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I sat in front of the computer, waiting for your instant message to give me wishes for the new year. I waited for hours, till my still fingers on the keyboard bled and my seat sank a few inches into the tiled flooring but as always, my screen remained blank. It was appalling, how anticipation for a single greeting from you can make my insides churn knowing that I will feel all warm inside once I read it, no matter how long or short. Then I couldn't wait anymore and sent you an instant message greeting. You said thanks. Thanks.
Random woman #2 was shooting me a look as I paraded down aisle 8, which was labelled "Baking Needs-. A look that spelled "What's a punk dressed in PE attire like you doing on this aisle?" I wanted to spill the beans to her that I needed whipped cream for an errand, not like I'm going to bake a cake, which would of course turn out delicious in every sense of the word, and offer her a morsel anyway. Lucky I found them in the refrigerated section under "Dairy-, or I would've needed to pull one out from her ass.
Not everyone is beautiful. So stop attempting to croon James Blunt's single to every Tom, Dick and Jane you see on the block. My god, at the rate you're going, half the world would've received false compliments about their apparent beauty and had their self-esteem go up by 3 points quite haphazardly. The fashion in which you repeat the same line of lyrics is too, affirming the delusion in the ugly and the hopeless, please stop your deceit as soon as possible. Lest when the hard truth hits them in their face, they might collapse and die an instant death.
I don't think anyone I know can remember seeing me cry after I was 8. That's 8 years of being known as someone who has never shed a single drop of tear in front of friends and family. That's quite a strange persona to adopt as when I look into the mirror, I definitely don't identify myself with that. I cry on the bus trips home with the earphones jammed into my ears, I cry when walking alone on a deserted path, I cry after all backs are turned on me. I cry when everyone has left and quiet reigns.
He was the goofy person, always joking and smiling regardless of whether the situation is funny or not. I took it as a sign for his immaturity and insecurity with himself, but clearly I was wrong. His thoughts don't flow very regularly, causing him to appear a bit slow sometimes, and less articulate as one might have hoped. But his genuine sincerity and concern for everyone was obvious to us, others may have deemed him as the not-so-popular person, background worker, but I admire his passion and drive to serve without needing to put up any fronts. Thank you Philip.
She sounded a bit childish and lazy the first time I heard her voice over the phone. As soon as I met her, her energy was radiating as she tried to lure each one of us out of our unbreakable shells, a task that proved extremely difficult. Nevertheless she persevered, doing whatever needs to be done, be it hanging out with us even after official hours for dinner, pushing topics for us to talk about, always hoping that the bond between us will be one that is forged to remain permanent for the rest of our lives. Thank you Serene.
Standing on stage beaming at our entire cohort, I thought I had never seen such a permanent smile etched on a face in my life. I was right. Always smiling and in a cheerful disposition, he really made it an effort to be with us for as many moments as possible, though he had so many duties being in charge of the entire programme and all. It's quite cool really, having the programme head as one of your group leaders, but yeah, he was there cheering for us, laughing and guiding us all the way, always smiling. Thank you Charles.
60 colours of the rainbow, 60 kaleidoscopic drops of heaven making their descent from the holy grounds above to fall into the 60 ice-cream tubs sitting humbly in front of me. How am I supposed to choose from Chaste Chocolate, Reticent Rum and Raisin, Nipples of Venus (Chocolate Chip) and The Original Peppermint? I felt quite silly actually, like a child at the funfair staring at the thousands of skyscraping rides and wondering which ones should I conquer first. It certainly was imbecilic to have 60 teaspoons of different icecream flavours sitting in a cup, like a huge, chunky mess.
Today I just wanted to cower in a hole until all the passer-bys have cleared the road. Only then would I creep out stealthily and walk the journey home, the umbrella in my hand tilted slightly forward such that it hides my face from anybody who walks past me from the opposite direction. All I need to see now is that tiny stretch of road 2 meters in front of me and feel assured that it is dry, deserted and safe to walk on, and should any pairs of shoes appear, I wouldn't want to see anything above the ankles.
It has been raining for the past 4 days or so. For the past 4 days I have been trudging through puddles and mud, needing to dry my shoes and scrub my pants everyday. Somewhere, hundreds of kilometres away, the vendors at Chinatown are staring at the ominous clouds with much fear and worry for their livelihood. The coming festive season is all that they have, and all that depend on for their income for the entire year and if this goes on, they will be forced to continue selling Lunar New Year decorations and goodies into February or March.
You trip over some loose wire in the middle of the corridor in front of the mass crowd of students, and overhear some not-so-hushed jeers. In a controlled haste to regain your dignity and composure while picking up your books, random guy #4 steps out from the crowd and grabs your "Freakonomics 101"textbook with his left hand and hands it to you. Gasp, it's the formidable waterpolo captain! He speaks, "You won't happen to have any AA batteries would you?" "What? Oh yeah I do...for your mp3 player?" "Nah I got an I-pod. Thanks anyway man, these are hot.-
I finished my January batch of 100 words, or at least I think I did. When I couldn't find my name under the January batch, I knew something was wrong. So I checked my status and to my utter shock, I have not written January 12's (this) entry! Anyway I can't really remember what happened on Jan 12 now, it's been 20 days for crying out loud. It's scary how we can sometimes miss and forget things in the monotony of life, like how we remember birthdays and holidays and significant events, but forget the seemingly meaningless conversations in between.
Today's Friday the 13th. How the hell is that supposed to make my day more unlucky? Am I going to get up from the wrong side of my bed, meet ghosts, trip over my own feet, spill my lunch over someone else who I secretly have a crush on? Please. Superstition is so passe it hurts to even hear people talk about how we'll all do better to be more cautious on an inauspicious day such as this. It has a 1/7 chance to pop up every month. Sometimes I think people just give themselves excuses to do stupid things.
You know how toddlers hold food as they would a ping-pong ball, and smear the oil all over their lips as they chomp into it? My cousin had just taken a bite when the fishball dropped out of his hand and rolled its way from the middle of the hall to under the sofa, like the meatball in the Meatball Spaghetti song, leaving a distinct oil trail across the floor. Either it was so springy that it flew out of his hand or the greasy lubrication caused it to slip out, I don't know. But the sight was quite hilarious.
We were at Macdonald's stuffing ourselves with chunks of oil, carcinogenic food and sweetened fizzy drinks. A friend eating a strawberry sundae quipped, "You know how Bono got his inspiration for that song Bloody Sunday? He must've been eating a sundae at Macs when he accidentally dropped the cup on his shirt and yelled out, Ãƒâ€šÃ¢â‚¬ËœBloody sundae!!'" Halfway through our laughter, I saw a group of teenagers at the corner constructing a structure using french fries; it was almost one and a half feet high. They cursed when someone opened the door so hard, the wind knocked it over instantly.
This is going to be some mad week. Tutorials have started and coupled with the series of lectures, my time-table's already crammed tight with almost no breathing space. Suddenly we have so much to do, so many things to catch up on after 3 months of doing absolutely nothing. I suspect that even our flabby bodies will be whipped to shape after the long break, which I had actually taken the effort to keep trim and fit, thankfully. Academic periods start at 8, end at 5 on some days, and we'll finally be able to experience "brain dead"once again.
It's nice to finally have something to do again. The feeling of assignments to complete, deadlines to follow and responsibilities to maintain is bringing back that long-gone sensation of being overwhelmed by work. Through all the hustle and bustle, new friendships forge, old ones are rekindled, and the best ones still stand strong. In between classes we meet up and play a game or two of Bridge, sometimes grab a bite and talk about anything at all. It's great to see everyone slowly shedding that angsty adolescent crap and become more mature and serious about everything they do. It's nice.
A script can be so difficult to write. Where to begin, who to include, what themes to talk about. Especially when you don't have a specified guideline to follow - it's even harder then. Trapped in between the boundless writing and the flowery alliteration is a confused scriptwriter, stressed out yet jubilant by every line he creates. It's so much harder than prose; to write a dialogue between 3 people or more, showcasing their character, keeping the energy level high, avoiding corny humour and not lose the audience's focus takes much more than practice to master - it takes a genius.
In retrospect, I'm glad that I went for the test, because it made me stronger. It made me strong enough to realise that if you want something that bad, not even confirmation that you can never have it can make you lose faith. It's reassuring to know that you'll die doing something you love.
When we were children, we used to think that when we were grown-up, we would no longer be vulnerable. No more adults to interfere, no more insults to bear. But to grow up is to accept vulnerability. And to be alive and happy...is to be vulnerable.
Amazingly, I have made it past this week very smoothly. Late nights, boring lectures, stuck in tutorials at 3 o'clock in the hot and sweltering afternoons, I'm certainly thankful that the weekend is finally here. One more week to chinese new year, 3 full days of celebration, festive goodies, red packets and great time spent together as a family. I can't wait to visit my relative's house and stay there till the break of dawn playing cards, talking, interacting and having the time of our lives. All I want to do now is plop onto my bed and snooze away.
Script's going really good. In about 3 days time I would have a complete plot, well-established characters with witty and poignant lines and a hair-raising ending. It's really not easy writing a script for stage, much harder than prose and. You don't have the blessing of narration, the classic zoom in to the up-close of an actor's face to show what he's feeling through his much exaggerated facial expression. All must be done through lines and extremely telling body language, lest the message be lost in transition. This means creating fresh dialogues, situations and characters out of nothing at all.
I'm horrible at working in groups. I prefer working alone with minimal intervention from others. This does not however, make me an antisocial or unfriendly person - it's just that I would rather have a clear distinction between fun and work. There is also the issue of recognition, how do you distribute credit in group-work? I especially hate it when parasites just cling onto the group, not contributing, but getting the benefits in the end. It's even harder when everyone in the group works hard, and when only one name can be acknowledged, all are left confused and lost for words.
I decided today to not like him, in fact, I decided to loathe him. He is quite the arrogant arse, and I've never seen someone so ordinary attempt to excel at practically everything. When he clearly does not know much about the topic under discussion, a few comments must be thrown in in attempt to make him appear clever and well-read. Physically, he too insists that he knows a lot about fitness and sports and assumes that everyone wants a body like his. Please, with that pale skin and shoulders that are hardly there, you look like a sick walrus.
When I look into the mirror, I see huge eyes hidden behind half-framed spectacles, eyelashes lashing against half-framed spectacles, sharp nose, thin lips, tan, smooth complexion, high cheekbones and a set of perfectly straight teeth. What I don't see is the suburban filth and polluted thoughts stashed away and cramped in between the spaces of the broken soul of an angsty teenager. Behind the spectacles and cheerful expression hides the aftermath of a maturing process gone wrong - a confused, unmotivated adolescent, who has lost his reason for his journey. But no one sees that because he never bothered to scream.
The middle of the week's always the worst. Back home early, I forced myself to sit down, push everything else aside and dedicate my entire afternoon to finishing the script. It's 8.32pm, and after my 8th glass of cold milk, I have finally completed my first complete draft. All the missing scenes have been filled with lines, some of which were hastily done, some were original and never thought of before. But nevertheless it is complete. I dare not give it a read; somehow I fear the final product more than the process in which I took to complete it.
I'm really controlling the urge to just copy and paste certain chunks of the script here, it's so good! Poignant lines, hilarious dialogues and witty puns are scattered all over like little chocolate chips sprinkled on cookies. And we even had time to think up of new ideas and (more) lines and unique traits for the various characters! Wackiness to the 5th degree! In retrospect, I had loads of fun working with this script, with the many people that contributed their time and brain cells and black hair for this. I'm just hoping that ours will bring the house down.
He was there when I was playing Bridge again, commenting snidely and saying, "Told you so"for the 10th time in 30 seconds when I just couldn't take it anymore. I literally slammed the cards on my hand down and told him to take over if he's so smart. Such a social blunder was cleverly disguised as a joke with an audible laugh as I continued to play. He was still half-traumatised when he told me to keep my aces till last minute, and I could've shoved my 11 cards down his mouth and the 2 aces up his ass.
Frankly, if I were to choose my opponents to play Bridge with for one whole afternoon, you guys know who you are. If talking, raising eyebrows and openly flashing your cards are against the official rules in Bridge, I have two words for you silent self-acclaimed "Bridge Pros-. Screw off. This is our game and if we can enjoy 6 full hours playing it non-stop and not stopping a single second to pause from laughing, why must thou come forward to criticise our game-play like some chump? I mean who made you king of the world? If talk, all talk.
Today is the first day of the Lunar New Year. We went to my grandma's house to visit and offer season's greetings. As usual, there were about 6 million people cramped into the flat, but I can only point out 12 whom I've actually seen at least once in my entire 16 years of existence. What's with all the random people occupying our space in the living room sofa, giving you a limp handshake as you literally begged them to wish you happy new year, before the few of us succumbed to hiding in a tiny room, refusing to socialise?
I think gambling is an excellent social activity, especially among family members. We may meet every weekend for dinner at my grandma's place, but it's always the new year gambling sessions that my family looks forward to. Today you win, tomorrow you might lose. Luck always comes and goes, but what is constant throughout the few sessions is the adrenaline of winning that 50-cents by drawing a single card, the laughter and family ties that are undeniably strengthened and reinforced along the way. People ask me for the one thing I wouldn't give up for the world, it'll be that.
Last day of the month, last day of the long weekend holiday. Back to the hustle-bustle, the mad rushing through deadlines and the mindless sitting through lectures you've understood, lessons you'll never come to understand, and assignments you'll end up attempting more than 10 times but never getting it quite right in the end. Concepts misinterpreted, hours wasted, energy spent, soul disintegrated. It's like the most comforting thing is the six-fingered glove on your left hand, while your dominant hand is left bare, shriveling and wrinkled in the chilly night. Look at the stars, look how they shine for you.
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