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#09

Thursday, June 30, 2005

panels, words, forms

1.
For those of you who have been living in a cave, type "i" your browser window. Ok? Then type "harth". Yup. For the answer your questions, please type "darth.com" and hit Enter.

Everyone <3th Darth. 2.
The good news: The termites are gone.

The even better news: We're still here.

The bad news: The whole row of kitchen cupboards are gone.

I do a double-take when I walk past the kitchen door, staring at the empty gap where the overhead cupboards used to be. No wood, no ugly beige tiles like on the rest of the walls - just dark grey exposed cement of that knotted, raw texture that never seems to go away after being slopped on during the construction process.

And a big grimy pipe sticking out of the wall.

3.
Love. Lust. Loneliness. Lies. LA. Life. Loss.

4.
Matriculation.

Once again at the mercy of public transportation, I arrive at the SMU Bukit Timah campus on foot. On site, I discover the Evans building is way way round the back, tucked in the unchartered unfamiliar depths of treacherous, unknown, unexplored, strange regions beyond the comforting civilisation of busstops and traffic.

And because we are always at the mercy of higher powers, it starts to rain as I am halfway there.

And because bureaucracy is the fun and magnificent invention of our century, I get to be at the mercy of that.

5.
To whom it may concern,

Everything happened so fast and I tried to catch up but I think I was a few Stations behind at goodness knows what number and then those people kept coming at me with all these community service project propositions and throwing pieces of colorful paper and things happened kinda fast so maybe you could come by and pick me up whenever it's convenient for you and remember to inhale and exhale and everything else should run like clockwork but don't forget to drop by later ok.

Neurons & Synapses,
Your Brain.

en at 9:50 pm

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Friday, June 24, 2005

Highly Flammable

The termite fiasco continues. The white destructive things have struck back, nawing and nesting in another one of the old, dingy, browning kitchen cabinets that have been courting infestation for many years.

As the logical, practical and perfectly sensible response to this unexpected complication, my Grandmama cries havoc and drenches the cabinets with kerosene. Nothing makes a mockery of her imposed order on the domestic universe. To be frank, she sprayed the cabinets, but hell-bent on vengence, the end result was no different from someone simply pouring the highly flammable fluid around: kerosene on the kitchen floor and dripping from the shelves. The fumes were overwhelming.

My dad, walking in and taking a whiff, "If anyone lights a match the whole place will go up."

"At least the termites will be gone," I returned.

"So will we."

en at 10:05 pm

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Tuesday, June 21, 2005

Traffic

I think I saw Adri (first name seems inappropriately personal, but the old Popagandhi persona is kinda dead and since I'm prefering to her person, it has not to be confused with a writer's persona which is separate and abstract so does a persona exist in a physical sense or only in a frame of mind? But then again, the written word is physical and this could go on forever so am shutting up now back to...) the other day outside the Orchard Apple Centre (notice that in an ignorant context, one might think this has something to do with fruit).

Prior to this, briefly escaping the entanglement of a group of friends, I was once again confronted with the awful reality that I was magnificently screwing up my life through a pursuit of the wrong course, wrong university, wrong priorities, wrong life. All this though the unexpected encounter with an ex-jc friend, whose anguished exclamation of "Why aren't you doing lit? You're GOOD at lit!" momentarily threatened to push my recovering walking-on-eggshells ego back into the abyss of Deep Angst, with all the theatrics of a megalomaniac on-screen villian.

Leaving the aforementioned company in a slight daze, survival instincts must have taken hold. Or maybe it was just the fact that I was already in Wheellock Place, because my metaphysical turmoil found itself facing a formidable challenger: material indulgence. I found myself standing a the Apple Centre staring at the signs at the entrance.

If my head or just the day it was living through was not crowded enough, I had the remarkable chance of meeting a friend 3 times after the group supposedly parted for the day. Once, walking out of the loo. Second, standing outside Apple where she asked whether I was getting an iPod.

I felt obliged to convey the understanding that since the educational discounts advertised on the signs outside the Centre only covered PowerBooks and iBooks, it would not be a logical extension that I was looking to procure an iPod as I was looking at the signs. Had I managed to impress this upon her, I would then have said, "And yes, I do want an iPod."

Unfortunately, my very complex train of thought fell apart with all the grace and subtly of a multi-highway-pileup car wreck as I tried to discern whether it was Adri (Popagandhi/textSOAP/the blogger once known as Adri etc. - I think watching Buffy's Earshot episode today with Oz's philosophical musings on well, Thought must have hit a cortical nerve). My reoccuring friend must have been confused at my mid-sentence lapse into silence. I would have another shot at explaining my very weird state of mind when I bump into her again downstairs at Borders after parting ways for the third time.

Edited to add:
I am my thoughts. If they exist in her, Buffy contains everything that is me and she becomes me. I cease to exist. Huh.
No one else exists either. Buffy is all of us. We think. Therefore she is.
- Oz, Buffy the Vampire Slayer 'Earshot'

Because right now, Oz makes total sense.

en at 11:07 pm

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Saturday, June 18, 2005

An Ancient Curse

National Geographic was showing a feature, something along the themes of King Tut's Curse or Killer Mould? and What did Tut in? Was it an assassin with a blunt instrument to the head? A chariot accident with multiple fractures? Or an unglamorously infected impacted wisdom tooth that realised the perils of an era before dental surgery?

I like watching documentaries. My only pet peeves are that as with any television show, there are advertisments (sometimes advertisments pertaining to the very show we are watching which is not very clever, network people). And that every documentary narrator, acting as though it is a job prerequisite, partakes a tone and pace fitting for a five year old after the child has asked a particularly sensitive question, the sort adults usually want to avoid with a ten-foot pole:

'On closer inspection, the experts found resin in an unexpected place. The resin was found inside a cavity within the hole in the knee cap. What does this mean? It means that the resin somehow got into the knee. The answer to this mystery will led experts to finally solve one of the greatest mysteries of all time. How did the experts find the answer? Did the resin get in before the king died? Or after he died? This is what we already know...'

Unfortunately, I do not bear the indomintable patience of an inquisitive five year old.

My Grandmama gave her take on the operation.

"What are they doing that for? So much effort! Alreade so long ago, got use meh? What if they find out who killed him? How to take revenge!"

"Nothing to do still find something to do."

en at 11:07 pm

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Thursday, June 16, 2005

Coulda Shoulda Woulda

Sometimes I wonder. Such times typically involve being alone, stranded on unfamiliar turf in the middle of the night and at the mercy of Singapore's public transport system and my instinctive sense of direction (The profit-maximising efficiency of the former tends to cancel out the lethality of the latter).

I wonder because there isn't much to do at a lonely bus stop next to either blindingly apathetically fast traffic or in front of a shady field that screams homicide victim dumping ground in the paradoxically silent way it just sits and waits covered in shadows. This was the time when my new handphone's battery also died.

I specifically remember being told not to get myself in situations I get myself into. In all sincerity, I'm glad wiser people have tried. Even if potentially fatal circumstances tend to eclipse my path with the inevitability of a shifting teutonic plate, it is the thought that counts. Thanks Grandma.

I do wonder though.

On another note, on rummaging through my email, I suspect that NUS has attachment issues. I could be wrong, of course.
Our records indicate that you have applied to the National University of Singapore in 2005 but eventually did not accept our offer. As an institution of higher learning which prides itself on recruiting the best students, we are saddened by your decision.
Is there an awkward pause here or is the paragraphing just misleading? Um.
We acknowledge however that you would have good reasons for doing so, and would like to request 5 minutes of your time in sharing them with us.
Look. It's not you really, it's me. Yes, there is another university in my life right now. Maybe it's for the best that we just go our separate ways. No hard feelings? There there now. You'll find other candidates out there.

Aw, man. Anyone got a hankie?

en at 3:07 am

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Monday, June 13, 2005

Things I've learnt catering to Singaporeans' philanthropic whims

1. That Singaporeans are able to momentarily tear their eyes off their living room staple - The Television and regard you with the spirit and vigour typically associated with severe cases of Post Tramatic Stress Disorder.

2. Said individuals are able to deliver a curt "I'm busy." - emphasis on the full stop there - before reverting their attention back to their regularly scheduled programming.

Either

3. The architects behind the design of the older HDB flats had all been trapped in an elevator at some point in their lives (quite possibly all together during one time as part of their endurance training to become proficient HDB architects) and have been vengefully, psychologically scarred so utterly permanently that they have collectively subconsciously repressed the painful memory.

Or
4. The architects have a very warped sense of humour that ceases to be funny after you've climbed the 378290 flight of stairs in the past 6 hours.

5. That Singaporeans can own television sets you have to strain sideways in the flat's doorway to obtain a better spawling panoramic view of and still refuse to donate to charity.

6. That Singaporeans are married to their television.
You know, certain population policies could be reviewed. Instead of baby bonuses, tax cuts, advertising and all that, maybe television should just be outlawed.

7. Only outlaws will have televisions. Many many outlaws.

8. There are good people in Singapore, overflowing with generosity, kindness, graciousness, harbouring profound consideration for their Fellow Man, acting shining exemplars of noble humanity.

9. The aforementioned individuals are usually not at home.

10. The NKF is an evil corporation monopolising Singapore's market of Goodwill, sucking and the scarce charity out of the population and must be stopped at all costs because any entity supporting the careers of Mediacorp artists belongs to the biblically undesirable, fiery pits of damnation.

en at 1:37 am

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Wednesday, June 08, 2005

Point of No Return

There've been alot of things on my mind. Things such as eradicating global poverty, human rights violations, the public transportation fare hike, Desperate Housewives, the grand Singapore Blogger Convention conspiracy (sshhhh!), spiralling third world debt, development in robotic legs, the O.C. and advancing world peace have not been on my mind.

Although to be honest, I did try my hand at the sgblogconspiracy, blowing bubbles into my creative juices. The only thing that reluctantly bobbed to the surface was: 'One Con to rule them all, One Con to find them, One Con to bring them all and in the darkness bind them'. Oh, gosh.

I'm going to smoo (SMU for the uninitiated) Econs. Should anyone discover why, kindly inform me. I would really like to know.

Every thought in the past few weeks pertaining to the decision has been dissected, prodded and analysed. Argument, Counter-argument, Counter-counter-argument and so forth. New defenses are built, found to be leaking and left broken. Not one string of thought can proceed without getting hijacked and derailed. Trains of logic run circles around each other. Priorities get shuffled and re-defined. I realise now how to over-think.

It is so easy for one to say "Well, (insert tentative pause here as though the following enquiry requires considerable contemplation to formulate) what do you feel?"

Frankly, I do not know how I feel. Every naunce of emotion that has chanced through me has been stripped, studied and subjected to intense suspicion and scrutiny. Proposition, Rebuttal and rebuttal again, again, again. A self-imposed lobotomy. At the bare, naked, quivering core of it all is an old fear, around which all emotion has been scared away by the intense skepticism, hot, searching and questioning; like a drying mollus feeling for safety.

I feel afraid. And tired. Tired of defending myself from me, justifying myself in front of others and grinning and bearing that half-hearted support that is so marginally better than outright condemnation. The familiar raised brow, the incredulous lightness in tone, the weighed syllables speaking volumes of exasperation, disappointment and disapproval through their cautious pauses, enough to displace the content, though it may be "Oh. You. Have. My. Fullest. Support."

So if anyone asks why I'm not going to NUS law. I'm just going to say, in all honesty, 'I don't know.' Because I really don't. Maybe I once did, but not anymore.

en at 2:37 am

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Wednesday, June 01, 2005

Why I'm Not a Happy Girl

[edit@ 0721am]

It's my blog and I can cry if I want to. No wait, that's not right...

NUS law versus. SMU (or as everyone puts it: SMOO) econs.

Ding-ding-ding. Round 2381920.

en at 12:48 am

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