Selamat Hari Raya!

Busy, busy, week. Tests, assignments, papers and projects all culminating in a big crush to destroy my sanity. Everything is due. Nothing is completed. Compounded with that fact that I'm down with the freaking flu... Yup, just another ordinary week as an SMU student.

Just took a cab to school on a SATURDAY for morning makeup lessons. Will be followed by another long day of project meetings. Supposed to be holiday week right? Wrong. I've been back to school everyday single, motherf**king day of the week. Deepavali: Project. Hari Raya: Lessons and Project. I have a right to be this bitter. *sniff sniff*

On a happier note, I managed to squeeze in a visit to Fadzli's house on Hari Raya. The highlight: his mother's amazing good food, of course! Erm, didn't take any pictures, cos it's a bit difficult explaining to his mum that I wanted to showcase her food on the web and make people jealous. But people, imagine beef rendang, sambal sotong, chilli chicken, lontong, cornflake cookies, chocolate chip cookies, kueh lapis, muruku... yup, you get the idea.

Me with the Fadz Man. His bro was going for artistic (?) angle.

Meet the family. Yup, cheesy grin!

The grandchildren. And that's only the maternal side. It's crazy man. I have like 2 cousins can!

My fave little cousin! Fariz is crazy! Usually, he likes to smile. But due to unfortunate circumstances (he lost his front teeth), he's looking kinda glum. I adore Fariz. So bloody cute and naughty. At one point, he was sitting quietly in one corner. Fadz prodded him and made him kiss me. Waaahhhh... Heart melt.

Another crazy cousin. Looks girly, but acts like a boy. Seriously, she could whoop your ass.

Yeah, never take a lot of photos. Although I must say when they went through the ritual of asking for forgiveness, I felt very emotional. His grandma was crying and the older folks all looked so solemn. The grandkids were all just heeha-hahaing. So much for tradition.

Sigh, can't wait for next year.

Fire, Fire, Burning Bright

What a smoking good way to start the day.

When I woke up at 6am this morning, I was expecting such an exciting morning. It started off normally enough; one of my course modules requires us to play this game for a project, and the bloody freaking game runs for 24 hours. So my group mates and I are going hardcore; we pull grave yard shifts (think 3am) just to record changes and react to situations. Sigh.

Anyway, when I went to the kitchen to scavage for some breakfast, everything seemed as it should be. But 15 minutes later, when I went out of my room again, the first thing that hit my was that the living room was damn smokey.

Alarmed, I stuck my head out of the living room window but there was no smoke. I ran to the kitchen and lo and behold, smoke was belching from the roof. The wind was blowing the smoke into my kitchen, causing the whole place to become dense with smoke.

And so I did what any independent, 20-year old would do: I ran and called my dad.

My dad took stock of the situation and called 995. Miraculously, we heard the sirens 2 minutes later, but for some reason, the fire engine truck never appeared. My dad called again, and the people insisted that they were on their way.

Somehow, my dad figured out that the roof wasn't on fire; the fire was coming from the rubbish chute. Another reason why we girls can't do without our daddies. He ran downstairs to check it out, and by this time, my mum had jumped out of bed and grabbed the important documents (yes, the paranoid mum rules the day).

We ran downstairs (sans documents) once my dad called back to say that the firemen were here and putting out the fire.

Apparrently, some asshole had thrown a cigarette butt down the chute. And in case you're wondering, it's a fairly common occurance, with up to 15 cases a month. I've stayed here for 20 years and it's the first time this has happened. I hope the offender burns in eventually hell. It's only poetic justice for what he had caused.

But what amazed me even more was that nobody noticed the smoke. Hello, people on the 2nd floor, can't you tell that your rubbish chute was emitting smoke, and the area felt uncomfortably hot? You had to wait until the people on the highest floor to notice that the air vent on the roof was belching smoke before some action was taken? Idiots. They deserved to burn in hell for their stupidity, or lack of concern.

Highlight of the whole event: the 2 Malay firemen that came were quite cute. FIY, they came blazing through the streets on shining white motorcycles. Damn cute. And no, I do not have a thing for Malays, ok! I have a thing for all cute guys! *maligned* Shiny bikes, uniforms (yes, I do have a thing for men in uniforms; more manly what), what's there not to like?

And it didn't hurt that by the time the whole debacle was over, it was already too late to attend my morning class. Leisurely eating breakfast with the folks is a nice change from the usual gulping of whatever is available to fill tummy. And back to bed I went after breakfast. Teeheehee.

Ahem, the moral of this event is, if I see anyone of you lighting a cigarette in front of me, I might turn violent. Smoking kills, especially when coupled with stupidity. And in the race of survival of the fittest, the dumb ones just have to go. As a superior being higher up in the food chain than such smoking idiots, it's my duty to keep the balance in check. Hah. So don't give me reason to do harm. Either that, or your body will take care of the dirty deed by killing you from the inside. So don't be stupid, don't smoke ok?

How Much Is My Blog Worth?

More useless information. I should really stop crawling the net for banal stuff.

My blog is worth $2,822.70.
How much is your blog worth?

Bah, that's miserable. Xiaxue's blog is worth $1,918,871.46. No competition at all.

How do my friends compare? Check this out:

Charlotte: $0 (whoops!)

Pei Wen: $1,129.08

Jing Yi: $0 (alamak!)

Amanda: $0

Shawn: $564.54

Eng Teck: $9,597.18 (phwoah!)

Cheryl: $2,258.16

SarongPartyGirl: $620,429.46

Ok, enough of this nonsense.

Blogging Because I Don't Want To Do Work

Is this true?

Your Brain's Pattern

You have a dreamy mind, full of fancy and fantasy. You have the ability to stay forever entertained with your thoughts. People may say you're hard to read, but that's because you're so internally focused. But when you do share what you're thinking, people are impressed with your imagination.

What Pattern Is Your Brain?

Sigh, I'm definitely overblogging, it's like an obsession, or exhibitionist streak, that keeps bringing me back to write and write. LOL.

Oh yeah, I've made my first enemy (that I know of) at SMU. After class today, Kris, Syl and I were looking for a GSR to sit down and do our work. Since all the rooms were booked (damn those kiasu people who block book!), I remembered that the Volleyball Club had block booked a room for its players to use. Without really checking the bookings, we barged into the room and kicked out the person. And he was so apologetic.

For some reason, he decided to stick around outside the room. 15 minutes later, this girl walked in and said that she booked the room. Upon closer inspection, I realized that the volleyball bookings only began 1 hour later. We excused ourselves and as we walked past the person we had ousted (gleefully, I might add), he DIAOED me. Seriously, I'm not shitting you. The venomous glare he aimed at me was so cutting I almost felt like running away shamefaced.

Let's hope he doesn't recognize my face. Later he download my picture from OASIS and shoot darts at it. Or he circulate amongst his friends that there this BEEYOTCH who pretends to book rooms and kick out people who, although also not the rightful user of the room, had the rights to the room for being there first. Sianzzzz....

I'm Finally Paid!!!!!

Finally, after God knows how many freaking months, OCBC has paid me. It may not exactly be a windfall, but enough for me to rush out immediate and do some shopping. *Gloat* Am now the proud owner of yummy skirt and lacy top from Esprit. *More gloating*

In case you think I'm flowing cash out of my nose, let me clarify that I did the responsible thing and gave half the amount to my Dad to pay for part of my laptop. *Sniff* I should have just kept quiet. Ah well.

And of course, the money came in handy at the right moment because my freaking volleyball shoes TORE. Yes, after 5 arduous years, the fibres have given way and the sole has detached itself. Bought my new volleyball shoes yesterday, together with brand, new spanking knee pads! I know you people may have no idea why the heck I'm so excited, but buying new stuff always rules!

Although, I'm officially on the reserve team, so that kinda sucks. Oh well, since I'm next in line, all I can do is hex one of my team mates so that she sprains an ankle or something, hence allowing me to take my place on the court in my new shoes. Muahahahahhaha.

Aiyah, as if I'm so evil, meh?

My Deadliest Sin

I really believe that my worst sin is sloth. For the uneducated and uninformed (Haha!), the seven deadly sins are Pride, Envy, Gluttony, Lust, Anger, Greed and Sloth. Ok, so I embody all the 7 sins. I think for the Lust factor alone, I've already been sent to the deepest bowels of hell. Like some of my "friends" might say, "You're damn hiao", "You 'ho", and those are my friends. But that's another story.

Lately, all I want to do is curl up on my bed and sleep the day away. I may wake up occasionally to eat, bathe and perhaps catch up on a few good books (Am reading The Quiet American, great book!), but otherwise, the lovely, dark coccoon known as MY ROOM simply beckons. It's deep, dark recesses (thanks to thick curtains) and cool surroundings (had my air-con serviced; bloody cold now) make for the best place on earth to spend my time. Really.

Every morning is a struggle to get up from the comfy warmth of my sheets and comforter. Even after a rude wakeup call in the shower, I still want to jump back into bed and oblivion. Alas, life is not that kind.

Am in class right now. Give you money to guess where I wish I'd rather be.

After thought: Only perk of today would have to be that I'm lunching with the OCBC President at Esplande. Free, good food. Yup, Gluttony ranks second on the reasons why the pearly white gates above may not open for me. Pray for me.

Love, Ah Love...

Sometimes I wonder why people subject themselves to so much torture. In this case, I mean being in love. Sure, it feels like the best thing in the world; you feel complete, there's someone you can depend on, and hey, humans weren't built to be solitary creatures. But when you look at the destruction and hurt it can cause, the sheer amount of effort you need to put in, you wonder why more people don't just lose all optimism and give up on monogamy forever.

The best (and worse) kind of relationships are the ones where you put in effort to maintain. Where you are constantly thinking of your lover, putting in effort to meet up, hang out, communicate, surprise, delight and basically show that you care. Make sacrifices, make time, make sure the other person is aware of you.

But it is just so exhuasting. And then you start to wonder if it is worth all the strain. Juggling school and Fadz can sometimes be a fine art. Because of his ridiculous schedule, he will only know whether he can come out on weekdays at the last minute. So what happens? I have to make the decision whether to stay at home and do work (or spend me time) or rush out and meet him. I have on occasion felt extremely resentful, and have oft wondered if he realizes the effort that I put in to see him. I push aside my work commitments, stand up friends to meet him, stay up into the wee hours (after he has gone back to camp) to rush reports and assignments, all just so that we can spend more time together.

And at the back of my head, I'm constantly questioning myself, why bother? I'm young, relatively datable, why don't I choose the easy way out and just casual date? That way, there's no commitment, no resentment, no feelings to be hurt. And don't even get me started on the other excess baggage that commited dating drags along. Hello jealousy, pettiness, stupid quarrels and misunderstandings. Restrictions, self-control and monotony. Doesn't sound like a pretty package at all.

So why do we still do it? Why do we constantly dream of The One, of spending the rest of your life with that ONE person, of loving that ONE lover into your old age. No matter how big a flirt you are, no matter how much you may proclaim to be a swinging bachelor(ette), at the end of the day, you still wish you belonged in a relationship with that special someone. Someone who makes your heart go flip-flop, who makes you smile with thoughts of that person, who holds you like he never means to let go. Someone you know who will be around.

So why dream of that White Knight?

The answer lies in possession. The knowledge of looking at the love of your life and going, He's MINE. He's mine to hold as tight as I want, and only I can kiss and caress him (well, at least in most cases); that his gestures are made for me, his choices have me in mind. That it's my RIGHT to think of him constantly, my RIGHT to do stupid things that would make other people cringe, and above all, my RIGHT to occupy that portion of his heart and mind.

Possession. When you start losing that need to possess and be possessed, that's when you know it's over. But the magical thing is, you never stop hoping that someone would come along to fill that need. Lovers may die, but love never does. That why we keep trying. That's why we endure the madness and the crying, the pain and the jealousy. In the hopes of finding that feeling and keeping it. To feel glorified and justified. To be wrapped in that special bubble where so many damn things just can't penetrate.

Love, drive us to madness. Please.

Romance Is (Almost) Dead

We were eating at Swenson's and inspired by their new drinks list, I started to call Fadz Honey Darling.

He looked at the same list and started calling me Mango Tango.

How is that romantic, you tell me?

But then again, he let me drag him through MacRitchie (all 11km of it!) and to the treetop suspension bridge, even though he was fasting. And he didn't even blink an eye when I had to stop on many occasions to guzzle water as if my life depended on it, all the while controlling his own insane thirst.

Alright, he has redeemed himself.

Heartache

Wah lao, another disappointing training session. It was so farcical, I might as well have not played. I seem to be playing worse and worse each week, and I think the coach has given up on me. It's like, ok, she's here to make up the numbers. When the better player turns up, she can go pick the balls.

Fuck it.

And my stupid team mate refused to pass me the ball. It's like I'm some blithing idiot and I'd just screw everything up. Whatever. So I threw a temper in my own fashion. After training was over, I took a ball and whacked it over and over again at the wall. *Chuckles* The guys who were training on the court were rather alarmed at my angst. In fact, my captain had to come over and talk to me. Of course I said that I was pissed off at my own ineptitude, and not at my team mate. Even though everyone could see that she was not giving me the ball. I was thinking, Shit, I'm going to hell for lying, but at that moment, I just didn't give a fuck.

Sigh, and I totally need new shoes if I want to stop humiliating myself. My ancient, secondary-school ones have totally lost traction and at one point, when I jumped to spike the ball, I landed off-balance, slipped and hit my head against the floor.

Sigh.

An all-around shitty day. I got locked out of the locker and had to wait 1/2 hour to get my stuff.

The only few perks that I can conceivably smile about was the experience of sticking my head between my team mate's legs. Before you think of anything obscene, we were carrying each other on our shoulders and doing half-squats as a strengthening exercise. It was a kick being carried by my bony team mate.

And of course, my darling Fadz is back! No matter how much I whine, no matter what melancholic mood I am in, he will always find a way to tease me out of it. He would listen and laugh at my silliness and get me to snap out of the "mood" I'm in, and the security he provides is such a great peace of mind. Exhuasted after watching a late-night movie, as I lay on his chest and drifted off to sleep on the train, I felt so reassured, so calm. Like, no matter how bad times may be, no matter how pertulent and angsty I may be, this man will always be here for me.

Amen to that.

Conniving Men

I think many people have the misconception that I'm some bra-burning, man-hating feminist. Truly, I'm not. Yes, I may stand up for certain injustices, but I'm a modern feminist and believe that there really is such a thing as equality. Yes, I may make bitchy comments about men and sometimes make jokes at their expense, but at the end of the day, I'm all for men. I'm in love with one, love looking at them, love partying and dancing and flirting and talking to them. So you see, I'm not so bad.

But then again, there are those whom I truly despise. Men who are conniving, manipulative and basically take advantage of my niceness. Just because I'm more naive and trusting, they see it as an opportunity to use me as they see fit, before tossing me aside once I've lost my value to them.

It happened with A last semester. He cajoled me into believing that we were forming a friendship; having conversations, sharing our feelings, and all that bullshit. But after a while, I derived a pattern in all our conversations: he was either asking about my grades, talking about tests and exams, comparing advice on which courses to take, etc, etc, etc. Now that we are in different classes, he can't even be bothered to talk to me anymore. Just the other day, I saw him at the library. He acted as if he saw right through me and just walked pass without a single word exchanged. Bastard.

And the same thing is happening with S. He, on the other hand, is more skilled at molding the conversation to his needs. He would start off nicely enough, asking the precursor questions like "how are you?" and "how's life?", but that's just the preamble. He would then jump in and ask for the information he truly needs. Just last night, the conversation occurred like this. We were talking, and I thought he truly cared about my well-being. But then he asked "the question". I didn't have the answer. Having lost my value to him, he quickly told me that he had to go and left the conversation. But his msn was still on. I was close to throttling him.

Fuck it lah, am I some easy target to these assholes? What happened to just talking because you wanted to have a conversation with a friend? When did choosing friends and forming friendships become based on a person's perceived value? I feel so utterly disappointed in these people. At least with some guys, they are outright about their motives. It's just business. Fine, I can totally handle that. But if that's all you want, information, why do the sneaky thing and beat around the bush? Why lull me into this sense of "intimacy" only to cast me aside once you are done?

I feel so cynical about friendships now. Whenever somebody gets friendly with me, my first thought is, "What is his motive? Business or friendship?" How is one supposed to live life with such pessimism and suspicion? Seriously, it's bad for the soul.

Maybe being a stereotypical feminist isn't so bad after all.

Female Chauvinism

Sometimes, you must truly pity the male specy.

Despite conventional notion that females are often the ones under scutiny, judgement and constraints, our male counterparts actually have it quite bad too. Ok, the phenomenon I'm about to describe only exists in 1st world countries like Singapore. If you are living in some oppressed nation where people are still in the 3rd century, then of course you have no idea what I'm talking about.

You see the thing is, men have it so bad when it comes to fashion choices. Sure, you may make up fancy new words like "metrosexual" to make male vanity sound better, but the tiniest misstep will result in you being mistaken for a gay. Or faggot. Or effeminate. Take your pick. Either that, or you are called a poseur and dismissed for your utter lack of originality.

Nowadays, men are trying to be more experimental when it comes to fashion.

You see some guys taking baby steps and accepting their more feminine side: embracing the colours pink and purple, carrying large tote bags and spending so much time in the toilet primping that they can rival females. But don't you see, it may be fashionable, but that sure ain't gonna stop the gay label. Think David Beckham. Or Jerry Yen. Some of the most gorgeous and eligible men in the world, who unfortunately, have a taste for experimenting with their feminine side. Now think of the ultimate sex symbols. Sean Connery. George Clooney. About as manly as you can get. Not a single y-chromosome out of place. Wanna be noticed? Dress like a man and stop flinching your girlfriend's/mother's underwear.

And this applies to normal human beings too. Some poor, oblivious male may think that wearing pink is cool. Nope, you're so wrong. Women are constantly checking out guys and if one of them happens to be wearing pink, it is highly probable that the female's first thought is, "Is he gay?" Yup, it's as simple as that. Judgemental and critical? You bet. Welcome to our world. And if you're one of those people who wear pink and carry a tote bag, you might as well be the poster boy for homosexuality. Can't take the scrutiny? Don't ask for it.

Women on the other hand, are so much more liberated. We can wear a myriad of colours and look utter ravishing; wear pants and exude sexuality; cut our hair short and be labelled as chic. But if a guy tries to liberate himself from typical male fashion constraints, and he may just find himself buried under a barrage of scorn and ridicule.

Female chauvinism. It attacks in the most insidious ways. The next time you step out of the house wearing something that screams "GAY!", hair that smells of too much gel, and a bag that looks like it belongs to your girlfriend, perhaps you might want to reconsider your options. There really is nothing wrong with earth colours and a nice, simple haircut. Drop the bag, though. It just ain't cool.

Racism... Lives?

Either I've been living too long in la-la land, or people with deep racial issues are just a small minority. If you have been following the news, you would know that 3 chinese boys were arrested for posting racist comments on their blogs. Not just closed down the blog, but actually got charged in court for it.

Ok, the truth is, a little racism lives in all of us. Who hasn't passed a racist comment before, or heard and told racist jokes? If your hand is not up with mine, you're obviously lying. Sometimes, it can be more subtle. I know of people who would not sit next to an Indian, hold their breath when an Indian walks pass, and other countless little things that may not seem much, but when added together, can actually speak volumes of a person's preference (or avoidance) of a certain race(s).

But what was written in the blogs was so much worse. One guy spoke about his hatred for Malays and Muslims and he wanted to kill them all and blow up a mosque. When I read that report, I was truly horrified. Does racism really run that deep in Singapore? Singapore, where there are multi-racial celebrations, where you have classmates of different races since primary school (unless you belong to one of those atas Chinese schools), where Singapore makes it a perogative to have a racial mix when it comes to HDB housing. Under so many influences, can people still develop such intense dislike?

I remember back on September 11, 2002, the 1st anniversary after the 9/11 attacks. One friend of mine jokingly said that she didn't want to see Fadz cos she was afraid that "his religion" might be planning another attack on that day. I was amazed at the thoughtlessness of that comment. Perhaps because I'm dating a Muslim, whenever such comments are made, I'm insulted too. Insulted that people can be so myopic and assume that just because a few desperate people - who have nothing else to live for in the world, shunned by society and represent the rock-bottom, dead-end laggards of their country - have taken the cowardly method of claiming religion as their reason for personal suicide, that they represent all Muslims in the world. I even went on an Islam absorbing rampage after 9/11, because I wanted to understand the religion. How to date a Muslim if you think all Muslims are terrorists? And it never ceases to amaze me that people often forget that Islam is actually a religion of embracing life, and that a few fanatics have so completely twisted this message that what they represent is a completely different religion.

And it leads me to think that behind all the thoughtless comments made in joking, how many people actually mean what they say? How many people are really living in terror and nurturing this innate hatred for Muslims? Not just Muslims, but Indians as well?

And isn't this such a vicious cycle? When people around you can't stand you, hate you, despise you, isn't it any wonder that these people in turn will retaliate in the worse possible way? What, you think they will just meekly accept their fate and let you step all over them? Remember, when a frightened animal is cornered, it bites back with the intention of killing. Kill, or be killed.

Still Waiting

10 more days before I can see my beloved. Dear old Sylvia and Kristin have been bearing the brunt of my loneliness. My moods can swing from a moment of ectasy, to snappiness, to plain old staring into the space.

I wonder who will be more glad when Fadz is finally back. Them or me?

Blabber On

Had my marketing case presentation today. For some reason, I suppose because of the long hiatus since my last public presentation, I was feeling exceedingly anxious. The classic case of butterflies in my stomach, swelling of tongue and quickening of heartbeat. Yes, even though I have done many presentations and usually seem to have a calm facade, I'm actually this quaking ball of nerves on the inside.

Anyway, today's presentation was rather rushed and I only got to view the final slides like during class. So much for some prep work...

When it was my turn to present, my head went blank. I knew I was standing in front of my professor, I knew I was supposed to sound intellectual and like I knew what I was saying, but all I could remember thinking about was "Shit, what the fuck am I saying?" It was a completely surreal, out-of-the-body experience. It was like seeing myself from a 3rd-person's perspective and shaking my head in mock despair.

And then the strangest recollection popped into my head: there was one episode of America's Next Top Model where the models were coached to do interviews. The coach then told them that when an interviewer does not know what to ask, just keep talking and eventually it will come to you. I realize that's usually my style too - blabber enough, and with a strong smile, you might just convince your classmates and prof that you're making sense.

Keeping blabbering, that's my new motive in life.

I Will Survive, I Will Survive!

Wheeeee.... Just came back from a 4-hour training session. It was only supposed to be 2 hours, but the coach just kept going at it, and what are we to do? Play on, what else. And the last hour was again extended so that we could play matches against the guy's team. One hour of getting whacked left, right and centre. How fun hor?

Sianz, although I am sort-of improving, a lot more confidence in my game then say, one miserable year ago, I still have a long way to go. The other people are improving at a much faster rate, so i need to step up my game too. *determined look*

I seriously need to do more sprinting. Every week, it's the same complaint from my coach - "Oy Joanne, move faster can or not?" "Eh Joanne, it's not good enough to just swish your arms in the right direction, move your legs as well!"

No idea what I'm talking about? Ok, crash course in volleyball. The normal receiving position is one that involved squatting with your legs apart.


Not just forward spread, but sideways as well. Think big, honking spread-eagle position.

Now, being the conservative and shy me, I'm not in the habit of spreading my legs apart (somehow, that came out wrong). My old coach couldn't break me, let's see the tenacity of this coach. So I tend to squat with my legs close together, butt in the air. As you can imagine, it is not very effective. So the coach will scold and scold and scold. Haiz.

When we played against the guy's team, due to a shortage of girls, my coach joined our team. When I missed a couple of balls due to my obstinance in the spreading-of-legs issue, he threw me a disgusted look after a while. Whoopee. Thanks for making me feel good.

Anyway, my practically dead legs of course caused a lot of problems for the person next to me. Sometimes, the ball is mine, and so since I'm not moving, my team mate has to fly over to cover the area. LOL, can understand her need to cough blood.

Our team's formation is as follows:

See, in my position, I have to rush forward to cover the big hole; I have to cover balls coming in a straight line cos the front player has to get ready for attacks, and of course I have to cover to the right.

But sometimes, I get confused whether the ball should be mine or my team mate's.

If you are a smart opponent, you would know that between us is the weakest link. So people keep attacking and attacking and attacking the same spot. With my dead legs and confused state of mind, I missed damn a lot of balls. Deep, deep sigh.

My greatest asset on the court is my loud and happy attitude. Even when losing, I find something to laugh about. *shrugs* Some people find it comforting, and the opponents get so flustered that they make mistakes. I remember back in Sec 3 when we faced the top team in the division... We felt it was a lost cause. They insulted us by putting their substitute team in. So I played a mind game. I laughed, mocked, refused to die (sub team mah, balls not very difficult to receive). I outshouted them, blocked their players' view (it's legal) and laughed and laughed and laughed. They lost that set. Their coach turned livid and immediately put on the first team. We lost eventually, but I'd never forget that feeling of superiority. Even if it's for stupid reasons.

So confidence is very important on the court. Not so much your skills, but how much you believe in yourself. If you think the ball would go over, it would. So when lambasted and criticised by my coach, I wilted like a wallflower. My balls went from bad to worse. Oy Vy.

What I've come to realise is that I cannot think on the court. Thinking and brooding and feeling hurt is bad. So throw the brains away for a sec. Don't get emotional. Accept the directions like a robot. That way, I keep up my cheerful disposition, my confidence isn't shaken, and I can play decently.

Bye bye brain, hello subconscious movements. Let the rhythm take over. Thinking bad. Moving good. *grunt*

On the Edge

My nerves are shot, tolerance is low, and basically a lot of things have been irritating the hell out of me lately. I used possess the lovely skill of being able to ignore a lot of things. Even when people are bitching all around me, I try my best to just smile and not say anything too rude; I really do believe in karma.

Well, it seems that my latest outlook on life is screw karma: let's bitch about the world and screw the consequences.

I get very irritated by people wearing too short skirts. No just mini skirts, but freaking see-my-ass-world! micro minis. Fat people, thin people, bo dai zi people... all of them piss me off equally.

I hate it when fat people wear short airy skirts: hello, your thunder thighs are jiggling in my face and really, I so don't need to see your fat ass popping out of of the skirt.

And thin people piss me off too. It's like, fine, I know you're skinny, do you need to wear a skirt that looks more like a tube top??? Do I need to see another hip bone jutting out of your too-small skirt? Do you think people enjoy looking at 2 skeletal legs poking out from a frilly piece of scrap material? The answer is NO, bimbo, keep the sticks to yourself and bemoan your sad state everytime you stare into the mirror of anorexia and bulimia.

Just yesterday, this perfectly normal girl was walking in front of us, wearing this super short, brown frilly skirt. The bitching session began almost immediately. What were the choice comments? "Her legs are not slender, wear so short for what?" "She walks like a man" (personal favourite) "Hey, the front of her skirt is longer than the back, someone should tell her to pull it down" "Is that her ass showing?"

Well, if I'm going to hell, at least I have company.

What else has been pissing me off lately? Indians who talk like they are on their last breathe. Who feel the need to make a comment after EVERY SINGLE THING the professor says. Indians who trip over themselves trying to vie for speaking time in class. In Finance class the other day, this Indian couldn't stop talking and talking and talking and it totally grated on my nerves. So what did I do? I looked him straight in the face and rolled my eyes. I don't know if he got the message, considering the patented thick-skinned behaviour of most of their kind.

Girls who giggle like hyenas piss me off. Boring professors piss me off. People who can't stop talking to me when all I want to do is brood and think, piss me off.

Gads, I'm in a foul mood this morning. It's so not fun going home at 12 every week after an exhuasting training session, only to wake up at 6.20 the next morning to go for the shittiest, most boring class on this planet. I'm so sleepy I can hardly think. And so, all the negative thoughts are brimming to the surface. (Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble...)

Have you ever experienced that? Sometimes happy thoughts require too much effort; you need to focus and let the good vibe come over you. You have to reach out and and try to grab those few strands of joy, and it can be oh so tiring. But with negativity, it's like a virus that just spreads and spreads. Fighting it is a futile exercise. But if you embrace this virus, you can seek comfort in its dark recessess, shutting off from the world and basically letting your soul go to hell. Sweet, sweet oblivion.

Goodbye, My Love

Fadz has left for Brunei and will only be back on 7th October. The minute he walked passed security, waved his last goodbye and disappeared from my sight, I felt a keen sense of loss.

And the interminable wait begins.

I hate this feeling of neediness, that I can't stand being apart from him even for a short while... but I just can't help it. Since his phone doesn't have auto-roam, I wouldn't know whether he was lying injured in some jungle, or got his limbs eaten by some crocodile... The lack of konwledge is driving me crazy, and it hasn't even been 24 hours. I just feel that as long as I know where he is, when I can still sense him, he will be safe. Now that he's across the sea, I've lost that sense of security and I'm becoming balmy.

I'm not a complete sap by any standards, but I am clingy, that much I can admit. Haha, so what happens to the starfish when the rock is ripped from it? The starfish is left to flounder until her rock returns. Or else, the starfish will have to find a substitute rock. Eh, any rock-wannabes out that???

Bleah, I'm supposed to be studying for a test tomorrow, but totally have no mood. When you have to traipse to the airport at midnight, and reach home at 2am, it doesn't exactly set up the perfect day to be cooped up in some room, cramming in finance information into my brain.

Help, loneliness is setting in. Must. Keep. It. Away. Eh, someone jio me out leh!!!!!

I'm Not Your Bloody Auntie!!!!

Kids are all stupid, that's what they are. Obviously they can't see past their runny noses and beady eyes to discover truth. Bloody sods.

I used to think that my neighbour's bouncy toddler was kinda cute. You know, he talks a lot, looks very cute and is super hyper. Cute, by most standards.

But not anymore. One day, when I was coming out of the house to go to school, that stupid kid rushed to the the door and yelled excitedly, "Auntie!" in my direction. I was so traumatised. I think it was a double blow because his mum started laughing hysterically. I was upset and yelled back at him, "I'm not auntie, I'm JIE JIE!!!" He then proceeded to give me the stupid, ignorant look that all dumb kids have. I hope that I've thoroughly confused him. Hummppfff.

Then the other day on the train while I was reading, this family entered the train. The toddler stood in front of me and started acting cute. Fair enough. I humoured him with the requisite funny faces and broad grins. But when his mother asked him what he was doing, he pointed at me and said "Auntie". His mother then pointed at me and told him not to disturb AUNTIE while she was reading. Wah lao eh, I was so damn pissed lah! Who's your auntie! I'm young and gorgeous ok! I never ask you to bow at me and call me goddess, you should be thankful already! Bllleeaaaahhhh!!!!

To all you people reading this, when you finally have stupid little kids running around, annoying people with their constant talking, you better train them NOT to call me Auntie. Even if I'm 40. I'm the eternal JIE JIE and you better believe that I'm capable of bodily harm.

Is hurting small kids in lieu of self-defense from slander a crime? Yes, it is slander, ok! What if a movie producer walked pass and wanted to cast me as his next leading lady, but because some stupid kid called me "Auntie", he assumed I was too old and walked off?

My Ego Takes a Bruising

While I'm not the most self-absorbed, overtly confident beast that I know, I don't think I really lack in the self-esteem department. At least when I look in the mirror every morning, I don't recoil in horror and throw something at the mirror. In fact, I've been known to approve of the image staring back at me and leave the house feeling good.

Look, this post has a point, and it isn't to laud all my great points. I'm getting to the gist of this post, just be patient, ok?

See the thing is, I know I'm not pretty in the conventional manner that Singaporeans seem to associate beauty with: skinny, skinny, skinny, good features, perfect teeth, preferably tanned. But I definitely think I'm hot (the whole SHU NU thing got lame fast). Sexy even. And if I'm really feeling it, charismatic to some extent. I may not have men falling over, but I'm not exactly repelling them either, yeah?

Look, I have a loving boyfriend who thinks I'm hot enough. He may not say it, but when he approves of how I look, he does things like give me the not-so-subtly once over, and proceed to take my picture. Hey, if that's not a clue, I dunno what is.

And even though I seem to give off the "attached" vibe, some brave men have been known on occasion to approach me. Of course, my luck runs a little more dry here because I seem to really attract African-Americans. I think it's the J-Lo inspired ass I have.

The point is, I'm comfortable with the way I look. Sure, I may bitch sometimes that I feel fat and all that crap and insecurity women go through, but at the end of the day, I'm not so upset and desperate to change the way I look. I look good, and I'm happy. Or like Eng Teck puts it, I'm neither thin nor fat. Shouldn't that be enough?

Unfortunately, life is not always so blissful. This whole train of thought derived from my training session today. I was practicing my spiking and seriously, I would lluurrrvveee to leap into the air and look all graceful and lithe while doing it, but some facts must be mentioned. I'm not like the other skinny girls. Every time I leap into the air, I'm carrying extra weight. If you're skinny, imagine wearing weights on your upper body and then trying to repeatedly jump into the air. Yup, not that easy, yeah?

So at the end of the training session, while I was stretching out my aching bones and joints (a lot more stress is placed on them), my coach started to talk to me about my spiking. See, there's 2 types of spiking: standing on the ground and leaping into the air. I don't lack the strength or accuracy while on the ground, and my balls can be quite lethal and accurate. But obviously not very impressive, right?

So my coach was trying to convince me that I would be a much better spiker standing still. But that isn't fun. That isn't as threatening as looming above the opponent, ball in hand, and smashing it into the other person's face. So I asked how I could on the leap spiking. With a wide smile plastered on his face, he told me that since my legs are so short and stout, and since I lack the speed due to my weight, I would (a) need to lose weight (b) strengthen my thigh muscles and (c) move my ass a lot faster.

With just a few sentences, my self-esteem took a pummelling. Seems like this ol' bod will never be good enough as it is, huh? And the final stab in the heart was when he said my good point was that I had strength. And that came from me using my body strength to smack the ball, ie the heavier you are, the more likely you're gonna be stronger cos the motion would carry you further. Hahaha, thanks man.

I know my coach is being rational, but I'm not! I'm this emotional basket-case and weight is always such a sensitive issue! My heart refuses to listen to logic (not now anyway) as it is bleeding inside. Why, why, why, am I never good enough? Haiz.

How to lose weight, you tell me? I love food too much, hate exercise (apart from volleyball) and too poor to go to a slimming centre. Since my goal is to own a restaurant called Beef's Up! (it serves everything beef! pasta! pizza! shepard's pie! rendang!) and a totally kitchy Soda Jerk Shop (milkshakes so thick you have to use a spoon to eat it; ice cream that has 0 calories - think Diet Coke - and pop music blaring overhead), I think it's gonna be a little hard to shed that weight.

Lol, like I'm just thinking of excuses, hor? Ah screw this self-examination, I'm going to sleep. And hopefully when I wake up, I'll feel like my gorgeous, confident, sexy ass self again. Fingers crossed.

Haha, and it would help if some of you people reading this leave me reassuring messages. Snide remarks not appreciated. Some kindness please!

3 Dizzy Birds

Today can only be described as.... weird. What happens when you put 3 crazy birds together and lock them up in the library/GSR for many, many hours? Crazy shit, that's what.

The whole day started interestingly enough. Geraldine offered me a taxi ride to her office (in Tanjong Pagar), bringing me that much nearer to school (City Hall) in comfort. I was supposed to meet Sylvia at 9am for some Ya Kun breakfast. Anyway, long story short, the traffic was heinous and I arrived at Tanjong Pagar at 9.05am.

Just then, the beautiful breeze decided to pick up and as I ran towards the escalator that would take me underground to the MRT station... I did a Marilyn Monroe. See, I was wearing this short, airy white skirt and it just happened, without me even breaking a stride. Oy, against popular notion that I'm an exhibitionist, I did not stand in the wind and flash people intentionally, OK? Oh well, hope I woke up a few people with a flash of my pink undies.

Anyway, later when Syl and I were walking to school, I mentioned that Fadz was going to Brunei later this month, and I was gonna get awfully lonely and hormonally charged. After a pause, I asked Syl,

"Eh, do you think Fadz would be more offended if I kiss a guy or girl in his absence?"

After a moment of horrified silence on Syl's part, and my quick reassuring that I was (a) no longer a lesbian (primary school, young and stupid mah) and (b) I wasn't gonna jump her, she burst into hysterical laughter so loud people in Timbuktu could hear her. I think she mumbled "Guy" eventually, but I really couldn't tell.

We studied peacefully enough in school (got finance quiz tomorrow) and took a break during lunch. I had to rush off for my facial (last one!) in Taka and Kris and Syl were going shopping. Kris forgot to take something and ran back to the school when we reached the traffic light. Since I was in a rush, I left first. Halfway across the road, my shoe gave way. Reaching the other side, I bent down to examine my stupid, rip-off, Noda, pointed, faux snake-skin, blue shoes and discovered that the hook holding the strap to my ankle had snapped. So there I was, sweating in the sweltering heat, shoe in hand, as Kris and Syl crossed the road. They immediately started pointing fingers and laughing their bloody heads off. Gripped with sudden Mentos inspiration, I jammed the straps together and miraculously, it stayed put. Seriously, all that was missing was the goddamn Mentos, cheesy music, and my cue to give a thumbs up, wide grin to the camera.

And the piece de resistance occurred when we settled back into a GSR to continue studying after lunch. We were so bloody bored of Finance and engaged in idle chit chat, you know, the kind of rubbish talk girls indulge in so often. Syl egged me on to pose the Kissing question to Kris, and she had this to say:

Kris: "When Heyuan's friend went to Taiwan for NS training, his girlfriend (the friend's) asked him to buy her a dildo so that she wouldn't.... miss him so much."

Syl": "What the heck does this have to do with Jo?"

Jo: "Wahahahahahahahahhahahaha!"

Yes, yes, we are possibly the dumbest and most bo liao people on the planet. But trust me, the brain starts doing funny things when all you read for hours on end is about corporate finance, how to make financial decisions, and how the hell to account for finance.

Sigh, more memories for the old age. Oh yeah, don't burst into song and dance to the radio when you are studying with other people. Hostile gazes ahead.

And now back to finance. Whoopdedoo...

Abstinance Is Key

Note to self: abstain from oysters. Stomach is not what it used to be.

I ate 1 oyster from Jack's Place the night before. I found myself bent over the toilet at 3.54am this morning, puking my guts out. Not the best way to start a week.

Oh yeah, Minute Maid's Lemonade is the greatest. I could drink it all day. Yums.

Pain... Take Away The Pain...

Went for volleyball training yesterday. Supposedly our first IVP training, and a grand total of 6 people turned up. Whoopdeedoo. We are so screwed. At least the coach turned up. But then again, when your coach is one of the player's boyfriend... you know something is wrong. Alright, shall not bash him. He's nice enough, always smiling.. and smiling even wider when we receive the ball wrongly and he punishes us by hitting the ball even harder. Most athletes are sadists.

My thighs are burning, but I think it's worth it. It's the only way I get any exercise man. Lalalala, my last attempt at preventing myself from turning into a ball of lard. *grinz*

Besides, it caused my period to come! Yes, that is indeed a thing to celebrate about. My dear old bloody period has been missing in action for 2 months. Now, my body is crazy. If I get stressed/angry/tired/fat, my period wouldn't come. Since I was stressed/angry the past 2 months, my period didn't come. That is a bad, bad thing. I'd get moody, too emotional and lash out at people more easily. Sigh, blessed thee. Begone, mood swings! Hello, party time!

I'm in a daze right now. Trying to stay awake in CAT class, and appearing to be listening. Right. You and I know better.

Of Domestication And Growing Old...

My friends once made the comment that I'm damn domesticated, like I'm all bloody ready to settle down or something. I sincerely hope they were joking. Please.

Just because I can cook, bake and clean doesn't mean I'm halfway into marriage. Any halfbaked woman (and man!) can follow instructions. Just because I have a longterm boyfriend doesn't mean you're gonna see me carrying screaming brats (erm, my children) and walk around town without makeup because I just don't have the energy for it. *pout* I'm not domesticated, so there.

Sigh, I'm just tripping because I feel so old... Where have the carefree days of booze and giggles gone to? I was at Westmall earlier with my mum doing grocery shopping. Hey, I was at home, she was offering a good lunch, why the heck not? The problem, or horrified self-relevation, occurred when we were at the supermarket. My mum got me to weigh stuff, pick fruits, etc. And then it hit me. I can DO this stuff. Worse still, I actually ENJOY doing this. This is going beyond the usual oh-it's-so-fun-to-walk-arond-large-supermarkets-aimlessly. This was ACTUAL grocery shopping, picking into the bottom of the barrel to get the best fruits kind. AND I DO IT WELL.

Before you think I'm having another one of my bimbotic, emotional panics, trust me, it's not. You're reading the blog entry of a girl who seems to have misplaced her misspent youth (every youth should have one) and leaped directly into adulthood. The scary realities of adulthood. I look around the supermarket and I'm filled with this fear that I would be like all these other women: pushing ahead with large baskets, asking the butcher for the best cut of the meat and laughing teasingly when he reassures you that it is indeed the best. Poking at fish and choosing vegetables. Even the well-dressed ones were equally... AUNTIE.

Oh god, I know I always joke that I'm going to be a tai-tai, but at the rate things are going, I'd probably be a housewife. Scratch that. Even if I do become some corporate woman, I'd still have to do this. The routine, the normalcy... The lack of MINDLESS FUN. Is that what age promises? Routines? Shudder, shudder, shudder.

To top it all off, I had a fight with Fadz a few days ago. Something to do with indecisiveness. Anyway... in place of the usual yelling and silent treatment, I spoke to him coldly and logically. Handling it all maturely and calmheaded.

Not good, not good at all. Another step towards becoming a coldly independent, detached individual who views the world with a cynical glint in my eye. Someone who looks at the person she's talking to and thinks of what the outcome of the conversation should be and actively steers it that way, instead of just enjoying the pleasure of the conversation of allowing things to go as they wish.

Age. It's the ultimate disease. It wears you down, tears your soul and takes away your optimism for living. You leave among people who feel the same way and slowly, but insidiously, you eat away at each other. Nibble, nibble, nibble. Death (in all it's many forms), comes a knocking.

Gaah, I'm depressing.

And So The Days Go By...

The first week of school passed in a blur. I went for lessons, sat there and daydreamed, got excited about being in the city campus then became thoroughly disappointed when I figured there was only so many times you could go to Raffles City in a week... Went for volleyball training, met OCBC folks, did work for Ventures, and sqeezed in time with the honey. All in all, just a normal week at school.

I was in school on a Saturday for a Ventures meeting. Sometimes, I feel like Ventures is complete rubbish. Here we are, preaching entrepreneurship, when we haven't dabbled in it ourselves. We can come up with brilliant ideas and spout business theory, but at the end of the day, most of us are still without businesses. Ok, so I'm in the OCBC project, and that was started from the ground. But what next? When will I get to hold and feel my own business? I don't have a clue, and I doubt many of my fellow members do either. It's so easy to say, oh, I'll be a businessman in the next 5 years.. or oh, I'll be a millionaire by the time I'm 35. Erm, hello! It's so easy to say, but where's your track record? What have you done besides read business books and spout theory? It's like being the Minister of Entrepreneurship (FYI it's Vivian Balakrisnan) but have never been an entrepreneur. All talk baby, all talk.

Anywayz, just some griping. Volleyball isn't going well either. A lot of the senior members are losing steam and playing competitively isn't very attractive anymore. Going for regular trainings at night in ulu Toa Payoh, getting injured and tired and still having to go to school the next day.. For what? For shit, that's what.

Hai, I'm just feeling disillusioned. All my CCAs are turning out to be major BS. And it's making me cynical. Why do I even bother? I just want to daydream and be happy and do things that make me happy. I can spend hours reading and blogging and wondering about the meaning of life, NOT spending it in Seminar Rooms the entire afternoon listening to people spout bullshit and what have you.

Need. To. Have Fun. Like the week before school started. Check out some photos:

Hang out with the KB gang at a Shanghai Hotpot place in Bugis. The food was ok, and the soup was damn, freaking, bloody hot. I gave up eating from the hot side and opted for the wimpier, but much safer normal broth side.

Bloody bunch of posers. Heehee. Left: Me, Bobo, Yi. Right: Wen, Lotte (back from America, no less!)

All gone! And even though we were stuff to the gut...

There's always, always space for dessert! Or like Bobo puts it, we have a different compartment for dessert. Think 4 stomachs like a cow.

Oh yeah, the highlight of my weekend:

French manicure!

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I'm such a bimbo.

Bangkok, Bangkok!

Wheeeee!!!! Bangkok is such a fantastic place to go to for a holiday! Ok, so this visit to Thailand was highly sanitised because my parents didn't like dirt, grime, heat. Which means... they didn't like most of Thailand. So most of the time, we were walking around in malls, cooling our feet in air-conditioned places, not taking tuk tuks cos it's too hot and dangerous and hence we only took cabs. Oh well. It could have been worse.

Pros of going with the parents: You eat well, live well. We ate seafood, had fab Chinese food at the hotel's Shanghainese restaurant, and cool Thai food. Bliss.

Cons of goin with the parents: You are restricted, slightly hampered, and can't do a lot of things, ie no experiencing real Thai culture as it's too dirty/grimy/dangerous/hot. Hai.

But let's see some pictures, yeah?


Sawadeecah! Welcome to the Bangkok Airport


The very lovely, Sofitel Silom Hotel. Excellence service! Really nice rooms and gorgeous bathrooms!

Ahhh... Hotel buffet breakfast. Sure bloody hits the spot.... Nothing says indulgence like a chef cooking a customised omelette for you at 9am.


Drinks with Cheryl at the hotel's cool pub, V9. It's on the 37 floor, and overlooks the Bangkok skyline. Breathtaking.

My parents celebrated their 29th Wedding Anniversary on Sunday. 29 years. In today's fickle society where 40 is the new 30, marriages are falling apart faster than a snap of the fingers. And to some extent, my parents are still very lovey-dovey. They still hold hands, my dad likes to feed my mum. It's... sweet.

This picture was taken at the hotel's Shanghainese restaurant. Again, great view (38th floor). The lady at the back was this Shanghainese singer (who took song dedications) to lend atmosphere to the setting. And the food was... amazing. Shark's fin soup (don't go all moralistic on me!), Peking duck, prawns and other stuff. Wow...

So what's the loot? Nothing much lah... Haha.. We only spent 3 hours at Chatuchak market. I know, what sacrilege. But the parents were hot, hated the smell and not-so-subtly told Cheryl and I to cut it and to head back to the hotel. Haiz.

I want to go back... And this time, I'm going oldschool: bagpacking.

Sing with me everyone! Bangkok, Bangkok!

Hugs and Kisses

Farewell, my lovelies, for this Goddess is going away to beautiful Bangkok for an idyllic 4 days. Ahhh, bliss. Shopping, eating, clubbing, and more shopping and eating. With luck, I might have time to sit by the pool but carefully avoiding the horrid sun. Yes, I'm pale and loving it. So no snide remarks.

The room is finally painted, furniture has been rearranged and the place is significantly barer and cleaner. For those of you who have been to my room before, you will be shocked at the change. Yes, I'm trying my upmost best to preserve it's current pristine condition. And besides, I threw out one heck of a lot of things. Will take me some time to get it back to it's previous messy condition.

Will take pictures of the room when I come back. Cos right now, it's looking damn... empty. I'm buying lots of home stuff for Chatuchak to make it a lot cosier.

Until we meet again... Au Revoir. Don't miss me. Hah.

Hugs and Kisses. xoxoxoxo

MIA

Inspired by Cheryl moving out, I decided to paint my room. This weekend. So that I can roam Chatuchak next weekend and furnish my new room with lovely Thai items.

Wah piang, this is much harder than it looks. The last time the room got painted was when I moved in 7 years ago. The room was previously occupied by my grandmama, and although she passed away when I was 7, the room got converted into a toy room for my dad's own pleasure. But when I turned 13, I finally bugged him enough into giving my a room cos it REALLY wasn't cool to bunk with the parents at that age.

So anyway, the father just wanted to get the room up and running ASAP and he cut corners. He only painted 3 of the walls, and left the ceiling untouched. Yes, even though the wallpaper on the ceiling had been there since the house was first built and was peeling in certain areas, my dad figured it wasn't about to fall on me and left it that way.

Fastforward to today. After a mindnumbing, dust-raising-flu-inducing, neck breaking 8 1/2 hours, the wallpaper has all come down. Every last, freaking bit. I had to scrap, squirt water to dissolve the damn hardy glue that refused to give up the wallpaper, and incurred a bloody flu.

But I'm that much closer to my goal. Hooha!

So I'd be MIA tomorrow.. and maybe Monday. If you want to contact me, call my handphone or home phone. I don't think I will hear the tinkle of an SMS.

See you in a few days. :)

Mambo Baby!

Went Mambo-ing last night. Do you believe that I'm a Mambo virgin? What can I say, I'm a late bloomer. But I've never believed in squeezing myself between sweaty, meaty people and not having the space to really dance. But last night was like, screw it, enough guys are gonna be there. Surely they'd prevent my from getting the breathe gorged outta me. And I was right (almost).

Although the initiation into the land of Mambo was fun, I doubt I'd be going back anytime soon. There were just too many bloody people, too many bloody split drinks, and my clothes were thrashed from being split on, stepped on and pressed unceremoniously against wet counters. Urgh.

But aside from the grousing, highlights of the night had to be dancing with this cute and hot ang moh, seeing York dance very, ahem, interestingly, seeing half my friends get wasted really early in the night, and basically, chilling out with people I haven't seen in close to 2 months. Amen to Zouk for bringing friends together. Cheers.

Phuture's music was really good; pity there bloody wasn't space to move at all. At one point, this stupid guy barged across the dance floor and effectively pushed me aside, causing me to bang into Marcus's friend Jiaming, and because the dance floor was too crowded, I was basically stuck there for a mortifying 5 minutes. Yes, the bloody pusher couldn't move, and yet he kept elbowing me aside. I was pressed up against Jiaming and all I could do was giggle like a stupid bimbo and said Sorry. And poor Marcus. He was so stoned and yet he was trying to be chivalrous and push the guy against me. I dunno if he did it out of herocism for me, or pity for Jiaming. Anyway, his efforts went to waste cos he was so drunk he didn't even have the energy to stand.

Shawn was another knight. He had to keep sober because even before 12, Marcus, York, Sydney and Xiao Hui were slightly over the bend. He spent the night making sure Marcus didn't fall off his chair and that Sydney didn't crumple onto the floor. Hiak hiak, Sydney is damn fun to dance with can, sober or otherwise!

And me? I was fine until I stopped moving. And then the earth started to spin slightly. Wasn't an entirely unpleasant experience, but for someone who hasn't seen a club in 2 months, been cooped up in a horrible work environment, the spinning sensation was liberating. And of course I had to take advantage of Shawn's broad (bony) shoulders for a quick rest. Sigh, if only he didn't bloody reek of smoke.

Mambo was fun enough, I suppose. At first, the synchronized dancing was faintly amusing. But after 3 hours of seeing the same lame (uncute) guys on the elevated platforms, doing the same retro dance steps with their hands but basically not moving much, it felt too much like a para-para dance competition. Yueegghhhs.

So the moral of the story is that for a great night out, get a few girlfriends who know how to shake their asses really well, lots of booze, great music, chivalrous male friends, and the ABSENCE of lame dancing Singaporean men. I know, the last item is a bit hard to find, but a girl can always dream. Or visit an SPG hotspot. Amen.

Pretty Words, my dear, Pretty Words

Sometimes, I find myself hearing someone speak, but not knowing what the hell the person is saying. It's almost like background noise. I know that person is speaking English, but somehow, my brain refuses to acknowledge and process the words.

And very so often, people speak for the sake of speaking. You speak to make a good impression, you speak to make sure that the other person registers your presence, you speak because you want to be heard. Be damned what you are saying, just make sure you say something.

I was at OCBC yesterday night, doing yet another presentation to the big boss of OCBC, Andy. Finally, FINALLY, he has given us the go ahead. No more shilly-shallying, no more refuses. The proverbial greenlight. We are good to go baby. Now we just have to convince the SMU side... haaaiizzz... More presentations. But that is grousing for another day.

But what I was faintly disgusted with was the amount of bootlicking that went around. I know, I know, this is the norm in the corporate world, and you have to impress the boss, but seriously, when it comes from your own team members, I can't help but feel a taint of disgust in my mouth. I know Shawn is going to say I'm naive again, but naivety be damned, let me maintain some integrity.

Salad was the worse at the bootlicking. He would rapturously repeat whatever Andy says, cut into conversations so that his voice is heard and repeat comments made by others - just louder. He would laugh at jokes that are not funny, ask questions meant to give the impression that he is an eager disciple, and basically, the all-round lapdog. And to think I used to view him as having a backbone. The more nonsense he espouses, the more disgusted I get. Urgh. Get a backbone dude. Asking about career prospects when you have told me you would never join OCBC due to it's "uncool" image; saying yes, yes, yes then when the people are not around, laugh and deride their comments as foolish. It's disgusting, I have no other word for it.

And what I find most disturbing is that he tries to justify his actions as things he HAS to do. Things that he DOESN'T have a choice about. That's bullshit. That's just paying me lip service. At the end of the day, he makes the decisions. So perhaps he should start living with them. He signed up for the OCBC project, which from the start stated that it would have the requirements of an internship. And yet, with this knowledge, he accepted an internship from IBM. Hence, he could only attend meetings after work and such. And now, he is still on internship, still doing the OCBC project, and he choice to take up 2 courses in term 3B. Whose fault that he doesn't have time? Why should I have to listen to you bitch about not having a life when you made the decision to overload yourself? Why should we allow you to not work for one week on the OCBC project because you are swamped with work and school? You made the decision to take up so many tasks. Now show the responsibility to live up to them.

And my project leader, Jolly, allowed him to do so. Why? Because he was smart enough to ask for some other responsibility that made him seem like he was still very involved. Because he said the right words and sounded like a responsible group member. Helloooo, the meeting didn't even go through. That means he got off his share of work just by claiming some invisible responsibility. Pretty words, my darling, pretty words.

The corporate world is treacherous. So many people go through life saying things that they don't mean, doing things that they don't believe in. And yet, they can justify their actions with a few words. Are those words meant to make the person listening to your grousing feel better, or is it for yourself? How many people still have the courage to say what comes to their mind, or do they take the "safe" and "calculated" route of rewording, repackaging and saying things that are "correct" as opposed to "the truth"?

Jolly is equally bad at this. If there was anyone more adept at telling white lies and believing in his own "goodness", he's the man for you. He praises and drips compliments with equanmity. He calls all the girls "Princess" and "Sunshine" and says things like "Anything for you". I mean, it was amusing at first, but after a while, it just got sickening. And the saddest part is that he truly believes that he is a sincere person. He thinks that making everyone like you, no matter through what means, is being sincere. He thinks that even though he feels like throttling someone, because he chose to smile and praise the person, it means that he is a good person. He thinks that he can yell and argue with me and show me his ugly side, but by smiling and pretending it never happened, it makes him a good person.

Hypocrites, every last one of them.

But what is worse is the realization that I'm not much better. I'm not objecting to their ways. I may sneer and roll my eyes, but at the end of the day, I still meet up with them with a smile on my face, and shoulder my responsibilities.

We all learn to move on. We all learn to survive. Ideals and morals fall to the side as we do what it takes to survive. And come out victorious.

Haha.. more comforting words for an eroding soul.

Crossed Over To The Dark Side

For the longest time, I've always believed that optimism was my biggest strength. No matter how dire the situation, how much I may rant, I've always believed that I would remain untainted; still loving the world and finding peace eventually.

But after my experience here at RP, I doubt I can ever go back. I've crossed the line. I've crossed into the land of cynical reality; a land where only the harshest truths prevail, and naviety and optimism are crushed faster than the careless flicking away of an ant. I've crossed over to the dark side of adulthood.

The last challenge in the gaunlet has been thrown down. I've been looking forward to this day for, oh I don't know, FOREVER - my last day at RP. I began the day happy enough; doing the happy dance at home, smiling at my colleagues and feeling, well, HAPPY.

But alas, foolish is the soul for believing that evil rests on a day of happiness. My rude awakening, my slap in the face reality check, came in the form of my nice colleague, Hoong Chang. I knew something was amiss when he approached me cautiously and told me not to freak out. He had something to tell me and it was regarding last Friday's incident.

Apparently, my boss, LESLEY, smsed him this morning to tell him that she was not coming into the office today. Ignoring all other duties, she however, remembered that she was supposed to sign my timesheet today. She then told Hoong Chang that because she needed to see the HARD COPY of the LIST OF TASKS I HAD ACCOMPLISHED over this past week, she could not possibly endorsed my timesheet. That cowardly, two-faced, hypocritical snake got Hoong Chang to tell me that I had to go back next week to show her the list of accomplishments, before she would sign my timesheet.

At this point, I turned completely cold within. Something inside of me broke, and I fear it was something at the very core of me. I could no longer explain her behaviour as being exacting. I could no longer just brush this incident off as one of those "Whatever" situations and let it be. How could one person be so fucking unreasonable?

Hoong Chang had the power to sign my timesheet, Hoong Chang had the ability to see the list of accomplishments and verify that I had worked, and then endorse my timesheet. But no, that bloody bitch wants to make me so miserable, probably as miserable as herself, before she can feel vindicated. Maybe this ceaseless torturing, the endless nights of plotting and hatching schemes one after another to make me miserable, is the only highlight of her pathetic, snivelling life. I hate her. I truly do.

Rashidah (my other colleague) once told me that when she was working late with Lesley, Lesley's mother kept calling her and hounding her to come home. I immediately felt pity for her. Pity that such a grown woman (with no apparent husband/boyfriend/friends/life) was chained to her mother, destined to grow old taking care of her demanding, aging mother, and not have a chance to find a partner.

At that point, I truly felt sorry for Lesley. I had only previously read such stories in Her World, and never knew of anyone who faced the same situation. Besides, it's Her World; they're bound to sensationalise. But here was a real-life case. My damn conscience told me to live and let live; that her life was miserable enough.

But I'm sorry, I can no longer be that magnanimous. I asked Hoong Chang if detailing a list of accomplishments was a HR policy; he said no. I asked if it was a boss policy; he ducked his head in embarrassment and nodded. I cannot forgive her. I cannot forgive her actions simply because her life is miserable. There is no excuse for trying to make someone else's life as pathetic as hers. I cannot forgive, I cannot forget.

I'm gonna email her later with my list of accomplishments and ask her to endorse it. I'm gonna ask her to endorse it, and let Hoong Chang sign the timesheet. But I'm not very hopeful. I just know that she's gonna find another excuse to make me pay.

Make me pay for what? Pay for being happy. Pay for seeing the world with rose-tinted eyes, and for being sheltered from the cruelties of reality. Pay for not being in pain.

And she's done it. I am paying. I'm hurt, confused, and mostly, cynical. I didn't cry this time. All I could think of was, "what's the next step?" "how to get my money?" But I hope she understands karma.

What goes around, comes around. And when you mess with a Gemini, the return trip is twice as hard.

Somebody Please Shoot Me

Bloody, bloody hell! I'm down with food poisoning! Do you know how much that sucks? I can't go to work (hello, I'm missing the money, not the work), I can't go out, I can't even think straight. At least now it's just discomfort. Yesterday, I was convinced that I was in the bowels of hell.

I'm not too sure what triggered it off. But I believe it began yesterday at breakfast. I got up, as usual, at 7.10am and went to eat breakfast. That consisted of butter toast, sausage and Vitagen. Now, Cheryl (my sister) ate the same thing, but she seems fine. Which brings me to the conclusion that I was poisoned by the GODDAMN VITAGEN, the only variable in our breakfast.

So anyway, after breakfast, I immediately had a diarrhea attack, but I thought that was normal because whenever I drink milk (be it normal milk or bloody CULTURED MILK) in the morning, I kinda get diarrhea. Don't ask me why I still do it. Sometimes I really suspect I'm into S&M. Anyway.

I went to work, and the attacks started. Initially, I tried to brush them off and concentrated on doing my work. But the time between the attacks became shorter and shorter. Akin to having contractions just before giving birth. Don't try to be a smart ass and ask me how I know what giving birth is like. I don't. But I imagine it must be as painful as food poisoning contractions.

So there i was, squirming in my seat, counting to myself as the waves of pain took over my body. I rushed to the toilet at one point, and had my second attack of diarrhea. After which, I decided, responsible or not, screw the money, I needed to go home. So I told my bitch boss I was outta there, and left.

When I reached home (after taking a freaking expensive cab! half my morning's pay gone!), I swallowed Po Chai Yun and crawled to my bed. I was semi-unconscious from all the pain, but I tried to sleep it off. But the pain became worse and worse. My Dad came home and decided that i had to see the doctor. So in all that pain, I hobbled to the doctor, moaning all the way. I think i might have broken my Dad's arm from all that tight gripping.

So anyway, when I was at the doctor's, the pain was unbearable and I was squirming in my seat, my head resting on my mum's shoulder. And you know what the receptionist did???? She SMILED. GRINNED. Like it was the funniest thing in the world to see a grown woman (me lah) close to tears like a baby. Fucking bitch. I hope you burn in hell for that.

Long story short, I got lots of medicine that knocked me out straight away. I was still attacked by pains, but they were becoming less frequent.

And you know what hurt the most???? I was supposed to have dinner with the KB gang last night. But because i was fucking sick, I couldn't go. Bloody hell. There's nothing worse than having your life screwed up by sickness. Ugh. *pout* And we were supposed to have Ma La Huo Guo. Just thinking about it makes me really, really fed up.

The only highlight was that Fadz, upon hearing that I was sick, rushed out of camp to see me. I wasn't expecting him and was in all my sick glory, but he still cuddled me and tried to sooth my discomfort. He made me laugh and talked to me (ok lah, not a lot. that guy doesn't have much to say), but his sheer presence was a great comfort to me. When I told him wryly that Vitagen had poisoned me because it was too cultured, he snorted and started spouting nonsense like, very cultured meh? does the vitagen speak french? and so on. Muahaha.

Oh well. Another day of not working. But I still need to go to OCBC later. Ugh. Somebody shoot me.

Hate

Oh my god. I hate my boss so much. I'm this seething, boiling mass of hate. You can't imagine how much bodily hurt I want to kill her. For the humiliation and the hurt. For making me nearly cry. For making me hate you; to have my mind replay the scene over and over again, and to plot the different ways in which I can hurt you back. I hate you.

I have worked for RP for close to 6 weeks. All along, Lesley (my boss) has been signing my timesheets with little hesitation. But on Monday this week, she suddenly asked me to document all the tasks that I have done since beginning my tenure at RP. I was outraged cos I have been doing data entry, and she wanted to know how many hours and how many entries I keyed. Fine, I did it. Then for all the little jobs and errands that I did for people, such as photocopying and printing documents, I lumped them under "miscellaneous work". I also had to handle the hotline, which I put as "managed the Helpline". I emailed the document to her, and seeing no response from her, I thought that the matter was closed.

Now, yesterday, I asked her to sign my timesheet at 5.30pm. She was previously in a meeting and I waited until she was done to sign my timesheet. She sighed (like it was the biggest task in the world), paused for effect, then declared that she couldn't sign my timesheet unless I had proper documentation. I told her that I had sent the list to her already. she then replied that she would only sign the timesheet when I produced documentation of my work.

Fine. I cursed a little but because I was still doing work for her, I put aside my timesheet issue and finished the work for her. Soon, she started to leave for home and when I asked her about my timesheet, she asked to see the documentation. I showed it to her and when she saw the "micellaneous work", she sighed damn loudly and proclaimed that it was too vague. So I pleaded with her and said that if she signed my timesheet first (cos I have to hand it up on Monday; my mum was gonna bring it down cos after work would be too late), I would show her the documentation on Monday, with details. She said no. Then I blew up. I quietly informed her that I was not an AA (Admin Associate - perm stuff but home-based), and only a temp.

At this point, Lesley went mad. She yelled at me and said how could I say that I'm only a temp (but I fucking am!), looked at the screen and said "I can't sign your timesheet now, especially now that you say you're only a temp." Pause. "And to think you're from SMU." With that, she threw my crumpled timesheet (cos she was gripping it too tightly) onto my laptop, and walked off. And all my colleagues were still in the office.

I sat fixated to my seat, willing myself not to go after her and bit her head off. I willed myself not to let the tears forming in my eyes spill over. my colleague was rather alarmed at my expression and panickily told me to cool down. I gave her a smile and continued to update the documentation with details. But I was so mad I wanted to hurt somebody. But I didn't. Self-control.

All night, I tried to forget the incident, but I couldn't. I was hurt, angry and frustrated. I wanted to kill her for being a BITCH and INCOMPETENT, for daring to humiliate me this way. Moreover, this means that I will be short of one week's pay. I have to wait till the 10 August to get my next pay.

I'm now in SMU (the new campus), waiting for a Ventures meeting. I just finished a meeting with my OCBC group and the professor. I told them my story and while they expressed sympathy, they told me to apologise. You know, to make things better. After all, she still held the power to withhold payment from me. It was pride, or money. Jolly advised me to draft an apology email to her. Initially, I reacted with shock and distaste, that I had to wayang and kow tow to such a motherfucking bitch. But they were right - it's all about people management, especially difficult people. So I agreed. The only thing was, Jolly wrote the email for me. In my state of mind, he was afriad that I would type something that would only worsen the situation. The email is attached:

Hi Lesley,

Good morning.

I agree with you that there is a need for accountability, regardless of whether I'm an AA or temp staff. I also agree with you that "miscellaneous work" was too vague, and it is important for accountability that more details be included.

I would like to sincerely apologise for yesterday's incident. Please regard this as an isolated case. I will ensure that my future timesheets will be accompanied by proper and detailed documentation. I will also bear in mind to seek your approval for my timesheet at an earlier notice.

It has been an excellent learning experience working in RP. I hope we can look forward to a fresh start.

Please accept my sincere apology.

Regards,

Joanne Chan
org-temp2
Office of Registrar

How nice right? If only she knew how much venom was in every word. If only she knew how much I despised her and wanted to see her dead in front of my. Ah, if only she knew.

Hate is an amazing thing. It can make you feel so miserable, and yet, when enraged, you feel so much adrenaline coursing through your veins. It makes you want to do something, which you may or may not regret later. I'm glad that I talked things through with Jolly. At least I can see some damage control being done.

But I never forget. Never. She will pay, mark my words. She will.