Anthem of Our Dying Day, Story of the Year.
a really nice song. it's swirly-swirling in my head amidst pin pin hei foon lei.

i am in a moodless mood right now; so moodless that i can hardly imagine the times when i felt so emotional i could burst.
PanOxyl makes my face red. so if you see me in sch later today when i go hand in my website, please do not for a moment think tt i am blushing. before you ask, i will tell you now: it is the damn pimple cream. oh well, it works good anyway, so i won't complain... much.

re: my previous entry,
maybe i don't hate being kindly and shit. i don't know.
however, i am very sure i hate celery. am i losing you here? haha. oopie-doodle! i was eating the last slice of st.mike's apricot-buttercream swissroll the other day, when i suddenly experienced an epiphany-thingy: i like the word buttercream.

... and this just in - i have a new cussing word: GOPODSA. yes, you heard me right, you dumbass gopodsa! ah-haha! thank you, we love you, and goodnite!

PS: And don't forget to dwnload Anthem of Our Dying Day!... we can defeat RIAS!

one day i will die because i am too fucking nice. too nice for my own good.
i can't beleive myself. i haven't showered. fucking hungry and i'm still helping people. oh how kind of me. AARRGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHh
it's like my drug you know. the drug that i hate but can't get enough of. and slowly, it'll kill me; burn me inside out.

take my roman blinds away. NOW. the strings are driving me nuts. they just sway in the wind and look so harmless. the keyword is LOOK.

i haven't even cooked my salmon burger yet. i woke up and realised i couldn't think anymore. not like the way i used to.

uncle shaun is such a bastard. shana is 9 this year. i was 9 when mummy chased daddy out of the house. i can't rememebr if i gave a damn or not. but the fighting had to stop sometime. uncle shaun is back, but men like him don't know what a promise means, so i reckon he won't stay long.
you know, i can almost see myself as a single mother with a fucking asshole for a husband. i'm creative, but it doesn't take a lot of imagination to come up with that.

you can try to empathize. i don't mean to be a bitch but, tt's propbably the most you can do - try to empathize. you will never know the way i feel. you'll never understand how i deal. cos you don't wear my shoes, and you don't have to choose.

yup means i'm not angry. if i say yup, it means i'm ok; either tt, or i'm high. but high is ok as well. so screw my redundancy. goodbye pretty blue kingfisher.

haha, hey andrew, sama-sama. haha.


Who's your inner rockstar?

Rape me... rape me, my friend...
Rape me... rape me again.
(Rape Me, nirvana)

so don't mind me if i'm seem a little kurt today. heh. geddit, geddit?? wah, so witty... i's the comic genius, maan!
i bought me Creepy Susie from kino on saturday. i wish people would understand tt it's not so much disgusting and crude as it is cruelly and sadly sweet. it's quite touching, really.
today there were 3 brats on the train. they made me reconsider wanting to have children. if i ever raised such annoying insolent specimens, i'd do the world a favour and throw them into the river.

i've been having this mushy feeling inside of me lately. maybe it's that time of the month.

today, this sickening wave of sudden malady took me over, for only just a while. so familiar, that feeling. then i forgot bout it, and i laughed again.
now it's back. i guess i brought this upon myself. i wanna give me a big hug and tell me it's ok... it's ok.

i'm not sure i understand what you mean, and it's making me confused - confused in a way tt i don't want to be. confused like i want to purge all this and vindicate myself.

the string hanging from my newly-installed roman blinds is scaring me. the little white plastic attachment goes clickety-clickety-click against my window sill. and it's scaring the shit out of me. it looks like a plastic tampon. the stingy breeze makes it go; clickety-clickety-clicking... the beat of dissolution. here's where i'm thankful for my laziness.

and so i begin to wonder what the rest of my life will be like. we are swimming in circles. circles that aren't really round. not that you would notice. do you know what this is about? it's the life i took and don't know what to do with. maybe all i need now is a good book.

fever night fever night fever...

i seem to have found some sort of sedative tonight. commissues due in the morning and i'm still wasting time surfing and reading my own blog. and i don't even feel the customary panic that should've hit me a little more than awhile ago.

ate oatmeal cookie on 154 and got motion sickness. hung out with fagger and flouter, andrew, and watched a terribly-boring movie. looks like Alphaville has found some competition eh? Mad World, Gary Jules. i am not so good at hosting.

i have fake plastic trees stuck in my head. haha. my otak kayu (or maybe it's just plastic pretending to be wood). good song, that one. same chords as Bad Day, Fuel.

i'm growing old. i know this because i can't feel myself anymore. i feel like i've... liquidated.

She looks like the real thing
She tastes like the real thing
My fake plastic love...

watched the parade just now. i couldn't control it - the widest grin just broke onto my face as i stood up and danced and sang along. i haven't said the pledge since cjc. and i haven't marched a step since sec 4. Homat kehadapan homat!

i wouldn't change my nationality for a thing. i love being part of this fusion. i'm thinking of taking up malay, tamil, and portugese (portugese, tribute to Nanny - pure portugese, pure singaporean!). today, i left church early for the first time since i can't remember. didn't join them at lavi's though something told me i should. maybe i should've, but then we'll never know now will we?...
all the way hm, i felt like i had this sticker tt read FORLORN pasted on my face. for some odd reason. then i got on the feeder and watched tvmobile, trying to locate handsome soldier boy whom i had interviewed yesterday. didn't see marc; and apparently, neither did mr president. haha. poor chap missed his big chance to impress mr nathan. oh well... haha

i wanna take part in the parade too. maybe next time i'll do commentry or camera work. but first, i's got to complete my article on handsome soldier boy.

Happy National Day.
there is much work to do. but instead i sit here stoned, my flat mahnjel face vertically parallel with my flatscreen. i woke up yesterday with a bruised right eye. i must've released some repressed violence on myself during my snoozy; this isn't the first time. am trying to write a good article for my field assignmt to compensate the screwed up assesed tutorial.
i had a lot on my mind just now. but i forgot it all. you know how we always say when i grow up, when i'm older blablah ? i think i'm there already. i seem to have lost a bit of myself when i turned 18. or maybe i've just been too busy to bother.

Alternative. it's great huh. All my people right here right now, d'you know what i mean? i got my first CD when i was 12. FRESH. an encounter that would further perpetuate my love affair with music.

There's dancing behind movie scenes
Behind the movie scenes - Sadi Rani
She's the one that keeps the dream alive,
From the morning, past the evening,
Till the end of the light
Brimful of Asha on the forty-five
Well, it's a brimful of Asha on the forty-five
Brimful of Asha on the forty-five
Well, it's a brimful of Asha on the forty-five
and singing illuminate the main streets and the cinema aisles
We don't care about no government warning
about that promotion of the simple life and the dams they are building

CHORUS
Everybody needs a bosom for a pillow,
everybody needs a bosom
Everybody needs a bosom for a pillow,
everybody needs a bosom
Everybody needs a bosom for a pillow,
everybody needs a bosom

Mine's on the forty-five
Mohammed Ruffi (forty-five)
Lata Mangeshka (forty-five)
solid state radio (forty-five)
ferguson mono (forty-five)
Mon public (forty-five)
Jacques Dutronc and the Bolan Boogies
the Heavy Hitters and the chi chi music
All Indian radio (forty-five)
two in ones (forty-five)
ovvo records (forty-five)
trojan records (forty-five)

CHORUS
CHORUS

7-7,000 piece orchestra set
everybody needs a bosom for a pillow mines on the RPM...

CHORUS
CHORUS

(Brimful of Asha, Cornershop)


... But i'm not making plans for tomorrow, for tomorrow never comes.

i'm not sure how i feel now. i asked karin why do i keep caring? i guess it's some innate trait of mine tt i'll never understand. maybe it's my real purpose in life - just to care. and i will carry the world's cares with me and when my candle goes out, i will pull all these woes with me into the darkness. and i will rid the world of it's burden... well at least some of it.

i piss me off when i give figs bout things i don't need to give figs about. but then if i don't care, who will?
like those graves at choa chu kang cemetery - if i don't put flowers on them, who will? there are these grassy mounds- graves of pple who didn't have anyone to care for them, or anyone who could afford to. i always take some of granny's flowers and put them on each weed-encroached tomb (i'm sure granny doesn't mind). one day, i will persuade someone- anyone- to go there with me, armed with a whole truckload of flowers. and we'll set out to remember all the pple who were forgotten; to give them credit for even making it through part of this life. there always something bout the cemetery tt i find reassuring, soothing.
i stand in its tranquility and there seems to be a lull in time. and all tt exists is me and the stillness.

i've forgotten why i started writing today. i'm spposed to be panicking bout commissues and newswriting assignmts, but the panic hasn't quite set in yet. so we'll just sit and wait.
sometimes i realise i care without really loving. is tt wrong? even if it's not wrong, i don't like caring without loving - it feels insincere. but i can't help it. or maybe i love pple without knowing it; kindof like emotional amnesia - when i subconsciously push aside feelings i want to avoid, like love... because love hurts, baby. it does.

Conscious self	Overall self

Take Free Enneagram Test

hmm... yes, i must say, this is indeed quite accurate. go try it.

Happy Deathday!
Your name:	Amelia
You will die on:	Sunday, May 18, 2031
You will die of:	Heart Disease (High Blood Pressure)
Username:
Created by Quill

i am almost 10 pages away to finishing my bk- Life After God; douglas coupland.
since my birthday last week, i've been sort of floating through everything. i haven't been feeling lost or very pointedly listless, just a bit blissful (or rather, not melancholic). the way normal people feel ( - i think).

i had been feeling tt way till just now, when mummy told me tt i was getting wine-coloured roman blinds for my rm windows. i want those cosy grunge/70s looking cloth curtains - the ones that I had picked myself... and not some prudish-looking grandy stuff. -RGH! i'm so annoyed. why does my room have to look like the other bedrms? - all neat and square. i hate this orderly crap. i know i'm sounding like one of those dumb teens who just oppose evrything. but i just hate it tt mummy doesn't seem to get it.
i know don't always take change very well. especially change tt isn't initiated or anticipated by me. seemingly little things like getting our new car, moving hse, buying new furniture, changing handphone, fms office moving... stuff like tt - it's all so disconcerting. and i can't help but feel indignant and antagonised by change. when mummy said they were getting a divorce, i cried my eyes out - because we had to move house. i've always thought i regarded material stuff with some impertinence, but i've suddenly realised tt maybe its more impt to me than i think it is. maybe it's cos i feel that the material things i have become familiar with are the only tangible association i have with this world.

you know, i like reading on the mrt. and evry once in a while, i'd look up at everyone on the train and try to spot patterns - a row of pple wearing complimentary colours, or how every alternate person looks older than 60, or some other pattern like tt. then sometimes, i'd look at pple and try to imagine wat they had for breakfast, wat emotions they're experiencing now; are they married, are they secretly in love, where are they going now? then when i get off the train, i'll forget all the people whose breakfasts and whole lives i had secretly imagined. later, i wonder to myself: will our paths cross again? will i remember the face(s) which invoked the wonder tt enriched those 50 mins of my life?

i walked home frm 7-11 just now. and i was thinking tt maybe i'd prefer a son to a daughter. my kids will probably be slightly wonky up there, just like me. and i don't fancy seeing an exact replica of myself; it'll almost be like reliving my life. i know i always seem to want to do tt, but i don't think i'd be able to handle it if it really happened.