dear po po

You are gone, and any semblence of grief I might have had is likewise dissapated, replaced only with a weariness at following the rituals of mourning.


I wear a thin cotton shirt, white, for you, and my other grandmother pinned on the kakhi coloured patch even though I do not know why it is that colour, and neither blue, nor black. My nails are stripped of their pretty gold as a sign of respect for you, and that I mourn the most, because I do not have my own bottle, nor lacquer, to make them nice again.


My family's struggling with all the strange beliefs your death has imposed on us. It was distasteful to see your face so coloured, your lips so garish. You were not like that in life. You were austere. The pearl wedged between your lips; they say it's meant to guard you toward the afterlife but I can only think of how uncomfortable it must be if so, and if you would not look funny.





There are many things to say, po po. How my mind easily summons back images of yellow, yellow banners with strange signs, yellow walls of canvas, and entire mock-up of the taoist courts of heaven, and white robed monks weaving in and out of the altars where they take a potted plant and tell my uncles to offer gifts to you. Of funeral music, and chanting, and how I mind none of these.

There is much I think about, but I think enough has been said. God bless your soul.

odds and ends

1) I'll put up a more detailed post of jem's Commissioning Ball, promise.

2) gayle tried to shift to wordpress recently, but funnily enough she's back at diaryland, citing the same reasons I did. There must be something about natty old bolsters from our child pasts, soaked with drool, infussed with sleep, dreams and bedtime smells that linger on in the form of habit so that we cannot leave what we have grown beside.

3) I strained my hamstring after training on saturday, so now I walk slightly off-balance and feel a sharp discomfort when I shift my balance.

4) It was a crazy week, crazier weekend, but I'm thinking of it now happy. The curls are not staying, and I am mourning somewhat over my shortened and salon-smelling hair, but the thought that makes all this worthwhile, is that my tresses were perfect the night it mattered. I'll deal with the aftermath somehow.

5) I have such pretty, pretty nails and even though it's such a frivolous thing, they make my heart lift. Gold, please, and some lacquer as a top coat. So girlish, but I am glad anyhow.

6) This week is week9, and I now think of school in assignment terms, not the lesson timetable. There are many, but I shall get through them somehow and then there will be greater events to coordinate when this sem ends.

for you okay

dear best [guy] friend,

Alright, we took 20+ hours to find the Dress. Immense effort. But even now, even now, I wonder if I'll look good enough for you. I want to, to make up for missing the parade that meant so much to you. But I don't know if I can? And that thought makes for a planative expression on the face. I'll try to look as pretty as I can, and as long as you're proud of your date, I'll smile at the other girls too. Support me k?

love,
jinx partner.

photo time (:

I've been wanting to write about last week's cold, and the curious sensation of walking around in perpetual air-conditioning, as well as my recent diet of fats and oil (read: multiple carrot cakes, and western after western of oilio domes, carl's juniors, feasts and oh, my favouritest- chicken cutlet at the canteen), and how it's resulted in name-calling of my poor tummy, but I think I'll leave all that to another day. I haven't done a photo post for a long time now, so I shall today.

yuyin's 21st.

+1..

+2...

(hafidz's head is somewhat big, just like the rest of him)

yin, myself, sha, hafidz

can you see me??

mmm (:

i've also come to the conclusion that you need practice for champage popping

uh-huh.

Am liking this photo much (:

and this is how we say goodbye:

happy birthday babe.

wednesday got me, and it got me good

deviantart.com: cofetti

jonah day sa

today is a =( day

Days like today come once a semester, where from the start routine simply skips out of the door, and throughout the day nothing is ordinary: the supposed doesn't happen, every plan I make goes awry, all my journeys are doomed, I step out of the room only to return dripping wet.

I do feel like that pair of leggings and high heels- all dressed up but even nowhere won't go.

Eventful Days

And it seems uni life is made of up such as these-

.

Abstract poses, funny faces, my favourite slippers. Also the oddest combinations: zebralightlamppost, two humans, concretized sphere, glen's backpack. Think whimsical collection of bohemia/a quirky assortment of various odds and ends.

And-

Unplanned adventures, unconstructive days. Long days, lazy days. Thereafter with desperate all-nighters to meet deadlines. Mmm.

.

Clear skies, rain-smelling ground.

有些事我只想要对你说- 祷告 因为我渺小

tehuti.deviantart.com

am feeling somewhat like this today, a silent by-myself walk in sepia print. A little lonely, a little tired, wondering about certain issues on the way. Things were done that are right, but they are hard, and right now like estha i have Two Thoughts:
-it's hard because it's right, (yet)
-the consolation comes in knowing: it's right.



strength and honour are her clothing, and she shall rejoice in time to come

i have a woofer in my room

I tried to tame a cat today,
but unlike the martyrs who had mousies for pets in their dark and dreary dungeons it would not come.
Maybe I am not saintly enough. Maybe, but I won't put much stock in the loyalty of cats anyhow. Cats stretch, and loll, and meow at you from their sunny lounges and will not move if you do not interest them.

Speaking of loyalty, I just finished the lord of the rings; first time I've watched it since big screen. It was good, but I suppose there's much to be said for the heightened reality that movie screens bring for sheer size. Am also quite irritated at my cinematics discourse lecturer who gollumed away about cgi and how he can spot the differences immediately (phooey) in class. So whilst I was watching the battle scenes of courage and valour all I could think of was cgi cgi cgi and felt like a traitor. That wretched man has spoilt forever my lord of the rings. hmm hmm. In any case, I've got the end credits on repeat on windows media player because there's a voice in there that calls to my heart. Is there a way I can obtain the sound track, from the dvds? I will play it on sad days, and remember faramir's sorrow.

Am also vaguely miffed about a certain rougue who promised to help me clean my room after he did something what, I cannot remember, but it has been a long time now- he still hasn't, and I think I should just heave a sigh and walk over to eusoff to borrow wet wipes and a mop. bleah.

Could I also put it down here that the purse that qh got me in jc after I lost mine is breaking down, and it seems, irrversibly so. I am sad, for in itself it is a memory of another time, a time I like to keep with me. That, and also it has been with me on many journies. I would have liked to have brought it with me to new zealand. I do not know what to do now. It is hard to explain; it is like being faithful to your wife even as she is in the final stages of a coma simply because you love her, even if there are all the pretty little things out there whose bodies you can easily buy. I didn't fall in love with the purse because it is from projectbloodbros, or because it was pretty, it isn't. It means something to me because it was a gift that was given just because, and there's something sweet in that. I suppose I have not the heart to stare around at glass panels.
Maybe I will just use a plastic bag for the time being.


______________________

I have a pretty dress for sunday; for now, I will take comfort in that.

i just wanted to remember this

Jun. 18th, 2006
10:55 PM
"a fellowship is three people linking arms, on their way to the playground."

when three people on the same crazy wavelength come together, crazy things are bound to happen.
only crazy people find amusement in shopping for pillows for daddies.
only crazy people laugh at sth no one else understands
only crazy people drive around imaginary cars at an 8-course dinner.
only crazy people find extreme amusement in shining a laser pointer at the block across the road.
only crazy people call each other frumpy, lumpy and dumpy.
only crazy people flick each others noses real hard.
only crazy people play hopscotch while the rest are eating noodles.
i love you guys =)

One day-

these words i dislike, immensely.

because they remind me of failed promises. so that now when I hear them mmm nope this doesn't look very good/one day i'll bring you to this japanese restaurant that has fantastic food, fantastic I smile a bit, because I'd like to be polite, but inevitably in a while my voice snorts out something terse, something along the lines of one day huh, in a manner that is honestly, unfortunately, bitter. I've stopped believing in onedays, so I wish people would consider their words and not shoot these words off like their predecessors did, like they meant to carry it out. I guess the words carry well-meaning, and the speaker thinks it might-perhaps-possibly-probably-might come to pass some time in the (in)finite future, but you know what none of them ever have so. this phrase only serves to recall certain faces and certain times, which isn't the greatest of impressions to make.

But I suppose I ought not to be assuming that my impression of people matters- to them. (That disclaimer aside, I happen to think it does.)


One day.

One day I'll leave this hall, and I will be so glad. The girls on my floor are hard to live with, although I suspect they think it's my fault for wearing eusoff singlets in their hall- although really, I was on my way to the showers after having gone for pickup. I wore the singlet for that purpose, and went directly to the showers after I came back, so it wasn't like I was parading around temasek world with it. Anyhow, their opinion translates into little actions, such as complete unresponsiveness when I walk directly towards them, even as I'm waving. at them. mmm basic courtesy, where art thou. I don't mind very much, because their company I don't care for, but it still is somewhat jarring to be audibly saying hello to a group of girls marching abreast, and having them stare stonily back- where, I don't know. At my eusoff face, maybe, and throwing mental daggers at strategic spots. ohwell.
The guys upstairs are nice, but their lifestyles are the inverted version of mine, in terms of time and other whatnots. And because I'm usually invited to go upstairs about midnight to 'go and have a beer', I decline. Pity, really, because I think I could genuinely make friends with them. Again, ohwell.

Please let me get back to eusoff, and forget this semester with respect to hall life.

.

One more onedays, this one with a maybe.

I wonder how we'll look back at all these years, one day. You see, I'm confident we'll still be such good friends, but it's only what kind of such good friends we are. Tonight, I am a bit sad, because your dad asked and so we talked a bit about it. There's so much that could be scrutinized, dragged out and pounded on endlessly about. And well. we have done said activity before haven't we.
But for tonight, I'm keeping it down to: little humming sessions in the car, laughter over chocolate drinks, crazy bff mothers, whispered snatches of conversation between you and me, and our precious, precious friendship.

"meme on books"

1. name one book that changed your life-
The Bible. I know I run the risk of coming across holier-than-thou, but this is what's true and I'm just going state that straight out. What I read inside has prompted me to do more, and be more than I'd ever have done if I'd stuck to being an intellectually/literarily competent person. And hey, I didn't choose these questions. (:

2. name one book you have read more than once
urmmm. Just one? I generally read books more than once.

3. one book you would want on a desert
How-to-get-out-of-the-desert-in-two-minutes.

4. two books that made you laugh
Sherman's Lagoon. grinn. well alright it's a comic. So I cheated. I'll change genre. That, and Eats, Shoots and Leaves. I really enjoyed truss' narrative, and the fact that I thought this was a fantiastic read back in junior college was probably a sign that I'd end up as an English major. oh, prophecies we don't realise-wipes a grandly tearful eye.

5. one book that made you cry
oh, I cry at most sad scenes. well. Silas Marner?

6. one book you wish you'd written
It's got to be Pilgrim at Tinker's Creek. I love the prose and annie dillard takes my breath away.

7. one book you wish had never been written.
Les Miserables. dude that freaking book is freaking dense. Either that, or I am. As it is, right now all the volumes are wriggling their bottoms on the shelf above me- which is kind of jabby, since I've always wanted to find out why it's so beloved but lack the patience to plow through hugo's style. Maybe this is the book I should bring to the desert instead.

8. two books you are reading currently
I think Pilgrim at Tinker's Creek comes in here, because I actually haven't finished the book, despite picking it up at a tutorial room at NUS' open house two years ago (thank you, lit department). Each time I pick it up, I go back to page one or thereabouts, because the words still have so much life. mmm second book. The Dark Tower series? Although that's quite iffy, seeing how I read them only because my brother brings one back now and then. I've done books one and two, and five. But it's alright, I guess. Times have changed, and I can now live with not knowing the entire story.

9. one book you've been meaning to read.
The Kite Runner, I suppose. I have all these books I see and file at the back of my head as Books To Be Read One Day but then all this information probably just whizzes out of the other side of my (purportedly) empty ditzy brain. mmm but this question doesn't really apply, since I like reading, which means I can read just about any book. Set me loose in a library! I suspect I'm related to rebecca of sunnybrook, whose mother would have left the dishes unwashed and clothes unironed, if only she had had more books. Having said that, I just realised I tend towards the brooding, bittersweet books with prose that transcends; so after I close the book I am thoughtful, pensive and see nothing but monochrome for a good while. I think, if I hadn't ventured to the netball courts, I would very well have ended up as one of the pale, silent girls who seem more ghostly than flesh because they live in another world. And well. that isn't too bad a place to be, actually. honestly.

10. five people i tag
got this from qh. I think I'll quote her. "gah, steal away", sans gah. (:

i will still set up a blog for you if you want me to

To: You

hullo. it's so tragic how it turned out, don't you think? But it's a lovely tragedy, the best kind that could be. knowing that things turned out the way they are now because- you said it won't happen again, that we will never be like that- what it is that we were- again, and because we both know you have never broken your promises to me.

so now i can sit here with all these bittersweet songs piling up around me, like the boxes in the attic that have just been, finally, opened. strange, isn't it? what i mean is, i'm sorry, but see, i'm glad too, because i explained myself, and you understand. and now i can love you in a better way.

you know what i mean.

i'm sorry, sorry i assumed so long that you knew why, that we ended up holding hands across the wrong roads, while everything whizzed by and all along we thought we knew what i meant. most of all, i'm sorry you were sad last night. you're right, i don't know how much you care, not even after so long. do you remember? if you don't mind it doesn't matter and from then on i never believed you. but it saddens me to see you show it last night, because i could not deny it then. and i have been thinking about you today. i hope you are fine. and i think you are.

i do care; there's too much that has been done for me to be any other way.

love: sunshine

six best words. or, Mr. Hemingway.

There was a challenge I could not resist, and now while I sit here waiting for my parents to get over the final sobby sad scene on the telly [so that we can get out and I can get the day done] I interpose parts A and B of Time today, 9th Febuary 2008, wiggle my bottom in between them and rest said bottom on the computer chair and commence typing. That was a rather strange sentence, for now I feel like I really am typing with Time A on my left, and Time B on my right, like the purple electric jellyfishes from Carwash, jostling and leering at the screen, unable to make out my words (they're only Time!) but determined to make evident their unwillingness to have given up even a bit of their space. Such nonsense from them.



Hemingway Hemingway.. What is it about great writers that drive them to the darkest pursuits? Woolf too. bisexuals, I have learnt. But I suppose bipolar-ers would be a more encompassing term. Who is this Vita/Julian wo-man? Writers. them writers. Victorians, boys in baby dresses and all in side portraits and old-fashioned fashion. Did they write in the dark, one single source of light while the rest of the room was closed up blinds down heart hurt? Or in the afternoon with the wind around door opened trees outside? Did they play itunes? If they did, what did they listen to? How to Save a Life, or, Shut UP and Drive?

If I joined a Bloomsbury would I discourage sexual exclusivity too? Would I be a happy bisexual? How much scope for furrowed brows! I would eat mandarin oranges all year round with subway cookies, and hang a turquoise lantern outside my door as a secret sign. All manner of men and women would visit, some strangers, some lovers. All would be lovers. I would not know them till we speak. But I would bid them in, and ask them if they want... ice cream with meiji's choco babies.
How absurd. Cue in clay white faces with smudged mascara and general abuse of eyeshadow.



Naw, that's too Tim Burton for me, and I don't particularly like him anyway. ahaha. So much for my Bloomsbury.
[As a note, I'd have called it "broomsbuly", as a nod to Singlish. (:]

And so much too, for my six words story. What an utterly nonsensical entry this is.

someone stuck a fu on our door, the wrong side up

Today today. According to uncle raymond, I'm seventeen. Then a house later I met a 16 year old boy who thought I was his age. What is this, time is a face on the water? And like water it needs not be constant, or even consistent. Perhaps. So I can look 16, 17 while being 21, and sing julie andrew's I am 16 going on 17 like I used to, only this time truthfully. I shall remember this. From this day forth I have been enabled to sing i-am-16-going-on-17-truthfully.

But more what I wanted to say was, today I was struck with the power [that] being brings. Being, or is-ing, meaning to say, the state that is. Walking up the slope took effort, the mind expanding and pressing upon me the person, and I felt like I needed to breathe more deeply. Simplicity is complex paradoxically because it is simple. Taking away tends to be harder than adding on. Breaking down, while keeping the same meaning, more so.

There was nothing sentimental, nothing wistful about my walk up towards my former home. I was merely retracing footprints, paths that had been plodded on by a younger self for six years and more. It's just, what had been, I suppose.

strangely out of place

Seems like roots are harder to pull up then I thought they would be. For all my complaining about thisaddressistemp, I find myself returning to it like a child would a worn out bolster even though a new one lies in front of him. Although, I suspect the problem lies in the orientation of doingthekiwi. Everytime I go to it I feel obliged to post something SEP related. I suppose I will handle two for now. We'll see where it goes.

On a side note, I realised that the posts on this page do not fit, like powerpoint slides that are joint together only awkwardly. I wish they did. And this will be another one that will not blend in smoothly with the rest.
But I suppose I could always hit the archives, ignoring this page. As if denial really is selective reality. But what is true, is that in time these posts will slide over into the next page into oblivion and I can slop up some more mud onto the potter's wheel.

I don't have much to say tonight, although I have all these thoughts inside. Maybe it is a mistake to look around me on bus stops in cars, and whiling my in-between-time time. I am content then, but on nights like these the memories are there but the words are not.

Discordance. More, piling up against each other like janga blocks stuck at sharp angles, hurting.

I think I shall take an old-fashioned shower, and rub uncle gilbert's father's home-made medical oil onto my knee ligament. And pretend tonight isn't reunion dinner night, but the family is not together.