vienna teng's gravity goes really well with grass cutting

disconnection is a lovely feeling

They're cutting the grass below me, below the trees that are my real life screen saver real time backdrop a life a live and entirely 3dimensional. The sound is grating it's sharp in multiples of seconds by seconds so that they run into each other and what ought to be little separate ^ sounds-that symbol really is a visual rendering of the audio, ephi-fee-ny here- like:

equation A: ( ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ) x 1 second
becomes:
equation B: (^^^^^^^^^^^) x 1 second

and that, I do not like because sounds that are separate ought to stay apart and not ill-fittingly attempt to string into one sound. It's horribly discordant.

But hey hey guess what vienna teng's gravity goes really well with grass cutting.



And walking back from a simple prata teh breakfasted with pearlyn [a pleasure, that. stuff like this that should be done frequently, yet so rarely it is counted a treat] the grey drain on my side was rusty brown with green green grass. It is a startling combination. and I'm thinking now the english language is so limited. What word is there to describe the freshly cut grass still . still. there. alive. It's lying there intermingled intermixed with the rusty brown that is reminiscent of decomposition and decay, and it's so so green. Is there a word for the green that is green green? That is, not just green, but a green for grass that is cut yet still alive? I must say this is one of the worst paragraphs ever, so painfully a simpleton's efforts.


ayy this coming week is my last full week with my boys; the week after is filled with x-country national day celebrations national day and school holidays so it doesn't really count. It's funny how I entered with all sorts of fuzzy ideas, then by the end of the second week felt so exasperated with some of them I asked a fellow teacher if it was permissible to tape their mouths.
I was supposed to be there for only a month, but the school asked if I could extend and after everything I'm glad I did. I don't know if it's mutual with my students but I think it might be.

And I shall quite quite possibly miss them somewhat.

The art of stupidity- or, how to try blinding the self.

It’s fairly simple, really. Simply get a contact lens solution that requires neutralization. Meaning to say, it has to be an acidic solution of some sort. Then, neglect to add the tablet that will neutralize it. Leave overnight. The next morning, when self is bleary and non-functional, insert contact lens- unneutralised acidic solution and all- into eye.

Then stumble back in pain as the eye loses control and rolls upward.

How’s that for a start to the day. I’ve had happier suprises. Okay let’s see [pun unintended] what happened next.

Taking it out was painful and difficult. The first time I tried, my fingers only met the whites of my eye because the iris- and lens- was somewhere at the back of my socket. I then grabbed my bottle of saline and started pouring it in but there was no effect- my eye still continued to roll upward and all the while the pain felt like someone had taken a wire gauze- the kind found in kitchen sinks- and was rubbing my eye. There was a silent screaming in my head and everything seemed red. In desperation I made my way to the mirror, and as I gasped into it my eye somehow came back into focus upon which I immediately removed the lens.

And the story doesn’t end here.
I went to school, but by eleven my eye was losing control and rolling upwards again every five mintues or so. Now the pain felt like someone was using a blunt toothpick to stab my eye and the area around it was reacting I felt like all my nerves and veins there were throbbing. I left at eleven thirty to see the doctor at nus, a lovely old lady about seventy I think.

She did an eye check, which included sticking a paper thing into my eyeball and that stung a bit. The diagnosis is relieving. There is no damage to cornea as of right now, and the reason why my eye kept going into mini seizures was from the conjuctivital reaction. I’m to see her again today [all this drama happened yesterday], which I will after conducting remedial for my boys. haha sorry brian I know I said that even if I coughed up blood I’d go for class, but I didn’t expect to pour acidic stuff into my eyeball you see.

Conjuctivital is five syllabus.

So right now there’s an eye patch over the injured organ, and my students have been alternately expressing concern and amazement over it. The funniest one was this adorable kid who actually backed away from me, and behind his taller friend. Former students of the Gothic genre, I bring to your mind the attraction-repulsion complexion. He couldn’t stop staring at my white friend stuck to my face.

Thus far are the adventures of rachel the madam.

I wonder if a butterfly knows what a thing of beauty it is




credit: by =negromante

My pupils' sheer incompetence at formal letter writing has got me so overworked I need to rant somewhere. I don't have any b&j's in the fridge which I suspect is what I need.

It isn't like it's their purely virgin attempt; even if this was the very first time they've tried writing a full piece out, it isn't like I threw them into the deep end of the pond. I didn't okay. First, I spent an entire period going through the format [which during my time, was simply passed to us to memorise] and even testing them on it. Talk about spoon-feeding. Then I spent even more periods doing content, after which they went into groups and wrote me a sample paragraph. Went through the better ones with them, kept asking them if they understood, I got sooooo many confident nods.........

Now I'm marking a class' practice attempt, and well now. Guess who seems to have wasted an entire week.

Ridiculous.

If I wasn't so disappointed as well I'd probably be only furious. I have to spend my time [my unpaid time, mind you] marking rubbish? Like, what, I'm supposed to be grateful they wrote me half a page of blather? One of them was totally brilliant. Copied out the preamble of the handout almost word for word, and then promptly forgets to change the pronoun, so that his letter to dr. ong contains a sentence that reads, "Due to this problem, Dr Ong wants the views of the pupils on this matter...". What, does he think his dear principal schizophrenic or something?


I'm going to vomit blood.





okay that sounded unglamourous.

from newspapers to wishlists

Was reading the papers last night, the first in a really long time, and was quite astounded by just how long I hadn't read.

I think the greatest shock came from the funnies section. I mean, there are so many changes but the only one I can remember now-and with great clarity at that- is garfield. The last time I read, jon'd just gotten together with his vet girlfriend. Last night, vet girlfriend was coaxing garfield to like her too because he was throwing a jealous huff [how garfield, haha]. I was like, already? They've gone past the dating-each-other stage and it's now meet-the-in-laws? Never mind that jon's in-laws at present are garfield and odie, and that his real parents are someover over the farm. I missed it all.

I feel deprived. ):

________________________

I was reading one of my lengthier posts written in april/may thereabouts in which I outlined the future as far as I could see from after the exams till school reopens again. Well I think the single greatest thing I failed in predicting was what I'd do after I came back from the philippines. I thought I'd go back to being a camp instructor/trainer but hey these days I wake up everyday sixish and don teacherish apparel.

It's been quite a ride so far and I'm not regreting it horribly [heh] but I think one of the things I haven't had for a long long while now is time to myself. One of the major committments I took on since last year involved a lot of close human contact with total strangers. Well yes as the months passed they're scarcely strangers now and especially not since they were the people I lived literally 24/7 with for five weeks in the philippines, but since I've been back [about a month now] I haven't had time out either.

-and my mind stops thinking from here.-

These days I meet an average of a 100 boys a day in the morning till early afternoon, take 33 back to eusoff and eat a fong seng lunch at 4ish. Most times the next thing that happens is that I get koed by the post-lunch syndrome and there for lie unconcious on the bed for two hours or so. By the time I wake up it's almost time for dinner.
Maybe some thing will change.

Someone's talking to daddy outside our house now and he sounds rather like uncle arthur from our old place. I miss bt timah somewhat. My brother does too, I know.
Speaking of which, we had dinner together yesterday, and chilled out after that. :) It's really really good talking with my brother and during the times that we share experiences from our lives I'm amazed-and perturbed- at how similar they are. I know his life and its previous events could not have been in any way affected by me but what happened to him before I've gone through it too, and wish with all my heart my baby brother could have been spared the stupidity of his peers. And yes, his personality did adapt to cope with the circumstances. In that way we're both the same; we both have that loner in us, the nochalant attitude when it comes to most relationships because we know their worth, but for those whose worth we value we cherish. I think my brother is a diamond in the rough. And he's my baby brother no more. (:


On a random ending note, I'd like to announce that I've had the itch to create a wishlist for a long, long, long time now.

The derivation of perfectly logical linkages between clowns, aging and make-up.
In other words, a conversation with john foo at the bus stop on our friday Day Home. I ought to add that this took place when I was still madam.

me: Where's my lipgloss where's my lipgloss where's my lipgloss?
me: (rummages frantically through everything, and finally finds it in my pencilcase) whew.

john: Why do you bother about it anyway?

me: it makes me look older!

john: (stares at me abit) No it doesn't.

me: Yes it does.
me: And I need every bit of help I can get.

john: (thinks abit) Oh wait you're right.
john: All the old women always put so much.
john: Why dont you put more then?

me: (stares incredulously) You're mad.
me: Lipgloss is as much as I can handle.
me: (gestures at face) if I try all the powder things I might even end up looking like a clown.

john: At least you'll look like an old clown.

there's a smell in eusoff tonight.

It's purid and light-heavy in that irritating combination that neither floats nor sinks so that a body gets enveloped in that horrid casing of Nasty Smells. It's disgusting, really. It's hanging around the staircase landing on the third floor, waiting to gleefully run its long waving fingers of Smell down and around my body. ugh.

Maybe somebody got murdered and
its corpse is stuffed in various plastic bags, decapitated hacked torn into bloody bloody pieces- of course it has to be bloody. Did you think that a body could be a hardsoft waxen white, with plastic in its veins? There's a stray cat standing up on its hind legs clawing at a particular large light green plastic bag hmm I wonder what's inside. Light green plastic bags give off such an innocuous feel, like hey hey you you are you going to be my owner? I'm light green and I believe in saving the earth. Even as the irony of an earth-conscious inanimate object that is non-biodegradable strikes me.


_______________

Alright. Enough warped thoughts. I am determined to sleep. I'll finish marking tomorrow instead. Here's to the bed.

[to be sung to the tune of 'oh christmas tree']
oh eggy yolk oh eggy yolk
how beautiful you are to me-ee
dum-dum-dum-dum-dumdumdumdum x2
oh eggy yolk oh eggy yolk
all dressed in yel-low glo-ree

________________

how did you like that? :) inspiration struck.

the sights and sounds of a busy restaurant

because I told my year1s [whom I'm developing a soft spot for] that I'd try, I will attempt a composition titled 'the sights and sounds of a busy restaurant'. Only, I don't know if I'll end up making one of my usual whimsies and in the process completely stray from the expected.

'the sights and sounds of a busy restaurant'

Walk into Bakerzinn, and be arrested by its decor. There are no grand crystal chandeliers threatening to wretch themselves off their hooks and fling themselves on patrons' heads. Instead, warm orange lamps shaped like thick bloated leaves hang upside down from the ceiling- as if somebody had plucked off an array of flora from Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings and decided to seal their fate in a cement canopy. Mirrors galore stretch full length across the walls so that its interior is immediately doubled, and tripled, and squared into infinity as reflections glance of one another to create a receding room that is almost dizzying to contemplate.

Work the cheek muscles upward to return the smile that the busy waitress gives- she seems a complicated person. And she is not the only one. From the manager to the woman standing now in front of me, they all carry the same air of urgency from order after order restrained only by the remembrance that I am their patron and therefore are entitled to the patience they must needs be obliged to offer. That almost imperceptible aura that stems as subtly as steam from ice is observable only from their body language- the way the front man jerks his head towards the arriving company making their way in, jerks it at the already overworked waiter who hurries up, works his cheek muscles upwards and gives directions to a table where another staff is clearing the table in a curious manner that can only be described as a controlled frenzy. Be seated, and in a while another staff- who walks a tad too briskly to be really adding on to the ambience of the surroundings- hands everyone a menu, works her cheek muscles upwards and strides off shortly after. In a while yet another waiter will scoot over, as undignified as that word sounds, and stand ready to receive orders.

In the meantime, as tonight's companion tries to decide between the gorgeously emblazoned pictures of fowl and steak, the genteel murmur of the others reaches the ears. The accents are as delicate as the general company; each giving off a comfortable air of wealth from their dressing. Whether discussing the day's events, or planning tomorrow's schedules over caesar salad and foret noir cake, every voice rises from a well-heeled patron. Some are dressed in the popular brand Mango, others in work-clothes from phuture london, and an Outfitter dress or two can be spotted. Bold designs, geometrical patterns, sleek black and rich hues of royal blue, peranakan green and indigo are all around. A lady happens to walk past, and draws admiring glances from the gentlemen around. It is understandable why. Her cat-like eyes are enhanced through liberal use of mascara, eyeliner and glittering eye shadow. Her cheekbones have been made to stand out prominently with powder the tint of a rosebud brushed in strategic places. As a final touch, her lips glisten with the help of Maybelline's lip gloss, and I am almost close enough to see the darker lines where her lipliner has been applied to define her pout. Her dress of soft lace stands in stark contrast, and as it swathes her lithe frame it almost seems to glow with pride at being the choice apparel of such a lovely woman.

Our meal has come, and I break into peals of laughter again as I remember the waiter's incredulous look as we ordered dessert after dessert. One by one they come, the rum ice cream which accompanies our main course, whose liquor bursts forth as we bite into the raisins scattered inside, the warm chocolate cake, which is Bakerzinn's signature dish, and our tapas. The tapas are our crowning glory, for on top of our main courses we decided to select five delectable offerings from the dazzling array choice provides. Strawberry cheesecake, chocolate fondue, a shot of warm chocolate, banana cinnamon tart and yet another ice- cream. Tonight is the night of revelry, and a toast to celebrate the senses.

pringles

Once you pop, you can't stop.

That applies to writing too, I think. For which I'm glad.

It finally started raining over here amongst the dark night trees where I am nestled cradled in the yellow room so distantly familiar. This room I'm crashing in constantly reminds me it isn't mine; the weather seems to seek to repel me propel me poof out of the room like the mini explosion we do when we realise the muffin we've been eating actually has greengrey mould inside. hah. Maybe poof is too genteel a word, but I like the round sound of it. poof sounds like a balloon umbrella skirt opening up, like one of the fairy godmothers in Sleeping Beauty. poof poof poof. Okay the room wants me out of the room boom like so. Boom. boom boom boom.

On another note, I've decided that I'd like to spend some time with a long-lost friend. I'm sorry, it's my fault this time so I guess.. I'm glad you stayed even though I so obviously walked the other way. I know you're away right now and that even when you come back during your short short trips you'd want to spend it with your family cause that's who you are and I'm proud of you for that. But if we ever could I'd like to be with you at the airport and I know that we'd make it a whole new experience for ourselves. We'd sit and watch the people walk by. We'd laugh at most of them making up nonsense stories and adding on to others. Everything will be at our mercy, our whim and fancy and our imaginations because we've got humour in our veins. Maybe sometimes we'd be silent because the years have gone by and we're [somewhat] older now. But I don't much remember being silent with you because we always seem to be making discovery after discovery wherever we are. Except, maybe, that night when we talked about seven years, and then for an awful moment it looked like it really was coming true and that I couldn't bring myself to break out for it and all you could do was wait because anything else would have made it worse. Did this one last as long as our first one did? 7 months?
ah, this is the first time I'm talking about it since it happened anyway. Looking forward to our in-the-works mad idea :) goodnight everybody.

So today I put on my pretty brown dress, the one with little waves and shoshes like sara lee's marble cake and tied the knots on both sides of my body and scanned myself at the mirror. I'd like to say smiled at my reflection, but we were going to be late for the wedding and daddy doesn't like being late. So I couldn't smile. pity. I love dressing up. Love scrutinising every inch that I own and making those mircoscopic adjustments that make a world of a difference. From top to toe and just looking looking looking. I get laughed at for this all the time but it just makes me so happy to know that me and my dress are all daisy. Do you remember? That happy is brown, and the feeling comes in nice light bright hmm-hmm yellow. (:

and oh, I've found another cologne to swoon over. Versace men, whose bottle is a rectangular light blue that reuben decided was a mix of sapphire + glass. Hilarious. Hugo, you've found your match. (:

Speaking of hilarious, does anyone know the geographical proportions of singapore? gayle and louis were telling us about their cambodia trip over dinner at the market, and how there's going to be a singapore night of sorts. So mayb and I starting quizzing them on singapore trivia.

so what does the red in our flag stand for?
blood? I think.
and the white?
purity?

hilarious.

The best bit came when I wanted to know the length and breadth of singapore.
Mayboo [gestures at the length of singapore with her hands]: 26km!

Maybelline Tan thinks that the length of singapore is 26km.
She can't be right, right.

Yours truly wants to announce that she heard herself being discussed by some students this morning, and that it was an interesting experience.

I was in the staff toilet figuring which way I should do my hair today, and had just settled on the French knot when I heard the words “relief teacher” over and over again. And my brain perked up. Like how cool is that right. Hundreds of boys pass by the toilet = thousands of words rattling around but my brain sieves through all of them without me even thinking consciously about it, and picks up what’s relevant. I am so awed by my brain. So yes, they were talking about this “relief teacher who’s only twenty”. And they repeated it amongst themselves at least three times, as if repetition makes something true- which Guildenstern would quite wearily agree with, I think. I love how he made a unicorn into a horse with an arrow out of its head, and his theory about how reality spreads thinner and thinner the more witnesses there are.

And a big shout to everyone out there: How do you keep a class quiet? I’m almost at the end of my second week, and thus far there’s this one class I’m really having problems with. At least half the class refuses to stop talking throughout the entire lesson. I keep having to stop and stare and subsequently, repeat the same incompleted first half of a sentence simply because they do not stop talking long enough for me to finish it! I sound like a broken gramophone with half a sentence put on repeat and it doesn’t sound musical in any sense!

If you refer to response B, you see that the writer has-
-pause-
Ready?
If you refer to response B, you see that the writer has-
-stop-
If you refer to response B,-
Will you just let me finish this sentence?

I don’t want to lose my temper multiple times in forty minutes. But this class gets out of hand otherwise, it seems.

Why do I bother about that class? Why do I bother that all of them [or as many as I can] grasp the concept and skill?

That, my dear class of such-and-such, was madam waxing lyrical about rhetoric- of sorts.

Dear class,

What would it take so that the guilty ones would turn around from your self-absorbed stupidity and begin to take pleasure in using your brains? Do you know the satisfaction that comes after you complete your last sentence, rest your pen and sit back to survey your efforts? Do you know what it feels like to know that the essay you hold in your hand was created from honest labour, and that it is a good work done?




No wonder some teachers used to give up on the naughtier classes. But you see. the ones we looked up to were those who stuck on and persevered in spite of it all so that when we had grown up and were thoroughly more sensible, we'd look back and speak of them with respect. There must be a way. I'll try, for the sake of the ones who do want to learn. oh drama drama. heh. But it's true.

why do titles not appear

I'm sorry I haven't been updating. I've been passive.

I've been reading around in a vaguely passive-like way. Just.. floating around the internet sphere.



It really takes too much energy to write. Right now anyway. ermmmm and I know it's quite bleah checking in and not seeing anything new so... come back in a week's time; I might have something then. Hopefully.