Kabuki vs kabuki

This is one of my favourite covers from my Kabuki comic collection. It's actually a bit of a departure from David Mack's usual ethereal style of painting and colouring, but I think it achieves a beautiful ceremic quality to it. You can almost expect to reach out and touch the cold, smooth, white surface.

The eyes aren't part of the mask, though. They're Kabuki's eyes. The red isn't from her irises, as she's wearing red lenses.

Went through some basics on kabuki as a Japanese theatre form during last weekend's Y&W session. It prompted me to go back to my Kabuki comics and I saw it in a new light, which intrigued me. [Note: When "kabuki" appears fully in lowercase, I mean the theatre form; when it's "Kabuki" in sentence casing, I refer to the comic series.]

David Mack obviously knows his stuff about Japan, its culture and art forms and uses much of it in Kabuki (duh). What fascinated me was the fact that he used a mask for his protagonist who bears the pseudonym Kabuki, whereas kabuki itself does not use masks, as compared to Noh theatre. It didn't make sense to me until I thought about it a little further.

Kabuki is one of eight agents in a group of assasins known as Masks of the Noh, each agent bearing a unique mask. Moreover, they were initially led by a villian in disguise who donned, surprise surprise, an Oni mask (the only mask used in kabuki plays, by demon characters).

I realised the parallel between Kabuki's origins and the kabuki theatre form. She was born of a peasant woman - kabuki rose as a 'common man's theatre'. Moreover, one realises that it's after her mask is taken off that her real connection with kabuki is revealed - she has the characters "ka bu ki" carved on her face. Hence, it's the unmasking that makes her true to her namesake.

If a reader is sharp, they'd also realise that her name makes her the odd one out in Masks of the Noh, since kabuki is performed without masks (with the exception of Oni). That in itself should foreshadow her pending fate. Also, the use of Oni's mask would immediately clue one in that he'd be the villian in disguise since it signposts him as the demon figure.

While I find David's storytelling too slick and sometimes overdoses the reader with stylo-milo and arty-farty images, his story arcs are filled with so much depth and symbolism that they're still a pleasure to read. My new discovery of kabuki as an art form has led me to further appreciate the art and richness of both the theatre form and the comic.

Sneak peeks from D-Day #2

Finally, the last day of The New Wave came and went. General excitement hummed in the dressing room throughout the long day as we went about preparing for the last day of the months of preparation (we thought). Chester, our composer and accompanist for Victorian Days took a bunch of gorgeous shots of us, proving that he has a magic eye to match his magic hands.

Tanya's present (of sorts) to me. Note the very buxom caricature of me at the bottom of the note. She'd been itching to grab my tits the past few weeks and it finally manifested in writing for all to see. Tanya needs a blow-up doll. Fast.

A lull moment amidst dressing room madness.

I noticed Chester loitering at the extreme left of my peripheral vision and I was trying not to poke my eye out while exclaiming to him, "Are you taking this??" In another moment of folly a while later, I told him, "Don't you dare!" when I spotted him pointing the camera at me while my lashes were in the grip of an eyelash curler. Never dare a trigger-happy man with a camera.

P.S. I had no idea my forehead sticks out like that in profile until now.

If I'm me, who're you?

Vinn sent me this picture awhile back when he was working with Nightlife.sg and I'd almost forgotten about it. One of his photographers caught this at some club. (To the girls in the photo, apologies for using your faces without permission.)

See that girl on the left? Well...that's not me!

She looks like she's smiling sweetly, which would make her my doppelganger, since 'sweet' is a quality few of my friends associate with me. I wouldn't be wearing that nor would I be posing like that. Still, gotta admit this chick is a dead ringer. Vinn himself could hardly believe it wasn't me, and he certainly knows me, being my ex.

Who are you and what are you doing with my face??

Babyface

Yes, that's me - babyface, or so I've been told. For those who haven't known me long, this is how I look completely without make-up (and in a frumpy T-shirt):

I've grown used to the looks of utter surprise when I tell people how old I am. "But you look like a teenager!" they tend to exclaim. I've had 19-year-olds mistake me for 19 years old. And back when I actually was nineteen, a US customs officer eyed me incredulously and asked, brandishing my passport, "Are you sure you're not twelve?"

And it's strange, considering I was mistaken for a 17-year-old when I was thirteen. Then, one time, when I was almost nineteen and waiting to start university, I was buying stuff at a provision shop and the lady good-naturedly struck up a conversation.

"Xiao mei mei, what are you doing now?"

"I'm waiting to start school again."

"So which secondary school are you going to?"

Secondary school?? How in the blazes did she think I was twelve? But it was the first time my baby looks struck me.

This is how I usually appear. In case you're wondering what's the difference, it's in the eyebrows. I don't come naturally endowed with much, so, these days, I rarely ever leave home without my eyebrows. I don't like putting on too much make-up, but I need those ebony arches.

I'll probably appreciate being mistaken for younger when I'm over the hill, but that's still a good 13 years away. Right now, I'd be lucky to be taken seriously in work situations. I look like a kid even when dressed professionally, like this:

It's only in the past one year or so that I've stopped getting carded for ordering booze or entering clubs...well, not as often anyway. Also probably because my dress sense has changed somewhat and little lines have made their appearance under my eyes - hooray, my first wrinkles! Then again, I see similar lines in people younger than me too.

And even after wearing a face full of make-up, which I ordinarily hate piling on too much, I've been told I look "sweet", even if it's a look I NEVER go for. See Halloween specimen on the right. (By the way, I learned that night that coloured feather boas aren't always colour fast.)

Maybe it's in the genes. Both my parents looked remarkably young for the longest time. It's only in recent years that my dad actually looked his age (he's now sixty). My mum has aged, but she still looks a decade younger, thanks to her very extensive efforts to preserve her looks. Both my aunts on my dad's side look fairly young for their age, especially the youngest aunt who is health-conscious and has a personality that seems to make her glow.

Then again, I could, like my father, age all of a sudden without warning and everything might decide to droop and crinkle all at once. But, by that time, who cares?

One drunk night

This is the one night some years ago that put me off bourbon for life. One of the nights that is marked as a landmark in my life, for some bizarre reason. Abject depression, drunkeness and double-edged kindness render this night indelible in my memory.

The phone rings. I pick up the receiver. "Hello?"

It's Boon. "Hey Daph, meet on the roof? Have a fresh bottle of bourbon."

"Sure."

I pick up my guitar, grab a mug and am about to head out of the hostel room when I spot a small envelope on my desk. I'd just received it today and forgot about it until now. Tucking the guitar under my arm and balancing the mug from my pinkie, I quickly open the envelope.

Inside is a single, small, square piece of paper. Only two lines are scribbled on it. "Please return to me the baby photo and the picture of me in Ubin that I'd given you. WJ."

I stand there for a moment, frozen, staring blankly at the paper. Then, dropping the note and the envelope on the floor, I continue on my way to the roof. I spot the Big Dipper hovering in the northern night sky as I enter the roof from the corridor.

Boon and Brian are already waiting for me there with their hammocks, a bottle of bourbon and a few cans of Coke. Just like every other night when we'd enjoyed each others' company. Music and chatting and some soul baring.

Not tonight.

Passing the guitar to Boon, I make for the bourbon and start mixing myself a stiff drink. Wincing at the taste at first, I gulp most of it down in a flash and start pouring another. Brian starts mixing his own and Boon's.

I finish my second drink and start pouring a third. Brian looks at me.

I finish my third and start pouring a fourth.

"Slow down, Daph," Brian chuckles.

"Don't want to." By now, swallowing the drink is getting more difficult and I slow down.

Boon looks up this time, pausing in the middle of tuning the guitar. From the corner of my eye I see his face turned towards me. I think he frowns, but I'm not sure, as my peripheral vision is starting to blur. When my eyes start to feel hot and wet, I realise why. A familiar, twisting tightness begins in my chest. I raise the mug to my lips again but find it hard to drink when my nose starts to run. The tears roll onto my lips and I taste salt instead. After a while, all I can do is stand there, clutching at the mug and sobbing shamelessly.

Suddenly, I hold my breath and down the rest of my drink in a single gulp. I splutter and choke. A staggering cough mixes with my sobs. I try to take a step backwards and teeter instead. Brian catches my arm and steadies me. Putting his arm around me for support, he leads me to the side and we sit on the floor propped up against the wall. I bury my head between my knees and cry my heart out.

For a long time, that is all I do. Sob my pitiful heart out.

Brian gets up and walks away. He returns with a fresh drink and hands it to me. "What happened?" he asks gently. Boon is sitting aside, watching quietly.

I raise my head and look at Brian with my weepy eyes. I take a sip of the drink. After a moment's hesitation, I down the entire drink. "He...he...WJ sent me a note. He wants his pictures back."

He looks puzzled for a moment.

"Those were the first things WJ gave to me to treasure." I bury my face in my hands and start to weep again pathetically. For a while, Brian does nothing. I suspect he still doesn't understand. I don't fully understand it either. All I know was that I am hurting, a knife twisting deep within.

I feel the gentle weight of his arm on my back as he puts his hand on my head. We sit like that for some time.

I don't know how much time passes before he slowly gets up and walks away. I hardly hear him leave, still overwhelmed by the pain.

After a long time, I look up. Brian is not there, and his hammock is gone. Boon, who has been softly plucking at the guitar strings, stops and looks at me, concerned. I realise my head is swimming.

"Brian's gone off?"

Boon nods.

Using the wall for balance, I try to get up, and realise I can hardly balance myself. The world does a few whirls, and I can't see what's in front of me. Holding my hand out, I use my best effort to focus on the corridor light through the haze of tears and intoxication and haltingly walk towards it. After a few steps, I realise I am feeling quite violently sick.

Staggering as quickly as I can towards the stairs, I half climb, half walk down the stairs, clutching desperately at the handrails. At the bottom, I spot the harsh fluorescent lights of the toilet and stumble towards it. Finding the first toilet cubicle, I hurl a disgusting cocktail of bourbon, Coke, and semi-digested supper. The foul reek saturates my senses and I hurl twice more before straightening up and wiping my mouth. I lean against the cubicle wall, panting in exhaustion and nausea.

Eventually, I stumble blindly out of the toilet. I sit on the bottom step of the stairs with a thump and bend over, holding my forehead in my hands and moaning.

It is a few moments before I become aware that Boon is standing in front of me.

He holds out his hand to me. I take it and he helps me to my feet. With him half pulling me, I make my way back up the stairs with some difficulty. He leads me back onto the roof, towards his hammock. I allow him to help me into the hammock, my head pounding and my stomach squirming. I finally lie down, the hammock swinging lightly, but enough to dizzy me and make my head whirl uncomfortably. Boon takes his jacket and places it over me.

I spend the next few hours in a fitful attempt to sleep. Queasy, drunk and heartbroken, I fidget continuously in the hammock, wild half-dreams flitting uneasily in and out. Faces come and go, sometimes WJ's large, hard eyes and stubborn, fixed jaw, sometimes Boon's sad, haunting gaze, and they make me cry. I whisper in my semi-conscious haze but forget the words after whispering them. Amidst the dreams, faces, whispers and tears, I fall asleep.

I open my eyes, and immediately shut them tight when a rude shock of sunlight stabs them. I suddenly become conscious of the heat beating down on my face and I start to get up, pushing aside the jacket. Dazed, I look about, and I see Boon nodding off on a chair facing the hammock. The bottle of bourbon still sits on the ledge with my empty mug next to it. The Coke cans are gone.

I try to get out of the hammock, and then the headache hits me like a sledgehammer. Putting my feet on the floor and sitting up, I press the base of my palm against my left temple until the throbbing eases slightly. I then stand up, put on my slippers and walk towards the ledge. Boon opens his eyes then and, with bleary eyes, watches me pick up my mug and shuffle to the corridor and start down the stairs.

I walk three stories down and walk down the long corridor towards my room. I can hear Boon behind me but my head hurts too badly for me to want to turn around. I open my room door, remove my slippers, plonk the mug down on the floor and collapse on my bed. I hear Boon put down the guitar by the door. I feel him pull my blanket over my shoulders. He then walks out and closes the door.

Strung out and loving it

Why am I blogging now at the bitchi...I mean, witching hour when I have these to complete by tonight:

One 800-word article to write
One article plan to research and submit by morning
One article plan to research and submit by Thursday (tomorrow's full so it has to be tonight)
One presentation to prepare on the culture and religion of ancient Greeks

Because I need a @#$%^& break!! I need to expectorate a few words that are NOT work-related. So many things are swimming in my head in a messy soup. Advertising, Acropolis, consumer manipulation, Zeus, Sparta, Athens, creative agencies, Greek boys playing leapfrog...aargh!

(The phone rings)

54-minutes later:

By some coincidence (not), my sis called and gave me a more satisfying break. After almost an hour of dirty-minded banter in the style of the Ong sisters and hearing little Sean's adorable chatter, I feel rested.

Now if only this damned headache would go away.

Why do I write?

I was recently asked to deliberate on the question, "Why do I act?", alongside "What do actors do and why do they act?" After sitting through a very long and cathartic discussion of these ponderables and having a week to re-think them through, the next inevitable question became, "Why do I write?"

For those who've seen this post of mine from awhile back, yes, I do realise the irony of asking myself why I write. Because the most obvious answer is, "Because I can," and this is probably the deepest truth in why I seek pen and keyboard to weave words with.

I know I don't write because I've too much to say. Well, I do have too much to say, just that it's not why I write. Maybe it's the thrill of taking unoriginal words, used by millions of people through the ages, and putting them together in an original way - the act of creating something unique, and hopefully beautiful. I like looking at something I'm happy having written and thinking, "I like what I just wrote." And for the lemons that I sometimes churn out, I put them aside, look back on them some time later and, after the initial gagging, decide what it was that didn't work for them.

While putting words together (in English, of course) comes easily enough to me, I'm not the most original of people when it comes to thinking of what to write about. Hence, most of my life, I've been frustrated by not having anything to say but having the means to say it. It's like having a hammer and a trigger-happy arm but not a piece of wood in sight.

I think that's what many wannabe writers struggle with, and I've come to realise it takes a conscious effort to find something worth writing about. Blogging doesn't always count, since it sometimes turns out to be a medium for verbal diarrhoea, or just saying what you have no one to say to. One has to go out there with a mission in mind to discover something you can wrap your words around.

Language is a strange thing. A picture paints a thousand words, as the adage goes, but a thousand words paint a thousand pictures - every person who reads the same thing has a different image in their head. That's the magic of the written word. Put one word next to another, and another next to it, and another...suddenly, you have a thing of beauty, or at least of meaning. Put them together in another way, and you have a new piece of magic. It's all about order, just like music. And sometimes, it becomes music.

Life in the fast lane

Do you ever feel like life is whizzing by at an impossible pace? Ever felt like every time you stopped to breathe, it was either too short a time? And if it'd felt too long, 'too long' is over before you know it.

Every day is happening too fast, even when nothing happens at all. I still feel young, but that won't last too long.

Tomorrow I'll be thirty. The day after that I'll be forty. The day after that fifty, or maybe even dead. What will I have to show for it? Lots, at least to me. But is it enough? It's never enough. I want too much but don't have the means to chase after them all. And if I did, at the end, would I ever wish I'd paused to breathe?

I don't want to die unfulfilled, crying for dreams still on the shelf.

May stocktake

Here's what my month of May has been like.

Wrote five articles for various magazines. Was praised for a long one on a less-than-interesting topic - surprised me as I thought I'd churned out a mediocre piece.

Wrote a script, my first one ever (after an immature attempt at age thirteen), and a commercial one too. Was surprised to have it praised too. Will have to wait long for payment, but am too delighted to even consider payment a big deal.

Am in rehearsals for two musicals (see posts below for more on these). Find myself learning the parts for the role that I had to give up, just to feel how it'd have been like - I'm cracking at the very highest notes on the score. Maybe it's a good thing I'm not doing it. Almost. Sigh. I still miss it, though.

Have just begun Y&W training sessions with a group of decidedly interesting and definitely talented people. Now feeling insecure about doing my monologues in front of them. Intend to wow them by telling them my age instead.

Have brought my SSX On Tour snowboarder to Legend status. Now trying to figure out how the heck I make her a Black Diamond Rock Star (I won everything! What more??). Will spend more quality time with the Xbox.

Met up with six close friends, one of whom I hadn't seen in nine years, and two new friends.

Seen less of Kelvin than I'd like, but have come to the realisation that even after more than three years together, he still amazes me.

Still talking to my sis on the phone several times a week. Nice, long, smart-ass chitchats during the bitching hours (we usually talk around midnight or so, thanks to the time difference). Still miss her lots. Can hear Sean progressing really fast in talking (and singing off-key). He'll probably be able to argue with us very soon. At the moment he just sounds so cute. He makes my heart melt each time he says, "I love you, Yee Yee!"

Am still antagonised by the dowager on a daily basis but am learning to deal with it better each day...I think.

Am speaking more with my dad. Trying to make him feel less lonely at home when I can.

Haven't done much personal writing (yes, I know I promised to write about Bali) because of being busy busy busy and generally feeling rather latent. Didn't have time to draft a short story for that competition after all. Will at least write one piece before the month is out.

(P.S. The pain-in-the-ass button magnet above sits on the magnetic photo frame above my desk.)

The New Wave of Singapore Musicals

Another round of highlights from six brand new musicals churned out by local writers and composers. And yes, I'll be involved again. I'll be a nun in Victorian Days and a prostitute in Blue Willow House.

Don't ask me why the poster is pink. I voted for the red one.

Tickets are already on sale at Sistic and go at $25 ($20 for the young, the old and the army boys). I know I originally said the show would be free but apparently things have changed. The venue has been upgraded for one, so I suppose that's why they're charging for tickets now. Anyway, it's supposed to be part of the Arts Festival Fringe or something.

Bali pics

The photos from Bali are finally uploaded. You can find them either at Webshots or Flickr:

http://community.webshots.com/user/andromeda_carina
http://www.flickr.com/photos/76618361@N00/sets/72057594136389240/

I've got far fewer photos this trip because clever me forgot to charge my camera before flying off. AND I forgot to bring the charger. As luck would have it, my friend Casey brought her camera, which happens to be the exact same model as mine. And she forgot her charger too. So between the two of us, we squeezed what we could out of what was left of our batteries before both fizzled entirely.

Enjoy.

My man the Arty Farty

Check out Kelvin's latest entry.

To think my friends called me arty farty back in school. They obviously hadn't met Kelvin. By the time thirteen year old me was playing Augustus Gloop under three sweaters, he was already writing his first play a la Into the Woods! (He's my age.) Even cooler - he was in installation art in Sydney. He appeared sleeping in shiny blue PJs, then as a motor-mouth tour guide by the beach.

(Photo borrowed from Kelvin's blog.)

He even snuck theatre into his media degree! The little sneak found a way to bypass parental disapproval of theatre. Wish I'd thought of that.

Pity that he's done with performing already. He's now my mobile resource for deciphering more arty farties that I don't yet understand. ("Moliere? Isn't that some treatment for facial blemishes?")

Of Mothers' Day and bad timing

My sis told us she's pregnant again, quite appropriately, on Mothers' Day. This will be her second kid, her first being the ever adorable Sean (who turns three in August - and don't we all know he's an alpha Leo).

I'm happy for her, as she'd been trying for a second one before she hits her late thirties, and excited at the prospect of another new, cuddly member of the clan. Well, technically the baby will be a Ginsburg, but is no less of an Ong too.

However, a little part of me is a little disappointed. The timing of everything is just wrong this year. She's due early January, which means I probably can't visit her or can visit her only fleetingly because the Y&W programme would not have ended yet, and I wouldn't be there for the baby's full-month celebration. Again. (I missed Sean's as I was working.) It already sucks that I can't see them this summer but her being very preggers in December means she can't come over for Christmas either as originally planned. I simple HAVE to make up for it right after Y&W ends. That won't be easy at all to fight for...

Went to the Y&W preliminary meeting last week. And was dismayed to find out that the programme would be delayed yet again. Why? Because four others are doing a production! What on earth did I give up my good role for then??

I compared schedules again after that day. Given the number of Saturdays that I now have free because of the delay, I could jolly well have rehearsed my role without much ado! So now, instead of a lead role of a japanese courtesan with lovely solos, I'll now be a diseased, middle-aged whore with a decidedly uncomfortable vocal range which I'll be alternately screeching and bellowing...when I actually am in a scene. Somebody stab me now.

But even after grousing over everything, I still do expect the sacrifices to be well worth it. My life is actually going pretty well now, and, for the first time, I actually feel happy with the life I'm leading. I'm writing (and getting paid for it), I'm performing, I have a wonderful man, am expecting a brand new person in the family, have great friends, have enough free time, have a healthy baby (my IBM) - what's not to like? And now I'm at the brink of Y&W, which I'm really excited about in spite of its unfortunate timing. I'll keep telling myself: at the end of it, it'll be worth it and more. It better be.

Looking up

Was walking home from Great World City this evening, happened to look up while waiting at a traffic junction. I saw this lovely sight and decided to snap it. It doesn't look like much in the photo, but it was a nice reward after a long, blazing hot day.

The interesting thing was, there were two other people waiting at the same traffic light, one a young man, the other a middle-aged guy in a business suit, presumably going home from work. They both saw me looking up. The young man ignored me after a moment's examination. The other man stared at me curiously and watched me take out my camera, snap the picture and keep my camera. All the while, it didn't occur to either of them to look up at what I was looking at, even the guy who seemed so interested in my camera wielding.

Doesn't anyone look up? Don't they want to see how shades of white and blue and grey can mingle to form works of living art during the day? Don't they want to take a moment to regard the countless silver and red eyes that wink at them during the night? Don't they want to consider the fact that many of those stars are long dead but we can't tell because their light is still reaching us from across the cosmos?

Makes me think of the scene from The Fisher King when Jeff Bridges' character is climbing up the side of a building while trying to break and enter. He looks down at the oblivious pedestrians below and remarks, "Thank goodness no one looks up in this city."

Birthday trivia amended

In my earlier birthday trivia post, I'd listed three neat events that occurred on my birthday. I just found out another neat event:

2003 - The musical "Wicked" premiers on Broadway at the George Gershwin Theatre.

"To those who'd ground me, take back a message from me:
Tell them how I am defying gravity"
from "Defying Gravity", Wicked

Sacrifices

I touched down around noon on Monday after my work trip in Bali. I arrived with high spirits as I'd just been informed a few days before that I'd been accepted into an actors training programme that I really wanted to get in and had auditioned for more than a month ago. The programme would last nine months, starting from May. I happily said yes.

The moment I turned on my mobile phone, a message beeped in. It was from Stella, who wrote the two musical productions I'll be in in June, asking me to call her back. I reckoned it was urgent.

Calling her back, she told me that the good news was that our performance venue had been upgraded to The Esplanade recital studio. The bad news was that extra rehearsals would have to be held on Saturday afternoons as well as the shows had to be moved forward.

My heart sank when I heard that. The training programme's sessions would also take up Saturday afternoons.

My role in one of Stella's plays was a pretty choice one, one that I was very happy to hear I'd landed. Now, I risked having to drop out of it entirely. Moreover, I realised my summer trip to my sister's in California would lie right smack in the middle of the programme.

I had to make some tough choices.

After I told Stella about my situation, a compromise was reached and I swapped for a different role. While I'm somewhat disappointed, I'm relatively content that I get to stay in the production anyway.

Deciding not to take my summer trip and celebrate little Sean's birthday with the family was by far a much more difficult choice. I was going to spend a week with my sis before my parents arrive, after which we'd spend another three weeks there. That little bit of time together was hard-won, as it always is. But I figured I sacrificed years' worth of leave purely for family, it was time for me to do something purely for myself.

I miss my sister and Sean like the dickens, but I have to do this for myself. Telling my sis wasn't easy. As expected, she was upset, as was I. I know I have her support, though, and I hope I can make up for it the moment the programme is over.

Forgoing the trip is the biggest sacrifice I've had to make. But that's how I balance the good things that are happening to me right now. My life is good at this point in time, and if I can't have the best of everything, I'm still happy.

The last of this branch of Ongs

I've always liked this family portrait of my grandfolks, my dad and his siblings (the only one missing here is Auntie Siew Eng who I think was married by then). My dad is the tallest one at the back.

And hence you behold the last of this line of Ongs. Only my aunts have sons, and neither are Ong. The rest of us cousins are girls, so our kids will be unlikely to be surnamed Ong as well. Not that I'm for the patriarchal system of passing family names from father to son, just that it's interesting to note.

The duck has landed

Just back from the event management gig in Bali. Touched down earlier today, am bombarded with lots of things to settle that are yet unsettled, am lacking sleep and my complexion is close to mutiny. More on the trip coming up soon. For now, just this snapshot of the view of Kuta Beach from the promenade of Discovery Mall, just next to my hotel.

Bye and thanks for all the s***

Just done chatting with CY who's just had his heart dumped into a blender on "frappe" setting. Well, not really dumped. More like lowered slowly while you watch.

It hurts when a friend hurts, but most of all, I find an eerie similarily between his thoughts and mine when I myself was suffering from heartbreak. The once familiar feeling of bleak helplessness, self-bashing, despair and grief.

I've almost forgotten how all that feels. It's a physical feeling, a twisting, pulling sensation that starts at your collarbone, reaches deep into your chest and ends at the diaphragm - a strange sensation of both emptiness and tightness. Hopelessness. The kind that finds you sitting alone, hugging your knees tightly, rocking to and fro, crying noisily and uglily, unmindful of the tears and snot that have free rein all over your face and neck. Scared that there's nothing else left for you, that the world's gone and left you behind. All thanks to a member of the opposite sex whom you will never fully forgive. The individual that has just done a polka on your bleeding heart in golf shoes.

It's amazing how different the views of a relationship are at different points in time. Especially on the way out. Unlike people, relationships often don't have a nice rear end view. And that view only becomes spikier the further away we walk from it. After enough time has passed, it may even come to look comic. It's then that we see exactly how much turd we'd had to step on chasing after that relationship.

I recall the angriest break-up I'd ever had. It was the one and only time in my life I ever screamed at anyone. Ever. And this wasn't even the most intense relationships I'd had, just the most frustrating. We had broken up, but he phoned me and I felt bad to reject his calls, so I agreed to talk. Of course, these calls ended badly, with him asking over and over again for reasons and not accepting any of my answers. In utter frustration and rage, I screamed at him over the phone. At least that shocked him into temporary silence. But I'll bet he remembers me as the crazy ex-girlfriend for that. I'll also bet he leaves out the part about him not accepting that we were on entirely different wavelengths, that I could never live up to the way he wanted me to be, and that we couldn't communicate if our lives depended on it.

And of course, he would have left out the part about me catching him picking up girls over chatrooms, looking them up over ICQ, asking for their numbers, asking them out (they all said no to this "weatherman"), telling them about his EX-girlfriend (i.e. me, and no, we had NOT broken up yet at that point), and showing them the beautiful poem he wrote for that same EX-girlfriend upon their breaking up (no, hadn't broken up yet here either).

(For the record, when I confronted him about this back then, he said, "It's only harmless flirting. And I didn't go out with them." When I asked what if any of the girls had actually said yes, he said that wasn't the point. Someone sound the death knell, please.)

While this ex has the honour of my most dramatic break-up, he doesn't take top prize for the being the biggest lout I've dated. Cheating, lying, name-calling, psychotic, persecution-complex, commitment-phobic, self-deceiving, threatening, judgemental, possessive, obsessive boy-men aged 18 to 37 have whirled in and out of my life. Quite an interesting lot, on hindsight, but terribly bad for me.

So I say to them: "Bye and thanks for all the shit."

Mag brag landing publishers in hot soup

Kelvin recently showed me a segment in Marketing Magazine's Guess Who, Don't Sue section (March 2006 issue). It spoke about an 'unnamed' magazine that agreed to reimburse one of their luxury brand advertisers a large percentage of their advertising spending and slash their current rates after the advertiser found out that the magazine's actual print run was less than half of what was claimed in the media kit.

Then, reading the previous month's (February) issue this evening, I found a short write-up about how falsely inflated circulation claims could land publishers in jail. Directly below this write-up was a small section, Audit Watch, which reported that Singapore Tatler announced its intention of getting Media Circulation Services to audit the luxury magazine. I thought it a bit of a coincidence - the placement of these two short write-ups, and then the very next issue's mention of a luxury client getting money back for misrepresented circulation. But this is purely my own speculation and I claim no truth in it whatsoever. Heh.

The moral of my story is, I found this tale of false circulation claims rather familiar, and it reminded me of a magazine (which shall remain nameless...I love saying that) that I was very familiar with. An angry ex-employee, who had been told to leave because of conflicting ideas with management, had told me that she had a good mind to embarass them by telling advertisers that the actual print-run was less than a quarter of what they had been led to believe. And she could very well have done that, as she was on very good terms with most of the magazine's major advertisers.

Hah! She thought she would just be embarassing them! In view of what was printed in Marketing Magazine, they might have gotten into very big trouble indeed. Though, I noticed they've recently changed their claim for the size of their print-run, which is certainly a wise move. Still, looking at the advertising content of the two most recent issues, I do wonder a bit about whether they did get any flak...but that's me in pure speculation mode again.

Luke (half of the dream team that contrived Roses & Hello) tried to take this 'artistic' shot of me during last Sunday's reading. That bright border is his hand. Then someone commented it looks like looking up someone's rectum. Lovely. I look like the scope end of a prostate exam.

A cuter picture graced my (poor, abused) camera that evening when Hawk's cat (who shall remain nameless, according to its owner) cuddled up to the door while the rest of us were making a din. This mild, amiable tom-cat charmed the pants off everyone.

Unsolitude

I'm a person who loves solitude in healthy doses. Don't get me wrong - I do enjoy being with friends and people I like, but the need to be by myself in quiet or in music is an absolute necessity to maintain my sanity.

Which is why I find myself in the unusual circumstance of feeling lonely. Yes, I know, I've written about a similar feeling not too long ago (and probably during my last PMS too). But yeah, it's unusual. I suddenly find myself in silence that is too thick, aimless sitting around, and not the least bit inclined to go do all the things I usually like to do in the sole company of myself, save for this little bout of writing, and it gives me little pleasure at the moment.

My curtains are drawn and I can't see outside my window, but it sounds brooding and echoey. I suspect rain may be coming, just like almost every day this past month. I wonder what the air would smell like outside now, but I don't feel like opening the window.

Kelvin will be over for dinner this evening. I can't wait to see him.

Model grandma

I had no idea my grandma had modelled for a detergent ad till I ploughed through a box of old B&W family photos and spotted this one. I'm not sure if this was a test shot or a real ad, since there are glaring imperfections in the picture such as the fold lines in the apron and shirt and the zipper dangling visibly from the side of her cheongsam. Still, it's pretty neat that she was even asked to model for the ad, since modelling certainly wasn't on her priority list (see this entry for more on this amazing woman).

Why kids should never get makeovers

When you have a big sister that likes to play dress-up and you're the little hostage at home, you get interesting results. Let me use myself as an example.

Exhibit 1: I have no idea why anyone in the house even had this wig.

Exhibit 2: I'll admit, I liked dressing up as princesses at this age. It was really fun and I still laugh about it with my sis. Still, seeing those throw cushions under my skirt and my mum's giant clips in my hair makes me wonder what the heck we were doing.

Exhibit 3: My sis was sixteen and had just discovered make-up. There are socks under that tube top since yours truly was still a couple of years from puberty.

Exhibit 4: She finally got it right...when I was fifteen.

It's raining flowers!

This was taken just an hour ago when passing by Begonia Park. It's vastly different from what it was during my childhood, but it's no less lovely in the evening light. The even scattering of white blossoms gave it a bit of ethereal charm today, thanks to the drippy weather.

Was treated to this sight yesterday while just leaving Great World City on the Kim Seng Road side. I guess all these flowers got dumped during the rain that fell a short while ago. This is what the rest of the tree looks like.
Also saw a similar sight along the riverside walk the other night. Not as prolific, but it stood out more because of the almost luminous white blossoms in the dim light. The picture is blur, though. I'm no tripod person, even when taking pics at night.

I stuck my bunny for this post

I think it's my human failing that I take things too personally, even for things that are sometimes not entirely about me. Let me explain with a vague-ish example. Recently, a minor and commonplace choice I made was very obnoxiously derided, rather pointlessly too. It offended me to a small extent, not so much because it insulted my taste in such an insignificant matter, but more because I knew that the person in question did so only to feel better about herself by putting someone else down at the slightest, stupidest opportunity. So it wasn't really a personal insult, just her purile attempt at allaying her own insecurity. Still, it made me (and my companion next to me, who gaped at her open-mouthed after her loud retorts) feel shocked at the way it was delivered, and rather peeved. I probably wouldn't have minded so much if it was a one-time event, but, unfortunately, it seems to be a persistent trait of this acquaintance.

There was a time when I would've given it right back and more, but these days I'm more likely to stick pins in my mental voodoo doll than to open my mouth and stoop to their level (the bunny was just for fun and to make this blog entry look more interesting). Believe me, in this mouth of mine resides a tongue that could freeze the bowels of Krakatoa, but that might mean damaging a friendship if administered at the wrong moment. That I'm not willing to do. So I just seeth for a moment, decide that I dislike the person a little more, and then put it out of my mind.

Some call that repression. I agree.

I don't think it's a gift that I see people and am often able to tell generally what they're like after observing them a bit. Just some years and some firsthand experience is enough to teach anybody to recognise a set of telltale signs. It's a gift for those who can totally overlook faults, or just not see them entirely. Some call it tolerance. I agree. Though I sometimes call it oblivion too. True, it sometimes makes me seem like a smaller person for catching someone's faults which others can't see, but I see it as just a part of understanding the whole of a person and learning which parts of them to dodge and which good parts to appreciate.

I've heard someone say before, "If I don't like the person, the person will jolly well know it." While I can understand that principle may seem like honesty in its truest form, I don't think it's always the best way to go. Just because you don't like someone doesn't mean you get all beastly to them or make them feel bad around you. Or maybe I'm just chicken to show my displeasure. Or maybe my heart is softer than my mouth. I suspect it's usually a combo of all three.

Astrology - only part crap

I had a nagging suspicion about the person mentioned above, so one day I asked her what her astrological sign was. I was spot on. She turned out to be of the sign that I have shockingly good chemistry with, even as their faults drive me nuts. See if you can guess which one (no cheating for those I've mentioned this to before):

1. Very charming (with some rare exceptions)
2. Deathly self-absorbed: everything that happens just has to be about them; they're more concerned with telling you their opinions than to process yours (even if they ask for it - the blank look when you tell them what you think is a dead giveaway)
3. Highly insecure, which manifests in three main ways:
3.1. by bragging
3.2. by putting other people down to feel better about themselves
3.3. by displaying attention-seeking behaviour
4. Stubborn (refer to point 2)
5. Intelligent
6. Passive aggressive
7. Passionate but brutally practical when it suits their purposes

I've had the misfortune of dating one. Like my many friendships with people born under this sign, it was fast, intense, but had great potential for callous hurt. But I continue firm friendships with some by virtue of the eerily good chemistry I have with them. (My sis tells me it's because it's my rising sign...whatever that means.)

Don't get me wrong - I'm not an astrology flake. I don't buy vague astro crap like "Your moons are in Uranus, which will affect certain functions". But there does seem to be some truth in the characteristics shared by people born under the same signs*. Perhaps people born at certain times of the year share some similar traits by nature of how they relate to certain seasons or to other people born at different times of the year.

*Or, as astrologers would say, the sign that your sun was in when you were born, which explains why Scorpios like me will never see the constellation Scorpius in October/November - it's highest in the sky and most visible in the spring months, when the sun is at the 'opposite end' of the sky.

Be a man!

(click on the image for a larger view)

I was sifting through some old magazines and such and found my mother's old horror comic issue, the sole survivor of a whole stash. She'd told me it was from her girlhood and I never thought to check its published date in all the years I'd had it. It suddenly occurred to me to check it tonight, and it's from only 1974! That's even after my sister was born.

Anyway, I'd always found this advertisement very amusing. It appeared in almost all the DC horror comics in my mum's stash. Beefcake Charles Atlas claims he can "make you a new man" through his book, and see what he came up with to convince you?

Why, you could beat up the dude who kicked sand in your face after reading his wonder body book. In fact, you may win the admiration of swooning broads and other beach-goers after you're done beating up your ex-tormenter. In fact, you could even shape society by helping to perpetuate stereotypical (bad for men) and sexist (bad for women) gender perceptions. Not to mention earning some time in the pen for assault (at least with a body like that, you won't have to worry about dropping the soap). How's that for turning your life around?

Birthday trivia

I'm going to hop on Kelvin's bandwagon again: "Go to Wikipedia and look up your birthday (excluding the year). List three neat facts, two births and one death in your journal, including the years."

3 neat facts (or rather, events)
1938 - Orson Welles broadcasts his radio play of H. G. Wells's The War of the Worlds, causing a nationwide panic.
1966 - The Zodiac killer kills his first victim, 18-year old Cheri Jo Bates, in Riverside, California.
1983 - The first democratic elections in Argentina after seven years of military rule are held.

2 births
1735 - John Adams, American revolutionary leader and President of the United States (d. 1826)
1893 - Charles Atlas, Italian-born bodybuilder (d. 1972)

1 death
1975 - Gustav Ludwig Hertz, German physicist, Nobel Prize laureate (b. 1887)

I have to mention this one too: Annual event
USA - Mischief Night in some areas (known as Devil's Night in Detroit)

Plus, I was born at 6.05pm, which was the regular time cartoons were shown on TV at the time. So I was born on Halloween's eve at cartoon time. What does imply about me?

Personal DNA

Yes, another personal quiz, handed down by Kelvin and Elaine as usual. Turns out, I am a Faithful Architect. Funny - no one I know would ever call me an architect!

Faithful Architect

In case you really have nothing better to do, my full report is here.

Ah, but speaking of real conversations, here's a total gem from some years ago on ICQ. This is the real chat history with a weirdo that started a random chat while I was at work. I was Aurora.

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