today is not tt bad a day. i'm very proud of myself for having perservered in trying to get myself out of marcoms. i finally got it swapped for the friday scriptwriting class - but not before being ridiculed by crotchety old fish (a certain haughty north indian female) for taking the electives i chose to take. like, hallo- your salary is coming out of my pocket. stupid menopausal groucho. maybe *** *******'s* **** *** ******* *** ***** (if at all...). well, watever the reason, i strongly believe that such childish behaviour is unbecoming of the vice-head of a film sch (what more, of a person who claims to be very reasonable. my ass ah!)and therefore warrants severe punishment. Retribution! i shout. yea baby, YEA.


aside frm the confrontation(s) with the bitch (tt left me drained from all the crying and sheer frustration), the first 2 days of sch were actually enjoyable. my dvd-authoring teacher is a portly man called derek khoo. i hope to pick up skills tt will enable me to enter the lucrative dvd-pirating industry. my other IS module is cool - Basic Home Electricity (BHE). haha my teacher's voice sounds like ray romano's. and i now know the technical reasons of a blackout. i really like the class cos i feel like i've learnt so much already.

print is nice cos mr yee's quite a cool guy (not sure bout the guy part though. heard frm the seniors tt he used to be a woman) and there are some cute guys in my printjourn class so erm, ya. i'm gonna be writing for hype so i'm pretty excited and hope i do a good job and then get spotted by a cool mag's editor; then maybe, i wouldn't have to resort to pirating dvds. my scriptwriting teacher is frm sweden*, so for my final project, i'm contemplating writing a screenplay bout a happy family of talking meatballs who use eriksson handphones and live in a little house furnished with colourful contemporary furniture.

* For those who took my advice and betted on sweden, i'd like to disclaim any responsibility now. but i really did think tt great meatballs and furniture = great soccer.

it's odd being in third yr cos we're spposedly the seniors of the sch and i actually feel old and weird. in bout a year, i'll be released frm captivity and become just another big loser, one of many many. ah::::::

i choose to do Acting & Directing, Advertising Creatives, and Print Journalism. i enrol successfully within the timeslot given me, and then print out my timetable. tt was 9th June.

today, 26th June, i open my timetable online, and it appears tt i am no longer in AdCreatives but in Marketing Communications instead. MARKETING COMMUNICATIONS?! i don't fucking wnat MARCOMMS. if i wanted it, i'd have picked it eh?

stupid crabby-faced mrs singh said during the enrolment briefing: It doesn't matter if you don't gte the electives you want; it's all masscomm-related anyway.

well let me tell you something, bitch - i did not pay my school fees and work my way all the way to 3rd year just so i could be forced into some elective tt i DON'T WANT TO DO. i enrolled for adcreatives and i will fucking do adcreatives. i also enrolled for the wed A&D class, but they conveniently dumped me into the thurs one.

Don't. push. me.

i'm not surprised i missed my period this mth; the past 2 weeks have been generously peppered with unfortunate occasions of pple just brazenly fucking round with me and my innate (see: compulsive) niceness.





PLEASE TOP UP YOUR FARECARD:


FUCK-UP EPISODE #1
last weekend. mash calls me and says theatreworks(TW) needs volunteers to give out prgrmmes (at victoria theatre) at their latest show Sandaka Threnody (read: a fucking lousy play). she sounds desperate so i say ok. i have to wear all black, formal. so i friday night i get there a bit late and TW staff made sloppy attempts to brief (did not include telling us wat the play was about or how long they needed our help for). ok, first night was busy and they let us watch a bit of the play (which was yawn-invoking). fine, so we stayed to help longer and all tt shit; and there were some cute guys frm the reception caterers, so it wasnt so bad. 2nd night, they didn't inform us tt we didnt need to dress so formally. there was this lady frm TW keeps giving us dirty looks cos we sat dwn when there was no auidence yet (and hence, no one to give progmmes to).

the last night(sunday) was the worst. i told mash i'd help so i did (instead of going out with daddy to celebrate fathers' day). when i got there, i was annoyed to find tt there was more than enough TW staff to sit round and calafare, let alone give out prgrmmes. the audience was extremely rude (eh i want one more, some said, pointing brattily at the progmes we were holding). i wanted ot shove the progmmes in their faces and scream Here, take take take! you pompous bitch. i'm not the one wasting my dough on a stupid play anyway!... puki bahu mak kau.

i had changed out of my new blue blouse(a recent good buy frm some sale) into a black shirt just bfore the play. the subsequent irritation (courtesy of the aforementioned twats) then clouded my senses and i absentmindedly left my blue blouse in the VT toilet. yesterday mummy kindly informed me tt the shirt was no longer available. i blame TW.


FUCK-UP EPISODE #2
shana calls me and tells me she is bored at mama's hse because her shit-head parents have once again left her and hanson there, while they went off to 'work'. watever. i feel bad so i said they can follow aunty grace over to our hse for dinner. when we tell hanson tt he should ask permission before anyhow turning on the tv at our hse, the brat starts sulking and rubbing his sweaty self all over the floor (which i had just vaccuumed and mummy had just mopped tt afternn). then in some shit-ass attempt to further worsen the day, he goes to mummy's rm toilet and instead of pissing in the toilet bowl, he chooses the to aim it at the wall and the covered drainhole, conveniently beside the toilet bowl. we only realised the little devil's deed an hour after he left the hse. stupid shit-head.


FUCK-UP EPISODE #3
yesterday zehzeh called frm the office and said her boss needs a temp to do data-entry for today and tmr... $8.50/hr; and i turned it dwn. why? because i had promised durga on monday tt i would act as an extra in a tamil show (for vasantham) produced by the prodctn co she's working for. tt's nice of you, amelia. i had somehow convinced myself tt spending time with durga on the set of a tamil show would be much more fulfilling than earning $8.50/hr and getting to work in the same office as zehzeh. besides, durga said i might get paid for acting (which i of course believe i should; even extras are usually paid at least $30 if they have to be round for the whole day) so i gave her the benefit of the doubt.

so today i get to serangoon mrt at 12.15, as i was asked to. the van came 20 mins late to pick us (me, isaac, and our co-actors) and our lunch was not paid for. our faces were caked with make-up and we sat round for 3 whole hours before we were asked to even go on the set. bloody hell. we weren't even briefed on wat the show was about. some of the young tamil actresses were even asked to audition for their roles (which sadly only comprised being part of the background - wat a waste of talent and time).

i don't mind acting in a show tt's mostly in a language i dont understand, but it would've been basic courtesy on the crew's part to at least get someone to translate wat the indian director was blabbering to me. i asked durga if these guys were even professional directors, she said ya they're frm india, do all those tamil films. But why pay these guys to make a film and then exploit willing young pple by asking them to audition and act and then not pay them? (ps: the answer is Just cos they can). it's not the money i want, i'm just looking for a little more respect, common sense (frm the production team). and, i'm looking for tt stupid voice in my head tt told me to say yes to being exploited, so i can to bash the bastard.

while being idle during the shoot, i asked myself countless times why i was doing this when i couldve been home ironing clothes (both don't pay, and the latter makes more sense). durga said she might treat me to lunch or wat for helping out. then i said no need, all i wanted was for her to eat at The French Stall with me. i miss French food quite a bit (fuck delifrance). all i wanted was to satisfy my craving for real french food - is tt too much to ask? i even offered to pay for her meal. to cut the long story short, we ended up at the PS long john silvers. FUCK.

so... who do you really love now?
i wish i could tell you, but my palm reading says tt i'm fickle when it comes to love and i'd be wrong to deny tt.

i've realised tt i've started my hopping indecisiveness and unattentiveness again. i'm not done with reading herring's talking cock, and i'm less than halfway through tt neil humphrey's bk. and i just bought a new book last wk - the curious incident of the dog in the night-time by mark haddon; tt's the bk i'm reading now. i also seem to be noticing more cute guys now. correct me if i'm wrong, but it seems like i'm re-experiencing puberty, what with the crush-y feelings and the irregular menstrual cycles. thank God the acne decided not to make a comeback. i've slowly begun to notice a difference in this 2nd-puberty: more guys are looking. er... blurgh- WATEVER *rolls eyes in an extremely adolescent manner*

On play: Glass Vase Cello Case, Tattle Tale

[ost. But I'm A Cheerleader; a show bout a supposed-lesbian who gets sent to a reform sch for lesbians/gays and eventually falls in love and runs away with one of the lesbians there. lame yet oddly lovely.]


oh yes, everyone should've tuned to class 95 this weekend - cos it was 80's weekend! good music. i wonder if they play such good music on mambo nights at zouk. but zehzeh says the music there sucks; tt's good cos then i wont feel so lousy bout not getting to go because i have wonky knees.

speaking of my cacat-ness... i tried to do the stretching exercises as the physiotherapist advised. but i ended up tearful and frustrated and subsequently started uncontrollably hitting my head on the wall hoping to knock myself out so i wouldn't have to think bout how spastic i am truly becoming. i heard frm a documentary tt cannibalistic murderers cannot rationalise because they have damaged pre-frontal cortexes, so i always try to avoid the pre-frontal cortex whenever i (literally)head-bang. sometimes the wall is too hard so i slap my head with my hands then fall onto my bed, pretending to die. oh sweet sweet life.

on saturday (i think it was saturday), an elderly ms irene jacob came over to interview me and uncle jeffrey bout step-families. it's for her thesis paper for her Degree in Social Work (i think tt's wat it's called). i could not provide accurate answers to her questions without getting teary and emotional, so i simply did not give accurate answers. besides, i can't think well when confronted with sensitive questions. later, i felt a bit bad tt i didn't give her proper answers cos i did afterall agree to be interviewed. so i gave her my email address and said she could ask me more via tt cos i tend to write more honestly than i speak.

oh yea, happy fathers day.


On play: Exit Music (For a Film), Radiohead

PART 1: Joint Probation Exercise

Dr Saratha Bhai Krishnan is the name of my physiotherapist (Orchard Building). i had to fill up a form cos it was my first time at the clinic, and there was a blank tt read Main Sport. now, what was i spposed to write? : Jumping round like a monkey/Dancing like a lunatic when no one's at home/Occasionally attempting ballet positions in front of the mirror...? everytime i tell pple i have wonky knees, they ask me WHY? as if i am spposed to know why the fuck i'm cacat. haha, it could well be cos i'm so damn lame. somebody stop me- please. (i hope you realise tt that last line isn't meant to be taken seriously)

so anyway, i'm given these boring stretches and exercises to do. i wish they had prescribed clubbing or prancing like a crazed ape instead. or at least they could've said something like: Why don't you hop down to California Fitness and go for their hiphop or kickboxing lesson, or perhaps try the treadmill there? All this is hoping is only making me reminisce and whine. but you just wait 5 years, i'll be back on the track again i tell you! For now, i will have to "wear good shoes and do exercises to strengthen the muscles". ok Doc, got it.



PART 2: Tears in Taffy.

this morning mummy couldn't get shana and hanson, and mama was playing mahjong. so after physio, mummy and i went to holland village instead of to chinatown, as we had originally planned to do. outside holland village shopping centre, there was an old woman sitting on a stool on the floor, hawking sticky taffy - the kind you can pull and play with and get stuck to your hair. i walked pass her and she looked really tired in the late morning heat. it could have been my imagination. but i thought she looked pretty despondent and i swear i saw her take out a hankerchief to wipe a tear from her eye. then mummy and i went to the eat the famous holland village chicken horfun. as i sat down to tuck in, i couldn't help but wonder how it was tt i was having a hot tasty meal, while the poor auntie was sitting in the heat, waiting to make a buck. Then... what bout the old lady; how is she going to eat? i suddenly asked mummy. She'll find a way, she replied without even looking at me. i thought i smelt indifference in the air; and it disgusted me.

after lunch, i bought some taffy from the old woman. i took the stick with the glob of amber mass twirled on the top, while mummy fished a dollar out of her wallet. all the while, the old woman's drawn face was lowered (maybe she was trying to avert the sun's glare or maybe avoid eye contact) but her wrinkled hands remained extended towards me. she seemed to be begging me not to run off without paying. i didn't know how to feel.



PART 3: My Car Needs a Wash *wink*

mummy drove the car to the wash at the Shell station outside SJI. she always told me tt the boys who wash cars at tt station were frm a boys home or frm the DRC, cos where in s'pore can you find boys their age willing to wash cars for peanuts. she said it was good tt Shell station gave them jobs so at least they'd be out of trouble and off the streets. i know i'm kindof attracted to pple who resemble DRC frequenters, but i am sure this had little to do with my subconsciously making innocent passes at some of the guys there (is there such a thing as an innocent pass?). there were two or three guys (among the ten over) who kept looking at me, and i couldn't help but liken this to billy joel's Uptown Girl video. haha wah classic lah. i can't wait till the car gets all filthy again. you know, the last time i felt this excited bout going to a car wash was when i was a littler brat and we used to go to those automatic washes with the auto-soapsprays and the giant bristle-y brushes that leave small scratches on the sides of the car.



PART 4: Hey waxy lady, i like your flow

i couldn't resist buying those DIY cold wax strips from watsons. plus, they were on sale.
stupid wax didn't harden well enough so i had to rub ice all over the outside and then i tugged real hard- R-I-I-I-I-P. ouch... wah, shiok.

then i made my pizza and plonked on the sofa to watch The Usual Suspects which i rented frm holland V. interesting show. an even more interesting day.

Les fleurs de Giverny(specially for Hakim)

Why are there so many dustbins?

Ev'n here, where frozen chastity retires,
Love finds an altar for forbidden fires.
I ought to grieve, but cannot what I ought;
I mourn the lover, not lament the fault;
I view my crime, but kindle at the view,
Repent old pleasures, and solicit new;
Now turn'd to Heav'n, I weep my past offence,
Now think of thee, and curse my innocence.
Of all affliction taught a lover yet,
'Tis sure the hardest science to forget!
How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense,
And love th' offender, yet detest th' offence?
How the dear object from the crime remove,
Or how distinguish penitence from love?
Unequal task! a passion to resign,
For hearts so touch'd, so pierc'd, so lost as mine.
Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state,
How often must it love, how often hate!
How often hope, despair, resent, regret,
Conceal, disdain — do all things but forget.
But let Heav'n seize it, all at once 'tis fir'd;
Not touch'd, but rapt; not waken'd, but inspir'd!
Oh come! oh teach me nature to subdue,
Renounce my love, my life, myself — and you.
Fill my fond heart with God alone, for he
Alone can rival, can succeed to thee.

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd;


Eloisa to Abelard by Alexander Pope



got this off jing's blog. was gonna look for this after watching the show which i enjoyed a lot, but then i totally forgot. thansk for reminding me, jing. catch you soon.

i was wondering just now how i could put my voice to good use and still enjoy myself. i went to watch the soweto gospel choir sat aftrnn and they're really really good. i think i dont even come close. i was caught between feeling slightly lousy bout myself and feeling really mesmerised by their voices. so it all made me wonder wat i could do with my voice to make pple happy (other than not use it) and make myself happy too. maybe this feeling also cropped up cos i know tt today's the spore idol auditions and tt despite evryone egging me on to join, i've adamantly refused. well it's true tt i've had a hectic second-yr and i would not like to spend my well-deserved break in front of a camera, trying to please pple. i dont wanna cut an album anyway. i don't even really like the sound of my own voice; i just like using it.

so anyway, i'm feeling unfulfilled and blah-ish. the soweto choir praises God and stuff (tt's wat gospel choirs do, yes?) and to some extent, i wish i could do tt. yes, i am in the church choir. but i don't feel passionate the way they do. you know wat i mean? ya, so...
am i the only one who wonders wat it's like to live someone else's life? i want to run away for a few weeks and live on nothing but unrestrained impulse. i lack the money and the freedom to temporarily severe ties with pple without causing anyone to worry.
surely my kooky impulses have nothing to do with reading any book by douglas coupland..? i was a bit surprised and saddened when andrew said tt i'd sleep and wake up the next day and laugh at my silly idea. i don't happen to think it silly at all. i was just listening to Jane's Addiction's Natural Born Killers and thinking bout how nicky and mallory just lived it out. pple should be more like tt, at least for a small part of their lives.

i wanted to send someone pictures of pretty flowers i took at monet's garden in giverny. but then andrew went off and ravi hasnt been online in a while and neither has beda bhai. i know i could send pics to jing and my other girl friends. but sometimes i really appreciate the frank non-reaction guys tend to give. (however, i do get perturbed when peter just types "..." instead of saying anything. i like it when he gives me smileys though). i have my moods.

i've been wondering how i can attain enlightenment. i know it sounds corny but i really wonder. so i figured tt if i can't get it being catholic, maybe i should try another religion; become muslim or buddhist maybe? after all most religions worship the same god. the catholic mode of worship just isn't quite touching me at the core.

everytime i think of revolutionising part of my life, i feel tied down; like i'm dying to move on, but i can't. i have too many responsibilities, too many pple worrying bout me. it's good tt i'm loved, but i want to go somewhere to find myself.

i'm uncomfortable with the idea of joining some idol competition and then recording an album and have pple buy my voice and go home and listen to it. i like to hear a sound alone and then hear it coming together with different sounds to make an even more magical sound. maybe i should join/have a band. then i can also tour and use this as an excuse to get away and live life totally different (it's pathetic tt i even need an excuse, but if this is the only way, then watever...); sex, drugs, rock and roll hah who knows where i'll end up.

i have to see the chiropractor next wk. how am i going to live my free bohemian life when i have to go to the chiro every few mths? it's like i'm bound to this life. will there be another(life)? in my next life, i would like to learn ballet and i'd like to have a more functional container for to hold my soul. this one's notoriously-wonkified with a history of epilepsy, acne, asthma, eczema, scoliosis, throat infection and more recently, wonky knees. if i place my new orders early, got discount not?

i was just surfing through friendster (yes, you can kill me now - i've already reached the most loserly stage of boredom), when i realised Hey! Diana Long and Sarabjeet (Shaun) are a couple! haha how cute. isn't the world small. diana was my classmate pri 1-3 and schoolmate all through sec sch. too bad we weren't tt close cos she did seem like a nice person. i dont really know sarabjeet well accept tt we shook hands once in cj cos he's andrew's friend and tt i had to act with him in a spastic scene of a locvid project where i, a troubled young woman, was trying to resist the advances of a perverted colleague [sarabjeet]. (sorry karin, but it really felt cheesy)... haha sheesh. wat the hell.

ah well. life is full of pleasant surprises... and horrid unpleasant jarring ones too. such as my stupid knee fucking itself up again. was just getting better, with the pain almost all gone. then i sat on the floor today while babysitting hanson and shana and twisted it all wrong. i reckon now i'll have to wait at least 2 yrs before i can start running. dont get me started on how cacat i feel.

babysitting my cousins reminds me of why i didnt take ECH. i'd have strangled all the kids under my charge by the end of my first yr. well i can't help it - hanson peed all over the toilet seat- and i do mean all over. tt pissed me off so bad [no pun intended].

went to sch thursday morn to sign up for advanced french only to be told tt they hadn't planned for an advanced class. i wasnt angry tt i'd wasted my time travelling; i guess i kindof miss sch. went to library and sat by myself in the music/movie section for at least 45 mins, listening to music and stuff. i didn't want to leave but i'd promised shana i'd buy her a sketch bk and help her decorate it.

i'm glad andrew called to apologise tt day. i think the difference between us is tt he has lots of ideals. maybe i do but maybe cos of our diff backgrounds, my ideals arent as strong or as impt (or maybe most of them have already materialised). maybe it's tt i'm more giving and accepting when things dont go the way i want them to. i want to tell andrew sometimes tt maybe not everything he wants to come though will come through. but i can't do tt without making myself sound like a skeptic. i've always believed in hope and faith and other corny things like tt. because tt's wat help me through the cloudy childhood. ok i'll stop here cos this whole post just sounds so damn clichéd.

I think i'll go for a walk
Maybe out in the rain
Maybe there'll be tears rolling down my face
And i'd feel the pain
Maybe think about something
Maybe think about you

Yeah you can't hurt me now
You know you can't hurt me now
You can't hold me down

And i've got plenty of time
Time to figure it out
Time to think about you and me
Whatever that was all about
Got nothing to prove
Got nothing to say
No i'm guessing I never thought you were good for me anyway
Got nothing to lose
Nothing but you

I think i'll go for a ride
Til my memory fades
Roll down the windows and glide
Down to the Everglades
Maybe light up a joint
And take a walk on the moon

Yeah you can't reach me now
You know you can't touch me now
You can't hold me down

And i've got plenty of time
Time to figure it out
Time to think about you and me
Whatever that was all about
Got nothing to prove
Got nothing to say
No i'm guessing I never thought you were good for me anyway
Got nothing to lose
Nothing but you
Nothing but you

Why do you have to be so unkind?
Why do I have to be so inclined
To loose my mind?

Well i've got plenty of time
Time to figure it out
Time to think about you and me
Whatever that was all about
Got nothing to prove
Got nothing to say
No i'm guessing I never thought you were good for me anyway
Got nothing to lose
Nothing but you
Oooo, nothing but you
Yeah, nothing

(Nothing But You, Kim Ferron)