and I am in my element now. Not that it came naturally, rather, a product of circumstances. A finely honed element. That of denial. I don't think I'll put down the previous post, after all. It might stay there, it might.

a gritting of the teeth, knowing that you have put your hand to the yoke and cannot turn back. I learnt on saturday that sometimes, denial is a way to leave the situation with your head held high. I've always known that intuitively, I think. Not that I could explain, even at fifteen, why I would rather have died than gone back and tried to settle for something less so that my heart would be satisfied. There are some things worth sacrificing, even if it feels nothing like that at that point in time. I think I will never believe in emotions.

There's much to be said about the topic, all in different ways, even in ways that will inadvertently reveal more than I would mean to in the course of my attempt to theorise. Did you know that tears drops evaporated leave a visible imprint, a risen up dried layer of water that shines in the reflected light. It's like glue, only that that's a clumsy [if accurate] remark. I'd not like to think that the hard torn product of vulnerability wrung out of me is something as contemptous as glue. And it isn't. It's salt. I don't have crystals of salt on my tabletop though; that's too complicated an image, and too tactile.
What I have is a thumbprint of my heart, much like a mark of Cain.

Sometimes it's okay to be in denial, because what you are denying, is deceit. [Interesting, that they both start with "de". Wonder if tracing the etymological roots would reveal anything.] And I'd rather hug bearbear alone at night and feel the face wrentch in reaction to the fierce retaliation of the heart telling me that I am foolish, and that the sappy love songs will come true if I were to just -pause- follow my heart. I'd rather sit alone in a corner of the wall and despite my best efforts, hear a cry escape because my insides have grown bigger than the measurements my body has been built as. All these, than to settle for something less than what I believe it's worth. And I will hold very tenaciously to what I believe are of value. I know the descriptions are dramatic, but do you dare tell me they are not true? I am writing truth! There are few more miserable things in life than to live in deceit. And the fearful thing is, sometimes, deceit can go on. And it does bring happiness; happiness is a feeling that has become of little worth in today's consumerist world where to be is to have. So what if I am proud? I'd rather be proud than a slave to wiles.

The remnants of that tear will stay where it fell.

chocolate

even when it's obvious enough that what you've gotten into isn't worth the amount you're feeling, that things are ridiculously improportionate and that anyone with an ounce of sense would know that you should be completely ambivalent about it anyway, except-
sometimes, it doesn't work that way. so that the phrase "you should be completely ambivalent about it anyway" is false, the operative word has tricked you and swopped positions. 'Anyway', broken into the morphemes (a) any, and (b) way, do somewhat add up to mean 'in any way'. That in whatsoever situation or "way", I ought to be completely ambivalent. I've been tricked, I cry again. The operative words are 'should be', and the parchment filled with clauses fooled me.
Or maybe it's in the phrase before "that anyone with an ounce of sense". and I wish with all my head that I am sensible, that I can say as gibly as you do, that "if you don't mind, it doesn't matter", that I am so full of sense control can never be mastered out of me, at least not before the head assents. As it is, I've not got very much to cling on to, besides the fact that I had made the decision when I was still clear-headed, now that my senses fool me, I have to stay with it still.
Why did this happen? There's nothing sensible about it. There's no reason. Besides, perhaps, the chilli tequila. That, and a night of korean rice wine that adds no flavour to ribena.
I hate being alone.

This is one of the posts that will probably stay for a day or two, and then will be saved as a draft again, until maybe, many months later, I'm looking at my archives and go, here. this post, and this post, can be put up once more.

I spent an hour typing about yf, in a rare post where I talked about yesteryears, what happened in between and the love that was shown on saturday.

and then technology played me out. grimace.

I guess I think about it somewhat, now and then, but not for very long, and not in-depth. Not conciously conciously anyway. But a trip down to your internet words got me thinking.

I like you, the way I like certain people. I can't help it; you people are too nice not to like. That's how I think of you, you know. Nice. And people can't help liking nice people like you. I suppose I'm sounding rather idiotic here, in the cruel sense of the word but this is what I mean. You're smiley and exude this welcoming aura about you that would attract anyone. You're fond of me too, I think. And so this is when I start comparing.

I think we're very much different. As your internet words said, you like the simple; it brings contentment and comfort to you. Me, I don't really know very much about me, I don't reflect, nor stop to think about who I am. well here goes. I think I'm the other side of the coin. I'm not a spacey float around accomplishing items thing [not that you are], but that's how I behave if I don't take the time to examine myself. I brood now and then; I like brooding, it brings out a side of me I like to keep. Someone once told me I'm too intense; I guess that's what brooding does to a person. But I'm most alive when I walk in the energy of intensity.
You, you sweet lovely girl with exuberance about you, it's different, isn't it? How different we are. But I have the child in me too. Times when I sit by the window side and someone I love appears so I stretch out my hands and smile so joyously.

I don't know where I'll end; sometimes I think I play with the dark night too much. I do, really. For all the sin and folly though, I have been seared and the scars I nurse with care. Maybe one day I'll wake up and see that these are the mouth of a sepulcher. But for now, I dance with the flame, I stare at the outside and brood. and this, this was a difficult post to write.

rumligh

I do declare, I love cuddles. Therefore, all my chubby cheeked cousins ought to be permanently at my hip, so that I can kiss their noses, blow raspberry bubbles, or just take in the indescribable baby smell as they rest under my chin. Dear little downy heads. alright I refuse to be limited by the word "indescribable" anymore. It's such an excuse word.

"round-something". because baby smells have a soft round shape.
"mmmmmmm" must be inside. because that's the only proper reaction to the roundmmmmm baby small.
"ahhhhh". the sound made when there's nothing to worry about because baby makes it all right. but because ahhhh sounds vaguely like a panicked scream, and baby smells must never be associated with anything remotely negative, I shall change it to "ighhhh", like the sigh of perfect contentment.

"roundmmmmighhhh" is rather inelegant though. ooh there must be the letter "u" somewhere. because it's curvy.

rummmmmmighhhhh.
yeahh that looks better. except a little too hearty and robust for my tofu of a baby cousin[s]. My little squishy lumpy oh-soooo-kissable docile toothless gurgling mmmmmmmmm embodiments of love baby cousins. I think it's the "g" that's causing the problems.

rummmmmihhhhhhhh.
But "rum-i-h" (/rUm-yI/) sounds weird when said out loud in the brain. Too frivolous. Like a bimbotic butterfly.

roommuuigh
Erp.

It must be one syllable. Or a diathrong, at most. rummligh.
hmm. How about that? rummligh. Like Ramly burger. hahaha.

Okay. I have a good feel. I like ramly burgers too anyway. Funny association, but who am I to say anything when words have decided they match? I might change it if the occasion rises, like nativ-ia-sation or whatever else prof tan teaches us [I'm such a bad elang student :(] but in the mean time, I think rummligh fits it pretty well.

Baby smells are rummligh.
rumligh.
My baby counsin[s] smell rumligh.

EH no it doesn't work.
My baby counsins are mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
delectable. :D

sometimes you can't help it, can you. sometimes it can't be helped, can it. So that sometimes when I can't help it I can justify myself.
I've always thought of that entry as a little girl lolling against the curvy gentle bit of the 0 ala dreamwhatever, the movie thing you know. Where the eprehemal ghost of a boy swings his legs below the cresent moon and his fishing string links him back to the world- his only connection with our earth, otherwise he wouldn't even be a shadowy boy, for, if we cannot reconcile him to our reality, we cannot classify him as a boy. we know what boys are. so his vulnerable heart lengthens and lowers itself down through the second heavens so that it thins further and further till what it becomes, is his fishing rod that connects us with reality- and now that that is settled, the movie, whatever it is, can start.
that world is not grey, it's lighter and darker shades of light, and white. there isn't any black, only a midnight blue. the kind of skie that mere writers call "twilight", without knowing what it is they evoke. midnight is never midnight, there is no black. it's a blue beyond the senses, indescribable, but. you can see it in clubs. [What paradoxy. That the stuff of fantasy draps down from a dancing ceiling, where intoxicated minds and slippery bodys grind each other and tongues urgently explore another's wet hot mouth.] In that world a choice few reside. Entrance is more often than not decided in the cradle, or bestowed to the bairn dandled from its mother's knee. These chosen ones have had a faye's space in their brains. Hark them toddlers. [One could at this point turn cliche and melodramatically declare, destiny. Carried away by our own rambles and the ego creeps in doesn't it. No. Self-conciousness must be denied entry, always.] They will be found, it will manifest itself. And you. If it doesn't come naturally, do not try. It just falls flat on your face.

and finally, it's over. over over over. what's left is to shake out the scab in the heart much like a toothbrush scrubs away a bad taste in the mouth [or grosser, the little furry things that make your tongue yellow] and forget it. because we do forget bad tastes. In such cases memory more often than not is kind and in spite of even the most determined, we forget the time. I'm free, and happy. free free free. It's a lovely feeling. no more pressure, no more gritting my teeth because I made a bad choice and had the guts to stick it out. yay. Footloose and fancy free. Now to carpe diem and make the most of the remaining time, that being the rest the rest of my life. Why I wanted in was one [justified] reason, and that at least consoles me. That it wasn't pure folly. Because I would have to be honest with myself and admit that yes, I did like the thrill and fun of it. But it's been too long, too far away since I was innocent [ignorant?] enough to play in bliss. Sociology is right in that external pressures shape us. I have been unknowingly moulded. Maybe because only hindsight is perfect.

and now that I'm settled down comfortably into my seat [I can't imagine why though, I swear I've got the most made-in-china chair-], my contrary mind dries up. ohwell. I'm still a glad girl.

hesitant, and feeling distinctly uncomfortable. running up to a charging mad woman and attempt to wrap my arms around her while she shrieks a war cry to my face sounds too much like sucide to me not to be discomfited. These people have had their rationality suspended, so slamming bodies and insanity is normal. twist twist and oh look my team mate has just bodily slammed someone onto the ground. and mind you. she's even smaller than I am. turn turn like a carnival horse ride with biazzre skills. civility is slung out of the window with massive force and savgery embraced with whoops and screams. I scream a lot too. what does it take to go into contact mode, so that the instinct to protect one's own body turns a full circle and when you face it again, this instinct has transmorgified; it's unrecognisable. An artist has slashed it; it's bleeding face paint and war marks and it's screaming for blood. One's own body is now nothing more than an instrument to harm, and the value of this construct of flesh is in how willing you are to intertwine your body with that of another's with force, so that the two of you now meshed, jerk in the air and fall rolling as one on the ground. Unwrap yourself off her, and the two of you pat each other in the name of sportmanship. Communication suddenly gets a whole lot harder, with each seeming to lose the ability to form sound sentences. so that. forceful gestures replace speech and truly we are a team of heathens. gesture gesture gesture and she says vehemently 'you're short so use your body to block her gesture gesture and I nod, bemused. Can't help being short. I appear to be the only poor sod who has retained normalacy. I'm abnormal on court.
It's a whole team of mad women out there, two teams of mad women. I tap the ball, and suddenly it's in my possession. Run! and that's what I'm doing, while screams trail behind me like waves following the boat. Another memory- the ball's in my hands, and bouncing it once, I jump forward to shoot



For a splinter of time, my body's in the air and then the next thing I know is that my body's onto two KE7 defenders. Whatever their standard of play is, it remains that these are massive girls, who look more like men than women with their cropped hair and my physique is a child's compared to theirs. For an inifinte moment I am in a vertox as the laws of physics take over and my body recoils backwards. Then a muffled thud, the sound of a body hurled onto the ground. and then that body there, it lies montionless. My body had no power, no control during that one infinite movement, from the time I rebounded off them till it found itself on the ground. I must say it was a fascinating experience though.

no experience, no experience. Movements awkward, so painful to see when th is fluid, is smooth.

Handball's over. The defending champions only made it as far as the semi-finals. and as there are no playoffs for the losers, today's was the final game. I would love to stay and play for next year, but I'm afraid my sources are drying up. This looks to be my last sem in eusoff. It's been good.

the curvy little sideway-dropped-down squiggle you call the two decided to well. move up the ranks and climb atop the one. and with the laws of mathematics nine flips back like the scoreboard chart during a handball match in temasek poly and lo [and below], the zero. well if you add two and zero you get two although I think adding two and zero don't necessarily have to make two are you so mean as to neglect the zero? Surely not. and since I believe in nicety, we shall have two and zero making two zero, not zero zero per say, non, but side by side in a democratic and communist arrangement. there. I am twenty. I am glad to be twenty. The teenage life was getting to be somewhat a bore. and. sad memories painful memories can be left behind. Maybe I am not so invulnerable after all.

self-reflection retrospection inward upward outward downward looking time. Twenty years does call for it think you. well well I have on hand what They said and I suppose outsiders' views are sometimes more accurate [sometimes sometimes] in any case they were acknowledged by me. and I was suprised.
But I won't dissect my Self to pieces here the internet is a fully public sphere and I am not unaware of that and also my part of the bargain to IT. information technology gives me space, and I give it a right, that my words will not be limited or privilleged to any one class. With that I flourish my right of choice in your face as we did half legs wet standing in a swimming pool and the looking warm lights communicating with the street lamps on the stone pavement mmm cozy cozy stony pavement some. time back maybe two years ago. Don't tell me it's three years time couldn't have passed so fast- anyway` to recapulate Not to examine myself in public. That would be crude. I would not like to be crude.

I think my stamina for writing and letting the mind freewheel has fallen the same extent alcohol has on my running falls falls drops
urked I am that I can't do an e.e. cummings because technology [either my knowledge or biocentricity which we have decided is anthocentrism if only we were more awake this morning we could have stunned the professor with our brilliance I was quite pointed in the evening and I'm losing my vocabulary]
ugh wot is the matter the words are not flowly flowing the way they should be they are disjointed and broken I feel like farce. The force of habit remembers the structure but the mastery the magic in my hands my eyes it's missing and I hope it's only through the lack of calling forth the whymsy that this is happening. After all, it's been nearly a month since I wrote in my mode.

and since I can't write properly [though I have been here for a good length of time] I will end. And conclude with something completely unconnected. Why not. Tonight is a disconnected night where I see nothing at all.

the seeing nothinglessness of it all is frustrating but con- con- [what is the word for at the same time no not simountaneously] con- OH CONVULSIVELY (whatever) I'm in more or less physical convulsions anyway appalled at- at- this at the air in my head where is my brain igiveup

Here's my random sentence, the only thing tonight that worked the way it should have.
if I am EVER a bore or get too full of myself PLEASE I beg you for the love of our friendship let me know.

acid bar birthday

which was pretty much a wrap up of the celebrations leading to my 20th. It was lovely; I know how I want to spend my 21st already. I'll do it spread out with the different people/groups of people I love. More meaningful yes? Anyone wants to start booking? haha. This one, mayboo organised. thanks babe. :))















and then I think the solo shot of mayb is hilarious. She claims that the camera flash blinded her and caused that reaction; joe says she looks raptured.
this one of mayboo, joe and I [taken by ivan I think] was when she got rather high and grabbed our wrists and started swaying. heh. the live music was good though.  

acid bar birthday 2 :)