  |
||||
|
zhen c'est moi kodak moments words whining lust tidbits contact me |
Tuesday,
December 30, 2003 I’m feeling all out of whack today thanks to that early morning walk. Who wakes up at 6 in the morning to go for a walk?? But I must admit, the view was good, or at least as good as it gets here is Singapore.
The point
however is when I’m feeling out of whack, everyone else around me has to bear
with my nonsense. And nonsense I have up my sleeve. Love always… rynn. *
Saturday,
December 20, 2003
I'm in the mood
for love *
Friday,
December 19, 2003 My girlfriends are back!! Oh, I did miss them so. We met yesterday and spent the whole time laughing and snapping away. I haven’t laughed so for ages. We were all in stitches over lunch and really quite irritated the table next to us, two stiff young ladies who looked like they had botox injections in their mouths staring us up and down. Who cares? Yesterday for those few hours, the world revolved mainly around us. My girlfriends from back in secondary school, some I’m closer to, some I love more, some I’ve known for longer, all irreplaceable and wonderful. These are the girls who had a part in molding my character into what it is today. These are the girls I spent hours getting into trouble with. The girls I spent time running from irate teachers with. The girls I spent time dancing with. The girls I laughed, screamed, shouted with. The girls I held and who held me while we sobbed in relief, anger and wretchedness. The girls I destroyed my skin with in the burning hot sun. The girls I boy-watched with. The girls I spent hours with in the comfort of Ning’s home and her “shag pad”. (No shagging between us though.) I miss the easy carefree-ness of those days. At least I’ve got them here now to remind me of them and help relive those moments. I’ll be sorry when they leave again. Love y’all! *
Thursday,
December 18, 2003 It’s the holidays and I’ve got plenty of time on my hands. More often than I’d like, I find myself just sitting around idling my time away. At times like this, when I have the time to reflect on my life, regrets as big as boulders often come flying toward me smacking me in the face. The should haves, the shouldn’t haves, the could haves, the what ifs… And for a second, I am enlightened; I understand the meaning of cause and effect, but only for a split second. The rest of the time, I’m shamed and enter a state of melancholy. I was stuck on my bum for a brief moment today. Wham! Smash! Bam! Crack! It’s hard to dodge these regrets and they hurt so. Yet, if I had done what I should have done and hadn’t done what I shouldn’t have done, I would be living a very different life from the one I’m leading now. It might be better but it might also be worse. And think of all the people, the stuff I enjoy now that I might not have. I wouldn’t have enjoyed myself torturing my parents as much and then loving them more for it. I wouldn’t have made the friends that I have. I wouldn’t have had the experiences I had and grown up for them. I wouldn’t have met the boy. So for these memories, these pockets of experiences and happiness, I’ll not regret. For now at least, I’m at peace. Perhaps it’s the work of the magic Christmas brings. Whatever it is, I’m thankful! *
Thursday,
December 11, 2003 I was reading a book, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, and I flipped to the front flap. On it was written in a familiar handwriting, “To niece Carynn, from Uncle George, an un-birthday gift”. That brought back lots of memories. Alice in Wonderland, bundles of letters to and from America and this image of a big laughing crazy grey uncle. But above all, about un-birthday gifts. I like giving gifts, especially when my bank account isn’t quite empty. An un-birthday gift needn’t be expensive too. It isn’t to buy their favour or in expectation of a gift in return. It is for the simple quiet joy of eliciting a smile from them. That stirs in me a feeling of satisfaction. And because it is an un-birthday, un-occasion gift, it is twice the fun, you watch their surprise at receiving the gift and then their pleasure. I need no more reason than that. Special thanks to Humpty-Dumpty. *
Tuesday,
December 09, 2003 I don’t know what it is I do that makes people fall for me. This may sound like the vainest, most narcissistic statement ever but really, it is made in bewilderment more than conceit. I am, as many lovely friends will attest, neither nice, nor sweet. I am far from gentle. I do not often make an extra effort to be there for many. I bitch and bitch I do. I am not pretty nor do I have “the body”. I have do not have charisma, charm, grace or confidence. All I am is bluff and bluster. Perhaps I bully them into liking me. Is it possible? It is naturally flattering to have someone confess his affections for you. However, in more cases than not, I’d rather they never told me. Too many friends have I lost to such a cause. I am unable as yet to understand how they feel. I have had my heart broken but once and have never, thus far, had the need to profess my love or admiration to anyone. And now that I am in love and have my darling partner-in-crime, this understanding slips further and further away from me. The emotions they must be ploughing through seem all the more alien and distant from my brightly-lit world. I feel as if it is entirely my fault, this inability to reciprocate. I wouldn’t mind if they hurled abuse at me and shouted at me. But they don’t. They retire into their dark gloomy shells and try to erase me from their lives. That upsets me even more. The teenage throes of love and lust, coupled with raging hormones, my cocktail recipe for disaster. I almost wish I were growing up faster. It sounds so romantic to say something like, “She left a trail of broken hearts in her wake…” Ah! Ignorance. I'm hardly there but... Ah! Ignorance. I’m sorry. *
Monday,
December 08, 2003 Said my dad to me, “What is it that you want from us? We have tried our very best to give you all we can. This house isn’t the best. It isn’t the most comfortable. It isn’t the most beautiful. We can’t afford to make it so. But we have put our all into it.” This house is my home. Not because of its walls or floors or the garden out front. But because simply, it was built out of love for me. The best my parents had coats every inch of it. And everyday, there is a magic that makes this house more a home than it was the day before. And when I grow up and move out, I will miss the noisome squalls that wake me from my naps, I will miss the Royal Rumbles held on our beds, I will miss the ugly view from my window, I will miss the overgrown patches of garden, I will miss the creaking gate, the smallest fish pond there ever was, the green plants, the big, devoid of food kitchen, the uneven floor, all of it. I will not tell them how I feel. It isn’t quite our way. I’ll hold it in my heart and they’ll know. They always do. They’re my parents. *
Friday,
December 05, 2003 I was a sickly kid, so much so, that my dad and aunt took me out of kindergarten because they simply had no time to constantly rush down and pick me up when I was ill. Dad never really bothered with doctors. He believed in building up the body’s immunity. However, when you start having trouble breathing, you can’t really just turn to your body’s immune system and say, “Hey, fix that up.” You just might die. So off it was to the doctors and their hocus-pocus. Tonsillitis they diagnosed. So the tonsils had to go. So there I was, at the age of four-and-a-half, getting ready to undergo my first operation. Strangely, I wasn’t frightened. Maybe it was because I didn’t know half of what was going to happen to me. They decked me out in some flimsy gown and had me lie on the operating table. They started sticking these sticky pads on my body. As soon as they had me put on the gas mask, I panicked. No mum, no dad, no aunt, only these strangers in white. I jumped up and tried to run out. Nurses really are rather strong people, especially when you’re four-and-a-half. My dad told me later how the doctors said I was brave as a lion. That was the first time I ever caught my dad lying to me. And as far as my memory serves me, the last. I awoke in the waiting room, tired of lying down, tired of… just tired. I sat up. Don’t, you might bleed, said the nurse on watch. I shook my head obstinately. Then just sit and not move too much. I sat and didn’t move too much, and I still bled. From my anus. I’m convinced till this day that they removed much more than my tonsil, which would explain my dysfunction. They wheeled me back to the ward. On the way back, I leaned over the edge of the bed and vomited a pool of blood. I can still see vividly in my mind’s eye, the red, red patch of me, staining the cream-brown floor. After my stint in the hospital, I felt quite the hero. Bleeding from my butt, vomiting more blood, being unable to speak because of this sharp pain in my throat and the fuss and attention received from everyone. I felt great. And till today, I still look back and am amazed at everything I went through without so much as a word of complain. I was a hero at four-and-a-half. I wonder if I still am now. *
Thursday,
December 04, 2003 You’d find so many beautiful things in life if you’d just take a little time off to notice. I get moved trifle affairs. I remember this time I hadn’t finished all the art assignments I had to. My teacher, a generally pleasant woman who just so had to be pregnant that year she taught me, threatened me with a fail if I didn’t finish my work and hand it up that day. Impossible! I screamed. Fail! She screamed back. So I hurried and handed up some really slipshod work. She looked at the pieces and graded them 4 out of 10. I was so tired from rushing seven assignments I didn’t really quite give a damn. My entire class, however, started yelling for 6 marks, 7 even. They asked her to at the pieces from different angles. Brilliant! They cried. Crazy. She answered. But they pleaded and they cajoled and they yelled and they sweet-talked her into passing me. She did eventually. And while they were helping me pass, all I could do was stand there in awe, at the very brink of tears. All that for me? I still can hardly believe it. Little things brighten up my day. There are days I grouse and complain and am generally a pain in the ass but mostly life is good. It’s only what you’re really looking out for. Lots of stuff melt my heart. Touching movie scenes, people showing they care, for the environment or their neighbour, a hug when I’m feeling lonely, the boy whispering in my ear he loves me… It only requires a little more attention from you. *
Wednesday,
December 03, 2003
running
running... (don't ask. sometimes, nothing spices up your day like a little rubbish.) *
Tuesday, December 02, 2003 It is depressing to think of the numerous individuals who allow themselves to roll around in the mire of self-pity. Even more so, to know that some I love dearly. They coat themselves in the dreadful mud and wear it proudly like a shining coat of armour. I will, naturally, refrain from naming them for fear that they might drape themselves further in their rags of their dull, worthless, pathetic lives. Self-pity seeks only to distract you from the good in life. It paints a poignant picture of disaster on a beautiful canvas with the best watercolours. It is the quicksand of destruction. When we give ourselves to it, we surrender all focus in our lives and shackle ourselves to misery. Not even a man stricken with cancer woes should feel pity for himself but for a passing second. You may feel anger at your circumstance. You may feel upset at your circumstance. You may feel overpowering irritation at it. You may feel disgust at your circumstance. But you should not indulge in self-pity. It drives even the sane mad. We forget while wallowing in it of the better things in life. We forget while we immerse ourselves in this cesspool that there are those who love us and those we love. It only requires but for us to take a moment off and give it a chance before we remember that sunshine comes after a rain. Shake off those dreary threads. Pick yourself up and dust yourself off. Please.
“There are
few human emotions as warm, comforting, and enveloping as self-pity. And
nothing is more corrosive and destructive. There is only one answer; turn
away from it and move on.” (to save a soured relationship.) *
|
|
||
