lazy sunday afternoons

It has become somewhat of a habit now as sunday afternoons while pacidly away for my life to fall comfortably into the cracks of time, this little dim down down space where things are pretty much suspended and the only things worth noting are the humidity of the afternoon, and the humming of the dilligent fan, somewhat like a hispanic movie where the glare of the sun hazes the entrance of the door and a familiar stillness marks the air.

On sundays like these biding their time eternal I move slower, read half-heartedly because it takes a little too much effort than I care to give for this particular moment. Still, nothing's lost because hopefully I can go back and read those words one more time so that I get the pleasure of novelty twice over the same thing. Brilliant, innit. I say hopefully because one can never say for certain when it comes to the matter of permanance. So I hope, in a lazy, languid way.

My brother's usually hanging around with his church kahkis, some of whom have their three-year-old faces captured forever, in matte photographs taken when they celebrated his birthday, when they were all chubby babies toddling around and in the photos they're facing each other, open-mouthed smiles chuckles and grins obviously delighting in a discovery one of them just made. My brother had the most angelic smile; it's his beautiful eyes, I think, full of joy at being three years old with a cat-cake to eat in a while. My parents will be snoozing somewhere, and maybe later in the day daddy and I might find ourselves watching one of them hindi shows on suria.
Ever since I left for hall life, certain things mark my return. For example, we all know daddy'll make me two soft-boiled eggs, and invariably ask the question do you want tea too? daddy's really proud of his masala tea, though I'm not sure if I got the spelling right. We got the recepie [do teas have recepies?] over a wedding reception from a chinese woman, one of the parents' friends from long long ago who works in a bank that deals mainly with indian currency, or something like that, and embraces the culture after a sophisticated, bankerish fashion. In our family, I'm the one who becomes an emotional wreck after each bollywood film we see -I must say devdas was the most devastating one and I have no doubt that the similarity of the two words are not mere coincidences-, while my brother's the one who has fallen in love with the fare. I pretty much like the cuisine myself but daddy and him are the ones who actually have their favourite restaurant. Mommy just looks on with indulgence I suppose. heh.

I should also actually mention that I wanted to write to a certain person previously; in one of those slighty pensive thinkalouds where I accuse somebody of walking into my life and then dropping out again. Oh I suppose that if I really wanted the relationship to continue I should take the initiative to say hi over msn or something but sometimes six years of not talking does funny things to you, one of them being precisely not knowing where anything is and not quite daring to move in case things start falling apart. Hmmm that sounds like a house. So right now I'm teerthering on the brink of another ephiphany [someone still has yet to come forward and enlighten me on the spelling of /e-pee-fern-nee/ so I shall take the liberty of ignorance here] and somewhat like alice in wonderland who just nibbled from the very small cake on which the words "EAT ME' were beautifully marked with currants [carroll's words, not mine] so that she's both the one holding the house together- think pressing against the walls of the cottage- and bursting it apart. yeah, at the same time. Oh I hope I don't break this particular friendshiphouse apart, we can be too good friends to throw this chance away. It ended once before, will you wait another six years again?
Oh, on a side note, I've finally figured out after thirteen weeks for sure that in thai the adjective comes after the noun, so that friendshiphouse isn't friendshiphouse, it's baan puan. Sorry the phonectics aren't completely accurate; puan ought to read a little like /pe4 ern2/ per syllable.


well now I'm stuck in an inbetween of an inbetween, now I'm more than inside of a delicately drifting day. I'm inside a six year old space too, as though I've lived my six years wordlessly waiting but. you see. I haven't. We both moved along quite well I think, only as I told you if I did hear about you it'd be with a little wistfulness. But my point is, all blank spaces and vortex aside, that the impossible happens on languorous sunday afternoons, and that

dreamy boredom makes/ the
postponment of exertion
(of any imginable sort)
perfectly permissible
and
correct, even.

i am living history. hah!

And because I figure in a few years my favourite buses- non-airconditioned double deckers- will be a thing of The Past, I decided to take photos of me and Mr. Bus. A funny [at least it's funny now] side effect is that this is an undeniable sign that I am growing old. Give or take a few more decades, and I guarantee you that when we are middle aged couples with our significant others, we will be all oh-my-goshing about how we used to sit on buses with windows wide open and feel the wind in our faces, and how, when it'd rain, everyone'd shut it tight and the bus'd become unbearably stuffy.



See, when yr alone in some ulu bus stop, you'd better look as fierce as you can. Afterward some bad guy bully you then you know. I look so auntie, confirm no one take second look one.

This is me looking all cool. You see, when you show your wide-eyed children/grandchildren/greatgrandchildren proof that you were around when there were such things as non-airconditioned buses and yes, you are that old, you'd also want to show that you once were cool. Remember that, my friends.

Told you the wind blows in the face. I think also, that my memories will always be recollected with bt. timah surroundings as the setting. [was that sentence grammatically correct?] I suppose that has something to do with the buses 74 and 151. I love 74. :)

Not all welcomes are met rapturously- because they don't have to be. Today what sufficed was an entering into her arms, a touching her after two years. We've never been BFHO [Best Friends of the Highest Order], but there are many treasured memories because of her, from her, with her. Guardians of the White Board would be one of them.

A suddenly-there-she-was after I walked into the school with melvin. I saw her because she called my name; I loved her happy smile. That's what's important, isn't it? Not all welcomes have to be gushy, extravagant, and cooey. After all, as we agreed, "we haven't been that far off from each other".


I don't exactly know how to classify our relationship. We revolve in more or less completely different circles, and the only reason why we involve ourselves in each other's lives is through vicarious experiences- we read each other's blogs.

ohwell. I suppose, in the impetously irregular chaos we live in, simply knowing someone out there cares for you is enough. :)

Hrmm hrmm. If the [non-existent] herald trumpets for an update, then an update must
be given. Hopefully my updates won't bore my all-of-six readers. That's all I think I
have now anyway, ever since I plucked my words from chelism.b and settled down here.
I kind of miss my old place. Anyway anyway.

I've been thai-ing/thaying all day, and at present my mind is filled with wua 
[cattle] and raan tat pom.s [barber shops]. Like I told robert once, I might not be
able to carry a decent cnversation in thai, but at the very least I'll be able to
order chicken and cut my hair. haha.
In any case, I went to look at pictures of Home today. I've been trying to convince
myself that I can spend a year away from Home and that I'll be fine being a camp
instructor/trainer in the jungles of singapore again, during the months of the hols
but my heart isn't exactly willing to be persuaded. It wants to go Home.
I contemplate all sorts of things, like writing a letter to dara in thai and I
imagine she'll be so proud of me and maybe robert'll even read my letter out to the
dekdek [children] but really, I shouldn't be doing these things because then I'll
just start crying, like the wuss-girl I am. Somehow, when it comes to den luang
village, I become ridiculously emotional.

I'd like to go Home. sigh okay maybe I shouldn't have started. I seem to get very
one-track when this happens. Let's try random prattle about what the plans are for
the hols. So none of you can complain you don't know where I am. hah.

Two weeks after my final paper, I leave for the phillipines. I will be gone for a
month and a bit. 34 days, to be exact. I expect that month-and-a-bit to pass in a
blur like much of my life does. You know, I'd like to have a record of my life,
because so much that's worth remembering happens. I mean, they aren't all happy,
but they're significant and at the very least I think I can say I lead an eventful
life. :) so yes, for 34 days I'll be travesing around the captial of the
phillipines. They tell me it's bigger than Singapore. whoohoo. heh. I sound like
some... hmm let's not offend any overlysensitive marginalised groups. haha.

Well anyway, if I do come back alive [and I hope I do! Chocolate's too good to miss
for now], that'll be on the 19th of June. School [like, primary to jc] wouldn't
have started yet, so I think within a week -or less, if I can make it- I'll be
donning a certain company's collared-shirt and trekking through mud and grass. Yes,
you disbelieving snort, rachel isn't actually a bimbo you know. I'm not too bad at
the outdoors. -dry laugh.
I really don't get why people keep plastering the label bimbo on me. No, I'm not
offended. I think it's dumb to be offended by labels of that nature; but that's
just untactful me speaking my mind. Like, I think I make sense all the time. Last
night walking back to our room after supper at fong seng I sent becky into
hysterics became I remarked eww look at that laundry outside his door. doesn't he
know it's unhygenic? but in all honestly isn't leaving one's laundry outside one's
door unhygenic? I mean, no one knows what might go in. And, I really don't get
why people like stairs so much. I avoid stairs as much as possible. For one,
they're bad for the knees, and I've got bum knees from netball. They actually hurt
after each handball match, or the [rare] occasions that I run. Secondly, I might
have said it before, that we used to train at ITE clementi and the field wasn't
really a field, it included a hill so when we ran we had to run up 4x4 flight of
stairs. You try sprinting up 4x4 x 15 [to 20] stairs with ankle weights/[+]
medicine balls weighing either 5, 8, or 10 kg week after week.

Don't I always make sense? Honestly?

well okay it's eight twenty now and I suppose I should get back to thai. so hmm
hmm if I do get a school that wants me, then when school reopens I'll be teaching
again. I think I make a pretty good teacher. :) Why doesn't everyone else see that? sigh.

Alright, update over. Hopefully I've been informative enough.

boo

stupidity personified

ARRRGH why did I agree to that man's proposal WHAT kind of name is miss solar anywayyyyy arrrggghhhhhh. Like can someone please shoot me nownownowwwwwww. miss solar contestant. and I look so bloody stupid in that shot. If I even have the guts to look at it, I CRINGE. It's like a shot from a horror movie. and now even my toes are cramping in laughter. sigh if even my toes laugh at me I don't have very much of a life.

=(

Together now- awwww....

dem epiphinic moments. how do you spell epiphinic.

when I was fourteen and lounging in the gardens clubhouse -before it was torn down and out of my life- I picked up 'The Little Prince'. When I was sixteen, a copy of 'The Little Prince' became mine.

when I was eighteen, mr koh lent me 'Mister God, This Is Anna'. I'm twenty now. I would like a copy of 'Mister God, This is Anna' to become mine. May I not forget.


Vernon Sproxton talked about Ah! Books in its introduction. He says

Ah! Books are those which induce a fundamental change in the reader's consciousness. They widen his sensibility in such a way that he is able to look upon familiar things as though he is seeing and understanding them for the first time. Ah! Books are galvanic. They touch the nerve-centre of the whole being so that the reader receives an almost palpable physical shock. A tremor of excited perception ripples through the person.

Brilliance right. I've had three, I think. Here they are:
'The Little Prince'
'Mister God, This Is Anna'.
'Pilgrim by Tinker's Creek'

[I'm not sure if 'Pilgrim by Tinker's Creek' counts, but I'll put it here anyway.]

I think, these books are a good reflection of who I am. People sprout tired maxims like 'you are what you eat', but did you ever think, you are what your Ah! Book is?

It's three sixteen in the morning now, and I have yet to actually come up with an essay plan that is anything more than scribbles and intelligible mindless scrawls, but I am supremely satisfied with my little revelation.

I'm feeling a flit flit flying floaty kind of happy. It's a sunny bunny funny hunny whinnie-the-pooh having a walk in the cool forest with Piglet kind of holding hands. It's the laugh hannah gives when I tell her what christopher robin told his father- even if I've forgotten the conversation itself. No matter, maybe it'll come back one day and even if it doesn't at least I made my hannah laugh.

Because I'm in love love love- not the kind of love the world sings about from itunes/movies/a radio I am In love because there are people who love me. Did you think I don't love you back? I do I do and I'll do what I can to make you happy make you comfy because you're worth it.

It's a smile in the heart I've got and it's lighter than whipped cream it's the singing of The Sound of Music while walking up the road from school to the bus stop. Waddaya know I've got floating whipped cream. :) It's a pretty orange-in-water -you know, the kind you get when you-as-a-kid communicate with colours -you know, when you were playing with water colours and because you only had one brush for an infinite possibility of colours you had to wash your paintbrush in water- well, if your brush had been a pretty preachy kind of orangey then that's the colour I'm talking about.

Get me a bouquet of flowers, someone. I'll nestle it in the crook of my arm and there it'll stay all day and it's cheery yellow sunflowers with baby bits and purple paper will spread the love. Smile with me!

If I could colour these words in your eyes they'd be a nice light bright hmm-hmm yellow.
[Which is, of course, different from colouring these words full stop. See, I could colour these words full stop but. they'd blind you because nice bright hmm-hmm yellow words look like. well, that. heh. Now you [literally] see what I mean yes? Because people tend to read my words and substitute their meaning in mine. But there is a significant difference between "if I could colour these words in your eyes", and "if I could colour these words full stop". If I could colour these words in your eyes they'd still look like that, the only difference is, you wouldn't be blinded after reading words that look like so because the colour is in your eyes.
Of course, no one tells me they'd read the former as the latter but I Know What You're Thinking you need to savour words and roll them around in your head. If more people did that when they write then I'd have a whole lot more interesting time in the virtual world hmmm. Having said that, I think at the bottom of it all I enjoy thoughtful writing. Words can be simple, and brief- and conscious.]

Because happy is brown, and the feeling comes in nice light bright hmm-hmm yellow. :)

I seem to have a bad record when it comes to keeping people.friendships.relationships.guys. Choose your noun. They're all one and the same- mostly. hah. You see. The two posts below are entirely unrelated, rose out of completely separate issues and I had no plan to write about either. I just have bad timing I suppose. bad record, bad timing.. I'm a write-off.



just that. I've been reading the two over and over again and. it's as though I'm an outsider looking into my own life so that each time I reach the final line of love, sunshine, I feel saddened, like I've come to the end of a black-and-white movie with quiet music, sharing a sense of hopelessness with the protagonist who's by herself in the final lonely scene. If that's all she had with you [whoever the two yous might have been] then..

.. just take a sigh, and leave the movie theatre with red chairs and black air.












'Tainted Utopia'- kreestal

so

Sometimes friendships end. Or sometimes they take a long long pause. So take a leaf out of someone else's book and let me go.

So maybe the reasons I gave sound like excuses to you. Because maybe, you're judging them from your point of view. Try as I might, I still can't see how I would have done it differently.

So what would you have me do? Make me do what I wouldn't so that. I'd show you exactly how I feel? Wouldn't you rather live in your fantasy world where things are as the same as they were, the matrix is simply readjusting itself and so like a machine it intones over and over again please hold while we connect your call and so while you hold you can tell yourself things will be as they were before once you have an audience with the matrix?
So that all that's different now are just. disruptions in the matrix.


______________________________________________


I'd like to walk along the mountains of oz -new zealand, you know- in a my-own movie scene that's suspiciously familiar, like a mix between the sound of music and the lord of the rings. Maybe I'd be with you, and we'd be like the old times before the complication came in, before the interfering opinions of people drove me away from you and I, built a separate path where before we were on the same road. They tell me the ending of friendships is sad, and maybe it is, but for now I've forgotten who we once were, and why we used to laugh so together.

picture from the perfect fantasy- lucias-stock

love, sunshine.

I'd like to have been an influence somehow, so that if one day someone went hey how did you know that? you'd just smile nochalantly but because of that question a memory would revive itself and you'd remember me. I'd like to have left an imprint in your life somewhere, so that on a particularly pretty day you'd gaze at the sun-kissed whereveryouare place and remember me, fondly at least if you couldn't remember me with love.
I never quite got down to understanding you and that perplexed me quite a bit. Because I like to know people. Enigma, I like that you said that once but I poohpoohed the suggestion and explained it so sensibly you said oh. But perhaps you are. I still can't make you out. So maybe I should stop trying.
Do you think that some people just shouldn't spend time around each other? I think, as much as we have attracted each other [funny, that] in the end I'm bad for you and you, me. I suppose we must have something -I wouldn't say something in common because that's just so ordinary- special? no. that's too romantickish hmmm. I suppose we must have something anyhow- that calls to the other but I should face it. I'm not ready for someone like you in my life. Maybe someday we'll stroll down to the registar of friendship and tell the clark there hello. we'd like to reopen a closed friendship account. Isn't some a lovely word. It allows for all ambiguity.

and that's all we had, maybe.

something dramatic happens every year before easter

I wish you knew I've come to love you, a lot.

ignoring thai

I have just spent 4 hours watching tv, 2 of which were spent bawling my eyes out because the father had cancer and he and his son were estranged. Of course, it's a whole lot more complicated than that; bollywood's plots always are. Predictably complicated, it's always the same story but they are oh, such tear jerkers. Not only tear jerkers in my case it seems- they induce me to a tear-strained wreck where I sob so loudly at the correct parts and sniffsniffsiff my way throughout the rest. vibrate-the-sofa-with-your-spasms, that's what shyama complained after my virgin movie, it was karl ho na ho I think. I'm every director's dream audience because I react exactly the way movies are supposd to. When it comes to bollywood anyway.

does any one have WQMT, I think it was called.

a higgley piggley assortment of photos

maybe if you can't smile, let the photos do the job instead

now and then you take out old photos, photos you once meant
to publish but
never did.



before it's too late.
we've had some good times.

went down to watch surath's and shane's [plus friends] gig near the ucc. I still like what they've got. Don't have the other photos. Too bad, ian and jacky.




You thought austere was a word. I am it.













becky's hamsup pose.
Comes with having wet dreams, I suppose.
I ought to qualify that wet dreams was the name of
her cocktail.

things were simple, once

blantant nonsense

I really shouldn't be tacktacktacking away at the keyboard at twofortyseven in the morning. All kinds of half-nonsense comes out. and there are cats fighting outside my door. and my door is opened. I am going to close it. good morning.

mutter mutter

I used to grumble that songs with sappy lyrics ought to be banned from the face of the earth because they do no one good- certainly not in my life anyway.

ban them ban them.

a retreat

It's time to stop. It's enough. It's been too much.

I go back into my own world.