Wednesday, 17th November 2010

Amore mio,

se la pioggia o sole,

sia chiaro o scuro,

sia caldo o freddo,

se felice o triste,

se siamo sani o malati,

mio voglio noi stare insieme, e rimanere cosi per sempre.

Thursday, 11th November 2010

My agar plates have BLOSSOMED!

That was the pleasant surprise waiting for me when I got home late tonight. It had been a rather interesting day, I must say. I'd spent three whole hours this morning in the world of microbes, playing catch with bacteria, gazing at adorable cheek cells, being annoyed at dust specks, watching microbes swim after one another. It was as if the tiny blue-stained slide was a huge playground, and I got lost in it after the first two minutes.

It was somewhat comforting, really, being able to escape into another world, even though staring into a microscope for so long might render one blind after a few years. The world of microbiology is absolutely fascinating. I was so worried that my new home-made agar wouldn't culture anything because it was too hard, but I needn't have worried.

Using both sugar and broth in the agar mixture hit the jackpot, because my agar plates are now rather... hairy. The one labelled "nose" has a huge colony of bacteria climbing upwards like thin, white hair, and there's this small lonely black hairy speck at the corner. The one labelled "tongue" has the same white colony growing, only a smaller one this time. It's going to take a few more days to see more. Nothing much has grown on the skin that can be identified, so I'm going to wait patiently, seeing as my super-agar has indeed effectively cultivated microbes.

Damn, I want a real microscope to call my own.

Sunday, 7th November 2010

Once there was a boy, Narcissus, who knelt daily beside a lake to contemplate his own beauty. He gazed at his reflection, the handsome face that kept gazing back, and fell in love with it. He returned to the lake, day after day, to gaze at his lover, until one day he leaned too far, and plop! He fell into the lake and drowned.

At that spot, the bud of a beautiful flower appeared.

Saturday, 6th November 2010

"You must believe in Jesus."
"Jesus will not harm you. I told him you had to be baptised, I do not oppose you two being together but you have to believe in Jesus and get baptised."

Or you will go to hell.

The more I hear about this, the more I feel this incredible feeling building up inside me. The more I get preached to, the less I believe, the more I dislike. It's a peculiar feeling, really, when people insist they're not forcing anything on you, but then they don't give you any other choice either, so you're stuck in limbo and forever unhappy.

I'm not ready to worship a God who would send me to hell, as he would to anybody who isn't baptised.

Thursday, 4th November 2010

It would be called Luna.

Protected by Milai, the great city of warriors, Luna is a gentle little town tucked away behind the woods, in the valley. The river runs right through it, and a cobblestone bridge hangs over the water. Bicycles cross over them, there would only be bicycles, no cars.

It would be inhabited by mimes, in their monotonous black and white, they would give each other flowers in the streets. They would smile their clown-red smiles, and always hold in one hand, a black suitcase, and in the other, a strawberry ice-cream cone. They would lick it as they went about town, about their lives, oblivious to the world and its problems.

There would be no war, no distress, no sadness. Each and every mime would be equal, each one polite, each one selfless and sensitive. Despite the ice-cream cones, they would remain skinny little things, clad in a black beret, shoes, gloves and a stripy skin-suit. Occasionally you would see a few carrying backpacks, only weighed down by art materials; paint, markers, coloured pencils, pastels, anything to make their art brilliant and colourful.

You'd think that they'd be so monotonous in their choice of colours, mimes, but no, their art has to, must be colourful. Mimes love colours. It makes them feel not quite part of this world. They paint their cute round-spherical houses shades of the brightest colours; red, green, orange, blue, purple, yellow, and delight in designing their own furniture that stick to the walls so that if need be, they'd be able to move their house to another part of town to, perhaps, be with their other half, the one they love.

Saturday, 30th October 2010

Would you see beauty in such a face?

Love diminishing, he says, dying, dying.
7 months past.

I couldn't go. There's no closure. The nightmares won't go away.

A quote.

"They are the ones who will stay with you until you die." -Lecturer on the topic of Memory B cells, Immunology.

Who says Science isn't romantic?

Thursday, 28th October 2010

Gnarly trunk, crooked branches,
great big fields of grass,
graceful leaves that fall to the ground,
orange pigment with hues of yellow
and pink, sun-cast sky and
calm serenity,
all there together in the lonely field.

Tuesday, 26th October 2010

I feel tired and a little vicious.

Have been suffering from insomnia for the past few nights, and I feel awful, awful. I was still patient with the world, and couldn't have been more of a good girl than I had been today.

I memorised my scores, studied my subjects, revised my Maths, paid attention in class, held friendly conversations with people, met new people, practised my singing, waited for my Honey to finish his comm meeting to have dinner...
I feel like I've truly exhausted myself.

Yet.
Yet.

Why do I still find myself tossing around all night?

Monday, 25th October 2010

Insomnia befell again last night.
As it did the night before.

Thoughts of you kept me awake.
I thought about us.
Not a wink of sleep.

Not a wink.

Saturday, 23rd October 2010

It was dark there at night.

In absolute darkness, he felt himself shiver. The goosebumps appeared before the sneezing began. He felt cold and lonely and, having eaten his last meal the day before, heard his stomach protest noisily.

Suddenly, he saw them.
They were feathered, winged creatures, flying beneath the surface of the ocean. They glowed. Surely they couldn't fly, after all, they were underwater. Surely?
They continued to move in their flock, wing after wing after wing, their beaks swallowing the slippery fish as they went. The birds continued to fly until they disappeared into the distance, never once leaving the water.

His mind was an ocean.
He was but a drop, and for once felt so small in the vastness of the world. The rocks on the beach waved to him, it was time to go.

Opening his eyes, he found himself back in his room. The screen lit up in anticipation, it had been awaiting him for several hours now. He looked on eagerly, expecting an image to appear. Instead, he touched a hand, soft and warm, that extended from the screen.
It opened in invitation.

Thursday, 21st October 2010

I've seen it before-

The same vacant gaze, the blank eyes with which they see, the open mouth, wet and drooling, the busy hands, the strained neck, the tiresome slouch, the shaking of legs.

Yes, it's the Gamer's Syndrome.

It applies to everything that has to do with staring at a screen. Televisions, computers, PSPs, mobile phones, small hand-held games, you name it, I've seen it. It's been too long, too long that I've been living around people with this syndrome, for me not to notice it at first glance.

The victims suffer from this syndrome in such a way that they enjoy it, and they neglect everything else. One has to be very careful whilst trying to engage in conversation with them while they are gaming, or watching television, for they would kill to continue their task. They would swat at you like some buzzing fly, or simply yell a bit.

This is a very dangerous syndrome.
Beware.

---
Meanwhile, I am rather happy.
The new term is starting on Monday, and I have new subjects, and that means new challenges. I get to stay in choir, which has 2 performances coming up, and I got the Cross Disciplinary Subjects I wanted. Since it was on a first-come, first-serve basis, being kiasu this time worked like a charm.
I'm taking French and Creative Writing.

Both of which, I think I'll do quite well at. I like languages, and I enjoy writing stories.
As impartial as I am towards the English language, here it is, being one of the few languages I'm marginally fluent in. I like to write, even though my characters tend to die. I have "Finding Neverland" to thank for that.
As for French, I kind of like the idea that I'm finally learning it in a classroom setting. It's a rather sensual language, if I may say so, and so deliciously fluid. As a singer I need to know French, German and Italian, and perhaps Latin as well, but the first three are priority. Grade 6 will require knowledge of the beautiful French language, so might as well learn it now. (Grade 5 has been conquered with Distinction!)
If all else fails, I'll be able to survive in France.

I've been learning Braille.
It's such a lovely, anal-retentive language. Every dot has to be in the right place, so precise, so clean on white paper. The language of the Blind. I love how they use their sense of touch for everything, even reading.
It's beautiful, beautiful.

Tuesday, 19th October 2010

Piercings..

Hmm.
Hmmmmm.

Monday, 18th October 2010

I can breathe again.

Over the past few days, I had to go through what I call "over-socialization", which was terribly exhausting, not to mention suffocating. I just felt the need to be alone, somewhere, anywhere else. I keep wanting to watch "Amadeus" but I always seem to face the lack of time.
It is exactly 1am.

ABRSM took pity on me and gave me a distinction for my Grade 5. I made it, although I think I did quite badly in my sight-singing and aural portion. Thankfully, the examiner was a nice man, and (probably) isn't a singer. Thank God.

And to my lovely Rabbit:

I miss you, you cute bunch of fur. Your long, pinkish ears that I like to tickle, your kisses that land even on my pyjamas, your bright eyes that gaze so lovingly. I miss your company; so quiet yet so strong, so graceful and gentle, never questioning, never unaccepting. Such a sweet face, such a sweet nature. Such a beautiful Rabbit. I miss you.

I miss you.

Sunday, 17th October 2010 (2)

I had to endure half-a-tedious-hour of political talk aboard the taxi on the way home.

You know me, right?
I'm the last person on earth who wants anything to do with politics. I despise it. Some of you find it essential to livelihood in society, some of you even enjoy it. I ask myself, how? It's not that I'm an ignorant little twit who hasn't the least idea how to survive in an urban city, I just don't want to dabble in politics. It's not my style.

Politics seems to me to be all about corruption, assassinations, controlling, insisting that people live how you want them to, think how you want them to. If they don't and refuse, you give out orders to the guards and soldiers to capture or kill. Wars start from the smallest spark of the stupidest argument between two people. Millions get killed.
Racism, sexism, homophobia, anything that has to do with someone disliking another for various stupid reasons. Religion, views, skin-colour, clothing, the list is endless.
It's like how my parents would die when they finally realise that most of my good friends aren't Chinese.

Well, go to blazes.
I live the way I want to, and to hell with people who are racist.

To hell with people who think "it is essential for all the youngsters to know about current affairs and be involved in politics". To hell with people who think "youngsters nowadays only care about their friends and the latest pop-stars". To hell with people who think "youngsters nowadays don't think as logically and smartly as the older generation". To hell with people who think "youngsters are just so ignorant nowadays".

Assholes.

Sunday, 17th October 2010

I feel like disappearing.

I want to get away. I want to be there.
Time passes so slowly now, why can't it fly by faster?

Everyone's around the table, eating now. I feel full and left-out. Is it just me? Maybe I want to be left out. I like these people, I enjoy time with them, they have good humour, they are intelligent. They can hold serious conversations when they want to.

So why do I feel the need to be alone?

Saturday, 16th October 2010

Friday, 15th October 2010

It has its grip on me. Its grip is strong and firm, gentle, but with swift movement can crush me to bloody bits.

I wore my best dress out today. I left the house feeling at the top of the world, and went home feeling like lowly crap. There are new fears. It will be some time until I eat xiao long bao or catch a movie with anyone again.

I hate to cry. It was not therapeutic this time, just plain frustrating. I just wanted to get away, to leave, to go home and hide in my room forever, then I'd probably just starve to death and it would all be over.

But.
I was brave. I stuck it out. I'm so difficult to love.

Oh, Oscar. I want to be there so badly. Away from here, these people, these places, these habits, these fears. What is the price of freedom?

Am I too poor to pay?

Wednesday, 13th October 2010 (2)

You know, the world is hypocritical.

They say love has no boundaries, across race, across religion, across gender, across age, across status, across beliefs, across opinions.

Then, they insist that someone of religion A has to marry someone of religion A, or convert, or the other will go to Hell. They insist that someone of race B has to marry someone of race B, no argument, no questions asked. The people who choose to do otherwise will then be shunned by society, as if they'd done something disgraceful.

I hate people.

To Hell with them. If I love someone, I love someone.
If the world bred across boundaries, there would be no more racism, no more people against a certain religion, because everybody down the line would be mixed equally. Nobody would be able to discriminate against another.
Why would you have to consider if someone is Catholic or Christian before accepting your love for them? Why should you have to think about somebody's skin colour before you make friends with them? Even people of the same religious roots don't like one another.
What have you to say about it? Do you feel the pride?

I feel so sad.

Wednesday, 13th October 2010

Oh, Oscar.

I want to be there, but it seems so far away.

Tuesday, October 12th 2010

I don't have enough good books.

Just yesterday, I dug through my entire storeroom. I found books, all right, but I've read them all so many times before. Well, except the one Harry Potter book I have. I remember trying to read the first two pages but t'was simply too boring, so I gave up on reading it forever.

I've finished E.M. Forster's "Maurice", and Oscar Wilde's "Picture of Dorian Gray". I can't bear to finish his book of dark fairy tales. People around me seem to be reading Jodi Picoult and the Twilight series but I can't seem to fathom why. Worse, some don't even read. Not to say I didn't try, I read the first book of Twilight, and the language seemed to me rather disappointing. The plot was, meh.

I find myself clamouring after more timeless classics or, at least, good fiction. I need good books. I've outgrown Jacqueline Wilson, I'm hungry for something more. I love Jostein Gaarder's work, and Roald Dahl is great, though I haven't gotten round to reading his more adult work yet, apart from "Skin". I want to read more of Stephen Fry's books, they intrigue me. Right now I've just picked up my sister's new copy of "The Life of Pi", and soon I hope to buy some John Steinbeck and the novel "Perfume".

God, why didn't Oscar Wilde write more books?!

Sunday, 10th October 2010

It has come to my stark realisation that I may not end up at the University of Edinburgh after all.

Last night, on my way home, I had a conversation with the taxi-driver about education standards, and I think it infiltrated into my sub-conscious mind. I dreamt about some upsetting things last night.

Early this morning, I awoke to look up admission criteria online. Strange that they consider students with a Poly GPA of 3.0-3.5, while they only take 'A' level students with about 6As or more. However, Trinity College, Dublin, has lower standards, and I actually don't mind going there, too. Of course, my aim will remain Edinburgh, but if something should happen and I don't make it there, I'll welcome Dublin with all my heart.

What worries me is that I'll feel some sort of guilt going overseas. I'm worried, I'm worried. Should 2012 really occur, that would save me a lot of trouble, a lot to think about.
I yearn to be there, far away from here, far, far away from all these people, and being able to lead a life that's mine, to go where I want, to visit Oscar Wilde's grave, to stay at Medical School to draw specimens in my sketchbook till I feel like going home.

It sounds selfish. I have someone else to think about, but I can't help yearning to be there. I hope he can come with me, so we can set out on this adventure together.

Dear God, please help me get past this semester and move on to the next. Now that I know what it's like and what to do, I think I'll do much better than I did. Please help me, God, please help me stay alive through this.

I yearn to be there.

Saturday, October 9th 2010

He climbs up a steep, smooth slope, his feet slapping against the surface. He takes a few steps, and then falls into a dark, moist hole.
"Where am I," he wonders.

*COUGH SPUTTER SPUTTER*

Thursday, October 7th 2010

Feeling so distant tonight.

I find I'm learning to auto-censor my thoughts again. I can live with it, I won't die if I don't say what I want to.

Our body fights so hard to keep us alive, and yet, we abuse it day after day.

When I was younger, I had a fantasy;
My world would have nobody else in it.

If people didn't know what love was, would they feel deprived of it?

"She's silently defiant"

Joy was the only one who gave me a hug every morning so that I would face the day without fear.

Ice cream, fudge and cookies = mudpie!

"She has to be baptised, do you want her to go to hell?"

Monday, 4th October 2010

Feeling... detached.

detached

detached

Friday, 1st October 2010

A few days alone.

She'd time aplenty to think, in a dark room, with nary a sound. Occasionally, a few notes escaped from within her, a constant furrow upon her forehead, her eyes fixated upon the sheets of formulae and questions, endlessly, endlessly doing.

The blood drummed in her head as she racked her brains. Why couldn't she get it? The others made it look so simple, so effortless. It wasn't fair, all the work she put in seemed to slip through the grills like sand. They kept her locked in her own prison.

If only the others knew her secret.

Sunday, 26th September 2010

The clear night sky was a mixture of indigo and gold, the stars glittering invitingly like treasure. Having just finished his evening prayers, he set about preparing the fire for dinner. "One, two, ...," he hit the rocks together, and sparks began to fly. With a crackle, the dry wooden sticks ignited, and a warm orange glow washed over everything nearby.

He set up the pot over the fire to boil the water while he prepared the ingredients for the stew. His trusty mule, Shera, lay comfortably by the dancing flame. It was getting cold out, and temperatures of blistering height plunged considerably. He diced the vegetables and the dried camel meat and threw them into the pot with some salt and pepper.

"Isn't this night a beauty, my dear?"
Shera turned to look at him, her mouth still chewing on the carrot he had fed her earlier. He walked over and kissed her on the nose, then proceeded to cut the bread.
It had gone a little stale now, they had yet to embark on their weekly visit to the market. The Arabs were always extra kind to him, allowing him discounts, but they could never understand why anyone would want to live in the middle of a desert.

What they didn't know, of course, was that he loved this life. Every atom of his being craved adventure, and he took pleasure in suffering for it. The company of Shera was all he needed, he disliked having other people's expectations to live up to. This was freedom.

Dinner was ready now and eagerly, he ladled himself a big bowlful, but not before he gave Shera her dinner of mixed vegetables and hay. He sat by the fire, the bowl and bread on his lap. "Bon appetit, Shera," he said to the mule, who was already tucking in. Then, he savoured slowly, his warm dinner of stew and bread, inhaling the aroma as he did so.

Ah, what a beautiful feeling. He sat in the warmth of the fire, enjoying his dinner under the star-speckled sky. He was what he had always dreamt of being; a nomad, an adventurer, a survivor. He was beyond reach in the world, and nothing could dissuade him from wanting to die this way.

After dinner, feeling comfortably full and warm, he decided to retire to his tent. He left Shera by the fire with a big bowl of water and then snuggled in the sleeping-bag. It had been his for as long as he could remember, and from it he derived comfort.

Staring up into the darkness of the tent, he smiled to himself when he heard Shera start to snore. In his last conscious moments, he gave thanks for the day and, wearing a silly grin, drifted off to the land of dreams.

Saturday, 25th September 2010

I feel like typing about so many different things, but I don't feel up to it tonight. I don't have the heart to do it, and my brain simply refuses.

Yes, my expression is that of Philippe Jaroussky's in the photo above, hands and all.
Big headache. God, this is just so damn difficult.

I stood at the water's edge today, just looking at the sea and sky. I thought about how I love water, and how so many of my characters have died in it. I thought about my 'O' Level Art coursework, about the wave of nails engulfing the girl at the edge of the cliff. I thought about the man who stayed looking at his own body at the bottom of the ocean. I thought about the man who burned his house into a frozen lake. I thought about the deaf man who heard his own laughter at the bottom of a swimming pool. I thought about the poet/writer who leaped off a cliff. I thought about the man who drowned himself in a fountain.

I don't know why all my characters die. Sometimes, it scares me, because when I read the stories I wrote, I find a lot of myself in them. This is the poet/writer who questioned himself on his fall from glory after all his stories ended with death. He didn't know why, he didn't know how. It just felt the right way to end it.
He got depressed, he went insane. There was no other way to end it, and so he stood atop a cliff, gazing down at the deep, dark ocean beckoning to him.

And leaped.

Friday, 24th September 2010

I will not give up.

I will not be disheartened.

I will keep going, keep going.

Monday, 20th September 2010

When my choir went to Riva del Garda, Italy to participate in an international choir competition in 2008, we got to sing at a church for our Sacred Music category.

I remembered it tonight on the way home. She told me once that I should try singing in a high-roofed church or cathedral. It didn't occur to me then that I did. It struck me tonight out of the blue, while walking along the pavement.
I dreamt of her again last night.

I remember being at Riva del Garda.
The church was beautiful and silent, save for the occasional shuffling of feet and people in their seats. It was a quiet, respectful kind of worship. The marble angels lined the walls, and they gazed down upon us from above. It was cold outside, but cosy and warm in the church, where the candles flickered softly. They hung from the ceiling, they were placed at the altar, beside the door, along the walls. The sound of our singing was beautiful as it echoed through the church.

I wanted to live in that moment forever.
Take me back.

Sunday, 19th September 2010

It went well!

Even though it was foreseen.
The food, the cake, the games, the BBQ sauce fight all went well, and I must say, I'm proud of myself. I stayed up till 3am baking that cake, and awoke early again the next morning to bake the pasta, then met with Jo to cook the clam chowder.
It was a German Apple Cake, with added hazelnuts and cinnamon sugar.

A few people didn't turn up, though, that made me a bit upset, but it went all right after all.

I have this urge to buy those little Sesame Street plushies from Cheers. It used to cost $5.90, or $3.90, from what I remember, and it's now $1.90! I like almost all the characters. No, not a fan of Elmo. Bert, Ernie, Grover, Cookie Monster, Oscar are all pretty cute.

After cooking and slaving away at the stove and oven without sufficient sleep yesterday, I found $10 on the floor while walking. Hahaha, must be my, er, reward. Thank you, God! :D

Last but not least,
Happy Birthday, dearest! I hope you like Part 1 of the gift! Heh heh, Part 2 shall come later! I wish you a wonderful day, can't wait to see you later ;)

Wednesday, 15th September 2010

An echo reached his ears as he set foot in the cathedral. Lined with marble angels, saints and paintings, it seemed more like a glorified art gallery, save for the countless pews that were painstakingly aligned.
The smell of vanilla lingered in the air, it wafting from the candles that surrounded the stone figure of the Virgin Mary. Her eyes, though empty and white, seemed to gaze upon onlookers lovingly.

Catedral de Malaga had always been his refuge, his sanctuary. He had first gone there as a little boy, when his mother was still alive. She had taken him to mass one autumn, when the ground was still covered with an orange blanket. He liked to jump in the leafy piles and feel the crunch beneath his feet.

She'd never forced him to believe, but it grew on him anyway. He quite liked the quiet solitude he found whenever he sat at the pews, alone with his thoughts and prayers. Nobody insisted on baptism, nobody insisted that he join the rest of them. He discovered that he enjoyed the masses held, and acquired the habit of saying Grace before his daily soup and bread.

Now seated at a pew, he began to run through his daily prayers, his lips silent but moving. His hands clasped a gold-and-white rosary, his fingers deftly handling each bead as he progressed. The town bells tolled for midnight.
He would be 36 today.

Finishing his prayers, a sudden urge came over him. He let out a muffled sound, a cross between a laugh and cry. The sad hilarity of it all finally hit him. Who'd have guessed that he would end up here?

Such a grand cathedral, ceilings gold and pillars cream, the scent of vanilla complimented it perfectly. He took out a palm-sized bottle and began walking towards the altar. The countless marble figures gazed at him curiously as he passed them, a slightly worried expression upon their faces.
Pausing for a moment, he uncorked the bottle of kerosene in his hand, and proceeded towards the vanilla-scented sticks of wax. The flame atop each one flickered furtively as he approached, as if threatened by the flammable liquid.

Watching them, a grin drew itself across his face, mouth stretched, pupils dilated as he brought the bottle to his lips. He let the bitter liquid trail down his throat into his stomach and, finishing the last of it, dropped the bottle and reached for a candle.

Saturday, 11th September 2010

The night was quiet in the small Spanish square. Few people were about, the last for the day; the bakers were cleaning their counter-tops, the butchers were storing their meat, the civilians were long gone, all safely tucked up in bed, whiling time away in slumber to await the next sunrise.

He stood alone. They'd have all left, not that he minded solitude. The fountain was all that was in his line of sight.

The fountain. Centerpiece of the square, it was built in the 1800s. Carved of white marble, lined with golden leafings, it was worn by age. A long crack ran perpendicular to the second tier where the French motar struck. Its age only seemed to make it grander.

The marble angels perched precariously atop the fountain. Each had a kindly expression, ready to serve, ready to save. He stood, gazing at them, a worried furrow on his brow. The white columns supporting the tiers looked sturdy enough.

Kicking off his shoes and peeling off his socks, he stepped into the cold fountain, its waters clear. He wriggled his toes.
Yes, he could feel the cold between them. He waded forward towards the center of the huge fountain where the second tier stood, and heaved himself upon the rim. Seated upon it now, he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a silver crucifix. She had given it to him several weeks ago, before she left. Since then, he had visited her grave for hours each day, oblivious to time.

He fingered the long, delicate chain that was hers, and then slowly placed it on his tongue. It tasted metallic, but salty, as he closed his mouth around it. Then, with a soft smile, he immersed himself in the clear water, his clothes getting heavier as they absorbed the liquid.

From beneath the surface, he opened his eyes to gaze at the night sky. The stars were waiting for him.
He smiled and took a deep breath.

Tuesday, 7th September 2010

It was Insulin.

Why didn't I write that, then?!

Well, that's over. I've had 3 hours of sleep for the past two days. The urge to collapse is so great, but I won't let myself. I can't. I need to study.

Finally caught my breath. 20 minutes to sit at the computer to blog, and then the tuition teacher will be here for Organic Chemistry. That's what it'll be tomorrow, Organic Chemistry.
Inorganic Chemistry and Human Anatomy are done. Last night's studying was torture. I could've given up, I wanted to give up halfway and go to bed, but no, no, there would be guilt. At least I can say I tried my best. It's over now, time to look to tomorrow.

Most worried about Organic Chemistry. Determined to get 8 whole hours of sleep tonight, so gotta rush it all before 11. I need my sleep, I'm half-dead. Half my class turned up the same way this morning, all lost sleep over the past few days. I don't know what to expect. I hope I do well.

No more time. Back to work.

Saturday, 4th September 2010

iLin says:

But oh, I love you honey!
I miss your warm body next to mine!
I miss your lips
I miss your smile
I miss your laugh
I miss your beautiful hair
I miss your hands
I miss your hug
I even miss your towering height over me
I wish, how I wish you were here with me :)

David says:

Aww Honey!
you utterly smelting furnace, melting this tub of lard of your boyfriend

David Ennobleaux:

Hello Xiu Lin. Y'know, I think my girlfriend is the mostest beautifulest girl in the world. Silently captivating, stunningly adorable, and yes, yes yes, verily lovely. :D

Wednesday, 1st September

Where is my comfort?

I feel like such a hypocrite.
You know how I always talk about giving and sacrificing, about how society is so selfish and cold? Have I been kidding myself all these months?

I was never this selfish before. Why have I turned out this way?
My face is hot, the tears are gushing. Disappointment undisguised, maybe I am human after all.
Human like every other selfish person in this virulent world.

I never looked at death this way. "If it's time to die, it's time to die" just doesn't cut it anymore. This emotional roller-coaster is threatening to engulf me, suffocating and bloodthirsty. How does one survive?

He slammed the door, which suddenly reminded me of Dad. Dad has taken to kicking it, although he has been rather sweet these few days. I haven't been home for dinner in months. I'm chasing after freedom but it still evades me. I don't know what to do.

Help me, help me.

Saturday, 28th August 2010

I had so many things I wanted to type about tonight, but when I watched this, all the petty little things just went away.

My tear ducts have been working overtime lately, and the taps wouldn't stop gushing when I watched this about 5 minutes ago. This emotional roller-coaster is undoubtedly exhausting, but I'll deal with it somehow.

Watching this video just filled my blood vessels with warmth, my heart with love, my mind with smiles. It just struck me hard, because it stands for what I believe in:
The elderly only grow old if they let themselves.

I don't know how many times I've reflected on this. Society has always categorised us, making us conform to the standards it sets. You think I haven't been told all that before?

"So old already, why still watch cartoons?" "How old already, still play with toys?" "LEGO is only for babies, you know?" "Aren't you too old for this?" "Where got girl have short hair one?"

Who's to say that adults can't play with toys, that teenagers can't watch cartoons, that girls can't have short hair, that the elderly can't play in puddles?
Childhood seems so far away now, but that doesn't mean I push it away, thinking that I'm "too old" for something. No, childhood is to be embraced.

You never know when life will end.

Tuesday, 24th August 2010

Le promesse che abbiamo fatto,
amore mio,
sono quelle che abbiamo terremo per sempre.
Mi manca il tuo abbraccio, mi manca il tuo bacio.
Te amo, caro miele :)

Sunday, 22nd August 2010

She thought she was going to die of sorrow.

They shot through her veins, in her blood, poisoning her. Her tears rolled ceaselessly as she tried to keep it all in.
Bitter, bitter sorrow.

And yet, as the night went along, what had to be said had been said, what was left to forgive was forgiven, what there was to love was loved.
Indeed, love is the greatest power, not death.

She is now at peace.

Thursday, 19th August 2010 (2)

She stood precariously at the edge, waiting, just waiting for that shove. A little one was all she needed, her heels teetering on the concrete ledge. The others flew high above her in the Spanish square, filling the air with a chorus of chirps. She glanced down again.

It was quite a drop from the top of the bell tower. The sun, friendly and warm, embraced the square with his rays. She felt the warmth on her soft feathered back while she pondered.

It had happened before; her wings always saved her from the fearsome jaws of death. She had leapt off that same bell tower too many times before, but her feathered, light but strong structure always opened against the wind beneath her, swooping her away from the cold, hard concrete so far below.

She smiled.
They won't be able to save her this time.
Only hours ago had she chanced upon some string at the market square, abandoned but still good. The woolen twine was short, there was just enough to tie both wings together. Siesta was always the best time of day, when the stallholders closed their shops and left behind scraps of food to pick at. Sweet melons, small strips of meat, even berries that rolled astray.

The others were picking at them now, feasting greedily. The chirping subsided as they ate, to a murmur barely audible. She got ready to leap, and then sprang forward in one swift movement.

Falling, her wings struggled in their bound state, straining at the twine to break free, but no, the string, however flimsy it seemed, had the strength of a thousand hands. They bound her and they did so tightly, and she fell to the ground, her eyes wide open, her pupils smiling.

Thursday, 19th August 2010

The hospital was breathtaking.

Breathtaking not just in the sense of beauty, but in the environment and order as well. I visited it for the first time today, and got to see the wards. Long, seemingly endless corridors stretched everywhere I turned, the smell of pee lingered in the air. Countless rooms were listed at the lifts, there was even a mortuary.

When I entered the wards, I saw countless beds occupied by elderly patients, each one with a different diagnosis, different drips hanging from above, different machines attached to them. The ward was dim, but there was a constant soft beeping of the heart-rate machines. I tried to imagine a whole team of doctors and nurses rushing around with patients in their beds, wheeling them at top speed to the emergency unit. It all looked so orderly, it was difficult to imagine chaos.

I felt like I was suddenly sucked into "Scrubs". It's strange to think that I'll work in that environment one day. In any case, I hope to be the surgeon or the doctor, not the patient.
I think I was like a child in a candy factory, a child who had never eaten any candy. My eyes wide and my mouth agape, I stood in awe of that beautifully intimidating place, lost in thought, lost in fantasy.

It was a much-needed jolt of inspiration, thanks so much.

Tuesday, 17th August 2010

"Yet he was doing a fine thing- proving on how little the soul can exist. Fed neither by Heaven nor by Earth he was going forward, a lamp that would have been blown out, were materialism true. He hadn't a God, he hadn't a lover- the two usual incentives to virtue. There was no one to watch him, nor did he watch himself, but struggles like his are the supreme achievements of humanity, and surpass any legends about Heaven.
No reward awaited him. This work, like much that had gone before, was to fall ruining. But he did not fall with it, and the muscles it had developed remained for another use."

I had a fantasy in my youth. Perhaps I shouldn't call it that- it was but 2 years ago. I imagined an ideal world with nobody else in it, leaving me free to walk the Earth, wherever I pleased, whenever I pleased. I would live with animals, and I would wear whatever I wanted. I could have gone nude, had I so desired. The freedom is appealing in a way that this world could never deliver to me.
Freedom is gone, banished from society to the pits of earth and stone. Fatigue eats away at me as I type, my senses falling asleep one by one.

Going.. Going.. Gone.

Monday, 16th August 2010

"It was all so complicated.
When love flies it is remembered not as love but as something else. Blessed are the uneducated, who forget it entirely, and are never conscious of folly or pruriency in the past, of long aimless conversations." -'Maurice' by E.M. Forster

In Secondary School, sex was a sacred topic, unbroached, undiscussed. It amused greatly those who attempted to open the discussion, which was always more or less dismissed as rumours. It seemed that the people around me then never really sought to satisfy their curiosity by hankering after literature in the subject.

Strange, that.
Were people simply afraid? And, of what? One shouldn't have to fear another on this Earth, even though society took upon itself, the role of banishing anyone who disagreed with its views, behind bars.

We are at the age when we experience many new and unfamiliar things- things that scare us, things that delight us, things that upset us, things that excite us. Yet, what keeps us from going insane are things we call "belief", "values", "trust", "morals", "respect".

What does it really mean to respect someone?

Wednesday, 11th August 2010

Freedom.

Freedom means so many things to so many different people.

To a prisoner, freedom means walking freely, without being under the scrutiny of guards, to be able to do what he wants, when he wants, to be able to walk where he wants, sleep when he wants, talk to his loved ones without having to fill out forms.

To a child, freedom means playing whenever she wants, to be able to have fun and yet, be taken seriously instead of being pushed aside.

To a student, freedom means studying to her limits, to juggle studying and other activities of interest, to be able to go home to acceptance, support and comfort.

To a teenager, freedom means being trusted by his parents to manage his time between friends, studies, love and life. Freedom means staying out past curfew and going out without being questioned.

To a working adult, freedom means having a job he enjoys, to be able to chat with his peers, colleagues and bosses. To be able to keep within schedule comfortably, to separate work and life at home.

To an elder, freedom means being young at heart, to walk without a stick, to have joints that don't swell and hurt with every move.

To a foreign citizen, freedom means the ability to vote and have a say in the country's well being, government and decisions. To be recognised as a country's own, instead of someone different and apart.

To a couple, freedom means the ability to love without reserve, without factors such as race, beliefs, gender or age. To be able to see each other without fear, to be able to stick together after arguments, to be able to accept each other instead of trying to change.

Freedom.

Tuesday, 10th August 2010

Tu sei il vento che sussurra, che canta agli alberi
che fa frusciare le foglie di gioia
e fa i fiori a danzare al suono brillante

Nei giorni di pioggia si tiene in mano un pennarello
per disegnare un sorriso sul mio viso
di tenere la mia mano nella tua, come ci troviamo ad affrontare la vita insieme

Vieni, rimani con me
aiuto quando cado
per voi siete la luce del mio mondo
il mio amore
il mio amore

Sunday, 8th August 2010

"God won't send you to hell just because you don't convert."

"Yes, he will."

Saturday, 7th August 2010

She had left him with no choice.

Her pleading look intensified as his vice-like grip tightened around her neck. The skin there was turning purple now, and she felt the hand of her husband, her lover, there. Her eyes rolled backwards as she tried in vain to gasp a last time.

They had gotten married at 30, they were secure. Through thick and thin with each other, both husband and wife had gained the wisdom they sought. After having spent 40 long years together, fate saw to it that she broke her spine.
The paralysis devastated her; and he sacrificed everything to stay by her side.

She rode around in a little grey wheelchair, unable to move, unable to chew. All that was left was her ability to hum, and so he would hum tunes with her while she was awake. He played her songs on his keyboard, resorting to singing whenever arthritis set in. On rainy days, she liked to sit by the big glass window; the rain calmed her, it was like a veil that shielded her from the world.

As more time went by he felt it- the pull of death. Fatigue often left him weak and pale, even though he did his best to remain upbeat around her. His joints swelled up so he could fit his ring no more, but chose to remain silent about his condition for another 4 years.

The doctor had told him. He went to the hospital after the pain got unbearable. She was sleeping downstairs, tucked up cosily while the rain poured outside. He was so afraid she might see him whenever his bed was rolled past her door.
He was afraid to tell her, he couldn't. He, alone, knew what she needed, what she wanted, what songs she liked to listen to while sitting by the window. He had spent every day there since she was admitted, and couldn't bear the thought of leaving her behind. He knew it was coming to an end, his life, it was slipping through his fingers like sand.

"No," he whispered, "I must tell her."

He chose a perfect day; the calming rain poured outside the huge glass window, no lightning in sight, no thunder to be heard. All there was, was the soft pattering of raindrops on the ledge. He brought a blood-red rose, snipped of thorns and trimmed of half its stalk. The light grew in her eyes as he presented it to her, thereafter planting a kiss upon her lips.
How beautiful, he thought, as he gazed at her lying sweetly on the bed. Pushing the bed towards the window, he took care not to drop the flower, and whispered into her ear the calming words she wished to hear.

Then, came the time to tell her.

The light in her eyes slowly dimmed as the words escaped from his mouth, his tongue flicking deftly as he spoke, of his greatest fear- that he would die first.
The thought of his lovely wife sitting and lying alone day after day was too agonising to bear, let alone comprehend.
He had to do it, it was now or never.

And so he reached out to her frail neck, "I'll see you again soon, my love."

The rose fell to the cold, hard floor as the light disappeared.

Friday, 6th August 2010

T'was a performance, after all.

People saw me, cheered for me, and then told me they saw me. Hmmm. Dr Khin was there, too, and so were several other lecturers.
Thank you, thank you.

The difficult Mandarin song got cut in the end. T'was simply too difficult, I say! The other one was relatively much simpler, with repeating verses and chorus. Good for people like me. Several of our other songs got cut, too. I wasn't happy about that; that's just plain mean. Mr S was just being.. himself.

I'm at the freezing library again, waiting for D. He did say he would meet me at the library, but, as his voice lesson starts at 4pm, and it's already 3.16pm, I think he might've left to attend it. My hair is still sticking up in an odd/awesome fashion (courtesy of Charlie, thank you!) and I have eyeliner around my eyes. I could wear it today because I didn't sleep well last night, which resulted in a both-side double-eyelid.

CSAS got cancelled again, therefore I have no more reason to stay at school after taking the Biomolecules Practical Quiz. Thought D would be here, so I came to the library. I was surprised when I couldn't find him sitting at the computers, so I guess I'll just borrow someone's phone to call him, and then head out.

They're playing 'Glee' over the speakers now, gotta go.

Wednesday, 4th August 2010

Never has a PIPC quiz gone as right as this one.

It went more right than I expected, although, I have to admit, I worked quite hard for it. Stayed up till 2 this morning doing a summary sheet for the two topics tested, and then awoke at 10am to do questions and revise.
I don't want to say it went absolutely all right, because I think the results won't be fantastic, but I really think there may be a chance at passing it!
If I pass, Mr Teong will be pleased.

At TP library again, waiting for my Love to arrive. I have yet to memorise the darn Chinese songs for the performance on Friday, so feeling a bit nervous, but I think my body deserves a break from stress. I panicked so much today I awoke at 8, then at 9, then finally at 10 when my alarm rang. By the time it rang, I was feeling so exhausted but my heart continued to race, disallowing me to fall back to sleep.

I miss the comfort of Oscar Wilde. Not too long ago I had time to read about Dorian Gray and his picture, now I can scarcely find the time to do anything. Painting. Drawing. Customizing. Cooking. Baking. Playing. Composing. Writing. Learning. Practising.

Make time? Don't make me laugh.

Tuesday, 3rd August 2010

Some random thoughts for the night-

I felt weird after drinking the thick 'teh' at supper with the same few choir people tonight. My stomach started churning and I had such the urge to puke. Later on, I experienced a bit of giddiness and felt like my heart was racing. Must have been something I ate or drank.
You can imagine how horrible the bus ride home was for me.

Quiz tomorrow, God help me. It's PIPC, I promised the teacher I'd try really hard for it, and I aim to at least get a pass. However, life's been hectic these past couple of weeks, and these few days there's been choir every night.
I've just been told that my ABRSM exam is on the 20th of September.

Felt a bit unloved tonight. I think it was another small-scale mood swing. I have no idea why, nobody displayed any less affection towards me. I just felt unloved. It's just me, I guess.

Now I know why all my lecturers who hold MDs and PhDs are single. The workload in the medical academic path is beyond insane.

If people never knew what love was, would they feel deprived of it?

Sunday, 1st August 2010

See that small clearing over there?
That's where I want to live.

I want to be free to taste the morning dew, to feel the falling leaves in my hair, to hear the crunch beneath my feet. I want to spend hours in a day just lying on the cool grass, gazing at the beacon of light across the sky, and sit by rivers to write poetry, songs and stories.

The stress is coming back.

It hit me so suddenly, like a bucket of cold water right in my face. I need to start now. I have so much to do before the holidays. I need to summarise my notes from my general notes, for every topic, for every subject, so I can study with ease during the 1-month break. Thank God for the 1-month break, Thank you, God.

3 quizzes- Biomolecules Prac, PIPC, CSAS next week, as well as a Biomolecules lab report due on Monday. No more tutorials, so that provides some relief and time for me to study. Choir practices on Mon, Tues, Wed, performance on Friday.

So much for the last week of school, huh?

Saturday, 31st August 2010

Stop shoving things down my throat.

Everybody deserves the right and freedom to love.