Otherwise Known As The Inflationary Gap Grandson, haltingly: One dollar... and fif-ty... cents...Grandma: Tai gui liao lah.Grandson, petulantly: Wo bu jue de gui. - Beyonce's If I Were a Boy. The video is like... CONCEPT! It's not just moving images, like most other music videos.Panic at the Disco's Nine in the Afternoon (Acoustic) - his voice is rather mesmerising. I never listened to the song properly until I watched the acoustic video. *swoons*As much as I'd like to deny it, Britney's new song Womanizer is very catchy. Very. Is it even new? I'm terribly out of touch now.Saw one half of the ex-legendary couple from school. Nah, they're not really legendary, but they just stick out in my mind because they were probably the first pair to get attached in the batch. I think they got together within the first month of PAE. I imagine they must have bonded over mass dancing and the like. The SDU's initiatives must be working.Well, another reason why they stood out is because you don't really see Catholic High and River Valley pairings. So anyway, I've noticed that they haven't been as joined at the hip as they once were (they used to go around everywhere together; really, you couldn't miss it), and today was confirmation that they've since broken up because she was with somebody else.Well, nothing much, really. It's always weird to see the same person cosying up to two different people. It upsets deeply-held conventions about everlasting love and all that fluff, and it also makes you wonder what the new relationship subsists on since the old one clearly wasn't sustainable.I'm fairly annoyed, because I have submitted two pieces of work to a teacher he has yet to return any. One is an essay on Duchess, the other is a short passage answer for KI. You see, the teachers like to taunt the students for not giving them any work to mark. E.g."Class, here are some questions for your reference. If you want to try them out, feel free to do so and I'll look through your scripts. *pause* Yea, who am I kidding?"So yea. I submitted the DOM essay BEFORE common tests, and the KI assignment about a week or so ago. And of course, I've seen neither hide nor hair of either. It's quite annoying. I'm not given a chance to vindicate myself, because he refuses to acknowlege my efforts. I guess the point was to make us practise. Can't say the practise didn't help, even if it's not going to be reviewed. Despite this, I have to concede that he writes pretty rockin' poetry.P.S. I especially like "regret", and I especially like the last line. Like Leung Yan said, so much is expressed with such economy of words! Quite awesome. HELL YEAH! For all you nosey parkers out there, this was my mediocre June SAT results:Oh, not too bad, I think, but my writing sucked. I blame this on the fact that I was practising on the old version of the tests that did not have the icky grammar bit.So the grand total I got for June was 2060. Not absolutely terrible; in fact, fairly respectable, but who cares about mere respectabilty? Not satisfied, I decided to push the boundaries, and wasted close to forty bucks on the fat blue book that I am going to trash right now because it's taking up space, jostling with the rest of my disorganised notes.And after completing all the practices (save for the last one, which I left blank except for the writing sections), this is what I achieved!A square 2200!!! I always hear about how in order to be considered even eligible for the best schools, one should get nothing short of 2200. Well, I BARELY achieved it.Now I feel a little bit pathetic for not getting something higher, to distinguish myself from the rest of the academic smarts.I think I'm being quite foolish. >.And my writing still sucks, ugh. Restraint! What restraint? It feels a bit surreal reading your teacher's sincere, heartfelt poetry that probably explores very very private concerns which might have been concealed unsuccessfully considering the invasive interrogations that students engage in. I'm definitely looking at this teacher in a different light. I suppose students don't generally consider their teachers to be proper human beings with sentiments and everything, partly because teachers don't try very hard to present themselves as normal human beings anyway. (And also that kind of studently awe that their teachers are god-like beings who cannot possibly have any moral failings.) In what other context can a fully-grown adult be so eccentric yet remain respectable? I'm thinking the entertainment arena might allow for that, but there is a much higher chance of being disdained as well.It makes me wonder if all JC literature teachers are/were aspiring authors/poets/playwrights but somehow felt that their creativity must be sidelined to a hobby of sorts, because of practical constraints or whatnot.Or perhaps it's that very constraint that keeps their inspiration going, because the lack thereof always works like a charm in getting you to want it more.I'm quite moved, actually.And I enjoy this poem too.Breakfast by Wilfred Gibson We ate our breakfast lying on our backs, Because the shells were screeching overhead. I bet a rasher to a loaf of bread That Hull United would beat Halifax When Jimmy Strainthorpe played full-back instead Of Billy Bradford. Ginger raised his head And cursed, and took the bet; and dropt back dead. We ate our breakfast lying on our backs, Because the shells were screeching overhead. a la Victoria Beckham: Don't worry, Raquelle will serve as more than my hairdresser's dummy.*******Went to a relative's wedding yesterday at St Regis. It was uber posh, can? Everyone had individual portions, there was a huge basket of fresh flowers in the middle of every table, everybody had individual condiments dishes with the tiniest silver spoons, and I presume the cutlery was silver too, because I've never encountered such chunky cutlery that felt so weightless in the hand. Then the toilets had rolled up handtowels at every sink. Of course the food was really good too.Well that's really about it. I too want to get married at St Regis. Or better yet, live there. Woot.Hey check out my results.Economics - D, 69th percentileKI - B, 72nd percentileLiterature - B, 81st percentileMathematics - D, 27th percentileI did a bit of googling, and compared to other JCs (that are supposed to be not as good as mine), their Econs seems to be better. Like getting a B for Econs only got them a 64th percentile. (Strictly speaking, this particular student was one mark away from an A.) Either our paper was harder, or they have lots of geniuses.Who knows? Percentile-wise, it seems like I'm a sort-of above average student. I suppose. I don't know.I'm kind of depressed because I've put on the weight I took a month to lose in a matter of seven days because I've been getting the late-night jitters and I cope by stuffing my face. Amongst other things, like the inability to say no. Self-denial and purgation, I need! mass - mast - must - mustard. I know this snob from an elite school. I'm not sure if he's only playing it up because the rest of us in the class happen to be from better schools, or if he has always been this arrogant. I'm guessing it's the latter, since he does happen to come from a lineage of elite schools.Then I'm wondering if this arrogance is characteristic of all who come from that heritage, and I am inclined to say yes, because there's something about spending your formative years in that kind of ego-inflationary environment with the same sort of people for six years. Everyone would sort of develop abnormally because all the experience they've had was with those belonging in the upper echelons.I'm not sure if he's aware of his less-than-subtle put-downs when he derisively brushes away other JC papers in that annoying "I can pwn your neighbourhood JC with my little finger" tone of his, but whether he is aware or not, I suppose he is somewhat entitled to turn up his nose at everyone else because we're lesser beings, and also because he can study for just three days before his paper and still get an A.But then again, I'm not entirely free of the trappings of arrogance, so who am I to judge? Well, he's just a mild annoyance, that's all.Sometimes when I am out and about in crummy clothes like class tees and PE shorts, I try to adopt as innocent a look as possible when I check other girls out. I try to pretend that my gaze towards them is merely accidental, and if it lingers longer than politeness allows, it is only a result of my cluelessness and not any malicious intent to critique them. I TRY, but I'm not sure if it always works, because sometimes they shoot a look back at me, like they know I'm checking them out. If they thought I were merely an innocent country bumpkin, they probably wouldn't be bothered to stare me down. 'Cos I'm not competition, you know.I had this god-awful weird dream. Somehow, my white dog cut a cut on her belly. Then my old dog (a German Shephard cross, who had lived with us ever since I was born but somehow ran away a few years back, probably because she didn't want us to know she was dying, aww) reappeared and was SUCKING THE GUTS OUT OF THE WHITE DOG. Like just gobbling and slurping and chewing while the white dog's innards came swooshing out of that neat slit. And the white dog was crying and whining like crazy, but all she could do was lie there and be disemboweled. My other dog, the brown one, was howling and running around in mad circles, and his fur was all matted with sweat (though it's not like dogs can sweat). I imagine the brown dog was torn between being presented fresh food and eating his sister alive.I have a sneaking suspicion that this dream is fairly symbolic of how I cannot get over some things in the past, and it is literally eating me up inside. I couldn't go back to sleep for a while because I kept imagining having my own bowels being yanked out of me and devoured, and being slurped up like slippery chee cheong fun.To see a dog in your dream, indicate a skill that you have ignored or forgotten, but needs to be activated. Alternatively, dogs may symbolize intuition, loyalty, generosity, protection, and fidelity. Your own values and intentions will enable you to go forward in the world and succeed. If the dog is vicious and/or growling, then it signifies some inner conflict within yourself. It may indicate betrayal and untrustworthiness. If the dog is dead or dying, then it indicates a loss of a good friend. Alternatively, it represents a deterioration of your instincts. To see a pet that has been dead for awhile, suggests that something that you had thought was left in the past is coming back to haunt you. Similarly to seeing your childhood home, a past pet serves the same function as trying to bring you back into that particular time period. A situation in your current life may parallel a situation in your past and the dream is providing a means of resolving it.To see cannibalism in your dream, symbolizes a destructive and forbidden desire or obsession. In a literal sense, cannibals consume people's lives, along with their energy. This dream may then denote an aspect of your life (career, relationship, children...) which is consistently draining your enthusiasm and vitality.To see a wound in your dream, is symbolic of grief, anger, and distress. You are looking to be healed.Haiya this shit is fucking weird. It's almost as if all the worries that I've managed to suppress in waking life comes back to haunt me doubleplusungoodwise in my sleep.I realise that I do not know how to play touch rugby. Yea, like, sue me. I don't envision myself playing it or any other sport for that matter on a regular basis because playing sports needs PEOPLE and people are hard to get and harder to get. Public transport I thought I saw the worst of it when she whipped out a brush to detangle her hair after reapplying her eye shadow (which happened to be this puke-inducing shade of green). She wasn't a looker, not at all. Small, slitty eyes that bulged underneath her single eyelids, a wide flat nose whose nostrils hung below the tip of her nose, lips that naturally gaped to reveal a set of uneven teeth. Fat, not to mention. But you can't fault her for not trying to look good. She even went to the extent of applying that same green eyeshadow on the bridge of her nose, to try to emphasise the lack thereof.But I think she may have went overboard with the roll-on deodorant. On. The. Frikkin'. Bus. And she was wearing a sleeved top too, so she had to hike up her sleeves to apply her deodorant.I don't think I've seen anything as unglam as that. Ewww.*******Last day of formal lessons. Mr Dio was unusually nice: treated us all to ice cream to end off our final class. Then again, he's such an oddball that this nice behaviour may not have been all that surprising after all. Must learn to expect the unexpected, eh. I'm not getting that bittersweet feeling that school has come to a close. Maybe I need the farewell assembly next week to really get my tears flowing: then again, I've never been one to cry.Nasi lemak at Adam Road Food Centre is AWESOME! Loves it loves it. In search of a better life. I took the SAT Reasoning test on Saturday again in the hopes of obtaining better scores. I know for sure I got at least one question wrong: I took a jab between "munificent" and "jocular" to describe generosity, and picked the latter. I associated munificent with municipality, because they share the same prefix. So I associated munificent with community-based sort of feelings. As for jocular, I had no idea what that meant, and somehow I associated that with jugular, as in the jugular vein. In retrospect, it seems evident that of the two associations that I've made, it would be more accurate to pick "munificent", because at least "community" has a higher chance of being linked to generosity than a random part of the body, albeit a very important one that would be fatal for its owner if severed. Oh well. It's not like I'm expecting to get an 800, though that would be very nice.The reason why I strived so hard to ace the SAT is because I see it as a ticket to better things. I'm imagining a whole new world; a new lifestyle, a new environment. I'd see new things, experience different cultures, make new friends. Indeed, Nerissa once wisely said: "We all need new friends." Despite my propensity to think otherwise, certain pieces of wisdom simply cannot be accrued independently. Sometimes, what it really takes is someone else - especially someone with appropriate authority - to drum a truism into my head.So, to a better life ahead! *guzzles mug of tepid peppermint tea********I tried the pizza and ice cream at Golden Mile Food Centre! I scarfed down an 8-inch margherita pizza. It really is like a cheese and tomato atop a thin water cracker. But it I like it! Five bucks. I also like the candour and English-speakingness of the chef. When asked for recommendations, he said "Everything but seafood." That is an arguably complex sentence for hawker standards, I must say. Haha. I decided to go for the plain one with just tomato and cheese without additions. It was good! I really like the thin crust, and that ubiquitious powdery coating on the crust. It just smells so yeasty and good. Hah.I tried durian, chocolate hazelnut and sesame gelato. I think sesame was the best. You see, the Ice Queen's ice cream are supposed to be healthier, which means less sugar/cream. As a result, typically sweet flavours like chocolate which would have benefited from extra artery-clogging ingredients taste lacklustre. However, the sesame ice cream has an interesting sandy texture that detracts from the lack of sweetness - furthermore, sesame isn't conventionally sweet, so it's alright if it doesn't taste sweet. They also had more interesting flavours like tea and lychee. Three flavours for $3.80.Then there were muffins. I tried the durian and cream cheese flavoured one. The cream cheese flavour was very subtle; I wouldn't have been able to tell there was cream cheese in it. The durian muffin had a durian paste filling in the centre. What I like about the muffins was it crusty exterior and wonderfully moist and tender crumb. However, it's probably very unhealthy. It was rather sweet and the moistness just got a little bit cloying after a while. But still good. $1.20 to $1.50.All these stalls reside on the first floor of Golden Mile, so go trek around like a blind mouse like I did! Therapy! 'Tis the moment that I've been waiting for all my life!!! I discovered the joys of spreeing online recently and it sure is creating a dent in my bank account.American Apparel lame leggings and snakeskin pumps on discount from Charles and Keith.A mesh bodysuit: a sheer bodysuit. Goodness knows why I need one. It's uber comfortable and, who knows? Would save the trouble of having to wash bras AND panties: now all I need to wear is a bodysuit!Zomg the u-neck dress is damn awesome!I was considering getting one in beige, though. I like the idea of looking naked without actually being naked; inspired by Carrie's naked dress in Sex and The City. That was a cultural reference that I presume everybody should know a little bit about. Not like I watch Sex and The City anyway; I only watched one episode, and that was only because it had the naked dress in it and I wanted to see how it looked like. I dunno, I find the show hyperbolic. As is all TV shows. Speaking of which, I finally realised why the 7pm Channel 8 show is SO bad. It's so so so so bad! The actors exaggerate like shit and everything. And you know why it's so damn bad, and none of the actors are recognisable faces? It's Malaysian. Sheesh, explains the lousy acting.A slightly obscene shot follows:As proof of weight loss, my thighs no longer touch! Hahahaha. I shudder to think that they once did. Basically I put my ankles together, and if my thighs touch = bad, thighs don't touch = good. Of course I'm not seeking that kind of gaping chasm between my crotch. Firstly, I don't think my close-set pelvis allows for that kind of space.Looking at this model, even though her feet are close together, her legs still have a wide gap between them. If my pelvis was as wide-set as hers, I probably wouldn't be using thigh-rubbing as a benchmark for fatness, because I'd have to be pretty darned fat for them to rub. Secondly, a huge gap just looks ugly.Okay that ends my bimbotic post. Tralala! Oddball philo-types. Lol I am terribly amused. Okay, for all you KI students in NJ, you know of the existence of C.L., right? You know, you know? Yes, you know. So after a rather disconcerting discussion with him, I was left rather perplexed and feeling utterly screwed. I left with his final words hanging darkly over my head: "I think you know your paper best, and you should know what to do. There's really nothing I can do to help." What a damning verdict, isn't it? Like my paper is so damn terrible that it's beyond salvation even in the hands of a higher power?After frantic revisions and loads and loads of help (thank you all immensely!), I am now finally somewhat at ease with my essay. And C.L., who has so far been notorious for being more or less a bee-eye-tee-see-hech, was surprisingly nice and dropped me an email: "Although it may not sound it during our consultation, I do think your paper was well structured and well written."Haha! I am now rather convinced that these oddball philo-types who behave like complete jerks in real-time conversation are actually rather nice inside. Or at least they've been trained just enough to know how to feel bad: only they don't know when. Hahaha.Of course, though I always have a predisposed inclination to think that people are just lying through their teeth when they're being encouraging, the fact that he's an oddball philo-type just rules out that possibility. Oddball philo-types don't give a shit about niceties: so if they are ever civil, you know they most probably mean it.And really, I think a world full of oddball philo-types would be pretty good to live in. Everybody's always honest, you'd know if someone is displeased or happy with you - none of that fake niceness you get everywhere, when people pretend to "love thy neighbour" - *ahem* - and claim that they will help to read your work, when actually they're just saying it so they can put it off and hope their promise goes unnoticed, or at least hope that the asker will have the delicacy to detect their reluctance.Then again, all this shilly-shallying wouldn't even exist if nobody cared to ask favours of anybody. Asking for favours are such terrible things - puts one in the debts of others, and you never really know if people genuinely wish to help or are just too morally upright (I make it sound like a bad thing) or too apologetic ("Oh no I'd feel really really bad if I didn't help!") to turn you down.Yet favours are such an instrumental part of life; it makes me wonder if my rabid enthusiasm in helping others out stems from a desire to rid myself of the debt I think I owe others.Hmmm, there is probably no point in contemplating my own motivations. Oh, whatever! Time to add the final layer of varnish to my paper and go go go!P.S. How am I supposed to respond when an oddball philo-type behaves unusually civil? I'm usually at a loss when such things happen, because to acknowledge their apology/encouragement would only accentuate the awkwardness at present and the meanness that transpired before.P.S. 2 It seems like many people think D. Chua is a bee-eye-tee-see-hech too. Honestly, I don't think she is one. I don't normally think teachers are bitches. They're usually just bad teachers. Excuse me. A contemplation of a world where basic social cues are ignored.Scene:Double decker bus.Characters:LadyGirlBus driverMan 1Man 2Girl with earphones boards the bus. Goes up to the crowded upper deck and sits next to a sleeping lady.Girl, head bobbing to music: [hums]Sleeping lady awakes. Looks around and realises that her stop is the next one. Stands up and clears her throat. Girl continues humming. Lady fidgets with her bag pointedly.Lady: Excuse me.Girl continues humming.Lady: Sorry, can you excuse me?Girl continues humming. Lady taps girl's shoulder. Girl looks at lady.Lady: *gestures* Excuse?Lady mimes removal of earphones.Whilst removing earphones, girl: Huh?Lady, loudly: It's my stop next and I need to get off the bus.Girl: Oh, okay. [Puts earphones back on.]Lady yanks off earphones: Will you get up so I can get out of my seat?Girl: Why should I? I paid my bus fare and I am entitled to sit wherever I want.Lady: But I need to get off now! [yells] Hello, can somebody tell the bus driver to wait a moment?Girl: So? I don't care what you need. Then why don't you care that I want to sit in my seat? [puts on earphones]Lady: Can somebody get her off? I am going to be late for work.Two men get up and try to drag her off.Girl: EXCUSE ME! What has the world come to? Can't a girl sit on a seat that she paid for? Has it come to violence and oppression? Get your hands off me, or I'll yell molest!Men let go.Bus driver: 'Scuse me, but is the granny alright? I'm already behind schedule and I've already missed my break!Lady: I am not a granny! This imbecile refuses to let me through!Bus driver comes upstairs.Bus driver: What's the matter? Has the granny stumbled or something?Lady: For the last time, I am not a granny! She refuses to let me through!Bus driver: Now, miss, couldn't you let this lady through?Girl: She yanks my earphones off, she yells at me, and expects me to care for her needs when she does not care about mine. I did not even hear a single "please"!End Diet + Faking It Did you know? Being on the Fast-5 diet, my greatest weight loss has been 1.5kg. That's not too bad, is it? I'm rather getting used to it. I binged today though; I decided that I need to be reminded how fulfilling my cravings never live up to my eager expections. Was craving for Burger King yesterday, so I broke fast with that. But I was quite disappointed by the ever-shrinking portion that I could probably chow down in three bites if I weren't restraining myself. And why were all the mushrooms piled into the middle? So I was craving for chicken rice today: I had it, and then mid-way through eating I got disgusted by the oiliness and the "chey it's not that nice leh" feeling.Ever so slowly, the pool of food that I will allow myself to eat is shrinking. Which is a good thing, mind. It's called being selective.I'm reading this brilliant book called Faking It by William Ian Miller. He delves deep into the core of self-deception, questioning our motives for the most virtuous of virtues, such as praise, graciousness, prayer, apology, etc. It's the exact kind of book that I'd write if I were in a more enlightened state and if he didn't already write it. Let me quote some stuff.Referring to Matthew 6.1-5: "But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you."Jesus ... gives no guidance as to how to make the left hand blind to the actions of the right. One can give a conscious command to certain thoughts to descend into the unconscious, but then the very command that orders the descent will also have to descend and erase itself in the process of carrying out its orders. OK, left hand, do not look at what right hand is doing, and forget I ever told you not to look so that you will not suspect the right hand is up to anything suspicious. And forget I told you to forget, ad infinitum.What is the substance of satisfaction for the wronged person in an unfelt apology? The pain it costs the apologiser to give it. His refusal to play the role of true penitent is the specie of the compensation payment. His unwillingness to say the I'm sorry he is forced to say is designed to make him feel sorry for his own predicament of being under compulsion if nothing else.About picking someone up with the line, "Hey, wanna fuck?":Bizarrely enough, though, the eminent refusability of such an offer is politeness itself compared with offers made in such a way that all avenues of polite refusal are closed off, the kind of offers mere acquaintances and relatives make: you wouldn't by any chance be free sometime this year to come over for dinner, would you?There are compulsive apologisers, ever anxious about the harms they believe they may have caused others. They sincerely mean their apologies, but they seldom have anything to apologise for except their accidental wrongs. They are truly remorseful. But such people devalue the worth of their apologies by apologising so readily that their apologies become nervous tics. ... What does an apology mean coming from someone like this, however sincere it might be, for whom real remorse seems to come too easily... ?He also suggests some virtues that are naturally immune from hypocrisy. For example, courage cannot be faked. Even if a soldier on the battlefront only charges out because he fears being ostracised, or he fears a greater authority, or he fears society's eventual judgement of him, his charging out still requires courage.It's pretty complex and immensely interesting. I found this on the 179 shelf, and according to the Dewey Decimal system this comes under Moral Philosophy/Ethics. I suppose, as far as moral issues are concerned.It's quite awesome. Wheet! All things prepare the event. Watch. I'm not sure if people are being hyperbolic or if I'm being nonchalant, but I feel surprisingly good about my prelim grades. Save for my math grade, though - but wouldn't that help to perpetuate the typical Arts student image? I consider my terrible grade an ode to conformity. Hur. So I got back part of my Econs grade today. I think I'd have considered my grade to be very good indeed, considering that I only discovered on the morning before the paper that it was essay and NOT case study, but Miss Lee's part-consolatory, part-disappointed, part-encouraging pat on my hand saying "You could do better" just made me feel terrible. 41/75 - probably not the worst, but that's a long way down from being in the 96th percentile for common tests, yes?And then it hit me that confidence for prelims is absolutely no indication of my 'A' Level grade; in fact, I'll be more likely to get overconfident. So during one of those increasingly mundane lessons where all we do is go over the prelim questions, I wrote: "YOU ONLY HAVE ONE CHANCE TO PROVE YOUR WORTH."It's quite a scary thought, considering that I only have one try to determine my grade. If I had been getting consistent grades for the past two years, I probably wouldn't be fretting too much. However, my grades fluctuate so much that it's rather difficult to predict what will actually happen during the real deal. Will I slip up? Will I be faced with an inexplicable dearth in perceptivity and sensitivity, thus effectively crippling my response mechanism to literature? Will my memory stores of essay outlines shut down on me? What if I unfortunately encounter a question that I am less familiar with? What if my mind is a little less sharp that day, and analysing arguments are beyond me?It's make or break, people.That being said, D. Chua gave me the highest grade I've ever received from her; so did Whitby (but then he gave everybody else high marks: what's the point?), I've resumed some semblance of decency in KI, and so far non-KI students find my IS readable, which I personally think is a good thing, because it means that I did not shroud my essay in technicality to hide the lack of content. Or maybe it just means that it's dumbed down. :|In other news:- I was watching 7 Things by Miley Cyrus and very strangely, it made my eyes water. I think it's some kind of subconscious response to seeing actual girls cry in the video. Like how babies cry when they are surrounded by crying babies, yes?The 7 things I hate about you oh youYou're vain, your games, you're insecureYou love me, you like herYou make me laugh, you make me cryI don't know which side to buyYou're friends, they're jerksWhen you act like them, just know it hurtsI wanna be with the one I knowAnd the 7th thing I hate the most that you doYou make me love youThe 7 things I like about you Your hair, your eyes, your old Levi's When we kiss i'm hypnotized You make me laugh, you make me cry But I guess that's both I'll have to buy Your hand in mine When we're intertwined, everything's alright I wanna be, with the one I know And the 7th thing I like the most that you do ooh You make me love youDespite its overt cheesiness, I actually like the lyrics. Too bad about the actual music, though. It sounds so tinny and weak; probably muted the heavy drum sounds for a more adolescent audience. The use of "college" VS "school" In the interests of furthering my proficiency in communication, I shall blog despite the relatively high opportunity costs of doing so. This is a result of the influx of prelims results slowly unveiling itself before my very eyes. From the markers' comments, I do not have a problem with my writing:D. Chua: "You write with economy and accuracy"Dio: "Strongly put across"Whitby: "Simultaneously analytical and responsive"; "You take a very strong negative stand on A but you do argue your case" (sidenote: Weren't we required to argue how our responses are shaped by the poems? I think Sylvia Plath is psychotic and a negligent mother - so there!)Yet I do have a problem with coherence:D. Chua: "May I invite you to also ensure that the argument flows from one point/paragraph to the next?"; "Work on showing how all the observations made add up to an overall meaning/significance"Dio: "...relevant examples but nothing to tie everything together. This reads like a collection of observations."I wanted to get a bit on foresight on how exactly brilliant authors of literature create a cohesive piece of work, so I almost purchased copies of Vintage classics. However, I was put off by the price: why pay for something you can get free? I fully intend to get my money's worth out of the public library before I am obliged for taxation yet too busy to read.On an another note, I received a mailer from Columbia University. It was exhilarating, the thought of being an "Aspiring Columbian". I must be one, since they addressed me as such. Unless the letter wasn't meant for me, and might have instead been intended for another of my family members - which is highly unlikely of course, seeing how my name (though surname and first name swapped) was printed on the envelope. I browsed the catalogue trumpeting the school's various achievements, and am now highly motivated. Come on, the Gyllenhaal siblings went there. Maggie Gyllenhaal got a B.A. in English and Jake... well, he dropped out. But that is of little consequence to the Eau De Celebrity that has infused into the campus, I am sure. (Omg Spiderman!)Whenever I think of Columbia University, I think of Spiderman. Then I think of that cute, happy scene where he jauntily trots in the city where Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head plays. Aww!Also, since we're on a college-related issue, I have a pet peeve with people saying 'college' when the word 'school' would work so much better.E.g. "Oh, I need to go to college to get my file; I forgot it."I think it's so utterly pretentious to say "college" when "school" would do just fine. The only time I think it is relevant for people to differentiate educational institutes according to their segregations (which are distinguished by the level of academic prowess, clearly) is when people are trying to make a point about the particular educational institute."I want to go to uni/JC/poly in the future.""JC/poly life sucks man, I wish I could be in poly/JC."Really, is there a need to say 'college' to emphasise the fact that you belong to the academic cream of the crop in the country? I'm saying that people who use 'college' are pretentious and show-offy, because you don't hear poly students or even university students say "I need to go to poly/uni to do some work". Therefore, I think there is some kind of conceit involved when junior college students opt to use 'college' instead of 'school'.Anyway it just sounds retarded. Everyone has been saying 'school' for the past ten to thirteen years, (When you were a mere child, your mother didn't tell you "Aren't you excited to go to nursery?!" She made you feel like a grown-up by saying "Now you're big enough to go to school!") so why try to be different now? It's so poseur. Ugh. Growth Haven't been up to much, hence the recent dearth in posts. Or perhaps I am getting that intensifying notion that my thoughts are much too sacred for all and sundry to read. I guess, with age, I've learnt that privacy should be closely guarded. Yet I am crippled by a feeling of being in the debt of my readers; which should not be the case because I don't owe anybody no nothing! In any case, here are some piccies!Just look at how he has grown! From that twitchy little thing to such a handsome fellow. Well, there is another dog in the house, which you can see cowering in the background. I don't care for it, that's why I never talked about it. Hah. She is his sister, but she's considerably smaller and also doesn't succumb well to petting. Whenever I try to pat her head, she thinks I'm handing her food, so she gets my hand all covered in slobber. Gross, much? That being said, she has much softer fur than he does. She'll make a great rug.My reading list:I've yet to read A Mind of Its Own, because everytime I read a sentence I start to think, "Omg this is useful stuff for my IS." But I don't want to read it for research; I want to read it for fun! So I'm going to ignore it for the time being. I finished The Handmaid's Tale in a record-breaking time of four hours; though this meant that I more or less skimmed through the boring bits towards the end.Yes, that's pretty much it. I've been reading ieatishootipost and I have decided that I shall break today's fast with some good food. Yep I survived Monday to Wednesday on the 19-hour fast, and was 600g lighter on Wednesday. No exercise, too. But yesterday I was absolutely ravenous and I caved in, and I'm now back to my original Monday weight. Bah. It's a lot easier to restrict eating when your only choice is crummy school food. Not that the school food is terrible; just that I like to consider that there are so much better alternatives. And after reading ieatishootipost, I am determined not to "waste calories on yucky food".It's quite surprising to think that there are so many good food places near my house, yet I've never considered going there. Geylang, Jalan Besar, Toa Payoh, Golden Mile, East Coast, and Macpherson are all accessible within half an hour by bus, tops. Mmm! Now I am more than eager to get a driving license. (If I have a car to drive in, that is.)A slight digression: I think once slowly gets used to the idea of being driven around by peers. The youngest person who drove me was a year older than me, and he had just gotten his driving license a week ago. That was last year, when I was 17. When in the car, I was contemplating my imminent death. This year, I was driven by someone also a year older, but somehow it didn't feel as wickedly dangerous as it did last year. It felt like any other driver. In fact, I might add that these two newbie drivers drove relatively cautiously, probably due to an awareness of their noobness. So yea. Perhaps, if I achieve filthy richness one day, I will get my junior college-bound son a car, so he can drive to school and let his peers/teachers think that he thinks he is hot shit. I can live vicariously through his rich-bastard cockiness. Hah. I always thought it was a cool idea. I don't personally know anyone who drives to school, and even if I do know of them, we probably wouldn't be friends. So yes, let's hope I have a son academically-inclined enough to attend junior college, and have bushels and bushels of money!I keep dreaming about what I am going to do post-A's. What I need to do is make that mental connection between the fact that I need to be diligent NOW so I can enjoy post-A's activities much better, and on top of that, I need to make the mind-body connection: that is, make my body study according to my mind's desire. But my mind doesn't desire to study, it desires to have fun after 'A' Levels. Though my rational mind understand the concept of delayed gratification, my irrational mind doesn't. Or maybe it does, but it just doesn't care. The Apollonian and Dionysian dichotomy... I need to sedate my inner Dionysus; he's much too intoxicated. First day of school in two weeks I spent the bulk of the day in a state of hunger; just that as the day progressed, it became more like an acute gurgling sensation in the abdomen and a lightheadedness that cannot really be considered hunger. Yep, my first day on intermittent fasting. It felt strange in the morning, because I usually leave for school after breakfast. After the initial discomfort, things went well until about 3pm when I started to get a little bit queasy and hand-shakey, even while seated. Must've been the bad, sour coffee I had for lunch. I hate coffee - or maybe I just haven't had the chance to taste the good sort yet.Managed to tolerate the nauseous, queasy, lightheaded feeling till 5pm when I started eating like crazy. It's now 10pm and the last thing I ate was a plum. I hope I can sustain this tomorrow, and for the days to come. It's supposed to be all caveman dietness. And I'm in favour of evolutionary mumbo-jumbo, so this should appeal to me too. Can you imagine study sessions undisrupted by mealtimes? That must be pretty rad. It also means I get to sleep in the morning for about ten to fifteen minutes.I'll let you know how things progress as I trudge along on this insane diet of starvation and binging. Hah! (Ideally I really shouldn't be binging, though...)I have never seen a smiley face on scripts marked by D. Chua before: so it's quite a surprise. Her smiley face is very unlike the popular smiley face of today; two close-set dots encircled by an unnaturally wide grin. Instead, her smiley face had two adequately spaced dots, with a dash for a nose between the dots and a pleasant, but not over-eager sort of smile that was rather far off from the end of the nose. It reminds me of people without a distinct philtrum - the dent above your upper lip - and did you know that the absence of a philtrum is an indication that one's mother had too much to drink? You don't see that kind of smiley face very often nowadays, do you? Just a thought.I actually applaud the school's decision to eliminate one common test and instead space out the rest of the papers. I really think it might help students to identify and correct their mistakes earlier. Seeing how it might take teachers an entire month to mark certain subjects, if we went ahead with convention, by the time the scripts are returned there might only be a couple of weeks left to the exams, and that might be too late for redemption. Furthermore, students don't take exams too seriously if they come in excess. So yes, I think it's one of the wise moves that the school is taking in an attempt to bump up our academic standing. I hope it works. I fucking hope it does. I'm such a bum. I'm probably too hung up about weight loss and shit to study effectively. Why does it have to be this way?! Why can't I be the sort that studies so intensely that I hardly have any appetite? I bemoan my adolescent days when I could forego dinner simply because it didn't look appetising - my appetite is too voracious for that now, and I've stopped being fussy. Damn.I'm reading the self-help classic How To Win Friends And Influence People by Dale Carnegie. Let's pretend that I'm reading it in the name of research. How can I write about self-help without having even read a book from the literal and figurative self-help giant Anthony Robbins? I really should! Does it count if I've watched one of his TEDTalks?I am quite annoyed with the new Firefox: I used to be able to just key in any letter on the keyboard and I'll see a new dropdown list of sites for each letter. Now, because of it's smart detection system, the alphabet I key in also summons website titles and key words, so I've more or less lost the sites that I used to visit. I'm sure there's some way to get around this, and I just don't know how to. Bugger.Have you heard of neuro-linguistic programming? It works on the reductionistic premise that the brain is like a computer system, and if you sort of disrupt conventional decision-making process with alternative thoughts, then a new behaviour will be formed. Like, instead of associating procrastinating with failure, one could learn to view procrastination as a good thing if you associate it with eating meals: and tada, weight loss! It sounds really dodgy, though. But hey, who cares how it's done as long as it works? Who cares if the entire system is built on an unstable set of beliefs if it has proven to be successful for many? Just to give things a touch of realism, there's also an NLP institute in Singapore! Creepy, huh? Indoctrinating the minds of the corporate world... soon to infiltrate the education system, I bet. Or has it already?You know what I want to eat? Bruschetta. Unfortunately I don't have awesome sea salt, awesome olive oil, and awesome bread. The most basic bruschetta involves rubbing a piece of toasted bread with garlic, then drizzling good olive oil and salt on it. It's like Mediterranean garlic bread without the butter. My craving is fuelled in part by this book: Zingerman's Guide to Good Eating.I really like this blog: Sgcake. Mmm!I also like this quote mentioned in lesson today: "a religion of commercialisation and wantonness". It sounds so EPIC. I like!I wonder what will happen if we're asked to analyse Jabberwocky... Not like that'll happen, though. It's not a 20th century piece, and much too long for compare and contrast. This is a Chinese translation of the nonsensical poem.蛟龙杰伯沃基就诛记风怒兮阴霾满空，滚滚兮布于四方，雾霭笼罩兮翻腾，怒号兮直达上苍。切切在意兮吾子，其齿将啮兮其爪尖利，加布加布鸟名怒者潘达斯奈基，与其一体尤须防避。线刀在手兮，殊死之战乃彼所求。倚身于达姆丹姆之树兮，作战前之小休。沉湎于冥思兮蚊龙乃出，彼名杰伯沃基兮其目喷焰。狂飙起兮彼出于丛林，凛凛然兮天地为之抖颤。挥刀而斩兮殊死之斗，利刃闪闪兮直贯其首。弃其尸于野兮凯歌高奏，勇士归兮手提其头。投身于吾怀兮勇哉吾子，杰伯沃基乃汝所诛。荣哉此时兮万岁．万岁！彼拥其子而欢呼。风怒兮阴霾满空，滚滚兮布于西方。雾霭范卓兮翻腾，怒号兮直达上苍。Wtf?! Who cares?! I can't read this and I'm not going to try. Bittersweet smugness There's a kind of bittersweet smugness; the sort of feeling you get when your suspicions about your boyfriend's fidelity are affirmed. On one hand, you're smug because it's an "I told you so" moment - you were right all along, and you always knew that he was cheating. On the other hand, the delight derived from hitting on the truth is more or less blotted out by feelings of betrayal and hurt.I think my outlook on life is more or less like that: I've always known that intentions are not what they appear to be, and so far I'm right. Or rather, there's no evidence to the contrary.I used to think that the best way to get rid of any suspicions or disguised tension is to let it all out in the open and be completely honest. But lately I've learnt that more often than not, complete honesty only worsens things. (Disregarding the possibility that one can never expect complete honesty from somebody else) You know what's bugging me recently? I was asked why I was upset. After I replied with a fairly lengthy SMS, honestly yet tactfully, I did not get a reply. It's been a week since. What the fuck is the point of asking me what's wrong if nothing's going to be done about it?Which thus has led me to the conclusion that honesty counts for shit. Maybe I was only asked why I was upset because the person in question thought it'd be therapeutic for me to rant. Maybe I was only asked why I was upset to allay the conscience of the person in question.So far it seems like it is better to let things remain status quo and put up a false front, because it seems like trashing things out/having a confrontation/being open only intensifies the tension.I am reminded of Great Expectations, where Pip denies Joe the truth about his intrusion in the pantry."The fear of losing Joe's confidence, and of thenceforth sitting in the chimney-corner at night staring drearily at my for ever lost companion and friend, tied up my tongue. ... That, if Joe knew it, I never afterwards could see him glance, however casually, at yesterday's meat or pudding when it came to to-day's table, without thinking that he was debating whether I had been in the pantry."Honesty has a very high opportunity cost: is it worth it?I was told that second-guessing people is not entirely a bad thing, but it would certainly be detrimental to the quality of relationships if suspicions are at the forefront of one's mind during intercourse. However, it would be unwise to completely negate all negative thoughts, because that would be setting one's self up for disappointment, i.e. to be naive. The correct course of action would be to recognise that inherent in others is the ability to disappoint, but at the same time, transcending these two layers of thought processes, namely:1. People can disappoint2. I am thinking that people can disappointand making a conscious decision to shelf aside Thought Process #1 and just have fun. It is handy to keep Thought Process #1 in the back of the mind, just in case one does get disappointed, and so the self of yesterday can tell the self of today, "See, I told you so", and the self of yesterday can feel smug, and the self of today can feel hurt, culminating in a bittersweet smugness that I was talking about earlier.It is coincidental that I was writing about the precarious balance between complete self-awareness and the lack thereof just the day before."Self-awareness is both a boon and a bane to construction of knowledge on identity. Self-help books as an authority of knowledge on identity will only apply to those who are aware of their internal inconsistencies. Those who are not aware will have no impetus for change, and thus do not have a predilection for self-help as a valid source of knowledge. However, a heightened sense of self-awareness is detrimental to self-help too. It is predisposed human behaviour to retain a certain degree of scepticism regarding extrinsic authorities on the self-concept. Despite the openness to self-help books as a source of knowledge, further reflection will lead to doubt about its validity."Okay, now that you know what my topic is on about, maybe you want to extend your kindly services? I am suffering from a mental block.*******I almost bought a tuxedo jacket thing from The Salvation Army. But I saw a whitish stain on the back, and I didn't want to find out if it was semen or not. Internal monologue "Intelligent people are selfish. Passionate people are selfless." - ripped off someone's MSN PMIt's an interesting quote, isn't it? I'm guessing it's because unlike intelligent people who are passionate about the self, which I presume intelligent people are, the passionate are passionate about others.Ah, it's just like me to blog about it rather than approach the owner of the quote and have a hearty discussion. I guess it is the perfect opportunity for me to resume talking to a friend whom I was so chummy with in Secondary One, but we stopped talking after he graduated. Just sort of drifted apart. Oh well. I doubt we will ever return to how things once were, so no point trying to gather spilt milk, yes? Then again, that's just so like me to give up faith in relationships. THEN again, we weren't that close anyway. Hmm.Whenever I cycle, I will pass this particular house. It's no different from others. Well, all the houses look different, but the differences have such a sameness that I would not notice one particular house over another, though actually all houses are interesting to me because I like to imagine its inhabitants. However, this house stood out because I once heard somebody playing drums in the attic. This has occurred a few times over the span of say, two or three years.I contemplated the possibility of slipping an anonymous note into this house's mailbox, saying something like "You're getting better at the drums! Keep it up! :)" But then that would be much too brief, and so creepily ambiguous. What if I went into more detail? "I've cycle around here once in a while, and I've heard you play the drums a few times. Keep playing! :)" But that would be eerily stalkerish, wouldn't it? And almost as if I return compulsively just to check the drum-playing out.I suppose it would be a nice sort of surprise, if I were the recipient of a note of such a nature. And it would be good for establishing neighbourhood cohesion, too. If I ever faint outside my neighbour's door after running without a phone, at least they know how to reach my next-of-kin, right? And who knows, I may even make a new friend out of this. But if I were the drum-player, I might get so self-conscious about playing that I stop altogether. Or I might lose concentration, because everytime I play I will look out of the window to see if there's any cyclist looking in.Should I or should I not? I'm thinking that if I DO, I would probably stop cycling for a week or something for fear of being spotted. My mentality is damn weird.********I signed up for this talk at Singapore Sports Medical Centre. It's called "Fight-The-Fat Forum". After a bit of googling, it seems like it'll just be a talk for Ben Tan to promote his book. I might as well save up the five bucks for the talk to buy the book. Or better yet, save up for a weight loss programme. The weight loss programme actually sounds quite appealing. You see, I'm not obese, and obese people can lose 1kg with much less effort than a normal weight person. 1kg of a 100kg person will only be 1% of his body weight, whereas 1kg of a 50kg person would be 2%. And it'd be nice to get into really scientific detail about what my body type is and what exactly I should do to achieve my ideal weight. I thrive on meticulous routine. I was slightly distraught to discover that there weren't any eggs left today. I like to spend my pre-sleeping time planning what I am going to cook for brunch, and plans to whip up some egg dish went down the drain.Oh, have you heard of intermittent fasting? Basically it works by restricting food intake to a five to nine hour window per day, any time of the day. It is advisable to keep your eating period to a later part of the day, so you don't end up getting tempted to eat again at night, if your window isn't in the morning. It must be somewhat liberating, not having to worry about meals for the entire day. Remember the old story about how men were only supposed to eat thrice a week, but by some miscommunication, this guy went to tell everyone they could eat thrice a day? It's some Chinese folk tale. Should probably go back to our humble, starved origins and eat only on alternate days. This is an interesting e-book on intermittent fasting.I think intermittent fasting is a very viable concept. When humans were still hunters, they'd spend the entire day hunting and only tucked into a large feast at night. The human body probably wasn't made to be in a state of digestion all day. Hence all that rubbish about taking five small meals to keep your metabolism going? Rubbish. On a more radical note, taking breakfast to kickstart one's metabolism is rubbish too. It's a marketing spiel by cereal companies that is making us fat.Interesting, innit? According to reader feedback, nutrition/fitness advice is much appreciated, so there you go. ;) I wanted to try this out today, but caved into mooncakes and assorted junk for breakfast. Ugh. My will is weak. Souffle omelette Let's forget about all the religious stuff I've been talking about in the last few posts, okay? It must be pretty annoying. It's just so that it's at the forefront of my mind right now, trying to understand my lit text. So annoying! I feel so unequipped to handle religious themes, and I think I am quite shortchanged compared to my peers who might understand what liturgies, vespers, excommunication and Te Deum means.So yes, on to happier stuff! FOOD! Who doesn't like eggs?Everybody does! It must be some going back to one's roots sort of thing. Like, we all came out of eggs. But the thought is vaguely cannibalistic... Okay nevermind. Eggs are like the most versatile food ever. I like how they taste good in both sweet and savoury foods. Or have I already mentioned this in an earlier post? I borrowed this recipe book on eggs, and learnt to make a souffle omelette. It's fluffier and airier than a regular omelette because the whites are whipped separate from the yolks.And tada!Canned mushrooms in a creamy sauce...When I cut into it, it's like cutting through styrofoam. I can hear the mini air spaces being popped. Hah.Ok la it's not that special but I've never seen/made a souffle omelette before mah. I've never even made a regular omelette before. I prefer my eggs scrambled if I'm making it up in a pan. Oh I also tried making imitation tamago! Not bad. It's a queer mixture of sweet and savoury, which the Japanese are masters at.I think the whole MITC concept of submitting one's will to God means that whatever you do is a-okay doesn't sit too well with me. If claiming the promise of heaven for the personal glory of a creature is a "wrong reason", why is doing it for the love of God a better reason? To me it just sounds like an obsession/attachment still, but just on a more abstract plane. But this is a question that is probably beyond the concerns of the 'A' Level syllabus, so I shouldn't be too concerned about it.Rarh lit texts that make me question my existence/purpose/meaning unsettles me greatly. Happy couples. It's sad how being in a happy relationship tends to dumb people down a bit. It's sad because people in happy relationships aren't half as interesting as people who aren't in happy relationships. I'm sure people in happy relationships are immensely interesting to each other, though.I guess the stability and reliance on someone else that you know you can count on reduces the need for excessive thinking. No need for paranoia, no need to think of what lies on life's bends in the road, because when one is in a happy relationship, there is so much certainty and assurance that it would be a waste of effort to contemplate why life is the way it is now, and how life may be like otherwise. It would be absurd, or even damaging to the happy relationship. The concept is similar to this quote, "Ask yourself if you're happy, and you won't be." The overriding inflection to such a question is that if you have to ask such a question, something must have been amiss to incite it in the first place.I raised a question, "So why do you like him?"After a moment of contemplation, she responded, "I don't think like has a reason."It sounds foolish and immature, almost as if the affection was a mere infatuation, a crush. But her starkly simple response rings true. I guess her response could either be considered as extremely primitive/immature/childish, but it could also be considered as achieving a state of enlightenment that recognises that certain things are beyond our comprehension. It is almost as if she has understood that trying to fathom why she likes a particular person will never be adequate to explain her affections for him, and she decides to transcend the conundrum by declaring that "like does not have a reason".Then again, she could be afraid to consider the possibility that perhaps her affection for him is hollow and empty. Or she could just be too lazy to think.*******If you like psychological thrillers, be sure to watch Memento! It's about this guy who suffers from anterograde amnesia who is out to avenge his raped and murdered wife. I love the stylistic execution. It's pretty mind-screwy, so you need to keep your wits about you.If you like mystery thrillers, be sure to watch The Conversation! It's about a surveillance expert who eventually caves into his own paranoia. I love the jazzy and solo piano soundtrack. It's a very intense film, yet not very action-packed, so you need to be awake to watch it. There isn't much dialogue nor action. I tried watching it as a bedtime film sort of thing, but cannot tahan lah. Oh, and Francis Ford Coppola wrote and directed this film, and it's his personal favourite!I think Michel Gondry is genius. Extremely ingenious French director who has produced several music videos and advertisements. He also directed Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Loves it.Watched Becket, not because it's my kind of film, because period dramas usually don't cut it for me, but because I hoped it'd be a shortcut way of trying to understand Murder in the Cathedral, and all its annoying religious nuances. It's like an entirely new universe, what with liturgies and rites and deacons and bishops and archbishops and vespers and excommunication and all that ritualistic jazz.Excommunicated people can't hold church office, can't teach, can't lead prayers, and often can't even be in the church building. Sounds fine, to me at least. Well, if the regular person was excommunicated, it wouldn't really affect his life much, would it? In fact, it may even save him the trouble of going to church. So he can truthfully tell God on Judgement Day that it's not that he didn't want to go to church, but he wasn't allowed to.Random article I found: How To Spot A True Christian. Heh.Man, it's early ain't it? I'm feeling pretty smug about myself because I just managed to locate something that was meant to be well concealed. Nyeh heh heh.My legs are aching like some shit. I ran 11km on Sunday, though it was at a can-fail-2.4km speed, ran 5.5km on Monday and then cycled for a bit after the run. You know I haven't ran for three weeks before last week? Damn shitty. I tried to make up for it by running Monday - Thursday (very short-d, 3.5km nia) and Sunday, but Friday I went to some potluck party thing, and Sunday had super extreme buffet dinner. Piangz.I am very motivated to burn calories once I start exercising. But it's harder to restrain myself from eating. It's a lot easier to push myself when I'm exercising, though. But there's only so much exercise I can do right?! And my muscles are dying already! Oh noes.Dammit dammit dammit! I want to go for liposuction. Why socialising is easier with the opposite gender I was once told that I would effortlessly fit into university, simply because I like talking about guys and dressing up. It is probably blatantly untrue. I've never fit in anywhere, and trying to only makes it worse. Sure, I always manage to settle into a clique of sorts after an extended period of time when people decide that I am likable enough, but that doesn't count as fitting in.It's just that it's so much easier to socialise with guys than with girls. Females are so much more critical of other females. When interacting with new females, there's a very delicate balance to strike. On one hand, you want to impress, yet you don't want to suck up. You want to be interesting enough to be differentiated from the others, yet you don't want to be too weird, too different. It's that balance between conformity and uniqueness that needs to be found.With guys, conversational slip-ups either go unnoticed or noticed but ignored. Remarks of an insecure nature can simply be brushed off as endearing, whereas insecure remarks made to a fellow female are not endearing at all, but merely weak points for attack. Furthermore, there's always that underlying sexual magnetism that is present in any male-female interaction. More often than not, it tends to obfuscate any social awkwardness present, by turning that social awkwardness into something appealing, something endearing, something that makes you go "aww".Perhaps that's why socialising is easier with the opposite gender: a remark which would have been typically interpreted as socially awkward could be interpreted as mildly flirtatious or endearingly childlike. If I was uncomfortable at a party, and I voiced it out loud to a guy, it may incite both interpretations. He could volunteer for us to leave the place together, which would have fulfilled both interpretations: we would be alone, and he would be my sole protector. Whereas if I told a female that "man, the people here are weird", she could either dismiss me or deny her genuine sentiments that coincide with mine, because she doesn't want to be a misfit like I am. If I was shy and unnecessarily quiet, guys wouldn't even notice it. There's not much judging going on. On the other hand, girls might think I was being standoffish, or just plain boring.Unfortunately, that sexual tension, the tendency to interpret socially awkward remarks as flirtatious doesn't quite exist with female-female relationships. Still, I'm not saying that guys don't judge, or always think that tongue-tied girls are cute, or that the sexual tension is always evident. Sometimes it is deliberately ignored to give things a more business-like approach, more platonic, if that is possible. I'm just saying that girls generally are harder to get along with, that's all.I don't think I've ever felt more like a third wheel, a light bulb, a gooseberry, the painted feet on a picture of a snake; have never felt so superfluous.I just thought of the origins of the phrase "dian deng pao", which means to be a third party. I'm not sure if my idea was original, or I just dug it up from the recesses from my mind. Basically I was thinking of how there used to be hanging bulbs at every table in the past. And that might have gotten in the way of any cross-table pecks, or something. Just a thought.Well, it was an interesting experience. I just wish I always knew what to do. "Oh, I forgot - you don't believe in God." A: Isn't Ai Pia Jia Eh Yia a controversial song?B: It is? Why?A: Because it's 70% effort and 30% heaven.B: And why would that be controversial?A: You see, *some* people don't believe in heaven.I don't think theists generally achieve great success at poking fun at atheists. It's much easier for the atheist to mock the theist's beliefs, but it's hard for the theist to mock the atheist's lack of beliefs.Traditionally, it has always been the theist's role to convince the atheist of their religion. Atheists passively reject, whereas theists actively propogate. It just doesn't make sense for theists to be poking fun at atheists by attacking their lack of a loophole. It's like prodding at nothingness. There's no belief to tear down, unless you count the belief in a godless world a veritable belief.Furthermore, it doesn't seem very appropriate for the theist to poke fun at the atheist's lack of a belief. One would expect the theist to shake his head sadly at his comrade's refusal to accept god, yes? It's so unbecoming of a theist to resort to the atheist's childish taunts, trying to one up his friend by poking fun at his godless existence. It's not befitting of their enlightened state. Enlightened people don't resort to the ways of the mindless minions who have yet to find a suitable god.Leave the taunting, teasing and mocking to the misguided ones. Believers should not stoop to their level.I shall finish off with this comic.Lol. Run in the rain She tore through the tarred savannahHeaven bled in torrential floodsSeeing-glasses blinded her: flung away to clatter onCrevice-wracked terrain.Vision before her a sequined miasma:Floodlights pierced through worthless jewelsHanging on the tips of her lashesA backdrop of luminescent flashes crucified the sky.Shivering pools embossed the corpse-trodden groundHer cushioned pads squelching in ankle-deep slime whichCoated cemented carcasses beneath.Mane, soaked with sin, death-marked the vacuum she sliced through.Incandescent respite awaits, yet cold, revenge-coldDrenched, dripping, but mouth paper-dry in droughtLimbs come to a standstill amid heaven’s bawlsFibrous tendons pulled for thirty seconds kept in time with life-pumping beatA final stretch, surveying the catch of the dayRed drips joined their red smears on the stony tiles where they lay.****Preliminary notes: Waste not a tear. I spent a long time comforting my poor friend who got dumped. Disregarding my sentiments about the relationship (because what I think of the situation is inconsequential beyond the two of us), it is certainly nice to be needed. Though I can never quite dispel the notion that this is a sad sad world where everyone makes use of each other. It got me thinking about how some people have said I am a good listener. But the problem with a label like this is that it's quite arbitrary, isn't it? There isn't a universal scale to measure people up. It's not like I can say, oh, ten people have said I am a good listener whereas only eight have said you are, so I'm a better listener than you are.Also, just because I am a good listener to a particular person may not mean that I am a good listener to everyone. I cannot empathise with everything, and not everybody may favour my approach when it comes to listening. Furthermore, only people whom I'm relatively close to can say something like this. They might not be saying it as an objective fact, more like an emotional burst of gratitude after I've listen to their tirades. These factors make for pretty skewed judging.However, I must say that so far it does seem like there's a pretty standard cookie-cutter way of being regarded as a good listener, and that is to be interested. The problem with this cookie-cutter is that the boundaries are clear, but the middles are uncertain. You know what shape to take, but you need to know the inner mechanisms before you can be certain exactly what you are producing. Are you making a star-shaped sugar cookie or a star-shaped butter cookie? Oops, over-indulged the baking metaphor, heh.When you are interested, everything will just fall into place. There's no need to fake sincerity. If you are genuine on the inside, you will know exactly what mould, what personality to assume when it comes to dealing with specific individuals.I was asked a few interesting questions, and I thought I might share my responses here.Q: "How do you get to know guys?"A: "Random guys on Friendster see my photo very pretty, then they talk to me lor."That's the most bullshit answer ever, but it's more or less true. I don't partake in any guy-related hobbies, like DotA or indie rock music or whatever, so my chances of meeting like-minded men through activities like these are pretty low already. I can't say for sure whether my affinity for decidedly domestic activities work towards my advantage or not; one doesn't get to meet a lot of men through cooking/sewing/shopping/reading, yet it could be attractive, in a rustic, fifties housewife sort of way, though no one has been clamouring at my skirt hems since I took up baking. The most male hobby that I engage in is probably running, and even that is a rather gender-neutral activity. Furthermore, running is not a hobby for me: it is merely a means to an end.I was asked to take part in a soccer game with a group of guys, because, well, it's supposed to be impressive or something. Like, whoa, a girl who plays soccer! I self-deprecatingly retorted: 1. I'm quite crappy at soccer; 2. I don't actually like playing it that much; 3. I will probably ruin the game for the guys, since empirical evidence has shown that guys are less aggressive if they play sports with girls. Therefore, I should not ruin their game and just watch like a sweet demure thing, afraid to break out into a sweat. Anyway, I've decided that soccer or not, baking or not, it hasn't bumped me up the attractive scale, not visibly through statistical evidence, anyhow.Q: "How do you attract guys?"A: "Er, be more sociable, more lively... Wait, I'm really not the best person to ask. I can't really tell you how to attract guys."Her response:"Ya, because it comes so naturally to you that you don't know how to explain right.""Nonono, I'm not your typically attractive girl, so I can't tell you how to attract guys."Which is true. I would say that the typically attractive girl is high-spirited and chirpy, who has a gaggle of girlfriends, but doesn't stick exclusively to them. She flirts lightheartedly with almost every guy: it wouldn't seem like flirting to most, but insistent girlish denials, playful whacks and a tendency to erupt into giggles at the blandest jokes have disastrous effects on the male species. I may know how it works, but I don't know how to work it. So really, I'm not the best person to ask. Furthermore, there's also the variable factor of who you wish to attract. If you wish to attract the typically attracted guy, then do the above, I suppose.Q: "How to be less emotionally dependent?"A: Whatever I said made me cringe because it sounds like a load of self-help claptrap, but it's true. You need to appreciate yourself, so you don't need others to appreciate you. That's just the way it is, I guess. Self-loving!Q: "How to get over guys?"A: This is a toughie. You want to get over him, yet you don't want to simply substitute one emotion for another, i.e. hate for love. I'd say that it definitely helps to hate him with a burning vengeance first, then eventually just let it morph into disgust and "what the hell what I thinking?!" It should also help to think more logically, like considering that there is no point moping over a relationship that is beyond salvation. Even if a patch-up does occur, there is probably already a fundamental flaw that instigated the initial dissolution. No point doing nonsense like taking a break, or dating other guys, or whatever. Want to break up then break up, nice and clean.A painfully obvious way of getting over people is to quit talking to them, but a lot of people aren't able to do that. Of course, it's hard, but it accelerates the process tremendously. The problem is that sometimes, even the dumper himself will have residual emotional attachment to his ex. Therefore, this will confuse the dumpee even further. She will think that maybe he still has feelings for her.Chances are that her gut feelings are probably right. But it would be supremely wiser to take a step back and review the situation with wisdom. He too, is losing a partner, and even if feelings are gone, old habits die hard. So yes, if you have trouble getting over your dumper, don't fuss too much about his seemingly contradictory behaviour. He's just as screwed up as you are, so really, don't worsen the situation by "staying friends" or whatever. It benefits neither of you, especially when you're trying to recover.That's it, my two cents worth on dealing with break ups. Not like I'm amazing at dealing with them either.********Random updates on boring life:Went boutique-hopping with Leung Yan. It was my virgin experience entering couture houses without a care. A pretty refreshing experience, I must say. I am now fairly motivated to achieve that kind of decadent lifestyle where I get invited to galas so often that I need a new outfit every time. Okay, I just want a pair of Marc Jacobs or Chloe shoes in the near future.I am quite lusting for a pair of leather pants I tried on at Zara. Initially, I was skeptical about them, being quite certain that they will only make my growing thighs look like gothic sausages, but when layered with a tunic, I look almost waif-like. That's a good start. I contemplated getting the oversized tunic with sleeves past my fingers, but I realised that it would look rather nondescript without leather pants. I don't own a pair of leggings, and I'm not intending to, so yea, my options are pretty much closed. And I'm not getting the leather pants because it'll just be like a portable sauna walking in Singapore. Entirely silly. Am also lusting after this pair of Nine West shoes.I prefer them in black, though. Charles and Keith actually has a version that's half the price; however, it doesn't fit so well, and it's rather badly made, so there's an unsightly crease that runs across the side of the ankle.Argh I also want a blazer like now. Shit I'm lusting after all these annoyingly impractical things.I borrowed the cool book that doesn't use the letter 'E' in it. A Void by Georges Perec. What's even more cool is that it's translated from French. Wicked. I also borrowed Dracula: as you can see, I am trying very hard to avoid my old favourite Jill Mansell, who produces light-hearted, frothy chick lit every time.Tried macarons at the Almond Shop thingy at Toa Payoh; not half as good as Bakerzin's nor Canele's, but cheap enough. Also tried the Turkish kebab which Erica mentioned. Four bucks, and not spectacular. While chewing on it, I contemplated how I could use price elasticity concepts to help the quiet stall develop a better business. All in all, I concluded that she needs to lower her price to raise total revenue. That's all. doubt/fiction/NYC I felt very antagonised when I saw all the Nike 10km runners clogging up City Hall on Sunday. I think I couldn't stand the way they were all brimming with youth and vitality. A large bulk of them were uni kids. I felt like grumbling, "Wah, think you run 10k very big deal is it, huh huh huh." Perhaps it's because I haven't ran at all for the past month. Guilt mounts and morphs into sour grapes. The only exercise I get now is from my mum's Flabelos machine. -.-However, when I spotted a schoolmate who was also wearing the prominent red tee, my antagonised feelings dissipated rather quickly after we exchanged greetings. Somehow, I just feel more inclined to despise groups of people, even though I know there are decent individuals in it. It's a bias of mine to tar people with the same brush. I guess it also functions as a coping mechanism. In the event that the decent individuals I know become utterly unlikable, I can always blame it on the fact that they once belonged to a particular organisation.I finally ran today after much hesitation, but I'm glad I made it through the relatively measly 3.5km. I shall try to keep this up daily; hopefully it'll tide me over till my exams are over and then I'll be entirely free to work towards a hotter body. The amount I eat when I am upset is amazing. But food is a paltry panacea for troubles of the soul.Been feeling rather melancholic/contemplative. Someone was trying to convince me to be less cynical, to love more freely. Well, that's one thing. I suppose I can decide for myself whether I want to love people for who they are, and not treat them as a means to an end. How about knowing whether others love me too? I cannot know for sure if they are not loving me for who I am. How am I to know if others are making use of me? That's a leap of faith, and there's no way to go about explaining that away. Even though I think people are born self-centred, I believe that there is a capacity for altruistic love even if nobody can explain it satisfactorily. Still, I cannot extend that belief in MY capacity for altruistic love to other people.Realise that excessive skepticism is typically restricted to the confines of the blog; otherwise it'll be too much trouble to continually question other people's motives. I probably won't have many friends - oh, wait. Hur. I just try to keep my options open, so I don't end up too surprised if things screw up. Though I guess that's still not a very good way of going about doing things. I guess I don't think too highly of people at all. Might this stem from a personal resentment? It's hard to say which started first: me disappointing others, or others disappointing me. I suppose it's a vicious cycle, and I chose to continue it in a negative way instead of spreading smiles and sunshine like I'm supposed to.*******Borrowed some books from the library and I'm so happy about having new books to read. I've not indulged in fiction for a long time. Borrowed this book called The Edible Woman by Margaret Atwood. I noticed that the first-person narrator's name was only introduced in the third chapter. I just finished it, and it's a marvellous book. It's not the kind of book that can be made into a movie, since it's mostly about the protagonist's introspective thoughts. There isn't much of a plot either; it's mostly interesting because you track the protagonist's progress as her perspective/worldview develops. It's interesting because of the snippets of the world she presents. Furthermore, the book also has a rather unique narrative perspective, which does contribute to the novel's concerns.I tend to lose interest in the protagonist in the middle of any novel, because I form a deep attachment with their initially flawed selves. It's just more endearing that way, their neuroses. When she changes into somebody who comes to terms with who she is, I feel rather distanced from the person whom I thought I identified with. Furthermore, I don't think authors can genuinely relate to their mature protagonist. After all, it's fiction. The mature protagonist is supposed to be an ideal state, and creative sorts are supposed to be struggling, unable to come to terms with their selves. Therefore, the reason why I tend to dislike protagonists in the later part of novels is because (a) they've changed (b) the authors can't relate to the more ideal protagonist, so they not as adept as they could be at presenting her.At least that's what I think. It's a conclusion I've derived from attempts at creating a fictional character. I just can't make my character come to a resolution, because I haven't came to one myself. ItI tend to get a little bit too involved in books. But this one was good! It gave me a shiver up and down my spine once in a while, which is a good sign. You know, I've never felt much aesthetic involvement with Murder in the Cathedral until I heard the recording: and then when I heard the knights bellowing "Come down Daniel to the lion's den, come down Daniel and join the feast" it gave me the creeps.Choice quotes:1. I can tell you're admiring my febrility. I know it's appealing, I practise at it, every woman loves an invalid. I bring out the Florence Nightingale in them.2. "I'm going to get married, you know. I shouldn't be here.""But you are here." he smiled. "Actually I'm glad you told me. I makes me feel a lot safer. Because really," he said earnestly, "I don't want you to think that all this means anything. It never sort of does, for me. It's all happening really to somebody else." He kissed the end of her nose. "You're just another substitute for the laundromat."Marian wondered whether her feelings ought to be hurt, but decided that they weren't: instead she was faintly relieved. "I wonder what you're a substitute for, then," she said."That's the nice thing about me. I'm very flexible, I'm the universal substitute."I just realised that the novel was written in 1969. It felt so contemporary!*******According to Wikipedia, Jesus is coming on the 30th September, 2008. Wouldn't that be exciting? I hope to at least say hi to him before he realises that my name isn't in the book of life, before I get thrown into the burning lake to die a second time. I hope to at least find out if there are other sentient beings out there in the universe. It just seems improbable that all the sentient life in the universe is packed on this tiny blue-green rock, yes? It'd be almost arrogant to presume that we are God's sole concern. I'm sure God has better things to do than constantly watch over the inhabitants of the planet Earth. If he does, he's not telling us who they are, and I want to know!*******I also borrowed The Devil Wears Prada, but I'm not reading it. It's a chore to read, especially since the movie was good enough.Do you know, I've had a longing passion for New York City for a long time. I can't pinpoint an exact reason, but I have a few on hand that are decidedly irrational and insensible. NYC, or rather, Manhattan in particular, just seems like the sort of place where things happen. Movies are created there. It's a melting pot of cultures; people from all over the world congregate there. Celebrities live there. World-class plays are staged at Broadway. The best schools are located in there: Parson's, Columbia, etc. People write stories about the city. People make movies about the city. Spiderman, You've Got Mail, Breakfast at Tiffany's, Catch Me If You Can, Pillow Talk, Elf, 13 Going on 30, Hitch, The Devil Wears Prada, etc. People write books about the city. People LIVE in the city.I've been having a rather romantic preoccupation with the place. I want to go there and explore the city on foot, eat cheesecake, check out Mary-Kate and Ashley's label The Row, go to the supermarkets and never having to bother with converting metric to imperial measurements, potentially bump into supermodels, see The Sartorialist snapping away, jog in Central Park, submit quotes to Overheard in New York, eat at Magnolia and other assorted famoose restaurants, visit MoMA, and so much more.It's probably more a fantasy than anything else. I think I've been watching way too many movies. I miss my holiday there last year. I can almost hear my sister gloating. Bah!I need to study hard to get into a good school. Yes. This shall be my motivation. Grr!Ai pia jia eh ya! New beginnings! I do this once in a while, so bear with me. Brownies and what irks me and skincare product recommendation! A few bloggers attempted this recipe called Supernatural Brownies and raved about it, so I made it too.I just like the way the top is so crackly. It's quite good looking. And it's so much more fun to cut the brownies into parallelograms, too. It's not as dense as I would like, though.This weekend is truly a food-filled one: had dim sum for breakfast on Friday. Oh, I should totally relate how it happaned. The night before, I was feeling extremely disgruntled, but the thought to skip school had yet to cross my mind because I did want to give my teachers some notes I wrote. But Erica saved me in the nick of time and asked me if I wanted to have breakfast; so I was like "SET I'm skipping school!" Fuck the letters: the teachers probably have torrents of insincere notes of gratitude flooding their letter trays. What's the point of one more? And after that I got another date confirmed so it was all good! I can't believe how easy it is to cheer me up.After breakfast, I had a late lunch, and was faced with a seemingly innocuous invitation. After that I realised it was supposed to be an opportunity to introduce me to somebody apparently very eligible. If nothing goes wrong, then there wouldn't be a story to tell. I'm crossing my fingers that it screws up dramatically so I can regale an exciting tale.What has passed of the weekend has been rather good. I love hanging out with people who enjoy hanging out, who have a life. Not like I have the most interesting life ever, but well, don't like wet blankets and party poopers.That being said, I think I have quite decided that I am not going to go to prom despite having said I would. My reasons for it are actually similar to Erica's; however, they weren't so compelling before. Prom isn't about the food; it's about the clothes, the camwhoring, the gossiping, the gathering after. Prom is about checking people out, and being checked out. But my friends in school are unlikely to be interested in any, so yes, the purpose of prom is quite defeated. I'll probably miss out on spying on couples and dissing people in ugly clothes and tasteless make up; but oh well, I could live without that. Besides, so much time has passed, yet no formal consensus has been reached about purchasing tickets. *shrugs* So I'll decide, for myself at least - I'm not going to prom.The acquaintances I have to bear with are all NATO and they can fucking piss off. I hate empty talk. You know how some people like to get themselves excited over something, but end up not doing it at all? Seriously, I don't know how that works out. Why do people even bother getting themselves excited in the first place? Doesn't the unfulfillment bother them? I suppose some people already feel half-fulfilled by getting their hopes up. It's the adrenaline high from lusting for something, I suppose. I don't know how their psyche works, man. They're fucked up. Thank god I don't know too many of these people, and I'm not too friendly with them.Some people are just fucking self-centred, period. But the most annoying thing is that they are not fully self-centred, they're only halfway there. They're not self-centred in the conventional way. They're not selfish, not stingy, not jealous. But they may not necessarily be generous and go-the-extra-mile-nice either. The problem with halfway self-centred people is that they still feel the need to conform the social norms, so they say their Ps and Qs and offer concern when they think it is required. That's the problem: their niceness doesn't stem from a genuine desire to help out. It's an ingrained habit to be nice. And that's not the end of it. They may even be socially conditioned to derive pleasure from doing nice things, but if you strip them from their social contexts you realise that they don't really like people very much. Not that they are people-hating/fearing sociopaths; more like just enclosed in their little self-centred world where other people don't really bother them. There's no genuine desire to reach out to someone else.Shrugs. School will be out really soon. Who gives a fucking shit, woot!This is a picture of me.For the record it is not edited; it'll be stupid to edit a photo that is blur to begin with, anyway. I have no make up on save for some red smear on the lips. If you have bad skin and nothing has worked for you so far, I strongly recommend this brand called Lina Skincare. I used to have crappy skin and nothing I used work: Kanebo, Avene, Vichy, Eucerin, Kose - don't know, too many. I've probably tried every drugstore product out there. Prescription pills helped, but I didn't like the idea of relying on medication. Perhaps I grew out of puberty, perhaps the range that I'm using works: it could be both, but I can assure you that it works. The website is a bit dodgy, and so are the company's beginnings: but my mother and I can vouch for it and Indonesian-Chinese taitais go there too! It's at Robertson Walk and price-wise, a leetle hefty, but just consider that you'll never have to waste money on products that don't work, and that you won't feel shitty everytime you pass a mirror. It's pretty depressing, you know.Just a tip from me lo. Don't say I never say.Hate to be pang sehed! Macaroons and nightmares. Downing six macarons consecutively without taking even sips of water between is probably not the best way to appreciate them.Canele's macarons:The single dimension flavours are café, rose, citron, pistache, violette, 70% dark chocolate, caramel sel and framboise. Signature creations by Canelé are the more complex macarons: bergamote orange (bergamote macaron filled with orange cream and candied orange), milk chocolate passionfruit (smooth milk chocolate ganache with passionfruit), milk chocolate feuillitine (milk chocolate ganache with a hazelnut almond praline feuillitine centre), hazelnut praline (hazelnut macaron, praline cream with roasted hazelnut).I tried the ones in bold. I don't like coffee; rose reminded me of rose syrup in a bad way; pistachio didn't taste remotely like pistachios. It just tasted generically nutty. Violet had very delicate and subtle notes which I liked. The dark chocolate had very good ganache, and the bergamote orange was quite nice as well, though a tad bit sweet. They weren't bad, not at all: I'm just unlikely to shell out $2.30 per macaron again.Bakerzin sells it slightly cheaper at $1.60 nett (or $1.50 excluding GST, depending on where you go), so maybe if I ever need a macaron fix, I'll buy from Bakerzin instead. Not like they were awesome, though. I guess I had exceedingly high expectations. I expected the crust to be crustier and the interior to be airier, and more melt-in-the-mouth. That'd be almost impossible to make, I'd think.You know what I've been having for breakfast? A slice of Nigella Lawson's Dense Chocolate Loaf Cake with ice cream heaped upon it. I heat the cake up in the microwave on high for thirty seconds, then spoon some Ben & Jerry's Cheesecake Brownie and Dublin Mudslide onto it. The ice cream melts into the warm cake, and when I spoon a section out, ice cream oozes out of the warm chocolate cake. It's absolutely heavenly, the interplay of textures: the chilled creamy ice cream and warm chocolate cake with a dense, fine crumb. A good start to the day.Whatever pleasure I derived from finally completing my prelims dissipated rather quickly, even though I knew I probably wrote a kick-ass Heart of Darkness essay. Whether Dorothy Chua thinks its kick-ass is another tale altogether. Clearly, the recent depressive state isn't exam-related. Something deeper. People, that's what. A bloody disappointment. No matter how hard you try to remain detached, it still cuts as deep. Makes one wonder why go through all that bother of even trying in the first place.The thing about people is that it's a love-hate relationship. They are crap at just about everything. They say the wrong things, they never fully understand you, they can be unwittingly heartless (which somehow always hurts more than intentional malice) yet people are absolutely essential to regular life as we know it. It's a perfect paradox.*********Whenever I have nasty dreams, the negative repercussions usually resonate throughout the day.This one particular dream, there was this man whose got a perverse preoccupation with tweaking the human body. The things he has done to his girlfriend was documented in this rather personal sketchbook: how he pierced her tongue using tools at home, how he tattooed her with a pen knife; mutilating stuff like that. The sketches were grotesque yet artistic: it had the flavour of Tim Burton's illustrations, but had a more macabre, clown-like mood to it because of the bright blots he used to fill in as blusher for her cheeks. I would say it looked like this, only more sinister with messier lines and chaotic watercolour blots for colour.I read the book, and pocketed it for myself. This man was outraged. He demanded it back. I didn't want to return it. I went all the way up to the top of a building to hide from him, but then I heard footsteps up the staircase hunting for me. This man whom I offended is some kind of mafia boss, and he had sent his men to me. I quickly rushed down the staircase, and on the way, passed his none-too-intelligent subordinates. They asked me, "Excuse me miss, did you see somebody up on the roof? We need to teach her a lesson.""Yes, she's still there. Quickly, before she leaves!"They thanked me and continued up ahead. (Actually they didn't speak in quite so nice English. The man isn't exactly a mafia boss, he's more like an artistic ah beng gangster with a penchant for DIY body modification. They all do, anyway.)Suddenly I heard this great booming voice over the PA system, and he said: "If I don't get my book back in an hour, I will set the place on fire." I thought he was jesting, so I didn't give in.The building we were in was a kind of department store, so I went to the grocery section because it was crowded. Thought I'd blend in better. I was waiting for the lift to take me out of the building, when all of a sudden a bunch of firemen appeared next to me. They came in through a window. They said, "Can you tell us how to get to the third floor?" Apparently, the building had some really strange system where there wasn't direct access to certain floors via the elevator, so from the sixth floor, one would have to go to the second floor before they can go to the third floor.The firemen and I entered the glass elevator, and as it descended downwards, we saw flames licking at the glass shaft which barricaded us from the fire. Blistered, bleeding bodies with faces contorted in pain pressed against the glass. Yellowish pus glazed with blood oozed out of cracks in their skin. In their panic to escape via the lift, they forgot that the lift didn't stop at that floor. That particular level was the book department, so the flames spread really fast. Somehow, the flames were abundant but not oppressive: they didn't burn the people in there to a crisp. Instead, it merely carpeted the floor. It barbequed their feet, baked their legs and steamed their heads. It was an agonisingly slow fire that consumed them.The firemen and I stood horrorstruck as we saw the bodies rising past us desperate to get into the sealed lift shaft, helpless because the lift didn't stop at the floor with the books.That's more or less it, the more traumatic part of my dream. Very Angels and Demons. Strange, because the last time I read it was a while ago.What's worse is that the characters in my dream are people from my past whom I do not wish to remember. It seems like there's only so much a consious decision to forget can do, because my subconscious refuses to be quelled and it reminds me of the things which I want to forget. I shall reiterate: I hate my subconscious. The perplexing duality of my waking and sleeping life could perhaps be a result of a deep-seated cognitive dissonance which I've tried to suppress.I can't really "read" my dream for its underlying symbols and messages, really because the denotations are disturbing enough without me trying to detect the subtext.**********I miss secondary schoolwhen all I had to say was"Damn am I craving for chicken rice/chocolate cake/Burger King/Pepper Lunch/sushi"and off we'd go!No reservations about going outno worries to badger usno homely, dead-boring friends who prefer going home to sleep. i hate: dishonestynot being in the knowbeing betrayedbeing lied tochangeable mindssuperior people who talk down to me, or unconsciously do souncertaintyfeeling like there's no one i can talk tonot being taken seriouslybeing clueless when it comes to exams*****i actually quite dislike you for making me feel like shit. not that you did it deliberately, but you behaved in such a way that clearly said that i'm not worth your time but you had no choice but to be civil. and i hate being patronised. just tell me in the face that i suck and i'll piss off. and i hate you for making me realise how something so inconsequential that shouldn't bother me actually bother me.you annoy me, with your flippance and inability to understand anything more than superficial concerns. i thought you were so much more, but i don't feel like trying anymore.why can't you be a little less full of yourself? so what if you have apparently more exquisite tastes. that does not make you any better as a person.stop being in denial. if you won't try, i'm not going to try helping you out either. you need to get a grip on yourself, and live in life, not in some fantasy world that you've constructed.why are our conversations always so one-sided? i do try to engage you. why can't you at least pretend to be remotely interested in what i have to say? or in me, rather. my friendliness can only go so far. am i not even attractive, as someone to chat with? am i so repellent? or are you just a fucking self-centred bastard?i can't stand your insecure, nervous giggles and inability to look me in the eye. the more you avoid it, the more i'll glare. you're so fucking insecure.i can't be bothered to listen to your obssessions of the moment. it bores me. and why do you always have to disagree with everything everybody says, even when you're clearly being narrow-minded? you're a nice person, with a sense of integrity and everything, and i admire that. but i can't abide a person who only has one opinion about any given issue.i hate how i have to tolerate your self-aggrandising nonsense. i can't wait till i'm rid of that responsibility, then i am going to treat you exactly how you've treated me. and you'll live to rue the day you ever lived.i hate how you never seem to take anything seriously. you might chide me for being overly serious.i hate your idiotic puns.i hate your pretentiousness, and your self-hypocrisy. you'll never be noticed for your personality, because you don't have one.i hate how you're not really that pretty, yet still amazingly attractive. sorry, i'm an eyes person. but yes, you're still attractive despite the instability of your emotions. can you tell me how that works out?i hate how you lied to me. oh, you probably didn't intend to. but you changed your mind, or something. i hate liars. i hate hate hate hate hate hate hate people who are overly casual with their words.why can't you be a bit more upfront about how you feel towards me? ambiguity bothers me. or maybe you don't feel anything at all. and that bothers me even more.you're really quite good-looking and all that, but for the love of god, you can't speak intellectually for nuts. sexual chemistry can only go so far.********cont'dpeople, really. the human race is a fucking pain. or i just am, and i need to piss off.this is a really bad year.this is a really bad life. Literature. After a dearth in comments on the blog, all of a sudden I am flooded with so many! And one from "the other writer" of 12 Lotus, Liam Yeo! I think I still cannot fully appreciate the fact that Singapore is so damn small that everybody knows everybody, and it's not a big deal if you have a friend who is on first-person relations with a celebrity. Even so, the fangirl in me squeals inwardly in delight when she is remotely in contact with a celebrity of any sort.I've been thinking about a few things.1) Men who post up pictures of their buff selves onlineSomehow, I get the feeling that men who do that are likely to abuse their wives. I couldn't quite explain why initially, but I've since formulated a reasonable explanation. It seems to me that any man who'd think his muscles worth parading is the sort of man who would use it as a kind of weapon to oppress women as well. It's a double-edged sword, really. Just as easily as a woman might feel secure in strong, bulky arms, she could very well be crushed lifeless in them too.I think that's why gym rats freak me out. They have this narcissistic obsession with their muscles, and they're probably aware of its alluring hold over women. First, the muscles are used to ensnare. Next, the muscles are used to beat the poor women into submission. Enchantment, then imprisonment!That's probably the most interesting thought I've had lately. Yes, buff men and their narcissism.I have this strange craving for macarons. I've never eaten them before, though. I hope it won't be one of those overrated things, probably inflated by my eager anticipation. Then again, I could very easily imagine what it might taste like, since after poring over dozens of recipes online, I am quite sure the macaron halves are going to be meringue-like in texture, and the ganache is likely to be just sweet.I might attempt them, if only they weren't so notoriously tedious. Aged egg whites, powdered almonds and precise mixing times? That's when my uncanny ability to follow instructions would fail me, since macarons probably involve a lot of talent and experience.Speaking of which, I chanced upon this girl, who's quite the baker.When I saw her age, I was like - WHAT? The girl is merely 16? Well, then discovered that she's 17, so that's much better. Somehow 16 sounds outrageously juvenile... Not like I'm a good deal older than that, but still. I think I couldn't tell she was 16, mostly by the things she talked about. Yes, I realised that tALkiNG LiKe tHiS is no longer a good gauge for making distinctions between the juvenile and adult blogger, because EVERYBODY can spell now. Besides, that was SO 2000, wasn't it?Anyway, yes, that baker girl. I couldn't tell she was just about my age, because she seemed so sophisticated. One would require quite a good deal of uppercrust training if one is to be aware of such complex and atas desserts. And the way she is a supermarket snob, by shopping exclusively at Jason's and Marketplace! Give me good ol' Sheng Siong and inhouse brands any time.People gain cultural awareness due to age or money. Then I figured, hmm, if this girl is really 16, then you know what? She's probably frikkin' rich. And I don't think I'm wrong either.Rich people have these... vibes. I've been trying to categorise them, but I haven't been very successful.The Rich and Clueless Kid. This is the kid who's been very sheltered. She might not be arrogant, at least not outwardly so, but is quite clueless about how to go about mundane middle-class sort of things. For example, she might be hopeless at public transport, or she has no clue to go about doing anything remotely domestic. She is usually very fussy. Not fussy in the spoilt brat sense, but very particular about certain things. She could be super anal about hygiene, or people who smoke around her, or something like that.Then you have the Rich and Reckless Kid, the one whose parents are too busy making executive decisions at publicly listed companies, so they don't particularly care if their kid doesn't come back home at night or organised a wild orgy in their District 11 home.There's of course the Rich Snob, the one we're most familiar with. Some are none-too-subtle, but others need a bit more observation. You can tell by how they are somewhat careless with their money, spending it on frivolous items. They might not be too sensitive to others who come from lower-income families, and might not understand why anyone wouldn't want to go to prom. (Because $70 can be hefty for some, dimwit.) Then they might also change their accessories quite frequently. A new bag every couple of months, a new wallet, new shoes, new ear piercings: all these things add up to quite a bit of money.There's also the typical generalisation that rich people are English-speaking, suck at Chinese (and most of them, proud of it), are relatively good at academics (perhaps not brilliant, since the diligently poor ones might clinch top-spot, but above average), perhaps Christian, and maybe, good-looking? There's a lot of baggage about rich people. We've got pretty colonialist notions of what it means to be uppercrust, huh? Leftover cultural baggage. Or maybe I'm just seeing 20th century concerns everywhere because of Literature.Btw, I simply cannot STAND studying Murder in the Cathedral. I hate all that Christian mumbo-jumbo. It irks me. All the analysis boils down to the same shit: be holy and your life will have meaning. Yea, whatever. Life is meaningless. That's something the 20th century authors couldn't come to terms with, and the 21st century authors already have - or eventually will.Though, I suppose it IS important to have some awareness of such a massive religious movement. Which is the only reason why I currently have a Bible in my possession. Purely for expanding my literary boundaries, mind. Figured that the first book that came to mind when people invented mass-printing is probably worth reading for its historical value, even if I can't stand the nonsense in it.Interesting thing my KI teacher said: there really isn't a "Western" religion. It depends on how far west you want to go. After all, Christianity originated in the Middle East, didn't it? Furthermore, the first Western religions were all pagan and stuff. Hah!I just did some googling, and here is the prose text selection for H2 Literature Paper 1.Jane Austen: Pride and PrejudiceCharles Dickens: Great ExpectationsToni Morrison: BelovedR.K. Narayan: The GuideThis is the selection for drama.William Shakespeare: OthelloWilliam Shakespeare: Antony and CleopatraOliver Goldsmith: She Stoops to ConquerJohn Webster: The Duchess of MalfiThese are the texts for Paper 2, which is called Neoclassical Literature. I believe it's 19th century stuff. 2008 is the last year for Neoclassical Literature.Alexander Pope: The Rape of the LockJohn Dryden: All for LoveJohn Milton: Paradise Lost (Books 1 and 2)Aphra Behn: The RoverJonathan Swift: Gulliver’s TravelsDaniel Defoe: Moll FlandersHenry Fielding: Joseph AndrewsWilliam Wycherley: The Country WifeWilliam Congreve: Love for LoveThese are the texts for Paper 3, Modern Writing, which my school is doing. 20th century stuff.Wilfred Owen: Collected PoemsKatherine Mansfield: Collected StoriesW.B. Yeats: Selected PoemsF. Scott Fitzgerald: The Great GatsbyJoseph Conrad: Heart of DarknessVirginia Woolf: Mrs DallowayEugene O’Neill: Long Day’s Journey into NightSean O’Casey: Juno and the Paycock and The Plough and the Stars (in Three Plays)T.S. Eliot: Murder in the CathedralThe texts for Paper 4, Imagining Other Worlds:Edgar Allan Poe: The Fall of the House of Usher and Other Writings: Poems, Tales, Essaysand Reviews (Penguin Classics)Samuel Taylor Coleridge: Selected PoemsAldous Huxley: Brave New WorldGeorge Orwell: 1984Anthony Burgess: A Clockwork OrangeMargaret Atwood: The Handmaid’s TaleWilliam Shakespeare: The TempestChristopher Marlowe: Dr Faustus (Mermaid edition)Charlotte Perkins Gilman: HerlandPaper 5, Literature and Identity:Sylvia Plath: ArielBoey Kim Cheng: Another PlaceSuchen Christine Lim: Fistful of ColoursDerek Walcott: Selected PoemsAnita Desai: Fasting, FeastingJames Joyce: A Portrait of the Artist as a Young ManWole Soyinka: Death and the King's HorsemanWilliam Shakespeare: King LearKuo Pao Kun: Two Plays: Descendants of the Admiral Eunuch and The Spirits PlayInteresting, ain't it. I guess they decided to scrape Neoclassical Literature because it's too irrelevant to 21st century life. I think I shall try to read all of these texts one day. If it's worth studying in school, it's got to be good, right?*******I downloaded The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde and it was extremely entertaining. Isn't the man absolutely brilliant? A pun on so many levels! And it's very cohesive and tight; all the loose knots tie up so cleverly at the play's end. Tight - the new word that's being thrown around to describe essays nowadays. Maybe I'm the only one that thinks it's kinky. After listening to the audiobook, my inner voice now speaks in a pseudo British accent.Nigella Lawson is so very attractive, isn't she? She's my new idol.She makes the idea of a domestic goddess quite appealing. She's so sensuous and graceful and that hair! And the woman can make eating on a bed in pyjamas glamourous without looking anything close to an invalid. Food porn at its best! Well yes, she's pudgy, but the woman is 48. If I looked like that at 48, I wouldn't be complaining.