something honest.

When you thought it was good,

then came something better. 

And that's Life I guess. 

If one was to spend his whole life half asleep, what would eventually come? Do the world still grant the dreamers the rights to dream? Have the dreamers left? If we remain footed on the same spot forever, will happiness come on its own, as if it's a meteor shower which brilliantly fall from the sky on one fine night? 

Rewind Button Needed.

Been a while.
Been a while indeed.


When was the last rupture?
I couldn't remember.


I've dreamt about the beautiful sand on our feet,
the placid waters, crystal clear and blue.


Seven hours it was to send everything crumpling down.


Fleeting.


Gone indeed.

I can't sleep at night, I toss and turn

Listenin' for the telephone

But when I get your call, I'm all choked up

Can't believe you called my home

Every Little Step - Bobby Brown

-

As much as I wish to refuse to acknowledge what is going on in me now, I certainly hope for the day I find all these absurd. Because this has never happened before and I am really not sure how to handle it.

I am talking in riddles again because I have to.

Am I crazier than crazy now?

The Edge of Reason

The Edge of Reason: almost to a point of losing rationality.

I used to be able to do things which could temporarily rev myself to the state of ecstasy, strong enough to plant a smile on the face or to muster up some laughter, whether sensible or senseless. Of latter days, these no longer excite anymore. That is to say, I have been asleep even when I am not.

Does this normally come with age? Why is that I don't see anyone around me going through the same phase too? I am sadistic/masochistic with myself that I am destructing everything that is supposedly good for me. And guess what? I sort of enjoy it.

I am equally confused as a migrating bird that has fallen out of the flock, soaring directionless in the skies panicking, not wanting to freeze to death and yet, has no idea on how to get to the south. Ten new books on the bookshelf left unread and a dying soul fighting to get back what it has lost. I am no longer a happy girl.

Blame it on romantic movies and insanely in love couples which and whom have the amazing (almost magical) abilities to make anyone feel a tad less secured and a hefty lot lonelier. What are you drinking tonight? A whiskey dry for a heavy week or a martini for a lighter one?

How do people continuously do what they like and not get bored?

It's so hard to breathe in Singapore. With everyone working/striving/slogging just for that ballast of a steady income, it's painful to see faceless faces which are cracked with bone ashes and remnants of what could have been joy. And this doesn't spare yours truly - me - one who has also become one of such victims to be caught in the clutches of this pair of merciless hands of the society. Even with much avoidance, I have become the typical, the archetypal, the fearful and the cowardice.

A trip to Auckland has made me seen the evident differences between locals and the Kiwis. Kiwis work for passion, and it is most accurate to say, that the government has taken care of the people well, passing down the legislation of minimum wage, granting medical benefits and health insurances so that the people can focus on living their lives the way they want. And as much as the rat-racers would call it laid-back, I prefer to call it a true way to live, with a little bit solace, comfort and time to love even anything that doesn't concern you.

So even if I have to stay in Singapore for a tad longer period, I should jolly well earn what I should be earning, well, what I think I should deserve. I am not thick in the skull, I am proactive and I take pride in almost everything I do (if it excites me, that is).

What I am doing now is for one who's only gotten her/his PSLE. You definitely don't need much brains to run the show. You merely need elementary level grammar which I think kids these days are really blessed to be well-equipped like that. A few bombastic words which you can always thesaurus.com it. And proper sentence-structuring skills. All of which mentioned, everyone ought to be versed that way before the MOE should even decide to pass you your Primary School Leaving Examination Certificate.

A real Boss will casually chat up his employee to find out whether or not she's happy, finds the job suitable, copes and mingles well and provide her guidance and help when warranted. My Bosses - they call themselves the Big Shots, That Level - find their need to demonstrate leadership qualities by being all fastidious about punctuality and punctilious about what taboos you speak of in the office. There is no such thing as a thin fine line between coercive management and laissez faire.The former has dated and does not work with the new age individuals. And quite a blasphemy for most conservative Singapore SMEs I believe, the latter is only seen practiced in MNCs.

It is most unfortunate for such a promising organization to be run by individuals who are pre-war educated, who don't take staff loyalty, job satisfaction, internal customer service and proper planning and execution of perhaps great ideas in their own hands. Wealth does not come overnight. You certainly will not earn loyal employees who are willing to slog it out for you when you don't take their emotional and mental well-being into consideration. "We are not robots," wailed a writer when she was no more than 3 months old with the co., has its very own gravitas ensconced with rich emotions and factual qualities. The acme of success is not within easy reach and Rome certainly wasn't built in a day.

Cooped up in a little dark fetid room that reeks nothing but the old and forgotten, I'm being driven to a corner up against the wall, being offered a tightrope to walk on. But I am no funambulist, I can't thrive and survive in hard times, I crumple, fall and shatter like any other porcelain doll will. I have what it takes to be a successful person but does the world judge you on things you say or things you do/did, that's the lingering question that's as damaging as it is resounding.

This is the moment of truth.

You may think I ain't high on dope but I am. My mind is smacked.

Simon flipped. He totally lost it. And he fell right on his doorstep only to be caught by his folks. Imagine I having to will this smacked mind of mine into every way I deem right. My metacognition is indeed miraculously strong.

You know, I have no better means to express the depth of loathe and hatred for my current work and its people. I have no oaths to utter under my breath because it's beyond that.

The fashion editor doesn't even know that Ed Hardy is the sub-line of Christian Audigier. How does one, one like me, not that fantastic and well-versed in the fashion industry, be working for someone like her? Who'd listen to her when she doesn't know what she's saying, doing all the time?

The work, as fetid as one can imagine, puts its staff down, doesn't recognize hard work and talent. They only want people who has no brains but work like dogs. Individuals, my ass. They merely want dogs, cows and livestock. If you guys think it's awesome and fantastic, think again.

I need to look for a job. I am looking for a job. I just want a job which I'll be recognized for my flair in writing, my articles, not because I report at 9:30am sharp every morning and leave at 10pm (this is what they deem as valuable employees), you can pile me with as much work as you want to and I will never utter a sound, know nothing about labels and their designers and get promoted to Editor - woooooooots.

Awesome ain't it?

stu·por

[stoo-per, styoo-]

–noun

1.

suspension or great diminution of sensibility, as in disease or as caused by narcotics, intoxicants, etc.: He lay there in a drunken stupor.

2.

mental torpor; apathy; stupefaction.

-

Why do I always have to say/do stupid crazy shit when I'm in this state. I DO NOT think my personality is fucking awesome/perfect FYI! I know I always let my ego/pride get the better of me! Fuck me okay? I am sorry.

ARGH.

Wrecked just a week prior birthday and 2 weeks before Auckland trip. I don't think the word sanity exists in my realm, I don't think anyone is capable of fathoming whatever I do, but this time round, I have done wrong. I have done so wrong, and nothing I do can redeem myself. This is the result of an impromptu act which I was caught unprepared for, which I did not plan and think it through before I took the leap. This is the aftermath of expectations which was unmet, this is the consequence that I am bearing because of words I said in a drunken stupor, this is the crazy thing I do. This is me, nevertheless, so me, typically me. I said I am sorry, but to whom, I am not sure. I hate being on the back of everyone's mind, or just that little corner, or worse, a fading shadow. I hate this. I knew it's going to be a tightrope walk and I just had to do it, I despise myself.

This is how we party - 15/7/2011.

The Devil Inside

You know something is not right (again) when you suddenly broke down and bawled uncontrollably with your palms masking your face, and they seem to be the only support you have...

I have a devil inside tonight. He told me to put on my black eyes, scarlet lips, get out, do something I used to do - drunk, wasted, laid, rest a hangover the next day, spent loads of money, and forget about the entire tale when Monday comes - that's how I derived at happiness, that's what I had believed happiness was.

I had a secret deep within me that's untold. I stood 57 stories off ground a few nights ago and the bar played a familiar tune. And as I peered out into the outstretched horizon of city lights, I knew that secret is my poison.

I kissed a gay colleague the French way. He started it first, then I reciprocated. Then I started it again and he reciprocated. I didn't know what I was doing, but I knew that was what I wanted to do. The human touch felt good and I realized I have been neglected for too long.

I want to unleash something in me. Something that was attempted to be murdered, buried and left to fade. Alas, the remnant survived. There are a lot of things that need to be done. The prowl has begun.

Cravings.

A little older than 25, I have come to terms and acceptance with the way I am born.

I am indeed very taciturn. And even though you may not agree, it's hard for me to really convey my emotions, thoughts and feelings to anyone. I am glad I am a paradox to myself, and perhaps everyone else who has known me for a while. I am a coy exhibitionist of indifference and a misanthrope, I can even say I hate human relationships, I hate being close to anyone else in fact. I may have let you in a little, but the moment I realize you've gone too deep, I'll put up another invisible wall of defense and immediately stop you at where you are. Because I am not good with intimacy, I am never good with showering love. Sometimes, I am not sure if I have the ability to truly love myself.

I have lost faith in relationships. And this is queer because I have a boyfriend whom I want to settle down with, start a family and try to have kids. If playing enigmatic games and conducting experiments are my fortes, this just has got to be the way to find out whether I can establish any form of intimacy towards anyone at all.

I may not know a lot but I can tell you this, I may have reached the stage of life which I envy and feel sorry for the people around me at the same time. When I see them being too devoted to what they feel most in life, I envy their ability to believe and have faith, but at the same time, feel sorry because they've failed to realize that all that they're chasing after will eventually come down to nothing. You may have heard, that there are more to Life than just what you've always believed in, taught to believe in. I've been trying to figure this out, but there is limited wisdom a quarter-centurian can possess.

Some may ask, what's life? For some, it's an endless chase to the top of this societal hierarchy, a wardrobe-full of designer labels, millions in the banks, a vacation house somewhere in the Caribbean, a life of a heiress, socialite, party-animal. What's yours?

I do not wish to comprehend this abyss, but I do know that I came to thee with nothing, and I shalt leave with nothing. I love how the hippies think and live, but I am afraid to follow suit because I have commitments and responsibilities as my Mother's daughter, my Dad's girl, my sisters' sister. And so may I conclude, that we all came to this world with the obligations to live what others are expecting of you, for others.

-

I have dreamt about the butterflies,

and the gallop of a free horse.

With the winds, the gentle sun

and the smell of grass,

an inevitable rainbow.

I ask of thee,

that you feel me,

do you fathom what I'm whispering?

I may be young,

but not too young to think,

may be old,

not old enough for wisdom.

Life pulls a leg,

a mockery,

and requests that I embark on my own.

-

If I love you, how do I tell you I dream of you,

but I do not want to be with you.

And I can't be with you.

But I wonder if you dream of me the same way too?

The Impossibly Happy Ending

Before the dust finally settles here...

Hi. I am glad I still remember I own this space. This private little space. This private little polymorphous space of mine which I've been keeping for five years. Happy 5th anniversary virtual insanity. To kick off things better... I have to share that I had an abstract piece of mind a few nights ago before sleep. I somehow managed to transform my sanity into somewhat a limbo state, dreaming about the impossibilities or the inevitabilities, fully in control and in a very relaxing motion.

The Impossibly Happy Ending

And so, the plane has touched down. Right before my eyes, I stood in the midst of a crowd. A place no less than a stranger to me, where I finally felt that I stood out conspicuously. The focus was hard to obtain, especially when you are a chinese in white land.

He didn't come to pick me up. So I made my way to Brighton Place in my first Caucasian chauffeur's ride. Oh.. Careless cheap taxi talks, how much I loathe them and how hard it is to avoid them.

What greeted before my eyes was a white house with a brownish red roof, a two and a half kind, where the garage was actually the half floor beneath the two floors.

I sat down in the dining room around the, of course, dining table. The Dentist had shown his hospitality and taken my luggage into his son's room. Now came The Lawyer. The only woman whom I felt intrigued by and obliged to meet and adore. The only woman whom I have heard so much nastiness about, whom I cannot hurl any form of abuse ever known to mankind to even if she starts to get on my nerves. Her eyes were as striking as a python's, screening me naked, shredding every piece of armor I've had on, piercing and most probably venomous. And if this is Hogwarts, she must be a student in Slytherin. Her lips parted... the very first word which came out from that intervening space in between two lumps of wrinkled cocktail sausages, "So..."

Damn.

The Bitch IV

Now we are all familiar with The Bitch. And she is a very prominent part of me which I don't wish to lose. Because we all know, that good guys always finish last, and do not necessarily go to Heaven to chase hopping bunnies or soak in the sun with hues of a rainbow gently beaming down from the clear blue skies.

And if anyone ever reads this space and cries because, yes, so I indeed wrote about you. But try to understand why I did. Because I am too kind to say this in your face, I had to switch on my laptop, log onto fucking blogspot.com in order to make sure I don't forget the experience, the anger, the soreness, and well, because I am a bitch. If no one ever tells you what's wrong with you, you'll never learn, correct? And if you never learn, you will never grow, no? So here goes.

My awesome colleague who's supposedly to be the head of the team, the writing team, does not write well. Well, I cannot say she can't write well, the truth is, she can't. There was an idea between another colleague and I to set up a SMLJ page on facebook to showcase the SMLJ English we have to bear our eyes to everyday. And you know, most of the times, they are motherfucking hilarious, eyesores nonetheless. And the reason why I am angry, upset and tickled or even amused, is that no one knows that she cannot write.

Take what happened today for example.

"Bag is in a prestige condition except for minor scratches..."

/rubbed eyes and affirmed myself I didn't drink. Ctrl F and checked through the entire thing, and realized there were a lot of "Prestige" being used in the same context, in an assortment of writing styles... and almost fell off from chair when 20 matches came on highlighted.

Now, can anyone point out to me what the unpardonable erroneous mistakes are? Let me list down the mistakes. Plural, mind you.

1. Prestige is a Noun. Prestigious is an Adjective. And in this case, you use an Adjective.
2. Prestige means reputation arising from success, achievement.

So I discreetly reminded her that the usage of the word was well of course, ma'fucking wrong. And I asked her politely whether she meant "Pristine".

So I waited for ten minutes or a good fifteen. And she finally replied.

"Duh! Of course it's Pristine! I took it from the R09 (history; company's lingo). Thanks for highlighting,"

Now this made my blood boil like the molten lava underneath a dormant volcano because she 'duhed' me.

1. I have an IQ slightly above average and I know you used the good ten to fifteen minutes to come up with a (in your sense) perfect way to shirk this blame and avoid embarrassing yourself.
2. You did not check through your work (and you've been the one nagging us to).
3. If you really did indeed copy and paste from history, enlighten anyone why are there 20 matches of Prestige being used in the same context, in an assortment of writing styles?

If you're handicapped, do not try to sell me your wheelchair and tell me it's a skateboard. Thank you.

A sadist's week.

• Brownie passed on on 4 February 2011
• My grandpa passed away last Friday
• My youngest sister almost drowned at Redang Island

Tell me not to be paranoid.

Brownie, My Love.

a blooming flower upon fields of barley,

a sunshine which never fails to make one's day...

and when heaven decided to take you,

they know you're going to make it a better place.

July '2006 - 4th February '2011

wherever you are, you are free.

you'll always be missed dearly.

Me VS Rabbit Year

Ahh.. Skies been raining hell. Did you just hear the thunder roared "UNSTOPPABLE?!" Now now, how many kills do you have to have before that even appear... I don't even fucking remember.

I am a bitch, officially one big one. Because I have a short fuse and quite a temper. Simon can vouch for this. So screw you if you don't agree with me.

I am going to tell you I need to go for my hip-hop lessons and my DJ-ing lessons. Because I am too cool to be a writer. :O Hahah! Kiddin nah.. insane. I love my job. I seriously do. I honestly do. I do not deny my love and I do not lie. I fucking love my job. Yayyy!

P.S Never knew too much of whiskey chocolate cake can get one tipsy. And screw clubs. Screw those bitches who just know how to hog onto floor space and fucking can't dance. Screw intoxication and screw everyone around me who's younger than me. Or look younger than 23. I am 26 soon and I look like 23, this is depressing. I want to cry.

Week of Insanity.

I have been dead busy, brimmed busy and yes, madly crazy.

With the last-minute slot-ins of events (each with hefty quantity, mind you) everyone in the office went into a red alert. Gone are the 2-hour long lunch breaks, and unfortunately, no ice-cream trips to Udders ( :( ), and I have seen a significant drop in the number of smoke breaks. Tomorrow is the judgement day; tomorrow shall determine whether or not I get to get a full face threading treat; tomorrow will be the day which we can decide whether or not to release the lever from the panic mode.

Man, I want Ritz Apple Strudel! And tons of ice cream please! Let's go girls! After this saga, let's do our ice cream buffet lunch!

Dear God,

If technology works for you at wherever you are and I think with the speed of internet, words penned here could reach you faster than a verbal prayer. I know it's hard to locate my voice amongst millions of others', so please, note the IP address.

There is something which I need to tell you, ask you, consult you and seek your kind advice:

I am severely half-hearted in everything I do.

That.

What kind of advice could you possibly give me? Imma try to sleep and hope you'd convey it through dreams.

Thank you!

Whenever someone tells me that he/she enjoys traveling, I would ask, who doesn't? Unless you have a fear of heights, fear of flying, fear of being confined in a metal container flying fighting against its own weight, on fuel, 600 feet high up in the air. Or perhaps, fear of meeting new people, fear of sitting beside a completely unknown stranger, fear of over-friendly air crew, fear of eating lousy pre-done food, fear of not having enough leg space and the list goes on.

As for me, none of the above mentioned ever bothered me. Because I am a big fan of heights, I am not afraid of meeting new people (I just don't fancy talking a lot unless you are dead interesting to talk to), I am not a fussy eater (well, sometimes I do crave for better), I am really quite short and to confine me within metal for hours, I would call sleep, rest, read, 'me' times to think a lot or to dream a lot, doodle a lot or just observe the surroundings. What normally bugs me is the aftermath of touching down. The pain of trying to bring myself back to whatever surreality I have managed to slip into during the flight. The pain of having to move fast, the pain of having to move actually, the pain of having to fight for your luggage (if there's someone who insists your luggage is actually his and is blind), the pain of queueing for customs clearance. In general, the pain of having to be in reality with a short notice period after having drifted off to somewhere amongst the sea of clouds.

I have never had a great company for travel. I've travelled with two of my ex-boyfriends, flown with Mr Chelsea an ex schoolmate, and Miss Leech who's a long time friend. Nice people all are. But of course, not to my preference. I am sorry if I have offended you here. But what I am trying to say is, I seriously am not afraid of being alone, anywhere and everywhere. In fact, it's nothing but an enjoyment and a route to self-discovery, I would see it.

And for the record, countries which I have been to are a handful - literally. Taiwan, Macau, Zhuhai (just a customs clearance from Macau) oh... darn. That is all. I am not taking in account the states in Malaysia and Batam. This is so embarrassing. None of any countries with rich heritage are being named here. And especially for someone like me who has absolute no interest in Chinese heritage, who is not thrilled by ancient torture chambers, I have only flown to chinese countries.

If I could be a travel-writer, what kind of travel-writer would I be? Would my style be identical to Samantha Brown's? Anthony Bourdain's? Or even Janet Hsieh's? I do not have a gigantic dictionary bank, I do not have the guts to try exotic flavors, I do not have the sociable trait in me which calls everyone a friend, what's worse, I absolutely do not know any other third language. I would say I'd be a quiet one, one who gets too absorbed in the loneliness of things and perhaps what I'd pen down, would be callous, caliginous, and morbid. So this is to say, I will never be a travel writer. Because I certainly do not find a lot of intriguing factor in a lot of things.

I am in a nympholepsy to have found "Come On Eileen" by Dexy's Midnight Runner And The Emerald Express (what a long name for an artiste) and have been playing it for the umpteenth time now. Why I adore this, is that it trickles this nostalgic feeling of youth, something which can never be vividly recalled now. It's not too distant, but neither anywhere near. However whatsoever, the most common conversation at work which you can find my name being mentioned a couple of times or more, is that how I don't look my age. Younger, thank you. And don't hate me cause everyone is starting to notice those subtle (or coarse) lines along the corners of your eyes, or when you frown.

Write - writing is a passion. To be able to write is a dream. To be writing countless products which errr, well, dances to and fro to the same tempo and progression - humdrum. Humdrum is definitely not a set of drums and neither does it mean drumbeats. I was sarcastically reminded not to use big words every so often this afternoon which seriously had me doubted my indifference. Maybe when I start to replace "happy" with "supercalifragilisticexpialidocious" whenever one asks how I'm feeling and only until then, I can assure you I have "dictionary" as an app on my iPhone and it's bookmarked on my browser and it's always around whenever I need to do a little writing here and there.

So I told Simon I need a spiritual guru cause I'm starting to think the world hates the world. And the world thinks its problem is the world. And that the problems from Venus, Mars or Pluto are of no concern to the world. But the world wants Venus, Mars and Pluto to hear her out. But Venus can only provide a listening ear, Mars can only offer solutions and Pluto can only gives her opinionated advice.

Okay, I am lost here. I don't want to write anymore. I need a voice, really.