“When it comes to looking for a potential spouse, the top criterion for Singaporean women is a man’s social status. Next on the list is kindness, followed by a lively personality. In contrast, American women value kindness the most, followed by looks, then a man’s social standing.” – said the article.

First of all, the people polled were all from SMU. So isn’t this study significantly biased? SMU students, I feel, are different from students from other Universities. They are more business-centric, which means dollars and cents matter more to them. It is certainly not a representative view blanketing all Singapore women. Secondly, it is seriously offensive to say that all women are more materialistic and looking for social symbols.That is to say we have no abilities or competencies of our own to establish ourselves in society and that we are still living in a traditional world where we are dependent on men for survival. Please, we are not in the 1950s any longer, we can love a man without checking out the size of his wallet first.

Sure, status is nice to have. A  fat wallet and a great car is a nice thrill. But it is not a defining factor for most of us. To me at least, even if a dude is the son of some reigning empire here, if he is a boring old sod or an arrogant playboy, it is still a deal-breaker. Who would want to live with splashes of money without intellectual conversations? Without a sense of humour, or someone with passion for his work? I would much rather go for wit, for love of life, for dedication, for attentiveness – all those things you can’t pay to have, even if you tried.

Women here, well at least a lot of them, are not superficial creatures. We can get our own bags/car/jewellery, thank you very much. It is quite ridiculous when people attempt to lump all of us together in a silly survey and go: “There! Women are materialistic here! Blame em!” This just serves to perpetuate the stereotypes Singapore MEN have of us, and you know what, I think THAT is the reason for the low birth rates. That men don’t have the confidence to get a Singapore woman because they read into these perceptions and thus shun us. So we are left conquering the world on our own.

Think about that.

- Casting Crowns, East to West

Sometimes i wish, with all my heart, that i could sleep and never wake up.

It all feels like deja vu. All of it. My life going in circles, always ending the same way, beginning the same way, ending the same way.

Why. The endlessness of it crushes me.

I’m not meant for this life, this life of meaninglessness and pain. Of deep-seated loneliness and barrenness. Of selfishness and cruelty.

Perhaps I deserve all of it. Whoever said I deserved to be treated like a princess, treated with care and respect like the way a daughter of God should be treated, is lying. 

Sitting up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she made a sleepy sound at the back of her throat.

He walked in the room and saw her – she was slouching, curling her legs and tucking her feet comfortably beneath the sheath of peach chiffon dress spread around her, hair tousled and eyes heavy-laden.

He leaned down and pressed his lips to the top of her head, then kissed her forehead softly, her nose.

“My sleepy princess,” he said with a smile.

She wanted them to leave, but longed for them to stay.

She could hear them trying to get through to her, but it’s as though they were speaking through a thick glass pane – their words muffled and a mumble. She turned away; unresponsive, ambivalent, guilty, distant.

Her arm lifted itself halfheartedly as though to reach out to them, a last ditch attempt.

She could see their angry faces on the verge of giving up on her, not comprehending, disappointed at her perpetual cycles of abandonment.

Death, written all over her face, the muscles drawn tight. Her lips moved stiffly, her eyes a picture of vacantness.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, but I can’t, she thought. Unable to feel, unable to react.

She felt a rush of air escape from her as she freefalls further, sucked deeper into the void.

She dropped her arm resignedly.

The scene before her shimmers lightly.

Suddenly she feels strangely disconnected from the world, from herself.

It’s like she was an alien entity, looking out from within a skin that was separate from her. A body pried from her soul, a stranger to herself.

It’s so weird, she thought dispassionately, abruptly aware of every nerve ending prickling her spine, yet feeling as though she was distant from it all, looking at herself from afar. How is it that I’m in this casing, she wondered, able to move my limbs, touch my hair, feel my lips? That I’m trapped within this body, inside looking out?

And the people surrounding me in their translucent sheaths; do they know they are merely in this hollow shell, controlling their hands and feet like socialized robots?

Sometimes she wondered if this was all real, if she was in fact dead and these images that she sees are mere dreams or wisps of memory, or worse, some deluded state of mind.

What is the point of it all, she thought. Moving a finger, opening my mouth, smiling. She felt barren, depleted, blank – as though her circuitry has been temporarily wiped out and she forgot what it was like to be normal.

They speak to her but she is not there, unable to respond, her insides dug out leaving a gaping cavity.

Just recently, news emerged that Steve Jobs is rumoured to be worsening in his condition. He had pancreatic cancer and is currently on another long leave of absence. Reports say the frail-looking founder of Apple supposedly has only months to live.

What is Steve Jobs thinking now, she mused, flipping through photos after photos of the business magnate holding various new models of the iPhone, iPod and Macbooks over the years, his face ageing with time, wrinkled with years.

She stared hard at his face, wondering if beneath the smiles he knew what was in store for him, wondering if he had known, would he still care about concocting the latest iPhone models, or conquering the world with his gadgets in this brutal electronics race?

What is the point, she thought again, to fight and to struggle, to rake in the money, to be number one, only to have your life mercilessly cut short, unable to enjoy any of it? To work so hard and then to die, be replaced, forgotten?

Shells, all of us. Merely ants looking out of a covered window, trapped.

I was glancing through my old blogs, struck by curiosity after a certain nosy lil friend chanced upon one of them with her excellent snooping tactics, and was immediately thrown off by the tone of optimism and quiet contemplation in there. The youthfulness of it all seeps through, jarring, because I no longer can go back there.

I look at the things I come up with now, and I see them tainted with weariness and half-assed haphazard thoughts, a reflection of a mind exhausted by hours and hours of mulling over words. I see them filled with quick anger and cynicism instead of a measure of calmness.

Nowadays, words fail me. An irony, considering it makes up the majority of my job.

But what else can I say that I haven’t said? Or maybe I just don’t find it necessary anymore, the only avenue of my release – gone.

And there you go, I’m at a loss of what else to say.

loves:

the crackling sound of pages being turned in a book

cold droplets of a light drizzle falling on her face

imagining herself playing the lead character in a reflective long-running film about her life (her soundtrack will be entirely made up of heartbreaking melancholic tunes)

breathing in the odours of frozen food in the freezer (you can catch her getting a whiff ever so often)

the feel of a hand weaving itself through her hair

the smell of a freshly minted book

keeping her ‘treasures’ in a chest and imagining her future grandchildren gushing over the precious memories like gold and silver

hates:

feet squishing around in wet/damp shoes

being ignored, because that means she is not worth it

the sound of metal grating against each other as a shop owner pulls down the shutters

the very existence of cockroaches

the loud echoes of motorcyclists roaring furiously past a quiet residential estate at night

Aggressive, slipshod, ungracious, hostile, short-tempered. All the traits you wouldn’t like to meet on any other day, let alone have them all come together on the great monster of an expressway.

Recipe for a major disaster much?

I’ve been driving for five years now, and I have to say, the harsh Singaporean-driving mentality is taking a toll.

Sure, look at our tiny green island from the bird’s eye view of an aeroplane, or look out of the window of your cab when it is just travelling out of the airport and you would be awed by how clean, pristine, garden-esque and wonderfully sophisticated our country is. But really, has it translated onto our roads? Not at all.

Put anybody who has the endurance of a saint on the roads for 3 years and the madness will turn that person into a roaring spitfire capable of yelling f-yous to cranky taxi drivers or stick ingem the bird. Trust me, 3 years ago I would never think of doing said action 1 and 2, but now it is a constant struggle every day NOT to do it.

Yes I admit there are a few drivers who are courteous, who allow you to filter into your lane, and who try not to tailgate you or flash their headlights at you every time you perform some maneuver that tickles their anger bone.

But those a rarity indeed. Nowadays, dawdle one second slower at any junction and you’d be rewarded with three flashes into your rear mirror. Three seconds, and you’d be treated to a high beam for about 8 seconds. Longer than that, be prepared for  a long and screeching horn (alternatively it would arrive in 500 bursts – imagine an angry uncle’s fist spasming on the horn button), tailgating, before the vehicle shows its displeasure by peevishly pulling out from behind you abruptly, speeding past your vehicle, and if you are lucky, turning towards you with his scowling/triumphant face before roaring off in a fit. And you’re lucky if this happens only once a day.

It’s exasperating. Not everything is a contest people. And if you’re rushing somewhere so urgently that you have to hurt 10 people’s day in the process, I hope you know it won’t get you very far. Your next car crash is possibly just a traffic light away.

I hope this will change, I really do. I want driving to be pleasant for once, to leave a smile on my face. Why should it be such a chore? I want to be able to sing along to the radio without being cut off suddenly because some aggrieved asshole is honking at me 100 times just because he wants to go 110km/hr compared to my 90.

It’s not a pound of your flesh to wait just that 2 seconds. Neither will it take away any bit of you to just be a little bit nicer, to slow down and let someone get into your lane.You might be the one who desperately needs to make a U-turn or get across to that building the  next time you get into a vehicle. Every body needs compassion on the roads, let’s try not to make this a motorway of hell for everyone.

So here’s a challenge – go out there, and make 5 gestures that show you are a gracious driver on the road. And then do it the next day too. Who knows, your actions might spur another to do the same.

I for one, will start practising what I preach. Here goes, one baby step at a time to change our world.

It is as though a thick veil hangs over you,

you are familiar but you are a stranger

I’ve seen you before, but I don’t know you

I frown to remember how you have fit into my life

Weak memories that threaten to push past that barrier, strangely I don’t feel a thing.

It’s as though you are a distant dream, a wisp of smoke that dissipates without leaving a trace

Nothing besides a faint pleasant/unpleasant memory.

It’s sad this is how life works – is anybody ever worth holding on tight to?

Shouldn’t let things worm inside of me, but I do.

Shouldn’t think so much, but I do.

An eternal poison. A ball and chain I’m stuck to.

As wide as the sky, my thoughts fly and falter, sink and struggle.

I’m happy but I seethe. I’m grateful but I yearn. I’m here but I’m there.

What does it mean, really?

A reflection of a reality I refuse to see, or an expose of my flawed character?

What’s wrong, what’s wrong what’s wrong?

Elusive, it slips from my fingers, every time.

Oh heart oh heart, won’t you settle down?

My body aches like holy hell

Shit my fingers hurt. Shit my thighs hurt. Shit my stomach muscles hurt. Shit my head hurts. Shit my skin feels so sensitive.

Please don’t talk, it’s too loud

I could have been in London right now

I could have been dead

I could have been sick in London right now

Rain, dark skies, alternative music, hot tea

Sleep

The entire world is practically in your palm – is it amazing or what

Miss xxx

It’s a big girl world now, full of big girl things. And everyday I wish I was small

Will you let me die if I asked you to?

The light left her eyes, as swiftly as it first appeared.

Hurt replaced them, filling them, drowning them unwittingly.

The fury came next, seeping into her soul and spreading, making her tremble with the efforts of not letting herself go undone.

Her eyes, they sting with the tears that she refuses to let fall.

A hole seems to have dug itself into her chest, its claws sunk so deep she could not let them loose.

She tries to smile, make lil jokes.

With a Herculean effort she pushes the demons aside.

But left alone, the waves they crash upon her, unrelenting, stubborn,

And she feels herself crumble, fall, spill over.

Her heart broke a little bit today.

It’s a sad day. I might not know either of them personally, but I’m sure we are all familiar with these two figures and their stories.

I teared when I read Mr Lee’s candid, revealing, and touching interview with NYT. He had spoken at length about his wife’s ailing condition, how he reads to her every night, how he struggles sometimes with thoughts of their good days together, his reflections about death, and that he feels he is a lucky man to have had 61 years of happiness with her. He said in that interview that he didn’t know who will go first, him or her, but he will try to keep her company for as long as he can.

Sigh, and now, so shortly after that, this had to happen.

Yes 89 years might be a long time, but it’s never enough for the ones who love you.

Goodbye to Mrs Lee and their lovely romance; goodbye to his one and only, his soul mate and companion.

I guess every love story has to have an ending.

I’m now on twitter!

The world has become quite a scary place hasn’t it, with all of these advances.

All talk is done in snippets online, and in a public domain. So much so that we don’t even feel the need to open our gabs to talk to the people around us.

I found myself quite guilty of that. Just two days ago, after enthusiastically tweeting a few times in a day out of sheer novelty, I came home and my dad came over to talk to me. It was 1am and I felt too tired to engage, and so didn’t respond much. And then I realised the irony – why is it I find myself so willing to say whatever I’m thinking online, and so often, to a bunch of people who probably don’t give a beep about anything I say, and yet in real life, I am muzzled in front of the people who really do care about what I am saying?

Technology is not necessarily making us better people sometimes.

So this is a reminder to myself, not to ever let things like twitter or facebook stop me from building real relationships.

Anyhows, self-reflection aside, I’ve embedded my twitter into my blog! *pleased* WordPress makes it so fuss free.

Or check out the full page at – https://twitter.com/dancingredheels

Loving my new header too! The photos are all taken by me in Zaanse Schans, a tiny little nob in Zaandam in the Neds. There are tons of disused windmills there, along with cheese museums and wooden clog workshops. Love the antiquated countryside and the peace it gives. Life literally slows to a halt there. <3

Now people who know me should know how much I love the sky. Especially when they are orange, or pink, or bright blue painted with swirling clouds. Or have birds/ducks flying in formation through them. God knows I’ve taken a million snaps to capture those moments. I don’t know why the sky calls out to me so much. Maybe because, it looks like it has quite a few stories to tell, if only we’d just take the time to say hello.

So I took these today (Sat) during the Kite Festival at Marina Bay. It was a beeeaeutiful sight, with hundreds of colours just dotting the sky, swishing here and there against the skyscrapers. I love these pictures, could stare at them all day!

(click to enlarge!)

p.s: please don’t use my photos without crediting me! :)

It’s freaking high-larious!

Erros in the plot of time traveler’s wif  (yes, spelling errors and all)

me never change after toilet training u (wtf?)

wife from hell pictures

stick figure sexual positions

hot sex positions

effects of sex on the face (whoot!)

kiss korean

fasical expresions during sex

sad picture of love in english (I’m not sure what this person is trying to get at)

sexual position wood figure

teach kamasutra

HAHAHAHA. I’m so tickled. I’m not sure what’s up with the sex stuff, because I’m preeetty sure my blog is PG13. Where are they getting all these words from and how are they getting here? Who are these people and where are they from? I’m so intrigued. Well with this post it makes it a ton easier for them to get back in here. :)

Life and love does not necessarily require drama, heartache and wretched tears to make it good.

I know that, though my twisty little heart sometimes feels and craves otherwise.

Someone once said to me: Nothing is ever good enough for you.

It’s true, maybe it’s time to take a good look at myself and the way I see things :)

What I have is good good good.

Never better.

Such a beautiful place, don’t you think?

Credit: http://greenz.jp

Love the fields of gold, the innocence of infant romance, the eventual heartbreak and the sweetness of agony.

Love how someone has the courage to say he loves someone more than life

Love how when all words fail, a song doesn’t.

It would be wrong for me to say
I don’t need that girl by my side
I don’t need that girl in my life
I don’t want to talk it out
Or hold her when she cries

I don’t want to say she’s my kind
I don’t want to say that she’s mine
I don’t want to tell her that
I love her more than life
More than life, Yeah
Love her more than life

-David Choi, That Girl

Coincidentally, or not coincidentally, I dropped by David Choi’s gig at Timbre to say hi after interviewing him over the phone for an article, see here.

Lovely achy-breaky voice. Want to put up a photo that I took with him, but I look like rubbish.

Ah heck, what the hell.

A funny thing happened – when I was brought to a room upstairs where he was bumming around after his performance (seems illicit sounding, but it really isn’t), I stuck out my hand and said nice to finally meet you, but he stretched both arms out to the side (for a hug) and I was like ‘Oh!’ before I went forward to hug him.

Was mildly caught off guard. People American, not like Singaporean la.

*amused*

piece by piece.

It’s strange how easily one forgets,

about the tiny things that make us thrive

that make us feel so alive.

Til I become whole again, I’ll soothe myself with beauty, whimsical love songs, thoughts of sunshine and fairy tales.

Getting there.

Credit: Wong Fu Productions

Drowning in the wonderful emotion of intense sadness.

Melancholia. Sweet, delicious melancholia.

Just the way I like it.

I heard it in your voice when your love died
On a telephone connection stretching miles and miles of wire
You said it was over and then cried and cried
You were gone before I said goodbye

I don’t like to think that it is true
That distance came between us like a knife and cut right through
When did we go wrong and let it all undo?
The only one I ever loved was you

CHORUS:
Would you stay just a little, my love?
Would you sway just a little, my love?
Because the hole in the middle of my heart needs filling up
If you stay just a little, that’s enough

It kills me as I lay awake at night
Remembering the last kiss that we shared doesn’t feel right
Is it impossible for me to win this fight?
Keep you a little longer in my life

He ain’t gona terrorize my toys, fer sure!

:)

What is the point of being nice, getting close to someone when everything is after all fleeting?

It’s a facade. Keeping up pretenses. Something we’re all good at, aren’t we.

What is the point of helping, of doing things for people, when in the end it goes unnoticed, unappreciated, forgotten?

What is the point of protecting someone, when in the end you make things worse and it gets taken the wrong way, driving the person away?

What is the point of sharing, when it is a one way street and the person never gives anything back?

And in the end you’re right where you’ve started – alone, isolated, neglected. forgotten.

Always forgotten.

Draining. It’s all so draining. Friendships, Relationships, Family. Work. All so draining.

I just want to not try anymore.

Please let me find a way out of this.

Instead of always taking care of someone, won’t someone come take care of me?

It started as a sunken weight, nestling itself at the pit of the stomach.

Over time, it grew to a monstrous, unmanageable size, feeding on the feelings of despair, loneliness, fear and anger,

self-regurgitating, expanding like a resilient throbbing tumour

eating its way out.

Hollowed, open, a hurting gushing wound

She is but a shadow of her former self

Nothing but a skin without a soul.

“So cute! But it looks a bit grubby, where has it been!?!”

I’m so easily amused.

Here’s the scruffy mutt himself. He’s a Holland fan, as you can see, though technically since I bought him from Hamburg, he should be a Germany fan, while if you go by his name, which was adapted from a loyal dog – Greyfriars Bobby – from Edinburgh, he should be rooting for England instead. But what does a dog know, anyway?

(I still miss sleepy.)

What’s wrong with me?

It’s a dark cloud. An approaching dread and apprehension of the pending loneliness, the gradually unfamiliar environment that is siphoning the joy from me, the pressures from intentional emotional blackmail, the multitude of eyes on me, all the time

I just want to put a bag over my head, pretend that I have disappeared so nothing, no one, can touch me.

————————————————————————————————————————————————-

Just polished off a whole Milo bar. Am definitely not in a good place right now.

dear kina..
it has been a difficult time for me, i lost the love of my life, and didn’t think i could go on without her. i got so depressed, and fell into a bad cycle of destructive behavior. if it kept up it would end with suicide to see my love once more. but once i hear your sweet voice and smooth guitar rifts in this song, i broke down in tears. your music made me not want to give up. so i thank you so much for helping me realize that her love will always be there…
yours truly,
steve

If/When I die, will there be someone out there who will pen this note for me?

The complete, deafening blanket of silence wrapped over her like a tight vacuum,

pouring into her ears, leaping into her eyes, seeping into her nostrils, binding her arms together and encircling around her legs like a thick, fat python.

She could not hear the slightest thing, and it frightened her.

It was so quiet, it was loud. The silence rang like bells in her eardrums.

“Where are you,” she screamed (or mouthed, as her words stubbornly refused to make a sound).

They could not be heard.

“Are you there!” she heaved, her chest working hard, trying again for an impact, any impact.

They could not be heard.

“What is going on!” Again, nothing.

The suffocating blanket pushed against her; she could not breathe.

The answers, they do not come.

She could not see past the shroud of fog that tucked themselves into her eyes.

Futile. Futile.

No one was there. No one is there. No one will ever be there.

She is tired of this.

Undisturbed, not-disturbing, free from grief and hurt.

That way I will be untouched, safe, isolated.

That way others will be untouched, safe and isolated from me.

The irony of life is that it is often the person or thing you love or care most about that suffers from you.

If you strike out in anger, he or she is the first one you break.

If you fail, he or she is the first one you lose.

If you need, he or she is the first one you take advantage of.

If you are mad, he or she is the first one you push away.

If you cry, he or she is the first one who has to carry your sorrows.

The world is a minefield of mistakes, burdens, expectations, and exhaustion.

And yet, freedom comes with loneliness.

I’m off I’m off to my favourite-st place in the world, amsy!

The heineken beer, stroop waffles, tilting houses, bicycles, houseboats and weed lollies are all waiting for me!

(I best bring more plasters, in preparation for the scrapes I’m going to get from all the bike falls)

And after that – scooting around the small towns in Netherlands, Belgium, Germany and Luxembourg before trying my hand at the English/Scottish lifestyle at Dublin and Edinburgh. All in a month.

I must be a European in my past life.

Somehow, even though this is already my third go, I feel like I’m gonna miss my family, friends and colleagues more than ever. Weird. Almost teared when I left the office, hahaha.

Well until I see you guys again, stay safe!

Well it’s every girl’s fantasy to have a walk-in wardrobe with an entire section dedicated to shoes. For now, I have the next best thing. A shoe wheel!!

Darcy gave me this wheel (which I have to assemble myself, even though the sales person volunteered to do it and deliver it over because “it can be quite difficult to do it yourself”. GRRRR) for my birthday.

So finally rolled up my sleeves and got down to it. When I first opened the box, I had a meltdown for 5 minutes.

“What the…..is this!?!??!!? How can I do this!?” The voice in my head shrieked. There were all kinds of bolts and screws and alien parts, and the manual, to me, was like in another language. I began to dejectedly pack up the things to put it back in the box, because I wanted to give up and take the easy way out – just drive over to the shop dude, bat my eyelids and force him to do it up for me.

But then, I stopped, took a deep breath, and thought to myself: I am not a damsel in distress. I can DO this shit. And prove myself! Right.

So I gagged the still shrieking, panicking voice, focused, looked over the manual, and tried again.

Sleepy bear looks on in apprehension while I freak out.

Almost there…

Tadaaaa!! Sense of accomplishment can. Nobody should call me a bimbo again. (Does anyone other than me see the irony? This IS a post solely on a shoewheel, and the thing is in pink man. But whatever).

Now, to bring out the shoes.

As you can tell, I don’t actually have like a hundred pairs of shoes. I have…15 workable ones (and about 10 other ones I’m trashing, haha). So this means….I NEED MORE.

The first shoe in, for its christening, and in goes the rest :) Very happy.

And with that, I shall end this pointless post.

*edit: Just got my hands on three more pairs of heels from europe, project shoe-expansion is on its way!

Bringing this baby with me to my backpacking trip. Can’t wait to see the world through retro-eyes :)

wishing you happy birthday, good health and happiness always.

Sorry I have to convey birthday wish this way, as we seem to live in two different time zones.

Pa love you.“

:)

Happy birthday to me. :(

- you start launching into Mandarin midway through a sentence, even when the friend you are talking to does not understand Mandarin

- your boyfriend thinks you are insane and pretty much a sellout for watching Asian dramas, and tries, in vain, to stop your from this nonsense

- while previously you scoff at Taiwanese shows and pride yourself for having only watched ONE Taiwanese drama in your life (meteor garden), you now excitedly gush over them to friends, and plow through youtube fanatically for more

- you chuck your typically favourite American dramas like grey’s, scrubs and glee because you just can’t bear to not find out what happens next. (so you click click click to the next episode every chance you got)

- you spend your waking moments wondering about the characters and their dilemmas, feeling sad, and applying it to your own life

- your Mandarin is getting way better than your English and you start thinking thoughts in Mandarin (which is BAD considering I have to be great in English for the better of my career)

Luckily, I have not yet gone too much over to the dark side. You’d know I have when I start blogging in Chinese (never gonna happen!)

After more than a month of watching this idol drama and sobbing into my tissues every morning before I go to work (a good way of releasing stress, I tell you), it’s OVERRRR. Damn sad.

I love this show. LOVE.

The intensity of their emotions. The issues that are so real. How the supporting characters are equally loveable making it very painful to make the right choices – isn’t that how life is? The melancholic tone of the show. The struggles. The unrequited love. The devotion between people. The tears of men. The way it speaks straight to the heart. The beautiful way they portray relationships – flawed yet lovely, dark yet beautiful, sweet yet bitter, complicated yet pure.The way it makes me feel – hopeful yet sad, whimsical and reflective.

And also because Van Ness Wu’s character reminds me alil of darcy :)

Aiya I’m not thinking straight, am drugged up because of the flu. And am mourning the loss of my daily romance fix.

Just listen to the song – it turns me into a super emo mush.

And this one – a tribute to the couples out there who can never be, to lovers who stand firm when there is no hope, to love that can never be returned, to the strength of love that never wavers. (And to Chris Wu, a budding talent who is a superb actor.)

I’m not sure I have the calibre to be an outstanding writer.

Nothing happened, just a simple revelation that I am but ordinary. Straight. Normal. Drab.

So frustrated with myself – why can’t I be more like other people, creative and good with words, where writing comes so naturally it is almost casual. Reading their stuff makes me feel like an absolute stiff bore. Their words can be so beautiful, flowy, soothing. Mine? Splat.

Why has it suddenly become so hard? Maybe it has become a job hazard – when one is tasked to write for a living, the joy you used to have twisting the words around your tongue and fingers is slowly, unknowingly devoured away, leaving behind a very jaded core, a tired spirit.

Will I ever capture that pure sweetness again? Or will I be sucked like the draining vestiges of water in a washbasin, swirling and swirling until only dredge remains.

And the spark in my eye, my vibrancy, my youth, where have they gone?

Just want to mull over it and curl in bed.

Am upset.

Almost two years on, and I still feel like a very lucky (blessed) girl.

:)

Filed under: rambles Tagged: life, love, love letter ]]> http://dancingredheels.wordpress.com/2010/04/08/notes-of-a-great-man/feed/ 0 dancingredheels http://dancingredheels.wordpress.com/2010/04/06/need-peace/ http://dancingredheels.wordpress.com/2010/04/06/need-peace/#comments Tue, 06 Apr 2010 12:52:32 +0000 dancingredheels http://dancingredheels.wordpress.com/?p=961 ]]> the words twirl around her ankles, tripping her up at every step, engulfing her like the twines of a grapevine.

they threaten to engulf her,

the madness, the anger, the irritation, the pain, the highs, the plunge, the random emotions.

the games people play, the ugly world, persistent people, being caught in between warped situations which she cares nothing for.

leave her alone, she is but human.

peace, peace. that’s all she needs.

oh, to burrow deep within a dark place, and sleep the year away.

This one, in computer speak, is a HP ProBook 4310S, but I have no idea what that means. All I know, is that it is red, it is pretty, it has Windows 7 and Microsoft Office 2007 and it works.

Don’t wish to slam my poor IBM, but compare this baby -

(love the spaced out keys)

to this piece of crap -

(Please ignore the lame stickers, I was in a cutsey phase then. *shudders*)

Gag. And no, this is not an advertorial. I’m not famous enough to have one. I just really love this new laptop! After 5 years of using one that is probably 85 years old in the computer world, who can blame me? And no, don’t ask me why I didn’t get a Mac. It’s cool but it’s overly priced and I’m resisting the Apple Fad with a vengeance! Also I’m too lazy to learn a new operating system. So there.

(Thanks Shin for helping me with this!) And now I’m broke.

Anyway, as some of you might know, the klutsy joy has struck again, this time, ending up with a sprained ankle. I was debating with Darcy over the merits of the movie Whip It, and how it was such a great show compared to brainless choices like The Book of Eli and Green Zone that he was always subjecting me to, and in my spirited state I didn’t see a step as we were crossing the street, tripped, landed on it badly, and down I went.

OH MY LORD the initial pain was….beyond description la. I literally felt like I was going to die on the streets, to hell with the cars. Couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything except to double over and say f*** repeatedly to Darcy, who was fluttering around in shock. He ended up carting me with one arm over the street, lifting me like I was a sack of potatoes. I must have embarrassed him terribly :(  Thankfully it was 2am in the morning. The poor guy, first my back sprain, and now this.

Anyway here’s my foot now, all bandaged up, still pretty much aching and swollen like a tennis ball (brown spots are where the medication is, pretty gross.)

One camp, thinks I don’t talk about God enough, which means I might be partly evil. Another, thinks people who talk about God are either idiots or freaks.

For awhile I was teetering on the edge. Who should I be? What should I do? Well I say screw it.

I can’t please everybody, so I’m not going to be anyone but myself.

So let’s get this straight.

I believe in God. I believe in miracles. And I will talk about Him when I feel like it though. Dudes who shiver at the slightest mention of anything religious would just have to shut their eyes, or deal with it.

Number 2. I will not talk about God if I don’t feel like it. If I feel like being mopey and writing a sad and melodramatic piece about the weather, I will do so. I will not attempt to write a lift-me-up piece about how God will bring me through this etc etc if I don’t feel like writing it. How I express myself is my own prerogative. So you, you and you can also deal with it, or go away.

Glad we got this out of the way.

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I have been reading a particular blog for a while, and it never fails to amuse/annoy me! You see, this girl finds a strange pleasure in posting up photos of herself in various poses that either make her look like a porn star or a pseudo-Japanese-idol-wannabe. Who knows what’s the difference, nowadays.

The perennial symptoms: Pouting (check). Huge eyes opened wide in mock shock (check). Sprawling over the table with ass in the air while exposing cleavage (check). Boobs spilling out of blouse (check). More cleavage (check check check). (My eyes!)

So who else wants her blog address?

(I’m not givin. Not posting photos either, I’m not that stupid.)

Yea I know, why read right? Because for now, amusement trumps annoyance. I don’t really get it, but well, whatever rocks your boat.

It seems dad the clumsy fella accidentally fiddled around with a cup and broke it, even though she told him to leave off it. Maid’s not around for two weeks, and mum has to do the housework so she is pretty much stress-to-the-max. Proceeded to shout, at the top of her voice, at him for breaking it when she told me to stay away. Dad does not engage, she stomps upstairs in a huff. Dad moves upstairs quietly and behind closed doors, I hear her screaming at him agitatedly again.

I love them both dearly, but this is not the morning I want to wake up to on a precious Friday. So at 7ish am, with nothing to do but bad sounds for company, I proceeded to think a bit on what this means for me.

We often tend to go nuclear on the people we love the most over the most minor things, don’t we?

Ok, I admit I haven’t been an angel. For instance, I’ve done several things that would try the patience of a saint (maybe that’s why I’m writing this post, to avoid such situations). Well in this case, it’s my close friends and Mr darcy who have been a victim of my klutziness, impatience, and what not. I’ve spilled a whole cup of ice while excitedly pounding it on the table (remember, my girlies?) spilled a full bottle of oil over darcy’s floor while in Amsterdam, spilled a plate of soya sauce dark over him and his shirt. I’ve…. nevermind, you get what I’m saying.

But even though the smallest things might seem so so big at the moment, maybe we should all catch ourselves, take a step back and breathe. In the grander scheme of things, will the broken cup, spilled sauce etc matter? If the person you are so mad at should die the next day (i’ve been very morbid recently, as you guys know. but it’s good for self-reflection), will the cup be something you care about? Or will you beat yourself up for the mistake that didn’t warrant nuclear reaction?

Alright mum probably wouldn’t be pleased with what might seem like a self-righteous judgmental reasoning on my part. I do understand how she could be upset, given that she is tired and frustrated with dad’s nagging and housework,  but it’s just a thought, maybe even a plea, for some understanding in this world. A reminder for myself too. Let’s give each other a break?

I guess this is somewhat of a farewell letter to you.

Our friendship has somewhat breached the end of its road. It has been a good run. A good few years of slugging it out. Many great memories have been forged out with you guys, and you’ve seen me grown so much, and turned out the way I am. Which is why it is so painful for me to be writing this. But even as we try our best to deny it, to keep up appearances, we know it is breathing its last breath.

The way things have turned out, there is no one to blame. I guess you can attribute the turning point to when it happened. Yes, it. Like I said, there’s no one to blame. Life took over, and it largely contributed a big part to halting the wheels of our relationship. We all know what it is.

And I have not helped it out either. Because of me, because of my issues which have taken a long time to resolve (though not for the lack of trying, you know I have tried), I’ve let it get in the way as well and subconsciously, slowly but surely pushed everyone of you away. It’s been too hard, you see. It’s been hard facing you guys, it’s been hard pretending that it’s okay, and it’s been hard not acknowledging that there isn’t a huge rock standing in the way of acting normal. I’m sorry, but I’m not Rachel. I guess I took the easy way out.

I’ve made myself absent. I’ve been gone for some time now, and in my absence, others have joined in and taken my place. In a way, I’m glad that they have, that there isn’t a gaping hole my departure has left behind. But of course, because I’m human, I also feel a sense of loss and sadness for what might have been, for the friendship that we built which has since been levelled, for the closeness I used to share by being part of this group, by being one of you guys. It’s all gone now. What’s left, is a feeling of being unsettled, of feeling like I don’t belong, of being in a world different from you.

I don’t think there is any way of turning back now, because I’m not sure how to go about it too, not when so many things lie in the way, not when we have drifted so far away. Perhaps one day things will change for the better, one day there might be a miracle. But judging by how things go, I’m not optimistic. I wish it were better. I really do.

I guess it is better to let the sleeping dogs lie, to let things carry on the way they are. Maybe it’ll be better for everyone.

There are a few of you who are still very precious to me, and though I don’t talk to you much now, I still care about you and miss you. And I would always still want to talk to you and know how you are doing. I hope you know that. Good luck guys.

Sometimes I will receive e-mail notices from a blogsite telling me that there are updates from my church friends’ blogs. Well, the term ‘church friends’ is kinda an understatement, since I seldom get to go to church anymore because of my work, and they hardly see me as their church friend anymore. I’m more like “the woman who wrote that article” or the-blacklisted-traitor-who-should-be-struck-off-all-church-related-events.

Something like that.

(btw the article came about out of no choice of mine, but nobody would really understand that, because the angry would want to find someone to blame and my name’s on the forefront open for bashing, so whatever, no matter.)

But anyway, when I get the time, I’ll click through them just to catch up with their lives and see how they are doing. And there would be this list of blogs, friends of friends, that kinda thing, that appears whenever I open the email. One thing always strikes me whenever I glance through the list.

They, almost always, talk about God in their entries. Long, detailed accounts of how good God is, what they have learnt from their days, how they are applying God’s principles, thanking God etc. And then I look at my blog *glances below* and it’s like…….whaa? Beeeeg difference. Monumental.

And to be honest. It makes me a little upset.

Maybe I’ll always be God’s illegitimate daughter. The daughter that no one wants. The adam-lambert of church (sans black eyeliner).  The Samaritan woman at the well.

After all how can I ever fit in? I will never be able to be that obedient, sweet little Christian girl at our church, the one that everyone loves, everyone accepts, everyone dotes upon and pampers, who knows how to say the right things, what to say and when to do what they are supposed to do. Almost everybody I know in church is like that.

And here I am, swearing my mouth off sometimes, hot headed, stubborn, spoilt and wilful, with a penchant for mini skirts and tube dresses.

I guess this is the reason, among many others, why I wasn’t invited to the wedding that everyone else was invited to. Yes. There, I finally said it out loud, in the open.

All these things just made me just a little sad. Okay maybe alot sad. Because if even the church has abandoned me, if even they judge me, if even they have dismissed me as someone not of their own, then who do I have left?

For a long time now, I have felt that I have no place left for me that is safe, and it’s been gathering speed. No church, no caregroup, no christian leader I can trust. No one who believes in me.

Maybe I just need to be comfortable in my own skin. But the world is too big.

And it’s just me and God. Just me and God.

What if someday He leaves me too?

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Just don’t give up, I’m workin’ it out
Please don’t give in, I won’t let you down
It messed me up, need a second to breathe
Just keep comin around
Hey, whataya want from me (Whataya want from me)
Whataya want from me (Whataya want from me)

That we can’t expect men to be loyal. That we have to accept that cheating will happen, and instead of fighting it, we should, say, put a box of condoms in their luggage when they go overseas, so that they can at least be safe. After all, as long as the indiscretion stays overseas and they don’t bring it home, it should be treated as a natural occurrence.

Is this right?

I read it with terror and horror. The first thought that came to me: How can??

Has our world changed so much that we are now expected to bow down and roll over when our spouses cheat?

Or has it always been this way?

Note that the man that Lui quotes is only talking about women pandering to the men. How it is God-given that men cheat. I say that’s a load of balderdash.

1. Women cheat too. (which is not to say this is right as well)

2. This guy obviously belongs to the school of thought where men are animals and have a natural compunction to cheat and ‘spread their seed’ so that they can have more offspring. This thinking has long been debunked as a stupid and fallacious theory.

3. And the cardinal rule – cheating should just not be accepted if both parties have already set aside ground rules stating that they are not ok with it. Unless both of you say okay to an open relationship and dating other people, then well, who’s to judge right? But if not, then don’t expect that hell won’t rain down upon you if you are found out.

4. Yes yes, we are all human, we err, we do sucky things to other people etc. But it is still not right.

Have we gone back in time to a society where polygamy is accepted and women are weak, powerless creatures who cannot think for themselves or speak for themselves, women who have to desperately depend on their men with their every being and silently subjugate to them? Is this how things are supposed to work, close one eye and allow him to cheat so that ‘your relationship will not be spoilt?’

I don’t think so. This is no longer that backward world or Chinese drama serial where the poor women keep their heads bowed, lips sealed, and feet bound while they suffer heartache in their hearts as their husbands openly touch other women and love other women. We are not stupid, neither are we pushovers anymore.

So no. No, I will not accept this. And no way am I going to condone this bullshit.

And women out there who have a sense of pride in yourself should not take this nonsense lying down either.

Since then, I have:

Eaten about 500 pineapple tarts

Done the usual CNY visiting/gambling/gossiping

Won $22 in blackjack

Spent that $22 on two cab rides

Received a nice pink box and a really sweet letter on Valentine’s day

Gone to Bali and back

Done the beach-babe-lounging-at-deckchairs-with-a-cocktail-during-sunset bit

Seen two rainbows in the same sky at the same time

Tried my hand at being a sporty girl while there and liked it – white water rafting, jet skiing, banana boat and parasailing

Been burnt to a crisp and commenced operation change-new-skin

Interviewed Backstreet Boys for a second time (and didn’t like them)

Seen Backstreet Boys in concert for a third time (and liked it)

Eaten half a box of froot loops (getting there)

Enjoyed a night of chatting with the girls while sprawled, sandals off, on a soft (fake) grass patch

and pissed off a mediacorp corporate communications manager.

Just the month of a regular girl.

The little things would spark it off – an elderly man in a wheelchair pushed by a young lad, the sad and distressing cry of a grieving young girl whose boyfriend recently passed away, a cancer plot in my favourite tv series, sitting in a car which swerved for just a millisecond…

I would doggedly string up my own plots within minutes, imagine vivid scenes, apply them into my life and feel horrid almost immediately.  But I don’t stop this morbid obsession until I finish the whole run, until hot tears spring to my eyes, as though the things in my head really did happen. As though the vacant loss, the burning hole in my heart was real.

I’m not sure I would be able to take it if it was.

I don’t really know what’s the point of this exercise. I don’t really know what’s wrong with me either.

I also realized I don’t have a Christina to my Meredith (from grey’s anatomy). If I’m grieving, if something happens, I don’t have a Christina who will come over to my house, take off my three-day old clothes, crawl  into bed with me, and hold my head while I cry. I don’t have one. So if anything happens, I’m gonna be alone. In that bed. With a pit for a stomach and a gaping hole in my chest. With no soulmate-best girl friend who would understand or try to.

That really frightens me.

(I reject the thoughts in Jesus’ name)

that’s what losing a sense of yourself can do to you.

It’s like an endless pendulum,

that carries you forwards but also brings you back

No where to go except here, and then there, and then here and then there

The sunshine is dimming

and weariness washes over me like a tide

I’m tired tired tired, the kind that no amount of sleep can take away

and I wish this life was one that was constantly filled with sparkles, rainbows, and bright lights

And I wish I wasn’t becoming this person that I am now – caustic, impatient, sharp, critical and mean.

There aren’t any choices of where you end up though,

all of us are brought along involuntarily on this rushing tide

and I’m hanging on, trying not to get swept away,

hanging on, to maintain a semblance of what was once my humanity.

A little help here, God? I think You’re needed.

I made a few cameo appearances in my paper! Check them out (or not).

Credit: mypaper