gone

GONE.



















... Go 'way.

The Dream

Okay. This is a strange excuse for a dream journal. But anyway. 4.6 was going on a field trip. A mystery field trip. And we had to register for new, weird passports with black and white polaroids of lomo shots of us. Anyway, once we were all registered, we trooped up to a morphed kind of mrt/train station platform. It was classically decorated, with thick pillars and arches and a huge twisted brass metal clock suspended in the middle. The clock was magnificent, and I was drawn to it. I remember walking toward it in a trance-like state. And when I woke up, I was clinging to minute-hand dial on the clock in mid-air. Panicking, I shouted for help, but no-one came to my aid. Then finally, after a quietly sobbing for a while, I was rescued when the clock shuddered and chimed fifteen times at 3pm. I was scared stiff, and almost fell. Ann-Marie begrudgingly saved me then, but only because it was her duty to change the hour-hand on the clock. So I staggered down the narrow twisted metal walk and down onto the platform. The train was waiting for us, so we piled in. For some reason, I didn't feel like sitting next to Ann-Marie, so wanting to be alone, I sat across her instead. All of a sudden, Lisa and Tiffany plonked themselves next to me. She got mad, and in her anger, she yelled,"Fine! Don't sit with me! I'm your only friend anyway!"
That hurt. I looked away, and so did she.
Then the scene shifted to some kind of mutiny aboard the train/bus/shuttle as it was trundling along. I jumped out, I don't know why, and Lisa followed. The train stopped for a loo break, and we managed to get ahead and had a deep, intellectual talk, which was rare. Then the bus came, and we franticly hailed it, gesticulating madly.
It blurs to a more vivid scene, and now we're on a boat, a sort of middle-class yacht that is taking us across the bay. The breeze in our faces and the salt air on our tongues, and everything seems all right. Until the boat starts sinking before we've reached land, and it disappears completely, leaving us flailing helplessly in the water. We keep on floating with the wooden remnants of our vessel. And we kept on floating. It was so real, and I could judge the depth of the water by its murkiness, but despite the clarity of that scene, I couldn't recognise the faces and arms of the somebodies floating nearby. It was like they were censored.

The dream haunted me after I awoke, even through stoning in front of the gogglebox for a while, and then just stoning at the ceiling. Compelled to type it out, I did so. And I felt like crying, an intense sadness at my haunting dream. I knew why, but didn't want to know why, so I don't know anymore.

ohwell

Okay. Well. It doesn't make sense anymore. See below.
I need a holiday. As in, away from most people. To settle things. Figure them out. Forget things. Ignore strange stonewalling from certain people.

Monopoly, the ruthless & money-hungry family game is depressing. Because it's neverending debt without charity. Heh. Maybe I just suck at monopolising because I'm nice by nature. And I donate my small change to the poor. But still.

I might not be blogging for a while. Loves to the respective persons. Mm.

Okay.

This message was brought to you by the number 13 and the letter D. Goodnight everybody.

emo

Oh, emo is so old,
It's like a sitting duck.
You whine and whine
And no-ones gives a fuck.

Ponder on my rhyme. Tell me if it makes sense to you. Because, funnily, it does to me.

blog audience?

Have I completely obliterated my blog audience with erratic updates?

Crapola.

yoyoma

Question: Who is Yo-Yo-Ma? Is he related to Bruce Springsteen? Or is he a bipolar disordered nut confused about his Ma/Pa sexuality? I do not understand.

Anyway. Odd American culture aside, updates are few and mundane. My results are tragic, really. Oh, and do you know! I can make it to JC with my L1R2!! It's fantastic, really. Heh.
My triumph lay in my highest ever scores for English P1. 25/30 for my tale on how a boot-licking corporate climber got tired of shoe polish, learned how to laugh and then eloped with his manic depressive coffee girl. I thought that was quite an accomplishment, together with my 24/30 for my letter which I can't seem to remember. Hah.

That is, as compared to my dismal results for Eng P2, which were 21/50 for a maddening and ANALLY-marked compre and summary. I had a 64% which was second in class, together with a whole lot of people. -_- Nyah. Emath, C6. Chem, D7, no surprise there. Physics, C5. Social Studies, C6, yuckyuckyuck. I must go see the master of it all, A. Lim. OH! Accomplishment in History! A 64, as in a B4, which was a surprise. The bigger surprise was that Mdm Chan was being kind when she marked, so uhm. Yeh. Appointments all round.

Mrs Cheong broke my heart. She kept commending me on my good effort. She even told Ms Kang CH that. Murr? And I should've known better and stopped myself from hoping on a mere pass. Nyah. More rude grunting noises to express my frustration. Apologies. I ended up with a 43/100, which I nearly spilled water on my face until everybody started congratulating me. 'Twas confusing. I merely improved, yesidid. Now, for my B3 for Prelims. Yes, laugh, but I'm going to get some kind of pretty, witty and gay miracle to get me into JC, the next level of hell. Heh. Hurrah. ")

nordic?

Oh God. I had such a mortifying dream just now. I had done a performance, and had to fit into a really small peach-and-pink tube dress! Ergh. No, that was not the worst.

It was actually a small-scale production in one of those pseudo-arty-farty shophouses. I had gotten all dolled up in the dress, and surprise! it didn't give the first impression of wanting you to go get a lighter and burn the flammable little dress right off me. Ann-Marie[?] and Sherilyn[?] were helping me to franticly do my make-up, and once they were done, I went on stage. The performance was a blur.

When it was over, a couple of critics suddenly stood up in the audience and told me that my performance was too sweet; that it was saccharine. There was a possibility it might've been the dress, but still. I was pondering on how their criticism might help me when an old friend of my mother's walked up and said that I couldn't and shouldn't act anymore on stage because I was 'stage-set'. I don't know what means, don't ask me, and I doubt that it's an actual word. I had a strange, distinct feeling in my gut that she was right, somehow.

Then it blurred to the 'rents and I sitting down to watch the telly late at night, no quibbling or taking sides, just like the old times, and there came a programme about fathers and related issues. And my father made some stupid lewd comment, which was completely out of line, and I snapped at him, saying that what was his f'ing problem, and yeh, I have dad issues, did he have a problem with that.

I finally woke up with a start at twilight and the words 'stage-set' kept echoing and richoceting in my head. There was warm water on my cheeks, and my stomach gnawed. I wasn't hungry. To never perform again... That would be a nightmare.

jahhh

Mmph. I don't know how much of this Chinese immersion shiz for the Chinese Os I can bear. It's everywhere! Well, that's sort of explained by the term 'immersion'.

But ANYWAY. It's engulfing, it's mortifying, it's alien. And it's not the sweet E.T. type of extra-terrestial kind, it's strange, like siren song, drowning you in saccharine melodies of WONG MEI SWUA WHATEVER. To grow up in a country where little culture is your own, and what little you have, there is less to be proud of, it's... uncomfortable.

Racial Harmony seems somewhat a mockery when you have MINORITY stamped in your face everytime so much so that whole races are made to feel like the special provisions made for them are a huge burden, and that in effect, they are a huge unwanted burden. Excuses like,"Oh, it was late notice" just prove it further, as if oh!-we were too busy organising events for the majority, you know, the Chinese-speaking people, so we couldn't be bothered to do much for the small numbers. Furthermore, many advertisements on certain English-based channels are purely in Mandarin, and badly sync-ed too. I mean, what a way celebrate the union over different languages and cultures with Mandarin!

I'm just asking for a little equality, albeit my seeming bitterness. I'm not really that sour about it. I'm proving my point. THINK OF THE LITTLE PEOPLE TOO.

The Sound of White is my saving grace.