I want to read in Ah-mericah

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

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

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

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

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

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

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...

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?

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

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

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***?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"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

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

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

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

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...

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

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...

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!!

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

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.