Dammit where'm I going with my life.

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?

Damn the arts.