Nov 26, 2305
i know that i am angry, but this anger is numbing. it flashes so hot that it is no longer proverbially red, but white. and intensely compressed.
i hate myself, that there are these periods of zealous introspections that conspire such impassioned imaginatives. why do i insist to dwell on this shite?
i hate being so empty of myself, knowing for a fact that there was never anything consequential about my life, nothing expressive of my purpose. i am so successfully existential, it is just NOT funny anymore.
i am SO empty. if you ripped me apart, you would find at my core, wot is left from the passing of a star - a black hole. it is gaping, and for me, as much as it paradoxes... it is devastating. why the fuck am i here?
my girlfriends were discussing zoukout the other night, and the way it registered a flavourlessness for me made me want to cry. a year ago, music, rhythm and its host of beatitudes were my colour. today it is bland.
i am cheerless. there is so much of myself i have morphed to conform to something else that this is not who i am anymore.
i fucking hate myself now, and i fucking hate this stupid entry.
Nov 21, 2248
baby my heart is a sponge, fashioned to absorb all of your absence from me. i miss you.
Nov 20, 1315
if for once i was wrong, i'm GLAD. my congrats to Taufik. if Mediacorp is serious about their Idol, then the real contension ended last night.
Sly stays because they need his fanbase for their ratings. pandai kan? if Sly goes, he brings 100% of their pre-pubescent audience with him. and that's a lot of kids, tau.
i was telling Sha that Oli should've asserted her sexuality more... like proper female locks or something. Sha was saying her cleavage was enough, but Oli started the competition sexually ambigious and i have not seen transition enough for me to change my mind. so Oli's cleavage does nothing for me really. it's like making out with your boyfriend, then discovering wot's between his legs isn't hard, but wet. ok, that wasn't the best analogy, but you get wot i mean? it's freaky lah. *shivers*
in any case, Oli's androgyny confuses the greater audience. you see, the rest of us are sexually banal - if we were pussies, we'd like dick (not the judge), and vice versa. Oli's ambiguity means there's no incentive for either boy or girl to vote for her. i know she tried though with the dresses, but... the hair - it's always been salah.
let's think about the bigger question - wot the fuck will the Singapore Idol be doing after this anyway? cut a record, make a million, tour the world? which part of the world? Sly will stop in Asia - his diction makes him William Hung in America (among other things they have in common... heheheh). Taufik though, because he's more "English" and less his ethnic identity (Melayu ku-rang), has potential to relate to the international scene. so december 1st and its ends will be all about where the Idol is going.
would you know where that is?
conversations over SMS
aNa: i think i'll do my bit for justice and put in a vote for Taufik. ekhekhehehke
sHa: jamal voted for me the other night. heh.
aNa: he did? kau idol nombor braper? 47? sms 47 to 43657 to vote for sha?
sHa: as in, vote for Taufik for me lah, qitot.
Nov 19, 0105
much as i've tried to keep my distance, i've been hooked, lined and sinkered into the idol phenomenon. it started from the Malaysian Idol video bites Prop was feeding me. MI brought a hope that conveys raw talent still subsists. Jac was amazing. she is undeniably Malaysia's Idol.
i despair for tomorrow though (or later today, rather), when the top 2 is announced. i anticipate the impending loss of one excellent talent. i think the bias of the competition is a little too telling.
here is 2 cents worth of my practising clairvoyance:
Sylvester wins it hands down - he is most marketable. Oli is too much a dearie. you can see the legions of hope she invests in her eyes. she's Dick's fav too anyway - they're both flamboyantly broadway. which leaves Taufik, who is most probable to make his final song tomorrow. this seriously upsets, because he is a serious talent. and the judges recognize this, which explains why they're always so extra hard on him - constructive criticism (or in Florence Lian's case... any criticism) is a school of learning. they're not wasting airtime on Sylvester talking about pitching and tonations, cos the poor sod hasn't got a clue. he's gonna win and lip-synch through his career anyway so wot's the fucking use?
in the end, a moral to this year's SI is - your claim to fame is yellow skin soaked in Taiwan pop. fuck the singing. until such a time when they realise that the greater Chinese market might just profess a finer appreciation for masculine beauty. hah.
by... i hate
how you hate love songs
your re-constructing punctuality
how you channel-surf the radio!!!!!!!
but... i love
your apology and how you try
the way you surprise me =) and
you. i love you.
g'nite.
Nov 17, 2222
i hate the biting cold. i hate the way it finds an ease of way to crawl into my bones, so that my teeth will chatter, and my head will ache from the grinding of my jaws trying to hold what is left of my fort, that is my warmth. there are days when the cold so grips me, my nipples show through my fucking bra.
i dislike thongs. they make me look like i try too hard. still, i find another woman's VPL distasteful. aren't i the hypocrite? but i don't bother with mine anymore these days (VPL, that is). my miserable collective of thongs have all vanished into an other-world reality that is my mother's wasteland of my clothes she either finds doggedly sinful, or quaintly undefinable. i remember the first time i bought my thongs. she held them up, frowning ernestly, and asked me "macam maner kau pakai nih?"
i had to throw my face away to giggle to myself. kwakwakwa!
i hate train drivers!! i swear, there is this proprietious amount of sadism that they inject through their work. the air conditioning is always on too cold, or just a little too warm. their new sets - with the less seats, more standing room, and the groovy handlebars, have speakers with trebles permanently set on H.I.G.H. every stop sends a fucking blizzard of tremor through my fucking head.
what truly takes the cake though, is how whenever my train pulls into Raffles (and the connector is sitting pretty ready to move off), the latter always ONLY starts closing just as my train doors pull open. i mean... wot the fuck?! you couldn't have waited 15 fucking seconds for our miserable lot?!
and i hate my journey home. after 6 itself there is this inane pissant of a pause they practise at every station. i mean... you literally fucking shovel us to work at the speed you drive in the mornings, but you slap us around with our own time in the ends of the day? do you honestly expect me to spend my fucking evening after work cold, standing and bloody starving in a fucking train?
but what i truly loathe most about my journey home, is the way it can rob me of ardour i reserve for only here... so that sometimes by the time i am all settled, the lethargy of my head has infected my heart. of course this disappoints me. i can be a mental distress, but it is a content of this heart that conspires to spill. lethargy serves to empty it.
Nov 17, 0000
you will never begin to imagine the extents to which you intrigue me. i cannot decide if the depths of the human psyche into which i can crawl between will remain a harrowed blessing or my constant curse.
i know you, and all your inner workings. there are the nights i lie in bed, and the mornings i spend standing in the train, just obsessing over why there is so much of you that i identify. it is compulsive.
i know the latitudes of your loss, the deserts of which are boundlessly empty. i have trudged in the muds of my own. this is why there is so much of you that continues to nag me - this association to you, this common plane we were both on where you still are that inexorably binds me to you. it is insane.
trust is a phenomenon. you are right when you said that it should be earned. this trust of my heart, though, was earned by myself, for myself. i think that in the end, it is really an intensely innate need for humans to trust themselves foremost, before they can begin to trust others. for myself, i have had the good fortune (although back then i did not bear it as very fortunate to me) to have learnt the value of trust in the very days it was kept away from me.
continued consternation is sad. it is a sad way to live. and it bothers me, in its quiet way, how good fortune again comes forth to grant me the personal exclusivity to learn, over and over, the values of trust and respect at their very cores... this time though, both at your expense.
in times of my deepest reflections (like now), this is a measure of my existence that is forever binding to you.
Nov 15, 1044
Nov 13, 1618
a collective of FIVE essay questions is MURDEROUS. i swear i've not been that catatonic since... since yati in first year! gawd.
we popped by our old campus next door, and as we sauntered in there was... there was... a christmas tree!!!! a positive Goliath of a christmas tree. so we yelped, and we squealed, and we whipped out our toys!
presenting the kwa_kwa_kwas.
appendix A:- take 6
appendix B:- take 11 (taking your own picture is TRICKY OKAY)
this next set's like the three blind men, feeling up the elephant. macam... amenda nih?!
and then there's... the Christmas tree!!!
there's something heinously wrong with it. it's... it's senget!!!! huaaarrrggghhhh!! *runs around erratically*
on an end note... by, i had a lot of fun! thank you =))) i don't know why you're so sweet, tapi confirm ader benda >( takper. bila tiba masa... I WILL GIVE YOU YOUR TEN RORRARS!! *nyam!**nyam!**nyam!**nyam!**nyam!**nyam!* (sound efek gnarling + geram)
Nov 11, 1113
a day before the results of the American presidential elections, i read the news and knew without a doubt what was to come. but i was still hoping the next few days would swing it the other way. if only a little.
so i was surprised when i read the results the next day. surprised it had come so fast, that is. it fed my distaste for Americans, and confirmed their incapacities for informed decisions. this is the ruling nation of the world?
a few days back i went into WRH, just to scan through their library. they had masses of articles about the voting fraud, the glitch of the Die-bold machines, votes unaccounted for etc et al. and i felt like screaming at the webmasters "so fucking wot?!"
it does not make a difference if there were votes secretly discounted, no difference if the Die-bold was pre-set. it makes no difference what the people knew. because America has voted. and it was for someone undeserving of even f.u.c.k.e.r for adjective.
i stay away from the Mid-east situation these days because it hurts to be informed. it hurts to read about shrapnel in a child and the wasted lives of youths. it hurts to read about the oppression of women - NOT by way of un-education and forced domestication, but that in times of occupation they have so much more to lose. husbands, brothers, sons, fathers... and their self respect. especially their self respect. this is a female oppression. and the fuckers who claim to denounce this, who proudly display their "women's lib" back home, have exercised all in their power to perpetuate this in the very territories they "freed". i am filled with so much hate for America right now.
i skim through the Iraqi guerillas and their hostages. i cannot read too much, because it troubles my soul. it troubles me a little that in a small way, i am proud of them. that they have chosen to fight this occupation with their lives, and they have chosen to fight it smartly. i'm sorry, but i think it is genius. no, i'm not the best versed in arts of war... but the guerillas have chosen to play their own game in the field of global politics, and their reach is potently international. it's amazing. i take my hats off them.
i refused to watch the beheading of that first fucker. everyone was passing the mpeg around. i've watched cannibal holocaust. i've watched a guy get his dickhead sliced off. but i refused to watch the beheading. cannibal holocaust was in the jungles of amazon. the guy without his dickhead was an African tribesman. but the decapitations were in civilised society (although you might very well disagree with the use of that word here). it's much too close to home.
Nov 11, 0104 hours
the only thing i hate about the journey home is when the paroxysms hit me in the office, composing the lengths of my entries in my head... but that by the time i am seated here conducive to compose, my enthusiam has all but dissipated, its lustre pretty lacking.
it comes back though, so this is it.
i felt the flashes of anger - hot and fleeting as i read. i think most of this is the stirring of things pent here, in my chest, these past few weeks.
i cannot decide if things have somehow changed, taken on so gradual that i've only had the vision to notice only now... or that they have always been this way, and that i've only had the vision to notice. only now.
maybe in the end, we've come so far from each other i've forgotten wot you were like. or maybe it is that i've never known you at all. i can't decide now, really.
i hate the way the bile of work envelops you so completely you cannot go two minutes without its discourse. i hate it because i am on the outside of it. so immaculately exclusive, i have almost always nothing constructive to say. so i shut up.
i hate the way you come in carrying the weight of your distractions so painfully transparent on your face, the way nothing in the world could pronounce a difference. i hate it. i hate it indefinitely because it pushes me away. you push me away.
i have never been a friend. i don't suppose that i even remotely fulfill the vaguest definitions of a friend. there is so much strength of need i possess to viciously guard my privacy, that i end up pushing everyone away. all through these years... especially you. i recognize this.
so i'm supposing that all i am picking off you now are simply reactions to me. to my periods of coldness, my ages of distance. i know this. so i shouldn't complain. i really shouldn't.
except that i miss you. i fucking miss everything that passes to and from us, through us both, that binds so much of us together. i fucking miss this magic that used to make me stay with you, till late (and still can). the bare fucking honesty, and so much of us both that connect. i fucking miss it.
i fucking miss you.
my beacons of light
Nov 7, 2006
i'm in withdrawal again. it's been a long time since, but here it is again. i've had quite a treat from my doses of you these past two weeks... which explains this semi-relapse. have i ever told you that i hate it? missing you is quite literally, a physically painful occurence. i'd really rather be numb.
oh god i miss you.
Nov 7, 1154
disclaimer: potentially incensing. read at your risk.
i dislike malay weddings. it's a wholly tiresome affair. why do people feel the need to throw themselves a ball at everyone else's expense? when you throw a wedding, you're binding all your guests... especially the women!! argh!
when you throw a lavish wedding, you are essentially compelling people to
1. turn up,
2. dress finely,
3. torture their calves in stupid (expensive) heels,
4. pay for their food!!
i sound like the scrooge, but the issue is not the money. they say it is the grace of the guest to recompense the host... but where is the grace of the host in customary acceptance?! there is no sense to some tradition, and it is beyond me why in such educated society nobody's tried to abolish it. in fact, i dare say our women perpetuate it. yes.
of course you may argue that it's a one-time affair, so now i throw the question back at you - you're willing to capitalise on the day your life is changed?
yes, a wedding is emotionally personal, and yes i understand the emotional drive to share it. but i protest when you
1. spend enough to buy a fucking car
2. compell the labour of your relatives
3. make your guests pay!!!!
pfft.
Nov 7, 0113
it looks like the ends of this year might come along even more reserved than i had hoped it might be. i was given both the apple and its core, but in my greedy self-indulgence i have lost both. it had not occured to me that i might. i've always thought the two were at my own disposals... but that's turned out to be a sublime slap to my deviant face. sigh.
i feel helpless - especially within the spheres of my imagined control. i cannot govern the fate that which befall me... but i can govern the choices i make. i fear though, that the older i get, the thinner my lines have drawn. there comes so much you are obliged to, that your choices ultimately boil down to a definition of "the greater good". when i was younger, there was no "greater good". i was my own greater world. age however, grants you the perceptivity of your immediate environment - namely your family. and therein then would lie everyone's "greater good".
i believe wot i am writing about has already been realised by most people, and in there i confess my late blooming. i have had a privileged childhood. my parents tried to enforce a moral sense of responsibility... but this is one thing that can only be learned, and not taught. i am learning slowly. very, very slowly. only through observing the struggles of my own parents, and how they've exercised the girth of their patience for me. love is amazing that way. when you love, patience is infinite.
the indian experience (which has since denied me) was an offer extended by my girlfriend sha. it was to be a 2 week mission in Punjab to build a school for a village. i think it would have had phenomenal implications on a city baby's soul, and i was ready to take on that journey.
but i know wot i did that night. i hadn't wanted to, i do not want to touch that stuff no more. but my will is gastronomically weak, so God takes away my one shot at a clarity of my person. i sound like a fucking proselyte, but welcome to my other me - i am tuned into Him.
there is one other thing that i wish to express but i fear is much too personal, not for myself but for the parties involved. so i have only this to say - it is in the thinnest bands from which you are stretched, that etch the person you are... if only for that moment. i am sorry that it happened the way it did, but i ask that you forgive, because there is so much pressing circumstance that surround all of you these days.
so i ask that you please forgive.
postscript - today's stills can be found here.
Nov 2,0003
i think the ends of this year will arrive at a very pensive close for me. for starters, i have grown up so much more than i have ever done in the last 3 years.
i have been taught the value of patience, and resilience in the quietest imaginable way. and i have learnt the value of good tidings - that i should always, always be thankful for wot little time is accorded me. the smallest blessings go around... i have learnt that too =)
and now this - sha's extended me an offer i fear, for tonight, will rob me of sleep. it has the premise of an incredible experience. and i itch to accept. it is irrepressible to me. and i cannot wait to tell you, sayang.
and i like wot you've done with my fotopage. haha! of all the images for my avatar =)
g'nite, tonight.
Nov 1, 0220
i've started on my final ishiguro. i know - i never seem to learn my lesson. fortunately for me, his debut is the mildest, and most quietly resonating amongst the three. remains of the day was highly disciplined, and unconsoled was ridiculously ambitious. so it is really out of sheer luck that i seem to have saved the best for last, and i am glad.
i was scheming a few days ago (friday to be specific... ekhekhehke) to get the Nokia 7610. but now i'm horny for one of these two babies:
i prolly never will get down to it. because this is my purchasing discipline - there are days i throw open my closet knowing exactly wot i'm looking for... only i'll end up digging around dismally because nothing i really own comes remotely close. which is when i'll be cussing the saturday i could've spent clothes-hunting if i hadn't been too arse-fucking lazy. but it'd be too late to be inspired. cos i'd be 10 minutes behind schedule, harassed, befuddled and hopelessly broke.
i remarked this once to fen... (or did i? i actually can't remember) i wish i could pay someone to shop for me. i know the things i want... but i can't be arsed to get them. that explains why i only spent 4 hours in Bangkok's Chaktuchak.
4 fucking hours in bargain's paradise. *makkau*
Nov 1, 0113 hours
kwa kwa kwa!!
