I love the ease of moving over to a cleaner and more organized Wordpress blog.
Yes dear friends, I have succumbed to wordpress.com.
Find me here at http://livinglifelovingit.wordpress.com
No change, just a tweak. (:
Wednesday, February 20, 2008Yes dear friends, I have succumbed to wordpress.com.
Find me here at http://livinglifelovingit.wordpress.com
No change, just a tweak. (:
You know how it is when you tell people to be their true selves, and not mould to society's expectations of them. And by being true to themselves, they become a happier person.
But what happens when a person's true self is utterly annoying and irritating to 90% of the people around him? Do we then tell him, "Hey, please change...you are utterly annoying and I cannot stand it." or do we grimace behind our smiles and tactfully try to tell him that "I like how you are yourself, but...perhaps there could be a balance in your life?"
That then defeats the purpose of "staying true to (him)self", isn't it? Life's little ironies. This guy is quite unlucky to be handed that less sugary side of the platter. Why, did he grow into such an affectionate character who will not hesitate to make known his love to you? Mind you, we are talking about "love" in the context of friendship, warmth, care and concern. At least, that is what I perceived it, but the narrow-minded majority will probably have fled by then. Cynical and shaken into reality he may have seemed, but there is still the looming possibility that he is still pretty sheltered from "life" itself - how do I even explain it? - sheltered from reality, the jaded thinkings, people's cynicism, and the overall tunnel-vision of our general population.
Adapt, not mould.
Camouflage, not blend.
Haiya. How can one make a puppet move like a dancer when his limbs are stiff and wooden?
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I think there has got to be something a little amiss when I realised I was looking forward to coming home to making myself tuna sandwich with a glass of soya milk. I spend a grand total of 2 hours sitting in my room having "time to myself" every night, that is, if I have no other engagements after 9pm in town. The weekend was hellish, with massive lou-hei gatherings peppered all over the island and at the same time trying to squeeze a birthday celebration, piano as well as wakeboarding into the weekend.
Friends ask me how I juggle my insane schedule. I tell them, "Its a lifestyle I'm in an endless pursuit of."
Ultimately, the need to maintain a balance in life drives me on. When work isn't 100% satisfying (yet), I find my pleasure out at sea, in adrenaline and the salty breeze.
It is another one of those mornings where I rush to work, only to wait to rush. That seems to be life these days - rush to wait, wait to rush.
I had the most interesting responses coming in when my one liner was up on MSN, ranging from a poetic continuation to my one-liner, to moral policemen in my life (what's new?) calling me in the middle of the night because they were convinced I had no more self-worth left within me.
So brings the next line, "Them who hide behind facades of faux innocence are far off worse than those they condemned." How true, isn't it? Of course, in the whirl and twirl of my very unprofessional literary musings, the subject(s) in question usually do not get it. They do not realise that what they read applies to them, and more often they tend to agree with me on it, not realising that they are the targets of scorn hurled in wrapping paper at.
Those who dwelve on the same level will realise our conversations targeted at such bitch topics are often satisfying (I'm sure you know who you are, my dears) and rather, engaging. This is not to say that we are elitists, as we seem to be...it is just that we are comfortable with who we are, our status and our behavior - not to mention we are open about it. The only reason why this post will come about is simply because I have had enough of people who are too quick to condemn me as a person with questionable morals, but do not realise they are in denial themselves.
We are only humans. Ere to those who sin, condemned are those who judge.
Thursday, January 24, 2008I had the most interesting responses coming in when my one liner was up on MSN, ranging from a poetic continuation to my one-liner, to moral policemen in my life (what's new?) calling me in the middle of the night because they were convinced I had no more self-worth left within me.
So brings the next line, "Them who hide behind facades of faux innocence are far off worse than those they condemned." How true, isn't it? Of course, in the whirl and twirl of my very unprofessional literary musings, the subject(s) in question usually do not get it. They do not realise that what they read applies to them, and more often they tend to agree with me on it, not realising that they are the targets of scorn hurled in wrapping paper at.
Those who dwelve on the same level will realise our conversations targeted at such bitch topics are often satisfying (I'm sure you know who you are, my dears) and rather, engaging. This is not to say that we are elitists, as we seem to be...it is just that we are comfortable with who we are, our status and our behavior - not to mention we are open about it. The only reason why this post will come about is simply because I have had enough of people who are too quick to condemn me as a person with questionable morals, but do not realise they are in denial themselves.
We are only humans. Ere to those who sin, condemned are those who judge.
It dawned upon me that the company I hang out with these days are either attached, or married.
Allowing my wild thoughts to surface, I also came to a conclusion that in general, I might very well end up being a fellow bitching partner to the females, and a much appreciated refreshing change to the men. The occasional dose of this refreshing change allows everybody to return to their partners with a fresh perspective and to begin loving them all over again. You've almost got those vibes right: I am not one for keeps indeed, perhaps one just for fun and company with no strings attached...please play, enjoy your stay, and return home finally from your holiday.
The intrigue only lasts for that short while. It disappears when I reveal the weaker side, the typical feminine side that lashes out when the masculine side decides to be sick of shouldering everybody's problems. Them who are struck still by my so-called "intriguing self" find that they cannot handle the Pandora's box of evils once they have opened it, and they back off..very far away. They fit themselves back into the works of life and pretend nothing has ever happened, while the evils dislodged swirl around their next potential victim, disappearing back to the box when needed but all ready to emerge...anytime.
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Man, I hate the way my thoughts flow these days/nights/doesn't matter. My sentences only reflect my thoughts too well - they are disjointed, they do not flow properly, the vocabulary's really limited, the grammar will probably follow suit as well. The paragraphs do not start on a strong note, they end off halfway as random as they can be...heck, nothing makes sense.
Is this what's gonna happen the longer I stay in where I am? The feeling of stagnation (or is it some other word?), the slow disappearance of words from my mind...all these are only hard facts of life. It's time to read, it's time to question, it's time to observe, it's time to sit down to coffee and people watch - and write. It's time to move up but...there's no time I can find.
People always say, "Time is what you make out of it." Throw me a blender and I might make a cup of orange juice packed with pulp and all, but I can't do that with time. I have squeezed what I could - work, news, exercise, a social life, enough sleep, my passion, side jobs into my schedule and there is no way of squeezing more. What do I do now?
Allowing my wild thoughts to surface, I also came to a conclusion that in general, I might very well end up being a fellow bitching partner to the females, and a much appreciated refreshing change to the men. The occasional dose of this refreshing change allows everybody to return to their partners with a fresh perspective and to begin loving them all over again. You've almost got those vibes right: I am not one for keeps indeed, perhaps one just for fun and company with no strings attached...please play, enjoy your stay, and return home finally from your holiday.
The intrigue only lasts for that short while. It disappears when I reveal the weaker side, the typical feminine side that lashes out when the masculine side decides to be sick of shouldering everybody's problems. Them who are struck still by my so-called "intriguing self" find that they cannot handle the Pandora's box of evils once they have opened it, and they back off..very far away. They fit themselves back into the works of life and pretend nothing has ever happened, while the evils dislodged swirl around their next potential victim, disappearing back to the box when needed but all ready to emerge...anytime.
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Man, I hate the way my thoughts flow these days/nights/doesn't matter. My sentences only reflect my thoughts too well - they are disjointed, they do not flow properly, the vocabulary's really limited, the grammar will probably follow suit as well. The paragraphs do not start on a strong note, they end off halfway as random as they can be...heck, nothing makes sense.
Is this what's gonna happen the longer I stay in where I am? The feeling of stagnation (or is it some other word?), the slow disappearance of words from my mind...all these are only hard facts of life. It's time to read, it's time to question, it's time to observe, it's time to sit down to coffee and people watch - and write. It's time to move up but...there's no time I can find.
People always say, "Time is what you make out of it." Throw me a blender and I might make a cup of orange juice packed with pulp and all, but I can't do that with time. I have squeezed what I could - work, news, exercise, a social life, enough sleep, my passion, side jobs into my schedule and there is no way of squeezing more. What do I do now?
I feel myself not being able to contribute to intelligent conversations when I used to dig such great coffee-chats in the past. I feel myself sliding lower the IQ table as I struggle to find topics to talk about. It is too easy to get stuck in the race towards our downfall as we get blinded by our potential seats on the pot of gold, fame and success. It is too easy to scorn others for not being able to follow when we are blind to our own lack of intelligence - experts only in our own field of knowledge and complete fools to the rest. It is too easy to hide behind templates of standard procedures and avoid exposing our lazy minds to critical issues.
Beauty World...Cha Cha Cha
In summary, I thought it was a pretty good show with great female vocals, but sad to say I found the male (lead) vocals a little disappointing. I thought that pai-kia lookin' Ah Hock (Daren Tan) could have stretched his vocal range a little more, considering how limited and a little off-key he was when he was tired. Dwayne Tan, who played the other male lead, was truly hilarious in his version of "I...I....I....Ivyyyyyyyyy" (oh, so Singaporean, really).
More impressive were the performances by Denise Tan (carabet star, Lulu) and lead Elena Wang (Ivy, goodie-two shoes girl who worked in a carabet to find out who her father was). I absolutely loved the way how Denise Tan coyly sauntered about in her dress injecting sentences of, "Everybody loves Lulu!" in that half-hiccup voice of hers, but what won me over were their vocals...with Denise Tan's rich and sonorous ringing through crisp and clear, whilst Elena Wang took her place at the other extreme with her warm and harmonious lyrics spun with emotions.
Irene Ang (as ah-soh club caretaker, Wan Choo) couldn't have been any more ah soh even if she tried - right smack down to staccato swearing in the Cantonese language versus the very typical Singlish like "Aiyo, I dunch know!" Alongside with her was equally Mummy-ish Neo Swee Lin - bringing back the nostalgia of the 1960s.
Beauty World is Singapore. It is typical Singapore in all forms - language, people (where else do pai kias like Ah Hock exist?), mannerisms (think Wan Choo and her ah sohness), setting, and even the jokes cracked...all these have flavours of Singapore in them. It articulates Singapore in a way that only those who have busked in the culture of Singapore will appreciate the musical. My two thumbs up to it.
Looks like my stint in National Arts Council will bring plenty of these in 2008, yeah?
Saturday, January 19, 2008In summary, I thought it was a pretty good show with great female vocals, but sad to say I found the male (lead) vocals a little disappointing. I thought that pai-kia lookin' Ah Hock (Daren Tan) could have stretched his vocal range a little more, considering how limited and a little off-key he was when he was tired. Dwayne Tan, who played the other male lead, was truly hilarious in his version of "I...I....I....Ivyyyyyyyyy" (oh, so Singaporean, really).
More impressive were the performances by Denise Tan (carabet star, Lulu) and lead Elena Wang (Ivy, goodie-two shoes girl who worked in a carabet to find out who her father was). I absolutely loved the way how Denise Tan coyly sauntered about in her dress injecting sentences of, "Everybody loves Lulu!" in that half-hiccup voice of hers, but what won me over were their vocals...with Denise Tan's rich and sonorous ringing through crisp and clear, whilst Elena Wang took her place at the other extreme with her warm and harmonious lyrics spun with emotions.
Irene Ang (as ah-soh club caretaker, Wan Choo) couldn't have been any more ah soh even if she tried - right smack down to staccato swearing in the Cantonese language versus the very typical Singlish like "Aiyo, I dunch know!" Alongside with her was equally Mummy-ish Neo Swee Lin - bringing back the nostalgia of the 1960s.
Beauty World is Singapore. It is typical Singapore in all forms - language, people (where else do pai kias like Ah Hock exist?), mannerisms (think Wan Choo and her ah sohness), setting, and even the jokes cracked...all these have flavours of Singapore in them. It articulates Singapore in a way that only those who have busked in the culture of Singapore will appreciate the musical. My two thumbs up to it.
Looks like my stint in National Arts Council will bring plenty of these in 2008, yeah?
Kindness begets kindness; similarly, nonchalance brings about a little nudging, then nonchalance. Some people observe the 3-times rule - ask a girl out once, she says no, we try again. Ask a girl out consecutively for the third time, if she says no once more, there is no more questions asked. So ladies, be coy, but don't stretch it.
They say, treat a girl too well and she takes advantage of the situation and you get bullied into submission; treat a girl like a piece of trash and she will cling to you for life. Bullshit, I say. There is always a balance to everything in life - be nice to a lady, she will appreciate it. But of course it wouldn't do to shower her with a Tiffany's every week nor sing love ballads to her every other night, but perhaps the simplest hello, how have you been baby? would have been your life savior for the day.
So, how do you play the dating game? Many often do not realise that the man/woman of their dreams might be way above what the individual is capable of. Obvious example: if you like someone who doesn't breathe down your neck all the time, calls you everyday, smses you ten times a day, you had better like the seemingly-nonchalant, busy bees who will probably sms you to say hello, meet once a week for dinner, and yada yada. Can't handle that? Go back to your "sticky girlfriends".
I am done with my musings for the night. Beauty World will arrive on the next post, if I ever do sit down to it. :)
Tuesday, January 15, 2008They say, treat a girl too well and she takes advantage of the situation and you get bullied into submission; treat a girl like a piece of trash and she will cling to you for life. Bullshit, I say. There is always a balance to everything in life - be nice to a lady, she will appreciate it. But of course it wouldn't do to shower her with a Tiffany's every week nor sing love ballads to her every other night, but perhaps the simplest hello, how have you been baby? would have been your life savior for the day.
So, how do you play the dating game? Many often do not realise that the man/woman of their dreams might be way above what the individual is capable of. Obvious example: if you like someone who doesn't breathe down your neck all the time, calls you everyday, smses you ten times a day, you had better like the seemingly-nonchalant, busy bees who will probably sms you to say hello, meet once a week for dinner, and yada yada. Can't handle that? Go back to your "sticky girlfriends".
I am done with my musings for the night. Beauty World will arrive on the next post, if I ever do sit down to it. :)
The very famous Men are from Mars; Women are from Venus book is not quite an interesting read as I thought it would be. Neither is it the bible of relationships, for it does not seemingly solve the fundamental problems of connecting and communicating with the other gender. Perhaps it does, for it highlights the basic and very general behavior of men and women if left to their own devices.
Summary being, men are more straight-forward in their thought processes, focusing on the big picture while women tend to beat around the bush, emphasizing on detail and everything peripheral - how she feels, how she thinks her man feels, what she should feel, what she thinks her man should feel - except the main problem.
True, true. But I have had my share of men dumping their basket of emotions and problems on me, seemingly similar to that of a woman going berserk on her man simply because he couldn't make it to an appointment because of his work. What is this, the reversal of roles? Perhaps it is the era of "contemporary thoughts and behavior", for we have our men dressing in skinny jeans and keeping long and wavy hair, applying make-up; and our women gearing themselves for power-dressing in pants-suits, laced up heels as well as top hats.
Watch how it swings from supermodels and bra-clad women sashaying along the streets to hunks and toyboys appearing on entertainment talk shows and programmes.
Of course, that is, besides the point. Men are from Mars; Women are from Venus addresses the communication problem between couples, which also boils down to not being able to understand what the other party is actually thinking. Guilty, as charged, I am one of those women who are damn politically correct in what I say, advice and blah, when deep down inside I might really be just one of those bitches you wish you never knew. Ha-ha.
It must be tiring playing all these mind games (subconsciously, or not) with each other. Ms A complains that Mr B does not want to commit to her, while Mr B is trying to second guess what Ms A meant by that accusation, yet at the same time seemingly pushing him away. Ms A wants Mr B to treat her like a queen, yet at the same time does not want to be Mr B's girlfriend because she knows it will only turn out for the worst. At the same time Mr B wants to be nice to Ms A but when he does, he gets scorned by Ms A for not having a mind of his own...and the story goes on.
We spend too much time guessing at what the other party is thinking, reading signs and signals that our other halves send out and trying to react to those signs with what we want to communicate across. In return, our actions are interpreted by the other party, which...might be very well wrong and it downspirals into a disastrous misunderstanding. Aiya, but it is probably equally difficult to be straightforward about our true feelings because it is a risk. A risk that our true selves, when put out there - defenceless, vulnerable and prone to hurt - might encounter a mishap which damages the self confidence, ego and esteem. Too often people take for granted others' sincerity...and well, shit happens, so they say.
One not-so-thought-provoking blog post and I am still on the verge of falling asleep. Damn, I do need my coffee fix.
Sunday, January 13, 2008Summary being, men are more straight-forward in their thought processes, focusing on the big picture while women tend to beat around the bush, emphasizing on detail and everything peripheral - how she feels, how she thinks her man feels, what she should feel, what she thinks her man should feel - except the main problem.
True, true. But I have had my share of men dumping their basket of emotions and problems on me, seemingly similar to that of a woman going berserk on her man simply because he couldn't make it to an appointment because of his work. What is this, the reversal of roles? Perhaps it is the era of "contemporary thoughts and behavior", for we have our men dressing in skinny jeans and keeping long and wavy hair, applying make-up; and our women gearing themselves for power-dressing in pants-suits, laced up heels as well as top hats.
Watch how it swings from supermodels and bra-clad women sashaying along the streets to hunks and toyboys appearing on entertainment talk shows and programmes.
Of course, that is, besides the point. Men are from Mars; Women are from Venus addresses the communication problem between couples, which also boils down to not being able to understand what the other party is actually thinking. Guilty, as charged, I am one of those women who are damn politically correct in what I say, advice and blah, when deep down inside I might really be just one of those bitches you wish you never knew. Ha-ha.
It must be tiring playing all these mind games (subconsciously, or not) with each other. Ms A complains that Mr B does not want to commit to her, while Mr B is trying to second guess what Ms A meant by that accusation, yet at the same time seemingly pushing him away. Ms A wants Mr B to treat her like a queen, yet at the same time does not want to be Mr B's girlfriend because she knows it will only turn out for the worst. At the same time Mr B wants to be nice to Ms A but when he does, he gets scorned by Ms A for not having a mind of his own...and the story goes on.
We spend too much time guessing at what the other party is thinking, reading signs and signals that our other halves send out and trying to react to those signs with what we want to communicate across. In return, our actions are interpreted by the other party, which...might be very well wrong and it downspirals into a disastrous misunderstanding. Aiya, but it is probably equally difficult to be straightforward about our true feelings because it is a risk. A risk that our true selves, when put out there - defenceless, vulnerable and prone to hurt - might encounter a mishap which damages the self confidence, ego and esteem. Too often people take for granted others' sincerity...and well, shit happens, so they say.
One not-so-thought-provoking blog post and I am still on the verge of falling asleep. Damn, I do need my coffee fix.
It may be a tad too late (or early, as some would put it), but I am slowly discovering places to chill, away from the mainstream wannabes Singaporeans. Overlooking the city's bright lights with a jazz singer in the background, I might...just perhaps feel like a vampire soaring above the city, in the dead of the night (not quite so dead, really).
The beauty of such places lies in the ambience, the peace and wonderful company. Very unfortunately, they have been discovered by the one or two odd wannabes, who strive to see and to be seen. More of the latter, these people attempt (note: attempt) to dress-walk-speak-act in the finer fashion. Of course, one can always take the man out of the village, but never the village out of the man.
On Thursday night, a couple walked in and took a seat next to me, sat down, poured through the menu and finally ordered...a pot of camomile tea and a glass of orange juice. The lady's handbag was gaping open and sat daintily behind her, with a packet of Laurier's 10-pack pad (with wings) grinning up at me. Minus points for a non-tampon user, minus more points for her outright display of Laurier's. Minus more points for dressing up, only to sit and order oh-so-boring orange juice. She eventually scored a grand total of 1/10 when she conversed in Chinese.
On Friday night, I was out with the bears and Kiat, enjoying one very nice platter of kickass caesar salad paired with some Spanish red wine, only to glance over to my right to take in the sight of a group of men and ladies who seem to have came straight from the office. It dawned upon me that office ladies look hot only in their office wear, simply because office wear is so safe that it acts like a uniform.
Think the standard blouse/some sleeveless top, paired with fitting pants and a jacket, with some killer heels (that are usually $10-$20 these days), and there, you have a pretty hot office babe. Put those ladies through Friday's dress-downs and true colours emerge - we get ah lians' version of glam wear in unsightly cotton tanks and spaghetti straps, topped with gray bra straps and whatever funky colours one could think of, denim skirts which are the wrong colour, wrong shade and wrong fit (imagine a denim skirt which doesn't shape the butt), and finally, strapped wedged thongs with a glittery bling-bling attached. Oh, and did I mention
about hideous make-up which seems a little too bright, too fake, and simply wrongly matched.
What do the men see in them?!
9 hours of work, 2 hours of travelling time, 7 hours of sleep. That leaves 5 hours of time for myself. 2 more hours shaved off for exercise/driving, that leaves 3 hours to catch up with friends, take a bath and perhaps crawl to bed.
No wonder working people never do have a life, unless they sacrifice sleep. No wonder everybody ends up with eye-bags and dark circles. No...wonder....
It gets tremendously difficult to maintain a balance in life; it takes an effort not to get sucked into the working culture itself and still have a social life outside. Weekend rides are increasingly frustrating as it is almost impossible to revise old tricks, let alone learn new ones.
These are times when I wish I have the ability to teleport. Anywhere, with a mere snap of the fingers. Mmm.
Tuesday, January 01, 2008No wonder working people never do have a life, unless they sacrifice sleep. No wonder everybody ends up with eye-bags and dark circles. No...wonder....
It gets tremendously difficult to maintain a balance in life; it takes an effort not to get sucked into the working culture itself and still have a social life outside. Weekend rides are increasingly frustrating as it is almost impossible to revise old tricks, let alone learn new ones.
These are times when I wish I have the ability to teleport. Anywhere, with a mere snap of the fingers. Mmm.
2008. I step into the year, unsure and wary. I resolve to open myself up to those who matter, this year.
2007. Too many taken-for-granted incidents, mishaps and sense of loss. I've lost myself a couple of these times, I don't ever want to have to find myself once more. 2007. Too many things happened. Good times, bad times. I don't know.
2008. Still too many questions running through my head. You are the enigma, hence the intrigue.
2007. Unresolved.
2008. Pause, reflect, move on.
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Crossing from 2007 to 2008 this year leaves plenty to be desired. Today (Monday) I finish off 2007 with my last weekday ride with the SIM riders. Tonight (Tuesday morning) I idle awake at 2.15am in the morning, of freedom and lack of responsibilities. Hello phase #10 of my life, please make your stay comfortable. There are still questions aplenty...to which I wonder if I would ever find the answer to.
Disjointed sentences, random thoughts, incoherent meanings to my words. Exact reflections of 1st January 2008. Sigh.
Thursday, December 27, 20072007. Too many taken-for-granted incidents, mishaps and sense of loss. I've lost myself a couple of these times, I don't ever want to have to find myself once more. 2007. Too many things happened. Good times, bad times. I don't know.
2008. Still too many questions running through my head. You are the enigma, hence the intrigue.
2007. Unresolved.
2008. Pause, reflect, move on.
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Crossing from 2007 to 2008 this year leaves plenty to be desired. Today (Monday) I finish off 2007 with my last weekday ride with the SIM riders. Tonight (Tuesday morning) I idle awake at 2.15am in the morning, of freedom and lack of responsibilities. Hello phase #10 of my life, please make your stay comfortable. There are still questions aplenty...to which I wonder if I would ever find the answer to.
Disjointed sentences, random thoughts, incoherent meanings to my words. Exact reflections of 1st January 2008. Sigh.
Love is...
Love is patient.
Love is kind.
It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
(1 Corinthians 13:4-7)
I always thought the Bible's definition of love is the most accurate.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007Love is patient.
Love is kind.
It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
(1 Corinthians 13:4-7)
I always thought the Bible's definition of love is the most accurate.
Christmas 2007.
This year's decoration is breath-taking, stunningly beautiful. It had better be, considering the amount they scrimped over the years with those gaudy golden moulds that used to flood Orchard Road. This year's theme resembled falling snowflakes, classy Christmas trees and elegantly tied ribbons.
Christmas has never been much of a special occasion till good (I mean, great) company comes along and makes everything so much better, so much more beautiful and everything else. And I wonder if there will be, for those Christmas(es) in future. For this year was pretty good, of cozy gatherings with previous committee members, wonderful friends and plenty of wine to go all around.
Before the clock strikes 12, here's to you, a Merry Christmas :)
Every Christmas, I sing this song:
Snowflakes fall
And all is white
Silvery mist,
A lonely night
Bells ringing clear, Christmas is here
Card in hand, I read the name
Suddenly I'm young again
Thinking of how fate led me to you
Friends we were so long ago
You came into my life
Guiding me at every step
How you have grown
Smiling still, my tears of joy
Wishing from my heart
All along that Christmas is
To you, a Merry Christmas.
Monday, December 10, 2007Snowflakes fall
And all is white
Silvery mist,
A lonely night
Bells ringing clear, Christmas is here
Card in hand, I read the name
Suddenly I'm young again
Thinking of how fate led me to you
Friends we were so long ago
You came into my life
Guiding me at every step
How you have grown
Smiling still, my tears of joy
Wishing from my heart
All along that Christmas is
To you, a Merry Christmas.
Lost in Translation
Talk is sexy (quoted from the GREAT jer) and I totally agree. Talk is sexy with its puns (intended or not), lingos, dry humour, innuendos, underlying meanings, layers of wit and all.
The fundamental exchange of conversation between two people seems to be the basic requirement to really understanding a person. After all, what else but words (followed by actions) allows you to understand your other half truly? So many times we have tried to "talk", but ended up missing each other's point. Is there a solution to it? The only way, it seems, was for one party to climb quickly up to the other's level, or for the other to lower himself/herself to the level needed.
In this case, it wouldn't really be anybody's fault. There I was, trying to put meanings to words, emotions to sentences while here you were, trying to understand me, but I just couldn't seem to, yeah? It seems like we're just painfully stabbing at what we seem to think is the solution, or "talk" as we deem it, but somehow or rather, it just so sadly misses the target. There ain't anymore "Eureka!".
Or perhaps, it is also just as sad that I dig great conversations, with an almost desperate want for someone to understand my most intimate self while I dwell on the more finer details of life. I care no more for those running the rat race, intent on pursuing what they deem as success keypoints in their lives. Sad, maybe not. It's my filter ;)
On a seperate note, I'm headed down to the National Arts Council to sign my Letter of Appointment as part of their Corporate Communications department. Seems like the one-page essay I had to submit on my contribution to the arts scene in Singapore and why I would love to work for NAC has been a great success, given my very-unlike-XP musical background of choir, conducting, and symphonic band experiences. Oh, not to mention I used to study Singapore Film as part of a module in NUS.
Working life beckons, and a routine starts in 2008. New year, new experiences, no room for resolutions simply because everything is new.
Monday, November 26, 2007Talk is sexy (quoted from the GREAT jer) and I totally agree. Talk is sexy with its puns (intended or not), lingos, dry humour, innuendos, underlying meanings, layers of wit and all.
The fundamental exchange of conversation between two people seems to be the basic requirement to really understanding a person. After all, what else but words (followed by actions) allows you to understand your other half truly? So many times we have tried to "talk", but ended up missing each other's point. Is there a solution to it? The only way, it seems, was for one party to climb quickly up to the other's level, or for the other to lower himself/herself to the level needed.
In this case, it wouldn't really be anybody's fault. There I was, trying to put meanings to words, emotions to sentences while here you were, trying to understand me, but I just couldn't seem to, yeah? It seems like we're just painfully stabbing at what we seem to think is the solution, or "talk" as we deem it, but somehow or rather, it just so sadly misses the target. There ain't anymore "Eureka!".
Or perhaps, it is also just as sad that I dig great conversations, with an almost desperate want for someone to understand my most intimate self while I dwell on the more finer details of life. I care no more for those running the rat race, intent on pursuing what they deem as success keypoints in their lives. Sad, maybe not. It's my filter ;)
On a seperate note, I'm headed down to the National Arts Council to sign my Letter of Appointment as part of their Corporate Communications department. Seems like the one-page essay I had to submit on my contribution to the arts scene in Singapore and why I would love to work for NAC has been a great success, given my very-unlike-XP musical background of choir, conducting, and symphonic band experiences. Oh, not to mention I used to study Singapore Film as part of a module in NUS.
Working life beckons, and a routine starts in 2008. New year, new experiences, no room for resolutions simply because everything is new.
I want to dance on wings of love
I want to sing a song so sweet;
It rings of souls entwined so deep
Their hearts their haven of dreams that weave
A life, a journey, when their hands and lips meet.
I want a soul in tune with mine
A soul who sings my thoughts divine;
Of depth, of wisdom, of hearts combined
That lingering touch, that stays behind.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007I want to sing a song so sweet;
It rings of souls entwined so deep
Their hearts their haven of dreams that weave
A life, a journey, when their hands and lips meet.
I want a soul in tune with mine
A soul who sings my thoughts divine;
Of depth, of wisdom, of hearts combined
That lingering touch, that stays behind.
I was idly browsing through the past photos of Riley and Wiley when they were back in the same room as me. I thought how heart-warming it was to return to "home" after a horribly tired day, to see two little pairs of furry ears prick up when you open the door. Those darlings of mine were either lounging on different parts of the bed, on my chair, on my table or on the window pane. Or they would stop midway of whatever they were doing - playing, attacking my dream-catcher, stealing food from the shelves, attempting to open the fridge - to stare at me with those same ears and huge black eyes.
I remembered how I could laze the afternoon away with my cats when I didn't feel like stepping out of my room. I liked how they would find any warm spot and snuggle in with me when it was bed-time (although they have 5 bed-times during the day while I have only 1). I absolutely love how Riley would attempt to lie across my keyboard when I was busy trying to get my assignments done, and how he would roll on his back while snoozing on my lap. It was amusing how they could drive me nuts just by attempting to steal my cup of Milo - I could not leave any form of human food/drink on the table if not it will be gone. I missed the days when I could use Riley (the fatter cat) as my pillow for my afternoon naps while he used me as his pillow in the night.
The two brothers - Riley and Wiley were worlds apart in character, and sizes. Wiley was the wilful one (aptly named, huh?) who would not hesitate a second to steal food from my hand when I wasn't looking, who would jump off my window and get himself stuck in between the 1st and 2nd storey, requiring me to assemble a rescue team just to get him down, even having to bear his frightened urges to scratch and all. Riley was the fat and lazy Garfield (wrong colour, though) who would shy away from strangers but attach himself to me almost all day. He was the one I showered more attention to when both of them were growing up because of his quieter nature. Wiley would annoy the hell out of me but he was still the more active of the two, willing to destroy any dreamcatcher, string and toys that I bought for him with his trimmed claws and quick paw reflexes. Of course, Wiley was a darling with girls (like all cute boys are) who went goo-goo-gaa-gaa over him simply because he was a natural affectionate playful kitten. Riley will rather stay under my hand, cowering away from strangers but warming up only to those who were patient with him.
It is a common misconception that cats are aloof, obnoxious, lazy and everything negative. Cat owners will disagree. Majority often wonder why owners bother to clean up after their cats, succumb themselves to stroking their cats and etc. Cat owners will beg to differ - treat a cat with utmost affection whilst it is growing up and you end up with what I term a "dog-cat". "Dog-cats" sit and meow at the door when they hear your footsteps approaching the front door, they greet you at your doorstep and continue meowing till you sit down and give them the belly rub they have been waiting for. "Dog-cats" snooze at your feet while you type furiously away at your laptop while rushing for your next assignment (of course, they might attempt to snooze behind your butt or on your lap as well) and "dog-cats" snuggle up to you in bed when you retire for the night. Riley is my "dog-cat", only except that he doesn't live with me anymore - he attaches himself to Nick like he thinks the world of my good ol' bro.
Choosing between my cats and my mum was the most miserable day of my life, but people didn't really understand how I felt because only a privileged few know the emotional bond I share with my cats whilst I watch them grow from babies into young adults. The emptiness I felt upon returning home to an empty apartment of cat fur was suffocating. I had not changed my sofa covers till today even though those two rascals have left a couple of dirty paw prints on my mother's precious white sofa, partly because I was too lazy, but well...you know.
So completes a "sort of tribute" to my cats. I would take in another two kittens in future, really...when I get my own apartment and I make my own rules. Hah. I will continue living my dream. :)