eucatastrophe

2007-09-23T07:39:00.001-07:00

I think the fact that I have almost absolutely no tags on by tagboard is testament to that no one reads my blog.

:D

I find that quite amusing.

2007-09-21T09:41:00.000-07:00

Wow.

It's september and the last time I posted was... like January? I've forgotten what my blog skin looks like.

BUt it's amazing how time flies... seriously.

And now the exam stress has seem to caught up with us. Somehow when people get concerned with marks, they get self-centred and they start to act... how should I put this? Out of character? I don't know. I'm not judging anyone. But I just, yes alright I am rambling.

So I shall start. This is in reaction to Adele's blog post. Not sure if anyone checks my blog anymore... I sure don't! But anyway, read hers and then you'll understand. In a nutshell, it's about the LA marks and how people think that Paul Tan has been bias to give us 14/15 when we didn't even do anything.

Of course, I'm sorry 407, that you were cheated out of your marks. I think it really was unfair that we got high marks for doing nothing and I really am sorry.

Honestly, I really agree that it was unfair. Really. I mean if I was in anyone else's position, I would be fuming too. But I mean... I don't really want to comment on that. And of course there's that whole thing about Adele's marks and how people think that Paul Tan raised her marks. In other words, it's sort of like doubting our ability/her ability. Maybe subconciously, or maybe that's not the wayyou mean it.

That's not really what I'm concerned with though. Honestly, I couldn't much be bothered about my marks. Ok that's a lie. What I mean is I don't really care whether I get really high and Adele gets really high or I should have gotten lower or higher... I don't know to how explain this. I care about my marks, I do. Who doesn't? But I don't care about them sooo much that... I'm not getting through here.

Point is, I'm just kinda sad about the way this whole thing has turned out. Now it's become this thing about whether Adele deserves the marks she gets.

Honestly? I think it can't be denied that Adele's english is good. Maybe sometimes because we think that a teacher is biased towards her, we tend to become biased against her. It's human nature. But that also doesn't mean that she doesn't deserve what she gets.

I'm not saying taht the teacher isn't bias. He is, and I think that is unfortunately quite obvious. But it doesn't mean that Adele doesn't deserve her marks; that they're not a fair representation of her english abilities.

So from both sides I can see where everyone is coming from, but I can also see that it really isn't very fair to take it out on Adele. There wasn't really anything we could do about it, or anything she could do about it.

It's usually the spreading of something, the fear of the fear, things like that, that makes things worse. It's like the spreading of these rumours, these words, these statements that you don't mean to make feel people bad, but sometimes it happens anyway. And I know that nobody in our class would ever purposely say something to make someone feel bad.

I also know that perhaps I'm not the right person to say this, because I sometimes say things unconciously that just come out wrong and hurt people. I think what I'm really saying is that... to all those who feel angered and cheated about their LA marks, or who feel that Adele's marks are pushed up by Paul Tan, I acknowledge and I understand what makes you feel that way, and I would feel that way too in that situation! But maybe, just try not to judge people so quickly, or make blatant assumptions. Don't attack the wrong people. ATTACK THE TEACHER!! haha ok just kidding.

Honestly, though? The way a bad feeling spreads is when people don't stop it, and we make it bigger ourselves. And it unravels and just gains speed, like a snowball rolling down a hill. It can be the size of a coin when it starts out, but the size of a car when it ends (though that would have to be a rather large hill). And most of the time, it spreads until it becomes an angry feeling based on nothing but anger and it's illogical! Maybe I'm writing out of poitnnow... but I just really hope that this ends here. All this doubt, this mistrust, this anger, this resentment, everything that could cause us to split apart.

--
Maybe I've never told anyone this, but for once in my life, when I came to this class I finally felt that I belonged. I love everyone of you out there, for turning me into a better person (so cliche, but honestly, there's a reason why they are cliche), but for making my life... something that I don't wanna run away from anymore.

I hate the way the exams have turned me into this selfish, self-absorbed person. I would hate it even more, if it turned any one of you into one of those people of which the world is already saturated with.

It's a mark. Seriously. It's one mark (ok I'll concede maybe more) but still. It's a number on the paper, a digit on the computer screen. Which I know is a lot today, in our lives, in our society, but who says we have to follow the way society thinks?

It's just not worth it.

Over a tiny, 1 mm tall, red line.

2007-06-07T03:12:00.000-07:00

Back to the oppressive country.

Honestly, I'm getting a bit tired of all this dampening down on free speech- can't say politically incorrect things in case you upset well you know who... B_G BR_TH_R and get thrown into jail.

Most of time we don't really realise that we can't say or do what we want... and I mean come on! They're actually voluntarily banning websites now. With that really crappy safesurf or something. Talk about control!

That's all for now.

2007-05-16T08:24:00.000-07:00

School.

Sucks.

And if I stay on any longer,

I will go mad.

Period.

Fucking, barking, crazy.

2007-04-21T07:50:00.000-07:00

Guilt is the mother of all emotions. Negative emotions, that is, although I'm not too sure you can classify and define emotions as being bad or good. I mean, that is the nature of emotions, they bring you down, they lift you up, sending you spinning on another one of those crazy, inane, roller-coaster rides, where at the end you realise how stupid and pathetically wasteful that whole twisty-turny ride was.

Problem is, you just hop right onto the next one.

Sometimes I wish there was some sort of plug- or actually, scratch that. I wish we were just sinks with an open drain- everything falls right through.

Then again, emotions are the prime, the zenith of our lives. Why do anything, without sorrow, or fear, or that nagging worry, or the boastful pride, or the bubbling glee?

It all depends how you look at things right?

Unfortunately, not so easy.

2007-04-20T06:05:00.000-07:00

Guess I'm ending my blogging drought.

For this time, at least.

It's nice to know, you know, that you're a failure. Even though it's not meant, and even though it's to encourage you (which I am thankful for, don't get me wrong)- you really feel like shit.

It's also nice to know that that means you can never fail again. Which, loosely translated, means this: I can't fail this history test, or the following bio test, or the math test or the chinese exam or my chem sia or my bio sia or my damned SRQ or my IH test (bit late, probably did) or my IH assignment or my math sia or my math ws or

Well. That really put things into perspective. That's a lot of things where I can vrey easily fail in.

No, scratch that. I can't fail, but I also can't just pass.

Whoop, I'm sounding all emo. ANd I hate people who sound emo. Ok not hate, just don't like it. You know it's like sucking a lemon or whatever funny analogies people come up wiht.

Course, what makes it all worse you know, is the fact that this should not be my main worry. That I really shouldn't be nutting over this but instead...

Well, you know.

Which reminds me I really have to stop saying, you know, 'you know'.

haha.

I think I may just have cheered myself up slightly, up a notch, up a ______. (Hey you know, like mad libs.)

It's all about balancing it, right?

Which just for the record? I have no idea how to do.

But skip that first, and really (quite honestly without all the usual sarcasm laced through my cutting speech that sprouts out of my evil spawn me (no that wasn't sarcasm either hey look a bracket in a bracket which reminds me of math but also of that in a frame thing which reminds me that idiot who wrote the curse of lang is really annoying cos he's so confusing which means its ironic because he's smart. Geddit? I don't.)) jia you everyone!
frame
It's going to be a rough week, but hey I think we just might live. :D

Just might squeeze it through.

2007-02-15T06:54:00.000-08:00

It's days like these when I feel like my life is falling to pieces...

Sorry I'm just a disappointment.

2007-01-05T22:11:00.000-08:00

I regret to announce that this is the END. I am going.

~Bilbo Baggins~

I think I've been abandoning this blog- partly because I don't feel like writing everything out anymore, or because I need to figure myself out first or because I'm too confused.

I might pop by once in awhile, but that would be very very rare. So, I'll be seeing you.

I just want to add a note in here- Dina, Yang Zi, Ying Ming, you all were brilliant. You guys rock. You're AWESOME. UWC was good too, but you gave them one heck of a challenge, point difference or no. In my book, you guys are the best speakers ever.

Since we probably won't get in the wild card, thanks for all the great training sessions. And Adele, Chan Yi, Cheronne and Noelle too. I can't believe it've over!

Thank you to all the supporters as well, especially NYDC!

Love you all.

~~ ~~

Take care, everybody.

2006-11-25T20:07:00.000-08:00

Mr Brown Show

2006-11-17T06:31:00.000-08:00

I was looking through the photos we took in Shanghai, seeing as we have to hand up a cd of the best photos and all.

Just thinking back... and I really have to stop writing in these funny broken sentences. But anyway. Seriously. Broken sentences. have. to. stop.

A tea plantation

Yes, yes, I'm getting all sentimental. Sniff sniff and I'm holding a piece of tissue in my hands. :P But hey! Thinking of the nigths makes me want to laugh- I mean looking back now, it's kinda amusing to see five crazy people running around in damp clothes and flip-flopping away in flip-flops to the hot-water dispenser with bei bei noodles and the icky icky sauce. And drinking enzymes, and then squishing five people in a room meant for 2 people - 2 people on the bed, 2 people on the floor and Huiqi by her lonesone on the other bed (with her handphone with the very loud alarm).

When we were there it felt like there was a segregation from everywhere else. Like we didn't have to worry about things at home, and how everyone was hanging in or whether they had begun killing each other or whether vulcans were circling overhead. Excuse the morbid metaphors.

We didn't really think about the homework we had to do, and the thought of studying didn't exactly cross my mind. Or training. Or other stuff.

I mean even though it was an immersion program, but it was fun. You don't ususally appreciate the things you miss until you miss them.

Hate the real world.

Or love it.

Whatever gets you through the day, right?

2006-11-11T02:02:00.000-08:00

Well, I'm back! And I know that this is kinda late, since technically I was back 3/4 days ago.

My writing has gone to absolute trash over these two weeks. But it was probably worth it. I know that before we went to Shanghai I really wasn't looking forward to it at all; ok, I was dreading it. But now that we're back, those two weeks just seem way too short. There are some memories that you just want to hold on to, and I guess Shanghai is one of them.

I'm not going to go into what we did in detail; we did too many things! But mostly we went sightseeing, and we studied in Fudan Fuzhong and we went to Hangzhou! TLE was probably the more exciting and ehhh fun activity.

It's interesting to see what people are like away from school. When we went back to school after we came back, it was just so awkward to see everyone in school uniforms. There are things you learn about people; that you never would have otherwise. Like this: I never knew that Huiqi is a clean freak; Liwen is a health freak; I'm a packing freak; Yichan and Maureen are closer to normal, but hey in life, who really is normal anyway?

Time is a difficult thing to understand. When we're there, we try to hold on to every moment, because one day it all ends. And when it does end, memories that you hold on to are never the same. Obviously. But it makes you wonder what life is about. Do you hold on to those memories or just live life that passes you by? Then what do you do?

Now, it's only been like 4 days, but it seems like yonks ago; like it was all a dream. I mean, now I look back and think of those two weeks, and all the crazy things that we did. Like Liwen's hua hua hua so fast! And her other quotes of the year, which I cannot remember!! And Yichan's obsession with that deoderent, and Maureen's slicck dance moves, and Huiqi's crazy obsession with WASHING. And mostly the nights, when we illegally played bridge (though *ahem* it wasn't quite unknown to the teachers) and went all high and crazy. It's difficult to describe in words. I think we played so much bridge I'm sick of it! And the last few days when we started all those games like fuzzy wuzzy and that incredibly annoying and dumb fly game! And the teachers like Ms Lena Teo and chai Lao shi. I never knew that Chai lao shi was so cute and amusing. ANd Ms Teo is really good-natured. ANd the TLE teachers Claudine and Kathleen. HAH! I remembered their names, for once! Even Paul Tan, who annoyingly joined us on the scavanger hunt but then treated us to lunch.

I think we carved out a number of goos memories, stored and locked in a secret safe at the back of my head to be taken out when I'm lonely. So I'd just like to say: thank you evreyone, especially Yichan, Liwen, Maureen and Huiqi for those memories.

2006-10-24T05:03:00.000-07:00

Time is a strange thing.

I can't believe that in two days, school will be over. It seems absolute ages ago when we first stepped into our new sec 3 classrooms, waiting nervously for our teachers to come in and introduce ourselves and wonder, what will this year be like?

But now it's almost over. I suppose it's been a pretty reasonable year. Depends how you see it, really. Same for all things, isn't it? As long as you want it to be a good day, it will be.

The end is always sad. Because you know that all the good times that you've had (like OBS), won't ever come back again. And you might never be so close to the same people again. Or sometimes, you might almost certainly never see someone again. LIke Madam Mak, who's leaving to go to Hong Kong. She's been a great principal.

I suppose that overall, it's that feeling of loss and sentimentality. Some experiences that we've been through, together all alone, that have moulded us into who we are now, and create our thoughts; will never be ever again.

Like yesterday's Arena first round. They kept us waitng for like another one hour, and we were freaking out in that room!! WE just kept repeating our speeches and giving each other POIs. And wearing the blazer makes you feel kinda cool. Though I slipped like two or three times wearing those court shoes. But still, when it came down to the cut of it, the part that we'd all been anxiously waiting for, it was over really fast. Yes, we were nervous. But somehow we got through, and that was the coolest part.

It's like everything else. You wait and nibble on your fingernails, just for that one single moment. And whent that moment finally comes, it's over so quickly. But then you realise that it's not the moment that counts, but the time spent waiting anxiously, fretting nervously, that really makes you who you are.

I'd like to thank everyone for shaping me and shaping my memories. It may be true that we all are, in fact, alone in the world, but most of the time, we're not. So thank you, for just being you.

Oh, and happy holidays!

Free hugs

2006-10-13T07:23:00.000-07:00

Watch this. It's beautiful.

I guess it's at times like this when you realise how truly hopeful life can be, and how miniscule and unimportant other things are. There are some things that cannot be said with words, nor written with the flair and beauty.

Sometimes we get too preoccupied with our lives and rush on like racecarts oblivious to the plants and the people and world, spinning on and hurtling on- nowhere really, we just like to feel ourselves ahead of others, to see the other stutter and lag behind. And after awhile, we lose sight of ourselves, and our purpose and the beauty that adorns the world with hope and love and faith that glimmer like diamonds against a setting sun.

And after awhile, we are simply set on autopilot, doing the things that we have been doing for the past years, because we felt we had to, because everyone else was, because if we did not we would not survive. We rush on, shrouded by the mist that engulfs us and clouds our view.

Sometimes we get too tainted and suaded by soceity and what it expects of us. Money, fame, a good degree from a top university, popularity, a high paying job, a house adorned with asturns of all sorts and paintings. The pressure is on, even when you're barely 6, there are expectations that drive us off course; that force us to be someone that we were not meant to be.

There are some things that we cannot dictate in our lives. We cannot say, for example, how lucky we will be during an exam, or how leniently our teachers will mark, or how nice our bosses will be, or how many bonuses will get.

We can dictate, however, how successful we will be in terms of work. There are those who go out of their way to please and brown nose those that stand on high pedestrials: the CEOs, the big bosses. They are the ones who win all the big salaries, who earn the high pay, who buy the big cars, who flaunt their wealth with their branded goods and glittering jewelry that hand off them like ornaments on a Christmas tree. They are also the ones who look like they have the most, but who have nothing. Because after awhile, no amount of money or materials can fill the void in your heart; because money does nothing. You buy a car, the pride of your life; you flaunt it around for awhile, but after sometime you realise that hey! other people have that car too, and after awhile, they get used to you having that sleek metal body.

Sometimes it's good if, in the midst of all the work, we just stop and try to love.

My friends who sent me this added a P.S:

Watch this if you have a spare moment...And if anyone asks, we started the Singapore "Free Hugs" movement in ACS International. :D

So worth the 3.39 mins: :D

Free Hugs Campaign. Inspiring Story! (music by sick puppies)

2006-10-11T00:12:00.000-07:00

Just to reiterate what everyone has been saying...

IT'S OVER!!

O-V-E-R-O-V-E-R-O-V-E-R-O-V-E-R-O-V-E-R-O-V-E-R-O-V-E-R-O-V-E-R!!!!

That looks like rover.

It's so strange to wake up and not have to study, and count the number of hours you have left to study, and how much you can stick in in that extra minute; and look at a nugget and not think white blood cell; and cut yourself on a door and look at the blood and ponder about the blood plasma and what it contains; or put on your shoe and think how Stalin's reign had no chance for consumer goods or about the American boom and bust; or lie in bed unable to sleep and think that the way to sleep is X=....

It just feels so GOOD.

WHEE:D

2006-09-11T07:30:00.000-07:00

It's strange what the date above this line does to us.

It's also strange to think that 5 whole years, 65 months, 261 weeks, 1825 days, 43800 hours, 2628000 minutes have passed since the only septmber 11 that will have the full impact on our lives.

Somehow the sentimentility of this day is lost among the charred remains of the north and south towers that were downed five years ago. You cannot recapture the shock and sorrow even by the videos of the crashing planes, or the pictures of the towers, crumbling and achingly rumbling to the ground.You cannot recapture the strength or courage of the NYC fireman in a coloured photograph that hangs on a mantelpiece, sorry, 300+ mantelpieces, tables, walls, doors -- in a still life protected by a clear piece of glass. You cannot capture the impact of the attacks simply by replaying in your head what happened.

No, sorry, let me rephrase, we can't. Not us, who didn't witness four planes crashing to their ends, nor glimsped through the thick glass windows the helpless faces of everyday, normal people like you and me trapped and following, hopelessly, the towers to their slow grind towards death, nor the crunching sound of bones as some tried heaving themselves off the builidings.

But maybe New Yorkers will remember it forever, smell forever in the air the burning fumes of billowing smoke, scorching remains of buildings, and the ashes of grief stank in the air.

But even in far away small red dot on the map, we were impacted. Though this is not about Singaporeans, this is not the time for Singaporeans to, as always, print the name of this country in every national event. But this is to show how large, how significant it was.

And also how life goes on.

In other countries I cannot comment, but here, we sure moved on pretty quick, didn't we? You know, the next day we just concentrated on school work and exams. And then for another five years, we did the same, oblivious to what can be termed 'real sorrow', in a way. Our 'real sorrow' is the failure of exams.

And today? I know I don't listen to announcements, but I sure noticed that while they seemed so eager to prep us on our attires, keeping our image immaculate and impressive, there wasn't a word about 9/11. Not a minute's silence like they held in New York at 9.30 am. No, it was mostly about the image. Because it's always about the image.

But I don't feel like complaining again, like I always do.

Today is, after all, september 11.

And it should get the mourning it deserves.

2006-08-27T07:32:00.000-07:00

Two posts in one day. What a surprise! But let's get straight into things.

I was reading Jiamin's blog about 5-10 minutes ago, and she said (I quote) 'you know; i never really learned. it's time i do..'

I thought I had learnt. I thought that all that had happened in the beginning of this year was enough to let me know that there was more to life than marks and studying. That there were so many people out there who were dying, sick, alone, and not because they were failing their exams and their parents were disappointed and unreasonable. And that we could and should help them, love them and everyone around us all.

But then I realise that I never really did anything. Sure, I thought about it, I knew it was the right thing to do, but then something came up at school and I never got round to it. And in the six or seven months that has passed since I really understood (or though that I did), the pressure and stress of school and marks and studying has infiltrated and morphed me into someone that I hate -- the very people, really, that I know are heading down the wrong path.

And now with the exams 33 days away, our every fibre and energy is being pressed and ironed into studying and revising.

We always count the months, the weeks, the days, the hours, the minutes that we have left to study. But we never count the months, the weeks, the days, the hours, the minutes, the seconds that other people have left to live, or how many minutes or seconds they even feel loved and safe in this world.

So perhaps it's time I started to learn as well.

Perhaps it's time for all of us to learn.

2006-08-27T02:25:00.000-07:00

I haven't blogged for so long that the auto link for blogger.com when I type b-l-o... has disappeared.

But seriously, was it that long? Because it seems long, yet when you look at the date it wasn't that long ago -- only a couple of weeks.

Which is a long time as any. Considering that we now have 4 weeks left to the EOYs. A daunting figure if any. Though why the first mention of exams haunt us and leave us quaking and shivering in our shoes, and crazily emotionally attached to the ground escapes me.

All I know is, exams are important. Fail them like I do my tests, and you're one screwed kid, buddy!

The concept of time, when it comes to exams, also eludes me. It seems that you want nothing more than the exams to be over and nothing more than a speckle of dust that we've flown by, but at the same time you want time to crawl by like a snail with a two sizes too large shell so you can study.

And for every second and minute spent worrying over and stressing over that one exam a year, you just do it all again the next year. And that next year the last exam where you were also sweating and streaming and crying over is nothing more than a dot in that crowded brain of yours that must be eliminated so you can cram that one more dot of Stalin's reign or redox or heart structure into it.

And now I need to stop writing because I need to study and sweat and stress over my exams.

2006-08-10T04:09:00.001-07:00

Put your wallet, keys and passport in a plastic bag, and you can board the plane.

If you have no idea what I'mtalking about now, go watch BBC.

Perhaps I really should have started with this.

'What the fuck is going on in this world???'

If you are currently still befuddled by what I am talking about, allow me to let you in.

Terrorism, this rising threat that the world faces now. The new and supposedly hopeful twenty-first century, brimming with the new concept of the world as a Global Village, loaded with the current advances of technology, and the knowledge dug out deep from centuries ago, has fallen flat with an embarressing 'plop', right back into the sinkholes that it belongs.

One often expects, that when a new century rises from the shrouds of the old one, in this case the twentieth century, that the next hundred years would see an improvement from the previous one. Even more so for the millenium, of which humans have only, to date, witnessed three. The next thousand years, would be the band aid, the medicine, to forget all that had happened in the last violent millenium, and especially the horrors of the past hundred years.

Such hopes were dashed nine months and eleven days from the day the new millenium was born. With the violent and shocking 911 attacks on America (I hardly need remind you), one could safely say that this new millenium has charted its course for being a dismal flop.

In the past five years, roughly the same timespan as the world wars that we were assaulted with in the last hundred years (less even), we have faced numerous terrorist attacks, and the rise of several prominent groups that threaten the very foundations of human morality.

And once you think it has stopped, that they have slowed down, especially with the death of Al Zarqawi, we have once more been proven wrong. This goes to show, that they will never stop going. In fact the deaths of Saddam's sons and the capture of this illustrious demon have fueled their desire and passion to, simply put, kill more people.

If you think they're done, think again.

A massive scale attack, larger so than the 911 attacks (how could one even think it possible!), terrorism has once more reared its ugly face. Today, it has been announced that there have been plans to bomb nine US planes leaving UK, through some sort of liquid bombs. All over the UK airports, there have been great delays, and passengers are only allowed to take on board as hand luggage, their keys, wallets and passports in plastic bags given to them. 21 arrests have been made so far, but how exactly does one know whether all have been caught.

They're like ants, these terrorists. Kill one, and another one comes in to take its place.

Really though, the blame falls on Hitler, our dear fuhrer.

Truly, it was he who brought out the worst of mankind. What truly disinguishes the World War II as the most horrific war, is not only the fact that total extermination of a single race was begun, but that mankind failed its test in humanity.

Yes, there was the significant but small number of people who retained that morality of human beings that seperates us from non-living things, those who resisted. But the fact of the matter remains that most of the people in this world were completely ignorant, no, indifferent of the annihilation of 6 million people.

Such powers like the US, Britain and the Pope (the Pope!) ignored the pleas of those dying and burning alive in the crematoriums of the cruely constructed concentration camps.

Why does everyone hate Hitler? Asides from the obvious obvious reasons, there is another obvious reason. It was he who was the lock to the drawer that kept shut the devil. It was he who showed that human beings are cruel. It was he, but really, through us, that killed humanity.

Adele said that World War 3 would be the last war on Earth. We would annihilate ourselves with nuclear bombs.

I do agree, and add on to that fact that it would probably, sadly, horribly, with a twisted fate, be between religions.

Another ironic fact, in the way that it will be technology, that was our blessing, that will probably be our undoing.

Or who knows, truly, perhaps with a vicious and merciless hand we would continue to erase little snippets of human life here and there, and when world war 3 finally comes, it would finally annihilate the tiny, pathetic, countable human beings that remain.

Goodbye, cruel cruel world.

2006-08-09T08:38:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you look back at the times you had before, when you were little kiddies running around on the playground, swinging high and low on the swings, so proud when you swung high.

And then you look at yourself now, and you think, 'What the heck happened to us?'

So suave now, so slim, so muscular, so cool, so grown up, just like the teenagers you wanted to be. But now that I'm here, I just want to go back.

Now we're speeding in our race cars, screaming and screeching as we round a corner.

I liked it better when we were puttering about in our little toy cars, pretending to be driving.

Sundays and holidays used to be the times when we hung out together, kayaked, played football, played computer games, watched movies, had fun. Those were the days that we looked forward to, and loved with all our hearts. Sitting in the backseat of the car, in the darkness, drowsy, tired and blissful.

Now sundays and holidays are the days when we study the hardest, finish all our homework, study some more, stress a little touch more, and at night, lie in bed in the darkness, melancholy and dreading the next week when the same cycle runs its course once more. Where in a week's time you would be doing the same thing, willing yourself to sleep so you could concentrate the next day at school.

Last time we yelled and ran about, chasing each other, screaming, fidgeting anxiously while our mothers wiped the muck off our clothes, wanting to go back to play.

Now we stand with our mothers, with the adults, with the small talk.

In those days there was no seperation between boys and girls, it was the same old laughing gang, watching the same show, playing the same game, acting the same play, talking the same talk, having the same fun.

Now when girls and boys are together, there is talk among the gossiping onlookers. There is a taunt tension that hangs between us all. The girls are at one side, talking. The boys are at the other end, acting cool.

Last time I looked forward to the next day.

Now I look back wistfully over my shoulder, for the days that have gone past.

Then our parents didn't shout so much, not at each other, not at us. Nagged some, but not so much. Then we were united in one way, against the parents, we talked to one another, let each other in.

Now all we hear everyday are the yells of our parents, at each other, at us. Now we are are a dishevled bunch, stragglers that face each new day feeling alone and lost.

We were ignorant.

Blissfully so.

Then we were dragged out on long, boring, shopping trips, whining 'Can we go home now?'

Now we are dragged out on long, boring, tiring, stressful, meaningless lives.

Can we go home now?

2006-08-01T07:48:00.000-07:00

This

Blog

Is

Dying

.

.

.

Bleaugh. I'm drawing blanks here.

I'm tired. And really bad. And feel guilty. Though I have no idea why.

But I don't want this to become one of those angsty posts; one of those angsty blogs that the Straits Times thinks are the only kind of blogs that teenagers can write.

Plus, I've done enough whinging for today.

HuiQi, Aileen, Florence, Mellissa, Melissa, Yi Chan, Yu Qin and Chai Ping thanks for listening to me whinge and for lifting my spirits up yesterday.

And everyone else.

I suppose everyone is feeling pretty low at the moment. In 307 anyway. Probably in other classes as well. In dear ol' Nanyang.

That is a pretty difficult feeling to avoid at the moment -- 4 tests a week and a bunch of SIAs to hand up in the same week, truly if you can laugh and dance and sing and live without feeling the tiniest bit of stress you must be a) failing everything and really not caring (impossible in today's world) or b) you don't exist.

But still, you can be dragged down to the arena and torn apart by raging horses and beaten, whipped, then chased around by a dozen hungry, saliva dripping lions, but that's not the end. The emperor could decide that you are too valuable to human kind and let you live, or the lions could go dizzy with wild hunger and smash into the arena walls.

Do you believe in a eucatastrophe?

For every one thing that you have to do today (this could include homework, studying for tests, CCA, anything that stresses you out), there are two times more people who care about you and show it, if you allow yourself to see it.

For every two things that hook into your heart and never lets go, there are three times more people who have you in their heart and prayers.

For every three things that get you down, there are five times more people who love you, care for you, comfort you, support you and cheer you up.

And for everything that you do, you have God whose love is worth more than all your worries and problems multiplied together and then multiplied to the power of 107823462734627846287346378264723 billion.

And out of these 2 times, 3 times, 5 times etc more people who love you, one of them is the person next to you right now; one of them is your sister/brother/mother/father; one of them is the person you sit next to in class; one of them is the person in your thoughts all the time; one of them is me; one of them is your best friend; one of them is someone you don't even know; and everyone else is everyone else you know.

Do the math.

2006-07-17T08:09:00.000-07:00

Everyday I remain in this world I feel more and more sick of myself.

In our lives, we meet all sorts of people sprouting crap-- about how success defines a person, about how marks are the end all and be all, about how studying is our number one priority, about how our image remaining as pristine and clear as ever is more than vital, about doing evreything they tell you otherwise you can't be promoted to the next level.

Like I said, lots of crap that pour out of rivets and springs that lie embedded in the rock face.

And everytime I sit at my desk I think how stupid this is, and about how we're wasting our time; our lives; our childhood.

You know something else I hate? Or rather, the number one thing that I hate?

The fact that everything we do is for marks. Even the things like community service. They make it seem that you have to do it, otherwise you won't get bronze for NYAA and go to the school across the road. They make it so that it becomes a chore, an extra burden in your already 100000-tonned schoolbag. They make it sound like you have to find a community service, and fit it around your hectic schedule.

Well now I see something in clearity, much more than before. And I have one thing to say, whether it offends or not.

What the fuck are we doing?

Elie Wiesel demonstrates and dictates to us so clearly the horror of concentration camps. How he watched his father die before him, and was almost glad for his death, to ease his burden in the camps. He narrates how he saw a son abandon his father.

Has HItler made monsters of us all?

Of course he has. Not a single spark of humanity has been spared -- the nazis, his supporters, the victims, and worst of all, those indifferent.

The presidents, even the Pope, who could have destroyed and put an end to such suffering like a dam in a river.

Everyone else.

While6 million people were tortured, killed, exterminated, treated like animals, because animals, the world sat back and watched, pretending that it was just a horro flick, and that after 3 hours, it would end.

You would think that that was past.

Well, you'd be wrong.

We're doing the exact same thing now.

Ignoring those who are suffering, who are dying, who have skeletons for playmates and corpses for buddies.

But what makes this all worse?

We can't do anything about it.

We're soupposed to be the hope of the future.

We're a damn hell dead hope. Screwed up hope. Misplaced hope.

And unless we stand up, fight back and say something, nothing's going to change.

Holocast no #2.

Good job, Hitler.

I'm still selfish as ever. I know I should help, but how can I? How can I stem a flowing tide? But wait, even more importatntly, do I want to? Do I want to risk a 'good education'? A good life? Adults' and teachers' scorn? Rejection? Struck out as an outcast?

Because if I can't, and everyone else reading this can't, then you've just won, Fuhrer.

You swore to rid the Jews, a dirty race.

You've done more.

You've rid humanity.

2006-07-08T07:39:00.000-07:00

Life is a eucatastrophe.

For oft when we find ourselves submerged in depths of darkness and despair, of which we cannot even see the shadow of the light that shines above us; when we are at the very last of our wit's end, we find ourselves grasping on fearfully to that shred of hope and that is all that keeps us alive.

We may feel completely drowned in the darkness, in the sorrow, in the pain, the anguish, the fear, the despair. But there is no denying the fact that we do not simply let go of the thread that spares us from our fate.

We cling on, without knowing or understanding why, to that thred of hope.

We cannot comprehend why, when we are in such levels of despair, our heart cannot stop believing, cannot stop hoping, cannot stop our faith.

Some madness, we belive, has overcome us, and we can't help but hope.

What is it that keeps us going? The insane thought that we would one day crawl out of this abyss, battered and bruised, broken and chained, but yet feel the cool breeze cooling your aching body, and feel the gentle rays of the sun twinkle and dance in your eyes?

Or the good times that we had before, and hope to have again?

Life is not, I realise, about being happy all the time. That is just impossible. Even the happiest man in the world must have some moments of sadness; of grief. If we were to set an aim like that, all of our lives would be but an utter failure, the shadow of which is blood stained and matted with grime.

No, life is about the simple, single happy times that lift you up.

When you stand, at the top of a mountain, and stare down at the wonderous world that God created. You can see a shining spots of light that are sprinkled here and there in the sky. Down below a valley of inconcievable depth greats you and delights you with its mystery.

When you tube down a 300m slope, dizzy and exhilirated, spin on some insane ride, and run, laughing and yelling all the way, with your friends, home. Just when you think that life could not be any better, you witness, up close and personal, a spparkle of fireworks that crackle and sing along with you.

When you stand with your friends in school, in the classroom, at Orchard road, atyour house. And you can feel the laughter and joy reverbrating through yourself and the joy and love that radiates from every raptured face.

When you paddle about in a quarry now filled with water 30m deep, splashing your friends with the fresh water.

When you blast the music, and stand in the open and dance -- by yourself, with your friends, with your family.

Even the simple things, like when you watch an incredible movie, and you step out with your friends, stunned and touched.

When you laugh.

Sing.

Play.

Pray.

Throw off every cover of maturity and puberty and act like a five-year-old.

Make someone smile.

Love.

Stand together in a circle and dance.

That's hope.

2006-07-07T03:03:00.000-07:00

I have come to the conclusion that the school is a dictatorship.

Minus the fact, of course, that we do not worship the principal (though she is undoubtedly really nice), and we definetly do not worship certain *ahem* others.

There is no running away. No matter where we go, no matter what we do, it haunts us with every fibre of its being. You can no more escape from the shadowed vision of it than you can escape a tracker that is flowing through your blood. With every movement it mocks us, jeers us. With every thought it tugs on the back of that thought and huddles along, grinning at you menacingly with its ugly and vile teeth.

Even when you're supposed to be having fun, and you shouldn't be affected by the workload that if piled up will reach no less than the height of Mt Olympus. Take the holidays for example. It's supposed to be a great time -- a relaxing time when you dump your homework on the ground, jump on it and yell 'See you in a month!'

But no. Not here.

Here the holidays come, and we eagerly rush home to lounge and do whatever we please --instead we find a pile of homework waiting impatiently for us on the table. Even if we leave it alone and deign to touch it, everytime you turn on the Tele or open up a novel, it jumps at you in the face, haunting you with every step.

And that's just the holidays.

Why is the school term so crammed with homework? Say we take a board, and we paste big sheets of paper onto it, so that the entire face of the board, save the small tiny areas where the papers cannot reach, is covered. That would be enough, no?

NO. The teachers just cram more in, right into the tiny little spaces that could hardly be called a space, more like a dot. Many pieces of paper overlap, but they don't care. Better to be safe than sorry, they say.

Even now, as I'm typing this, I'm worrying about the math practices that I should be doing right now, but I can't find because my entire desk is strewn with files and papers and my drawer is spilling books.

And the thing that really gets me everytime, is the fact that the school is stealing out childhood. Every happy memory that we're supposed to have right now -- we don't even have time for that. We go to school and somehow get to recess. Then to lunch. Then, if we're lucky and don't have CCA, we go home to do homework. Eat some dinner, cram some more. Then we go to bed.

I'm so sick of this. I'm sure everyone is sick of this.

Isn't this supposed to be the time where we rest and relax, before the 'real world' hits us like an out of control lorry? Isn't this supposed to be the time when we go to school and our biggest worries are 'Am I having a bad hair day?'

What bullshit.

They say that they're preparing us for the real world, and yeah, I can understand that. But hey, ever heard of something called 'going mad before you reach 15 because some people decide that they want to run your life for you and give you so much work and stress so that you can't get through one hour a day without stressing?'

I'm so tired. And I'm sure everyone is tired too.

We memorise the test timetable like a handyman memorising his tools. We can't do anything about it, because at the end of the day, the teachers and principal and the school and the education board decide everything.

We cannot even find one day free in a school term, when we can relax and the worry of homework is not itching at you.

What happened to our childhood?

Time is precious to us because we're worried that we don't have anymore time to finish mugging, not because we're afraid that each minute is a mintue closer to our death.

Well, do your work and listen to the teachers and the adults (because they're always right), try to get the best marks because the teachers and adults tell you to (and they're always right), count the hours on your fingers and keep struggling through the marsh of work and stress because the teachers and adults tell you too (and they're always right), but now I have something to ask the teachers, and the adults, and the principals, and the school board.

Do you think that every single one of us here will be able to push upcurrent against the stress tide, and even make it to the age of, say, nineteen?

2006-07-01T21:12:00.000-07:00

I can't believe that England lost! So heartwrenching. So depressing. They played really well though, especially after ROoney was sent off; deserved to win. It was so sad and unfair!! At least they made all England fans proud.

Portugal are cheats.
I also can't believe that France beat Brazil!

And now both England and Australia are out.

Loving 'em both.

2006-06-29T16:02:00.000-07:00

Winter

With a rough and violent push, bitter winds burn through the thick layer of overlaying clouds and speeds down towards the harsh and cold solid ground that stands beneath a thick layer of hard packed snow.

I sit here behind the pane of glass, frosted now by the hail and the ice, cold to touch. With every breath of wind the glass quivers and whimpers, but shudders to a stop once more. But then, like an angry tiger in captivation, the wind hurtles against the bars of the cage furiously, seeking to bring down the barrier that blocks its way.

I shiver slightly as victorious tendrils of wind slip in, and wrap my hands tightly around a warm mug of hot chocolate. It's not the instant kind, but real, thick, foamy hot chocolate with little white melted bits of marshnellow floating here and there.

There is something intoxicating about the bitter wind that wages war with the hard and solid ground-- slamming down over and over again, winding through trees and shrubs that shiver nakedly in the cold. Yet no matter how hard the wind rages, no matter how many small particles of snow fly up in the sky, twirling and somersaulting in the air, the ground always wins. The particles of flying snow will settle back down. But the wind is infamous for its stubborness and pride-- it could never accept defeat. It strikes again and again at the unmoving ground, which remains calm and proud throughout.

The clouds of snow that billow up in the air gives me the feeling that I'm sitting four feet away from the battle of the bulge, the decisive battle in WWII. The bombs that the Germans hurl ceaselessly on the stolid Americans, impact on the hard-packed ice and sends tiny shards of ice spinning through the air.

I can hear them plink against the battered glass pane. I can see them glare menacingly at me from my vantage point. I can feel their anger, their desire to come crashing through the glass, to shatter the tired defence, and burst in with delirious fervour.

But I feel safe here, shielded, encased in this strong bubble. Strong as the lignin that makes a xylem strong, strong as diamonds that glitter, strong enough to protect me against the vicious wind. The fire giggles and dances merrily as I reach forward to add another log in the fire, glowing proudly in the gloom.

I set my steaming mug down on the table, and wander over to the frosted window. I rest my forehead on the cold glass, inches from the battlefield, shivering as the sting of the cold travels through me.

It's a crazy winter out there. The wind is bombarding the snow with vicious snarls. It pounds down angrily repeatedly, then rises up screeching and shrieking when the ground camly resists. Within the next second it's back again, confident and strong, certain that this time, it will be able to bring the ground down.

But I know, as I stand with my moist breath condensing on the glass, that all battles come to an end.

It has been hours since the war began. At its eleventh hour, the wind is beginning to sense its defeat. It is beginning to realise that the ground cannot be shaken, that the ground cannot be lifted up into the sky like a flying carpet.

You cannot thrust a sword into the water and expect the water to die.

Finally, with a defeated howl, the wind retreats, skulking back into the shadows, far up in the clouds, seeking to soothe its hurts.

As it retreats, with shame, it looses its hold on the particles of snow. They come tumbling down, tiredly, wearily, but relieved.

As the snow settles on the cold winter ground, I notice something.

Amid the harsh conditions, somewhere in a thick and hard pile of ice, there is a bud. It is small, and fragile in the cold. But it is strong. It is calmly and resolutely sticking out, pink against the white background. A tiny droplet of water glistens on the end of a closed petal, shimmering slightly.

It stands as tall as its small stalk can, proudly but humbly, turns to peer at me, and waves.

Above, the dark clouds rumble angrily, and the ice shivers disgustedly-- at this litte bud that has defeated them both.

2006-06-26T00:19:00.000-07:00

It's strange, this feeling. It's like being stuck. It's like missing something.

Maybe because the though of going to school, struggling through lessons and looking forward to going home will be monotonous. And that no matter what, there is no absolute end to all this work. That each day you come home for a reprieve, and 12 hours later you're back in the starch uniform and hitting the books again.

Or maybe it's because I know that I (simply put) suck at pretty much everything. So there doesn't seem to be much interest or hope in work because I'm just struggling and failing to keep up with everyone and everything.

Or maybe it's because I know that all this monotony and exhaustion and stress is really redundant. That in the first place we could be doing so many other important things that we could be doing but can't.

I feel so stifled and lost.

Trapped, in a steel box underwater.

Not only in school, but everywhere. In everything this society asks us to do.

I suppose you could say, in this country at least.

No matter how hard I try to be happy, something just pulls me down and depresses me.

Because of this trapped feeling I suppose.

I wonder how I'm going to get through school this year.

I think I'll crack before long.

2006-06-23T01:10:00.000-07:00

Someone has hijacked me.

I don't remember someone grabbing a penknife and sliding it a bare two millimetres away from my quivering throat. I don't recall seeing the shine of the blade glistening upward, flickering momentarily on the toilet door then skidding forward to rest on the terrorist's blank face. I seem unable to recollect the moment when the blade pressing against my clammy skin, and the cold, unfeeling sliver of metal nicked a cm2 of skin. I must have suffered a bout of amnesia when my head slammed down hard on the seat handle.

But I know, as I sit strangled by tight nylon strings that burn and jeered mockingly at my raw skin, that someone was taken control of me. That as I sit, gagged by a crusted rag stuffed into my mouth, someone is grasping the controls, and the tiny red and green lights that twinkle and blink like a blind man on the control board, are taking orders from someone that is not me.

And this terrorist is a bad pilot. He/she must not have planned this hijack down to its miniscule atom, unlike Osama and his motley crew. He/she must have skipped the flying lessons and gone straight to the 'let the controls go and aim plane downward 180 degrees'.

Bad job, old fellow. Osama would be bitterly disappointed.

I don't where I'm going with this.

Point to the camera and smile.

2006-06-18T07:55:00.000-07:00

Well.

That was an agnsty last post. Hey, I couldn't take it anymore.

I'm a teenager.

I have raging hormones.

But I meant everything I said.

Forget that.

I've bounced up again.

Ooh yeah. Australia vs Brazil is up next at midnight. That's in about an hour and five minutes time.

I'm currently very lost. I don't know whether I'm sad or happy or depressed or high or bored or excited or excited or dreading something.

Actually I don't feel much like a person right now. Just kind of ... human-y. Like sort of human but not quite so much. Like I'm not so sure if I'm actually sleeping and my life is a dream in my real life.

And I'm also pretty bored. There's nothing much to do, aside from work. For work, I wouldn't use the word 'boring' but let's not go into that. And the occasional football matches that I played this week. And I think I tore my ligament or something like that.

Hmm.

And I shot a couple of arrows today with my dad's friend.

And erm.

I... went to the bookshop once this holiday.

And, well let's see.

I vaugely remember having fun before when I was 1, 2, 3, 4, 5?

Well, ok that's exagerrating.

But seriously, there's nothing much to do on Earth is there?

Well, not for 14/15 year olds who spend most of their time studying and erm stuff like that. TV gets boring. Very boring.

There's reading I guess.

But yeah... that's about it.

Writing?

I can't believe I'm actually writing this.

It's strange, because I know there are so many other things that I can do, but I can't do. And I can't do them because... well actually I'm not quite so sure why at the moment. But there's a good reason. You see, boredom kills brain cells.

Ahh.

I know the problem. I'm unsatisfied with my life.

Oh come on! There are so many adverts for beauty and slimming centres, and for cars and banks and chairs and tables and computers and handphones and handphone lines. Why can't they step out of materialism and get some adverts on 'How to live your life fully' or 'A purposeful life 101'?

At the same time I don't really want anything new to happen. Because everytime something happens, it's always something bad.

Well, at least in about an hour I'm going to sneak into my parent's room and watch the match.

GO SOCCEROOS!

YEAH AUSTRALIA!!

If you're actually read up to here, you must be bored as I am.

Hi! Are you a resident of Planet Earth?

I'll stop ranting now.

2006-06-16T06:31:00.000-07:00

How to breakdown in five easy steps

1. Be born on Earth in the 20/21st century.

2. Live according to the way that society is living now, and follow/do everything that everyone else is doing.

3. Enrol yourself in a local school in Singapore, esp.a certain school where a certain dean has a certain fame.

4. Study and work to your upmost best; feel guilty when you relax; care only about the financial problems when a Tsunami hits and people die; care only about the bad things that will happen to you when someone else gets cancer.

5. Actually 4 and everything else fall under the first three catogeries. So make that 'How to breakdown in three easy steps.'

'A person is like a sponge -- he can only take so much in before he lets it all out.'

I'm this close to letting it all out. You know how close? The height of a coin.

One coin. Not two or three.

One bloody fcuking shiny metal thing that screws us all up.

I am so sick of this life. Yes, there are some moments that give a spring to your bounce, that light up your life, that rise your sunken heart.

Too bad this isn't one of these moments.

I am so sick of people not knowing who I am, and judging me. Telling me what to do. Telling me what I should be. Telling me what I should aim for. When they don't even know me. At all.

Sorry mates. I'm not your average kid. You may think that I am. I may seem like I am.

But I'm not.

I've got more problems than you think. More serious and more than your average kid out there.
I know I'm luckier than so many millions of people out there. So much more lucky.

But I really wish that I could be selfish, even though I know I shouldn't be. And I am selfish. I know that. After all, aren't we all? Selfish, I mean.

You know what it's like?It just screeches over you, keeling, spinning upward again, then hurtling down towards you. As it nears you it veers of course suddenly, but the high pitched screech, like running fingernails down a chalkboard, whistles over your head, whirls in through your ear, and ricochets around your head, drowning you. You think it's over, and your pounding heart slows down but then it returns. Deftly. It squashes you, squeezes you until you can't breathe. You're locked in a corner and everything is closing around you, with no way out.

That's what it's like.

And the worst thing, is that you know that everything you're doing now, everything that people are doing now, everything that everyone is doing now or wanting to do, is all wrong.

And you know that in your heart, you know someone many people don't seem to understand. That you're trying to tell them, and some, many sometimes, do understand, perhaps not as fully, but they still do. But they still can't do anything about it and neither can you.

Nothing. Can't do anything.

You know that all this work, all this sweating blood for success, for ambition, for money, for respect, is all wrong. That from age 3 you have to be sent to a school to be specially tutored, that when you're 6 the work begins. That once you reach secondary school, you're stuck. Stuck in sinking sand and your falling. Why? Because there's no longer any way out. You're trapped in a materialistic world, where people pound work after work after you, to prepare you for the real world (that's fine, except that the real world's pretty screwed), and every single day all you do is work and write and type and study, without quite knowing why. And that if you relax, you feel guilty. That this will be how you're going to live for the rest of your goddamn lives- working, seldom resting. The only chance for a reprieve is one or two short periods, then you begin again. There's no end to it. It just keeps going on and on until one day you either break down or you die. And the entire time all you're focused on is yourself, is doing better, is not letting anyone down.

All that is wrong.

I knowa 48 year old who has cancer. I know a 35 year old who has cancer. I know a couple of other 30 year olds who have cancer. I know a couple of 50 year olds who have cancer. I know a 34 year old who died of cancer. I know at least 10 people who have had strokes.

And I know, that once something like that happens, you know. You know that you only live once, and you know that you're going through so much pain, and you know that if you're going to die the next day you're not going to be happy because you haven't lived life to the fullest. You need people to love and care for you with 100% of their hearts. You also know that there are so many people going through the same pain, that went through the same pain, that are going to go through the same pain. And you know that they need people to love and care for them with 100% of their souls and bodies.

You also know that you and they are probably not going to get a lot of that in this world.

Know what else I know?

That that fact is never going to change. Not the way we're going right now. Because everyone is so damn self-centered and materialistic and fooled by this society that they themselves have created. And that even if someone close to you gets a serious, deadly, terminal illness no one will be fully able to help you. Because they're still concerned about themselves, and what your illness has done to affect their work.

And everytime you try to speak up, not only if you have an illness, but if you know this, you get quashed. Everything you say is denied. If it's not denied, then a perfect explanation or excuse comes in place of it. Whatever happens, you still get scolded and punished and disrespected and laughed at and mocked at and jeered at. Just because you're trying to have a heart.

The common excuse (for me, only known in school, because I haven't exactly a boss to talk to. The closet we get to superiority is our teachers and principal) is that it's for our future lives. For us to survive in the real world. The real world is cruel and hard, they say.

Yeah, it's hard and cruel. Ever thought of changing that fact? By being a real person from the start?

But then again I suppose their right. There isn't much hope for us, is there? That no matter how hard we try, too many of us already see the world and her inhabitants as the perfect place and the perfect people to flaunt our power.

So I guess we may just as well continue our march to death.

2006-06-15T19:05:00.000-07:00

England 2-0 Trinidad and Tobago

HAHA YES WE WON! WE'RE IN! TO THE QUARTER FINALS!!

AND ROONEY PLAYED!

Germany's in too.

And Ecuador.

Ecuador's goood.

YEAH.

2006-06-14T08:11:00.000-07:00

I found a picture.

I found a picture: an old photograph. As much as a decade before can be considered 'old'.

I found a picture; an old photograph, laced with laughter and joy, coloured by a child's innocence, and printed with friendship. It was crisp and fresh, packed neatly into its place in the photo album, held down tightly and straightly by a thin sheet of plastic that clung on to the album. As I gingerly fingered it and slid it out of its holder, I found that it was yellowing with neglet, dog eared by loneliness and fading with distance.

I searched around the other photo albums, searching keenly for one that held even the slightest hint and resemblance of its 'before' state, a few days after the actual incident where the photo was taken, when it slid out of the printer, ink gleaming freshly.

I found none.

I did find, however, that despite the sheet of plastic that locks the photo in place, some things slip through; diffuse through that thin membrane.

I found that no matter how tightly we gripped onto those photos, to those times, all we really find tightly clenched in our fists is the bitter reality that no matter the technology, from black and white prints to coloured photographs to digital pictures, it cannot capture those moments at all accurately. That those days had gone forever, all the only semblance of them were small 4 by 6 pieces of glistening paper, cold and hard; and the thin wisps of memory that our brains clung onto. That everything else, the joy and the laughter, the pain and the sorrow, the love and the frienship, had faded beyond our vision. That no matter how hard we tried, we could not step on that picture and slip into that second, that minute, that hour, that day ten years ago. That now, everything was different; everyone was different.

We hold in our hearts, a longing for those days to come back again. For those days to reappear now, and to live those days whenever we wished to; whenever an aching for those moments to happen again strike us fully.

The closest we can get to transporting back a decade, is by the flappy, rectangular pieces of paper that we call photographs. But that, in reality, moves us back in time as much as we can hold on to a wisp of smoke, that, as I type, is already floating up to the Heavens.

Sometimes I flash back and remember New Year dinners, where our parents ate dinner and afterwards sat around and talked and laughed. They took a long time. Long to us, in any case, we the children to whom eight was bedtime, nine was the time barely reached, ten pm the time that seemed far off and distant, eleven an illusion, flambouyantly and proudly announced that we had actually stayed up until midnight, and 1 am to 5 am was something that the adults just made up.

We, in contrast, scrambled the food into our mouths, sitting out on the deck with little chairs and tables pushed together so we could all sit together. We chose chairs and cups, and those chairs and cups remained 'our own' every single time. Our cups and plates were plastic; even to hold a porcelain or glass plate was a dangerous moment. Would we drop it? Would we make it to the table safely? Between each course, we would either run off to watch TV or play computer games. It would have been incomplete without our jostling and giggling and laughter. After our dinner (the parents were still at their second course) we would disperse into two groups -- the boys playing computer games, and the girls pulling out barbie dolls, both groups two feet away from one another.

On occasions, we would put up plays or launch missions for and on the adults, headed by our most vivacous and bubbling with leadership skills friend. He was also the oldest, two years older than me. He was the oldest only by a few months, because my sister and two other friends were but a couple of months younger. Next came a boy one year younger, and me and two other boys two years younger. Two or three boys were a year and two younger respectively. Same group, with one or two variations, for eight or so years.

I remember sneaking around, holding poppers in our hands, stuffed into our pockets, as many as we could carry, hiding behind walls in pitch darkness. The hushed whispers and giggles and the sudden 'Where are you?'s, 'Where are we's, 'What should we do next?'s, 'Ready? On the count of 3's that popped up in the darkness. Our hearts pounding traitorously as we leaned against the wall, trying to avoid detection from the unsuspecting adults. The triumphant yells and dives toward the adults, now snuggled in the living rooms, pulling out our swords (ice cream sticks and cardboard strips), detonating our grenades (those strange packet things which fizzle and explode when squeezed), wearing our magnificant Arthurian capes (blankets) and yelling and undulating like Red Indians.

I remember the hysterical laughter when we tried desperately to act our plays, the adrenaline (though of courseI did not know it was called that) as we practised over and over again -- forgetting our 'lines', bumping into one another, in short, making a mess of everything.

As we grew older we became smarter. We used torches for spotlights, and bribed the adults into putting on a play for us as payment of our play. Our original props (dolls and toys and the like) expanded into things that we had quickly crafted an hour or so before -- boxes made out of ice-cream sticks, tissue paper messily glued with cotton wool as snow. We used music, and 'special efforts' courtesy of Mr. Bean (videos from various episodes that we showed briefly).

Then we grew up.

One family moved away, most of us broke apart as secondary school streamlined in, pushing and cracking through. Some of us remained close enough, but we were too old and wise for childish games. Dinners became solemn affairs, no seperate tables diffrentiating children and adults, mature and grown-up teenagers sitting at the table laughing and cracking adult jokes.' We no longer played games together, put on plays, bribed the adults, played war games or marvelled over the latest barbie whose legs could bend. That was, after all, childish affairs, and too immature for out experiences minds. We turned to mature subjects -- homework, teachers, juicy gossip.

In short, we grew up.

Slipping my pinky into a wishbone (from dinner's chicken), the sauce washed off, I make a wish. I shouldn't really. I don't believe in wishes anymore, after all.

But a thought slips into my head and finds its way onto the tip of my tongue, and I wish anyway.

I wish, silently of course, that we hadn't.

Hadn't grown up.

2006-06-10T08:17:00.000-07:00

Note: It would probably be best to skip this post and carry on down two posts or something like that. :D

(Gamarra Carlos 4' OG) England 1-0 Paraguay

OG.

Own goal.

England didn't play too well. We won though. Somehow. But if we play like that against Brazil or Germany etc, we'll be thrashed.

The referee was somewhat biased too. Against Crouch especially.

Anyway.

I think I know why England didn't play well, and haven't been playing well. The players play air balls, therefore the pace becomes slower and England lose control of the game. Because, obviously, it's harder to control the ball if it's in the air most of the time!

Compared with Germany yesterday, England's pace was much much slower. If they do more 0ne-twos instead of swinging the ball sideways to the player, like Downing to Beckham, hardly moving forward, then most chances will come from shots outside or at the edge of the penalty box, like Lampard's. Obviously, it's harder to score from there.

Also we kept kicking the ball around and around in circles, instead of finding gaps in the defence. So the ball moves sideways, backwards, and slowly inches forwards.

But hey, I'm probably all wrong:D Just frustrated with England's match today! So actually it would be better if anyone crazy enough to read this ignore this whole section... just my ticked off impression of how we played today. :D

2006-06-09T06:01:00.000-07:00

Enter the Fifa World Cup Finals 2006, Germany.

It's begun!! :D

2006-06-09T04:10:00.000-07:00

Germany 4-2 Costa Rica Poland 0-2 Ecuador

There is a garden in every childhood, an enchanted place where colors are brighter, the air softer, and the morning more fragrant than ever again. ~Elizabeth Lawrence

If I had three wishes from a genie that I read about in Aladdin when I was a child, curled up comfortably in my cushioned chair, snuggling a teddy bear (hey that ryhmes!), I know what one wish would be.

I would wish that I was that child again.

I would wish that I could sink back into my fluffy bed with a sticky fist grasping a tooth-rotter and a picture book in my other hand. And I would lick my lolli and clumsily plop upsidedown on the bed, my feet jiggling above my tweety-bird pillow and 'The Lion King' propped up at the end of the bed. Then I would stretch languidly out with the rays of the sun gently caressing my toes and I don't worry about the ultraviolet rays giving me skin cancer. It's 10 am on a Sunday and I'm not worrying about not studying for my chemistry/biology/etc. tests that I have the next day or the next week. My father is in the midst of settling his income tax but I don't know about that, neither do I care how much money I have in my little green piggy that sits on my bedside table, because I get as much amusement and delight with finding a $1000 bill as I do finding my barbie doll which I mistakenly dropped behind my bed.

They say that 'ignorance is bliss'.

Who's they? Who are the people who shape what we should do, how we should live, what we should wear, what we should eat, what sort of house we should live in, who we should be?

If I was that ignorant child again, I would not even begin to think about it.

But really? What I miss most about being a child, is the simplicity of life. Maybe our parents were concerned over many things; over their work, over electricity bills, over health, but in the midst of this, my main concern was my teddy bear's eye popping out. We had no qualms about what our future held for us; what we should be when we grew up; what sort of income we would earn in years to come. The furthest we saw into the future was that night, and how many minutes more we could earn before being chased off to bed.

No excessive worrying about the day that was to come, nor about the day that had just passed. No fretting about marks that we could score in the coming exam, or marks that we could have scored in yesterday's chemistry test.

Just the toy, your friends and you.

When we were kids, midnight feasts (during sleepovers) were really at midnight. Midnight seemed far away, a 'grown-up' hour; the bewitching hour as mentioned in the BFG. Once a year, we stayed up until midnight, to lay out the red carpet for the new year, and we were so proud of it. Not like now, when midnight is the hour that we finally pack our books away, or just begin to struggle through countless sums of trigonometry. Not like now, when our 'midnight' feasts are at three o'clock, and are eaten while watching a movie; half distractedly, as a snack. When we were six, midnight feasts was the jewel in the crown; the magical hour, where we would hide food under the bed, and hope that our parents would not discover them. At midnight, when the alarm clock rang, we would excitedly pull out the snacks and sit in a circle to bicker over who had snatched the biggest chip. All this, while we were in trepedition, afraid that our hushed cries would wake the parents. When we were done, we would snuggle into bed (squashed), the one time we forgot to brush our teeth - a crime in those days.

Now, though the years that have passed can be counted on our fingers, we've changed. Our entire lives have spun around like the Earth in a frenzy.

Now, we worry about things that our child-like selves saw to be stupid, a waste of time, and downright amusing. After all, who cares about work when there were toys to be played with?

Yet the ironic thing is that we see children who run around screaming and yodelling as noisy, immature babies who don't know any better.

But now I'm thinking, who's more immature? Us, or them? George Bush or Baby Bounty?

2006-06-08T01:49:00.000-07:00

Caution: Entire post is about the World Cup, Non-England/Non-world cup watchers will be bored. :D My apologies.

The England World Cup squad stands thus:

Goalkeepers: Paul Robinson (1), David James (13), Scott Carson (22)

Defenders: Gary Neville (2), Ashley Cole (3), Rio Ferdinand (5), John Terry (6), Sol Campbell (12), Wayne Bridge (14), Jamie Carragher (15)

Midfielders: Steven Gerrard (4), David Beckham (7), Frank Lampard (8), Joe Cole (11), Owen Hargreaves (12), Jermaine Jenas (17), Michael Carrick (18), Aaron Lennon (19), Stewart Downing (20)

Forwards: Wayne Rooney (9), Michael Owen (10), Peter Crouch (21), Theo Walcott (23)

I personally support England (duh). If you don't know that by now... well. hehe. However, I think that the countries that will be in top four this year will be Brazil, Argentina, Germany and Japan. France, Italy and Spain are obvious strong contenders as well, but I think that they're past history. The pace that they play at isn't fast enough for them to beat the other teams, and they lack that extra bounce. They have good players, and play well together, but to me, they lack that finishing touch. For example, France may have topped their group in the Qualifying rounds, but they only won 5 out of 10 games, 2 points above Switzerland. They didn't lose any matches, but they drew half! Italy did well too, seven out of ten matches won. But then again their group wasn't exceptionally difficult, and looking at the scores, they only won by one,occasionally two goal differences. Spain clinched second place in group standings, two points behind Serbia & Montengero.

The 'new' teams, countries that have not qualified for some time, may be new sparks, but I'm doubtful they'll get past the quater finals. Australia may have a good chance, but the thing that these countries lack is experience in playing with countries like Brazil and England. The pace is different. But hey, you never know!

England, although has a team of superb, world class players, probably won't win. Their case, the way I see it, is that they have that extra skill, but they don't always finish well. They play at an awesome pace, but sometimes they get all these chances and can't deliver. Also, most players are from the EPL, and their style of play is very similiar. I think. Depends on the managing, I suppose. If they can find a balance for all kinds of play, they'll probably do well. Eriksson didn't do so in the qualifying rounds though, but the last two friendly matches were well played, so we'll see! Midfield is probably England's strongest area; different kinds of play for all. Actually, when you look at the players that make up the Three Lions, you can't really see how they can lose. I think they basically can't finish, and sometimes, their defence slacks off, leaving gaps. But if they can keep it together, they have a good chance. I think.

Just some musings... I'm probably wrong anyway.:D

1 day, 6 hours, 49 mins and 55 secs to Fifa World Cup 2006 FINALS!!

the ocean

2006-06-05T05:06:00.000-07:00

England WC Team'06 are currently flying over to Germany

Hello.

Nice of you to pop by.

Today, I'm here to talk about the ocean/sea/huge body of water that is the blue on our planet when Yuri Gagarin was looking out of his space shuttle.

William Hazlitt once said:

'I hate to be near the sea, and to hear it roaring and raging like a wild beast in its den. It puts me in mind of the everlasting efforts of the human mind, struggling to be free, and ending just where it began.'

I like the sea.

'A raging tempest', I believe someone once described it. But everyone sees the ocean in a different way, because, I believe, the ocean is so different.

That's what I like about the sea - its flexibility. At times it flares it mercurial temper, halfway across the globe it sinks into a wise, sage-like behaviour. Yet in between it can suspend between the two extremes and white-capped waves bob almost gently, frolicking among its friends.

When you're out at sea, after days and days of voyage, the oncoming land is a breath of relief, a sturdy, reliable safe haven. You loathe the sea and would kill to step on something that does not bob. You feel stuck on the boat, trapped within the fibreglass walls of the ship, because you have no where to run to; no means of escape.

When you stand on the beach and gaze out at the vast ocean, you feel so small, negligible, like the weight of an electron. But at the same time, you sense freedom. Somehow next to the majestic ocean your size shrinks, but your soul expands and soars to roar along with the waves that pound against the shore.

You know what I love best about the ocean? It's enormity and superiority. You stand, like an ant by an olympic pool, like a grain of rice in a desert, by the ocean, green-blue waves lapping against your ankles. A breath of wind hurtles towards you, leaving in its wake spirals of sand that flop lifelessly back on the shore. You spread your arms out and close your eyes, feeling the pounding awe of the ocean shrill through your body. You don't bother to open your eyes, knowing that your wind-tousled bangs would just tickle your eyes mercilessly. The screech and the low drumbeat that the ocean brings bang in your ears, and you feel, even for a little moment, that your soul is dancing in the wind, bouncing on the waves crest, diving down into the deeps of the ocean to burst up again in a shower of droplets.

It's a nice feeling.

If you're lucky and the sea is not being thrashed by his wife, the wind, it is calm, surreal. A gentle breeze skims lightly across the waves, but barely disturbs their slumber. You can see the sheen as the sun glances off the reflective, mirror-like waves. You stand, toes wiggling in the soft sand warmed by the sun's rays, and smell the salty tang in the air that sticks to you skin and wiggles deep into your hair. The waves lap gently onto the shore, like a dog absentmindedly drinks water from a puddle. There's a different feeling in the air now - the power of the sea has gone. A smooth, gentle feeling of peace enters your soul. While the ocean in its rage flies you close to the sun like Daedalus and Icarus; in its meek mood the sea steadies you on the ground, so your soul remains peacefully frolicking in the sand.

The ocean reminds me of a meek, gentle, sweet little figure: a Brownie selling cookies. At times, an obnoxious, big-bellied, pompous man: Zeus with his thunderbolt in hand. The ocean has no humility.

For all its beauty and majesty, the ocean scares me. It's short temper flares and bursts onto the land like no other power in the world. But the thing that quakes me the most, is the very thing that I love about the sea. It is so vast, that when you float on your back on the waves, you fear. You fear that a freak wave would stream into your mouth and nostrils and drag you down into the deepest trenches of the ocean. You look around and you see nothing but sea. You see nothing but a dark abyss that paralyses you to stay right where you are, instead of swimming back to safety, and where you can hear your death call out to you.

There is absolutely nothing that can compare to the ocean; the sea.

Countdown to World Cup: 4 Days 2 Hours 59 Min 45 Sec

2006-06-03T18:33:00.000-07:00

England 6 - 0 Jamaica

I'm bored.

Which is strange, because I really shouldn't be. But hey, go figure.

Get ready for some selfish whinging.

Sometimes I just feel so sick of life. It's kind of scary really, because sometimes you feel that you're not even alive. It's like you're in a dream, and you're watching yourself from above- as if your soul has detached from your body and is wandering around bemusedly.

It's a strange feeling when you're not sure that you're alive anymore. Questioning your existence seems quite valid.

Don't you think that sometimes the world is going too fast for us?

It seems to me that the life I live, or the life that I am forced to live, has driven me like a chauffeur dreaming to be a F1 driver. It has sped me along the racetracks, skidding at some slippery turns, and flying along the tarred road. This life, the one that we all profess to love, to want to live; in plain English, sucks.

It really does.

I race along the gleaming tracks, and unconsciously, my brain, my body and my mind are focused on pushing myself that diminutive yet significant centre metre. Why? Because that oh-so-vital centre metre would push me just that little bit forward, that little bit better than everyone else.

My entire self, conscious and subconscious; my ego and my superego, are bent on sniffing out chances to pull ahead of the pack, to be the best. And as I’m shredding my tires, staring fixedly at those in front of me, my mind and the wind that tickles my ear urging me on (catch up, move faster, don’t lose!), I’m going too fast to look sideways and watch a little blade of grass wave to me forlornly as I zoom on by. In any case, were I even to turn and peer at that little green thing, I would lose focus on my target and fall behind.

Now we wouldn’t want that, would we?

We rocket past one another, but what for? What good does it do? We only berate ourselves for not catching up with the one that is now ahead of us; the one that was previously two paces ahead. It is a cycle that never ends; pointless and harmful, like leaving clothes in the washing machine to spin and spin endlessly. We would only end up unhappy and unsatisfied, our clothes stretched and worn and washed to the point beyond which the colour fades.

Sometimes, if we were to stop for just a moment, take the clothes out for awhile, take a pit stop, we find ourselves in a delirious joy. Perhaps if we were to step on the brakes, skid to a stop, and ponder curiously that fascinating blade of grass, we would find on our faces a smile.

It is the simple things that please us the most, the seemingly easily attainable, won’t-get-you-anywhere-in-the-world things that spread a balm over our heart, soothing our fiery souls.

I find that what I desire greatly these days is a day where I have no obligations, no immediate tasks that I have to attend to. A day where I could put all that aside, and sit down with an ungracious plop onto the floor, watch the box, read the square. It would help as well if my friends and family sat in the same room doing the same things.

Like today, or part of today. But even today, I cannot put my heart at ease or quell that unsettling feeling that I should be doing some work.

I found myself, today, or rather I lost myself, slipping back into my fantasies. I figure, since I cannot achieve such simple joy from my own life, why not do so in my dreams?

It is at these times when I find myself extremely gratified towards Professor J.R.R. Tolkien for his creation of Arda; for being Illuvatar. Indeed, I have spent so much time in and out of my fantasies that they have become a part of me, a part of me so connected to my emotions that they often trigger off feelings such as I do not during life.

In fact, this night, not an hour ago, my dissatisfied heart reached the end of the line for the deflibirator. I must confess that my heart perked up in delight when I unearthed some fanfictions that contained mirth and the storylines topping my desert list.

It reminded me much of the time when I thought to myself what the Earth’s wonders were. There was such lightness, such clarity in my vision right then; as if someone had chalked the way to happiness right on the path I was standing on.

Sometimes I think, that if only moments such as those could be exchanged for every moment with our heart darkened by storm clouds bordering on the horizon, then that would be a life worth living, a life worth losing the Grandpre.

2006-05-30T02:17:00.000-07:00

There are times when I am so against human existence.

Irony at its very best.

But sometimes you can't help but wonder what's happening to the world, to all of us. How can we, as humans, be so cruel and mean? So... flawed?

Like when you turn on the tele and you watch the news. You can see people dying... falling to the ground like autemn leaves in the wind. You can see, you sitting in a plush chair, munching away at your second snack of the day(incidentally, which you should not be earing, seeing as you are about to have lunch in half an hour), the blood. You can see a small child, no older than your own cousin (naughty boy though he is, but so adorable!) fear evident in his wide orbs, tremors shaking his body, blood on one isde of his face. You can see him, in a grassy field that is no more green than it is red, soaked with the blood of the dead. You can see him, prodding fearfully a woman's swollen body, slowly at first, then with trepidation. You can see his lips move, cracked lips that crackle with every tiny movement his angelic face makes. You can see them form one word:

Mommy.

For a moment you are entranced. Your heart fills with sorrow and anguish, for a moment that part that links all human beings surfaces and embraces your heart in a warm and enfolding hug.

Then you hear you father shout, and your heart sinks faster than it would have had a boy died in front of you on the tele. You know that he's found your report book, and you're dead because you've scored below average for most subjects.

And you forget about that little boy.

You start to fret about what your father is going to do to you, whether he'll take away your computer, whether you'll have to go for more tuition.

And yet when your teacher piles onto you a ton of homework, or your boss gives you extra stress (consequently you thus give more work to your students) you complain that there is no such thing as human kindness anymore.

You want human kindness?

Look into your hearts. Your own. Because until you know how much you can love, you are not worthy to judge others.

Judge yourself.

Like I'm doing now.

Can you see it?

A little smile on an angelic face. An angelic face on an adorable person. Her hair is golden- like an angel's. She wears a white dress. Her eyes are wide and innocent. She breaks into a silly little giggle and her laughter is fresh, like the tinkling of a bell in a place of silence and gloom. Like a ray of sunlight that streams across a shadowed area. Her skin has a feel of a new baby-soft and unadultered. She is dancing, flowers bright and cheery clenched in her little fist.

Imagine that picture.

Then imagine that her white dress is stained with the red of blood. Her golden hair is matted with blood, and instead of flowing about her shoulders, it is stuck to the sides of her head. One need only look into her eyes to see the horror and fear those orbs contain. Her face is muddy and stained, and her lips are trembling. They part to emit a tiny, anguished, painful whimper. It sounds like a wounded animal, one that has lost all, and is hobbling on its two front legs (its heel legs shrivled and torn in places). Her skin is rough and has abrasions and cuts lining her entire body. She is the darkest and gloomiest patch of vacumn in a dark closet, one that has doors locked and bolted twice.

Can you see her?

Do you feel your heart shattering, or are you more concerned about the essay that you have to hand in the next month and have not started on?

Choices...

2006-05-28T22:04:00.000-07:00

Well, it's officially the first day of school holidays.

Holiday.

That has got to be some kind of joke here in Singapore.

What, exactly, is a holiday? Here?

Holidays are never much holidays, are they? They are more like the one month in which us neat and conscientious students finally have the time to complete all our 12982746738463749 projects, and (so our glorious students won't be bored) 4874683724 more pieces of homework. And just to be on the safe side, why don't we ensure that students are preoccupied the rest of the time? Enter the CCAs, the remedial lessons etc.

Ack.

Sometimes although you know that marks aren't the most important thing, that you really should not waste so much time gnawing your lip out over marks, with a soceity such as the one that we live in, it's hard not to think otherwise.

That's the most frustrating thing. To know how you should live your life, but a fear of doing so. And of course, it all comes down to one question.

If you were to choose between being filthy rich but unhappy (by this I mean working all the time etc) and living in poverty but happy, what would you choose?

Flag Day

2006-05-27T05:54:00.000-07:00

The title pretty much speaks for itself, doesn't it? Yeah, today was flag day. I'll spare the details, except that Maureen, Becca and I walked around (little India especially) with big smiles plastered on our faces, asking for donations.

And although there were many who were more than generous, this post is about how selfish we all are, so I shall focus on the astonishing and depressing number of people who declined to donate or plain out right avoided us.

And this totally pissed/depressed me. There was a couple who avoided us from 2m off. We were standing by the zebra crossing (on the pavement, duh) and they were wallking towards us, and suddenly the woman grabs her partner's arm and said (loud enough for us to hear) 'eh! Cross this way.' And they did this pendulum walk across the road.

And so on. Maureen commented cheerfully that you can see the pattern of the crowd change when they are people asking for donations.

One thing you notice, the men are kinder, more willing to donate money. The women, especially the middle aged ones, in between 30s and 40s, I would say, are the worst people to ask from. Don't waste your breath. And you can tell, that when people purposely take out their handphone, they don't want to donate. And some other people, when you totter up to them smiling happily, and asking very politely if they would like to donate, they downright walk past you as if you were some sort of nothingness.

As Rebecca summed up: If I was invisible, I would make you mine tonight.... I already AM invisible.

I admit there were a couple of times I was sorely tempted to yell out: Thank you! I hope you enjoy your meaningless life!

There was an old man, two in fact, who were dependant on their walking sticks, leaning on them with their entire weight. I won't go into details, but the crux of it was that they really looked lonely and... unloved. And all these youngsters, teenagers were dashing past, ignoring them even, as if by pretending that the scab is not there, it will go away. Either that, or they just don't care at all.

And it hit me that so many people, so many people just care about themselves, about the money that they make, about their lives and whether their boss is going to notice how expecially hard working they were that particular morning.

It was that kind of typical situation in books where you imagine a throng of healthy, vibrant young people, listening to their ipods and toying with their handphones and jostling with each other, and as they pass, you suddenly notice that in the middle of them is an elderly, handicapped man, barely able to walk and struggling to stay upright. And they just continue to stream on by, as if he does not exist, yet the ironic thing is that they somehow seem to veer away from him as they near him, as if he has a contagious disease or something.

Seriously, what is wrong with humanity?

We went up to one of them to help them, but I think that he thought we were asking him for money... so the next time, we dumped on cans to Rebecca (sorry Becca!), but he said that he was alright.

Somehow CIP came on the perfect day, because I had dinner with a couple of my parents' oldest friends, one of which works for the Red Cross, and the other couple who work on humanitarian projects.

They were talking about a project they're working on in Chiengmai, where they help orphans who lost their parents through aids, to find their relatives. There was one particular boy who lived with his aunt and uncle and cousins in an apartment not big enough for all of them, and with no proper toilets, so his bed became a pile of tyres and zinc sheet outside the apartment, susceptible to all weather.

Yes! It's rubbery and flexible and yours for only 1 billion dollars! There you will experience the true beauty of Mother Nature's mercurial temperment!

With the monsoon season blowing it's warning breezes, there would indeed be a need to help him, would you not say?

Somehow, they (the uhh people working on that project) managed to find a comfortable enough house, with proper necessities, for S$3000, and they collected money to buy it, and put it in that little boy's name.

:D

Like I said, perfect timing. What with hearing about kids younger than us, whose greatest wish and dream would be to get a bed away from harsh weather conditions, whilst we, those who live in such diverse, cosmopolitan, city, worry and fret about getting that one little extra mark that would pull your grades up that little bit.

And I admit, I've been one of those people. It's hard, in a soceity where results are high on the pecking order, to scrap these as unimportant, and head for love.

And I admit, that when I saw my CA2 results, I was depressed and whinged around. (sorry to those who had to listen to my moaning!)

And I admit, that there are times, at school especially, my marks, my results, my homework deadlines, my ability to produce fine marks, are all that preoccupies me.

And I did all this while people somewhere not so far away, with the same organs- heart, brain, lungs, stomach, intestines etc as me, was crawling around with a determined face, trying to make the best of what they had, trying to find an inkling of hope that will push them over the surface and spring them out into sunlight.

I'm ashamed.

Damn, damn ashamed.

Because all this time, it's been about me. Sometimes I. Occasionally, us. Rarely, we.

Never them.

Absoultely never ever me helping them.

This is what we call our life.

No, this is how we are living our life.

Worse, this is how we aim to live our life.

All the wonderful things in the world...

2006-05-27T05:53:00.000-07:00

41 days to World Cup '06

I'm proud to be typing this right now.

I'm proud to have survived this week of pure torture and 1000% drainage, along with the rest of the people out there who are reading this, or blogging themselves.

To all those out there: We've done it again! Beaten the odds and come out a of frostbiting, snarlingly cold and bitter ice age!

Certainly brightens things up, doesn't it? Considering the fact that I have a pile of undone work + projects hopping up and down on their skimpy little legs behind me, raising their hands eagerly and squeaking, 'Pick me! Pick me!'

Oh joy.

I decided to slack for a litte while today. And yesterday. Figured that I deserved it.

You know what really gets me? That even when you're supposed to be relatively free, when you're taking a well-earned break, there's always that guilt plauging you, hanging over your head when you're trying to watch Lord of the Rings for the 20th time. It just keeps going, stopslackingstopslacking!

Stupid conscience.

And I wasn't even doing anything wrong!

Stupid oversensitive, paranoid conscience.

It's sad that our world revolved around work. School work, at the age we're at. Work, as in work in general, when we grow up and take up the mantle of responsibility.

What a life.

I was flipping through the threads and forums in the councilofelrond, and I came across the thread that said : What gives you a sense of wonder?

There were answers like...
Seeing the absolute perfection that is a drop of dew cradled in a blade of grass. A drop so perfect it almost looks as if it's made of totally flawless glass.

Seeing wild dolphins so close you could almost touch them as they leap from the water.

What gives me a sense of wonder?

Seeing a new pile of work on my table, smiling and waving to me?

Yeah, that'll be the day.

But seriously.

A fresh snowfall. Millions of tiny pieces of white floating and gently down, gently carressing the ground with a grace that would shame a queen. Sitting at the side of a slope, a beautiful tree at one side, the softness of the snow, and looking up, against a picture blue sky, at the beauty that is cascading down.

I'll give you an idea.

Black tusk, taken from a ski slope. There's no snow falling down, because I have only videos of that.

A gentle ripple of clear water over pebbles, shining and reflecting in the sunlight.

Someplace in Canada where we went fishing.

A sunset, with nature's most brilliant colours merged into one. Lightly indigo, with touches of red and orange, bordered with a hint of yellow, behind an azure backdrop.

San Diego, and if you would believe, LEGOLAND.

A forest of trees, pale, dark bark, light and dark green, gently merging into a prize winning painting, gentle streams of sunlight bursting through here and there.

I don't have a picture of this, but I can see it now in my head. Golden rays dancing across the crowned leaves, barelt touching, barely kissing. A painter's work of art; the perfect mixture of the most beautiful colours that adorn this world: a touch of gold there sprinkled through a mass of green, rich, vibrant, here and there, a breath of red, of yellow. Gently, the sunlight eases its eay through the leave and the branches, a gentle fresh breath, tickling the smooth green array, breathing fresh life. This of which no words can fully capture the insatiable thirst to dance, to sccream, to laugh, to whisper, of the leaves twirling to the blowing wind.

The reason I put the picture was because I wanted to illustrate that experience true wonders in our lives everyday, everyday, if only we stop enough to bask in the glow of them.

If you're reading this, take some time to think of what wonders are to you. Forget the pile of work calling you, try it. Just put it aside for awhile. Just a few mintues. Beacuse in those few minutes your soul will be imprinted the love and beauty that God gave to this world, and the true importance of God putting us on this planet, third rock from the sun.

It worked for me.

Have a nice day.

~fin~

*this was some time ago...*

Chernobyl

2006-05-27T05:51:00.000-07:00

Today, despite being 4 Thrimidge in the shire, and 26 April in the real world, is the Chernobyl accident anniversary.

Imagine, exactly 20 years ago, millions of lives were changed on this day, once more due to mankind's destructive nature. Once more mankind tried to prove it's existence in this world.

We certainly did, did we not?

We certainly are, are we not?

We strip away areas of land, of nature, of beauty, of what was supposed to be there, was originally there, should still be there.

We flaunt our terrestrial whip around, yank out what was green and fresh, annihilate that which belongs here, quash out lives which stand between us and our superficiality. We nullify the tender, the good, the living, the soulful.

We enter a place of comeliness, a sanctuary, and we plant our machines, unnatural, whirring, metallic, foul, grimy there, and saunter off to repeat the above steps, destruction in our wake.

And we expect nature not to fight back?

We think that we hold supreme power over the world, the universe, the galaxy?

Pitiful.

We are but insignificant, puny, miniscule, immaterial, negligible beings in a world controlled by God, akin to a speck of dust on a sheet of paper covering the Earth.

What right do we have to crack our whip, to lay ourselves down wherever we please?

You know what this is?

It's suicide.

We're killing ourselves.

Of course, being us, if we go down, we have to pull others down first.

What exactly do you want to prove?

That we are the only living things that should eat, sleep, drink in the world?

That the ability to think, and to organise things, as Aristotle said, is enough to define and prove the fact that we are the unchallenged rulers of the Earth, and no other being should have the right to live?

That animals should stand in a line, amble up to us, us, sitting in high thrones of fur and gold and silk and tusks, assume a pathetic, sorrowful, unworthy, shameful look, and gaze up with deepest reverance to us, human beings, homo sapiens?

That they should beg, with the upmost ability they have, for forgiveness, for the right to live, for sparing their death?

That we should remain in our high and mighty thrones, on a wasteland of what that was once a place of serrenity, and turn scornfully to them, with the relish and pompousness of dictators? Pitiful cretins, we would mutter.

This is not a beautiful world.

This is not a world.

It is a world of materialism, where we taunt and flaunt our impressive weapons, our machines, in the face of nature.

This is a world where we falter when Mother Nature responds with a curving yet devastating wave, tremor, disasters that overshadow Human exisitance.

This is a world that will die out, shrivel, in a matter of minutes in the big scale of things, if we continue to live this way.

~fin~

Lord of the Rings names

2006-05-27T05:47:00.000-07:00

Today's Date in the Shire

4 Thrimidge

Somehow the date as shown above reminds me of the new calender introduced by the National Assembly during the Terror.

And the only one I can remember is Thermidor.

Obviously.

According to Barrowdowns.com personality quiz...

You are most like
Frodo

You are also like
Gandalf

Interesting.

Of course, I would totally venture into realms tainted, corugated and saturated with evil beings to destroy and evil weapon of power. I would indeed traverse through lands so full of Orcs, Wargs, Uruk Hais, Ringwraiths, Haradrim, Goblins, Balrogs, mumakil that if one were to grab hold of those areas, turn them upside down and shake them, it would never stop raining the above. Oh, and did I forget one evil EYE?

I would also be more than willing to leave the sanctuary and safe haven of Valinor, degrade from a maia to a lowly Istari (hah!) and be known as the strange old wizard with a grey pointy hat and a beard, and the disturber of peace (just doing my job...), and change my name from Olórin to Gandalf.

In stories you always get the heros, muscles bursting our of their shirts, the ones that brave such evil misgivings, risk their lives and who at the end of it all, somehow manage to keep the forces of evil at bay.

You also get the cowards, those who will be the first to dive under the bedsheets and refuse to come out, and later on, become a burden to the hero, and nearly bring the entire civilisation crashing down on its shaky foundations.

No prizes for guessing which category I'd be under.

Someone get me my paperbag so I can hyperventilate!

And according to the name generator...

According to the Red Book of Westmarch,
In Middle-earth, Jia Wen was a
Confused Teleri

Elven Name Possibilities for Jia Wen
The root name suitable for feminine and masculine is:
Waenkemen
Another masculine version is:
Waenkemenion
More feminine versions are:
Waenkemeniel
Waenkemenien
Waenkemenwen

Hobbit lad name for Jia Wen
Griffo Bridger from Grindwall
Hobbit lass name for Jia Wen
Goodchild Bridger from Grindwall

Dwarven Name for Jia Wen
Nerin Orcarm
This name is for both genders.
Orkish Name for Jia Wen
Golhosh the Depraved
This name is for both genders.

Adunaic name for Jia Wen
Ramapaphur

Well.

I suppose it was just as well that I was not born in Arda.

Although, thankfully,

** DISCLAIMER ** : These name generators produce random results and are not true translations of the words you type in. They are meant for entertainment purposes only. -- Considering how many languages are spoken by our visitors and how many names there are in the world, creating a program that can translate your real name would be an immense task and, in the end, would likely not be accurate since all of Tolkien's languages are incomplete. Additionally, most people have their names because their parents liked the sound of it or they had a relative with a similar name, not because of any ancient meaning. Still, we hope you enjoy our Name Generators and have fun with them!

But, on the names that the name generator have uhh generated, oh yes, out of all the many different elves, I had to be the indecisive one, unsure of whether to leave Middle Earth and sail to the west, or to remain.

And di it say that Golhosh the Depraved? The DEPRAVED? I mean, Golhosh, okay that sounds alright, quite orcishly nice. But depraved? As in 'Morally corrupt; perverted'?

*Coughcough*

Perverted??

Well.

That's just great.

I'm a perverted orc who probably thinks that being morally corrupt is a good thing, and anyway, being a pervertic mutated elf, I would probably have other things on my mind.

Like wondering whether an eye can wear underwear.

Or something pervertic.

And Goodchild Bridger? That's certainly a big difference.

#one of my earlier posts#

~fin~