live my life than sit at a desk and learn about it. i may not know every detail of the respiratory system but i still know how to breathe. and even breathing takes a close second to the circulatory system, my heart can pump blood, as well as compose love. i see my future through a lens.
i carry myself like a model. i speak like a poet. i see in film frames. but i'm fragile, like glass.
Audrey, I've forgotten his livejournal link, please please give it to me again when my exams end in November. Love love love.
I was at J8 today and I saw this lingerie shop called Blush!, and I remember walking past that shop at the airport when we were there together, after that church service with the korean pastor. We were walking and chatting and then you suddenly gave me this weird look, and then I noticed the mannequins in lingerie, and then you went "Okay. Look straight." and then you kept your head unnaturally straight and I was thinking, "I didn't even notice the shop." And then at the directory there was that shop's name, Blush!, and a little icon of a girl in lingerie, and you went "Blush... Karen, why're you blushing?"
The one thing I have a passion for is writing. What sucks is that I'm not even really good at it. And really, there's no inspiration anywhere. The last book I read was Kane and Abel in Sec 4, and that was something I had already read in Sec 2. I lead a very boring life. I live in a busy yet boring city where you don't get to feel enough. You don't do wild stuff in Singapore. Some kids try, but nah, Singapore's just not a place for teens to feel alive. You've only lived when you've died, really. Figuratively. And Singapore's a place where you really can't die.
So, having read far too little (or not having read a single book at all this year) and having no life in a safe, goody city where there's no real actual excitement and places to die - to feel, ....I am a lousy, uninspired writer. Oh and my vocab range is um tiny.
I'd like to know what it feels like to live in the countryside with a field of flowers and a lake with a boy. To run in tall grass, to scream and cry and wonder if anyone hears. To make love in a vast field and know there's nobody around for a thousand miles. To fall asleep on the sidewalk in a busy city with a bunch of friends and not give a care about what tomorrow's going to bring. To look into someone's eyes and know he means Forever. To break free. To kiss in the rain in the middle of the road. Most of all, I want to die. I want to die and cry and cry and cry and feel hopelessly alone and then lose myself in the next person who happens to come along. I mean, I guess that has happened before, but that was no fun at all. That was sometime near the Prelims in Sec 4. What an anti-climax. Where did I cry? At home, in school, in bed. I want to lose myself in a field. Or in a dark alley at night. Or whatever. I want to be a drama queen without anyone around so that I don't create a scene and have to bear with the stares.
No, no no. I'd like to experience all the stuff I make up in my head. Little drama scenes.
Then, see, then I'd live. You get inspired when you die. There's no room for dying here in Singapore - there are the exams to worry about. The A-grades and the values you're supposed to live up to. There's no life.
Of course, there are the awesome kids who still have the time to read. And then there are people who write fantastically, like my dear friend Tan Lixin, who creates awesome stuff in Math lessons.
When you read, you get to experience dying and everything you don't get in real life here in Singapore. You become someone else and you begin to feel. That's why it inspires you. First-hand experience is ideal, but you just can't get first-hand experience like that if you're a loser like me.
I still love writing and I hope this is as bad as my writing will ever get, because of the lack of inspiration.
Then again, love's an inspiration. We teenagers in our hormone-raging periods; immature teenage infatuation has got to be the easiest thing to write about. And sure yeah I guess that's a source of inspiration for me. It's funny to call it 'inspiration', because I don't write for the sake of trying to be cool. I blog because that's how I express myself.
Anyway, yes, you could have all the inspiration in the world but I guess it's this infatuation that adds the most life to a lot of pieces of writing. Everyone can relate to the emotional high, to the insane fuzzy faint feeling. To the magic. It's magic. And so, when I'm middle-aged (eww), what would I write about? Having kids? Nobody would want to hear a fortysomething talk about teenage love. That's just wrong.
I love to write and it's the only thing I'd like to do in the future. But I really don't write well. And what can I do with the love to write? Be a columnist? That alone isn't going to put food on the table, plus I don't think I write well enough. Be a sub-editor and sit in a desk all day editing other people's English? Yuck. Be a writer? Siao ah.
It's like putting all your hopes on dancing. Yeah, you could be a dancer, and then what're you going to do when you're forty?
(Wonder if anyone else thinks about you the way I do - ddddaaammmmnnn)
I thought it was just me. I don't know whether to feel happy about it or not, but I felt a new dent form in my heart every time someone said your name.
I hate your dammed ability to make girls feel special. It's just wrong. You're not even exactly very good-looking. It's like you've got us wrapped around your finger. You and your silent charm and the way you make girls feel like they're special to you, when they're not. I'm not.
But I'm thankful that I once was. I'm grateful for that. That I mattered once, that you used to send me random texts, that I once "stood out".
I'm not going to wait for Emme to upload her pictures. I think my blog's too wordy.
1st Sept: Emme's birthday gathering with the Exco! Raindrops Cafe at *Scape.
Today (or, um, yesterday) was Council's Senior-Junior Interaction woohoohoo.
The fashion show thing was epic. Ian and Mingtow were epic. They weren't even a gay couple anymore - they were a lesbian couple. Zongren gave them boobs. When the people with the good photos of them put them on Facebook I'll put them on my blog. It was fantastic.
While singing praise and worship songs with the cell group yesterday, God hit me with a realisation. You know how I've been moaning so long about my life and wishing a lot of things were different? Like, I wish I never had to quit Dance, that I'd get to participate in Bailamos again. And sometimes I wish a particular person would say something - I keep looking back at the days we spent in the theatre, that night we sneaked into the school. Council is taking its toll on me; so much to do, so little time, potential huge problems I see with what is supposed to be helping me.
And I realised how much God is helping me in this. Yes, Council's a huge responsibility and so are my studies; I've got to learn to manage both. And without Dance, I've got one less commitment. I used to be so unable to take the idea of leaving Dance without doing Bailamos a second time - I was only in a third of an item this time round, and it was a fantastic experience. I think performing both for the Judo finals and Teachers' Day gave me a good closure. Now I can put all my energy into Council and my studies. I once resented the idea of having to leave - now I've accepted it and I'm grateful for it.
And about the second thing - although I'm struggling with myself by saying this, I'm actually very, very grateful that nothing has happened. And nothing probably ever will, and I'll be grateful for that too. If anything starts, it could also end. And the ending is never good. If anything goes wrong, it'd be hell all over again. If the heart doesn't soar, it can't fall. So the only way to prevent that fall is to stop it from soaring. Oh, I see a lot of potential problems and the great likeliness of things turning out badly.
I'll just leave it all in my heart, and I'm thankful because I was once in your heart too. I'm grateful that you gave me the chance to live a dream. More than once.
People are greedy. We tend to want more and more. But when you stop and think about what you already have, you realise how lucky you've been, and how lucky you are to have had all that. I'm thankful for everything you've given me. It was great, being able to experience all that with you, and I should stop wanting more - any more and things will have the potential to turn out badly. And then it'd be horrible. It's probably good that things stop when they're going well - there'd be no chance for hurt now, because nothing has technically begun.
It's like a journey up a mountain. I'm halfway up. If I reach the peak, I could come tumbling down hard. I'd die. Staying at the halfway mark doesn't seem too appealing - I'm getting nowhere, and I don't get the satisfaction of being at the top. There's a lot of suspense - you'd anticipate reaching the peak. But it actually could be the best thing that the halfway mark lasts forever.
From the song in my previous post: 我寂寞寂寞就好 这时候谁都别来安慰 拥抱 就让我一个人去痛到受不了 伤到 快疯掉 死不了就还好
我寂寞寂寞就好 你真的不用来我回忆里 微笑
Just leave me alone to hurt until I can't bear with the pain anymore.
....it sounds so much better in Mandarin, really.
I really like this line: 你真的不用来我回忆里微笑.
The English language is just so limited when it comes to expressing stuff. And that's really bad for me, because writing is the one thing I have a passion for. I wish I were more proficient in Mandarin.
There's a certain something I frequently indulge in. I like to withdraw into my own thoughts and drown in bittersweet memories and thoughts of things that will never happen - let my mind wander and my heart wrench. It's painfully depressing most of the time, and I guess it isn't a good thing. I love to think about things that would make my heart soar with sweetness and crush in the agony of reality at the same time.
And I'm quite sure I'm not the only one who does it, although I'm probably the only one who can't help herself from daydreaming and thinking about things like these in the examination hall.
Anyway, I used to wonder why. I used to wonder why some songs talked about wanting to hurt and loving the feeling. I used to wonder why sometimes I purposely listen to songs that would make my imagination soar with love and my heart ache. It finally hit me today: it's precisely because it's bittersweet.
The sweeter these thoughts get, the more it hurts. You can't separate one from the other, and that's why by getting addicted to the sweetness, you're also hurting yourself internally. I could be thinking of being with a certain boy. In my mind, that would be sweet, but the sweeter the thought gets, the lonelier I feel; the sweeter my imaginary world is, the more the absence of it is felt in the reality that grabs at me.
I recall the first week of June - the days we spent in the theatre in particular - like it were yesterday, but if it weren't for you being a part of those memories, it would probably only be nothing more than a blur in my mind. I bet you don't remember all that I still do.
Western songs can try all they want, but when it comes to emotions, Chinese songs own all.
I was in the Council room with Wei Liang one night and Colin had set the radio tuner to 93.3, and I realised how different the mood was. When I stay back till late in the Council room and 98.7's playing, the atmosphere's usually relaxed and comfortable and I'm able to focus on my work. When the slow Chinese songs were playing, though, I realised I was spending more time daydreaming about bittersweet memories and being emo than actually doing anything.
Chinese songs just do that to you. It's the music. I mean, the lyrics definitely contribute a great deal too because the Mandarin language is incredibly emotive and expressive, but I usually don't understand what they're saying so it's the music for me.
I haven't listened to Chinese songs in a really long time. For a few months after last year's breakup, listening to Chinese songs would remind me of our time together and I'd just start crying. That's why I ended up drowning myself in emotionless dance tracks from artists like Lady Gaga's. It numbed the pain. And English songs, when compared to Chinese songs, are practically emotionless, really.
Listen to JJ Lin's Bu Liu Lei De Ji Chang. It made my non-JJ-fan friends cry once upon a time.
*proud mother's grin*
And this song doesn't sound particularly emo, but I love the lyrics and video.
.... I don't ever recall blogging so infrequently. I remember the five-posts-a-day times.
Today I performed as a dancer (albeit a noob one) for the last time, and went for my last Dance practice, but I'll leave that post for later... I'm in a rush right now. I just wanted to blog about a sight that sort of touched me in a funny way.
Below my block of flats, there's a field, a little fitness corner and a basketball court. There were no families flying kites at the field today, but there was the rather common sight (although I hardly see it because I always get home so late) of all sorts of people hanging out at the fitness corner. Kindergarten kids with their primary school siblings, grannies fussing over some baby in a pram, maids chatting, that sort of thing. At the basketball court, some tall Chinese dude's basketball had gotten stuck in between the hoop and the board, and he was throwing his shoe at it in an attempt to get it down. And then there were these two small Malay boys laughing and throwing their basketball at it to try and help him too.
Call me weird; I just think it was a really pretty sight. The fitness corner was actually full of people, and both halves of the basketball were used by different groups of people - that Chinese man and the Malay boys, and a small group of secondary school kids. I just thought it was really nice that random neighbours - both the very young and the old - were having fun below my block, and I don't know, these things bring a sort of warmth. This is why I'm pretty glad I'm living here.
During my Sec 1-3 days when I went to bed before eleven, I remember the sounds of basketballs and teenagers' laughter putting me to sleep. Now, at 2am, everything's silent and cold, and a reminder of how it would be if I lived in a condo or on landed property.
So, so what if I live in a HDB? I really like living here. It's just really nice to see fellow residents mixing around and having fun at the area below my block. Sure, I may not know my neighbours at all, but it's still nice seeing other people have fun.
I should learn to open up to my neighbours. I don't even know what they look like.