; thinking of you. <body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener("load", function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <iframe src="http://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID=20300603&amp;blogName=sorrowful+wastes&amp;publishMode=PUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT&amp;navbarType=BLACK&amp;layoutType=CLASSIC&amp;searchRoot=http%3A%2F%2Ffreezedriedromance.blogspot.com%2Fsearch&amp;blogLocale=en_US&amp;homepageUrl=http%3A%2F%2Ffreezedriedromance.blogspot.com%2F" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" scrolling="no" frameborder="0" height="30px" width="100%" id="navbar-iframe" allowtransparency="true" title="Blogger Navigation and Search"></iframe> <div></div><iframe src="http://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID=7504332729469389394&blogName=none&publishMode=PUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT&navbarType=BLUE&layoutType=CLASSIC&homepageUrl=http%3A%2F%2Fbubblewrap-my-heart.blogspot.com%2F&searchRoot=http%3A%2F%2Fbubblewrap-my-heart.blogspot.com%2Fsearch" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" scrolling="no" frameborder="0" height="30px" width="100%" id="navbar-iframe"></iframe> <div id="space-for-ie"></div><iframe src="http://www.blogger.com/navbar.g? targetBlogID=20300603&blogName=sorrowful+wastes&publishMode=PUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT&navbarType=BLACK&layoutType=CLAS SIC&homepageUrl=http%3A%2F%2Ffreezedriedromance.blogspot.com%2F&searchRoot=http%3A%2F%2Ffreezedriedromance.blogspot.com% 2Fsearch" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" scrolling="no" frameborder="0" height="30px" width="100%" id="navbar-iframe"></iframe> <div id="space-for-ie"></div><iframe src="http://www.blogger.com/navbar.g? targetBlogID=20300603&blogName=sorrowful+wastes&publishMode=PUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT&navbarType=BLACK&layoutType=CLAS SIC&homepageUrl=http%3A%2F%2Ffreezedriedromance.blogspot.com%2F&searchRoot=http%3A%2F%2Ffreezedriedromance.blogspot.com% 2Fsearch" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" scrolling="no" frameborder="0" height="30px" width="100%" id="navbar-iframe"></iframe> <div id="space-for-ie"></div> <iframe src="http://www.blogger.com/navbar.g? targetBlogID=7742751143460497608&blogName=random+rantings.&publishMode=PUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT&navbarType=BLUE&layoutType=CLASSIC&ho mepageUrl=http%3A%2F%2Fbubblewrapthesky.blogspot.com%2F&searchRoot=http%3A%2F%2Fbubblewrapthesky.blogspot.com%2Fsearch" height="30px" width="100%" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" scrolling="no" id="navbar-iframe" frameborder="0"></iframe> <div id="space-for-ie"></div> <iframe src="http://www.blogger.com/navbar.g? targetBlogID=20055349&blogName=loner&publishMode=PUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT&navbarType=BLACK&layoutType=CLASSIC&homepageUrl=http%3A% 2F%2Fwalking-this-lonely-road.blogspot.com%2F&searchRoot=http%3A%2F%2Fwalking-this-lonely-road.blogspot.com%2Fsearch" height="30px" width="100%" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" scrolling="no" id="navbar-iframe" frameborder="0"></iframe> <div id="space-for-ie"></div> <body>

Monday, December 17, 2007
9:48 AM

OHMYGOD. THE CHARACTERS OF EDWARD CULLEN AND BELLA HAVE FINALLY BEEN CAST!!!

And guess who is Edward.







Oh yes. Muahahahaha. None other than the delicious, delectable, scrumptious ROBERT PATTINSON!


I must say that I'm rather pleased with this casting choice. Usually casting directors screw everything up, either by getting terrible actors, or actors that don't look the part at all.





And Bella is Kristin Stewart.





Well, I guess she's okay. She might not have been the person I'd had in mind (I'm a staunch Danielle Panabaker fan!) but oh well. Can't have everything. I'm just relieved they cast Robert Pattinson.


Wednesday, November 14, 2007
5:36 PM

A day in my life includes :

Renee...

More of Renee....

Even more of Renee....

...The occasional clean-up...



And of course, the ever-precious guitar ...






A steaming but now empty cup of tea ...



A blushing red apple ...



Frequent day-dreaming ...


And, of course, Renee.


Friday, September 28, 2007
9:17 PM

Photos from dinner with Rachel Tan. I'm too busy to type an actual post, so I shall just slap on some photos and get out of here.













The emo pose!








Sunday, August 05, 2007
4:58 PM

When I first quoted the Beatles with “All you need is love”, it wasn’t a surprise that everyone just stared at me as if I were some ignorant kleptomaniac, mainly because:
a) I’ve never been kissed
b) I’m in an all girls’ school (ever since I was 7)
c) I’ve never been in a single relationship
d) I’m a virgin
And most importantly,
e) I’ve never actually been in love.

Yes. I know. You can stop laughing now.
But who said I was talking about romantic love? I meant love in general, be it platonic love, familial love or romantic love.

Love has got to be the one thing that can never be figured out. It seems strange that this cryptic thing is so prevalent in our lives, so ubiquitous. Sniff a little and you might smell it, love sizzling like static, hanging onto every particle, every droplet of moisture present in the air.

Love is connected to practically everything in this world: sad love songs, ballads, movies, books, even your own home, within your own heart. What I fail to comprehend is the fact that some - in fact, most - people refuse to acknowledge its existence.

Ask the person next to you, “Do you believe in love?” A shrug, a nonchalant wave of the hand is their cold response. What has love ever done to deserve such dismissal? What is it that has blinded these people to the beauty of love? Can they not see it in their Korean dramas, their pop songs, their chick lit books, their boyfriends?
Go to the cinema and you will not find a single movie that does not have an inkling of love inside. Look at Transformers. In between the robot duels, exploding buildings and speeding cars, the two main characters still have time to fall in love. Then look at the His Dark Materials Trilogy (Think Golden Compass, Subtle Knife and Northern Lights) by Philip Pullman. Lyra falls in love with Will in the end, but they have to separate because, heartbreakingly enough, they live in different dimensions. Hello, if a twelve year old blonde girl sitting atop a polar bear could fall in love with a boy living in another world, I’m sure you could too.

I’m talking about romantic love here, because, frankly, everything stems from romantic love. How do you think you were born? Because your parents made love. Your parents were once in love, are in love, and that’s how you got here, that’s how the whole family came along. And from there, comes familial love. Of course, if you weren’t born in the first place, you wouldn’t even have platonic love, or any friends for that matter.
I may not have much experience in the romance department, but hey: I’ve had my fair share of the belly flips, the pulling of heartstrings, the intakes of shallow breaths and vivid, fantastical dreams. I admit that I have never been in love, but I think that puppy love does count. And from what I’ve experienced of it, it’s not such a bad thing. In fact, being in love (albeit puppy love) must have been the best thing that has ever happened to me. I can’t remember the last time I had ever felt so happy, with him sitting across the table from me and all sorts of fantasies running through my head.

Of course, I’m back to being normal; mundanely out of love. But doesn’t everyone like the idea of their potential soul mate, somewhere out there, beneath the pale moonlight?
Many people laugh at the fact that love at first sight can exist. I have no doubts about being able to fall in love within a second, and I don’t see why others should. They say they are disillusioned by love, heartbroken after being dumped. I have had my fair share of tears and the doldrums (you know, when the guy you like likes someone else etc, and all you can do is just pray, hope, wish that he’d come to his sense and pick you), and I remember when I used to cry after listening to corny love songs, because practically every song reminded me of him. But this is only the downside of love. After all the happiness love brings into your life, don’t you think it would be accompanied by a little dose of sadness? This downside should not make you doubt the power of love, this downside is insignificant compared to the happiness and joy that love brings.

I cannot even begin to understand why people are grossed out by love. They shun their family members, embarrassed to be seen in public with the; some even say they hate their parents. You know, I could sympathize if your parents were child abusers, drunkards, wanted terrorists, rapists etcetera, but these teenagers have perfectly normal parents. Okay, so I don’t know some of them; but from what I read on public blogs - these children? Yeah, they throw a tantrum and blurt out colourful four-lettered expletives because their parents refuse to buy an ipod for them, misunderstand their teenage angst, yelled at them for smoking, slapped them for refusing to use a condom and yadda yadda yadda.

Are those things even a big deal? It happens to me all the time (except for the condom and smoking parts) and I don’t think you see me going berserk. I don’t think it’s fair to condemn our parents to burning in the fiery pits of hell just because they were trying to protect us, guide us into being good people out of their love for us. These kids just don’t see the love their parents have for them. God, don’t even try to throw that teenage angst excuse at me! I’ve heard it millions of times, how parents don’t understand that their teenaged children are going through the torturing and traumatic stages of adolescence, how instead of helping them, parents just scold and shout and slap.

If you’ve forgotten, your parents were once teenagers too. And do you think that they bitched about their own parents day and night? I don’t think so.
And where did all this angst come from anyway? Personally, I don’t think being a teenager is that hard. Most of us live comfortable lives; it’s not as if we’ve got to live in ditches and study by street lights. We don’t even have the peer pressure of the fearsome American high schools here in Singapore, of trying to be the coolest, the prettiest, and the bitchiest girl in school; so why have we become like this? Why are we using this excuse of teenage angst to cover up for our misdeeds? Why can’t anyone put aside all the anger, all the harsh words of our parents and see the love that emanates from their hearts; those hearts so full of good intentions, those hearts so misunderstood? If you ask me, I think that it’s parents who should get all angsty. They’ve got to worrying about their job, the bills, the money, the house and not to mention their pesky teenaged kids.

Not to sound corny, but the world would be a much, much better place if everyone just believed in love. Love is like oxygen, love lifts us up where we belong. Imagine a world full of love: no terrorists, no evil conquerors, no school bullies, no name-calling, and no quarrels with parents.
Love has got to be the best thing in the world, yet some people doubt its abilities. I know that sometimes it may seem as though your life is devoid of this blessed thing; but just look around you: the woman cuddling her baby girl, that couple blissfully strolling along the beach, that group of friends laughing and having a great time together. Look around you and you will see it with your shining eyes, you will taste it with your strawberry tongue, you will hear it with your eager ears.

And best of all, you will feel it in your beating heart; warm, fuzzy love as it spreads over like wonderfully sticky, golden honey over bread.

Finally, you will realize that with love, no door shall ever slam in your face; no tears shall ever fall from those eyes; no sorrow shall ever find you.

Only happiness, cosy and honey-like in its embrace, shall wrap its arms around you like a mother does to her child, never letting go.


Monday, June 04, 2007
10:31 PM

No.

As you strain your ears over a fuzzy radio, peel your drums through thick headsets; no, you will not find the answer there. You throw your ears away - you've had enough of silly love songs, you say.


Tell me.

Tell me - how do you save a life?


You may thrust those tangy bouyant rings into those rocky waves of the human mind; yes, you may even cup those clammy hands together in an attempt to pump a sliver of life into those icy eyes: one. two. three. collapse. pant. wheeze. gulp down some water. continue.


Oh, no.

It is love, my friend.


(you blink.)


How do you save a life?

Love.



Oh yes. This crazy little thing called love; that shakes all over like a jellyfish (as I quote Elvis) - it is essential, believe it or not, to our survival. To be without love would equal to being without soul; an empty, garish shell encasing our dank minds, so fed-up, so lonely, so unloved.

Hark, tell me of anything greater than this gift - this blessing bestowed upon a cursed mankind. As babies reach out to mothers, wives to husbands and friends to their friends; do you not see it? Can you not see the love; so intangible and sweet in the musty air, so thick and comforting with its sugary warmth.

Think not only of us humans: think about those inanimate beings so dearly loved - a ragged doll, a split guitar, a crate of dusty books, a wrinkled pair of booties - these things so precious, so safe within our spheres of unfathomable love.

What is life, if not about love? Some of us live to find a soul mate, others live for their loved ones. Some live for their precious dreams and a few more live for their love of money.

Love - see again how you cannot escape it. It lingers in the air like vestiges of smoke from the turkey grill; so pleasant and gratifying with its warm heart and soothing oitments to soothe battered souls.

Then think of love again - this gift so wonderfully deceiving that ensares our minds within isolated cages of blissful ignorance.

Heartbreak may seem so foolishly juvenile - laugh as you may, you start to wonder, if there could exist anything as cruel as love. As fast as it pulls at your heartstrings, it wrenches your soul away - cry not, Love says as she snarls time and again, for you will find someone better, someone who loves you even more.

We are all slaves of love, are we not? Be it as friends, sisters, brothers, wives, husbands - we serve Love and Love serves no one else but herself, this harsh entity that entraps us in her ensnaring tentacles. Call it meritocracy; she says that in her paradise, there is no victory without sacrifice.

So indeed, we pay for those whom we love. Could there be anything more heartbreaking? To suffer for love, to sacrifice the things most important to us for love. For every ounce of love (indeed, it is measured) you pay with a pound of flesh from your heart.

Love tortures us - if so, to only bring us the utmost of joys, to bless us with the most blissful moments of our little lives.

And for that, we can forgive her.




I bought a ticket for a runaway train
Like a madman laughing at the rain
Little out of touch; a little insane
Just easier than dealing with the pain.

- Soul Asylum


Friday, April 27, 2007
9:56 PM

Have you ever heard the sound of heartache? Smelt it? Tasted its bitterness with the tip of your strawberry tongue? Heard it, as it splintered into a thousand fragments of painted glass?

As you stare out a window, glance at your homework, rocked in a rocking chair. As you look up to a droning teacher, as you walk down the empty corridors of an empty school. As you put your head in your hands and cried.

Why, you ask the skies. Why me? You shout with ferocity, tears streaming down your ashen cheeks as you clench your fists.

Listen, and you may hear your heart break.
Perhaps you sink to your knees. You're not religious - on the contrary, you happen to be atheist - but you find yourself praying to unknown gods in celestial heavens. You don't care if they're actually listening; you just want to convince yourself that there may be a way to make things right. You want to know that someone will help you do it. You want someone to mend your broken heart. You want someone to bleed tears with you, to throb with pain with you. You turn.

There is no one.

But listen carefully
and you may hear her crying.
Somewhere, on the other side of the world - someone shares your pain.
Someone is crying for the same things that your heart is breaking for.
Someone actually knows how you feel like.

You shake your head disbelieving. You go home and you start crying, sobbing yet again. With tears of blood and pain, your eyes weep. And through that veil of stubbornness, you finally hear it.

Traces in the wind, as it blows through an open window.
You hear her weeping like you are.
You can see her bunched over beneath her duvet, trembling like you are.
And finally, you manage to see that you are not alone.

You never once were.


Thursday, April 19, 2007
4:18 PM

Finally.
It's over.
And here we are, Raffles Girls' Guitar Ensemble, GOLD WITH HONOURS awardees!
To say that I am proud to be a member of RGGE would be an understatement. We've never ever had a Gold with Honours before (I think), in 2003 it was a silver, in 2005 a gold. And in 2007 - a gold with honours! No one deserves this award better than our seniors and our beloved Mr Chua! Mr Chua, our wonderful and somewhat cheesy instructor! I feel like kissing his boots! I've never seen him as happy as he was today. For once, he was actually running, as he greeted us with shouts of 'Gold with honours!' I still remember the look he had on his face today, during our performance. A look of plain fear flashed across his face as he gestured frantically for Lisa to tune her bass guitar. Mr Chua had actually been scared - afraid for us, that we would not have enough time to complete our Mozart piece. Afraid that we might actually get something worse than we ever expected - a silver perhaps, when we knew we didn't deserve it.
Our seniors - well, I needn't say more. They have O Levels this year, yet they sacrificed their precious time to painstakingly polish up our then cringe-worthy La Cumparsita and Mozart. They were more than seniors to us - they were mentors; patient instructors who hovered over the trembling juniors, patiently teaching, mimicking fingers as they moved across the fretboard. They were our buoys in darkened seas, our guardians through the blackest nights as they murmured words of encouragement, as they cried and laughed along with us.
Above all, they were our friends.
This Gold with Honours award? Yeah, it wasn't for us. It wasn't for the fame nor the glory of beating other schools flat.
It was for them.
So thank you, seniors and Mr Chua (and ex-seniors, who placed high hopes on us). You guys have been the inspiration for all the juniors, I'm sure, to keep plucking that guitar with as much grace we can muster, as we wince with our sore and bleeding calloused hands. We've all worked hard for this, but no one deserves it more than they do.

For their love, patience and kindness, may we always remember them. This award is a dedication to them, for the years to come. When our ways part and swivel down different paths. When we say goodbye to them.
Forever.


Pictures! All taken on the way to the Singapore Conference Hall.


April and her horns! Hehehe. Our inner dragons were roaring and feeling horny again.


Liting, hiding from the camera. Anna seems dazed.


Singapore Conference Hall!


Jess and April!


Jess and April again!




A video of us in the bus on the way back to school. We were so depressed so we decided to sing La Cumparsita and Mozart!

If the music's too loud, click here: http://s7.photobucket.com/albums/y292/rachelsim/?action=view¤t=P1020690.flv



link:http://s7.photobucket.com/albums/y292/rachelsim/?action=view¤t=P1020692.flv


Friday, March 30, 2007
10:32 PM

Loneliness.
Is it not fear itself?
Whisper about your lifeless zombies, your invisible ghosts and your fiendish vampires, but deep within Man's heart, almost all of us fear the same thing.
Solitude. The four walls of your mind in a padded cell, where you listen to your own anguish, where you cry for your griefs, where you lament for your sufferings. Alone. Tired.

Yet - is it so bad, really? To be with one's quintessential self; undisturbed. It sometimes baffles me how certain people are deathly afraid of being alone. They cling on desperately to the last shred of company, frantic. To them, loneliness is when the world ends, when their lives crash into black oblivion, wasted across the skies. Bleak do their lives become, when not surrounded by their constant groups of chattering friends.

But everyone is alone. Every day, loneliness pervades our lives, whether we know it or not. So is it worthy of being feared to such extremes, when loneliness is just a part of our lives?

I embrace it. Solitude is my sanctuary, my haven. When your windows to the world are painted ebony black, when you close your eyes to smell the scent of grass, when you hear the calls of croaking frogs and chirping crickets, when you feel nothing and no one but the earth beneath your feet. You cry, but you don't know why. Does the isolation kill you, or heal you? Does deception pool at your feet, as society continues its cruel ways, telling you how to eat, how to think, how to bloody pass motion. Loneliness is a disease, they say with fervent nods but dimming eyes. Destroy it and you will be free.

You smile.
And you give in.


Wednesday, March 14, 2007
8:27 AM

You tell me about its marvels.
You say its the greatest thing to have blessed the lives of cruel Mankind, the most miraculous gift from the celestial gods.

It's friendship, you say.

And I am silent, instead of the revered murmurs of agreement you expect to hear.

Friendship?
Stories have been weaved, lyrics have been sung and lessons have been preached about this mysterious, strangely deceiving little thing.
Call me a fool - and, maybe I am - but I don't buy into it.

Why? Because in the world that I live in, we're all alone.
In this world of darkness and terror, we're all alone.
In this dimension, what are friends? Are they really as they seem, as they are preached about - our guardians, our confidantes who will stand by our side forever?

Does such a being even exist?

Someone so completely altruistic, so benevolent and so understanding? Could you ever, in your lifetime, meet a person who's even half of that?

As you sit by a window and weep to yourself, rocking back and forth as cold rain patters onto the glass, as your heart splinters into a thousand pieces - will she understand; can she understand? Will she be there for you, to hold you and rock you as you slip slowly into the comforting embrace of a deep slumber?

We are alone.
Because no one can understand us, no one can be us. No one can feel your empty loneliness as it creeps onto the walls of your mind, as overwhelms your senses, as you give in to it.
No one can feel your heartbreak and pain, as you whittle away your days in the grasps of sorrow.

No one feel these things, except ourselves.

And these people, they will not be there to save us. Should the day come when they have to make a choice between their family and you - well, it is almost certain that they will choose their family.

Who will save you then?

Your family. Your family, whose blood runs through your veins, whose flesh and bone you are born from.

Your family will save you.


Tuesday, March 06, 2007
12:49 PM

Tell me how love is supposed to feel.

Have you ever been in love? Out of love? Loved by another? Have you ever felt - that golden warmth gurgling inside, like flaxen bubbles surfacing and bursting through a sea of champagne. The feeling of voids of endless joy; the feeling of happiness as it trails its way down your back, pleasantly. You shiver, but you smile.

Tell me: Why do people shun this incredible feeling, why do peoply shut it out? Why do people forget its existence; while hatred paves its way throught their minds.
It's as if they've forgotten how to live. What is life, if not a chance to bask in the resplendence of love?

Sometimes, I die.
Darkness and death embalmed, I lie. The world fades, the lights dim. I am alone, but for that speck of life in the distance. Murmurs of the passing world filter through, but I ignore them. I resist them with strange fierceness, as the world's sudden insignificance echoes in my mind. For nothing matters more than me having my black silence.
But all this - only for a moment. Before I let myself wake up.

And I am brought to life, where I feel the grandeur of empowering love stronger than ever. It emanates from my loved ones, in waves and golden auras. I feel it in the grass beneath my feet, the love of Mother Nature who has so beautifully crafted our world.

I cry, for these things of which I live for, embracing them. I cry, silver tears of gratitude and joy, for the beauty of this magnificent gift that has blessed all Mankind.

Then I stand up to face the cruel world of coldness, with a smile on my face and love by my side.


Thursday, February 15, 2007
6:50 PM

To say that life sucks -
Well, that's an understatement.
You can tell me about this gift of life, this sacred blessing; you can preach to me about its beauty and its value.
But how can one not agree with the fact that life irrevocably, equivocably sucks?

As you cross the potholed streets of life with your heart on your sleeve and a smile on your face.
As you feel the world in your mind suddenly change. You feel it in the water, in the earth, as you smell it in the air. When darkness creeps into the forests of your mind, as whispers fill your head - murmurs of unspeakable fears.

Perhaps that's what life is, no? Conquests of our inner fears; learning to live with those fears tucked into the very corners of our mind.

What do I fear most?
Fear itself.

Life is riddled with strategically placed moments of pure fear; they could be little happenings of our daily routines like a failed test, a failed relationship, a failed job. A failed life.

But nevertheless, they are no less fatal. These fears that we grow up with will never leave us.

They say the only way to conquer fear is to face fear itself.

But can we, really? Is is that easy to accomplish? Because I'm sorry, but I've got no darned courage to speak of in the first place, so how can you possibly ask me to be brave with just a flick of your hand and a nonchalant remark from those hypocritic lips of yours?

Conquering fear is not about having the joy of spending your days unafraid. It's about learning how to live life, and, well, is there anyone who really knows how to?


Saturday, February 10, 2007
11:10 PM

So tell me.
As you open your raw lids while golden sunrays spill onto your plaster walls, as you blithely draw the bristles of the toothbrush across your teeth, daubed with smatterings of paste-white Colgate -
have you ever wondered what you were doing it for?
Wondering, why were you doing it? Why did you go to school, eat meals, play with friends, sleep with lovers, cry between four blank walls of death?

What are you living for?
Do you live for yourself - to enjoy, to revel, to relish?
Or do you wake up for someone else - for a lover, for a daughter, for the Lord?

Or, perhaps, you loiter in limbo, an in between of these two positions: enjoying living for your God, maybe? To love and be loved, and so to revel in basking glory of love?

I live not for the pleasures, not for the decadence, and not for the honour of life, but for the beauty of it -for the chance to live at all, and experience all the miracles it presents us with; from the births of babies to the beatific gifts of love.

I live for these things; to see the birth of my newborn, to feel the love of my husband, to hear the melodies of beatifully woven songs. To feel love. And despair - for nothing is complete, plausible or believable without sorrows.

I linger in no-man's land, torn between two sides, uncertain but sure of the things that I live for, for the people that I pull through each day for.

For is life not a pain unto itself? Is life not a blessing without curses?

Is life really everything that we've always dreamed of?


Wednesday, January 24, 2007
8:22 PM

I wonder - how do people write their blog posts.

Do they just sit in front of a blaring screen, eyes leaden with exhaustion as their trembling fingers jab at the keys as they complain and whine about how their life has been ruined. Or perhaps their hands fly across they keyboard as they squeal in delight over how awesome their day had been.
Some do not even bother - they just post the occasional entry about how the weather has been lately.
Fewer snap open their laptops after experiencing pure moments of epiphany, their brows furrowed into dark frowns as they bite their lip and type bit by bitty sentence.

There are so many ways as to how to post a blog entry and what to put in it - that it leads us to think: Why do we even bother in the first place?

Some do it for the sake of keeping a tagboard alive. Others don't even think about why they're doing it, they just pop out the first sentences that emerge from their brains.

So why do I do this? Perhaps you can call me one of the doubtful few, those who do not exactly know why they waste time posting on blogs and still continue doing so.

But I do not do it for the sake of having a blog, for the occasional epiphanies and revelations that dawn upon me.
And that's why I write, about things like these. Things people don't believe in even mentioning on their multi-coloured skins, splashed with a spectrum of garish neon paints. Things whose existence people often forget about, things that actually matter to those who looked.

So, tell me. Why do you write?


Thursday, January 11, 2007
6:59 PM

Sometimes -
we forget.

About the people whom we birthed from, about the stories that ran before ours. About the people who stroked our heads, and whispered words of love into our ears, about the people who wiped the ketchup from our mouths, the people who tucked us in at night.

What can I say about parents that hasn't been said before - they nag, they embarrass, they do lame things, they tell terribly corny jokes, they scold, they hit, they look after us.
Yet for all the love they show us, they receive hardly any in return, just some shy hugs, some reluctant pecks on the cheeks from daughters who flock off to their friends moments later, for a fancy shopping spree or to enjoy a chick flick onscreen.

Imagine - our fathers and our mothers, these people whose blood runs through our veins, men and women who dash their unworthy children with blessings of love, only to have their love turned away in cold rejection as they watch their offspring grow into adulthood, shedding the need for parents, starving for their own independence.

Parents, naggy and a tad too serious, who tells us the same old stories of their friends and families, who recycle the same bad jokes, who smile painfully as they watch their child turn their back on them and enter the world as an adult. Parents, who sacrificed everything for us ever since we were born, forgoing their dreams to look after us, forsaking some friendships and forgetting some birthdays, inadvertently losing friends along the way.
Yet they still bulldozed fearlessly on, protecting their children as best as they could, showering their children with as much love as they could muster, while they were still around.

What would life be like without them? Our humble angels in disguise, whom we take for granted and throw away like dirty rags once teenagehood claims our lives. The parents who cry behind closed doors for the children whom they love so much, the very people who rejected them - their children, who unconsciously hold their parents' hearts in their hands.

Do they really deserve it? Does anyone? A harsh word, a testy retort - in the end, it all boils down to nothing at all.

An empty world would ravage our lives, a cold darkness that would envelope our frail hearts, in the absence of the two greatest people on earth - our parents.

Our parents, who fret about us all day, with fingernails chewed down to the bone. It was our parents, who had taught us our first steps, our first alphabets, our first numbers. Our parents who scold and hit us, with a splintering heart behind a snarling, furious mask. Our parents, who cry with us, as they guide us through our growing pains, helping us through heartbreaks and miserable failures, while the rest of the world ignores you so blatantly.
Our parents, whose greatness will forever be unparalled, for the things they do for us, for the things they sacrifice for us, for the thoughts they have about us, for every minute of every day.

And for the amazing love they give us, as they lead us on through the potholed streets of life.


Sunday, January 07, 2007
11:30 AM

The digit counter slips as a four replaces the three.
And so it begins, yet another new year of teenagehood.


Saturday, December 16, 2006
5:22 PM

And so, each new day begins, with the rising of an old sun. You raise a hand to shield raw eyes from the blazing rays cast upon your walls, dappling it with spectrums of gold and auburn. Dragging yourself out of the warm bed, you shuffle to the toilet and splash tap water over your exhausted face, the cold droplets waking up the dead mind within.
And this is how the day starts for most, no? Performing one's daily ablutions, be it before or after sunrise, before consuming one's breakfast and then rushing off to school or to work.
This is how humans live, every day, three hundred and sixty five days a year, for one's entire life.
And do we get bored of it? Oh yes. Though once in a while, one meets the occasional tall, dark and handsome man, our lives cannot be said to be intriguing.
But perhaps, that is our main purpose in life.
To live.
It doesn't matter where. To live in the decrepit grottos, to live in a fancy mansion. To live in Alaska, and to live in the Sahara. To live as a lonely hermit, to live with ten siblings and your extended family.
Survival is but the only motive on Man's mind. The flashy cars and manors are but just acquired tastes; whims. When it all boils down to death, the average man can be pushed beyond limitations and imagination: and for what? For survival.
For survival, one will kill its own kind. For survival, one may even consume its own kind. For survival, one may be ready to plunge the entire world into suffering, just to keep oneself alive.
Have you ever drowned ants?
To find the insects scrabbling on the tabletop, each and every ant itching for the piece of butter cake lying on the plate. To stealthily cup your fingers and fill them with a pool of water. To drip water droplets and create a liquid barrier around the ants, before they reached the cake. To watched the ants running back and forth, cornered and trapped by this barrier. To then fill the empty space within the barrier with water, in an attempt to drown the ants.
I've done it before. Actually, I've done it loads of times. Seeing a trail of bright red ants lined up on the table simply irks me (and it's not that I'm a sadist, not at all).
But the most amazing thing, is to see these ants fight for their lives. I see their rod-thin legs paddling fitfully in the water, I see them wriggling their bodies in an effort to swim to land. I even see some of them climb on top of each other, in order to reach the edge of the so-called barrier. And I come back five minutes later, to have dead bodies floating in the little pool on the kitchentop counter.

And so, I can only say that survival is the only thing upon the most selfish of all beings: Mankind.
But no, romantists will moan. Selfcentredness is all but the only thing upon Man's mind.
There is love. And love will overcome all obstacles.
And being a romantic myself, it is obvious enough that I agree.
To have love, is a gift upon Mankind. To have love is a blessing, far beyond more than we ever deserved. To have love, is the only way humans can ever redeem themselves.

I've seen men eat other men for food, yes. But I've also seen men throw themselves in danger's path in order to protect their loved ones. I've seen people give up their lives for the love of their country, for their country's freedom. I've seen fools throw themselves off cliffs for losing the ones whom they love.

Love, is the only thing that can overcome this - this overbearing sense to survive.
And in truth, love is the only thing we'll ever need.


Tuesday, December 12, 2006
9:02 PM



And so, my days in New Zealand have finally ended.
No more long waits for an eagerly awaited vacation back there, no more pining and hankering for something that I can no longer have.

I wish I knew what to say.

Nothing can be said; except of the sorrow that plagued me, and left me bereft of any life I once had. Leaving New Zealand broke my heart; for I knew that once I left that Maori soil, I would never feel it beneath my feet ever again. Those last days in Auckland were spent in quiet melancholy, and dread for the day I would have to leave.

And now, in my cosy abode with my guitars by my side, the computer on my lap and my beloved toilet just metres down the hallway; silent tears still slip, for something that I will never have. For New Zealand, my favourite country, and for its lands of mountains and trees and lakes.

Already, things have changed. I used to love Singapore weather, for it gave me permission to lounge about in comfortable shorts, and because of the humidity; removed the burden of constant application of moisturiser. Now, though, the heat of Singapore seems stifling (and it's not even daytime; it's nine thirty, and the air's about twenty five degrees) compared to the chills of North Island. Temperatures in Auckland range from twelve to eighteen degrees, at its hottest. And coupled with the blasting winds, it feels like your face is about to be ripped off with all the cold. But other than that, the weather in North Island, New Zealand, is enjoyable and if not, more than a little uncomfortable when one forgets her jacket.

I don't know what people expect of me, now that I have returned. Change? Oh, yes, one does not visit New Zealand and come back completely unaltered. Now I carry with me the sadness that follows with my leaving of New Zealand, and the petrifying dread of a new year. I can only describe my phobia of 2007 as something close to crippling; the very thought of January the first makes me want to hurl myself out the window. Why? Because it means that the most horrifying thing in my life is fast approaching. School.

But no, except for my newfound terror (which has always been there, except it is now so much more pronounced) and emptiness, I am still quite the same.

Why? I can only say that I did not find what I was looking for there. North Island turned out to be a lot more different than I thought. It seems, that North Island has a more volcanic terrain as compared to South Island, which is so clearly mountainous. Which means North Island has all the geysers, volcanoes, hot springs and sulphur pools, while South Island gets all the snow-capped mountains, the rolling green hills and the lakes. North Island was utterly fascinating, yes, but it wasn't ... magical. Like South Island. There was no one place in the North where you could grab a cup of hot tea and settle down in a cold metal chair, surrounded by the Alps and a placid lake before you.

And so, I was glad to arrive in Taupo, where the scenery was something a little of that sort, but not close enough. But besides the fact that I failed to find even the littlest bit of my old self back there, North Island was amazing. We did a lot more things than last year, because we had four more people joining us. The shopping was done mostly in Auckland, and we got lost mostly in Auckland too. Auckland houses one quarter of the entire New Zealand population (one million out of four), and we spent loads of time driving up and down streets that were dotted with quaint little houses, utterly lost. Sightseeing was done in Rotorua, where we went on the Duck tours, driving alongside forests and boating into the Green and Blue lakes. It was in Rotorua that we had our first taste of the thermal wonderland that North Island was dubbed as. Our hotel was located right next to the Polynesian Spa, famous for its sulphur pools. Which meant that we were plagued with the smell of sulphur (which smelled of rotten eggs, by the way) whenever we opened our balcony door. We visited Wai-o-tapu, this famous thermal park where all the thermal activity was going on. It had mud pools, sulphur pools, mud terraces, geysers, hot springs; practically everything that had to do with the results of volcanic activity. We visited Hell's Gate in Rotorua, which was another thermal park like Wai-o-tapu, except that Wai-o-tapu was so much better. All Hell's Gate had was mud pools. We went for the mud spa there, too, and it stank like hell. The mud got between my nails and I couldn't wash them off for days.
On the way to Taupo from Rotorua, we went to the various lakes in the area, the Blue Lake, the Green Lake and Lake Tarawera. The lakes were huge, and really pretty, but nothing like Lake Wakatipu of Queenstown, South Island. We also visited the Buried Village on the way, which was pretty cool. It was completely buried by the ash when Mt Tarawera erupted, just like Pompeii.
Then it was on to Taupo, home to the largest lake in whole of New Zealand. Lake Taupo is said to be the size of Singapore (which is how the guidebooks all described it, haha) and surrounded by mountains (yay). But the thing was, only the lake was surrounded by mountains, the town wasn't, which sort of spoiled it. We went jet-boating and white water rafting while we were there. I do have pictures of us taking the Huka Jet to the Huka Falls (you know, one of those crazy boat rides where they take you for 360 degree spins - really fun) but I don't have photos of us rafting. (top: Us, having lunch after rafting)We had to wear this amazingly tight wet suit to go rafting anyway, so luckily we don't have any photos of me in it. Rafting was really fun, and the river was two thirds made up of rapids, so we had to paddle like mad, and it got rather tiring after a while. But it was really fun whenever we rammed into a rock or went down an especially strong rapid, because then the water would start crashing around us in huge waves that rocked the raft like mad. Then next was the Bay of Plenty. There wasn't much there, we basically just lazed about doing nothing. Then from Bay of Plenty it was back to Auckland, where last minute shopping was done and where I sort of went crazy with the souvenirs. I thought, since we weren't going back there again, might as well buy as many things Mom would allow me to buy. And so I bought lots of weird stuff, like memo holders, keychaings, a cup, a bone necklace, some Maori balls, Kiwi biscuits, chocolate covered marshmallows and a nail clipper. And it was there that we flew back to Singapore, much to my dismay.

I just realized that this post is extremely long. And I hope someone reads it and decides to go to New Zealand for a holiday next year. Yay. I'm adding photos as part of my Go-Holidaying-in-New-Zealand campaign/advertisement.

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Auckland.

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Renee and I in Albert Park, Auckland. That's a clock in the background.

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Renee giving a rather weird pose.

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The Auckland Harbour.

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The streets of Auckland. Lots of them were hilly, like the one above, Victoria Street.

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The four of us squashed into the backseat of our car. We actually had two cars, but we always drove around town looking for places to eat in our dad's car.

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The view from atop a hill in Auckland.


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Us, looking so windswept, courtesy of the famous winds of Auckland.

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Waitomo Caves, on the way to Rotorua, where we saw lots of glow worms.

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The view over the city of Rotorua (it's a lot bigger than this) and Lake Rotorua. We took a cable car up to this mini-mountain.

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Lady Knox Geyser at Wai-o-tapu Thermal Wonderland.

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A boiling mud pool at Waiotapu.

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Renee, eating McNuggets by the stinking sulphur pools.

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This mineral lake at Waiotapu is nicknamed the Artist's Palette, because of all its various colours and its shape. The water has been discoloured at various places due to large amounts of minerals like sulphur.

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The waterfall found during the trail throught the forest at the Buried Village site. It's really tall, and this is about the bottom half of it, because I couldn't fit it all into one picture.

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One of the few family pictures, taken at the Artist's Palette.

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A big group picture!

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This one's called Bridal Veil Falls, which sounds kind of creepy to me (out of goth films: a dead bride coming back for revenge). At Waiotapu.

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The four of us at a sulphur lake.

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Audrey and Sara at an amazingly bright green sulphur pool (I think). It's so so green, it's practically fluorescent.

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Lake Tarawera.

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Uncle Chia attempting to catch a seagull at Lake Tarawera.

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The Blue Lake. We took a ride in it on the Duck Tour.

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A mud volcano at Hell's Gate.

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Lake Taupo, the size of Singapore, from the balcony of our room.

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Sunset at Lake Taupo.

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The four of us at the jetty at Lake Taupo.

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Renee, looking extremely sad for some reason.

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Posing for a picture, about to go onto the Huka Jet.

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A 360 degree spin. That's me in the second row, next to my dad. April, Sara and Audrey are behind us.

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Daily life, back at the hotel room at Taupo. The four of us shared a room, and Renee (who was staying next door with my parents) occasionally crept over.

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The Huka Falls. Unlike other waterfalls, this one is extremely gradual, so it almost looks like a fast-flowing river (flowing at an amazing rate of what, 80km/hr? Or maybe a little slowing, I'm just guessing). If you fall in, you'll definitely die. The currents will suck you under, and the guide says that you'll probably stay underwater for 2-3 days.

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The drop at the Huka Falls. The water is amazingly blue, because it's so pure that it reflects the sky.

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The jetty at Lake Taupo.

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Renee doing a panther-like pose on the picnic benches outside Waitomo Caves.

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The rocky shores of the Bay of Plenty.

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Some more rocky shores.

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Renee, looking like a chip-munk.

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Sunset at the Bay of Plenty.

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Renee, looking dazed, on top of the bridge crossing a river.

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A creepy walkway by the beach that looks like something out of a goth movie.

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The view from our balcony at the Bay of Plenty.

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Renee and my parents on top of the hill at Rotorua.

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Renee, being incredibly vain (as usual), posing like she's a real life celebrity or something.

Phew. Yup, that's about it. We took 793 pictures all together (most of them taken by me of non-living things like sea, much to my dad's dismay).


Wednesday, November 29, 2006
4:28 PM

It's an hour and a half before I leave for the airport.
And already, I'm homesick as I sit in my chair and roll around the room, pushing the ground with cold feet, clutching the computer with sweaty hands. Not even at the airport, and I'm beginning to dread and anticipate it. Fear, for the homesickness that will claim me the moment the plane lifts into the air. Joy, for what I know will be a fantastically amazing holiday.
Fear, that I will miss this place and the three most important, non-living things in my life: the toilet, my computer and my guitar.
Above anything else, my guitar will be sorely missed. The feel of its six strings, the deep sound reverberating from it, the polished wood beneath my fingers. On it; songs of bands that I have strummed, and even, verses depicting stories of my own fabrications (albeit, lousy songs - I seemed to have been denied the gift of songwriting). And so, I have packed my pick along, to strum on my own imaginary guitar on lonely days.
And my Zen too; for the moments of laughter it can bring, for the movies, and for the music of my most beloved bands.

And so this house will remain for twelve days; vacant and alone.


Thursday, November 23, 2006
1:04 PM

And so it begins.
The inexorably painful wait.
Five days - till the lights of the tall buildings and shiny cars and heat of the heavy air melt around me, into the emptiness of the mountains and soft grass, and the chill of the weather.
This trip, this journey, long anticipated for months since last December. And yet, dreaded by those around me, who fear the change it might bring. Their dread is even stronger than that of mine, a despiser of change of all forms.
Perhaps some of them carry visions of a new me: some sort of alienated monster; standoffish, reclusive and devoid of humanity. I can only scoff at their concerns, for they think that it is New Zealand that will change me.
Yes, it will have sort of effect on me. But morphing from the old me, to the new one, was not brought on by New Zealand. It was not brought on by the people around me, for I have had people surrounding me my entire life.
It was me.
I decided to change.
So this, ah, transformation will be brought on by none other than myself. I shall change if I wish to, yet it is not as easy as it once used to be. Already, I find traces of this skin (that I wear with such ease) seeping into me.
Call it an identity crisis. Me, myself and I, on a journey to find a lost soul to sew onto the insides of this body/vessel.
Though I may come back on the eleventh unchanged, it will not matter. To find one's soul, is, perhaps, a search that will last a lifetime.


Tuesday, November 21, 2006
5:05 PM

A quiz that I stole from Jessica's blog, who stole it from Joelle. Muahaha.

1. What do you do when you're mad?

I don't do anything, really, except swear. In private, of course.


2. What's the worst thing you've done when you're mad?
Uh. The last time that I was really mad was a really long time ago. I think I shouted. Yeah, I shouted.


3. Ever made anyone cry when you were mad?

Ha. Like I could ever be so scary.


4. Ever physically hurt someone when you were mad?
Haha, no. But I'd trash things.


5. Do you curse when you're mad?

Is there a time when I never curse?


1. Last time you cried your heart out?

Oh. Hum. Pretty long ago. My tear ducts seem to have dried up recently.


2. Ever cried yourself to sleep?

Oh, yeah.


3. Ever cried on your friend's shoulder?
No. I hate crying in public.


4. Do you cry when you get an injury?
Hardly. Being rather accident prone, I've sort of gotten used to it.


5. Do certain songs make you cry?

Yeah.


1. What's the worst thing you've done to someone else?

Um. Hurt them, I guess. Not physically, of course.


2. How depressed can you get?

As low as anyone can possibly go. And I take a long time to resurface again.


1. How much/when do you smile?

Depends. I smile alot when I'm watching movies.


2. What can make you happy?

Home. Renee. My guitar. The abolishment of school. Free movies and books.


3. Do you wish you were happier?
Well, yes. But it pays to be normal, too. When I'm happy, my grades go all weird.


4. What about being with your friends? Does that make you happy?
It depends. I like being alone.


1. Have you ever loved someone so much, that you'd die for them?
well, yeah. My family.


2. Did you ever love a person, and tell him/her that you love him/her?
Um. Yes.


3. Have you ever loved someone so much, that it made you cry?
uh. how so?


1. Have you ever hated anyone that broke your heart?
ha, no. I haven't gotten my heart broken. Not yet.


2. Do you hate Bush?
Ha, no. He has done things that I don't agree with, but he's also done some good for America. And not being an American, it's not my place to decide if he's good for the country or not.


1. Do you have low self esteem?
I guess so.


2. Do you believe in yourself?
I guess so.


3. What do you say when people say they think you're good-looking/pretty?
I get all weirded out and screw up my face and go, Huh??!


4. Are you one of those idiots who think ugly dumb fat?
Unfortunately, yes.


5. Ever wanted to kill yourself because you thought you werent good enough?
Ha. No. Never.


Wednesday, November 15, 2006
10:08 AM

Yesterday, my mom asked me why I couldn't do something meaningful in my life.
Fine, she didn't ask me; she sort of snapped at me angrily.

I try, I really do try.
Yet, what is deemed as meaningful?
My idea of altruism has always been something along the lines of helping the poor; like the kids in Africa, orphans in Cambodia. Doing something for the good of Mankind was what I thought of as meaningful, something to make the sufferings of others easier.
And that has always been my dream. To find a cure for cancer - any type of cancer - and help thousands of people all over the world. To spare the victims the pain of such vicious cancers, and to spare their loved ones the grief of their passing. And I vowed to dedicate my whole life to researching it, because I knew that one lifetime was not enough to discover a cure. At least, in that way, when I finally die, someone else can pick up where I left off, till the cure is found.
Yet, for all the ambition my dream presents, I cannot even will myself to offer a helping hand to the immediate people around me; people I actually know. Why am I helping pure strangers, and in turn, neglecting those who are my friends, those who are my family?
I could call up a friend right now, and cheer her up, laugh with her all day long.
But I don't.
Or I could arrange an outing with friends who so desperately need to go out.
But I don't.

At the end of the day, maybe there is no clear distinction between what's meaningful, and what's plain silly. Maybe it's just about what's right, and what you can't be bothered to do.


Monday, November 06, 2006
9:39 PM

If you love something, let it go.
If it was meant to be, it will come back to you.

I've seen these lines everywhere; television commercials, Meg Cabot books, posters plastered on the doors of toilet cubicles. And I have never failed to believe in them.
For some unfathomable reason, I've an extreme affection for cliches. Nevermind that they're cheesy and completely overused, I love them all the same. Perhaps, it's because I believe in them, unlike many other people. If they're used so often, they've got to have at least an inkling of truth in them, no?
I'm a hopeless romantic. And no, I don't mean it that way, I mean it as in - I sort of live in a world of my own, where reality's just an illusion. And in this world, cliches are words of wisdom (sort of), words that I hold complete faith in.

And yet, when it boils down to actually experiencing it, everything just goes all wrong. Where's the sense of fulfillment, the joy of having done a good deed?

To love something so much, and yet to have to let it go - it feels like hell.

Sometimes, it's wrong to let go of things so easily. Okay, fine, all the time. No one should give up just like that. But honestly. Would you let it go, if in the process of persevering, someone so important to you keeps getting hurt, over and over again?

And at the end of it all, you end up alone as ever, back to the very beginning from which your pathetic soul first started out from.

I never thought that cliches could get so twisted.


Saturday, November 04, 2006
10:22 PM

Everyone's doing this.
Posting about one oh four, feeling the nostalgia.

SCGS was never like this, no? We changed class every year, and after a while, it sort of just numbed our senses. Made us immune to the system, mechanical beings that swapped classes unfeelingly, unsmilingly, dry and devoid of tears.

Yet, it's different here. One oh four exudes so much love, it's hard to stay as cool and collected as before. For eleven months, we threw things at each other, pinched people's cheeks, yelled all over the place, screamed the house down, tripped over our own shoes, cried in frustration, sobbed in joy, laughed in hysterics, teased each other, swooned over hot guys. Friendships were forged and broken, only to be remade again, at the very end. Peculiar things weaved bonds between the most unlikely people. Secrets were kept and spilled; smiles were shared and passed on. And we did all these things together, as one class, one family.

And can we truly say that our class is uninteresting? We've got the most eccentric people - funky, wacky and a little crazy they may be, but we love them all the more. A myriad of flavours we formed as people from all walks of life, we united under the waving banner of the one oh four flag; we went through purgatory and came out unharmed and untouched, but still very much together.

This strange, wacky, loving, funny class of ours - is it a wonder that it breaks my heart to let go of it?

Inevitable as the separation is, we've no choice but to just it go. Like a dove between desperate, tremulous fingers, free it and pass on the love that we've learned, to the people who need it more than we do.

I'm moving on, but I'm taking all my memories with me.

- A last dedication to our lovely class.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CI0TNbxGaFA


Wednesday, November 01, 2006
9:19 PM

Doing this quiz at the request of Alfredo. I somewhat doubt that I will have as fascinating results though.
1. Put your music player on shuffle.
2. Press forward for each question.
3. Use the song title as the answer to the question even if it doesnt make sense.
4. Tag 5 ppl at their tagboard to ask them to do this!
5. Bold the questions and with the answers, give your own comments on how it relates to the questions.

How are you feeling today? Five Colours In Her Hair (what's that supposed mean?!)
How do your friends see you? My Valentine (hoho - I'm flattered)
Will you get married? Love Makes the World Go Round (wahaha - i suppose that's a yes, right?)
What's your best friend's theme song? The Ghost of You (er, okay. that's ... enlightening.)
What was your primary school like? Love Me Tender (scoff. far from it.)
How can you get ahead in life? Miss Independent (whoa, honestly! that about sums it all up.)
What is the best thing about your friends? I'll Stand By You (hoho! how appropriate!)
What song best describes you? Who's David (ah ... I see that my future love life will be .. interesting.)
What song will they play at your funeral? Save Me (hahaha! that's hilarious.)
How does the world see you? Mirror Mirror (hmm. mirror, eh? like, what? I give false impressions, instead of what one truly is inside?)
Will you have a happy life? Say A Little Prayer For You (um. that's very reassuring.)
What do your friends really think of you? Jailhouse Rock (haha! haha!)
Do people secretly lust after you? Dream A Little Dream (ohoho. now what's that supposed to mean, eh? huff.)
How can I make myself happy? All You Need Is Love (damn right about that.)
What should you do with your life? Perhaps Love (finally! I finally got it, muahaha.)
Will you ever have children? Loner in Love (huh. um. I guess that sums it up, doesn't it?)

What an enlightening quiz! The misty veil upon my enigmatic future has been lifted!

It's pretty lame, but it's fun.


Wednesday, October 18, 2006
1:32 PM

and perhaps it's normal.
feeling lonely.
it is, i guess. no?
but yet, why do I revel in this - this world where nothing can reach you? this place, feared but fascinating, where the rest of the world means nothing, where it's just you, the air and the trees and no one else.

songs, ballads. all were made about this faraway place, belting of the emptiness, the heartbreak and the blackness.

it is in this world where i sleep in.
in this world where i lie, face streaked with tears of a thousand long forgotten sorrows, wishing, praying (maybe) for the light to break upon the water.
but it never does.
and i sigh with relief, sinking back into the comfort of this darkness.

it's this - this weird syndrome that i suffer from. the happy-but-sad oxymoronic sydrome, where I cry with joy to embrace this world called loneliness. in this world where i'm glad that i'm alone, with no warmth of a human's touch and no sound of joyous laughter, just cut off from everything else. this place where no one can reach me, where i'm vulnerable, weak and cold - but alone.

honestly. who has heard of such a thing - a person feeling happy that she's lonely?

i try to suppress this quiet joy within my empty shell, fearing that a few screws have come off loose. but yet, i cannot deny the limitless joy and hope i feel when i'm in New Zealand - out in the boondocks, cut off from the rest of the world, where it's just me, the mountains and the grass beneath my feet.

this, is what loneliness offers me, with a sly smile caught behind her raven veil of hair.
liberation.
in the weirdest sense.


Saturday, September 30, 2006
9:37 AM

When I was nine years old, I discovered the joy of writing. I discovered that I could recreate fantasies in storybooks that I had loved so much. I discovered that it was .. a thrill ride, manipulating the characters, weaving imaginary tales, all with a flick of my wrist (sort of).
And soon, writing became my passion. My life. It encompassed my being, till all I could think of, was setting that pen on that paper, and letting my imagination run wild. I was proud to call myself a writer.
I was ten years old.
And I was foolish. To think of myself as blessed with the incredible gift of writing! Ha. Now I can only reminisce in anger, at my bogus ten year old self.
To be honest, anyone who writes is a writer. I don't care whether you've got stellar works, or your writing's a piece of crap. Just as long as you want to write, that's good enough for me.
So it became a trend. Out popped new writers in the class of Primary Four Generosity. It didn't matter what they wrote about. It was suddenly this new fad. But I knew it would never last.
It didn't. At the end of the year, I was the only one left.

And so, I kidded to myself, that I secretly did possess this amazing gift. It was a fool's hope, perhaps, because all the teachers hated my writing.

But three years later, fast forward to where I am now, and I realise that I possess no such gift. My writing is important to me, yes, but it is not the writing of an artist. My creativity is curbed by my own logic, and so, my imagination is limited. It's because of this limitation that I cry, out of anger, out of sorrow, out of pain; it's the only thing that stands in my way. And it's because of this limitation, that I cannot paint windswept tales of adventure and romance or bone chilling thrillers or enigmatic mysteries. Again and again, it is always the same sobstory, just altered to twist in a different direction.

Yet, I continue writing. This fake, unimaginative, unoriginal person that I am, I cannot write. But I still do.

I can dream, and that's why.


Thursday, September 07, 2006
9:02 PM

Sometimes, perhaps, when hope hangs but on a thread, and happiness seems out of reach, one simply lets herself fall - into the land of shadow and despair.
And finally, one is too far gone. One finds herself in a world where joy is of little importance - unfathomable, unreachable. Such a world may exist, for some, for many, a world where there is no door for hope. It is a world but for the weakest creatures; cowards, fools, weaklings. A world where one has simply given up hope, living for the sake of living, nothing else.
In this world, one even begins to wish that something called magic actually existed. A word, a thing that can sweep you off your feet, and take you away from this world of suffering, torment and grief. A world of unfinished hopes, crushed dreams and useless wishes for some things better.
And perhaps, this is the world I live in.
A world, where my heart cuts itself off from everything else, till all that's left, is black.


Thursday, August 31, 2006
6:32 PM

Perhaps, when I draw my last breath, it will be alone, as I lie in a hospital bed, swathed in sheets as the tv glares in the dark, muted.
Perhaps, I will die with fright and despair embedded in me, as the car in which I sit, plummets into a tree; and the windscreen smashes, and I am lost forever.
Or, perhaps, I will die, without even knowing I have left. I could close my eyes to go to sleep, and never wake up again.

And all these, I thought of, as I shot up from the bed, shattering coughs, laboured breaths, as spasms of pain raked across my chest.

I cannot say that I do not fear Death. I'm a wuss, and I get frightened by lots of things, and above all things, Death. I'm afraid I will never watch Renee grow up, never graduate from university, never see my parents blossom as peaceful old age starts to catch up on them.

I'm afraid my life may be snatched away from my very fingers, before I can find my place in the world.

No words can describe the overwhelming fear I felt that night. Frightened thoughts, that I would close my eyes and never wake up; not even realising I was dead. Thoughts of how they would find my corpse the next day, how life would go on without me, how people would forget they ever had a sister, a friend, a daughter.

With this fear grasping my mind, I cried myself to the dark abyss of dreamland.

I woke up the next day, with amber sunlight streaming through windows, cool, morning air caressing clammy fingers.

And I got up, brushed my teeth and went to eat my breakfast.


Thursday, August 24, 2006
9:40 PM

Look at the stars,
Look how they shine for you.
And everything that you do,
they were all
Yellow.

I came along
I wrote a song for you
And all the things that you do
And it was called
Yellow.


- Coldplay

'Our Song', as Lynnie proclaimed it. And I remember, that last day, when we wandered around with my mp3, one earphone in her ear, the other in mine. I remember that day, as we hugged each other over tangles of wires, faithfully listening to Yellow. And I remember, as Yellow thumped softly in our ears, when the tears came.

What is a hug to you? What does it feel like? Perhaps, you may be one of those who give and receive them so often, it's like drinking water.
I was never one to receive hugs, much less give them. It may be my dislike for having such close contact with other people besides my family. Or perhaps, it's more like I never once thought of giving them.

What can a hug mean? What is a hug supposed to mean?
A source of comfort, perhaps, from a friend to another. I never thought much of hugs. I once scoffed at them, thinking of them as a juvenile way of expressing care and concern. But maybe it was because I was afraid to give them.

Have I ever asked for a hug? No. I don't think so. Why? I don't know.

But last year, something made me realise that hugs meant so much more than they actually seemed. It made me think of hugs as something that was actually good, not grossly juvenile. And maybe it was this that finally made me realise that if I left SCGS, I was going to be missing out on a lot more than I'd thought. Missing out on friends I'd known for years, friends whom I took for granted, friends who were like family.


It took me six years to realise that.

But all the forms were filled out, and the results announced. And all I could do was just hug, hug and cry.


Never in my life, did those hugs feel so important.

So I'm writing this as a tribute. A tribute to the memory of my friends, to the memory of a life I once lived. A tribute to the regret and sorrow, and to the realisation that maybe friendship isn't that overrated after all.

And it was all yellow.


Saturday, August 12, 2006
11:36 PM

Love lifts us up where we belong.
Perhaps some may recognise it, from a famous song. Who sang it, I don't know. What's the title, I have no idea.
One third of all the songs in the world are love songs. Or maybe even two thirds. Heck, even All American Rejects sing about love. What is love, if it is not all around us?
And what's this ridiculous obsession with love? Perhaps, I am infatuated about the idea of love itself, not about experiencing it. I've never been in love. Then why do I believe in it so strongly? Why do I long for it with every fibre of my being?
Why are we humans? If humans do not love, then what is the point of living?

Love is everything and anything around us. You were born out of your parents' love. The parquet floor on which you rest on was born out of the love of a tree. The house in which you sleep in was born out of a contractor's love for money.
Love may be an evil. It may be lonely, desperate, dangerous, destructive. But isn't it all worth it? Isn't any type of love worth fighting for, with all your heart? Albeit, the love may be out of deceit, for the gain of cold, hard cash. But it is still love, nonetheless.

A post, again, about love. About the greatness of love. Repetitive.
Yet, why?
Because, once upon a time, I watched a movie called Moulin Rouge. Half a decade ago, I watched it. I discovered a thirst, a thirst for love.
And finally, I found the movie back in my arms just days ago. And as I watched it, again and again, something in me reawakened. And as I wept my heart out over this tragic love story, that thirst - it was finally quenched.

The art of films. How can I deny the power of films? Moulin Rouge was haunting, vivid, intense and so very bohemian. And I cried my heart out for it, because I believed in their love so strongly, I believed that it would truly last forever.
And it did.

And maybe, that was what I was looking for. That something so great actually existed (albeit in films) and perhaps, one day, I would finally reach it, in the realms of the unbelievable.


Saturday, August 05, 2006
3:11 PM

stolen from joy's friend's friend's blog.

Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 18 and find line four:
"Who's handsome Ton?" I asked.

Stretch your left arm out as far as you can. What can you reach?:
The window.

What was that last thing you watched on TV?:
Desperate housewives.

Without looking, guess what time it is:
3.18pm.

Now look at the clock. What is the actual time?:
3.14pm! close enough.

With the exception of the computer, what can you hear?:
Pussycat Dolls' buttons. Urgh. My sister.

When did you last step outside?:
six hours ago. i came back from grocery shopping.

What were you doing at home?:
well, I'm at home now. Trying to study chemistry, but instead going around looking at blogs. Until I came across this.

Before you started this survey, what did you look at?:
Lynnie's blog.

What are you wearing?:
a shirt and shorts.

Did you dream last night?:
hmm. yeah. it had something to do with munich.

When did you last laugh?:
when renee slyly poked sara continuously.

What is/are on the walls of the room you are in?:
air conditioner remote, some posters of mcfly and others, light switches. windows. little insects.

Seen anything weird lately?:
tien li acting.

What do you think of this quiz?:
getting tired of it.

Last film you saw?:
Pirates of the Carribean: Dead Man's Chest.

If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy?:
A thousand books and a huge library!

Tell me something about you that I don't know:
i'm in a craze for moulin rouge.

If you could change one thing about the world, regardless of guilt or politics, what would you change?:
poverty in third world countries. rampant diseases being spread among them, easily curable in Singapore. it's terrible.

Do you like to dance?:
uh. definitely not hip hop.

George W. Bush?:
not too sure. sometimes I just can't stand the guy, but at other times, I get impressed. or maybe it's because I'm easily impressed.

If your first child were to be a girl, what would you call her?:
uhh. natalie? natasha? lynnette?

If your first child were to be a boy, what would you call him?:
mmm. david? james?

Have you ever considered living abroad?:
oh, never. ever. i can't stay away from home for more than a month.

What do you want God to say to you when you reach the pearly gates?:
we have a FANTASTIC library here, with all the books in the world!
and since I'll be dead already, I'll actually have time to finish reading every single one of them.

4 people who must do this in their blog?:
ha. anyone who reads this. it's aimless, yet a little fun.


Saturday, July 29, 2006
11:34 PM

Nostalgia.
Perhaps, a simple word with complicated feelings. Or so it may seem.
Nostalgia.
Longing for happy used-to-bes.

What, exactly am I longing for?
Memories of past friendships, happiness of naivete, maybe.
Yet, am I not these things now? Am I deprived of friends, family, happiness and love?

These things, things that are swallowed up by a void of emptiness that seemingly can't be filled.
An emptiness that may never be filled.
By anything else, except, perhaps, by Someone.

I try, but I can't seem to let go of this nostalgia that has taken hold. To let go of these memories.
To let go of him.

Or, maybe it's just because I don't want to.


Friday, July 21, 2006
11:06 PM

What was I twelve months ago? Who was I? Where was I?
Twelve months ago, I was Rachel Sim, of Singapore Chinese Girls' School, 6sy, green team. Twelve months ago, I was cramming for the Primary School Leaving Examinations, desperately clutching mandarin textbooks in a futile attempt to learn chinese. I was sad, depressed. I was the bookworm, I was the nerd. I was the O Knowledgeable One, according to Sarah Tan, an honourable title that I failed miserably to live up to. I was the one sneaking books underneath the desk during Maths class, the one perusing magazines for Star Wars photos, the one who lugged thick books to recess and sat reading and stuffing away at the same time. I could speak, an average about ten words a day, on good days. And by good days, I mean days when I held in my hands, a wonderful, wonderful book. I shuffled down corridors, stained my skirt crimson-red, and sat with books piled high beneath my desk.

And then there was New Zealand. An experience that changed the Rachel Sim of 2005, the immature, childishly stupid imbecile, who thought too much of herself and too little of others.

But I didn't just lose my immaturity. I lost everything that was me.


So who am I now?
Now, I am known plainly as the girl who loves English. I am the girl whom people see as cute, not at all introverted, the guitarist, the one who manages to surprise everyone during Speech and Drama, for some unfathomable reason.
Why have I become so? Why do people now call me friendly, nice, vibrant, adorable? What has made me become such a person, someone who cries along during soppy taiwanese dramas, someone who cooes over cute chinese guys, someone who does such retarded, twisted and completely unexpected things (especially during drama)?

Perhaps, I will return one day. The real me, the someone who's sole reason for living is books.
Because I want her back. I don't want to be in this strange, foreign body any longer. I wish I could just wish away all these feelings and turn back into who I once was.

And so, I'm going back to New Zealand. Not just for the beautiful mountains, the placid lakes, the rolling green hills. I'm going back to find me. And I'm not coming home without her.


Wednesday, July 19, 2006
9:37 PM

You Are An INFP

The Idealist

You are creative with a great imagination, living in your own inner world.
Open minded and accepting, you strive for harmony in your important relationships.
It takes a long time for people to get to know you. You are hesitant to let people get close.
But once you care for someone, you do everything you can to help them grow and develop.

You would make an excellent writer, psychologist, or artist.
What's Your Personality Type?


Hey. This makes me sound so much better than I actually am.


Monday, July 17, 2006
9:26 PM

What You Really Think Of Your Friends
Jessica is your soulmate.
You truly love Charyl.
You consider Rachel Tan your true friend.
You know that Priscilla is always thinking of you.
You'll remember Esther for the rest of your life.
You secretly think Val is creative, charming, and a bit too dramatic at times.
You secretly think that Smily is colorful, impulsive, and a total risk taker.
You secretly think that Bala is loyal and trustworthy to you. And that Bala changes lovers faster than underwear.
You secretly think Joy is shy and nonconfrontational. And that Joy has a hidden internet romance.
What Do You Think of Your Friends?


Jessica as my soulmate?? Hahahaha!


Tuesday, July 11, 2006
10:13 PM

Be composed - be at ease with me ...
Not till the sun excludes you do I exclude you,
Not till the waters refuse to glisten for you
and the leaves to rustle for you, do my
words refuse to glisten and rustle for you.


I wander all night in my vision ...
Bending with open eyes over the shut eyes of sleepers,
Wandering and confused, lost to myself,
ill-assorted, contradictory,
Pausing, gazing, bending and stopping.


-Noah Calhoun

A dream. Perhaps, my greatest wish.
Sadly, it's not an act of altruism, of helping the starving children in Cambodia, of giving to those in need. That is my ambition, yes. But it's not what I'm living for.
What I search for, what I hope for, happens to be much more self-centred. I wish I could be the benevolent one, the one whose dreams would revolve around helping the poor, dedicating a lifetime to poverty-stricken young children. I wish I could be the righteous person, the one who believes in justice and fights for all that stands for it.
But I'm not.
Instead, my dream is simple, yet complex, convoluted. I just wish for that someone to make me happy for lifetimes to come.
The search could be said to be fruitless. Over a billion people on this globe, and yet, I wish to find the single person, that one man who can bring me such joy? Impossible, it seems. Yet the realm of possibility is forever evasive. I could meet him one day, accidentally spilling coffee over his shirt. Perhaps we meet in the lift, me in my sweaty gym gear, him in his school uniform. Or we could sit next to each other in the MRT, sleepy heads lolling over each other's shoulder.
The search is short, it's tedious, it's disappointing. Sometimes I cry, wondering when, if, this person will ever chance upon my miserable life. But then I rejoice again, when I see him, when I think of Someone.
I could search my entire life and not find him.
But somehow, I think I will.


Thursday, July 06, 2006
6:30 PM

Maybe it's writer's block.
Not that I could ever be considered an actual writer, but at the present moment, I am drained of all creative juices and of all forms of inspirations. Writing compositions, movie reviews or essays proves to be excessively, exhaustingly draining. The words don't flow out, they don't trickle down my fingers into the keys of my laptop anymore. Nowadays, I have to wring it all out, and all I can squeeze out are paltry, mediocre words of a ten year old.
I don't know what's happening to me. For once, I find my interest in writing is waning. Maybe I'll stop. It's not like anyone ever reads anything I write anyway.
But I think I know that I can never, willingly stop writing. My best months are November and December, when horrendous school finally stops and when I finally get free days to myself, twenty four hours of sleeping, eating and writing. It helps a lot that I'm going back to New Zealand in December. When I came back from there last year, I finished a whole book.
I can't describe what New Zealand means to me. It's where my imagination flows, where the cogs of my brain start to work again. It could be the wonderful pure air; dewy morning air as I step out onto the chilly balcony. Or the endless roads and plains, long roads that disappear into the horizon, with plains of yellow grass surrounding it. But I think it's the mountains. Whether it's snow-capped, jungle-strewn or completely barren, you can see mountains from anywhere in any city. And as we drive past, on those endless roads, through the foggy, misted windows, I stare through at those mountains, those wonders of earth and rock, things of such beauty that words seem to fail me.

Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting
View of some mountains when we took a tiny airplane to go see some waterfalls.


Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting
A river that we stopped by on our way to Queenstown.

Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting
Queenstown, a beautiful city.

Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting
Snow-capped mountains of Mt Cook.


Friday, June 16, 2006
10:57 PM

Love is never overrated.
I've never been in love, yeah, I know, but there's still my family and all my friends around me to prove it.
Why? Well. Is there any other reason why a person would do erratic things completely out of their usual habits just to make that other person happy? Is there any other thing that can make you feel like the luckiest person on earth, when you feel that warm, fuzzy feeling from the top of your head to the tip of your tingling toes? Is there any other reason why someone, who has lost his everything, can still keep fighting for hope from a seemingly cavalier God?



There is no other reason.
Whether it's a mother's love, a lover's love, or platonic love, can we really say that we can do without it?
I used to hate the word 'love'. I laughed at mushy girls who believed in the fantasy of love at first sight. I scorned those who cried at soppy romantic movies.


But now?
I do believe in love at first sight. I believe that somewhere out there, whether it's Toa Payoh or Alaska, there is someone else fated to be with us for the rest of our lives. Yeah, we may not find him, even at the end of our lives, but isn't that hope enough to keep searching? Isn't it reason enough to believe in love? Because that someone can bring us the most blissful happiness we have never known.


And because of this, now, I cry along with friends during sweet, romantic movies. Yeah, it may just be television, but I feel it. I know what the scenes are trying to convey, I feel the love of that person for another, and because of that undying, unconditional love, I cry.


So, why do so few people believe in true love?
I don't know, and I feel sad that they don't. Because, love is a magical, beautiful thing. You can't see it, but you can feel it.


And is there a proper age to fall in love?
I don't think so. Whether you're seventy, forty or ten years old, I think that it's amazing to be in love. There isn't an age for it. When love finds you, it just does.



Wednesday, May 31, 2006
11:12 AM

Someone once asked me what was my favourite room in the house.
Then without waiting for my answer, she laughed and answered herself.
It had to be my room, she beamed with a hundred watt smile, her voice confident and self-assured. Because my room was the place with all my books, with the computers, with the comfy bed and the guitars.
She walked off, drawn away by passing friends who beckoned at her with crooked fingers.
I was left standing by the squalid toilets, having uttered not a single word, my bottle poised halfway by the water cooler.


No, despite what some might think, my favourite room in the house is not my room, which is not even my own room, but a walled area I share with my sister. Yeah, the books might be there, I might write stories there, I might strum there. But I don't actually read there, I don't actually get ideas for stories by sitting for hours by my desk, and I do most strumming in the hallway, when no one else is home, so I can catch the fresh breeze from the balcony.


My favourite room in the house, is the toilet. Yes, I know it's not an actual room. I also know that we deposit our smelly faeces there, and not to mention the urine.
But seriously? The toilet, is the closest I can get to having privacy.
The toilet is where I go to hide and have embarrassing conversations with friends, unfit for fellow nosy family members to hear.
The toilet is where I seek relief from monthly cycles. Where I sit out deadly cramps as the white of the toilet bowl is stained by crimson liquid.
Where I cried my eyes out when Dumbledore died, when Akkarin died, when the Sisterhood seperated.
Where I practised the cha-cha in the shower for the dance exam, embarrassing as it is to admit.
Where I sat in the shower, hot water pounding on my back as I tried desperately to sort out all the warped ideas and images of a new story.
The toilet is where I sat crying for my dead goldfish, seven years ago.
The toilet is where I sought peace, leaning my head against the smooth, tiled walls as cold water pattered on my face, and I tried to blank out my mind, to find calm.
Where I always brought my laptop in, sit on the closed lid of the toilet bowl, and sob shamelessly for soppy movies I could not bear to watch with my family for fear of humiliation.
Where I first tried out acting, at nine years of age, thinking I was Mia Thermopolis.
Where I shed tears for friends I missed, for friends I feared would forget me.

It's the place most important to me, the place filled with most of my sorrows, my cheeriness, years of immatured naivete, months of pressured studying.


The toilet, is my inspiration.


Wednesday, May 24, 2006
6:05 PM

Alone and forgotten, she stood, a lone figure on the bridge.
She stared down into the waters, watching sheets of water fold over themselves, ripples caused by an unknown hand.
Thunder rumbled overhead, and Lena glanced up at the rolling grey clouds in the velvet night sky. Unconcerned, she peered back down.
Would she ever forgive her? She wondered, staring at the silent water. Could she ever forgive herself?
Lena rolled a rose stalk between pale fingers, reminiscing. A thorn pricked the edge of her thumb, but she didn't notice. Crimson blood dribbled down, staining the grey stone ledge she rested her elbows upon.
Water under the bridge, Lena had told her with a dagger held behind her back. And then, Lena pushed her over the bridge, into the dark, unrelenting waters. Her skull cracked against a stone, she broke her spine and the body turned up at Westbridge three days later.
Lena loosed a harsh laugh that rang in the quiet night air. What irony!
And instead of hurling the black rose into the riverwater as a sad tribute to her as planned, Lena let it fall to the floor. She grinded it into the ground under a booted foot, the black petals breaking into soft fragments.
She stepped back from the ruined flower with a wolfish grin turning up the corners of her harsh mouth.
Lena turned back to the side of the bridge, placing her elbows upon the ledge once again. But the smile was gone now, replaced by a vague emptiness, a feeling that was nothing at all.
Suddenly, it began to rain.


Monday, May 22, 2006
9:06 PM

I don't usually do this sort of thing, but I find it kind of sad, so I'm doing it anyway.

Seven People/things that make me smile:
1) Reading
2) Movies
3) Smily
4) Charyl
5) All my old sc friends
6) Renee
7) Writing

Seven Ways to Win My Heart:
1) A good sense of humour
\2) Sensitive, but not too sensitive
3) Kind, selfless
4) A love for books
5) Always by my side
6) -
7) -

Seven People I Trust In:
1) Joelle
2) Jess
3) Bala
4) Joy
5) Val
6) Lynnie
7) -

Seven Things I Hope to do now:
1) Read a very good book
2) Write a good story
3) Dye my wardrobe black/ Get black clothes
4) Watch a movie
5) Talk to someone
6) To be left alone
7) Have all the chocolate in the world

Seven Things I Do Everyday:
1) Switch on my computer
2) Read
3) Eat like a pig
4) Sleep
5) Daydream
6) Make stupid mistakes
7) Think about my pathetic self

Seven People I Want to See Now:
1) Charyl
2) Smily
3) Esther
4) Bala
5) Jia Wen
6) Val
7) Joy

Seven (+1) People I Want to Do This:
1) Bala
2) Priscilla
3) Jessica (Juwono)
4) April
5) Ms Goh
6) Joy
7) Val
8) Lynnie


Wednesday, May 17, 2006
9:43 PM

I've been a terrible person all my life.
And no, I'm not saying this just to garner sympathy. It's miserably true, according to what Joey tells me everyday. Not that I actually listen to her, but after it's being drummed into your brain everyday, you start to believe it, too.
I can't explain how lazy a person I am. I'm too lazy to even walk across the room to grab a piece of tissue. I've so many ideas, and I'm too lazy to actually carry them out.
I keep saying I want to go to Cambodia to save the poor. But when I go there, I'll probably be too lazy to crawl out of my tent to serve them vaccines.
I'm such a hypocrite; I should cut my tongue out.
I'm too horrible a person to say sorry. Maybe it's not that I'm horrible, but it's more that I can't. Yeah, I can say the word well enough, but devoid of any emotion. What's the point of saying sorry when you aren't sorry at all?
I wish I could take back all the mean things I've done this year, things that deserve a thousand sorries. Maybe it was a casual, flippant remark, but it still hurt somebody else. And maybe we should think about that. I don't want people to do what they did to Jessica Choo. Look at the poor girl. People make smarmy remarks right in her face, gossiping here, gossiping there.
Maybe you should stop for a while and think about what you're going to say, instead of just blurting it out. How would you feel if someone else talked about you like that? Just shove all that resentment in and take it out on your diary at home or whatever.
I wish I could just do something about it, instead of just yakking about it. Again, I'm being a hypocrite. I just say it, but I know I won't, can't, do it. I'm too much of a wuss.
I've got no guts whatsoever.


Monday, May 15, 2006
6:30 PM

No one is ever satisfied with her life.
We think that our needs will be sated, if we just have that one crumpler bag or those funky high tops.But once we get them, something else bigger, better and more expensive comes along and the whole cycle of whining to parents starts all over again.
I'm a quitter with insatiable desires. I can't help it, it seems to be innate and practically uncurable. There was once upon a time, that I wanted to learn the piano, I wanted to learn the flute, I wanted to learn ballet, jazz, judo, painting, Spanish, Italian, how to cook linguine, how to skateboard, how to act. I wanted lots of things, all of which I lost interest just a few weeks later.
I give up in everything I do, I just can't seem to pull through difficulties that everyone else faces with ease. I quit badminton in P4, when I started to lose interest. Then in P5, Jessica and Smily got me so excited about it again that I joined it, quitting about four months later. In P2, I started learning the violin. When my teacher told me that I had some talent in me, I dreamt of growing up to be a famous violinist. I listened to the violin group Bond, aspiring to be just like them. I admired their funky black and wood violins, dreaming of my own in years to come. Three years later, I quit violin because I lost interest in it, and at the end of P5, I took up guitar.
This afternoon, I just heard Bond again. My mom played it over the car stereo, and I was extremely surprised by the familiar sounding violins. And it made me long to hold that violin again, to become the professional musician I wanted to be.
When I was still playing the violin, there were times I grew really tired of it. I would sit the tiny instrument on my lap and start plucking away, as if it were a guitar, inventing my own fingerings along the way. Now, as I hold the heavy, polished guitar, my thoughts start to wander to the times when, with the carefree, lightweight violin that I would hoist onto my shoulder, I would start playing Minuet in G.
It's funny that when I want something, I really want it. But when I finally get it ... the desire to want it is gone.
I want to be a perfect guitarist, but I have no patience for it. It's the same thing as before, I wanted to be a smashing good badminton player, bringing home trophies, I wanted to be a martial artist, kicking butt off the streets, I wanted to be the next Vanessa Mae, rolling out sweet melodies on my violin.
It's all about wants. No one can honestly tell me that she is satisfied with her life, that she desires nothing but what she already has, that she longs for nothing better than that of hers.
A Roxy wallet. A crumpler bag. An Ipod. A pair of Converse high tops. Everyone has her material wants.
And you ask me why people aren't happy in this world.


Saturday, April 29, 2006
10:25 PM

I was just looking through my sister's english file today, when I came across her Commonwealth Essay.
It was quite well-written, considering she'd never had english tuition in her life. But what struck me most was how different her composition was from mine. Her style of writing was the Learning Lab style: It was how a student model composition in Learning Lab would be like, the run-of-the-mill phrases (you know, 'like a deer caught in headlights' etcetera). It was as if she poured her vocabulary book of compo phrases into those pieces of foolscap, just like a Learning Lab student model. The type of composition where you seriously plan a mindmap, stick closely to the subject, add in fancy phrases and adhere to the ten percent dialogue rule.
I remember I always used to get excited about writing compositions in Learning Lab. I was so eager, I almost always went off topic, or I used way too much dialogue, or I forgot to throw in Learning Lab's favourite description phrases. The compo would often come back as NA, Not-Applicable, with harsh red marks across the paper. Things like, "You're way too off-topic, Rachel! Remember, always plan carefully and stick to your subject!" or "Too much dialogue, Rachel, I know you can do better than that!"
But that was the way I liked it. I didn't like having to stick to just one stupid topic, or the ridiculous ten percent dialogue rule. Which was why Ms Chang, my Learning Lab teacher, used to pull me aside and say, "Rachel, I know that you can write well, and I just want you to bring out your own potential. But you can't do that if you keep thinking that you're writing a whole entire story book instead of a compo based on a talking onion!"
I was just trying to be different. I didn't want to just write another monotonous compo. I wrote like that because I poured my feelings into it, so much that I would start to go off-topic, because I have too much to write about, too many emotions to express. And what better way to express emotions than through speech? Speech is a form of expression, there shouldn't be a limit to how much we use. I don't ask for a ninety percent allowance, I'm just asking for twenty, or maybe twenty-five. And instead of just gashing a red mark across the page as NA, why not just cut off some marks, even if I failed?
Which was why I always hated English composition-writing classes. I hate the way they dictate to us on how to write, what to write, why we should write. English compositions seem to have become Maths, there's even a new formula to writing a good composition.
But is that how people really feel? Shouldn't writing be something that comes freely out of your own heart, not shrewd calculations and draining of brain juices?
I know some don't agree with me, because whenever they follow the Learning Lab way, they always got the mark.
Yeah, I know, because I used to do that too. And I always got Ms Chang's approval.
Which is kind of biased if you ask me.


Saturday, April 22, 2006
10:53 PM

Today, I did what I loved most doing.
I turned on the computer, and started writing like mad.
I haven't written in months. I don't know where that energy has gone. Was it spent working my butt off on SAs? Or was it mostly wasted on strumming the guitar, wallowing in self-pity, morbid songs playing in my head?

Why do we change? Why does everyone think that I've changed so much, from a depressing bookworm to a 'social butterfly' (as quoted from rachel)?
Have I really changed that much, without even realising it?
And, yeah, with a sense of bitterness and regret, I admit that I have.
I kind of missed the way I used to be. I miss those days when I would come home from school, and look and mope at the sea. And then I would drown myself in English Breakfast tea, trying in vain to write a song - I have no musical talent whatsoever.
I miss the way that I could be, the way I was. I could be grouchy and moody however I liked. I had a legible excuse. I was a pessimistic sadist, I could act however I liked.
And now? Who can even act like a pessimistic sadist anymore? People just walk by you, not really noticing you for what you are.
Cellophane. They think they see right through you.
And today, I take back what I lost. I hate not being myself anymore. I hate not having anyone to relate to.
And once more, my fingers fly over the keyboard, typing words, sentences, paragraphs. Once more, I bury my head in a book, ignoring the Click Five on the radio, ignoring the trashy magazine featuring Jessica Alba that lies on the sofa.

I want to visit Jessica's hostel. A completely unrelated topic, I know, but it's just what I want to do. I shall talk to her about it on Monday.
My fellow William-Moseley follower.


Friday, April 21, 2006
11:37 PM

People ask me, why on earth do you want to go to New Zealand? Again, when you could go to America and Disneyland or Bali and the beaches? How can you stand that boring place, where all around you, it's just mountains and trees and rivers, and mountains and trees and rivers all over again.
That's the main thing. I love New Zealand because of the mountains and trees and rivers. I don't care that there are 97 million sheep and 4 million people.
Maybe once you're there, you'll feel it. It's undescribable. The fresh pine scented air, the crimson sunset at nine thirty. The infallible mountains and the lush green trees.
It's somewhere where you can forget about the stupid trivial things, that seem so important in life; the newest Roxy bag, the cheapest CD sale, the nicest Porsche.
Once you get there, you feel totally cut off from the world. All you notice, are the mountains and the forests and lakes. All you notice, are the abundance of wildlife around you, the crisp cool air of the dawn on your cheek. The beauty of the places untainted by the reaches of Man, unspoiled and pure.
New Zealand changes you. Once you get there, you can finally feel that sense of quietness you'll never be able to feel here in bustling Singapore. It's just you and the beautiful miracles of nature, and nothing else.


Sunday, April 16, 2006
9:56 PM

a cup of coffee, sitting on the table. it's made out of plain white porcelain, it's the colour of dirty mud. The smell of coffee beans waft through your nose, but somehow,you can't bear to look at it.you reach for it, the hesitation groaning in your bones, and before you even touch it, your fingers snap back instictively, all appetite lost.
it's what we all do. judging people before you even get to know them. you see their sagging, loose clothing, their scruffy, unkempt hair and you turn away in disgust.it's part of human nature. it's why we dress with care, and not just throw on any threadbare singlet or shorts. because to us, first impressions count. in our minds, we silently pray not to become the person whom everybody shuns, the person whom everybody looks at, but none of them seeing.but maybe first impressions don't mean that much. how can you judge a person,before he has even opened his mouth to speak, or before you have even gotten to know him? i don't know. maybe, for once, we should start practising what we preach. oh, they say, 'Don't judge a book by its cover', but do they really do that? do they really stop themselves every single day and make sure they get to know the person before making their own judgements? it's a mistake we all make. and it's a mistake I made, one that I regret so much even till today.


Friday, March 24, 2006
9:28 PM

When you first opened your eyes, all those years ago, what did you see?
Did you see the warm tears in your mother's eyes, or did you see the cold, pale, fluorescent lights of the local hospital?
Maybe, that day meant alot more to us than we might think. Maybe, on that day, families bonded, forming binds that can never be broken.
What makes a real family?
I can't say that a real family consists of family members who love each other so much, they can tell each other absolutely anything unabashedly. Because sometimes we have to keep our secrets to ourselves, maybe just for personal reasons. We deserve our own privacy, and it's up to us whether we want to share them or not. This is, in my opinion, a less deep, level of trust.
True familial trust can be based just on little, inconspicuous things like how your mother allows you to go out with your friends for a midnight movie because she trusts you, or how your dad lends you his keys for his brand new Mercedes Benz or how your brother willingly sacrifices his brand new Blackberry to you because he knows you need it more than he does. These things may not seem significant, but if you take note of them, they add up to a huge amount of firm trust, trust you know that you can't get from anyone else.
A real family is full of trust and understanding and initiative and warmth. Trust of each other's responsibilties, understanding of each others' flaws and slowly trying to correct them and the initiative to get to know each other, regardless of a busy schedule. Warmth isn't easy to gain, and it's only with trust, that comes the warmth to be around the people you love.
They say blood is thicker than water, and I couldn't agree more.


Wednesday, March 15, 2006
10:55 PM

Home.
What do you really think of it? Do you think of it as the place you grew up in, or just a shelter to put your belongings, to sleep, eat and go toilet?
I don't know why some people hate their home so much, they'd rather stay in school and do their homework in the canteen. Is it that bad?
I don't know. Sometimes I feel so sad when I hear them say it.
To me, my house is more than a slab of high concrete and cement. It's the place where I share my joys, my sorrows, and memories; good and bad. It's where I find my sanctuary, it's the place I love most in the entire world.
I never ever want to move. To me, my home is just like my rock. It's my resilient, solid rock, worth more than a flashy bungalow or trendy penthouse or even a lakeside house in New Zealand.
It's one of the things I treasure so much, I can't bear to think of the day I'll lose it.


10:49 PM

Top Ten Most Meaningful Books I Have Read
10. To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
9. Xin Ling Ji Tang (Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul)
8. Electric God - Cathering Rya-Hyde
7. A Walk To Remember - Nicholas Sparks
6. A Hundred Secret Senses - Amy Tan
5. The Joyluck Club - Amy Tan
4. High Fidelity - Nick Hornby
3. Saving Fish From Drowning - Amy Tan
2. Tuesdays With Morrie - Mitch Albom
1. Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom

I couldn't be bothered to describe them because last time I did, I spent about an hour and then the page conked out on me and everything was gone. I was so damn pissed at it and still am now.


Saturday, February 11, 2006
5:32 PM

Saturday, 11th February 2006

How many times have you stopped yourself, looked up from whatever you were doing, and wonder what you're doing with your life?
I know I've touched upon this subject not long ago but I didn't go too much into it. Now I really really want to clarify on this thing.
I want to be a scientist when I grow up, and find a cure for cancer. I want to find a cure for extremely fatal cancers such as pancreatic cancer, and I don't want it for the money. I definitely don't want it for the fame either, as some of you might know that I sort of shy away from the limelight.
I want to save lives. I want to help people.
I want to go to Cambodia or any other Third World country and help the poverty-stricken, starving kids out there who are dying from diseases like cholera that we get vaccinated for, and isn't even a threat to us.
Maybe I can invent more vaccines that needn't be refridgerated nor costly and ship them over to some country short of them, like Ethopia.
There's this sort-of Adventure Team thing in RGS, and you're only eligible to apply for it if you're Sec 4. Last year's team went to India to help the poor and they showed us a video they made, during assembly. I almost cried.
Because while we complain about trivial things like why didn't Sly win Singapore Idol, there are children, kids like us who can't even get one meal a day. Of course, the Team had visited a less poor site in India; they didn't go into the heart of India to find the villages where people are dying off the streets, homeless.
And the Red Cross in our school is asking us to ask our parents to donate blood for children who have blood diseases and need blood transfusions. I haven't asked my parents, but I know what'll they say. 'No time'. They haven't got 30 minutes to spare in their busy schedule? And other children have no more time in their lives, because they need the blood to clean out their contaminated systems urgently, or they'll die.
And why do the Palestinian Hamas still bomb Israel? Why do they do that, when they just want peace for their own country? Can they really blame Israel for not wanting to cooperate with them?
And now the Hamas have become the new government of the Palestinians, the notorious terrorist group. I know they ultimately just want peace for their own people, but I wish they would just stop the bombs. They say they're working towards peace with Israel, and I really hope they find it.
Meanwhile, what do we do with our lives?
I'm not eligible for blood donation nor the Adventure Team thing. And I don't think I'll want to join the team. I think if I go abroad to a Third World Country at the age of Sec 4, I don't think I'll be ready. I know that when I come home, I'll never be able to recover.
Well. I guess we just have to live it, don't we?


Monday, January 23, 2006
8:39 PM

Fine. This is the second time I posting in less than the same hour. But something suddenly crossed my mind.
Don't you think it's funny how people sort of never miss what they have until they lose it?
Scratch that. It's not funny at all. It's plain sad.
I miss New Zealand. I remember when I was in NZ, all I could think about was going home, typing, strumming, lying in my own bed again ...
And now, all I can think of are the mountains, the cool air, the beautiful lakes that I shall only get to see in December.
I hate that I should feel that way. I hate that after reading so many meaningful books, I still haven't learnt how to appreciate things.
I was blind to Someone all along, and when I left, I finally realised what I lost.
I never fully appreciated all my great friends in SC and now that they're gone, I regret not getting to know them better.
I didn't appreciate the ease in which I could lose myself in all those words, in all those stories I wrote, and let hours pass by as if they were seconds. And now, I've lost that ease and comfort. It's like I can't pick up where I left off anymore.
And now, I really regret that I ever mentioned Someone in the first place. Because now ... never mind. I hope Sara isn't reading this. She better not be.


8:25 PM

I don't know.
I don't know if I should cry when I hear 'I Want to Spend My Lifetime Loving You' again on my computer.
I remember I loved that song when I was five, I watched Zorro over and over and over and over again just to hear the song.
And when I heard it on the radio, I would be ready to start crying.
I don't actually know why, but I have this strong liking for ballads especially from soundtracks of movies.
I'm going off point.
I don't know if I want to write anymore. I'm ashamed of that story I wrote last year, the Tara one. I hate it, I hate the title because it's so unoriginal, I hate everything about it.
I've got all these ideas, so many, so many ... but I can't put them down. Once I type them out, everything goes wrong. What colour should her hair be? Should she be shy or plain bitchy?
Are these even the questions I should be asking myself when I'm writing? Shouldn't I be asking, Why am I writing? Who am I writing for? WHAT am I writing?
I really don't know. I want to be proud of what I'm writing. I'm so happy with my stories when I'm halfway through them, then when I finally finish them, I want to cry because I can't believe what I'm writing. There's no meaning most of it. I try to throw in the grief the person feels, the joy she experiences, the beauty she appreciates. But ...
Maybe I try too hard.


Wednesday, January 18, 2006
9:32 PM

I was reading it again. The stupid chinese one where the words are vertical and give me a headache.
Anyway, the one I read today was about this woman who got a chain letter in email and how she must send it to twenty-five people and her marriage will last for eternity and stuff, and the title is 'Reasons that men love their wives so'.
(translated from chinese, so it might sound a bit weird - all of the Them are referring to the wives, it's from a man's point of view). Some of the reasons are funny and nice, but some are insulting. Some are sweet and funny, and some are plain stupid.
1. Even if they put on perfume or not, the wives will always smell nice.
2. They always seem to be hanging around your shoulder, resting their head someplace on your arm or something like that.
3. They always give you wonderfully warm hugs.
4. Whenever they kiss you, the world turns upside down, and everything they do, in your eyes, can only be right.
5. They way they eat is extremely cute.
6. Whenever you wish to go out, they always take forever to get ready, but it's always worth it, because whenever they come out, they look absolutely wonderful.
7. Even if the temperature outside happens to be below ten degrees, they always happen to be full of warmth.
8. No matter what they wear, they always look beautiful.
9. They'll always look for ways to earn your praise (stupid).
10. The way they argue is really cute.
11. Their hands always seem to be holding yours.
12. They smile so beautifully.
13. Whenever you finish quarrelling with them, you always feel so guilty and everything you see seems to have their name stamped across them.
14. They'll always say, Let's not quarrel again ok? And just one hour later ...
15. Whenever you do something for them, they'll always kiss you.
16. Whenever you say 'I love you' to them, they'll always kiss you.
17. The truth is, just because they kiss you, nothing else matters.
18. Whenever they cry over stupid things, they'll always come apologizing to you.
19. Whenever they beat you or hit you, they mean it.
20. Whenever they beat or hit you, and it hurt, they'll always apologize (but we'll never admit that it hurt)
21. Whenever they cry, they'll come rushing into your arms.
22. They'll always say, I miss you.
23. You'll always miss them.
24. Whenever they cry so badly, you'll always desperately want to change anything in the world just to make them happy.
Like I said, some are extremely sweet, like the last one. And this is what our future-husbands think of us. I just found it really funny when you put everything into chinese and read it for the first time, like I did.


Tuesday, January 17, 2006
9:32 PM

I just finished one story in the Chinese Chicken Soup for the teenage soul.
Why does everything end badly in that book? Why is it that everything story is about love, and the couple always end up breaking up?
That is so depressing.
Sigh. I feel so sad when I hear people say that they don't believe in love. Like Nicole. It's sad that they don't believe that such a beautiful thing can exist, and that they're missing it.
Is there such a thing as too young to fall in love?
How would you know? How would anyone?
I think there's no acceptable age to fall in love. When you fall in love, you just do. It's something so precious, that it doesn't matter what fucking age you are.
But I guess that those people who think that there IS such a thing as too young to fall in love, they do have a point. If you're so young, you don't even know whether it's true love you have or some sort of sick lust. If you're so young, you'll make all sorts of stupid mistakes you know you'll never make if you were older.
But if everyone thought that way, there'd be no love in this world.
So I guess it all depends on how you think. I think that you can fall in love whether you're six or ten or fifty, albeit, the sooner the better.
I'm having those Urges again. To read something romantic yet meaningful and that other urge, which I shall not put in here because I think it might disgust those people out there, who believe that we're too young to fall in love.
Why do people think that way?


Sunday, January 15, 2006
11:38 AM

How many times a day do people stop what they're doing, and muse about the things that they'd done in their life?
I don't know. Most of us are too busy to even think about it.
But I was listening to Hoobastanks' The Reason today, and it really jogged my memory, back to two years ago, in P5 when I first heard it on the radio.
Then it fast-forwarded all the way through P5 and P6 and to where I'm standing now.
And I realised, that I haven't done ANYTHING good at all, either for me, for my friends or my family.
I'm still a stupid introvert, who sucks at cca interviews.
I'm still a terrible friend.
I still haven't written a proper story that I'm proud of.
I still haven't done anything good that might remotely benefit the world.
I still haven't become a wonderful sister to Renee.
What am I doing with my life? I just wasted away thirteen years of it; flushed down the toilet bowl.
I don't know. Maybe part of the reason that I haven't done anything, is because I'm too afraid. Yet another thing I have to get over. My cowardice.
I'm such a huge failure. I'm not even as hardworking as Sara or as cheerful as Renee or as outgoing as Lynnie or as energetic as Jess. I'm just ... me.
And it seems like that isn't enough.


Saturday, January 14, 2006
10:30 PM

Every single, day, when I wake up, I think to myself: Oh no. Today's a school day.
Even on Saturdays and Sundays. I wake up at six am in the mornings because my body's so used to waking up at six on weekdays; it kind of defeats the purpose of sleeping in.
I'm sorry to say that I happen to wake up on the wrong side of the bed everyday. Why is it that I never have a single happy thought when I first open my eyes to a new day or whatever?
Why is it that people with cancer or leukemia or diseases feel so happy just to be able to see the dawn of a new day, while I, dread it?
It's sad the way people take things for granted. By the time we learn just how important certain things are to us, it's way too late.
But I guess that no one stops taking things for granted. That's just why we're called human.


Sunday, January 08, 2006
12:06 PM

I officially turned thirteen yesterday.
Not that it's such a big deal, really, but I still think it's important, how you turn into a teenager and how you come out of teenagehood.
Well. I had orientation camp yesterday so I spent three-quarters of my birthday forgetting it was my birthday and at exactly 12 midnight yesterday, we were in our sleeping bags watching Parent Trap and Priscilla and Samantha and Wen Yan and Rach wished me happy birthday so .. that's a start I guess, three new people wishing my happy birthday. I'm actually making friends.
Why is it that majority of all teenagers always have so much pent-up angst inside them? I don't get it. Maybe I will, in a few years, and I'll be asking myself, Why did I ever say that about angsted-up teens?
I'm not feeling too good now. I'm sad that I spent my birthday worrying about the dirty toilets in rgs and just about three hours celebrating it with my family.


Monday, January 02, 2006
11:18 AM

Second day of the new year and I don't feel any better.
I still happen to be brooding over Akkarin and Sonea, but let's put that aside. I'm getting sick of hearing myself think about it.
It seems like just yesterday when Jess and I were mooning over Star Wars in May. 2005, apart from having to study like mad, has probably been one of the best years in school. I think I've probably come a long way from Primary 5, and looking back, I'm kind of ashamed of some of the things I did back in 2004.
I think that I've kind of matured a little bit from the start of P6.
I never actually make New Year Resolutions because I know that I never ever fulfill them but you know what? I just have one thing I want to get straight this year.
I want to mature. I want to stop thinking like a silly twelve year old and start thinking with an actual brain. I wish that I could become mature in a way that I would never make petty judgements, make up lame excuses and become someone who always sees both sides of the issue.
Maybe this will be a repeat of the last time, you know, the unfulfilled goals that I never tried hard enough to reach.


Saturday, December 31, 2005
11:09 AM

Just finished the High Lord, third book of the Black Magician Trilogy.
Wonderful book. I know that some people, like lynnie for instance, find that a fantasy book is incapable of being wonderful, but I think different.
Am in one of my phases where I've finished reading such a nice book that I start feeling dizzy and depressed.
My hands are shaking so much I can barely type. Tried to get a glass of water. Spilled water all over the floor.
I do not get it. I simply do not get it. Why did Akkarin ask Sonea to take his strength?? Why didn't he tell her to get it from the magically strengthened buildings? Granted, it would destroy the millenium-old structures but they're just fucking buildings.
And so Akkarin died.
Well. At least Sonea's pregnant.
I still cannot believe Trudi Canavan.
Tried to read the jokes in Reader's Digest to sort of lift my mood but all I can think of is Sonea and Dorrien. Will she fall for him? I mean, he clearly likes her.
She'd better not.
Very pissed right now.


Friday, December 30, 2005
9:05 PM

There are two things that I think are beautiful.
One, is music. And not the pop kind. As in real music (though I do enjoy indulging in pop a little bit), music that needs no lyrics to convey feelings.
It's like, when I hear songs that are composed by John Williams or Harry Gregson-Williams, I can really feel it. The violins, the cellos, the harps and everything ... it's all so beautiful I want to cry.
In that way, I find pop songs a little hard to be beautiful. But if the lyrics do mean something, then I guess they can too.
Two, is love. Any kind of love, familial love, platonic love, love for your country, puppy love (as in crushes, like, ahem, William Moseley - but don't worry, I haven't forgotten Someone). But the best one, I feel, is intimate love. And also, I think intimate love is the most unique.
Because if it's really, truly intimate love, it can make you feel ecstatic, afraid, angry, confused, depressed and everything else. And some people think that this type of love is one that cannot last forever, but in my opinion, if you find true love, I think it'll last for all eternity.
I think it's beautiful because it's so unpredictable, it can make you feel like fucking shit and it can make you feel like the king of the world; it literally defines everything that happens to you. I mean, where would we be if our parents hadn't had intimate love? There would be no happy families, no one to give birth to your friends (platonic love), no one to love the country, no one to crush on (puppy love). I think it's the root of everything, whether you're an evil Darth Vader or a certain Mr King Kong.


Thursday, December 29, 2005
7:42 PM

Glad to say that I have gotten over my bout of self-pitying, thanks to a certain six-feet tall, eighteen year old, blue eyed British dude called William Moseley. I was quite surprised that other people thought he was cute too, like Nat Ng, who labelled him as hot. Anyway, I was a bit sad that I got over myself so easily because of some cute guy. I mean, that just means I'm shallow, right?
You know what I think of myself? I like to think of myself as mature, and not shallow, and someone who likes to keep to herself. I like to tell myself that I can be a little immature about some stuff but most of the time, I do act quite civilized. I'm not so sure about that now.
I really would like to see myself through other people's eyes ... maybe just to prove myself wrong.
(note: this post was actually written four days ago, but like i said, my blog was screwed and nothing could be published.)


profile.

rachel sim.
seven-oh one-ninety three.
fifteen.
scgs.
rafflesian!
guitar ensemble!
blogskinner bubblewrap.
loves her guitars.
loves her books.
loves music, both oldies and contemporaries.

loves maroon 5, my chemical romance, coldplay, mcfly, deathcab for cutie, queen, clay aiken, five for fighting, the eagles, elvis.

loves stardust, star wars, lotr, v for vendetta, babel, romeo and juliet, emma, gone with the wind, CRASH, Moulin Rouge, Breakfast at Tiffany's, The Pianist, Back to the Future, Walk the Line, The Departed

loves friends. and chandler bing.

loves david rocco, nigella lawson and JAMIE OLIVER.

links.
Renee
Sara
Rachel Tio
Bala
Bala's other blog
Jessica Chan
Rachel
Natalie
Joy
Joy's other blog
Joelle
Chloe
Denise
Ling Li
Si Yuan
Michelle Teo
Judith
Zeshan
Clara
Stephanie
Lynnie
Trisha
Val
Jiahui
Pan-e
Miss Goh
6sy blog

;raffles
104'06

104 blog
Cheryl(PSL)
Charlene(PSL)
Xian Ying(SPSL)
Ada(PSL)
Liting
April
Priscilla
Wen Yan
Jenny
Jessica
Sam
Qianyu
Rachel Ang
Huizi
Duxuan
Tienli

;205'07

Jiahe
Wan Ting
Irina
Kimberlyn
Natasha
Claire
Diyanah
Ivalyn
Danetta
Amanda
Izabel
Christine
Cheryl
205

;RGGE

Anna
Priya
Ying Jie
Val
Amanda

;307'08

Peixin

Preservation of the English Language League



tag.