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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).


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.

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Preservation of the English Language League



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