oh shut up

I wish Delia knew how to hold her tongue when she's angry. Even I don't insult people and rant against them to vent my anger. It just doesn't do, to purge yourself of frustration by injuring another person emotionally.

can't lie

Time to face it: I can't tell a lie. The truth always comes out before I can think of lying. It's somewhat disabling. I have the ability to lie if absolutely necessary, but hate doing it because lying is cowardice, and telling the truth is often thrilling.

irritated

I hate being like this. I don't know when I fell so low. I was beyond this before--when did I begin caring about superficialities? Is this what the world tried to make me, and has it finally succeeded, irrevocably?

I have fallen into a trap of my own making. I doubt I can change back.

Here I am, shallow, jealous and self-hating. It was to be expected; I never was the most secure person.

I don't want anyone to ask me about this.

this one might raise eyebrows; i'm judgmental here

My god my sister annoys the hell out of me.

I used to try to form a generalisation about people I dislike--but I never really found a proper one. I used to think I hated girly people/bimbos, in an attempt to explain my dislike of her--but no, that's really not true, because I do have good friends of that "sort", and it's not an insult.

I worked it out when I was listening to her perform her own rendition! of a song.

She's so fake. She doesn't have a person. She doesn't have her own voice. She simply follows. Follows the trends, does what is "cool" and what is "in"--dresses like this because it's "hot" and "fashionable" and media and society tell her it is attractive! (like, these overtly-tight clothes that make every bump of your body visible?) then walks around flaunting it subtly (hoping we can't tell what she's doing), talks with this (badly-faked) American accent because that's how everyone talks! And when she sings, she imitates the original singer's voice without realising her voice is nothing like the star's, and that it sounds frankly disgusting contorted into such a style.

What in the world, is there some guy she wants to seduce or something? Or is she trying to fit in with the crowd she's mingling with? Why does she dress up like this when she goes for parties with her friends?

And the last thing: she acts as if she is attractive all round and desirable. People only do these things, if they think they have something to show for it. I don't think she's ugly, but I don't think she's anywhere near Miss Singapore either. By a mile. So can't she just be natural?

Sure, I know she's a young teen. And I'm pretty sure her friends are the ones who mould her personality right now. I don't intend to force her to change in any way, if this is who she wants to be. But why, why can't she be real for once, and why is it that she must try so hard to attain that image sold by the media?

symbolism

flight, the sky, the birds, the wings, the chained flying fish, the seed, the watch, the broken things in the water, the koi, the tulip, the book, the mourning doves, the swans, the lights, the metal, the wood, the granite, the umbrella, the ocean, the waltz, the heartbeat.

If you ever read Umbrella Story, look out for them whenever they appear.

dreamt

I am rarely privileged with the opportunity to say that I've done something that I'm proud of.

Yes, this is a month late, but I'm still excited.

I'm so glad I composed Dreamt. Because, puns aside, it really is a dream come true. It's the first time I've been able to listen to a composition of my own and feel, suddenly, fully-distanced, as if it were a professional work I am in the process of evaluating. Not in any way a mark of its standard--but nevertheless, this is a milestone for me.

Other works before this were missing something...they sounded clearly, flatly, like amateur works--fledglings yet to take flight. The rasp of the speakers, because I could not handle the layering limits; the dissonances that were not clean enough to be artistry; the bells and whistles (literally) that served no purpose except to stimulate the listener's attraction to novelty. My attempts to replicate the pros' startlingly beautiful effects--all shadows, vaguely mirroring them, but so much more crudely.

This time, I feel as if I've, someway, bypassed that. The music makes more sense than before. And no annoying overload either. Is it a matter of experience--or was I simply in the beat--on the crest--lucky that day? Luck. Composition is muchly about luck. And chaos. Each note dictates the laying of the next--forming a web with so many strands that the code of composition is but indecipherable, except by the human's aesthetic taste.

Whatever it is, I did something, and that something gave me this.

I do not like to brag. In the creative fields, claiming that your own work is good is to me detestable. Even with some sort of external opinion. Because in the realm of the subjective, a true piece of critique is worth just as much as a lie. No gauge can be accurate, because there are no objective standards. A work's popularity could be as much the result of exposure as it could be of quality.

But while I shall not say this work is good (far, far from it in fact)--I can say, I am glad to have accomplished something that makes me proud. Whatever others may think of it.

  Dreamt (Instrumental)

blog design overhaul

The old look seemed a little too sombre. I mean, I know the content isn't the most cheerful, but why make it worse?

On the title: "Harbour Lights" is a name I chose for how it resonates--with my heart, on my tongue, in text. I like seaside settlements; I love the concepts of journeys, navigation, departure and homecoming. With harbours come the images of ships, bells, lighthouses--ships that were made to voyage, bells that call in the day's catch, lighthouses that guide the wayward vessel past the rocks.

There is this mental image I sometimes have: I am at the deck of a ship in the middle of the ocean; it is night time, and the sea is black. Except for a few points of light, marking the far horizon: like a string of fairy lights, or fireflies--a foreign harbour. It's not my home, but seeing it is a comfort all the same.

"waiting in dusty pages, the cosmogony of a dreamt universe"--it is a wonder, how a world can begin in the human mind--and grow, and flourish, its every detail drawing itself, as if existent all along. The question of where these worlds originated remains to be answered--but to the dreamer there is no need to know, because that mystery itself is what engenders the love for creation.

chapter 11, at last

Great, all the rewriting is done. Now to check for grammar/typos and cut the chapter down to size. Then we're off.

drained

I'm not sure why; maybe I did too much at the same time. Or maybe it's just a matter of too little sleep. I...really hope it is.

I feel hollow. I can't feel for my writing anymore. I can't feel happy, except superficially. I feel nothing for things that used to make me ecstatic, that made my heart race.

Maybe it's because I'm deliberately stopping myself from doing the one thing I feel like doing right now: writing Umbrella Story. Mainly because I need to dedicate that time to OTDOTS, because people are waiting for it, and I hate to keep them waiting, and I know this is my last chance to write before hell begins...

I just can't feel anything. I need to recharge somewhere. I'm totally wasting myself.

it's been a decade

And after ten years of living in this house upon Springwood Height, we're finally having dinner at Pasir Panjang Food Centre. And to think, the first time I visited it was just last week. For goodness' sake, it's been right across the road for the entire decade we were here!

I will enjoy this meal every much.

unbound

Last week, I came home via plane, alone, for the first time in my life.

Alone in that airport, walking through customs. Alone at the gate. Alone occupying myself for that hour on-flight. I was listening to a huge, rowdy family making a ruckus on the plane. That's how we look like to the rest, I can see now.

I came home to an empty house; no one but my grandmother was waiting for me. For five days I lived without any parental or sisterly interference.

I absolutely enjoyed it.

Being able to move about, set my budget, find my own food and distribute my time without anyone caging me in with rules and schedules felt amazing.

I'll probably enjoy life alone. Or life in the future. Only issue is, I hope I don't spend as much time watching anime as I did during the time they were gone.

among others

Sometimes we don't like to be in the company of talented people, because you feel like so much less in comparison. It devalues you, in a sense--who are you among them? You have nothing to show, nothing that could place you as equals with them. And they will be talking to each other about things you don't understand. The troubles of talent and fame.

Doesn't everyone hate the feeling of being left out in a conversation? They just go on and on, and you want to join, but you can't, because you have nothing to say; you have no opportunity to jump in. Their conversation bores you. And you don't want to interrupt because why should you tilt the conversation in your favour?

It only makes you feel worse for not having knowledge in the same area. You feel almost ostracised. It's literally ostracism, except that no one can tell they're making you feel alien--and bad for it.

I know how some people handle it. They interrupt. They turn the conversation to a topic that they know they hold the most expertise in. Annoying. Why not let the rest continue with natural conversation?

But it makes sense, doesn't it. It's the only solution in that situation. But ultimately you're just as left out as before.

highlights

5 cm/s

Nothing is more heart-wrenching, than the distance between two people who once loved each other, but will never see each other again.

Strange, how something so real can also be so tragic. Thousands of people will learn of this pain every month, every year. Maybe someday I'll be one of them.


5 Centimeters Per Second isn't a fantasy. It is a story of reality where fantasy still dares to exists, and struggles to survive.

To submit to reality is tragic, isn't it? Here we are in the fantastical years of adolescence, so fiery and ready to stand in the face of the world. Reality will not take us by force. We will fight, for our fight defines us. We are golden; while there is a way, while we are still young and crazy and our blood is still of fire, we will not be stopped. The world doesn't matter for the individual's sake. The individual is all. The world is about what we can make of it.

But there is a cold sad thing that we will perhaps come to know someday. Reality does not take us, does not wrench us away, kicking and screaming.

Reality creeps in, trickles like rain, drop by drop. We slowly let it take us--like death by the cold. We no longer fight, and we no longer hurt to know we will never have what we want. To lose the desire to hold on: that is tragedy.

The movie is about that slow movement into acceptance--that slow movement, away from all the possibilities, all that could be, in those early days, as they vanish one by one like candles by the wind--that slow movement into a steady path that will take us on only one way.

5 centimeters per second: that is the speed of the cherry blossoms as they fall to the ground. So we fall--fall in love, that distance we can only cross once. The cherry blossoms bloom early in spring when the snow isn't all gone; everyone comes to watch--in Japan, an entire celebration is dedicated to this yearly happening. When the petals fall, they turn the pavements and roads a shade of pink that speaks of innocence and fresh--brief--love. It's strangely glorious, for a single living species to incite such wonder.

The cherry blossoms die before the spring is over. They fade into the roads, as if they never existed, and leave them bare. So is love, when it does not actualise itself. Almost nothing eventually, only the bittersweet regret of happiness that was once in full bloom, and is now but a wasted shadow.

There is an irony in the way the story is presented. The backdrops, the scripting, the characters' dispositions--are so much like the way an idealist would tell it, with those fearless declarations, those bold pictures of sunlit roads and classrooms in summertime, the indulgent contrast of light and shadow and colour and emptiness--redder than red, bluer than blue. The way the main characters tell each other of their hopes and their fears, the way they voice out the truth of their fates apart, yet with all the unshattering faith in the world: it's plain heartbreaking.

As the story moves through its three episodes, it grows more and more vibrant, violent, in its telling. Cherry Blossom is gentle enough. The story of Takaki and Akari's childhood is told in a time when the two have already parted ways. As Akari speaks of the scenery in her new residence far away from him, the story of how they met, grew close and separated connects the images: the quote that forms the title of the movie, the friendship that blossomed, their quiet love through the years of their youth. But the viewers know it's inevitably going to end, the taste of imminence is strong.

The dream of watching the cherry blossoms fall together, for one last time, is like the sound of departure almost. This is where the distance is first painted for how unfathomable it really is: Takaki is about to fly to a different city, a place where he can never see Akari again, for good. And for her he weathers the greyness, the cold, of what we see now as the unrelenting hold of reality and future, that which does not want their love to be fulfilled. Reality.

And he wins this battle, but ultimately he cannot win the war. He finds her, deep in the night, their faith in each other strong enough to keep them waiting. In the warmth of a simple fire, they share a last night--and while it lasts, while they are there, it might as well be an eternity. We watch, knowing this is where it ends. We know, there is no possibility of happiness this way again. They know it too. But still it happens, and they smile as they live this night together--live for the moment, the future be what it may, in the whirling cold snows of the dark. (The cherry tree is bare, because of the snow. The spring didn't come in time. But they make do, make do--the snow is beautiful in its own way, and Akari whispers that the snowflakes are a little like petals. They share their last kiss there. And it is, heartwrenchingly, also their first.)

The trains moves out of the station. The morning is beautiful, the most beautiful one yet. The spring seems ready to arrive. But here in the station, this is their very last sight of each other, for the rest of time.

They never gave each other their letters, farewell letters that must have spoken worlds. All those thoughts, still waiting to be said--never said, must vanish now. For the rest of time.

Here comes the episode Cosmonaut. It has been a comparable while since--not long, not a short period either.

Because another lesson of life comes, and really only sets the scene for the last: Love is never reserved for one alone. Many will love one, but only one's love will ultimately be returned. Sometimes, you lose yourself, misplace your feelings--and suddenly you find yourself placing your heart in the hands of someone you never knew would never see you.

Kanae is the subject of this; she is the one who hopelessly falls for one who she can never amount to anything for. Another reality. She swore that on the day she learnt to ride the waves, she would confess. Because to learn to ride the waves was something she had never been able to do, for so many years--the insurmountable challenge of her life. She swore, if she defeated this inability, she could be anyone, do anything.

But sometimes, however passionately you feel, however you swear the happiness of these days is enough to grant you the right to that love, however certain this crazy emotion--akin to drunkenness--makes you feel, it is, in the end, mere delusion. Then you realise, you were always overlooked; Kanae, always like the sea, the blue sea, vast and wild and grand, so passionate and powerful and brilliant--she was nothing, really, beside the sky, and the cosmos beyond, towards which he was gazing, all the while.

Sometimes, you are looking so far that you fail to see the things that were so close by, things within your reach. You aim forward, into a distance that you're unsure you will ever reach--but endeavour nevertheless, because without hope and without that dash of recklessness, there is never the possibility. Takaki continues to dream of Akari; he is the spaceship whose destination is indeterminate. Somewhere out there, somewhere in that unreachable, impassible distance, lies a dream of a life he still believes he can live.

But in that belief there is crippling fear. He writes her messages on his phone--but never sends them. The unspoken words haunt him, and he continues to feel shadows of that desire, to tell her the things he never did.

Perhaps he is as much a victim of that passionate blindness as Kanae is; he believes and dreams, long and tireless--the money is spent, the work is done, the spaceship is launched into the darkness beyond the sky. From here on earth, we see only points of lights--distant stars, nearer planets, the moon and its brilliant face looming so close to us. Where is it headed? Somewhere amongst those beautiful lights lies its destination, a place that it might never reach, but travels towards nonetheless. Because no hope is worth living if the dreamer does not first endeavour--desperately, recklessly, hopelessly--for it.

Episode three, 5 Centimeters Per Second.

Often, you are told to let go and move on, because moving on is the only way you can survive thereafter. But sometimes, letting go is only impossible. Because someday, sometime, long ago, you left a piece of your heart behind, with someone--and she left a piece of her heart with you. And you will never meet again. Never lay eyes on each other again.

They come so tantalisingly close. Is it a dream--as the train passes, and erases that possibility, absolutely, from memory? He turns, but only in time to watch a train--that very thing that first took him away from her, those years ago, in the train station--eradicate that last chance.

The train, which means departure, goodbye, the windows flashing with the sun, taking its passengers to some far-off place. Just like the passengers as they travel away from the ones they love, his dream--everything he still carries as a burden from his past--is taken away, to an unreachable place.

Everyone knows the lesson. Things change. People change. Allegiances shift. Time moves on. Life must as well.

Takaki finds himself a job, the ultimate aim of his education as a child--the education that he had, with Akari, with Kanae, and on his own. He finds himself a girlfriend at the workplace, a marriage of convenience, and contents himself to believe that he has forgotten his past.

But it continues to return--sometimes, when he sees beyond the ceiling and remembers a desire he once had, an aching deep in him, that led him to ride halfway across the country. just to spend a night with a person he once, distantly, loved so.

That love, he realises then, is something absolutely irreplaceable, something--as he looks at his new lover, perhaps a desperate replacement, and feels his heart not moving--she cannot be, however much she tries. Some things are just that way; there is no reason to them, and nothing a person can do to change them. But Akari, too, has moved on, beyond his reach. She has another man, a new home, a new happiness. The rocket never finds its destination; it travels still.

He remembers everything now, though the memories have been distilled to simple scenes, images. He remembers, in the comforting warm of spring--a day in frigid winter when he dreamt of seeing the cherry blossoms fall. He remembers, a cold night, a long journey--a few hours sleeping in the warmth of a small dinner and a love he didn't want to lose. He remembers a barren tree, so dead in appearance.

So many things one must pass by in life; so many things one must shed, in order to welcome the new and move forward into what the world has planned--be it grey or cold or dreary--so many things must be destroyed, without hope for revival. Like it or not, we will lose and forget our childhood someday. Individual events become a blur in the vivid picture of the past; where things once mattered, they are only sweet, fading impressions. The joy and that optimism of youth is a faint remembrance now.

He remembers, still. It is spring now, and at last, the cherry blossoms are falling--the same as every year, the same as every year before that. Those same wondrous flowers, dressing the roads in the a glorious pink, the colour of life and love--that will soon melt away, to be lost and forgotten, long before the week has come to an end. He remembers their first kiss; he remembers the train that took him away.

And somewhere far off, lost as she is in her own different future--she is trying to remember the fading fragments of that very same day, somewhere deep in her buried childhood.

come back

I hate asking only to have you give that same reason. It is not your fault; it is only obligation, and once again it isn't my right in any way to be discontent, or angry, or hateful, about your success, or your brilliance.

But you care more about work than me. That's how I feel, at least. And I don't want to be with someone like that.

It might be alright now, bearable because there is an end in sight. But when we are older, if you are still here--will everyday merely be a wait, for you to finish and return, from the work that you spend more time with than you would with me?

><

"you call that _______? that's a sorry excuse for _______. I can't believe I've been demoted to the same level as that. Stop blowing up his/her ego, seriously; he/she doesn't deserve it."

Sorry, I'm feeling particularly nettled today, about those same things. And most of all, I'm annoyed I can't seem to do anything to prove the opinions in that above sentence.

(not taking it wrongly, of course...I'm leaving blanks to make sure no one knows for sure what I'm referring to.)

grr.

I really hate when someone gets praise he/she doesn't deserve (because I think I deserve it more, but never seem to get it)--sometimes merely token praise--and then acts as if he/she is really wonderful because of it. One of the things that irks me the most in the world.

Just thought I'd say it. The anger attacks me rather violently.

is it enough to say I'm surprised?

I got onto the Dean's list for both Literature and Biology (though I can't help the thought I was at exactly the 95th percentile; my score was barely above the A cut-off).

*glances at chart below*

Now I know that my estimated Lit and Bio scores were totally, completely off. At least my chart predicted correctly my two best subjects. xP

That is all.

howdy!

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memories made this year

Songs that engulf me in a wave of remembrance.


1. Taio Cruz - Dynamite
will always remember being completely swept up by the camaraderie, jumping about like some insane freak when this song played in the hall during RJC batch '12 orientation.


2. Lia - Tori no Uta
I was lost, because I never expected it to be like this, impossible to ignore. I was confused, because I didn't know how to read the signs. This song reminds me of how it began.


3. Taylor Swift - Enchanted
those nights of lying awake, wondering about things that will only kill you with time. Indescribable.

aviary

A scene out of Umbrella Story; it used to be on Facebook but I decided it was too long.

But some thought another way: birds are free while we are not, but are we not greater creatures than they? Teachings spoke of humanity’s superiority over all other creatures, of their predetermined position as the monarchs of the animals. Cults of passionate believers had then formed: they captured birds so they could not fly, locked them into little birdcages that left them almost no room to raise their wings—kept away from the sky. 

They sang beautifully nevertheless, perhaps out of a tragic longing for freedom. Their songs kept them even longer behind the bars, ensured that they were never set free. For as long as they breathed, until they starved themselves to death, for sorrow. 

Ruthenia had read, some birds were born with migratory instincts. They held clocks and compasses within their minds, natural instruments that called each one to a faraway place, every year at the turn of spring—the whisper in every swallow’s heart that led it south in the winter of Astra. 

Sometimes at night, keepers spoke of birds that threw themselves at the bars of their cages, seeking out the direction of the land that called from somewhere they couldn’t see but knew existed, deep in their iron blood. Those that were kept indoors lost hope quickly, but those that had a view of the stars continued relentlessly to hope, to pound at the bars and the gates in the direction of south—even though a thousand times later, the bars had not moved. They knew they had to go somewhere. Their Destination.

bleh

Uhhhh. Now looking at any picture of Nagisa from Clannad makes me SO ANGRY. Bleh, I used to like her somewhat, but guess what, I got compared to her one day, and now I HATE HER WITH A VENGEANCE GRAH. You think I care about "getting together with the guy"? No, I hate people thinking I'm a weak girl who NEEDS A GUY, and with no opinions and more importantly no power to push those opinions. I do NOT cry often; I only cry out loud when I need to, and people notice when I do, and somehow I have stuck as "the crybaby" yeah whatever.

/unreasonable Clannad watcher

(overdue) post mortem

As the title says, or rather phrasing out the implications of that title, promos are over, results are back. Yadda. Final grade tally: AABBCS. Guess, once again, where the S came from.

I'm the sort who likes to synthesise new things from old, so I'm going to do something weird this time.

Click to enlarge:

Chinese

CT grade: U

Promo grade: S

Final grade: S

Well, heck with my grade; if I can pass my A level Chinese, then this score doesn't matter. I also discovered that for the CTs, since there's 222 people taking Chinese and I was at the 0.5th percentile, I actually scored the lowest in the level.

GP

CT grade: D

Promo grade: B

Final grade: B

Thank goodness I saved it. I'd never have been able to live with myself if I had scored a D overall. I don't know what happened in Term 3.

Literature in English

CT grade: B

Promo grade: B

Final grade: B

At least I'm topping the level in H1 Lit. I think.

Biology

CT grade: A

Promo grade: A

Final grade: A

There's only one thing I can say: I love Biology.

Chemistry

CT grade: D

Promo grade: A

Final grade: B

Nothing but regret for my complacency. When I look at my mistakes, I can only think one thing: I could have done better, so much better.

Mathematics

CT grade: B

Promo grade: C

Final grade: C

I shouldn't beat myself up over this. I was already outperforming myself from the rest of my life at the start of the year. I'm bad at Math; time to eat that up and move on.

a year back

Time flies. Funny how, though the people change, it's always the same events, over and over. Another year, another graduation. But that's life--the old depart, so that the new may rise. Circle closes, or the circle opens into a spiral; the torch changes hands.

Coincidentally or not, we received our yearbooks from 2010 on the very same day the batch below us graduated. It was an arrangement that brought upon me, suddenly, those recollections that I had been suppressing--whether willingly or not, wittingly or not--throughout the year.

I can't say I miss RGS dearly. Most of what I loved about it were the people, and almost all of them came along with me.

But I suppose it is the movement away--like departing from a place that I can never return to--that breaks my heart most: to know that I will never be that person, in that place, in that time, again. Sharing those same horrors over what are mere trivialities now. Making jokes I don't even laugh at anymore. Being naive.

Goodbye. I don't think I ever said it, properly, because I took for granted that the physical place would still and always be there, took for granted that the people who made it special came along with me to JC, and would always remain the same people, our ties remain the same, our smiles still shared.

But with our graduation, both changed--the place has grown so different, populated by thousands of psyches that would never perfectly echo our own. As for the people--time and movement and shifting circumstance have transformed them. Have I, too, transformed?

Everything has changed.

A few days ago, I watched my juniors' grand finale. Is that who we were, a year ago? Who I was, on that stage that has been redecorated over and over? Did it rain last year?

I look back on the things I wrote on my blog, at the height of graduation euphoria last year.
It did rain last year.
I had a strange sort of foresight. I knew things would change.
But I didn't expect enough, as a result did not do enough to hold it tight, and I regret that direly.

But goodbye anyway, even though it's far too late; goodbye to whatever little still remains of what was. I was ungrateful, and flippant, and apathetic; that self disgusts me now. Maybe in a year's time, some of my juniors will have the same reflections as I now do.

I need therapy for genophobia. Fast. I foresee it ruining my life shortly.

an empty husk

I suddenly felt a wave of fear and sorrow. I cannot give you some of the things you might want. I don't think I'll ever be able to change that. Are you willing to accept that?

the ninth day

Overdue, again.


Day 9: Two Movies You Absolutely Love


1. Spirited Away, directed by Hayao Miyazaki. Ohhhh......how to begin. Let's just say that I adore stories that are complete without being resolved. It's strength is in the poetic story, of vastness that transcends the individual, the utterly absorbing atmosphere, and scenery (it almost seems to project itself into real life!). The power of the imagination behind it. Absolutely adore Miyazaki's work, this most of all.

2. 5 Centimeters Per Second. I'm so in love with this movie; I find myself thinking about it while walking down streets and watching the sun set, even months after watching it. It changed my life, quite literally. Again, it's so scenic it's almost heartbreaking. The storyline is so real. Told with such unfailingly passionate idealism, in a cold world made to crush out all hope of that kind.

time capsule

Yesterday, I met a friend whom I made four years ago. It was quite an experience, in multiple aspects. The last I saw of him was in, what, 2009?

Besides the T-shirt delivery, that is.

He's a different person, even though he's in all ways the same. He hasn't changed; my perceptions have shifted.

That piano he made out of wax. It reminds me of how high he has risen, how far he has flown; his work stands on display. He isn't the same person. Just as that piano's existence makes me think of the shifting times and the days we left behind, the piece in itself is a recount almost nostalgic; it fills in the gaps of the story that I never knew, the gaps that riddled those two years without meeting.

I know I am a tiny part of that story, and I even remember where I came in. Somewhere around high C, with the clips. Those silly, silly days. Getting childishly angry over his equally-childish obnoxiousness. Brief admirations. Music.

The wonders of social media. It's almost as if there weren't any of the years in between this meeting and the last. But there's something of those years we missed, that singing of something I let slip, dreams lost in translation.

---

Today, I met a teacher who taught me History in Secondary Three. He remembers me because I was a strange person with some sort of non-academic talent in art? music? that no one could harness properly. Or maybe because I once threw a water bottle at him. I wonder.

He tells us of the things that have been happening recently in RGS. Has it been a year since I sang that school song for the last time? Life lies before us, here's luck to the start. It's changed so much; people I once knew are leaving; people I don't know have come.

It's funny to hear stories of RGS. Your time is done and you have left it forever. But life moves on, things continue to happen within its walls, regardless of your absence. Sometimes you return, and realise it's farther down the current from where it was when you left it, and will never return to that place. But we all retain memories, and some pieces are bound to be trapped here and there, in the dusty corners of the school.

I remember the lab where I first made lead iodide. I remember the pigeons in the canteen. I remember the grand piano in the foyer with the broken F string.

It's funny, how far behind the memory of RGS Batch '10 has been left. At least it still means something. At least our History teacher still remembers, and he says we have changed less than we would think.

History teacher. It makes strange sense.

---

Today, I went to a place I last visited in March 2010 to practise a duet. My friend's home. So many things there are identical to before--but today, I looked closer. There is so much there that I didn't see before; was all that there the last time I came? Which of those things were added by 2011? I always wonder, and maybe I'll regret not looking last time. But that chance won't come again.

She told me of things that happened while I was in her class last year, things I never knew. Now we no are longer that close, it almost seems alien to hear of what was happening when we were still, things that started and ended, and never crossed my path till now.

I remember only the piano from that last visit in 2010. Today I discovered, she's changed that piano for a newer one. Isn't that strange?

---

Like the paradox of Theseus' Ship, I am unsure if I can call them the same entities, since they are still the same by name. Or have their parts changed so much that they are not the same things; are they in fact different? Completely? Partly?

Both my artist friend and my teacher have deactivated their Facebook accounts. Another lesson. They move along, and now I will know nothing of their lives. Without technology, I am stripped bare in terms of links to these people. How much wider does the seam tear? I do wonder. Wide?

All of this, I encapsulate and bury. It's a little like what this blog is meant for. It keeps imprisonments of old times, some that enter by accident--some of which I treasure, some of which I wish I didn't have to recall.

All those things, so many things, could have been--but I tossed them away before I took hold of them, they took hold of me--the music of long ago. Choices and random events are continuously passing us by, each leading to a different Somewhere. Maybe if only. If only I'd hung onto some chances, and discarded others. If I'd been a little more truthful. If I'd gone home an hour later on the fifteenth of July. If I'd gone left around the staircase instead of right.

But music, always music. Play with passion, until the concerto ends, and your solo closes everything. No regrets, because the piece is played and the notes have been sounded. Every mistake becomes part of that unique piece of music that only you, at that point, in that state, could have performed. It's quite beautiful.

thrill

There is a thing about exciting things.

The first ride on the rollercoaster is always such fun. It's because you've never done it before, because you're here to try something whose experience and outcome you cannot be sure of, except that you know others liked it. Throughout the ride, as each turn comes unexpected and each bump draws another exhilarated squeal, as your palms grow sweaty, almost slipping, your pupils dilate, and your heartbeat booms like a drum in your ears--there is the fear, the thrill, the novelty. All because you don't know if you'll survive. Then at the end, there is this hope for a second time.

The second time may come in a few weeks, even in many months, a year. That's why it's fun every time. At the eve of each ride, you retain a little inkling--a racing of the heart, a distant burst of adrenaline, the scream far down in your throat as the bends come hurtling towards you--and you take it on again, almost not remembering how it happened last time.

But say you took the rollercoaster every week. Now, the body knows how to adapt, because adaptation is a crucial part of survival. And you start to learn to handle not knowing what comes next--your pulse learns not to rush, the adrenaline learns not to come so fast--because you know the danger will not come. You know you are safe; your body learns that, and learns to cope.

And if you did the same everyday, you start to predict all the turns. Lose all joy for not knowing what comes next. Lose that happiness. The forgetting of the thrill is like a cliff fall--sudden. And it might not come back.

I'm afraid I'm wearing out the novelty of this. Some things make me thrilled beyond compare; this is one of them. I know that the thrill will eventually die, much faster because it happens so often--but I don't want the second scenario to be the one I live through. I don't want to take an overdose now, and fall out, so hard that I lose all ability to be happy when you try it again. I don't want this, ever, to be an empty grey shell of what it formerly was.

I hope you don't mind that I am retreating for a while. I don't want to squander all this joy on the first six months, and lose it for the rest of our time.

still awake

and feeling so sick in the stomach. Hungry.

This is how it'll always go I guess. You always so far ahead, me wishing to keep up, always wishing, only wishing. We steal whatever time there is to be happy, but when all is considered and the tide of things moves us on, this time is never enough, never close to enough.

I am wise enough to know that I'm far from important (when have I ever doubted?) and that no one without a blood connection with me would sacrifice more than a little for my sake. I know that some things simply cannot change, that you are you and you have so much left of life for you; the world is your oyster but the pearl is for only the hands and eyes of one; that I am I, who will always be so little and so insignificant, no matter how hard I try. There is a price to being talented beyond your years, and that is that there will always be people waiting to wring more from you, each time, every time, time and time again, year by year, routine, even though it's not enough, never near enough.

And I can't comfort myself with the words 'it will end', because it won't. It'll be the same forever, always you, you, there on the pedestal of gods, called to other places, called far away, called to be great and to show something for your greatness, chased around the world by nameless glories--to places where I'll never see you again. And always me, me wilting in the garden I thought would grow but died and murdered me along with it. Always me, the one who cannot keep up, who can't be the same, simply can't be the same no matter how I wish I were.

It won't end. It's simple now; a matter of too much to do and too little time to ration, too huge a possibility to throw away, too huge a glory to forsake, too much of an obligation. Then next time, it'll be those things again, but not just with time but also with love.

I wish it were easier to let you be away and apart. Whenever we part, do you know how I feel? Do you not know that wistful smile? When I gaze up at you and smile, it is not for bliss; it is for regret that it will end so soon. My heart wants desperately to hold, to hold on. Because the time is never enough, never near enough; I stop every second, every petal of our time together, before it can slip through my fingers, wrack it for every drop, strip it of every last iota of happiness I can find. Yet never find enough for myself. Tear it to shreds and tear myself apart, and refuse to let go even then.

I would love to accuse you of not caring. I would love to tell you to leave, for this. Because you have a talent, you subject yourself to this benchmarking, these competitions, these things that make you look like some genius, things you don't even have to do. Why? Didn't you say you don't care? Didn't you say achievements don't matter to you?

But I know that, inexorably, I would not have you sacrifice all you can have and all you could be--the glory of your future--just because I am selfish. I don't expect it either. I don't mean to sound like you do it on purpose, like you're any less than forced--by circumstances and the future and the pressures of the world--to do these things. For your sake. For your good. It makes sense, every bit.

Maybe I do wish you valued our time more, then. It's just the same thing for you, as if we had all day to ourselves, when in fact we have such few hours. You enjoy it; enjoyment isn't the same. You waste it. Waste it still. I wish it meant as much to you as it did to me. I wish you'd treasure it, not just enjoy it. I wish you'd hurt as much as me when you need to go. Because I would die with this heartache.

Maybe I do hate knowing that you're only taken away every day because you are gifted. I hate that thought; I hate it to the core. I should be happy for your gift. I should be glad, and proud to be close to a person so brilliant. I want to be. But if it only takes you away, how can I?

Can't you see, I'm suffering to know I'm obliged to let you go?

the same old disease

Is it too much to ask, to be famed for my skill? To be able to do something and know I'm good at it?

I am covetous by nature. Covetous especially of those close to me. The closer they are, the more I wish I were equal to them. Or better still, better.

I hate that I have no solid proof of whatever "talents" people claim I have.

wuthering heights

A story of a divine love struggling futilely to survive in a world made to reject it--love that, like the the wilderness, needs to grow untamed--yet twisted by societal convention, warped by the girdles, the fences, the walls made only to protect. The utter destruction of souls made--but not allowed--to love: a passion that needs suddenly to manifest, wherever and however, as pain that is as vivid and vast as the love that engendered it.

If it must destroy the lover, then it shall also destroy the ones who ended his love.

Love beyond selfish gratification, love that is entirely for and within the beloved; love that wavers not with the passage of time, nor with the growing of distance--that no one can understand, that is so blazingly passionate it appears entirely alien.

Wuthering Heights is brilliant. I find myself wishing these people would continue to live and spin their tale. I swear they breathed while I read, and breathe still in my mind: such is the rage and potence of the love that is told of, that transcends the grave in which it was laid, that seeped out through the layers, and exuded itself through the voice of one and extend into the life of another, and in turn through his voice now colour the life of myself. Only now do I see the merit of the framed narrative...the more voices through which it is passed, the more powerful the story seems; we find ourselves in the place that Mr. Lockwood the narrator found himself once--learning the tale from Nelly the housekeeper, and likewise we listen to the tale through him, and we tell the tale to our friends...and the story extends itself into the living world. The content of the story itself exemplifies its own shattering power in reality; the lines between reality and fiction have never been blurred so seamlessly, into spatial indifference, into timelessness, into universality.

I know it is fiction--yet fiction whose message holds weight in reality, that can effect real changes, or lead us to consider our own lives: that is the true art of fiction, and a book that can create such an effect is an outstanding work indeed. Even a hundred and fifty years from the time it was conceived, time disparity does not seem an issue in suspension of disbelief...while I am reading, that world is as real and present as the true Now, those feelings still the same though time has changed so much else...

Such love has no place in a temporary, forgettable book. Such love in itself brands the tale as a timeless classic. The struggle of nature and of the innate passion of the heart, against a world of convention that loves the normal--the restrained--the ones who maintain a pretence. I am in love with this book.

P.S. fangirlmoment! Yeah I know everyone loves manly men...but manly Heathcliff and the hairy, smelly macho quality about him just aren't for me. I prefer Edgar the feminine blonde-locked to him, but overall in the book, I like the sickly spoilt brat Linton the most>o<

I am stupid. I am useless. I am ugly. I am self-absorbed. I am pathetic.

I don't remember compliments, only insults. Compliments mean nothing as long as there are insults nullifying them. Insults are just that powerful. Compliments are mindless.

blindness

that is the tragedy. an entire world of misguided people, chasing things they desire but do not own, blind to the things they already have. always so taken in, so utterly transfixed, on the green grass on the other side of the fence. because seeing another have something you do not own always makes it a hundred times more desirable, does it not? greed and jealousy, at its finest. so subversive, because it runs in the nerve impulses whose pathways were linked by the patter of words on our windows.

"his success can be attributed to his talent."
"you have money? come in."
"be happy; you have more than that guy over there."

to have is to be happy.
to have more is to be happier.
to have all is to be the happiest person alive.
to have less is reason for you to desire to have more.

you are never happy with what you have, as long as there is someone who has something you don't.

in my longing to comprehend these vast creatures of mathematics and social science and foreign syntax, lying in that dust grovelling in fuming frustration wishing I could just know and just have as much--I suppose I never realised I was creating things with my own hands that made them jealous.

just as jealous of me as I am of them.


and here you are, thinking dejectedly that they, the mathematicians and physicists with all the accolades glittering on their shelves and all of the world working in their favour, are sneering down upon you, mocking you raucously--how silly you look as you stare, not-understanding, at a dumb sheet of formulae.

when behind their backs they hide clasped fingers; behind their clean smiles they hide aching hearts, hearts that wish they knew how to spin songs the way you do.

(something as little and simple as that. something they should have no reason to want. something you don't really take notice of.)

that is the tragedy.

late nights

Late nights have never been good for me. But at the point when I make the choice to stay up into the morning, I'm not really thinking. Or at least all logical thought processes are occupied by Facebook or whatever it is on the computer that's draining my attention away--work, friends, blogposts,.stalking.

By tomorrow I'll curse my choice, and I'll find myself dragging my mind through lesson after lesson, wondering why the hell I didn't have the better discretion to go to sleep earlier. But here now I've come to that point of no return, as I do every night. It's a little too early to relinquish the effort, and a little too late to regret staying up so late.

untold story

venturing an untold story.
telling an old secret.

confessing.

doing something you swore you'd never do.
breaking your first vase.
finishing a novel.
failing an exam.
falling in love.
cold days.
the static before the storm.
burning your hand in the fire.

never turning back.

the little thrills of life; they are what make it worth living.

the clock strikes two

no, I'm really overusing the pendulum metaphor.
thrice in half year.
not good.

eternal pendulum

"my life oscillates like a pendulum between three magnets"

she said once.

Up and down, and left and right and on and on and out of sight.

The period of the pendulum is irregular.

And that is why I can never anticipate my life swinging the other way. For moments within a suspension of fantasy I can believe I want nothing else--that I am safe and above all shadow.

And at the next, it is taken away. All demolished. By none other than myself and my traitorous personality. I sink into the dark again, nothing left behind me.

she never learns.

It leaves a sort of ghost in its wake, a dull throbbing darkness that fades but never really vanishes. A stain. I can scour with all my tears, but it stays.

Till my heart is black.


I'm crossing, border to border, north to south to east to west. Oftentimes I find myself wishing that life would simply--freeze. Stop short, stop within this moment of happiness, and linger in it until the world's close. Let me revel in it. Stop sending me through pain and joy and pain, cyclically, cycling, circling. Stop sending me in circles.

Oftentimes I find myself crying suddenly wondering--wasn't I laughing just moments ago? Is this goodbye to innocence, innocence where joy could last forever? Why won't the world stop turning? Why won't the past just die?

I like how, if you trace the vertical displacement of a single point on the circumference of a rotating circle along a horizontal time axis, you find yourself a sine graph. Up and down. Up and down, just like life. Up and down, but round and round.

Sometimes, I wish it were so patterned, so easy to predict and pre-empt. I wish there were an equation for the unfolding of time. I wish there were some way to know when the world is about to invert upon you, and fling you deep down into a trough.

But the period of the pendulum is irregular.

And still life swings, unstoppable by all.

to do

Much as I want to lose myself in the moment, I know when the stakes are too high.

I will be happy at whatever cost--to heck with my studies and my "future".

I would love to think that way. I can't, I know. This is the sort of folly that everyone will sigh piteously at when the time comes, and I'm foundering in my bottom-end job in a dark place I hated long before I came.

"What was she thinking, giving so much away?"

It is not folly, the Me of now wants to answer. But I know I am silly and young, and I know those lessons that everyone tells, over and over.

"Future" is a huge word.

My heart might cry out against it, but I know, somehow, that no matter how happy it makes me now, I will come to regret eventually.

Delayed gratification. I have heard tales that the ability to postpone satisfaction is the mark of someone successful. And I do wonder if I want to be successful, if it means I'll be unhappy more than 90% of the time. But then, I think I'll take the suffering of now better than the suffering of next year.

A large part of living is learning to balance everything, and I suppose this is where the test of living lies. I'll save my happiness for later, if wait I can. I'm patient enough to wait, I believe.

Doing a PW consultation summary, distractedly.

calm

I'm beyond fear now.
It's become impossible to fear the end.

missing you

I like how this feels. Staying at home for four days under self-containment. Staring at my phone, waiting for the screen to light up. Falling asleep with my hand upon it.

(missing someone for no reason at all even though they're hardly unreachable)

There's something about absence. There was a proverb about it. I used to throw it about indiscriminately when I was a child, with no regard for everything it entailed.


Absence makes the heart grow fonder? How sweet; I know what it means now, through and through.

transience

Gone as fast as it came, like a meteor plunging into the night. I was so happy.

mbti fun :O

So you probably know by now: I really like making lists. I like listing things from memory, ranking things, sorting things out, noting trends, drawing graphs, compiling incidental statistics (not the scientific kinds urrrhh xP), arranging, etc.. It seems inconsistent with the rest of my personality, really...but it's one really big part of me. I like putting things in nice lists, and I love the feeling of making a good, complete, comprehensive list.

And I also like things that categorise people. Such as......MBTI profiles. Like, seriously. I'm mad about them. I've done many, many versions of the MBTI quiz, and they yield me different things at different times. But it's quite clear I hover around ENFP, with the occasional appearance of ESFP and INFP.

While there's bound to be some unjust stratification of what should be a continuum of personalities, the profiles have actually helped me recognise my actions as symptoms of certain over-expressed flaws of my brain functions.

I'm not proud that I'm "emotional". In fact I dislike that, because I believe the F people are the more easily-exploitable half of the population. And while I'm E according to quizzes, I feel I show some very markedly I traits.

Ah well, so I wondered, if I didn't go through those veiling, subjective questions and got straight to the essence of each quality, what would my MBTI profile be? So, being the bored person I am and having finished all my tutorials, I looked at lists of "criteria" for each of the four dichotomies of the MBTI. And here I bold the ones that apply to me:

Extraverts often:
• Have high energy
• Talk more than listen (I hate butting in on others; it's rude ><)
• Think out loud
• Act, then think
• Like to be around people a lot
• Prefer a public role
• Can sometimes be easily distracted
• Prefer to do lots of things at once
• Are outgoing; enthusiastic (depends on the situation!)

Introverts often:

• Have quiet energy
• Listen more than talk
• Think quietly inside their heads
• Think, then act
• Feel comfortable being alone
• Prefer to work "behind-the-scenes"
• Have good powers of concentration
• Prefer to focus on one thing at a time
• Are self-contained and reserved 

Hm. E.

Sensors often:
• Focus on details & specifics
• Admire practical solutions
• Notice details & remember facts
• Are pragmatic - see what is
• Live in the here-and-now
• Trust actual experience
• Like to use established skills
• Like step-by-step instructions
• Work at a steady pace

Intuitives often:
• Focus on the big picture & possibilities
• Admire creative ideas
• Notice anything new or different
• Are inventive - see what could be (oh, I almost live by this...)
• Think about future implications
• Trust their gut instincts (always heheh)
• Prefer to learn new skills
• Like to figure things out for themselves
• Work in bursts of energy

N, though it's not that distinct...I suppose this is what they call "an N with a well developed S side".

Thinkers often:
• Make decisions objectively
• Appear cool and reserved
• Are most convinced by rational arguments
• Are honest and direct
• Value honesty and fairness
• Take few things personally
• Are good at seeing flaws (well, I see them often; not sure if that means I do it well...)
• Are motivated by achievement (not in the pure sense. Achievement is nothing without the benefits it confers)
  
• Argue or debate issues for fun

Feelers often:
• Decide based on their values & feelings
• Appear warm and friendly (...do I?)
• Are most convinced by how they feel
• Are diplomatic and tactful
• Value harmony and compassion (compassion, yes. Harmony...not really.)
• Take many things personally
• Are quick to compliment others (I just don't...compliment people. Not sincerely. I give token compliments, though.)
• Are motivated by appreciation
• Avoid arguments and conflicts

F. Ha...I found myself going "NOOO TOTALLY NOT" to most of those in the T list.

Aaand...

Judgers often:
• Like to have things settled
• Take responsibilities seriously (NO.)
• Pay attention to time & are usually prompt (HEH NO.)
• Prefer to finish projects
• Work first, play later
• Seek closure
• See the need for most rules (NOO.)
• Like to make & stick with plans
• Find comfort in schedules

Perceivers often:
• Like to keep their options open
• Are playful and casual
• Are less aware of time and may run late
• Prefer to start projects (...hmm? I think I like to both start AND finish projects!)
• Play first, work later
• May have difficulty making some decisions (OH TOTALLY.)
• Question the need for many rules (YESH.)
• Like to keep plans flexible (OMG P totally describes me.)
• Want the freedom to be spontaneous

 Expectedly, I'm a P. Hah.

Oh. And it seems I went through the entire exercise to discover that I am, indeed, an ENFP. =.=

Aaaand then I thought it might be interesting to see which I was by specific prose descriptions rather than descriptors, so I dug up something:

Q1. Which is your most natural energy orientation? 

Every person has two faces. One is directed towards the OUTER world of activities, excitements, people, and things. The other is directed inward to the INNER world of thoughts, interests, ideas, and imagination.
While these are two different but complementary sides of our nature, most people have an innate preference towards energy from the either the OUTER or INNER worlds. Thus one of their faces, either the Extraverted (E) or Introverted (I), takes the lead in their personality development and plays a more dominant role in their behavior.

By this description, I can't be completely sure I'm an E anymore...I seem to take part in both almost equally in this case. Hm.

Q2. Which way of Perceiving or understanding is most "automatic" or natural?

The Sensing (S) side of our brain notices the sights, sounds, smells and all the sensory details of the PRESENT. It categorizes, organizes, records and stores the specifics from the here and now. It is REALITY based.

The Intuitive (N) side of our brain seeks to understand, interpret and form OVERALL patterns of all the information that is collected and records these patterns and relationships. It speculates on POSSIBILITIES, including looking into and forecasting the FUTURE. It is imaginative and conceptual.

While both kinds of perceiving are necessary and used by all people, each of us instinctively tends to favor one over the other.

I feel, once again, like I could be both...? :O Like I said, I really love making lists. I love also working with the concrete and experiencing sensory stimulation...but I also like imagining and conceptualising and creating...? How odd.

Q3. Which way of forming Judgments and making choices is most natural?

The Thinking (T) side of our brain analyzes information in a DETACHED, objective fashion. It operates from factual principles, deduces and forms conclusions systematically. It is our logical nature.

The Feeling (F) side of our brain forms conclusions in an ATTACHED and somewhat global manner, based on likes/dislikes, impact on others, and human and aesthetic values. It is our subjective nature.

While everyone uses both means of forming conclusions, each person has a natural bias towards one over the other so that when they give us conflicting directions - one side is the natural trump card or tiebreaker.

I guess I'm a Feeling person still. I don't like logic, but if you look at the way I do my math and chem and stuff, it isn't exactly a mess either...

Q4. What is your action orientation towards the outside world?

All people use both judging (thinking and feeling) and perceiving (sensing and intuition) processes to store information, organize our thoughts, make decisions, take actions and manage our lives. Yet one of these processes (Judging or Perceiving) tends to take the lead in our relationship with the outside world while the other governs our inner world.

A Judging (J) style approaches the outside world WITH A PLAN and is oriented towards organizing one's surroundings, being prepared, making decisions and reaching closure and completion.
A Perceiving (P) style takes the outside world AS IT COMES and is adopting and adapting, flexible, open-ended and receptive to new opportunities and changing game plans.

Nope, no plan. I'm an improviser.

And thus by this new criteria passage thing, I seem to be E/I N/S F P? Well, ah well.

---

Not to bore you, but I found some random pieces of information about ENFP...

"With Extraverted Intuitive personality types, words, ideas and possibilities spew effortlessly from them. Words are their best friends. They dance around ideas, the more, the merrier. Imaginative, spontaneous, original and enthusiastic, they have a knack for seeing other possibilities, other dreams and options. The world is never as it is but as it could be, as if it were but an artists sketch begging for colour. They initiate change and often are prone to trespassing a few known boundaries to take themselves and others where no one has been before. The status quo tends to lack inspiration."

I have to agree. This does sound like me, and I do say the things mentioned quite often, without even realising it.

And whoaa I just found a bunch of words that apparently describe us! *sifts through*

"outgoing, social, disorganized, easily talked into doing silly things, spontaneous, wild and crazy, acts without thinking, good at getting people to have fun, pleasure seeking, irresponsible, physically affectionate, risk taker, thrill seeker, likely to have or want a tattoo (lol?!), adventurous, unprepared, attention seeking, hyperactive, irrational, loves crowds, rule breaker, prone to losing things, seductive, easily distracted, open, revealing, comfortable in unfamiliar situations, attracted to strange things, non punctual, likes to stand out, likes to try new things, fun seeker, unconventional, energetic, impulsive, empathetic, dangerous, loving, attachment prone, prone to fantasy"

(Y)

And apologies for boring you. Once in a while it's nice to read on others' takes on you. I was intending to go around collecting people's MBTI profiles and comparing with my impressions of them...not sure I'll ever get round to that but that sure would be funnnnn.

umbrella open

I'm glad you guys liked the prologue of Umbrella Story. Gives me hope for the rest of the piece.

strong

Alright, so I have a friend Rachel who recently posted a ranty blogpost about the NDP dance performance and got into a bit of trouble for it, on top of that gaining a few haters. If you're reading this, Rachel, nice job talking those trolls (with nothing better to do except to find something to be pseudo-righteously angry about) up :)

It's interesting recalling how I felt about that same blogpost that so many people felt insulted by: hey, I think that opinion is pretty widespread, except she bothered to make a statement about it and she faced what every other person probably didn't have the energy to face as a result of doing so.

Best thing of all is how she's responded. Absolutely remarkable. Well, I still think having haters is a sign that you've come to a certain level of fame or prominence in the public eye. The instant you have yourself a hater, you know that you're popular or famous enough for someone to be jealous of you, mock you, think you undeserving.

Sort of reminds me of Tony Tan being booed by people who came to watch his speech for no reason except to put him down. What did he do? He waved at the minority of supporters and promised them his best service. Not that I have much of an opinion about politics, but I like his attitude.

And to hell with people who shoot others down just because it makes them feel like part of a powerful and righteous force. Everyone has a purpose to their actions; everyone has a valid point, except the ones who do it for the sake of riling another--such as you flamers. Of course, you have valid points too, but there are far more civil ways of raising them than ganging up on the person who got on your nerves.

nostalgia

something I painted (digitally) rather recently.

To think of the past that we chose to cast behind us, of the future that blinded us yet we knew we must pursue.

Days left, wrapped neatly, in the corner of an old dusky station. As if waiting for the arrival of someone who has moved far beyond return.


Goodbye comes too soon, and we say it without comprehending a single word.

confessions (7) -- the last :O

#31: I judge books by their covers. Literally and figuratively both.

#32: I really don't understand myself. Not at all. I can believe in two opposing notions at the same time. I don't know if I'm an optimist or a pessimist. I call myself an optimist and I speak pessimist words. I believe I am an angry person, and yet I spend more time smiling than frowning. I am a cynical idealistic cynic; I really don't know which I am. I can be both ends of a spectrum. At the same time, or ever-changing. Oscillating. So mercurial and so confused. I really don't know who I am.

#33: I tend to exaggerate and round figures up to make them more interesting. Keep this in mind while re-reading my confessions.

interpretations

I just wanted to put the thought down before I lost it. Originally from a thread between Yang and Angus somewhere on Facebook, but the thread was killed so...

Music is a whole experience. For any one piece, the personal experience necessarily differs. Some derive enjoyment of a piece from considering context and background, some from analysis, others from ignoring all such pedantic thinking. Two may listen to Rachmaninov's interpretations of Chopin; one could balk at the pianist's technical imprecision; another may be taken in by his unfettered expression and sincerity. Ultimately, it is the appreciator's own choice how to experience it in order to derive their own greatest satisfaction and/or enlightenment. Art at the initial moment of experience is a purely self-centred act, and it should not matter where other opinions lie.

confessions (6)

Hahah almost finished! I'm pretty sure all my stalkers really enjoyed this =.=

#26: I still can't tell if I'm an introvert or an extrovert. I have a long way to go, in terms of "Know thyself"......

#27: I have great propensity to be bitter. Bitter about things I can't forget and would never forgive. I find it extremely hard to forget bad emotions. I don't let it affect my day-to-day behaviour, but I can very quickly reawaken long-buried unhappiness.

#28: Before I came into RI, I was so certain there was no way I would ever get myself into a relationship, or even like a guy enough to want one. Gawd how much that has changed.

#29: I live my life as if it were a story, and I think I still cling to some very idealistic hopes for what my life will be. I still believe in the power of the individual against society. I believe in poetic justice and deserving whatever ending you get.

#30: I am interested in most things (esp. scientific) for their symbolic and aesthetic beauty. This applies for birds, astronomy, flight physics, navigation devices etc.

confessions (5)

#21: When I'm bored, I read my stories and school essays because, frankly, I really like them. >D

#22: Sometimes I grant myself the concession to believe that I compose/write music better than whoever did the soundtracks of those local productions on OKTO. And even some Nintendo games.

#23: I say I'm vegetarian, but......I still eat meat. My parents seem bent on forcing me to eat it because "oh it's important and you're growing and blah blah"! >_>

#24: I'm frankly tired of hearing my friends talk about Fire Emblem all the time.

#25: I eat the unpopped kernels in popcorn. Chewy...

so...

I'm not unfamiliar with pain. Where emotions are concerned, it's almost like I can recite the sequence by heart. The first staggering blow, and the ache lingers in the ambience like a distinct bitterness, sometimes so horrible it makes you hate yourself for ever bringing it upon yourself. With time, it fades off like how the worst pain always does, as new and better memories of the perpetrator form to cover old wounds. And it can take a few weeks, or a few months, but this is the far end of 'a few months' and it still hurts like it did at the moment it happened, and hurts again when I remember all the events preceding it, foreshadowing it. I don't know why it won't go away.

(I'll continue with the confessions on the next post...I can't access Blogger and my drafts from my phone.)

confessions (4)

Aaaaand now there's 32 likes. I wonder who is still checking for these!

#16: I like looking at girls more than guys...in anime, at least. Sometimes I can't stand the sight of guys, but girls always look so pretty and visually appealing and...I shall not go on.

#17: Girl crushes do exist, because in my time in RGS, I had them almost continuously. My longest crush in my life was on a girl--it lasted 2.5 years. I still feel a little shy whenever I see her.

#18: I've never really felt any belonging to my family nor attachment to my parents. They're nice people...just somehow, they never won my heart over.

#19: My curfew is 8 o'clock. I break it constantly and repeatedly >_>

#20: I still check my deviantART and FanFiction.net hit counts daily. Such a popularity whore......

confessions (3)

Gawd...more likes since yesterday. 15 down, 16 to go!

#11: I hated piano lessons...I hated them so much that I gave piano up at the first chance my parents gave me to do so...

#12: I don't forgive; I only forget. I'm really not as flippant about these things as I try my best to seem.

#13: I've had crushes on dead people/historical figures before.

#14: I don't usually like things as much as I make it sound. I've trained myself to be able to exaggerate convincingly--in written text, at least.

#15: I cannot stand malapropisms, and I know some people who are extremely guilty of misusing big words in the hope of sounding profound...but I keep quiet about it, as much as I can. ><

我的家

From the geniuses, my P4-6 classmates.

我的家 爆炸
爸爸变gorilla
妈妈跳楼自杀
婆婆大声笑哈哈
我的家 chaoda
我们应该跑吧
我的家真的会爆炸
因为我泡了太多茶

confessions (2)

Once again, from the FB status. Next five! Blah I think the next few will come tomorrow.

#6: If I've stalked you, there's a good chance I'm either a fan of you or have taken a brief fancy to you before. Not 100% though...

#7: The pain of those days of heartbreak never really left me. It's just like they tell it in songs--it hurts as much as the day it happened, every time I think of it. I still cry about it when no one is looking.

#8: I don't like being a Christian; I hate having these rituals and beliefs forced down my throat just because the figure of authority in my home is a devout believer.

#9: I like fame. I like it when a lot of people know my name. To me, breach of privacy is really no breach at all.

#10: No matter how often you tell me I'm great at something, I don't think I'll ever be able to believe you.