Daffy's Ramblings

The Single Person's Guide to Chinese New Year

2012-01-22T04:29:00.027+08:00

Gong Hei Fatt Choy! For all the grief a single person gets at CNY, the ang baos (red packets) are but a trifle compensation for having to endure awkward, unanswerable questions from relatives and family friends who can't remember your non-childhood-nickname name, how old you are, and whether you've left school.

I've decided to share a few coping strategies for my fellow singletons. Here are some sample answers you can use to tackle a few of the typical questions that will be hurled at you this festive season. [Please note that I'm writing a straight woman's responses, but feel free to switch prepositions and gender-specifics to suit your own situation.]

Let's start with the most common, and most dreaded, question: "When is it your turn to get married?"

* I haven't met the right person yet.
* I'm not ready to give up my freedom.
* My career comes first for now.
* Marriage is for losers.
* I refuse to get married and have kids until I can afford to provide them the best, i.e. after I buy my first mansion on Sixth Avenue with its own car porch and helipad.
* I'm only dating him for the sex.
* My lesbian lover wouldn't like that much.
* I want to enjoy casual sex a few years more.
* Most men are intimidated by my Satan-worship.
* He might want a divorce once I undergo my surgery...to become a man.

Question: "Where's your boyfriend?"

a) If you have a boyfriend:

* Visiting his own relatives.
* With his other girlfriend.
* With his wife.
* With his kakis playing mahjong, blackjack, poker, and chor dai di, before they move on to the casino, where they will stay until the fifth day of new year, before they crawl home to nurse their hangovers.
* Hanging pig heads on a few doors, then visiting his sah-lak-gau buddies to sharpen their parangs together, before he's free to come over here - stick around for a while if you want to meet him.

b) If you don't have a boyfriend:

* I'm enjoying single life for now.
* The last relationship didn't end well and I'm not ready for another at the moment.
* He... (let your lower lip tremble.) He... (let a few tears flow for a bit.) He... (Launch into a full-blown breakdown. If method acting doesn't work, make sure you rub chili or onion on your fingers beforehand and discreetly rub them into your eyes when necessary.)
* With that skank that he left me for with most of my money.
* He came out of the closet.
* I came out of the closet.

Question: "When are you getting a job?"

* I have a job, and have had one for the past 9 years. Thank you for asking.
* I work in the arts. That IS a profession. <--I've had to use this one many times.
* I quit my job two working days ago. It takes longer than that to mail a letter, let alone find a new job.
* I have a job already, but my dad doesn't acknowledge "moocher" as a profession and refuses to remunerate me.
* I'm waiting for my dream job. It'll come. You'll see.
* My specialty is very niche. Not every zoo needs a Bolivian Llama psychiatrist.
* Didn't you say you need a new sex therapist? I'm free.

Divorcees may face this question: "What happened? Why divorce?"

* It was a painful experience, and I trust you understand that I would rather not discuss it at the time being.
* Our differences made it impractical to stay together.
* He finally found the feminine wife of his dreams, named Hank.
* Actually he died under mysterious circumstances. Don't worry, they never proved a thing. "Black Widow" is just a nickname.
* He finally met you guys last Chinese New Year. He filed for divorce just after Chinese New Year.

Bonus section for married people

Question: "When are you going to have a kid?"

* When we're ready.
* Once I get my tubes untied.
* Once he gets his tubes reconnected.
* We don't want to make an innocent child answer to the world why his parents are swingers, so we chose not to have any.
* We actually have a child, but decided he's too ugly to be seen, so we keep him chained in the basement. Don't tell anyone.
* I've got syphilis.

Question: "When are you going to have another kid?"

* We want to give our dear one the best instead of dividing our already stretched resources among more kids.
* Once I get my tubes untied.
* Once he gets his tubes reconnected.
* One monster is enough, thank you.
* We actually had another, but she turned out to be an evil twin, so we had her, eh, terminated.

The one-size-fits-all answer to any question:

* Let's not trouble with unlucky things like that. Huat ah!"

Seasons of...

2011-12-08T04:59:00.003+08:00

The past week has been the season of death and life.

Three deaths - one close, one in proximity, one distant. Every now and then, we're reminded of our mortality, especially when death claims someone dear.

Three birthdays, all close. The succession of deaths has made the celebration of life all the more poignant.

The one thing that all these events had in common, though, was the presence of love.

The baby girl, though born with the defect and had not been expected to live beyond her first birthday, had been given her chance at life and all the love she could want in her short time here. The actor who is remembered fondly by an entire industry of friends. The old man who was mourned the moment he was found dead.

Dinner with my father, celebrating a lucky age. Owing a meal to a close friend who brought great music to many. A night of kitsch fun with someone whom I once had to bury in my bosom.

Happy birthday, my dear Sagittarius men.

Seven beginnings

2011-11-22T02:40:00.007+08:00

It was

The sudden feel of a warm hand taking mine.

An arm gently encircling from behind.

An awkward kiss in a quiet, sunlit room.

A searching look beside a merry-go-round.

A kiss at the front gate.

A hand softly coming to rest on the back of a neck.

Two foreheads touching after a bout of tickling.

Holding each other by the piano in the dark; lying back to back after an argument; stroking my hair late at night until I fall asleep; reading a tear-soaked letter from the homesick boy in the army; lying on park benches watching the leaves move; fishing on the jetty; stroking his fever-soaked forehead; the first scent of our breaths entwining; the terror of first-proclaimed love; the feel of fingers tracing grooves on my arm; the smell of fresh soap just before making love; an eleventh-hour silent confession; countless hours on the phone, long-distance; singing to him as he falls asleep; terminal dilemma, torn between two loves; kissing in the club, not caring who looks; driving in tender silence as the rain envelopes the car; seeing my hair on his pillow; discussing who to invite to our wedding; the boy on his knees begging me to forgive him; watching the lone figure walk away for the last time; the self-inflicted wound of cutting away love; weeping my soul away, clinging to him in futility; weeping alone, knowing he's gone.

Time lines, clear at first, get jumbled up. Memories mingle, jostling for prominence. Moments beginning, moments during.

And then, moments ending.

All beginnings must end alone.

Aren't we sick of obsessing over fat?

2011-11-19T16:29:00.003+08:00

Hands up: How many of you, even though you know it's mean and not politically correct, have looked at someone you consider fat and thought, "Eww, what a fatso", or "Fat people just should not appear in public"?

I just saw a piece of news that being fat may now be illegal in Japan, and had the unfortunate curiosity to see what people were commenting on that video. The small-mindedness of some ignoramuses reminded me of this girl I once knew.

A 14-year-old girl, standing at 1.62 metres tall, weighing 47 kilogrammes, with a waistline of 26 inches, bending over backwards from standing into a wheel posture during a cheerleading routine for the school Sports Day.

That girl was convinced she was fat and unfit.

Why was she fat and unfit? Because she had the thickest waistline in the cheerleading team, because a small amount of flesh bulged over the top of her skirt, because she couldn't do a split like some of the other girls, and because she ached after playing ball games. Is it just me, or was that teenage sucker out of touch with what is normal?

That girl was me.

I grew up hyper aware of the issue of fat, because 1) I was underweight as a child, 2) I almost became overweight as an adolescent, and 3) thick waistlines run in the family.

Back to ignorant commenters. I see things like "I'm tired of seeing fat shits everywhere I look" and "Totally sick of seeing fat fuck ass girls everywhere and claiming they are happy being like that. Delusional idiots."

The person I love more than anyone else in the world is considered fat by many. When we go out together (at least in Singapore), it hurts to see people with their judgmental stares and smirks. Do they really know what it's like to have a lifelong struggle with weight? Do they know how it is to try your best and still feel thwarted at times?

Yes, sometimes, being fat is the result of laziness and poor lifestyle choices. However, in most cases I know of, it's a result of complex patterns and occurrences in the course of life, and, I believe, genetics in some cases (the converse is true too - how many people do you know are perennially skinny even though they regularly eat like food is going out of fashion?). Even then, poor choices are also often the result of patterns in our psyche, which is why behaviour modification is a common tool in long-term weight loss.

Let me present two people I know:

Person A: She weighs about 200 pounds, approx 1.65 metres tall. She can lift more weight than most women can. She goes to the gym regularly - I went with her for fitness classes before, and my body was screaming for reprieve while she was still happily pumping away. She's got a butt that defies gravity. She cooks low-carb pasta with organic vegetables. Her kitchen is always stocked with loads of fruit, muesli and whole-wheat English muffins for breakfast. She's diabetic so she keeps her sugar intake low. She has a good sense of style and knows how to dress to flatter (and get attention with cute accessories).

Person B: She weighs about 105 pounds, approx 1.63 metres tall. She eats only two small pieces of pastry each day. She doesn't work out. She's so deathly insecure in her clothes that she never stops looking uncomfortable and tugging at her clothes.

Don't judge. Being fat isn't always because the person can't be arsed to care about their health or make positive changes. Don't say a fat person who loves herself/himself as they are is being delusional or dumb. It means they accept that they're beautiful people even though some people just can't look beyond their physical appearance, having obviously never heard of the notion that attractiveness has more to do with personality than looks.

That's the other thing. Being 'fat' is such a subjective notion. Imagine how thrilled I was the first time I visited the US as an adult, and the locals were marvelling at how slim I was at 120 pounds. Meanwhile, in Singapore, I'm considered a big girl.

I say work with what you've got. No one can be perfect, even if they seem perfect on the surface. If you work towards being healthy, balanced and self-aware, I say you're lovelier than that starving mess of chopsticks they call a runway model (that's a whole other weight issue; let's not go there today).

And for goodness' sake, the next time I hear a skinny person (I define skinny as I-can-see-your-ribcage-through-your-top) say they're getting fat, I might just not be able to stop myself from slugging them.

To those who'd sneer at fat people, I have this to say to you: If looking at a fat person disgusts you, be grateful they can't see your soul and get more disgusted at YOU.

Confessions of a Disney girl

2011-11-08T23:55:00.006+08:00

I was Snow White dressed in the wrong colours. I was Cinderella with throw pillows under her skirt. I was the princess who sat atop the step-ladder throne. I was decked in plastic jewels with flaking silver paint. I held court perched upon a huge bean bag.

I was a Disney girl. A big time Disney girl.

I quoted dialogue from my favourite Disney cartoons. I'd hum So This Is Love as I clambered up the side of our garden swing - I never sat on the swing, I only climbed - and draped over the top bar until my mum yelled at me to get down.

Even as I ogled Transformers and GI Joe figurines at toy stores, I'd probably have a pink Barbie dress under one arm - I had more hope of getting girly toys from my parents than boy toys (little did they foresee the future...).

I wore lots of pink.

I wanted to be pretty, and be loved for being pretty. I wanted to wear the fluffy dresses and lipstick. But I'd never be pretty and princess-like. Which princess prefers climbing to preening? Which princess can't talk to mice, birds and other wildlife? Which princess prefers computer lessons to modelling lessons? Which princess slouches and sits with her legs open? Which princess gets bored at her prom when her friends want to do nothing but pose for pictures while she prefers to jive with the band? Which princess pays for every compliment with the pain that inevitably follows when a vulnerable, insecure girl can't tell the difference between angels and sharks? Which princess wonders why real mothers and evil stepmothers sometimes don't seem to feel all that different? Which princess feels unhappy, fat, trapped, and never good nor smart nor talented enough?

And then, one day, a man looked straight into my eyes and said, "Daph, you are a very, very attractive woman", and wasn't trying to get into my pants. I was 22.

That same month I got my first job, based purely on talent as I had no academic qualification that supported that line of work and only had an interview and a written test to prove myself.

Two years later I was an editor of a magazine. (I didn't have the appropriate pay increase, but hey, a promo is a promo).

Two years later I took a leap and did all the things that people told me were foolish and impossible to live on, and I've proved them all wrong.

And then, one day, I realised I was beautiful and talented.

The kind of princess that Disney has been veering towards in recent years has evolved - the ballsy, eccentric chicks who have the upper body strength to haul in a huge beast teetering on the edge of a balcony, battle crocodiles and (gasp) be non-Caucasian...but they are still pretty in gowns - Disney will never sell a plain Jane. Though I now own gowns and believe myself to be beautiful, I'm still no Cinderella (though I'm occasionally a Sleeping Beauty).

Today, an older and fatter me still thinks I'll never be a Disney princess, but that's OK because I'm fabulous nonetheless, and wiser to boot. Moreover, if I were perfect like a Disney princess, wouldn't I have nowhere to grow?

The beauty of not being good enough is knowing there's better to come. So yes, I'm not good enough. And that's an exciting thought.

Dedicated to those who (think they) want to die

2011-11-06T01:52:00.004+08:00

Why do we love the smell of rain, knowing it brings wet and cold?

Why do we long for love even as it stabs and maims?

Why do we have children, knowing they won't be ours for long?

Why does a starving child hunt for food, knowing that the pain of hunger will come back?

Why do we enjoy the view from high places, knowing that to fall is to die?

Why, even with the will to die driving us to the edge, do we allow life to call us back?

The price to pay for the joy of life is pain, but a lifetime's payment of struggle, tears and wounds is worth the reward of being alive to smell, love, eat, gaze, live.

Being so fleetingly yet blazingly alive.

What I learned from other women

2011-07-05T00:43:00.003+08:00

When you go out with other women, dessert is not an option. It's a necessity.

It's easy to tell who are the women who are easily flattered. It's not always a bad thing, but is mildly annoying sometimes.

Women's lips are far, far softer to kiss than men's. (Don't ask me how I know. OK, fine, Truth or Dare.)

I can see when they're genuinely glad to meet me or any other new person. Upon being introduced, their eyebrows rise a little, the upper mask of their face lifts and their eyes widen, and a half-smile is already forming before they consciously tell themselves to smile at you.

If you've ever laid hands on their man or ex-man, no matter how inadvertent or understandable or far-removed in time frame, they'll never trust you.

Insecure women don't know you can tell that they're insecure because they're too busy compensating. A good friend introduced me to a pretty young thing he was interested in. The girl in question was indeed good-looking, well-dressed, and poised in a manner calculated for effect. I smiled and extended my hand to her - her response was to press her lips into a tight, terse smile and look me up and down before limply extending her hand in response. And this leads me to my next point.

Insecure women don't know you can tell when they're judging you. She was gorgeous but I disliked her within 3 seconds of meeting her. Sure enough, she turned out to be deathly insecure and attention-starved and my friend eventually saw there was no point pursuing her.

A woman doesn't have to be drop-dead gorgeous to feel confident and attractive. In a social circle I used to hang around in, there were numerous slim, impeccably-groomed, delicate-featured young ladies. However, the only woman in that group to ever make me gasp and say "Now SHE's hot" was a fleshy ah lian who didn't score high in the looks nor poise department, but could switch from chirpy to kill-em smoulder in a heartbeat, and who spoke her mind freely, devil-may-care - it was this complete belief that she was fabulous that made her so.

Most women are better people when they realise that happiness is wherever they choose to find it.

But some women are much better people when they are miserable than when they are happy.

Some women will always crave the drama. Even when everything is going their way, drama finds them eventually, somehow. (But hey, look what industry I work in. All hail the drama.)

When you're in a room with powerful women, you can't help but feel empowered yourself.

Some women do have all the answers they need - the reason they've turned to you is not to hear the answers all over again, but to have your support and a hug.

The women who end up being the ones who stick around and share your life with you aren't the ones who are just like you. They're the ones who complement you and you them.

I am not a (conventional) romantic.

2011-03-24T00:09:00.006+08:00

Don't buy me large, expensive bouquets of flowers. Instead, stroke my face with a single rose petal and mingle its scent with that of your lips and breath.

Don't take me to candlelight dinners where the waiters wear coat tails. Instead, dance with me in the dark to Sting's "When We Dance".

Don't compose ditties for me and sing them to me with guitar accompaniment. Instead, hum a soft tune in my ear on a sleepless night while you stroke my hair.

Don't write poetry for me. Instead, read my favourite poems and try to understand why I love them.

Don't repeat "I love you" every other hour. Instead, show me your vulnerability and allow me to hold you when you've had a bad day.

Don't buy me expensive lingerie and silk sheets. Instead, look into my eyes when you make love to me.

Don't open doors nor pull out chairs for me. Instead, be strong for me in times when I truly need you to be.

Don't pay for all my shopping. Instead, tell me honestly when I put on something that makes me look fat, and tell me I'm gorgeous when I put on something lovely even if it costs an arm and a leg.

Don't do everything I like and go to every place I like. Instead, show me who you are and allow us to discover our own things to do and places to go.

Don't burn yourself out trying to be Mr Super Romantic in the first months of our courtship. Instead, be my perennial best friend and partner.

Don't worship me. Instead, love me.

Futility

2011-03-18T14:14:00.002+08:00

I want many things.

I want to take back the wasted years.

I want him to give a damn about what he did to me when we ended.

I want to grab him by the collar, shake hard and demand, "How COULD you?"

I want him to feel as cheated as I did.

I want my current discontent to have died when my feelings for him died those years ago.

I want to be able to feel without fear.

I want to be able to say, "Goodbye till tomorrow" instead of just, "Goodbye."

I want to be able to remember what it is to be in love, because it scares me that I don't remember.

I want hope to stop wearing away.

Water-logged blues

2011-02-26T21:19:00.005+08:00

The rain came back to Mother Earth in an unrelenting crystal curtain - water never forgets who it is beholden to. Wayward dancing shards momentarily defied the confines of gravity and flew horizontally under the canopy, before smugly hugging its target surface: my freshly made-up face. And my new shoes.

But an overdue date with the girls must not be deterred by heaven's sprinkler party. With dogged determination, I dialed a cab company again. A friendly drone informed me that all the taxi services had better things to do than to attend to me.

I'd squeezed into a new backless dress and 4-inch heels - no way was I going to crawl back home because of over-enthusiastic atmospheric moisture, which kept trying to fling itself at me even as I retreated further and further inside the porch canopy. I dialed another cab company, which this time decided to forgo the automated faux friendliness and simply ignore my call.

As I blessed the phone with my richest expletive, a soccer ball, apparently also trying to defy the laws of physics, zipped past my left foot, missing it by 2 inches. Its pint-sized owner scampered to retrieve it without casting me a look, before proceeding to accelerate the 22-centimetre particle through various other vectors.

As the gleeful riot of rain gathered in strength, I glanced forlornly at the time. I was hopelessly late. A loud thump to my right made me feel lucky to be alive while children are playing soccer on the porch. I attempted to book a cab again - the sooner I away with me, the less likely to experience death by ball.

Just as another irritating engaged tone emanated from my phone and my feet started to scold me for donning screw-me-shoes after a long hiatus from high-heels, I looked up in time to see the offending black-and-white sphere hurtling my way again. As I artfully dodged the soccer ball of death, I opened my mouth with the intention of curdling the child's blood with my verbal prowess, when a flash of red brought light to my rain-darkened world. The scarlet Volkswagen came to a halt and the knight in shining white shirt emerged as I jubilantly surged forth to meet him.

"Dad! Pleeeeaaaaase give me a lift?"

Beauty, joy, and ghost tears

2011-02-20T22:16:00.003+08:00

My heart is full upon being part of my dear Joy's wedding, which was smashing to say the least. Seeing her so happy, having a ball of a time with my best friend and her loved ones, and having been there at such a special time at such a place of beauty has filled me to the brim.

And I discovered that when your heart is full, you truly feel the undercurrents churning, and you realise that repression does not keep a tempest at bay.

Being at the wedding among so much joy pretty much made me realise what I had to do shouldn't be dragged on much longer, and what I truly need isn't anywhere in the vicinity. I don't want to waste weeks, months or years sticking to the easy, 'nice' path, because 'nice' will turn into 'polite', which will turn into 'toleration', and I don't want to have to find out what the next metamorphosis will be. All of us deserve more than that.

Yesterday, we drove into Patong for a quick jaunt. Whilst the rest of the trip had been a ball so far, driving through the raucous streets of Patong brought an unwelcome feeling of recognition, right before I realised why. Years after I was, and still am, over the f***er who bailed on the rest of our lives (and turned it into the rest of my life), the memories of our special moments still hurt, and Patong was witness to the very best time of our life together; for goodness' sake, his profile picture in some social networking site is still a photo I took of him as we sat in the coloured darkness of Patong's night scene. Even passing by the cabaret reminded me so acutely of those blissful days that turned out to be tainted with deceit at such a fundamental level.

I wish we hadn't gone to Patong (but am still very thankful to our kind friend who brought us there).

It hurt to think of the life I'd lost, and the life I know I want that isn't reachable currently. As we traversed the steep slopes that took us away from Patong, it took the blazingly stunning red disk of the setting sun and the resonant laughter of friends to ease the transient dull ache.

These four days mark the tail end of a long contemplation. What I'm about to do is so difficult, but the more time passes, the more the need digs its claws in.

The sadness of loss and readjustment, the liberty of having done the right thing. How does one weigh their life?

I want to choose fairness over comfort. We've done enough thinking and talking - months and months of thinking and talking. It's time to do, and do cleanly.

Somehow, all this sounds more objective than it feels.

Screw optimists

2010-11-08T03:34:00.003+08:00

As in, why the f*** am I so optimistic all the time??

Is optimism a state which I force upon myself, or is it my real nature? I've got so much going for myself, and so little, all at the same time. Why am I afraid to show how discouraged I truly feel sometimes, how bloody scared I am?

Sometimes I'm so sick of being strong for myself. Why can't I just curl up on someone's lap and suck thumb for a few days? Why do I repress myself and put on a smile and shrug as if to say "Nevermind", when what I really wanna do is scream and punch pillows and demand to know why the f*** things are the way they are?

Why do I hold back and be diplomatic when I really wanna shove everyone else aside sometimes and yell "You do what I want for a bloody change"? Why do I insist on being selfless when I want to be friggin self-absorbed sometimes?

Why do I smile and keep taking big strides when I'm really scared and wobbly-kneed sometimes?

I'm 31 years old. Why's my career so young? Where's the straightforward path to the rest of my career? Why hasn't anyone in my family (save one) been supportive about my choices? Why hasn't a single one of my extended family come to see any of my shows, including the one who blatantly stated that being an MC (let alone the other roles in the industry) is shameful? Why are the people I care about absolutely the most in my life geographically so far away? Why wasn't I able to bloody choose what I wanted during my formative years so the path wouldn't be so darn difficult now? Where's the sizable nest egg I should have by now? Where's my six-figure CPF? Where's my soul mate? (Oh yes, he's gone and married someone else. Guess that wasn't him.) Where's that someone who'll pat me on the back and tell me I did good? Where's the person who will be strong for me? Just because I don't have as much charisma as some other people, does that make my opinion any less valid? Why does that make you think it's ok to ignore me? Why can't I get my way more often than not? Why am I so giving when what I really wanna do is take more?

Where's my sense of self-entitlement??

If this post irritates you, well TOUGH. This self-centred rant is fucking overdue. I'm done being nice for tonight. Miss Nice will probably be back tomorrow.

Rare food rave

2010-10-21T01:27:00.002+08:00

I rarely, if ever, rave about food, but I gotta this time. Ray just introduced me to this great little Korean restaurant called Kim's Family Food along Lorong Kilat, just off Upper Bukit Timah Rd. It's clearly a family-run joint, and patriarch Kim himself can be seen ambling around the restaurant in a t-shirt, while the young Kim-lookalike at the counter can only be presumed to be his son.

Why am I impressed? The biggest reason is that none of the food is salty, yet tastes fantastic - it's pure and true taste without needing to pile on any salt or MSG. Just about any main order, including a humble bowl of ramen, includes the very typical Korean barrage of side dishes (we counted 14), each healthy, containing very little oil, and tasting great.

We ordered the beef and pork bulgogi sets, one with the soya bean stew and the other with spicy noodles. (We were sorry it didn't occur to us to take photos of the food before we tucked in; we saw other people doing so, though.) Now I'm really not a soup person at all, but the fragrant, slightly nutty stew is something to write home about, with clams and prawn thrown in for richer taste. The carnivore in me was more than satisfied with the very tender and rich-tasting meat in each set.

The portions are generous, and the price is very wallet-friendly for the quality we got. Our sets cost us $15 (with noodles) and $10 (with stew - yes, the one with seafood in it) respectively.

What I didn't expect, though, was that none of the food was particularly spicy. My previous experience of Korean food was littered with pretty potent spice, but I found that the "spicy" food at Kim's was extremely mild - this coming from someone who can't eat fish head curry without going through three glasses of lemon juice.

Ray had heard that one shouldn't be fooled by the term "Appetisers" in the menu. The advice was to never order those unless you had a party of four or more, and boy are they right. We didn't order any, but we did see other tables' orders - one serving of savoury pancakes filled a full-sized dinner plate.

They surprised us with an unexpected humble little dessert at the end of the meal - I didn't see any mention of it in the menu, so maybe - like the side dishes - it just comes with every meal. It comprised a slice of watermelon and a small teacup of sweet cinnamon drink. Ray didn't seem to fancy his, but I'm a sucker for cinnamon, so I totally appreciated that.

If you like good, authentic Korean food that won't cost you an arm and a leg, go try this place!

You can find Kim's Family Food at 17 Lorong Kilat, #01-06, Kilat Court, S598139, tel: 6465 0535. It's in the same complex as the Korean supermarket Lotte Mart.

Short gush

2010-10-04T17:37:00.003+08:00

Sudden urge to blog! This is just a short gusher blog entry before I attempt a more thought-through and coherent one.

May I say that I'm so excited I could burst!

Tasks I am happy to zip through these two days:

- Buy munchies for our pantry
- Buy toner and waterproof eyeliner
- Drop off receipt to a wonderful donor (tried to find time to sit and chat with her instead of just drop-and-run, but had the happy problem of no time!)
- Get cheque to pay programme printer
- Collect tickets, label them, and leave them at front-of-house
- Pack in towels and personal dressing room kit
- Remind mother not to be too scandalised watching the show
- Remember who to have supper with on each night
- Remember to breathe

More than four months' work has come to this, with some of the dearest friends I have. I can't wait for the rest of this week to come to pass, but don't want it to end. I can't wait to be skin-drenched-soaked, costume dress flowing one moment clinging to skin the next moment, towelling off sopping wet hair frantically, watching lights bounce off water and black floor and white floor, whispering ardent prayers, freezing, perspiring, more water, candle wax, brooms, stairs, wood, bells, voices, bodies, bulging biceps, white pants, silver on black, black walls, popcorn, everything!

And beneath that effervescent excitement, a deeply gravity-bound realisation of something larger, more substantial unfolding.

Morphing is a painful business

2010-08-02T17:36:00.003+08:00

The topic of change and transformation has been (will continue to be in the coming months) very much in the foreground of my mind.

And that was what this morning was - morphing from one thing to another. A positive end to one stage, and a wait for the next thing to evolve.

But by golly, these things feel like a regression sometimes.

Nothing is pointless, nothing is wasted, and the past 1 year and 3 months has largely been good, and I'm glad that it moved on with a lot of warmth and love. Thank you so much, my dear xiao mao.

All the same, it hurts a good deal, more than I thought it would. That picture we took on your birthday is still on the shelf and will probably take me a little while before I put it aside. The ring will sit on my counter a while more too. Know that I'm missing you so much now.

Parting at my door brought back another very unwelcome memory: the previous time I'd said a goodbye on the same spot. I'm sorry to relate the two, which have nothing to do with each other, save their cumulative effect on my state.

Experience helps to heal more quickly but doesn't numb very well. The pain of parting becomes less long-lived but more tiring each time.

I really wish I never have to do this again, knowing I will, in some form or the other; I'd just been going through a good spell the past few years. But gosh, I really do wish I'll never have to again.

"Let me not outlive my own capacity to love."
"Let me die still loving, and so, never die."
~Mary Zimmerman~

A Barrage of evening

2010-07-28T02:47:00.004+08:00

Chilled out at the Marina Barrage for the first time on Sunday. Trying to park there is friggin insane, but once you get that behind you, I must say it's quite pleasant there - if you manage to avoid being trampled by kids running blind with kites, or not get annoyed with noisesome aunties.

The sight of the sun setting behind the city skyline was pretty cool, if not quite awesome. Ray's iphone did a decent job of capturing it. Wish I had a Canon again.
Watching kite strings get tangled was also quite entertaining. It was a nice evening.

Interestingly, some security personnel started coming by and asking people to clear the concrete path that had up to then been quite happily strolled and pranced upon by kids and couples. This was a tad puzzling, until we saw a buggy approach with a certain white-haired pseudo-monarch perched in it, waving like a celebrity as he passed. He tends to do that, doesn't he?

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. The IR is possibly the ugliest structure on the island, and it completely and abruptly ruins the skyline. Not sure which I hate more - what it looks like or what it represents.

Surface tension above abyssal disappointment

2010-07-17T06:19:00.005+08:00

I hope it works out. I really, really hope it works out. I deeply want it to work out.

But it's not up to just me. What are the individuals willing to do to make it work? In the words of a wise friend, are we committed enough to do whatever it takes to make it work?

But it's not up to just one. Or two. Or three.

Steamrollers can flatten a few feet of terrain. But a steamroller can't level a mountain.

Not-so-final message

2010-05-20T12:46:00.004+08:00

Last night, I was waiting for a mild migraine-cum-allergy-headache to ebb before going to sleep. I started stretching in bed, when a very sudden and intense pain blasted through my head. It felt like someone clamped on a really, really, really tight steel headband and kept tightening it. It slowly lowered in intensity but took residence in the right side of my head.

It was so sudden and unique in my experience that I was genuinely worried it was an aneurism. I was worried enough that I actually started typing a last message on my phone via the compose-SMS function so that someone might see it when they walked in in the morning and found me dead. And then, typical me, decided to play it safe and saved it under Drafts and re-opened it under the edit function so it could still be easily found and read without getting deleted accidentally, but without having to pay for sending it to someone. Anal retentive to the last, eh.

But anal retentiveness aside, what that did was make me think about who I wanted to say "I love you" to the most, and I've got my list down. I'm happy to say it's a good-sized list, and all of the people listed already know they're loved by me.

I also know what to say about my life at this moment, distilled down to three sentences. All three are good ones.

And, of course, I had to mention I'm a full organ donor, just in case my heart hadn't stopped yet when I was found.

I'm glad it isn't a final message after all. But I'm more glad about what it's made me think about.

I ended with a more pensive last thought, though.

Non-permanance

2010-03-27T04:21:00.004+08:00

Events of recent weeks have brought the idea of permanance, or lack thereof, to mind (and heart).

Just over 3 years ago, I was intensely mourning the loss of a permanance I assumed I had, permanance that I'd spent a lifetime preparing for, confident I wouldn't settle for less than what I deserved. Turns out, I deserved far more than that.

Upon reflection, I realise I had known deep down that I would be settling if I'd gone with that permanant state as it was. Questions of what-if and what-else-out-there had been softly flitting through my head, and I silenced them. I believed what it had was precious enough to supercede any possible doubts I had. And as that turned out, it wasn't I who had the doubts, in the end.

Towards the end of that episode 3 years ago, the one who will remained unnamed said, someone told him that if you don't get married within the first two or three years of the relationship, it gets really hard.

What if he'd popped the question early, before the spot appeared and festered in his heart? What if I'd said yes, as I was likely to have?

The more I think about it, the luckier I feel right now.

It was the loss of this permanence that solidified my awareness of what I truly wanted.

But back to events relating non-permanence of recent weeks.

Trust was broken for someone rather close to me, and a beefy person out there is on probation while they see if there is some glue out there that could possibly mend something so thoroughly shattered.

And then there's another entity infinitely closer that has a definite but undefined conclusion. But sometimes, non-permanance is not a bad thing at all.

Acknowledging that non-permanent nature brought the gladness that comes with meeting someone at a crossroad, glad to have arrived at the same point at the right time. Knowing there's so much to love and enjoy within a finite time brings a richness in each others' company, and a strong desire to embrace each moment.

Sometimes, non-permanence teaches you things, and makes you cherish the present so much more. It can bring you closure. It can undo a knot inside you. It can release you.

Some say it leaves emptiness behind after it's done breaking you. I say it's empty only if you tip all the contents out and don't learn a thing. It breaks you only if you let it.

Here's to every moment, my dear.

Dry, mute tears

2010-03-14T02:34:00.003+08:00

The kind of tears you shed for a friend when it's theirs and not your heart that's broken, though you wish you could take their pain and spread some on yourself so they don't hurt so badly.

Just spent some time with good friends, one of whom has been abominably hurt. The noise we made was pregnant and silent, and once again we found ourselves with the iceberg syndrome, where what you saw (or, rather, heard) was only the tip of everything else that was there but had no decibel rating. A perpetual group hug even as we sat separately in different spots in the room.

[The trouble with being an introvert is trying to gauge the balance between being an active friend (versus a passive one) and avoiding being intrusive. I wish I'd know what I could do to ease their pain. But that's self-conscious babble. This is not about me.]

How to be a friend when shit happens.

Sometimes you can be there as a shock absorber and topical analgesic.

Sometimes you can be there for them when they need a sounding board.

Sometimes you can be there for advice (when asked).

Sometimes there's nothing to say, and no need - you can be there as silent but sure support, a reminder of how much they're still loved by you, even if it's not the kind of love they have just lost.

Lots of other kinds of love is still better than love betrayed.

We love you, dear.

P.S. We ate your cake, MoFo. And it was GOOOOOOOD.

Ancient Egypt at the museum

2010-03-03T19:47:00.011+08:00

Went to see the Quest for Immortality - The World of Ancient Egypt exhibition at the National Museum a couple of weeks ago. Fascinating, of course, as with all things ancient Egyptian. I wish it'd been a more comprehensive exhibition, but they travelled all this way to humid, humid Singapore, I'm just glad to have seen it.

Among the busts displayed (that is, statues, not boobs, you dirty minded things), this was my favourite for its shadows and un-empty spaces where bits of it had come off.

I really like the effect of incomplete images and likeness, the suggestion of so much more than you're able to perceive. A partial likeness is so much greater than the sum of its hidden parts.

A little coffin for a little beetle. OK, the beetle was not that little. Apparently, some species of scarabs grow to 17cm in length, but I'm not sure what size Egyptian scarabs typically were (but I'm sure they were big).

A crocodile mummy! A really small crocodile mummy.

And of course, jewellery caught my eye from afar.

Check out the neat detailing on the necklace charms.

The attempt to blend in didn't work like we planned. We should've brought our own white towels and knee-high boots.

What caught my eye about this one is the expression on the figurine's face.

The beyond-prolific symbolism is pretty mind-blowing. Found myself fascinated by the recurring theme of raising the dead one's feet and head above the earth, like the platform painted into the inside of the coffin beneath the feet.

We didn't need to be told these were servant figurines.

Where your vitals go after you die. Not your brain, though.

Scarab charm on the mummy's wrappings.

Pages from one Book of the Dead. No harm ever came from reading a book, right?

Charms and more charms. Love the one at the bottom - it's made to resemble two fingers.

One of the fun activities at the start of the exhibition: either shade and decipher hieroglyphs (which we had no time for and didn't want to fight with the horde of students hogging the display), or fold your very own pyramids. The product of mine and Raymond's origami fingers.

The exhibition is on till 18 April.

Another goodbye

2010-02-28T05:19:00.011+08:00

Today I stood at the open window in the room that had been converted from an open balcony in 1988, the same spot where I'd stand the night before Christmas, waiting for carollers to pass by so I could shout "Merry Christmas!". I stood there, taking in the suddenly extraordinarily beautiful view, and I cried.

The house at Begonia Terrace had finally been sold, and we'd been making the final excavations before handing over the house in a few days' time.

I had to go back one more time.

I opened all the doors upstairs, and I walked through all the rooms, and I let the afternoon light into the dim hallway. I entered the master bathroom and was reminded how much I miss having a bathtub, and thought about the amount of fun I had wasting time and splashing water in that bathtub as a kid.

I paused at my old bedroom, noting the places where furniture had been, and where it still was. I saw that my postcards and pictures had been removed from the dressing mirror. I opened my old closets and saw that the only thing left in it was a tiny picture of Tom Cruise in the movie The Firm that I had pasted behind the closet door when I was 14. I pushed aside the curtain and looked out my bedroom window, the same one that once let moonlight through to fall on my face as I lay in bed looking up.

I didn't realise I'd forgotten to look at the mirror behind my bedroom door till now.

I entered the kitchen, the only room in the house with a hideous colour scheme (because it was the one room my dad had been allowed to decorate). I realised what a great kitchen it was and still is. In spite of the glaring banana yellow cabinets and mucky green tiled floor, it was cheerful and very comfortably oriented. I suddenly loved that I had tried to play hopscotch on that tiled floor, that the oven never worked, that the fridge surface was stained from all the magnets that had clung to it. I loved that it had another door that led to the backyard. I'd never noticed how spacious the backyard was because it was usually half covered with clothes hanging out to dry on bamboo poles.

I closed the doors, recognising all the unique sounds each door makes, missing the metallic twitching sounds those old doorknobs make when I twist them.

I walked down the stairs, remembering how, as a kid, I'd try to climb down the stairs on just the banisters without getting caught by my mum, and how I'd sometimes take my toys and play under the stairs. I saw the odd spot on the wall where they'd decided to paint the wall around the piano rather than move it.

I'd also forgotten to look at the beige marble floor downstairs, where little me used to love to scan it and fancy I saw shapes of objects and people in the marble swirls, the way some people like to identify shapes in clouds. Those marble swirls were my clouds.

I walked through the garden, where the big ixora shrubs and some trees were still flourishing, even though our other garden residents had faded. I looked at the empty spot where the old mango tree had been cut down years ago because it stopped fruiting, and the other empty spot where the guava tree had also been chopped when it became diseased; its guavas sometimes grew bigger than my head. I looked at our beautiful rambutan tree - my dad remarked that this year's harvest would have been great as he'd been fertilising it well the past months; I drew some little comfort in that the new owner had said he wants to keep the tree.

I passed the two rusting bicycles - I'd learnt how to cycle on the blue one with the basket, and I'd spent my teenhood zooming through Seletar Hills and pedalling to piano lessons on the large black mountain bike. I'd spent so much time roaming the estate on that bike, learning every lane, conquering (almost) every slope and discovering the sweaty, achy way why the Hills were named so.

I looked over the last of the stuff we were not going to take with us, and fought to resist taking many of them with me. Obvious as it was, I regretted that we couldn't take the huge grandfather's clock with us, even though it'd stopped working 15 years ago. Instead, I grabbed some books that I'd forgotten and walked out the front door onto the porch.

On my way out of the driveway, I paused at the front gate, briefly pondering the countless memories and life landmarks that took place at that exact spot. How can one tiny geographical spot contain so much of a person's life, hold so much value?

The gate was shut and locked, and I turned away, feeling the tears come up again and pushing them down. As I pulled away down a street that is beyond familiar, I turned back for a last incomplete glance, and said my silent goodbye to my real home.

I love that old house the way a dog owner loves his mangy old mongrel. It's hard to let go, knowing no one who comes after will love it the way I do. It's old, has cracks in the paint, pieces of parquet flooring that insists on coming loose, probably still a leak somewhere, old fashioned interior, lopsided roof on one side (thanks to my neighbour). And knowing that the new owner will not love it for what it is and will probably modify it drastically, if not tear it down completely and rebuild, breaks my heart.

After we'd moved out 6 years ago, I still had dreams, both good and bad, about that house, in the various rooms, in the garden, on the streets hugging the house. No one can live and grow up in one place for 23 years and not have it echo and haunt and insist on its place in your consciousness. I sometimes still dream about that house.

Like losing a loved one, goodbye is never enough.

January-February doldrums

2010-02-11T02:49:00.002+08:00

January and February have always seemed to be my low time of the year.

As a school-going kid, it felt simply like the drudgery of going back to school, coupled with the usual confusion of adapting to new school things.

As an undergraduate, January-February immediately followed the fun inter-semester break - where hostel life would be school work-free and full of hall activities, competitions and friends - back to the most hated duty of studying a course I didn't understand and didn't like one bit.

And let's not forget that these two months house the Chinese New Year period, and you can never go anywhere without being irritated to death by the cacophony of 'festive' music and blinded by garish decorations that endeavour to part consumers with their money. I've always disliked CNY.

But it was after I started freelancing that I really started to feel the Jan-Feb curse rear its head each year. The breakup process with K certainly set the mood, rendering that period utterly miserable. After that, each Jan-Feb has seen a big lull in work, and a giant dink in my mood. Even with whatever work I get during that duration, my creative juices stop flowing completely, my mood hits the floor and I get an overwhelming need to procrastinate everything. I sometimes actually want to hide in my room all the time and not go out at all.

Which is certainly not good at all at this instant, since I need to set things in motion now for the rest of the year.

Why am I dragging my feet?

Maybe I ought to have been born a bear and hibernate in northern winter.

Drivers and Coasters

2010-01-04T16:59:00.002+08:00

Going through some old photos yesterdays, I was reminded of someone I knew very well, who epitomised for me what inertia is.

If we take the road as a metaphor, drivers are those who choose points of destination, make conscious choices about the routes to take, and act on those choices.

Coasters are those who get in their cars without really thinking about what they want, and let the traffic move them, without taking the responsibility for making their own choices. The inevitable result is most of them don't know where the fuck they are after a while, and can't be bothered to figure out what to do.

(In case QC is reading this, I'm bracing myself for puns about putting coasters underneath my drink glasses.)

We were alike, this person and I, in that we were both coasters by nature. But unlike him, I'm a strange hybrid of both coaster and driver, and that I constantly battle the laziness of inertia to get to where I want. But ultimately, I've always known what I want and tried my best to work towards it.

Let's call him Ernie. Ernie used to lament that he had no passion; that he liked things, but didn't love them. The usual result is that his interest in things tended to fizzle quickly.

I didn't like that much, but now, I downright don't respect that at all. Over the years, I've come to know others like him too. On the surface, they're often likeable people known for mild temperament, but my take is that they're so insecure about feeling strongly about one thing or another that they just don't show any extreme of negative emotion whatsoever. No one dislikes a mild person, but in the end, no one respects them either.

I think it boils down to laziness and insecurity. The mentality is: don't invest too much heart into something, and it won't tire you out nor let you down. Who can respect someone who's unwilling to take responsibility for choices by even making them?

Yes, it takes effort to drive something you feel strongly about. It takes courage to feel strongly about something. It takes more effort and courage to keep at it. If you see the worth of your destinations and the journeys still to come, the effort is just a small price to pay.

Drivers may sometimes mow you down (hopefully by accident), but at least they're getting somewhere. At least they want to get somewhere.

Coasters just irritate me. Get off the road, you Sunday drivers!

An afterthought

2009-12-16T15:10:00.002+08:00

Backdrop to why I was angry last night, underneath all main reasons.

Didn't have to make your own way there. Didn't have to get your own snacks and water. Didn't have to buy your own tickets (to a movie I'd said ages ago I didn't want to watch). Didn't have to dispose of your own garbage (even though the guy was just 2 metres away). Didn't have to navigate frustrating town traffic. So what did you do on your own last night?

Not angry anymore, just a thought that occurred to me just now as to why I got as upset as I did.

End of a long silence

2009-11-25T15:40:00.003+08:00

Well, not quite, for the many I've been fortunate to have been in close contact with the past months, in the course of work and friendship.

I mean the blog silence. Been a while since I've felt inclined to say anything here. Probably because there's been little reason for me to have anything pent up and unsaid in person. Hail to perennial bitching kakis and the one who buys me pao pao cha to ease my occasional mood dives.

Such an eventful year, and pretty much my first fully professional year in theatre. This is the first year where I've been fully and very gainfully employed in shows almost all the time, and as any freelance actor in Singapore (or anywhere else) knows, crazy busy is always GOOD. Furthermore, I've been surrounded by wonderful people to work with 5 out of the 6 shows I did this year. Even that one exception wasn't entirely rotten, and met a few people who would be nice to work with again.

So to friends whom I've neglected this year - I'm sorry!! And yet not sorry, if you catch my meaning. I promise to make it up! And I'm a lot more free between now and January...

I think apart from the joy of doing lots of what I enjoy, I also draw happiness in that I've grown more than I realise, and the thrill of knowing there's so much more to go. I'm certainly not the performer I want to be, but am working my way there. Got wind of a bit of feedback recently that really boosted my spirits and has gotten my hopes way up high. Even if it doesn't pan out in the end, it's all still very encouraging.

When my last ex and I broke up, he gave his mum a bullshit reason, saying we were moving in different directions. I rarely think about it, but now changes in direction are in my mind and I'm reminded of that, and I'm glad my path led me here. It feels almost inevitable actually, I wonder that he didn't see it, and wonder why it should have mattered anyway. It really does feel that every step I've made since the age of 11 has led me right here, and that I always knew where I wanted to go, even when I tried branching in other directions to see if anything more rewarding lay there (it didn't - no accountant nor engineer am I!).

Things to look forward to in the coming months (some of which are in conflict with each other, but that is a happy problem):

1) Ollie & the Slurge - and I gather someone in the British Isles is coming back to do this one too? ;)

2) SITI Company in June!

3) Santa Cruz in July!

4) Meeting a certain good friend and his beautiful wife, hopefully somewhere between Monterey and Seattle? *hint hint*

5) Getting to work with another company that I've been yearning to work with. *fingers crossed*

6) Doing awesome stuff with COLLAB!

7) Finding gigs in 2 whole new areas of performing.

8) Losing the pounds I've put on over the past 2 years! (Oops, I recently read somewhere that you shouldn't tell people about your weight-loss or fitness goals before you achieve them because you're less likely to achieve them after opening your big yap. But I don't buy that entirely.)

9) Using fewer exclamation marks in my blog entries!

10) Wearing less pink.

To all you fabulous and fun people out there whom I'm happy to call friends and colleagues, thank you! And more thanks a-plenty to little Mao who fills my nights with lovely things.

Loneliness has weight

2009-09-05T02:07:00.003+08:00

It's past two in the morning and I ought to be asleep, exhausted from a long, tiring and at times frustrating week that hasn't even ended. But I can't sleep.

Got off the phone with my sis a half hour ago, the conversation having run longer than either of us planned. The tail end of the phone call has left me concerned about her, and somewhat depressed.

And then depression turned into complete dissolution into tears, all of a sudden. I curl up in an empty corner of my bed and cry. Suddenly, my own years of disappointments and pain caught up with me in an instant. They do that sometimes.

The un-empty part of the bed contains his sleeping form. I consider waking him up and asking for the comfort I need, then find myself simply hoping that he'll wake up on his own. Then I decide I'll have to sit it out on my own, as always. (They always offer to let you wake them up when you need them, but I'm always hard pressed to find a man able to be as easily awake as I can.)

I'm still afraid, and perhaps I'll always be. Haunted, too.

Having baggage is a good thing - it helps you grow. But sometimes, when it all comes back to you at once, its weight can crush.

Loneliness comes in many forms and durations.

Constant ponderables

2009-06-25T17:20:00.007+08:00

It is everyone's desire to be desired above all others by one.

It is most people's fear to be taken for granted (if they stop to think about it).

It is some people's want to be pursued.

It is a few's need to be the strong one...which sometimes backfires on them.

It takes someone with major baggage (read: experience) to ponder upon all of the above at the same time.

Being with someone often feels like being on one of those old seesaws (not those wussy spring types nowadays). A constant up and down, along with a struggle to balance. What does one do when stuck on the heavy end? Or when one waits for lift-off and nothing happens?

The precarious nature of intimate connections with one other is magnified by awareness and focus. The resulting threat of loss is all the more terrifying, not to mention depressing. It's somewhat stressful having to think about all this again after a long break, especially if you wonder if you're the only one thinking about it.

I guess we all just want to feel treasured. Or possibly even loved.

Old keys

2009-06-16T03:48:00.006+08:00

I clutch in my hand two small keys, quite unable to let go of them.

In the midst of packing for the coming trip to my sister's, I looked at my big bunch of house keys and decided, with a mind to minimise weight carried, to finally remove the two keys to my old house and put them away since I never use them. I've ended up taking them off the key ring and just holding on to them - two small, cold, metal objects in my hand with an indelible hold on me.

It's been five years since I've moved from my lifelong Seletar home to this current place in River Valley, and it's never occurred to me to stop carrying around the old house keys. They still feel relevant to me, like I still need them.

How does one who values memories so deeply let go of 80% of her life? I spent most of my life in that house on Begonia Terrace and roaming the slopes of the surrounding Seletar Hills. Many of my childhood friends still live in that area. It's been witness to all my firsts. First bicycle ride, first piano lesson, first best friend, first crush, first ember of mature thought, first love, first hurt, first job.

This current residence in River Valley feels almost like a transitional abode, like I'm just resting here while 28 Begonia Terrace waits for me to go home. But I know we're not moving back there. I remember my first night officially moved out from it - I cried and felt like I was not home.

I stopped driving past the old place some time ago. Seeing it silent and alone hurts me. I miss my garden with the fruit trees and ixora shrubs. I miss the grandfather clock that has stopped working for almost two decades now. I miss the brown stairs - the first flight has an even number of steps, the second has an odd number. I miss how the different doors upstairs sound when you open them, close them or nudge them ajar. I miss watching sunsets and fighter plane fly-bys from my bedroom window. I miss having the moonlight fall on my face at the right times of the month. I even miss the hideous green and banana-yellow kitchen where my sis and I had that spectacular water fight.

But life moves and changes. Abodes come and go. Begonia Terrace will always be my real home, but for now, I make do with this cold shoe box that is my current residence and bedroom.

I know I'm going to put these two old keys away anyway. But not yet. I'll hold them a little while longer.

Scammed by MediaCrap

2009-05-26T06:02:00.003+08:00

Looks like I wasn't the only one who felt completely scammed today (Brendon Fernandez has posted a note about this incident too).

I was called for what sounded like a common casting at MediaCrap today (25 May).

When I get there, the first thing that sounds amiss is that I'm told I have to wait for another few auditionees to arrive before we can proceed to the audition. The second odd thing is that the casting it is not in the Annexe building as usual, but in some obscure corner of the compound. Anyone who has auditioned for MediaCrap before would know.

While in the holding room, I am told how lucky I am that I am next in line, and that others before me had had to wait a pretty long time.

I am then led into a room where I see a TV actor (let's call him L) I had worked with very recently; he appears very surprised to see me, then tells me he's producing this new show. We proceed into a small mock-up of an office where I can plainly see 3 two-way mirrors. L tells me this is a mock-up of the office for the character I'm auditioning for. I'm then told to fill out a talent form and memorise a short piece of dialogue for the audition - a piece of dialogue that is set in a pub, not an office, by the way. L then leaves me alone in the room.

A minute later, he startles me from behind, obviously having entered from a hidden door behind me. Being not a complete moron, I figure it's a deliberate setup to make me squeal, which I don't since I don't scare easily. He leaves the room and tries the same trick again, only this time I actually can hear the 'secret' door opening behind me. At this time, he says, "Surprise! You're on Just for Laughs!" and points to the camera in one of the two-way mirrors.

At this time, a dude walks in (whom I assume is the director) and says that my reaction is very calm, and asks me to try it again and pretend I'm really scared. I'm also very helpfully introduced to the notion that I'd "be on national TV!" for giving a truly scared reaction.

I ask whether I'll be paid for this. I'm told that I won't, but will be 'compensated' for my time and trouble - a whopping $20. But oh, this is "also a casting" for the future - either to be a pranker for the show or for "future projects".

I promptly ask that I be excluded from future such gags.

Not only was it a complete waste of my time, it is an insult to professional actors. In addition to my intelligence being insulted, I, along with goodness knows how many other actors have been taken advantage of today.

MediaCrap, who already aren't known for their regard for actors, have sunk to a new low. They have absolutely no respect for us as professionals and think that they can get away with luring people who are seeking real work opportunities and scamming them for a cheap show.

Am thoroughly pissed off.

The trust fall

2009-05-08T01:31:00.002+08:00

One thing I hadn't thought about for quite a while (and hadn't needed to) was the issue of trust when it comes to partners. My idle brain meandered through a winding train of thought and ended up contemplating the ideas of trust and the fear of being lied to.

I think this is possibly one of my biggest fears with men. Basically, I don't really care if someone who doesn't matter enough to me lies, or even if a good friend lies. Sure I'd feel a little hurt if a close friend told an untruth, but if it's not something that affects me too significantly, it's not that big a deal.

However, the experience of a fibbing partner is far more damaging, and it'd been a while since I remembered how damaged I still am from all the lies fed to me over the years by boys and men I loved and/or cared about.

I blame my ex-boyfriends (except V and E). The compulsive, incorrigible liar. The omitting liar. The lying-to-himself liar. And finally, the cowardly one who had everyone fooled - the least likely and yet the most accomplished of the liars.

It's a bit disturbing to find myself thinking about this issue again after it's been asleep for a while.

I think it's because it's been so long since I've come to care for anyone, and it's only very recently that I've started seeing some embers of it. The cycle starts again - the irrational compulsion to distrust things said to me, and the rational side hammers that down, and my gut instincts get all scrambled and confused and decide they'd rather just go back to hibernation because they know that really good liars can bypass them anyway. It's something my rational side has to keep battling with, because it surfaces involuntarily.

It's nothing personal to anyone. Just a reflex from being taken for an idiot too many times, often by guys who weren't even aware of how bad they were at lying. Seemed that each time I gave my trust, it got flung back and me and knocked me over.

I just wish it were easier to trust people, knowing it will never be again while I remain sound of mind. I also wish it were easier for someone to earn my trust.

Alien Sex Fiend

2009-04-28T15:12:00.004+08:00

Using only song names from ONE ARTIST, cleverly answer these questions. Pass it on. Try not to repeat a song title.

Pick your artist: Garbage

Are you male or female: Androgyny

Describe yourself: Special

How do you feel about yourself: I Think I'm Paranoid

Describe where you currently live: The World Is Not Enough

If you could go anywhere, where would you go: My Lover's Box

Your favorite form of transportation: Tornado (See?? Can't get away from Oz references no matter what)

Your best friend is: Queer

Your favorite color is: Afterglow

What’s the weather like: Only Happy When It Rains (this one was waaaaay too easy)

Favorite time of day: Sleep

If your life was a TV show, what would it be called: Temptation Waits

What is life to you: Get Busy with the Fizzy

What is the best advice you have to give: Soldier Through This

If you could change your name, what would it be: Supervixen

Your favorite food is: Milk

Thought for the day: The Trick Is to Keep Breathing

How you would like to die: Medication

Your soul’s present condition: Fix Me Now

Hey Artist, you got a dollar?

2009-04-05T05:35:00.002+08:00

Encountered a new kind of panhandling the other day. Well, new to me anyway.

I was waiting at the St Andrew's cathedral bus stop on my own, when a middle-aged guy approached me.

"Do you know if the 961 goes to Woodlands?"

"I've never taken that bus so I don't know, but there's a route guide for all the buses just over there."

"Ok, thanks."

He doesn't make a move towards the route guides.

Next thing I know, he started chatting up. He seems nice enough so I oblige, but after a while, I start to wonder where this is going. He's clearly not picking me up as I don't get those kind of vibes from him. I'm starting to guess that he wants to ask for some change, when the 961 pulls up and he starts absently patting at his breast pocket.

"Oh dear, I don't have enough change. Do you have a dollar?"

I notice he doesn't take any coins out of his pocket to check. I'm about to say something about this when I spot my own bus pulling up to the bus stop. I decide it's easier to just give him the dollar and zhao.

The word that popped into my head right then was "panhandling". He was tactful, though not subtle. He spoke decent English too, and was comfortable chatting up a stranger. Something tells me he does this a lot. I'll just assume he needs that dollar more than I do.

[The title of this post is a quote from Rent, where a bag lady tries to get a dollar out of the film maker she just verbally thrashed.]

Unwelcome, some of the time

2009-03-31T13:21:00.007+08:00

Been doing a shoot for some film grad students, which has been unexpectedly fun, if tiring. I think it's more enjoyable because they're more easygoing than the get-it-over'n-done-with corporate and TV people, less harebrained and full of themselves than undergrad students, and actually give a damn about how their actors are faring...especially at 4am when the shoot is still a few hours from wrapping. I swear, I've never been offered a foot massage before on set. Repeatedly.

But an effect of shooting a short film about tenuous relationship identities and doing the 'right' thing (or the perception of doing it) in multiple-dimensional relationships is forcibly reminding me of the endings and near-endings that have stained and maimed me over the years.

I didn't need to be reminded of the pain of parting.

I didn't need to be reminded of the all-encompassing desire to yank someone back to me when they are already running in the opposite direction.

I didn't need to be reminded of the fucking illogical desire for a poisonous man, the kind that only kindles self-hatred by the end of things.

Nor the ugliness of self-discovery.

Nor the repulsion of making out with someone you don't really want. [No offense to anyone, but even the most gorgeous male alive would repulse me if I weren't attracted to him and had to make out with him. But professionalism will always be priority.]

Nor the sick feeling in the pit of the stomach when going through with something you know, on a deeper level, should not be.

Nor the feeling of utter solitude while next to someone.

Or maybe I needed to, and just didn't want to.

Ultimately we're all better for knowing and considering all of the above, and each stab will scab over to remind us of the painful lessons learnt, and what it is to live and love. Provided one is open to learning, of course. I will say that while it's unpleasant to revisit the numerous hurts, I don't regret them, nor the memory of them. It's these that shape us, like it or not. I probably owe whatever maturity I have to each scar I took (and learned not to pick at).

Every time something once-wonderful ends, it's natural to think it a soul-grating waste of time, forgetting, of course, what the once-wonderful parts of it did for your soul while it lasted. I disagree - I think it can all worth be it. And that's what keeps me going. Hoping the next one will be worth the ride too. The bumpy, thumpy, gut-wrenching ride. There has to be someone worth it. I know I am.

Sondheim probably said it best.

"Somebody hold me too close
Somebody hurt me too deep
Somebody sit in my chair, and ruin my sleep
And make me aware of being alive"
~Being Alive~

Hobbling but happy

2009-03-29T08:45:00.003+08:00

The year-beginning slump has officially ended. I'm a decently employed freelancer! Yay! Though, I still won't complain at more work.

Sure, I'm tired from the multiple activities (and playing too much of The Sims 2) and sometimes a bit boggled keeping track of everything that's going on at once, and currently a bit woozy from a 12-hour all-night shoot that ended when the sun rose, after a week of little sleep, but hey, I'm busy! Busy makes Daffy a happy chick! *two thumbs up*

Hang on while I keel over with a thud.

Now waiting for that new client to hand me more writing stuff to do. Money money money money...

Didn't think I'd say this just a couple of months ago, but I can't wait for the short break that's coming up where I get to sleep in and play all the Sims I want, and finally grab time with the friends I've neglected this sleep-deprived month. Most especially my very dear friend who'll be going away later this year, whom I'll miss very much.

Anyone wanna go clubbing this coming month??

Which part of NO WAITING do you not understand?

2009-03-10T23:23:00.005+08:00

I will sound like a stickler saying this, but people, traffic rules are usually there for a reason, dammit.

Today, one stupid schmuck was responsible for getting a whole lotta people stuck for 25 minutes.

There's a little turning from North Bridge Road onto North Boat Quay, which is a really short little road that joins to River Valley Road. You can see the MICA building and Clarke Quay from it. I pass through it very frequently on my way home, often driving, and there's one thing that never fails to irk me.

Right by the road facing a bus stop is High Street Centre. There is bunch of cars and trucks *very* illegally and perennially parked there along the no-wait zone (marked by a yellow zigzag). Since it's a small road with only two lanes, those inconsiderately parked vehicles manage to cause a bottleneck most hours of the day. I always wondered why the traffic cops have never had a field day there.

Today, I was on the 195, heading home after a tiring day at rehearsal (where I'd managed to do something weird to my lower back).

It is 5.45pm. As the bus driver gingerly tries to make the tight turn, he finds the bus blocked by a truck (with its hazard lights blinking) stopped right at the start of the no-wait stretch. Being a long vehicle, there is no way the bus can clear the turning without taking the lamp post and a few small trees with it if the truck doesn't make way. Naturally, the bus driver starts honking. After a minute or two, it becomes clear that the truck driver is nowhere nearby.

After 10 minutes, a few passengers decide to get off the bus and try their luck elsewhere, but I am too tired to follow suit. Meanwhile, curious passers-by are starting to peer into the truck and look around to see how they can help.

After 15 minutes, the building security guard comes round to check things out. One assumes he isn't clairvoyant enough to figure out where the truck driver is.

20 minutes later, a traffic cop arrives. He, too, walks around the truck, checking it out. He too can't clairvoyantly find the missing driver. By this time, a very long queue of cars waiting to turn has formed behind the bus since that junction sees a constant flow of traffic, especially at friggin rush hour. PLUS a long queue of cars on the down-ramp of the building's parking lot that can't get out because of the hold-up.

25 minutes later, the idiot driver finally shows up wheeling a trolley, and the oh-fuck look on his face is clear as he spots the cop. The young punk wisely decides to avoid eye contact with anyone else while he goes to move his truck out of the way.

I hope he gets a MAJOR summon.

Possibilities of a man on a bicycle

2009-03-10T04:30:00.008+08:00

While driving today, I drove past a man on a bicycle pedalling uphill. He was more hunched than short, more tawny than dark, more care-worn than old. In other words, the kind of guy that we generally pass by every day without giving much of a thought about, other than to dismiss as another ageing labourer.

And I found myself doing the thing I feel inspired to do every now and then - to capture passing images of people and wonder what their stories are. Well, spinning their stories may be more like it.

He may be an unremarkable man leading an unremarkable life in an unremarkable place.

He could be a foreigner who came here to work and just never went back. His wife may have long given up writing to him and went to another city to work herself.

He could be wearing that dull brown t-shirt to cover the intricately interweaving tattoos that decorate the back and the front of his body. If you looked carefully (and if he would ever show them to you), you would spot an occasional symbol in the mosaic of tattoos that you might not recognise fully but would put discomfort in your heart that you could not place.

Or to cover the deep purple grooves that form angry canyons up and down his back. The scars are clearly old but they still scream of a time that nearly took his life. He never tells anyone how he got them.

Maybe he rides that bicycle at 5pm to his third home of the day. It could be a void deck where he tells stories to passing children. It could be the coffee shop where they tolerate him and sometimes even give him food. It could be the seaside where he waits for sundown to start preying on lone beach goers and couples caught unaware, dragged into the filthy surf by silent hands where the last thing they will ever see is the dim glow of unnatural eyes in the murky water. It could be the lush living room of a lone expatriate who did not notice the dark but benign shadow that slipped in through the open window, nor the bicycle that lies propped up against the wall beneath the window - the unseen guest wanting nothing more than a place to rest for the night.

He could be a reflection of a man in a different land, pedalling up a different hill, passing by different scenery. Maybe the man does not see the cars driving around him nor the condominiums lining his route, but sees the familiar acres of farmland he proudly owns, unaware that he is seen a thousand miles from where he is. Maybe a careless driver who heads, terrified, right into the man and his bicycle will hit nothing but a holographic pool of light, and be sure that what he saw was a ghost when all he saw was a reflection from another part of the world. And hence, another ghost story is born. How these reflections come to be seen is not quite known, because one can never tell how reality truly works.

It's 5am and I've gotten carried away. I have rehearsal in 5 hours. Aiii.

But the mini story trip was worth it.

I wish I could write these down while I am driving. These moments when I see the possibilities in images of people, and, without fail, followed by pure curiosity about the one possibility that is their real life. I wonder who they are.

Shield your eyes while I boob-shimmy

2009-03-07T04:05:00.004+08:00

Oh my god. Look what my mum just bought me.
Why not just call me Mimi and drop me off at Geylang? I'd do brisk business there.

It's rather dim in the photo, but the bling bling square in the middle of the chest is REALLY bling bling; I almost went blind when she waved it in my face. I love chili red, but not in this ahlian-gone-man-hunting getup. While not a complete monstrosity, it's soooo not my kinda thing.

Oh well, still better than shiny skin-coloured tights with tassels.

And I Will Follow

2009-03-05T20:46:00.004+08:00

Weird memes are all I seem to be posting these days, innit? This one is a goofy one - you set your iPod (or in my case, my iTunes) on shuffle and each time you answer a question, you hit forward and 'answer' the question with the title of the song that happens to play right then.

IF SOMEONE SAYS 'ARE YOU OKAY' YOU SAY?
Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses - U2

HOW WOULD YOU DESCRIBE YOURSELF?
Pure Shores (2 Da Beach U Don't Stop remix) - All Saints
[YEAH RIGHT, pure...]

WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
Crossing the River - The Devlins

HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
Futures - Mindless Self Indulgence

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE?
Almost Unreal - Roxette
[My parents appear to think so too]

WHAT'S YOUR MOTTO?
Z - Mindless Self Indulgence

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Mourning Air - Portishead
[They've always told me I was cynical, but really...]

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?!
Blue Room - The Orb

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
I Adore Mi Amor - Color Me Badd
[I guess self-love is good?]

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
The Battle of Robot Bil - Terry S Taylor (The Neverhood soundtrack)

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
Concerto No. 4 in F minor, L'inverno - Vivaldi (played by Nigel Kennedy)
[Always thought my life was more of a tropical island, though]

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
See Me Here (Skope's Vocal remix) - Orion

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
I Knew I Loved You - Savage Garden
[Almost any song is a funny answer here, if you think about it]

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
Caprice No. 24 - Paganini
[Eh??]

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST FEAR?
Moving On Up - M People

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
When You Believe - Mariah Carey & Whitney Houston
[This should be Jon's secret, not mine]

WHAT DO YOU WANT RIGHT NOW?
Your Daddy's Son - Ragtime soundtrack
[I already know what some of you will say about this...]

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
Shake Some Action - Cracker

WHAT WILL YOU POST THIS AS?
And I Will Follow - Jason Robert Brown (sung by Lauren Kennedy)
[Which is how I've come to post this in the first place]

Yet another meme

2009-02-18T23:36:00.002+08:00

Yes, I'm addicted to these. And yes, I had to edit the instructions that it came with.

Copy to your own note, erase my answers, enter yours, and tag twenty people.

Rules:
Use the first letter of your name to answer each of the following questions. They have to be real - nothing made up! If the person before you had the same first initial, you must use different answers. You cannot use any word twice and you can't use your name for the boy/girl name question.

1. What is your name: Daphne

2. A four-letter word: Dork (not going for the obvious one)

3. A boy's name: Dick (OK, I caved in)

4. A girl's name: Drusella

5. An occupation: Dancing monkey

6. A color: Dull mustard

7. Something you'll wear: Dress

9. A food: Durian

10. Something found in the bathroom: Drain

11. A place: Denali

12. A reason for being late: Deciding what to wear

13. Something you'd shout: Dang nabbit!

14. A movie title: Dirty Dancing

15. Something you drink: Dr Pepper

16. A musical group: Damn Yankees

17. An animal: Deer

18. A street name: Devonshire Road

19. A type of car: Daihatsu

20. The title of a song: Dragula

Another meme, from Facebook this time

2009-02-07T21:30:00.004+08:00

Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you.

1) Am most often seen wearing red, black, or both. And jeans.

2) Sis and I chat very frequently on the phone in the wee hours. We call it "The Bitching Hour".

3) Yes, it's a real mole. Yes, it sticks out. No, there are no hairs sticking out of it.

4) I hardly notice the big scar anymore - the one that's visible when I wear a bikini.

5) Am not good with kids, but turn into a warm, fuzzy puddle around my niece and nephew.

6) I like my lips.

7) Spent my growing years up not good-girl enough for the nerds but too good-girl for the cool kids.

8) Was very religious till my early 20s.

9) Being too straightforward means I sometimes stick my foot in my mouth. Being too dense means I realise it only hours (or years) later.

10) When I have PMS, I'm a non-stop eating machine.

11) When I have PMS, I avoid people more because I can get unpleasant.

12) Am a lot lazier than most people think.

13) I hardly ever buy computer games because I get very, very addicted to them.

14) Am good at jigsaw puzzles.

15) Am told I have OCD tendencies, but I like to think of them as quirks.

16) I own a lot of pretty sleepwear and lingerie that no one sees me in.

17) "Introverted", "beta" and "not representative of mainstream thought" describe my personality best. Am not as adverse to speaking to strangers anymore, though.

18) My family is blessed with youthful looks, so I'll probably look younger than my real age for some time yet.

19) I'm too comfortable with my beloved Y&W friends, so comfy that I sometimes forget to watch what I'm saying in front of the straight male members.

20) I love to sing along to mp3s and YouTube clips late at night, but not in the shower, and never in front of my family.

21) I cry when I watch the serious bits of Ugly Betty.

22) I try not to cry at movies.

23) Still trying to figure out how working in an industry so compact that commands rates so high (commercially, at least) can still pay so little.

24) Am hooked on Kakuro puzzles - I do at least one every night before I sleep.

25) My black feather boa loses a feather every time I put on make up.

A little past midnight

2009-01-29T00:03:00.007+08:00

Time is passing very slowly tonight. It doesn't feel like just a little past midnight. I think on mood-swing nights, it just kinda gets that way. It's a lonely night. Very much so. At least I have a few friendly voices that quip up every so often - little blips on my computer screen, but their presence is some comfort.

Getting bored sometimes makes you hyper aware of your surroundings, what you're feeling, along with all the unchannelled energies that accumulate for someone who spends much of her time alone, in some ways.

The tension in my shoulders and neck that I keep trying to remember to release when I become aware of it.

The minute but slightly odd tingle that air conditioning creates on your skin.

The way Peter Cincotti's voice makes me tingle a whole other way.

The way the fluorescent light makes my head feel tight.

How the desk clutter is starting to annoy me a little.

The sudden realisation that I do have pink-coloured possessions - my pig wrist pad, a baby mitten that belonged to Caitlyn, the flower on my favourite perfume bottle, a tube of moisturiser. And do you know what colour is my lip gloss, momsie?

How much I love my new mobile phone.

How the music makes me so much lonelier but so much more alive on quiet nights like these, how it makes me want to run out and lock limbs with a hot-blooded male, how it makes me want to slow dance with a tall man who smells of fresh soap and light musk, how it makes me want to walk along the river by myself in the darkness.

"And I would lay your body down and rock your tears away
But it’s much too late for now to be like yesterday
And the time is running out and we still have to say
Goodbye"
~Goodbye Philadelphia, Peter Cincotti~

Impossible conversations

2009-01-21T05:04:00.006+08:00

Don't you sometimes find it impossible to hold a normal, reasonable conversation with someone? These are snippets from an afternoon spent in the company of a family member who will remain unnamed... but you know who it is anyway. [Disclaimer: Mistakes (such as "Silk Route" instead of "Silk Road") really are what she thinks they are.]

On the topic of African people:

Me: How do you know what Sudanese people look like?

Her: Movies, lah! [She wasn't kidding]

~~~~~~~

On why loan sharks are known locally as dai yi loong (big ear hole):

Her: Maybe they wore big earrings that made their ear holes big.

Me: They could have originated from gangs.

Her: Maybe, like in China, they were rich people who wore big earrings. Or maybe they came from the Middle East, you know, like those Baghdad people.

Me: Huh? Baghdad is a city in Iraq.

Her: Aiya, you know what I mean. Those tribes from that area, like on the Silk Route, they looked like that. And since they went to China, maybe the Chinese called them dai yi loong because of their earrings.

Me: ... ... [I wasn't sure what the train of logic of that conversation thread was anymore]

~~~~~~~

On driving from home to Great World City:

Her: Parking there is so terrible. It takes such me a long time to get a place to park, and sometimes it takes a long time just to get into the car park.

Me: Why don't you walk there? It's only 5 minutes away.

Her: I'm so tired!

Me: But taking a long time to find parking is less tiring?

Her: I've been so busy and tired, and you're not helping me. Do you know how much I do every day? Do you know how tired I am every day?

I swear, some days, matricide is just an accident waiting to happen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A completely different topic, but I find it pointless blogging twice in a day.

Whenever I'm in California, I go nuts at the huge cosmetics departments at drug stores, Target and Walmart.

A current trend I noticed this year was 'smart' makeup, where the foundation or concealer or blush comes out white but changes shade on contact with your skin. It's supposed to transform into the optimal shade for you. There are some of these in Singapore, but it's in the US that they seem really common.

It sounded like a good idea to me, so when I saw this Almay concealer, I thought what the hey, since it's cheap and sounds promising, I might as well get one.
Of course, it occurred to me only later that a concealer that morphs into your skin tone is less good an idea. Sure enough, when I tried it after buying, I felt silly right away.

Here's why: What happens when a concealer changes into the shade of skin directly underneath it, i.e. the blemish that you are trying to conceal? That's right - it, very helpfully, changes into the very shade you were trying to conceal in the first place. So, I end up with a concealer that blends very nicely with the rest of my face, but doesn't conceal a thing.

DUH.

January blues

2009-01-12T05:09:00.003+08:00

There's something about this time of year that gets me down. Somehow, I'm depressed at this time of the year - starting around Christmas and lasts till maybe the end of February. Well, for these three years running, at least.

2007, it's pretty obvious what I was depressed about - my 4-year relationship with K was ending-then-ended.

But last year and this year, I'm not sure what I am and was really depressed about. They both started right about when I got back from a trip to my sister's. Withdrawal after spending time with them? Sudden loneliness?

Maybe it's because work pretty much grinds to a halt during this season, and since being busy makes me happy, perhaps the converse is true too. Maybe Í'm too free.

Maybe it's also partly because I cancelled a trip to Bangkok that I'd really been looking forward to, at great cost to time with treasured friends and to my pocket.

Maybe it's also partly because Joy has recently moved to Hong Kong, and I'm also contemplating the possibility that Winds' audition will be successful and he'll up and go too in the near future. How many of my dearest friends are going to be far away in time? Lian is already far away, not geographically, but has drifted away over the past year.

I always search for deeper reasons why I'm down during this season. This nauseating, Hallmark- and Bee Cheng Hiang-dominated season where, in shopping malls and public places, icky Christmas tunes transition into the grating cacophony of Chinese New Year music and garish decorations assault your eyes everywhere you go. Presents and ang baos are never enough to justify these commercially-lucrative jokes where the true celebrations are in retailers' pockets.

Erm, I digress.

Waiting for change. Waiting for new and better things to come. Why does my life always seem to move only in the second half of the Gregorian calendar? Why can't I shake off this smothering don't-feel-like-doing-anything doldrum? Can barely bring myself to lift my ass out of bed each day. Can barely persuade myself to go to sleep each night when I realise in horror what time I've stayed up to.

This sounds so self-pitying.

In spite of myself, I must say that companionship sounds like a mightily nice option right now. Not necessarily a relationship, just companionship.

The only people who have showered me with hugs and kisses lately were all under the age of 6. Well, actually I get hugs in plentiful supply from my dear friends, but there's something intoxicating about affection that's given randomly and without apparent purpose, and yet purposeful, in the way only children and lovers can give.

Someone please hire me to write something other than my blog.

I want to read in Ah-mericah

2008-12-25T07:05:00.004+08:00

I don't know what I'm doing up at 7am on Christmas, so I'll just blame jet lag.

Before I forgot, I just HAD to post these two pictures up first before all the other trip photos. Spotted them in Bookshop Santa Cruz.

This is for all my special thespian friends. And no, I found it in neither the drama nor horror departments. Check out the purple tights and the make-Ben-Wong-jealous pecs.

This one is dedicated specially to Candice and Bun Bun.

Just an afterthought after browsing several American bookstores: Why are the audio books sections so huge? In Borders here, audio books take up two sides of one shelf. Over there, I see shelf after shelf after shelf of audio books. Oddly, I hear that the audio books clientèle doesn't comprise entirely of hearing-impaired and elderly people. The hypothesis put forth to me was that there are lazy Americans out there who won't read something if it doesn't come in any form other than just words. My sis tells me about people she knows and/or have worked with that seem to have hardly read a single book after graduating from college or high school, and how they graduated was a mystery.

Quick peep

2008-12-15T13:46:00.008+08:00

Just a few quick images from the past 3 weeks. Will post more photos when I get back.

Most Santa Cruz sunsets are beautiful, but on mildly cloudy days, they're awesome.

Another tidbit from Anal Retentive Land. Guess whose handiwork this is?

And then, my sister leaves her own legacy. Told you she was stacked. By the way, she really does this at every meal/snack - stack.

I was a little horrified, plenty amused to find this in a Toys R Us email ad - Playmobil Roman Arena set, complete with lion, gladiators and thumb-down emperor. What, no half-eaten Christians?
Cute (and sometimes noisy) squirrels like to scuttle around the yard. This one found a nut and was trying to eat it literally all over the yard. It didn't keep still for more than 3 seconds I reckon. The photo's a bit blurry as I had to take the picture from behind the screen door.

The Santa Cruz coastal area is the western wintering grounds for the Monarch butterflies. It used to be spectacular, with the trees simply covered in them. Sadly, their numbers are dwindling at an alarming rate, and today they number less than 5% of what they did 10 years ago. Still, it was cool to watch when batches of them took flight.
Another rare conjunction! Venus and Jupiter were less than 2" close at the end of November, and they were so bright in the night sky that even my crappy Sony Cyber-shot camera could capture them. The crescent moon joined them on 30 November - these pictures were taken around 5.30pm Pacific Time. Venus is the brighter dot of light.

This is the photo the Ginsburg family used for their X'mas cards this year, taken 2 days ago. You can clearly tell the kids inherited their daddy's hairline and forehead size - not as obvious for Sean at this point at his fringe has grown out, but check out the length of his head. Aren't they adorable?

One storm down, more to come

2008-12-12T10:20:00.002+08:00

FINALLY, the Yahoo situation has resolved! After I pleaded for the umpteenth time, they finally allowed me to provide alternative information before resetting my password. Relief!

The weather's about to turn. After the first few foggy days, my stay here has mostly been very sunny and beautiful. The weather forecast has predicted storms coming up over the weekend and early next week though, which is really befitting since The Parents arrive on Monday. Figures.

Been surprisingly busy here. My sis has a never-ending list of stuff to do, and having the kids around is a constant challenge, adorable though they are, and I'm pretty much helping out most of the time. Like I said, this ain't no vacation. On the plus side, I think I'm getting bigger biceps from carrying the girl a lot. On the minus side, I'm getting a bigger waistline to match - American-size food portions are a killer.

My day begins with having the little girl wake me up (I sleep in her room and she ALWAYS wakes up earlier than I do), me changing her diaper, then succumbing to her begging me to read books to her. She loves being read to. A lot. Plus she has her favourite books. This means I read 10 books or more to her every day, and the same ones every day. Thank goodness she's cute or I'd have killer her or myself by now.

Then there's the boy. I love my nephew, but I hate boys his age. Doesn't help that he has multiple issues that annoy me, including a kwai lan character and territorial issues with baby sister. Again, good thing he's charming and cute.

At least I'm spending loads of time with my sis, talking, laughing, reading, eating, eating somemore, and most importantly, bitching.

Guess the best of the trip's pretty much over, now that the folks are arriving, along with rain and cold. Sigh.

Update on Yahoo situation #3

2008-12-05T06:50:00.002+08:00

Faxed Yahoo the following yesterday:

* Copy of passport (specifically, "Copy of state/government issued photo ID")
* Name
* Contact email
* Yahoo ID
* Permission for Yahoo to enter my account
* Birthdate
* Postal code
* Alternate email address

And after all this, they finally emailed me my secret question. I had an idea of what the answer was, but (cue to bang my head on the nearest wall) I couldn't remember the exact phrasing!! I submitted a list of possible answers, all of which were not an exact match. So access denied.

That was my last option of getting them to reset my @#$%& password. Even though I'd submitted a copy of my fucking passport and gave every other detail. What more do they want? DNA sample? Noooo...it's the secret answer or NOTHING. They're so by-the-book that they refuse to consider this on a case-by-case basis, and the one thing they accept is the secret answer.

I've even, in desperation, offered to tell them the details of my email account, the contents, my contact list, what's written in my notes, my Yahoo groups, ANTHING.

Plus, the account security department refuses to be contactable via phone, only through email. And I get the same damn standard answer bullshit that only shows they hardly even bothered reading the problems I highlighted. There's no real human being I can talk to, no manager or superior I can address who might give a damn, nothing. The drones at Customer Care refuse to do anything either.

What do I do? I have so many important information stored in my Yahoo account. It's my own damn fault that I didn't write down my new password nor my secret Q&A (which I entered so long ago that I forgot). But this is downright ridiculous.

Update on Yahoo situation #2

2008-11-30T02:40:00.003+08:00

Got reply. They refuse to ask me my secret question.

Let me get this straight.

I'm writing to them from my alternate email which they would have used to send me my password reset IF their usual channel had worked.

They insist I give my secret answer without asking me the question. Even credit card companies ask you your security question, and they even have several questions for you to choose to answer.

AND all this is after they ask me for a photocopy of my ID, my country, my birth date, postal code, plus 4 or 5 other details.

I'm almost beyond frustrated.

I'm going to ask to speak to a manager if this goes on. VERY angry now.

Update on Yahoo situation

2008-11-29T06:36:00.005+08:00

Got a reply from Yahoo after submitting the online form, specifying the problems I encountered. And what do I receive? A nice reply saying thank you for yadda yadda yadda - nice, obviously typed by a person, not a machine. A reply which stated that, in response to my problem which was forwarded to him by his colleague, he would send...an auto-reply. One that gave the exact same fucking useless info as on their fucking useless help page.

And, to infuse me with a sense of foreboding, the message stated that if this info doesn't help me (duh), I should provide a long list of personal details to prove my identity - and this includes my secret question and answer.

About 1 or 2 years ago, I had forgotten my password and tried to reset it, and when I didn't remember what the @#$%^& my secret Q&A were, they said they couldn't help me, even though I could provide ALL the other info correctly. Even though the usual channel for resetting passwords asked for only 40% of the info they requested here, not including the secret Q&A (provided that @#$%^& channel even works). How many ways do I have to try to reset my password only to find it doesn't work?

PLUS the fact that, during one of my many attempts to change my password this time round, they had asked for my secret answer...but didn't provide the secret question!! I Googled the problem and apparently it's an extremely common qualm. Come on, a lot of people don't remember what secret Q&A they entered, plus, wasn't the question entered so that we could be asked to answer it??

I never got the help I needed that last time. I'm filled with dread this time round.

At least I'm in California. I'll storm the damn Yahoo HQ if I have to. It's really time they revise their damn senseless security measures.

I feel about ready for some form of homicide.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Latest development:

Called the Yahoo customer care hotline. Finally - a living being to talk to!

However, they can't access my account through customer care. The hotline person said my account is to be referred only to the account security department which can ONLY be accessed through email. I can't speak to any living person in account security. I'm thinking may that's because they know know how much abuse they'd have to take.

So...I'm back to square one. And even more homicidal.

Fog, sun, more fog, lots of whining

2008-11-28T04:06:00.002+08:00

Hey dearies! Won't be able to be online very much these few weeks, so just a quick line to update now and then.

Am now at my sis' place in Santa Cruz, CA, and apparently my arrival heralded the rainy season - the day I arrived was the first truly foggy day of the month. The kids are impossibly adorable, and driving us all up the wall constantly. Oh, and my PMS just started yesterday - I am surrounded by stressful kiddy whining AND American portions of food AND Thanksgiving feast in a couple of hours' time. Wish me luck, or prepare to welcome home the Blimp once known as Daphne.

Yahoo password security SUCKS!!! I changed my password last weekend but woefully forgot what it was. When I tried to reset my password through 1) using not just one but two alternate emails, and 2) entering my personal information previously provided for such security purposes, I get this: "Password cannot be reset online". What the FUCK??!! If a password cannot be reset online, then where?? And since I had to retry a few times, my account got locked. And when I finally found an email address to write to (they refuse to provide one on the help page), I get an auto reply saying they only respond to online forms which I've promptly filled. Now waiting to see if I'll have to hunt down their California HQ number to scream at them. VERY frustrated.

So there - a summary of my current situation. Oh, and riding a very nicely refurbished Boeing 777 with lovely sound system, a Business Class (that I walked through on the way to my Poor Man's Class) that looks like First Class, a First Class that looks like little hotel rooms, and entertainment system that could've kept me entertained for weeks. And two different Korean gentlemen who sat next to me, who were very quiet, polite and had no sense of personal space. My personal space, that is.

Love to you all. Miss you.

Scent of a...

2008-11-18T04:59:00.004+08:00

She switches off the air-conditioning. The room is too cold.

And quiet.

She turns on the music. She lets the first track play for a minute, then turns it off. The room is better silent.

The room lightly smells of wood and roses, but she is accustomed and doesn't smell it. The room smells like nothing, to her.

Sitting in her black swivel chair, she looks around. All around her lie small stacks of objects - on the desk in front of her, on the chest of drawers behind her, on the floor around her, even on the music keyboard. Her acoustic guitar sits lonely and slightly dusty in a corner. Books, CDs, a pair of nail clippers, a pencil case, a small tin of green tea powder, a water bottle, a bag of cosmetics, more books, some stacked precariously atop others. A bag of small and mostly green gifts.

A lamp with an intricate black shade - she taps it and it starts to glow softly. The black feather boa framing the mirror behind it does not acknowledge the light.

Above the door frame, a clock ticks. Nothing else moves.

She then gets up, goes to the dresser and picks up a miniature bottle of men's cologne. She takes out a Post-it note and dabs a few drops of cologne on it. The musky, masculine scent reaches her, and she pastes the Post-it on the bed post next to her pillow.

Maybe she can go to bed feeling a little less alone tonight.

There's no place like home...is there?

2008-11-17T03:26:00.003+08:00

Tried to write another short story tonight, only to find I'm way too tired to do much hard thinking, or maybe I'm just not inspired enough.

Oz withdrawal has set in, but not enough to make me melancholy, just feeling a little too free.

Am surrounded by presents of varying sizes and and types, though a sizeable proportion of them are green in colour or contain elements of green.

A single white rose has started to nod. A green balloon dog with a curiously long and phallic looking tail lies on its side. A miniature tree with shimmering green leaves made of beads and sequins is still in its plastic packaging. A green-bottomed shot glass dubbing Daphne the Munchkin Maiden sits next to a few individually wrapped pieces of chocolates. A green candle holder. An hourglass. A photograph of two people wearing green berets. A Chinese paper cutout. A pair of green earrings. A smiley keychain. Various cards and notes with warm well wishes. And my favourite, a masquerade mask in shades of fuscia, black and white.

There were more gifts, but I've eaten them.

It will be quite a while before I decide to wear green eye shadow again. My right hand and wrist ache a little. And I badly need a shoulder and neck massage. BADLY.

All the same, I kinda miss Oz.

I can't wait to write something again.

More rain

2008-11-09T03:14:00.002+08:00

The wee hours of last Saturday morning was the first time in a long time I felt lonely enough to cry.

And tonight, again, almost.

I keep telling myself I'm not lonely, at least most of the time. I have wonderful, wonderful friends, even if they're the type who would take a birthday video of me in a towel or feed me too much wine. It's usually good wine, though. They're marvellous people who know me and each other too well, and isn't that what real lovers are like? I'm not getting laid, but that's not the most important reason for living (one of the top, but not the #1). I am loved in abundance, and I love in equal abundance.

But sometimes, there's just so much more I could give, if I had someone to give it to. So much to give.

Some things friends can't give you. They can inflate your life and you can inflate theirs, but not at the same depth. Friends can hold you tight, but sometimes it's never tight nor warm enough. Friends can touch your soul, but there are parts of your soul reserved for specific one-at-a-times.

I miss holding someone in the quiet dark.

I miss being held in the noisy outdoors.

I miss living for someone.

And sometimes, I just miss being adored.

But missing isn't reason enough to want someone. Besides, I don't believe in looking for someone, never have. And I still feel safer alone.

Just that some nights are too quiet and cold. Then there's the rain.

Cravings

2008-10-23T00:08:00.002+08:00

On nights like this when the streets are wet and the air sultry with moisture, I crave the warmth within the arms of a man. Preferably one I don't love.

That would be the perfect illusion of comfort and safety.

I suddenly feel lonely tonight.

Who's the immigrant c***?

2008-10-04T03:23:00.003+08:00

Whilst in the shower half an hour ago at 2.45am on this quiet Saturday morning, I heard loud yelling. Turning off the shower, I heard a male voice with a strong British accent, and this is what I heard, in excerpts:

"You're a fucking, fat, lazy bitch!"

"You are WOMAN. I am MAN. You listen to every fucking thing I say."

"You fucking, fat, lazy, IMMIGRANT cunt!"

And various other limited variations of "fucking bitch". This man has an extremely narrow vocabulary range.

And who do we suppose is the real immigrant cunt here? Mr Sexist-White-Supremist here sure has the right to put a little Asian woman in her place, and to remind her of her inferior foreign status. Whether she is his household maid, girlfriend or wife, it's certainly his duty to tell lazy cunts like her to shut the fuck up. Oh, and to chew her out when she actually has the balls to defend herself (that too was audible, but only very briefly).

Who does this fucker think he is? A foreigner himself in a country populated by generations of immigrants, and he has the cheek to call someone else derogatory names? Having the indecency to use such language when his neighbours clearly have small children? AND him being certainly not the only expatriate in this building, most of whom are Asian expats to boot.

I got angry enough to put on something decent, go to the first floor and walk around the building, trying to see which unit it was. The white immigrant cunt turns out to be on the second storey (to the best of my observation), given that it was the only unit with the kitchen light on, window open and a very loud, British male voice sarcastically raving about how difficult it was to wash dishes, and audibly slamming objects around.

It sucks to be incensed and not be able to do anything, so I stupidly wrote a large note and taped it to the lift lobby of that storey. Then I decided "cunt" isn't something I want the small children living on that level to see, so I changed my mind and took down the note. Instead, I decided to tell the security guard that someone on the second storey was making a cacophony.

How many of these rednecks with an undeserved superiority complex and delusions of colonial glory live among us and treat Asians like crap? Even more fun are the sexist ones who behave like local women are easy little toys. And every one of these fuckers reinforces the ang moh stereotype that many locals have, and sadly pigeonholes the other foreigners who actually are open-hearted, respectful and sincerely are our friends on equal terms.

Five forgotten

2008-09-23T03:00:00.004+08:00

I'm a keeper of memories. I don't (or rarely) throw away mementos from past relationships, surviving childhood trinkets, old birthday cards, even that bottle of sand from a day at the beach with an old admirer. Every object is a part of my memory and a part of me I don't want to lose.

Today I found a small blue pouch containing five small seashells. At first, I couldn't for the life of me remember where the blazes they came from. I poured them out onto my palm, felt tiny, hard coldness on my skin, and looked at them for a second.

I picked up the smallest, its smooth, white chalkiness between my thumb and forefinger.

And suddenly I am back at little Punggol beach, and I am 17 again. I see his 7.30pm silhouette bend down, fishing rod in one hand, the other reaching down to the sand. He straightens up and holds out a round, smooth seashell no bigger than my thumbnail, a dusty white in the greying dusk. He places it, still wet and sandy, in my open palm.

I put that seashell down and prodded the one next to it with my forefinger, also white, but bigger, and slightly pink, and noticed there was another next to it, and they were apparently two halves of the same at some point in the past.

And it is Pasir Ris on my eighteenth birthday. He is excitedly tugging my arm and dragging me through the boardwalk, the surrounding mangrove silent watchers to this humid, stifling teenage date. With his other hand he lugs a bag containing cheap champagne in a chiller and dinner in a styrofoam box. With my free hand, I alternate between slapping at the mosquitoes that are making a meal out of me and pushing the sweat out of my eyes. I say nothing of my discomfort. After all, it's a romantic date. Isn't it? As we hurry along, from my pocket comes clacking sounds of two seashells colliding with each step.

The rough, grey lines of the other one caught my eye next, and I thought it looked like a snail shell. I picked that one up.

He's giving me a little grey shell that looks like a snail shell. He says he thought of me and picked it up at the beach where he was fishing - alone. I don't believe him.

The last one was a purple and white fragment of a larger shell piece. I ran my fingertip over its rough, uneven surface. I held it up, the last memory from the little blue pouch.

And try as I might, I could not remember where this one was from.

Bits and bobs

2008-08-29T15:31:00.009+08:00

A few quick snaps over the past two months.

For those who say I'm anal retentive, here's more evidence I came by it honestly. First is my mum's plate right after a messy home meal of poh piah. She sure was puzzled when I asked to take a photo. Parallel cutlery isn't unique to me by any means!
Next is having sushi with my sis. Notice the plates are arranged according to size and colour, every single one. And yes, that's her trying to flip me off while holding a cup of tea.

It's temporarily goodbye to Shou Chen! A naughty (as usual) farewell in the boondocks of Pasir Ris - we can't even take a normal group photo.And when it came to truth or dare... (More incrimminating photos will be emailed separately)

Spotted this very cute little Kia. A company car, but no less cute.

When you think of "tossed greens"...
...do you picture this?
I really mean no disrespect to the Thai language, but it's difficult to see this menu item and not snigger.
Sean celebrated his fifth birthday in Singapore! Not sure what Caitlyn's funny face is for, though.

Once again, I marvel at her long, long tongue.
Beauty can be found everywhere if you take the time to look, even in everyday objects. Spotted this microcosm in a cup.
Spotted at TCC, of all places.
Some of my neighbours can't park to save their lives. What could possibly fit in that lot now? A bicycle?

Shaking our heads at ST reviewers

2008-08-27T17:55:00.006+08:00

Today, I finally read Monday's review of Blood Binds which the show I was in, Just Late, was part of. While slightly disappointed that my performance was described as "unconvincing", I wasn't altogether too surprised, and take it as a learning experience. However, the next thing Ms Tan said amused me plenty: "...whose Hokkien vulgarities were delivered much too daintily". Considering "kao peh kao bu" was the only remotely coarse Hokkien I ever uttered in the play (moreover, used in the context of trying to hush someone who was yelling rather than as an expletive), I was muchly amused. I say "fuck" (in English) three times in the play, but that's the only swearing I do.

This is a very small thing, but was another reminder that all this recent hoohaa about ST arts reviewers doesn't really stem from any new sentiment.

Only earlier this month, an ST reporter who will remain unnamed printed a non-review article in Life! which contained some inaccurate information which were personal details about a friend of mine. Nothing terribly serious, just enough to have us chuckle a little and shake our heads. Hence, when the OTOT review (and half-assed retraction) turned up a couple of weeks later, I'll bet I wasn't the only one thinking it was only a matter of time before a big enough booboo got printed to illicit real anger. And in this case, it wasn't just about inaccurate facts, but being inethical and irresponsible...and just plain dumb - how did he expect to print it without opening a can of worms?

I don't always blame reviewers for getting details wrong. It feels like a slight on the part of performers but it's often harmless enough to ignore. However, sometimes downright stupid and irresponsible mistakes are made, and you wonder why it didn't occur to the reviewers to check in with the theatre companies for factual accuracy. This is unforgivable, considering that most reviewers are well-acquainted with actors, directors and theatre marketing contacts. And it's plain common sense that you don't comment on something you didn't even watch the bulk of. It's like saying The Sixth Sense is about the difficulty of being a child therapist.

Artists aren't exactly the most valued professionals on the island, but we're certainly among the most outspoken. If you stick your foot in your mouth in this industry, you'd better expect to chew it too.

Encapsuled

2008-08-27T04:42:00.006+08:00

Once in a while when I drive home late at night (or rather, in the morning), instead of getting out of the car right away, I sit in the car for a while in the darkness and, sometimes, in the music.

There's something comforting about being in a car that makes it the one small enclosed place where I don't feel claustrophobic in the least. It feels like this safe little observation booth to watch the world go by.

On the radio at that hour, it's usually sentimental shite, but that is sometimes my guilty pleasure. I sit in the solitary darkness singing to the lovey dovey crooning without feeling like a putz - tonight, it was "On Bended Knee" by Boyz II Men with its cheesy but catchy and very melodic chorus.

And, somehow, these girl-in-a-bubble moments feel special, like quality time with myself, and the feeling isn't much different from that of holding hands with someone you love while watching the sunset.

And, somehow, it's moments like these that almost make me feel like I will never need anyone to love, like when I spend time by the ocean.

Almost.

Why the blazes

2008-07-31T09:52:00.001+08:00

If I don't really feel anything for him, why am I unable to sleep thinking about him? WTF is going on with me here?

Do I need to start protecting myself?

So asks the cynical optimist who is almost afraid.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wrote another part of this entry, unrelated to the topic above, then realised it is way too personal to put here.

How apt.

Matching grins

2008-07-25T00:28:00.003+08:00

I'm in cutesy lala land, thanks to these two very energetic, very vocal, very damned tenacious kids.

Sis just landed with hubby and kids on Monday morning - and so begins my month-long dedication to all things family and loads of babysitting. Hopefully somewhere along the way, someone in the family will realise that hey, what I'm doing really is work and let me have time for that.

Quote of the day: "That's not work!" in response to me saying that I needed to spend time some time with work today and, when asked what that work was, explaining that I had to memorise and analyse scenes from a script I'm rehearsing. Real nice.

The kids are completely irresistible though, especially the girl. Gosh, I hadn't seen her in half a year, and she's now this fascinating little person who does all these amazing new things. I'm so not a kid person, but these two always charm me to pieces. They had me cooing. Me, COOING!!

Dance with me

2008-07-13T03:03:00.003+08:00

Someone slow dance with me. Anyone.

Well, almost anyone.

"Strike up the band, let it play
Whatever it chooses and I will say
Play me a waltz if you will
I'll sit here and listen, waiting until..."

~The Waltz, Silje Nergaard~

Losing

2008-07-10T15:47:00.003+08:00

Watched La Môme (La Vie En Rose) on Tuesday - wonderful movie, horribly depressing, utterly incomparable performance by Marion Cotillard as Edith Piaf.

But that night, after post-movie drinks, chat, supper, when I eventually found myself in the welcome silence of solitude, I found myself thinking about something I hadn't thought of in over a year: a fear of loving so as to lose. Piaf had loved and lost so many, and so tragically presented in the movie, I couldn't help but be reminded of my own losses, however paltry in comparison.

That's a risk of swinging free. I not only forget how it is to love, I stop thinking how it is to lose...but I never forget how it is to lose.

First times and last times are always the most crimson fresh in the memory.

A lone figure slouching away down an empty tree- and car-lined street, orange under the street lamps, while I climb up on the fence to watch him walk away for the last time.

Pressing my face onto a broad, warm chest and weeping hard against it, and then letting go to let him walk past me to leave.

I realise I've never stopped loving anyone before the relationship ended. So every one that ended was an acute loss. Each one of them upon exit left a gash and a gap that filled with silent screams till they eventually filled up and healed.

So yes, I'm still deathly afraid of losing people I love or come to love.

Told a friend recently that being a cynical optimist where human relations is concerned allows one to know and understand all the risks and inevitable hurts that will come with opening your heart to someone, and yet still do so with an incredible amount of hope that the journey will be worth all of the hurt.

I guess some of the paths I took were almost worth it for the lessons learnt and their formative effect - I am who I am because of each one of them.

The fear of losing will never go away. It's just a matter of not letting it cripple me.

Letting you go

2008-07-06T03:58:00.002+08:00

"Maybe I'll shine, finally free
Letting you go away from me."

Letting You Go - Jason Robert Brown

I didn't think I'd say this back then, but I am shining now, free, having let you go almost one and a half years ago.

It's good flying free.

I still think about you once in a while. But I don't miss you.

Satellite pangs

2008-06-19T03:45:00.004+08:00

It's been more than a year. The thought of him doesn't affect me anymore. The thought of what we had, the life I almost had, doesn't affect me anymore, nothing beyond a pinch of wistfulness.

So why does it still hurt when I hear "Satellite"?

Time and the healing process sometimes forget to erase motor memory and sensory triggers.

At least this is an easy one to solve - I just turn off the song and put on Harry Connick Jr instead.

The freaks we meet online

2008-06-14T17:11:00.005+08:00

Some of you may have seen this post before, but this is for the benefit of those who hadn't started reading my blog yet. This chat hails to the day when I used ICQ.

On this day, I was in the middle of work (yes, in an office back then) and got some random chat. This is the chat history verbatim (I'm Aurora). Sometimes, having an ounce of patience for annoying random buggers yields some gems. Like this one - read to the end.

7/24/02

3.10pm Ong: hi

3.12pm Aurora: who're u?

3.13pm Ong: hi me called Francis. Nice to meet u, Daphne

3.14pm Aurora: sorry, i'm at work now, i cant chat

3.14pm Ong: me too, i am at work. What u work as

3.15pm Aurora: woman-who-swears-at-man-who-icq-her-at-work

3.15pm Ong: ha ha ha ha tell me lah

3.18pm Aurora: editorial work

3.18pm Aurora: hey, i'm really busy now....

3.18pm Ong: okay shall we authorise in contact list and chat next time?

3.18pm Aurora: ok

3.20pm Ong: ya pls make yrself visible when u are available ok

3.20pm Aurora : sure

3.21pm Ong: bcos then i am able to snd u msg otherwise i thought u are off-line

3.21pm Aurora: sure thing

3.21pm Ong: btw i always on-line so u are welcome to drop me msg

3.22pm Aurora: ok

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
7/25/02

1.51pm Ong: hi tall girl

1.52pm Aurora: wat makes u think i'm tall?

1.54pm Ong: then what is yr ht, tell me

1.54pm Aurora: 1.62

1.55pm Aurora: this is how u weasel info outta girls eh

1.55pm Ong: what is yr wt

2.11pm Ong: tell me abt yr work ? What u work as in the editorial field

2.13pm Aurora: editorial assistant

2.16pm Ong: u must hv a good command of English

2.17pm Aurora: yup, i do

2.17pm Ong: i wish to learn English would u be my language teacher

2.18pm Aurora: i've a short fuse and a quick tongue. not gd for teaching.

2.20pm Ong: never mind, i have ultra high degree of tolerance for pretty girl

2.21pm Aurora: u're not in luck. i look like yesterday's accident.

2.21pm Ong: ha ha ha ha

2.22pm Ong: oic, with bloody face and fracture limbs

2.23pm Aurora: close enough

2.24pm Ong: oic that is a nightmare

2.25pm Ong: well i think i can help u

2.25pm Ong: to regain yr charm

2.26pm Aurora: i dun need to regain my charm, i like myself the way i am

2.26pm Ong: sound like u are a saddist

2.27pm Aurora: i'm not a sadist. i simply have self-confidence.

2.28pm Ong: oh to bring nightmare to ppl bring u self-confidence that elicit yr inner conflict

2.31pm Aurora: i was kidding, dear boy

2.31pm Ong: oic i believe in every word u said

2.32pm Ong: so my fair lady would u teach me english ?

2.33pm Aurora: no one needs to be taught english. juz read n converse.

2.34pm Ong: ya i need plenty of conversations, would u let me hv yr hp no we chat on-line

2.34pm Aurora: online will do

2.35pm Ong: oh i think i need to enhance on my conversation skill. shall we exchange contact no

2.36pm Aurora: no

2.37pm Ong: then i hv to live with poor english skills and let ppl look down on me, poor Francis

2.39pm Aurora: nice try, dude

2.40pm Ong: hard to get lass

2.41pm Aurora: truth is, i dun like getting picked up

2.42pm Ong: then i get u straight

2.42pm Ong: i wish to court u and wana to get yr hp no sweeties

2.42pm Aurora: well, DUH, i know.

2.43pm Ong: what is DUH

2.43pm Aurora: haha, nvm.......

2.43pm Ong: tell me

2.44pm Aurora: it's juz an expression

2.44pm Ong: or shall i tell u directly i wana hold yr hands and moonlighting with me

2.45pm Aurora: u dun even know me

2.47pm Ong: shall we meet for diner to know u more

2.47pm Aurora: sorry, no

2.47pm Ong: well then i can only hug u at night ... in dream world

2.48pm Aurora: think ur bolster wld be a more realistic goal

2.50pm Ong: if u are my bolster i shall squeeze it hard, press it close to my chest and kiss it and lie on top of it, grap u between my legs

2.50pm Ong: change to cover to explore the inner beauty

2.51pm Ong: undress its cover and reveal it softness and enticing self

2.51pm Aurora: oh gawd....i feel my lunch coming back up my throat

2.52pm Ong: ha ha ha ha ha

2.52pm Ong: u are cordially invited to be my bolster

2.53pm Ong: that is how i fell asleep see got to do so much exercise myself

2.54pm Aurora: cordially declined.

2.56pm Ong: well then i got to do all the job on my own, poor me

2.57pm Aurora: eww........ i dun wanna know what job

2.58pm Ong: ha ha ha ha

2.58pm Ong: ;-)

2.59pm Ong: just rubs the bolster between my legs and stimulates my manhood to ejaculation lor

3.02pm Ong: u will certainly make my night more interesting and fun-filled if u could be my bolster

3.03pm Aurora: ok. NOW u're going into my ignore list. bye francis

3.03pm Ong: wei dun like that leh

3.04pm Ong: okay lor dun tell u my secret anymore

3.05pm Aurora: u wank and u cum.... wow, big secret

3.05pm Ong: ha ha ha ha ha it is very interesting to chat with u

3.06pm Ong: are u with the local news agency or private publisher

3.09pm Ong: wei y u so quiet now, i dun think that is you right

3.13pm Ong: okay Daphne dun be so petty can ? Francis is a very nice guy actually

Shiny, happy Daffy

2008-06-13T13:13:00.008+08:00

Daffy is happy.

Yes, it's partly because of the couple of new and unexpected things, but not mainly those.

I think it's largely because I'm spending so much time rehearsing and being on stage these months. It feels a bit like living at high speed (or on speed).

I've probably bitten off more than I can chew, and perhaps next year I should promise myself not to take on more than one S&S play at a time. If I do it next year, that is. Rehearsing for four different things and churning out writing work all at once is draining me like nobody's business, and I can't stay away from my friends either!

And after all, I am happiest when I'm busy busy busy.

It does come at a cost. I've had to let some people down today :( I feel absolutely terrible about it, and I know no amount of profuse apology will fix things. It was necessary and very unexpected, but still not an honourable thing at all. I'm so sorry, guys.

It's also costing me PLENTY of sleep. I feel like I'm swimming in thick, warm goo at this moment (which is also a moment I should be spending on writing for a rush project but I really needed a short break for quick diarrhoea blogging).

All this time on stage this week and immersing with other actors from various backgrounds is playing a part in upbeat upbeatupbeatupbeat me! Feels like a sugar high. *nervous chuckling* Other things too, but this especially.

Oh, life is good. For now.

And even now, when I'm bogged down by this writing project, I'm inspired! I wanna churn out page after page after page! Even though it's corporate flotsam! And after that when I *eventually* find a little time, I wanna write more creative stuff! Like short stories again!

(I'm using lots of exclamation marks!)

I want to write!!

Diverging paths

2008-06-11T05:44:00.004+08:00

At supper with a fairly new acquaintance tonight, shockingly comfortable to talk with. Also the 4th Jon in my phonebook. How many Jonathans are there in the world?? Wait, don't answer that.

Somewhere in the midst of all that talk, he made a point that slammed home. We'd been talking about getting less comfortable with certain friends over time because of how individuals change over time, and he said, "You take different tracks and when they diverge far enough, you're not on the same wavelength anymore (sic)." (--> major sic, since I'm really bad at remembering exact words.)

And that completely hit me: it instantly brought to mind what Kelvin had said to his mother about why we broke up. His mum had told me he said we were going on different paths. While that occurred to me as utter bull at the time (and it probably largely still is, considering all the other things that pulled us apart), hearing it now from someone else's lips made me think there is some truth in that, whether or not Kel had truly meant it.

It hit me hard, though I couldn't show it, not in front of a person I was newly acquainted with.

On hindsight, we were indeed taking very different paths, seeing where I am right now and where he very likely is currently. And this divergence would likely have put distance between us eventually, perhaps even re-tune that wonderful wavelength that we shared so vividly and incomparably.

(I digress: Words are so inadequate for the concepts that zip through our minds, that we understand wordlessly. I feel helpless when I can't fully explain what I think, as now.)

But if he had still wanted what we had, that wouldn't have bothered me much. Distances can be forded with a little effort, if it means holding on to the rest of your life.

A pity, but no more than a pity. But damn, I'm still learning from this one.

All for...

2008-06-10T03:36:00.003+08:00

It's all worth it. It's all worth it. Gotta keep remind ourselves that when the going gets tough, especially in this industry.

Met up with an old friend (hi, Weixiong! I mean, Louis!) that I hadn't seen in years, and we started talking about liking one's job. In the midst of that discussion, I realised that being in theatre is the one of the few jobs (and I use the term loosely) where losing one's interest or passion in the work is a hazard. In other jobs, if you lose interest in them, you can kinda hang in there, it may not be that big a deal, and the paychecks will hopefully be regular and worth the time at least. Not in theatre - the moment you lose the passion, there's no point in going on. It's like love - when you lose sight of it, you've got to rediscover it, find what's left of it revive it, and if you can't or if it's truly gone, it's a dead thing.

I'm lucky. I know what I'm passionate about, and I share that with a handful of fantastic individuals. Some are my treasured friends, some have been colleagues at some point or other, some I hope to work with in the future.

I love words, and I love the stage. Everything else is there to feed that burning need to write and to perform, to bring life where there was only nothingness, to share in the energy of living beings and living spaces.

Missing sleep. Mental exhaustion. Physical exhaustion. Dwindling bank accounts. Insane scheduling. Rejection. Missed opportunities. Always having to fight. Emotional rides.

It's all worth it. Being truly alive is worth it.

Faithless

2008-06-06T04:56:00.002+08:00

It occurred to me earlier, randomly, that I have no more faith left in men.

I do not trust them to keep their word.

I do not trust their spoken words to keep their meaning.

I do not trust them to keep me in their heart.

I do not trust them to keep loving me.

I do not trust them to be worth my time and what's left of my youth.

For every step I took before brought me closer to where I wanted to be. And when I got there, I was shoved off, most nonchalantly, simply because there was no space left for me.

And yet, I can't say, "Never again."

I miss having a soul mate, but shudder at the thought of having another.

What to say...

2008-05-29T00:43:00.004+08:00

It's been a long silence. I'm at a loss for words again. There's always something to express but little is truly worth saying, and I can't find the right words or the right time to say them. And, of course, I have to choose a time when I should be writing something else to pen this blog entry instead.

I shall start with the mundane.

The weirdest makeup I've ever had to wear for a photo shoot. I realise I shouldn't have smiled at all - the face paint on my chin was cracking, plus I look plain iffy with that half-assed grin.

My dad has a strange bunch of bananas on the table now. They refuse to ripen together.

Out of randomness one night, I took one of those hair stick thingies and fiddled around with it. I'd never been able to use one properly because my hair just doesn't hold up with it. But this one freak time, with no particular effort, I got a perfect chignon! I was so impressed and so shocked I had to photograph the back of my own head.

And this blog entry moves closer to my heart.

Y&W's second anniversary - El ordered a photo cake to celebrate our two marvellous years together. This photo was taken during the kenduri of our first production On North Diversion Road ("sail away, sail away"), also the production that decisively fused us as an ensemble and as friends.

How apt, that it (we) would be divided into equal parts. This is the photo that breaks my heart. Come what may, but I will love you always.

[To Y&W: I have a whole bunch of production photos and videos but haven't gotten round to sharing them yet. Akan datang!]

ROCKIN' ON!!

2008-04-30T04:56:00.004+08:00

I'm SO glad the girls got me to watch We Will Rock You - if you love or even just like rock, you should be eating your heart out if you missed this! The five of us rocked the edge of Circle 2 (rather precariously at times), screaming, head banging, gyrating, screaming some more.

Deciding to have drinks at Harry's after was the next superb decision we made. Some of the cast showed up there after we were there a while, and we got to chat with Annie Crummer, who plays the Killer Queen (and how!) and Mig Ayesa who plays Galileo. Such groupies we were, hovering with cameras in hand, breathlessly waiting to speak to them.

And it was worth it! Annie Crummer was such a wonderfully warm and unassuming person you can hardly believe she's the kill-with-a-look, industrial-weight corset-wearing, sexuality-oozing, bikini-waxing Killer Queen. Apart from being dazzled speechless by her powerhouse voice, she was so lovely in person that we pretty much fell for her on the spot.
Perhaps the biggest thing we got from it all was inspiration. The energy, clarity and sharpness of the entire cast in the show meant that much more to us now that we're rehearsing for commedia. Moreover, talking with Annie about her work and her thoughts inspired us to no end - it's meeting people like that reminds us why we are actors and why we keep at it.

Meanwhile...rehearsals for The Hypochondriac step up. We relieve stress by dressing up the boys. We really shouldn't.

Shou Chen demonstrates why a real sex change is necessary before trying the femme fatale thing.

I had once before said Shou Chen can be in an ah pek T-shirt with ungroomed hair and still look hot. I take that back.

Countdown to The Hypochondriac

2008-04-26T00:54:00.007+08:00

11 days to show! Just spotted our standee in the lobby of the National Library building.

Standing nose-to-nose with QC, I can never win - both latitudinally and longitudinally.

Something tells me his costume is not complete...

Another costume fitting gone wrong. A cross-dressing Wee Willy Winky with SQ Boy behind.
One of the experiments in early rehearsals

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Just a few snapshots from the previous weeks.

Never knew we had this Colosseum-like building here.

Dinner at Billy Bombers. While Candice has since relinquished her Most Anal title, we got treated to the sight of her perfectly dividing not only the waffle, but also the ice cream that came with it.

When grown boys allow a pretty young thing to run circles around them. Literally. (Erin, El's little girl, was behind that couch.)

A rare sight caught on camera - Ghaz's pout!

All thoughts went back to that sperm race on TV when we saw this dessert.

Terence's napkin origami piece - even though it was a work-in-progress, it still reminded me of a diaper.

What boys do when they're bored.

Viola. The finished product. A mangled diaper.

Alienation

2008-04-20T01:41:00.005+08:00

Something's wrong.

Yesterday was very strange. The day started suddenly and held a fast pace, and the vibe was very strange, very off. I felt out of sync with just about everyone I met that day, which was almost everyone in Y&W and the WR office.

It was especially bad at rehearsal and the supper that followed. The VERY late supper that followed.

It's extremely freaky when you're almost invisible in a group, especially a group you're very familiar and ordinarily comfortable with. For some reason, I felt barely noticed last night. It got to a point where I'd speak and no one would hear. Not ignoring me, simply didn't hear me. And that went on to reach a point where I was speaking to myself...and no one noticed.

Didn't help that I was already in a major funk all day...well, all year to date, but it was bad yesterday in particular, even after ice cream and comfort food. I had to suddenly get up and rush to the bathroom before I burst into tears, without quite knowing why. Probably the loneliness I felt.

Loneliness is amplified when you're in a large group.

We walked out towards our cars and cabs in a drizzle. I walked by myself, talking to myself. I got into my car, shut the door, and proceeded to sit in the parking lot crying too hard to start the car. Then I drove home, sat in the car some more, then found myself crying harder than I had since a year ago. Hard and long, like my heart would break - only this time, there was no tangible reason to.

Today was better. Got a nice massage from Jas. Ended well with a fun late dinner with the gang. Doesn't eliminate the blues, but is an effective painkiller for now.

I'm fucking depressed and I'm not sure why. Maybe feeling depressed is making me fall out of sync with everybody.

I need lots of hugs but don't want to ask for them. I don't know who to ask or who I want them from. I can't think of anyone I truly want to be held by.

Gosh, this feels self-indulgent. Like I bloody care.

Random emo(s) of the week

2008-04-15T03:59:00.003+08:00

The best thing about being by yourself at home is that you can bawl freely while watching Ugly Betty and not feel like a right idiot. I don't cry at movies. I cry at home. I like eating dry cereal while watching Ugly Betty and skipping forward to all the emo bits and parts where they have the cutest dudes in the least clothing.

The last time I cried for real was last night in the shower. For no particular reason.

Was plugged into my iPod on the bus the other day, and Bette Midler's rendition of Under the Boardwalk came on. It reminded me of my sister and the Boardwalk in Santa Cruz, and reminded me of how much I miss her and the kids.

I thought about the times Sean drives us up the wall, stubborn little boy that he is, the times I think I wouldn't be sorry to be elsewhere at that moment. But I realise that doesn't make me miss him any less. In fact, I wish I was part of every moment.

Same goes for Caitlyn. Each time I speak on the phone with my sis and hear little Cait's voice in the background, I feel like I'm missing so much.

I don't want to miss any part of their lives, whether or not they're being complete sweethearts or intolerable brats (though the baby has yet to get to that point; just wait - she's approaching her terrible twos).

And, of course, I miss my sis to bits. It's never easy having your lifelong best friend on the wrong side of the ocean 10 months in the year. And now, more than ever, I need that best friend.

It's a life of need I'm now living. Needing and not having. So many things.

Maybe I didn't cry in the shower for no reason after all.

Another quiz

2008-04-05T05:34:00.002+08:00

Gosh, this quiz is SERIOUSLY boliao. But that's what being awake at 5am does to you.

1. You're really upset. Who is the first girl you call to vent to?
My sis.

2. If someone liked you right now, would you want them to tell you?
Sure. Why not?

3. Does it matter to you if your boyfriend/girlfriend smokes?
Yes. I'm not kissing an ashtray.

4. Can you do the splits?
No.

5. Do you get along better with guys or girls?
Get along with both genders just fine.

6. Last person you texted?
Tina

7. Do you like shows like Forensic Files and Unsolved Mysteries?
Forensic Files, not Unsolved Mysteries. I like my mysteries solved.

8. Do you prefer to take showers at night or in the morning?
Wee hours of the morning, right before I sleep.

9. List person you were best friends with in 6th grade?
Stephanie.

10. Name the best people who could cheer you up:--
My sis, Sean (my nephew), Caitlyn (my niece), Winds, Ruilian, Joy, most of Y&W.

11. Have you been to New York City?
Yes.

12. Who is the last person you added to your contacts list in your phone?
Jamal.

13. Do you have any expensive jewelery?
Yes.

14. Who was the last person you talked to on the phone?
Dominic.

15. Do you have a friend of the opposite sex you can talk to?
Yes. Did you think I live in a convent?

16. Heard any really great quotes lately?
"Darling, look. So many ships..." (paraphrased)

17. Do you think you have made a difference in anyone's life?
Yes.

18. MySpace or Facebook?
Facebook.

19. Do you remember the name of your first school you ever went to?
SVDP Kindergarten.

20. Have you ever tattooed anyones name on you?
No.

21. Whys your number one on MySpace number one?
Think he's the guy who runs MySpace and is on everyone's MySpace.

22. What is the name of your siblings best friend?
Janet.

23. What's the most appealing thing about the opposite sex?
I don't know, but my hormones do.

24. Which year has been the best so far?
2006.

25. Ever found more than a dollar in a random place?
Yes.

26. Has anyone ever been more important to you than a family member?
No, at least not more than one particular family member.

27. Last time you smiled!
An hour ago, I think.

28. Last text message in your inbox?
Spam!

29. When is your next road trip?
Who does road trips in Singapore?

30. Would you cry if you found out you were pregnant?
I have no idea.

31. Where is your phone?
Next to me, on the table.

32. Do you think your current pets will be alive ten years from now?
Don't have any. Not even a toy boy.

33. When was your last bubble bath?
Couple of years back, I think.

34. Do you know anyone by the name of Dennis?
No.

5.Where is your pet right now?
Dont have one.

37. What color phone do you have?
Black.

38. How many kids do you want to have?
None...for now.

39. What outfit do you have on at this exact moment?
Red tank top, black chinos.

40. What color are your eyes?
Dark Brown

41. What are you doing tomorrow?
Rehearsal.

42. Do you know someone who likes you?
My friends, hopefully.

43. Does a heartbreak feel as bad as it sounds?
No. It's worse.

44. What color is your hair?
Black with bits of white. Sigh.

45. What would you rather be doing?
Watching a DVD with friends and munching chips and chocolate.

46. What is the closest blue object to you?
My desk.

47. Have you eaten popcorn in the past 48 hours?
No.

48. Do you have a lot of guy friends?
Yes. Once again, which convent do you think I emerged from?

49. Have you ever been in handcuffs?
Yes.

50. If you could say anything to any one person what would it be?
"Feed me." So many ways to interpret a request like that.

Ocean, lover

2008-04-04T18:19:00.003+08:00

(Photo credit: unknown Webshots user)

Something as simple as switching the desktop wallpaper at random can trigger introspection.

As it happens, the desktop manager software I use swapped my wallpaper to a random one, and in a flash, I saw tall grey cliffs, battered down to a small, white, sandy beach at their edges, locked in embrace with the richly hued waters of the coast.

And I felt like I was looking at the photograph of an old, unforgotten lover.

I'm no seaman like my father is, but I love the sea all the same. It's different from the love I've felt for any man or boy, yet same in its depth. I've shared ocean sides with lovers before, yet somehow, the way the sea moved me in those moments felt like mine and mine only, even when in the arms of those I loved.

I keep wondering what's this fascination humankind has with bodies of water. I know that deep down we're programmed to seek it and treasure it as a life source, but even the undrinkable, sometimes hostile ocean water captures our imagination and infatuation. Is it the multitude of facets of the world it presents that we're reminded to look at? Is that why we marvel at the sunset over the ocean, its brilliant colours multiplied a million times over the countless waves? Or is it just its constant shifting that compels us to watch it?

It's in times by the sea or even just looking at a picture of it makes me feel like I don't need a lover, that the deep blue is lover enough for me. Like music, like the theatre, it is an inconstant and tempestuous lover, yet it will never break my heart, and I can love it as much as I want.

But I don't know if I'm saying this because I don't have anyone to love (romantically, at least), that I've simply forgotten the sensation of being in love with someone. Perhaps it's just that the ocean is so much more accessible.

Maybe it's because I finally lay eyes on someone remotely f***able...and he's out of bounds.

Let me think...

... ... ...

(thinking)

... ... ...

Nah. I love the ocean anyway. With or without a dude.

Y&W bags Best Ensemble!

2008-03-26T05:26:00.007+08:00

Young & W!LD won!! We're officially the Best Ensemble at the ST Life Theatre Awards! *ecstatic capering*

(Photo credit: Ric Low)

When it was announced, we made such a ruckus that we (retrospectively) weren't even sure if anyone else was cheering for us. For a second, I started clapping dutifully for a second or two, before it sank in and I leapt up - there's delayed reaction for you.

Surprisingly, the write-up of the Awards was in the main section of ST today, page 3 no less. We were mentioned in The New Paper coverage...in the fluffiest way possible in a very fluffy write-up - the article was focussed mainly on what people were wearing that night. The reporter was asking us the standard stuff like how we felt about winning, yadda yadda yadda, to which El quipped candidly (paraphrased), "We weren't even thinking about winning. We were thinking about what we were going to wear!" When I saw the reporter chuckle and write it down quickly, I knew that was going to be quoted for sure. And of course, the second half of it was the only quote to make it into the article, combined with someone else's, "...and what we were going to eat!"

Young and bimbotic.

Speaking of which...it was Jon (Lum)'s idea that we wear name tags with the names of different Shanghainese foods translated into English. He was Small Dragon Buns, someone else was Bruce Lee Bag (xiao long bao...yes, I know, sigh), while I was Twin Dumplings. Not that anyone really noticed.

May post more pics when they come out; my own camera is spoilt so have to wait for others'. A few have been posted by Candice on Facebook, though her album is mostly a parade of our garb (the theme this year being Shanghai Shenanigans).

And people, STOP being so surprised that we won. We worked our butts off for Mad Forest, and the piece Jon (Lim) chose was well-suited to show us off very nicely. After 2 years together intensively (and lots to blackmail each other with), a recognition of our ensemble energy is well-deserved, yes?

Judy and Leslie, we wish-oh-wish you'd been there too! It's just not complete without you.

Firsts, lasts, have you evers

2008-03-19T02:50:00.003+08:00

First...

Thought when waking up today: "WHEN are they finishing that renovation upstairs?"

Thing you ate today: Rice with vege, fish, minced pork, otak and grapes

Thing you did today: Wrote an article for work

Car accident you were involved in: My dad rear-ended another car, but only lightly

Guy/girl you had a crush on: Jonathan, the most amazing pianist I've ever seen

CD you bought: I think it was the soundtrack of The Little Mermaid

Pet you had: A cantankerous Dachshund called Kiki

Dream profession as a kid: Writer (which IS my profession now)

Best friend: Grace

Award you received: First prize for Creative Writing in VJC

Sport you played: Swimming

Last...

Person you talked to: Either Dominic or Alex, whoever's goodbye I replied to last

Person you hugged: Shouchen (during rehearsal)

Person you said I love you to: Sean, my nephew

Thing you ate: Soursop

Thing you drank: Iced teh-O limau

Thing you said: "Bye!"

Thing you did: Read Elaine's blog, where I found this survey

Time you lied: Yesterday

Time you cried: Sometime last month

Time you showered: Last night

Time you got sick: January this year

Time you broke a bone: My own? Never

Time you got drunk: Nearly 8 years ago

Song you sang: "The Waltz" by Silje Nergaard

Song you listened to: "The Waltz" by Silje Nergaard

Thing you typed: This. Duh

Have you ever...

Seen a shooting star: (You mean meteors.) Of course. They happen all the time

Met anyone famous (if so, who): Yes, but why bother naming half the people in my industry?

Prank called someone: Yes, but I was 9 and my sister made me do it

Cried for attention: Yes, when I was a baby

Had alcohol poisoning: No

Wrecked a car: No

Threw a fit in public: No

Wanted to kill someone: No

Been in the newspaper: Yes - 2 weeks ago with Y&W!

Cried over nothing: Yes

Had a crush on a teacher: Sort of

Wished death on someone: Yes

Been called a tease: Yes, in an extremely positive manner

Like more than one person at once: Yes, but never in the same way

Imitated someone: Yes. I do Krusty the Clown very well

Wrote a song for somebody: Yes - once when I was 16 and another when I was 24

Been to a concert: Yes - the last was Harry Connick Jr!!

Snuck out of your house: Yes

Cut class: Yes

Been scared so much you pissed your pants: No

Loved someone so much it hurt: Of course

Faked being dead: No

Failed a class: Yes

Spoken fluently in another language: Yes - Indonesian, when I was a kid, but that's gone now

Gotten lost at the mall: Yes

Kissed someone of the same sex: Yes. It's even caught on video...sigh

Gotten a detention: Does standing outside the classroom as punishment count?

Missed the bus: Yes

Fallen down the stairs: Yes

Been in a sped class: No

Had a bad hangover: Yes

Gotten grounded: No

Lied about your age: Yes. Actually, it was my mum when she ordered alcohol for me when I was 14

Got hit by a car: No

Not done your H.W. then copied it off someone right before class: Yes

Shopped online: Yes

Given money to a homeless person: Yes

Been on a sports team: Yes, briefly in uni

Been so bored you did a survey like this one: Stupid question

Afterglow cut short

2008-03-17T02:08:00.006+08:00

OK, I know I've just had a great holiday, albeit a very short one, and I should be thankful for that. But what the hell, I'd like the afterglow of my vacation to last longer than 1 hour, thank you very much.

Instead of, the moment I step in the house, getting hounded and baited by Her Majesty and getting abruptly brushed off by one of my closest friends.

The second Her Majesty sees me after having lovingly stayed up (and left a note on my desk stating her game plan for me to get my friggin confession done this week, after having bugged me about it ALL of last week), she starts telling me how fat I look in my dress (which all 4 of my holiday kaki said I looked good in), and how much smaller my eyes look because I'm more tanned... and then starts pinching the parts she says are fats sticking out of my dress.

And then she gets on my case about the damned penitential service/confession. [For non-Catholics, the church recommends that we say our confession during the period before Good Friday, and the penitential service is sort of a mass confession thingy.]

All the time, she's baiting me as she so often does, to get a fucking reaction out of me. I recognise this quickly, so I shut down and keep quiet. She recognises this quickly too, so she fishes out some fresh bait. Which I'm in no mood for, so she sulks away.

Fresh from that annoyance, I decide to ask in on my close friend - her MSN nick worried me a little that she wasn't feeling too good so I ask her about it. She gave me a one-line reply, and then says a very abrupt goodbye. Couldn't help but feel brushed off, cos this is not how very close friends talk to each other. After 18 years of friendship and after being as good a friend as I could be all this time, a friendly word or two would be nice.

WTF.

Sigh. I guess the holiday is officially over.

young & W!LD gets nominated!

2008-03-12T06:24:00.006+08:00

Young & W!LD made the front page of The Straits Times Life! on Thursday 6 March!

[Click on the images for larger views (and to be able to read the article).]
We've made local theatre history - we're the first youth-based company to get a nomination for the ST Life! Theatre Awards (Best Ensemble, for Mad Forest).

It's all very exciting, and a wonderful pay-off for all the intense hard work we put into our shows, especially the mad, mad Mad Forest. We're up against pretty stiff competition from some great ensembles, and I'd be surprised if we actually won, but it's an honour just being nominated. Hopefully this will show the industry that there's hope for new talent in this generation.

Some of the cast seemed surprised that we got nominated, but I don't see why. Even during our run, there were a few casual whisperings of the possibility. And think about it - even those in the audience who were almost catatonic from sitting through the loooooooong and intense play were impressed by the strong ensemble energy.

I'm pretty sure that Act 2 sealed it for us - even the snorers and @#$%^& handphone-talkers in the audience were moved in that act (well, except for my mum, who didn't seem to understand any of it). More than one friend who watched commented that the climax of that act (which culminated in the singing of "Wake Up, Romanian") gave them tears and a shiver.

Working and being together so closely has really made us an Ensemble like no other I've known. Anyone looking in on us can see that immediately, and as much has been reflected to us by outsiders. We're (almost) all close friends and secrets are pretty much impossible.

Y&W - you're among my most cherished friends. I love you and am proud to be with you.

Night, rain and other quiet rustlings

2008-03-05T15:27:00.002+08:00

On a whim, I decided to walk home after drinks at Balcony at 2am this morning. It was a cool night, I was wearing comfy flats and I simply felt like it, in spite of feeling ridiculously uncomfortable in the corset I'd been wearing all evening. (If you have to know, I was feeling bloated and wanted to look good in the photoshoot. Hence, beauty before comfort.)

I've always loved taking long-ish walks in the wee hours when it's completely quiet and miss doing that from my hostel days.

My companions of the night were the comforting night air, music and amber glow of the suburban nocturnal world. My sister called and we talked briefly, and on that lonely pavement, it felt like ours were the only voices in the world, even if we were doing naught but our usual B&M. The rest of the way home, I felt like singing, but decided I didn't want to freak out all the condo security guards I was probably going to pass by. I let the music transform my world and drifted through a once-familiar street, feeling as if my feet barely touched the pavement.

I woke up to rain today. Just the sound of it is intoxicating and nostalgic, and carries with it countless memories and promises. It was tempting to fling open the windows to smell and kiss the rain, the wayward lover that it is. But I settled for snuggling with pillows in bed, safe under my covers.

And then my day began.

Friends vs Friends

2008-02-26T18:29:00.002+08:00

I've seldom come across this scenario since I left primary school, but it occurred to me again recently that it's really hard to be close friends with people who don't like and/or don't understand each other.

[Disclaimer: This is not directed at any one person; it's a collective bitch-and-moan covering an expanse of recent events.]

It all seems concentrated around this period, starting around CNY. All these events congregate to show me how unkind and judgemental people can be, especially regarding delicate situations. Quite disappointing when they are friends I treasure and trust to be largely discerning and fair people.

Even professional comments can turn personal and downright bitchy. I was especially pissed off during one particular dinner where there was collective bashing of someone I'm very close to. The professional and somewhat constructive comments I could take objectively. But they quickly turned mean, mocking and unfair. That's when I sat on my hands to keep from slapping someone within arm's reach.

The incident about the suicide. I'm still harping on it because it still stings and I'm PMSing. It occurred to me that if that "just let her die" comment had come out during PMS, I would have asked that person to stop the car and I'd have walked out on the spot. But oh no, stupid me was stunned into incredulous silence while someone else quickly salvaged the situation. It didn't come from someone close to me, and I got the person to apologise eventually, but it still stings, and the apology didn't come out quite right, as if there was a passive defense of the insensitive comment. Who are these people to say and assume things when they don't even know E and what kind of person she is? And I also take it as a personal slight, seeing how they knew I was going out with them because I really needed some company because I was upset and very shaken.

And other intense and/or shocking info about these various parties. I'm privy to these slices of information, but that doesn't mean I should be grilled about all the juicy details that are clearly for my ears only, especially when they're going to form their own opinion anyway. And all the judgement that's going on, my goodness. If you don't know the fucking details and can't understand another person, don't assume.

But what did I do in most of these situations of friends-bashing? The politically correct thing - keep my cool and close one eye. And seethe afterward. Perhaps, as a person in this industry, I'm too balanced in opinion (if I do say so myself) and value gan qing too much.

Yes, friends can sometimes be unkind and unfair. But I accept and love them as they are. Well, most of them.

Gosh, if I compiled everything and made it into a single soap opera, it'd put Days of Our Lives to shame.

I can't wait for progesterone levels to go back down.

Liking sans the heart

2008-02-23T02:46:00.002+08:00

Perhaps I really have forgotten how to feel. It feels remote and inaccessible at this point in time.

Being close enough to smell him, (very) furtively watching him, just the awareness of his presence - these are sometimes almost unbearable. I do like him.

But my heart is not moved. And I think I know why.

I can't feel for someone whose insides I have not seen. Someone who has not opened up to expose the soft insides, if only for a second.

I can't want what I can't see.

I'm safe, for now.

2008-02-16T06:02:00.002+08:00

Don't push me.

Just go away.

Don't push me.

Stop pushing me.

Don't push me over the edge.

I've locked my door but I know you will hammer on it when you find it locked.

Don't push me.

Go away.

Go a-fucking-way.

The Waltz

2008-02-15T06:03:00.002+08:00

"Those violins, they must go
So no careless hand with a bow
May play on the strings of my heart
And make me remember how lovers part"

~The Waltz - Silje Nergaard~

A writer's stream

2008-02-12T05:32:00.000+08:00

There was a writer, and she did not know what to write about.

There was a writer, and she looked around.

She saw a child scale a closed school gate with a red backpack dangling from one elbow. She wrote about that.

She passed by a millipede, kicked it aside, and wrote about that.

She bought a bottle of cold water, drew a line down its glistening coat of condensation with her finger, watched the bottom droplet stagger its way down the bottle, and wrote about that too.

She paused by a large puddle of water, tapped at it with the toe of her shoe, and watched the ripples. She imagined she saw five other writers dancing behind her, each peering down at the puddle. She wrote about that.

She saw a squashed yellow flower on the road and wrote about that.

She looked up as a young man on a bicycle zipped past her. He turned his head to look at her for a second before turning back to look ahead. She smiled at the back of the receding figure. She stood there smiling at him, not quite knowing why, until he was out of sight. She wrote about that.

She went inside her house and slammed the door shut. The sound made her jump and look at the door for a moment, and she wrote about that too.

She lay the wrong way down on her bed and ran her toe along the bedpost, and she wrote about that.

There was a writer and she lay the wrong way down on her bed, her freshly sharpened craft knife pressed against the inside of her left wrist. She wanted to write about that too.

But the writer had run out of things to write about. She put down the knife, and she stopped writing.

The Ghost of Weekend Past

2008-02-11T22:13:00.000+08:00

WARNING: Self-indulgent rambling below. Necessary purging, completely for my own benefit.

It's been an eventful week, for sure, and emotionally draining for several reasons. All the more reason to put on my shoes and run out the door each night. Yearning for a pair of arms but seeking just some company. Self-denial (and self-protection) builds character, doesn't it? Doesn't it?

A treasured person almost became nothing but a memory. I wasn't there on time. It wasn't my fault, but I still wasn't there on time. She's safe now, though.

She had more than enough tears of her own, so I didn't see the need to add to hers. But when someone called to ask me what had happened, I lost it in the waiting room and burst into tears. But just once. More important to hold it together on my own to avoid distressing others. Am I becoming like her? Am I learning this trait that she's now trying to unlearn?

Perhaps more distressing were some insensitive comments made by people who didn't know her. Those comments weren't ill-meant, but they still hurt to hear.

"She's just an attention-seeker."

Attention-seeker!! If they only knew who they were talking about, they wouldn't ever say that. The very reason friends came running is because she's NOT an attention-seeker. The very fact that she's crying for help rings serious alarm bells.

"Just let her die."

This was said (presumably) completely candidly, but it still shocked me into momentary silence. And at a moment when I was already feeling fuck-all. Even more shocking perhaps was that it came from someone whom I did not expect such words at all. But for the benefit of all, I kept it behind my wall.

Walls are good.

And...the realisation that I may be awakening to something involuntary and unwelcome certainly rattles. Makes me uncomfortable and mildly distressed.

I don't want. But I do want. All at once.

As a general concept, I told a close friend some months ago, I don't need it but I want it.

Then, just the other night, I told the same friend that I need it but I don't want it.

And I now find it hard to differentiate between needing and wanting it. Seems important to know the difference, somehow.

A scare and a tear

2008-02-08T07:01:00.000+08:00

Learned something today which left me spooked and deeply affected. But stupidly not really knowing what to do, I tried what little I knew which was, inevitably, rather ineffectual I think.

Helpless and frustrated the rest of the day. The false cheer of the rest of the festive day coloured the following hours with a surreal quality. Even all through an enjoyable late-night party with good company, there was no way to shake it, even as I put on a big smile and laughed with friends.

Helpless because I don't know how to help her. I want to learn, but perhaps I'm not in close enough proximity. Scared shitless that someone wonderful was almost lost.

It was 5 minutes ago at 7am that I gave up trying to sleep on an uneasy heart, allowed myself to burst into tears, then texted my three closest friends to tell them I love them.

E - even though we're not the closest of friends, you were great when I really needed you, and many people love you. Please stay. Don't be sorry, just stay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When dressing for the party tonight, I suddenly wanted to put on something that reminded me of my grandma. I took out a necklace that belonged to her, added extension links and wore it as a bracelet. I fingered the opal pendant sporadically throughout the night thinking of her.

I think of her a lot every Chinese new year.

Sleepless

2008-02-06T07:53:00.000+08:00

Having trouble sleeping lately. Typically roll around for a few hours, doze a bit then get startled awake by the alarm.

Don't know why. My mind won't stay quiet when I lie still. Toss around till it's too uncomfortable to stay lying down anymore. And still my mind is going a mile a minute.

Perhaps it's the inactivity. Perhaps loneliness. Perhaps disquiet. Perhaps unfulfilled longing. Perhaps the fear of longing. Perhaps perhaps perhaps.

The last time I had such trouble sleeping was almost a year ago.

Yes, it's been almost a year. Come 17 February, it will be exactly one year. I was happy again after a while. What's happening now? Why now?

I need to start writing again.

"She's afraid of a light in the dark.
6.58, are you sure where my spark is?
Here, here, here."
~Spark, Tori Amos~

2008-02-05T17:30:00.000+08:00

Here are the promised photos at last. No scenic shots this time, I'm afraid - both parents were around, hence the lack of adventure. My mum and bro-in-law took loads of pictures, but I reckon putting all 400 of them here would be overkill. Here are a few choice ones.

Do you have ANY IDEA how much that boy weighs?? 50 friggin pounds! So I assure you, he was a lot more thrilled than I was in this picture.

Birthday pink! These were the shots they took of her to print her birthday invitations with.
My sis whipped up a post-X'mas feast for us. Doesn't look like much in this photo, but we were stuffed to the gills.

Happy kids in the play pen. It isn't always this happy, though. The girl won't stay in there alone without demanding some company, and the boy can't be left alone with her because he does the territorial thing and takes her toys away when we're not watching.

Aww...sibling lovin'. That girl sure can pucker up at an early age.

The birthday girl in her pretty birthday dress and shiny shoes...that she couldn't crawl in.

This looks so wrong...

...until you get the front view.

Caitlyn's birthday cupcakes! In case you haven't guessed, the theme for the party was PINK (Y&Wers: you know what else I'm thinking of). We hung shimmery snowflakes around the house. "For my winter princess," my sis said.

This must have been been taken by my bro-in-law, always capturing people at their best. Not.

Grandma with the kids.

She loves bath time.

Appendix to previous post - tech woes

2008-02-04T20:23:00.000+08:00

Addition to 11 January - now: My friggin hard disk died 2 seconds after I turned on my beloved baby on the day I arrived home. An ominous clicking sound was the telltale symptom that the hard disk's only limb was wonky. F***.

Spent the next week feeling utter incapacitated with my baby in a coma, checking email only sporadically with my dad's less-than-lovely laptop, and trying to begborrowsteal a WinXP CD but later realised I needed to get the recovery CD from IBM.

1st attempt with IBM: "Sure, ma'am, we'll email you the quotation."

2nd attempt: "Where's the quotation?" "Oh, we'll check."

3rd: (Email:) "Thank you for your enquiry. Please allow 5 to 6 weeks for processing" (My response, paraphrased:) "Why the f*** does it take you 5 to 6 weeks to check if you have a CD in storage?? My work can't wait 6 f***ing weeks!!"

4th: (Email, same day as above:) "Your order has been confirmed and will be put through in 3 working days."

5th: (Phonecall, same day as above:) "Your CD is ready for collection. Now."

6th: (IBM service centre receptionist:) "Service centre that way." --> shoots me a look like I'm an idiot for not spotting the service centre door in the next hallway.

AND...in the meantime, my wireless router chooses this time to enter its death throes. After testing left, right and centre, I conclude that it's the router and only the router that's acting up. Hence, new cheap router...that has to be reset every few days. Sigh. Thank goodness I was kiasu and bought two extra hard disks on sale last year.

So now, I'm obviously back online, sans a bunch of my data that couldn't be saved from the old hard disk. At least, I didn't want to fork out hundreds or thousands of $$ to save the data.

Am amazed, though, that after 4 years, the system itself is still running like a dream, even with minimal maintenance and no upgrades to date. My baby loves me.

News in briefs...I mean, brief

2008-02-02T03:32:00.000+08:00

It's now more than a month into the new year and it still feels new...even though it's just another arbitrary square on a calendar. A quick rundown of what's been going on in my 2-month silence:

November - early December

Mad Forest gears up. Some of the last writing projects of the year pop up on my computer screen like daisies on a fresh grave. In other words, I'm too busy to think or breathe. When we finally move into the theatre venue in gawdforsaken Woodlands, there's no time for even work, and we spend up to 15 hours a day in the theatre and practice space. And finally, the mind-splitting week of the show. Three intense hours each show, with none of us ever leaving the stage - three solid hours of non-stop concentration and engagement...and that's just when we are on stage, not including warm-ups, notes, tweaks, etc.

Mid-December - Christmas

Mad Forest is finally over. My brain says TTFN (ta ta for now). All of us are so exhausted from the mind-numbing process that our minds really do go numb - some of the Y&Wers actually do notice that this is my 'blonde' week. In the meantime, I just barely find time between Christmas prep to grab a couple of close friends out, i.e. the people I've neglected during the insanely busy period. Christmas comes - I'm sick. The day after Christmas, I finally get to meet dear Ruilian to give her her birthday present.

27 December - 11 January

I fly off to my sister's in northern California without realising that I haven't told many of my close friends where I'll be (they'll be the ones who are puzzled to call me and find my phone turned off). And here is where some friends get the wrong idea that I was away on holiday. I am with my entire family, and that is NEVER a holiday.

11 January - now

I reach home on a Friday and THAT's when my real break starts. I spend the following week getting over jet lag and finally resting after a mad last quarter. And the week that follows sees my mum arriving home. Sigh.

And now, I'm downright bored from the lack of work. Clients in the publishing industry seem to love to have overhauls at the beginning of the year, e.g. cutting back on issues, change of editors, etc. And in one spectacular case, one client simply disappearing, effectively stiffing me of more than $2,000 - I'll go stake out their office again very soon and see if I'll need (and can afford) to bring small claims proceedings against them.

Doesn't help that some friends are going through some serious shit in their love lives. I'm shuffling between worrying for them and wanting to slap a couple of them for emotional stupidity. My own singlehood isn't always fun - while I'm not actively looking, I am keeping open to suggestion, but the only suggestions are occasional light flirting and a handful of skanks and/or weirdos. Sigh again.

Being bored and semi-depressed is a bad combi. Makes me believe I'm lonely. Oh, and a suspicion that I'm falling ill - during a festive period AGAIN.

I need more work. Then I'll be happy again.

P.S. Photos akan datang.

Am I frozen?

2008-01-31T05:57:00.000+08:00

Can't believe I'm blogging at friggin 6am.

Again, another night starting with fun and ending with loneliness. I'm feeling lonely, and suspect (and hope) it's a fleeting thing, gone by the time I wake.

I think some people bring out the loneliness in you. Different people bring out different things in you, and there are those who, even if they are not important people in your life, bring out the melancholy and longing - not necessarily for them, but just for something that you are reminded of just by interacting with them.

It's the ones who tempt you to open up just that little bit, a morsel of friendship. And then you realise again why you don't want to talk to them so often - because deep down you know they don't really care, and they will withdraw after leading you out just enough to think you've got a friend there.

And when they do their usual disappearing act, and you realise there's no one at all to talk to at this hour, the loneliness sets in, heavy and cold. Gosh, I really want to talk to someone now. But I'll just have to cuddle up to my little book of Kakuro puzzles and go to sleep only when I start dozing off in the middle of one.

Ironic, considering I have no shortage of company at this point in time. Been strangely reluctant to head out to the dinners, suppers, movies, parties, etc. that I've been invited to fairly often. I think I crave one-on-one intimacy - platonic but intimate - rather than the social-mingling-small-talk of acquaintance groups. My closest friends are wrapped up in their own problems, though, and need to deal with their own shit. I'm happy to be there for them. But that also leaves few of them there for me, at least for now.

Think it's time to pull myself out of this mysterious lethargy.

Random thought. It occurred to me that whenever I'm out of love, I don't really remember what it feels like to be in love.

It's been almost a year. I don't miss it. How do you miss something you don't remember?

Back!

2008-01-24T05:13:00.000+08:00

Oh no, didn't realise I'd worry anyone. Sorry I 'disappeared' this couple of months! It'd just been a crazy last quarter, with intense Mad Forest prep and work. Well now I'm back, will take time to update this a little better. In the meantime, a little peace offering - 2 photos from this winter trip.

Sis and me, Caitlyn's 1st birthday party. The birthday girl is just visible in the background, playing with grandma and grandpa.

Minutes before I was to head off to the airport. An unflattering photo of myself, but the only one I took with both kids together.

Lambada, Romanian style

2007-11-24T04:08:00.001+08:00

For those whom I haven't bugged with shameless publicity for my show, here's what I've been busy with: Mad Forest (written by Caryl Churchill) by young & W!LD. Details are below (click on the pictures if they're too small to read).

The show runs from 12 - 16 December 2007. Tickets are only $16 and $12 - cheap and good! You won't find quality theatre at this price anywhere else. I know the venue seems quite far for some of you, but it's easily accessible - it's near and direct from the SLE if you're driving, and not far from the MRT. Another plus point is you can have supper at Johore after the show...

Discount! 10% off if you buy tickets through me or any of the cast, and no $1 ticketing fee. Buy early too, as there are only 80 seats per show and you may not get the timing of your choice.

Check out our production blog at http://madforest2007.blogspot.com for opinions, updates and embarrassing photos.

Top reasons to watch Mad Forest:

1) Singaporeans speaking in Romanian accents.
2) Provocative questions on freedom and individuality to prod your mind.
3) 11 young (and young-ish) people doing the lambada. One with a crutch.
4) Ongoing relevance for anyone and everyone, even though it was written 16 years ago and set in a vastly different country.
5) Support young, underrated talent in the arts scene.

Signboard fun

2007-11-19T02:47:00.001+08:00

Was at Serangoon Road, Boon Keng side. Realised that the neighbourhood had probably changed little since the 80s, and we saw some shop signs that were REALLY 80s-looking. And spotted some other rather note-worthy ones too.

This one wins the prize for Most Misinformed Chinese-English Translation.

No commentary needed.

Heehee...we bet you do.

Somehow that sounds vaguely disturbing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And on a completely random note, another cute pic of the nephew and niece - the kids sharing a swingin' good time. It's adorable how much they enjoy playing together.

Trick or treatin'

2007-11-01T14:42:00.000+08:00

Some people apparently had more fun on Halloween than I did, like the Ginsburg kids. My sis typically has more fun with their outfits than they do too.

Tell me you're not just passing out from cute overload.

Just as we thought Sean had a big head, he tops it off with Scooby Doo.

I just couldn't resist - check out Caitlyn's lashes! Those are major flutterers. Eat your heart out, girls.

Found on Etsy

2007-10-26T05:15:00.000+08:00

Went on an accessory spree on Etsy (www.etsy.com) where there is a lot of really cool shit and I have to sit on my hands to prevent myself from going completely nuts. Found this seller AnomalousBits who makes these neat pendants, bought a bunch of her stuff (her shipping charges are really reasonable). I kept a few for myself and am selling the rest.

As my treasured friends, you have first dibs at $12 each before I put them on eBay beginning at $20 each. I'll wait till next Wednesday before putting them up on eBay.

They're mostly 4 to 5 cm long though some are a little smaller. I'll give more exact measurements upon request.

Little Angel Vintage Tattoo

Lucky Lady in a Martini Glass Vintage Tattoo

Art Tree

Magpie & Robin

Vintage Floral Scroll

Eiffel Tower Vintage Photo

Exotic Bird on Perch

Go or Stay?

Autumn Leaves

Little Bird on Branch

Grave Under the Tree

Crow

Crow with Crystal Ball

Dick & Jane (yes, snigger away)

Eiffel Tower Vintage Perspective

In addition to a few others I got for myself, I actually bought two Alice in Wonderland pendants intending to keep just one and sell the other, but I've ended up liking them both. Here're pics of them just to show off - I'm keeping both!