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Thursday, December 29, 2005
Any thought of you inspires insufferable misery in me. You are the curse of my life and I wish I never have known you. Do not be mistaken. I do not fear you. Yet you have so tormented my soul that the immense suffering has borne a seething monster of hatred in me. It all started with a nagging guilt for ignoring you. I just had to see and touch you but something of you suppressed any necessity in it. And the guilt grew...and grew. When I finally did pluck up tremendous courage to visit you, you attacked me - my intellect, my ego, my soul. You should have known. I do not love you. Why do you dellude yourself that things are otherwise? Why must you cling onto me so tightly, so selfishly? You scheming bastard. You played with my mind. And forced me to see and touch you. Each time I did left me emotionally and physically drained. You made me suffer. And I still suffer now. My hatred for you is so intense, so resolute, so immutable. And you knew. You started hating me for that. You had your revenge then. I was at fault for not knowing you well and consequently, helpless when you exacted your vengeance on me. You succeeded. Obviously. Now, I want to have mine too. I shall want to prove to you that I can triumph over you fucking filthy vermin of my life. You think you can destroy me with all the profound vulgarities of the academics. You are wrong. For I shall destroy you one day with my astute intelligence and unwavering dilligence, you Mister Holmwerk. Posted by |z|r| at
Monday, December 26, 2005
 Looks like a weeping willow of dazzling lights. Move over Santa, it's M&Ms now. Can you see they are walking on the very road cars travel on? Rare chance where trees get to photosynthesize 24 hours. Save for the (extra) lady's head, everything seemed so lovely. Chilling out at StarbucksPosted by |z|r| at
Friday, December 23, 2005
Rain always has this dangerous potential of dampening the human spirit. I was scurrying in the slight drizzle to seek the odd comfort of the empty, souless void deck. The cold moisture seemed to seep into the depths under my skin and nearly extinguished all happy thoughts in me. Nearly. It always rain every Christmas season here. Just like how it always snows every Christmas season in other countries. Rain breeds the diseases of loneliness and gloom. One must wonder how the spirit of festive celebration remains undamaged by such oppressive weather. I certainly did. And I realised how tenacious the human determination to celebrate Christmas is. No one should feel lonely or gloomy. Christmas is a reminder that we are not alone. Growing up, the draw of Christmas was the dazzling array of presents family and friends gave me. Now, somewhat nearing the end of my teens, maturity has added a touch of sentiment to the simple act of giving and taking. Affirmation of friendship through words thoughtfully penned on greeting cards is what never fails to warm my heart. And as all family practices to celebrate Christmas gradually cease to be one simple gathering of all uncles, aunts and cousins, I grow to appreciate the quiet strength of familial bonds. An exchange of a brief smile with a stranger takes on a new meaning too. Really, Christmas is a celebration of human connectedness. And also a time to express our gratitude for it. No matter how hard we try to be independent, we will never be. For even one simple bowl of rice, if you imagine how the farmer harvests the grains, how the factory worker packs the grains, how the driver transports the rice package to the exporting factory, how the supermarket man heaves the rice onto his shoulders and places it on the display shelf, you would be amazed at the extent of our reliance on strangers we don't even know. Such is the beauty of human connection. I can never stop being amazed by it. Ah, for all these ramblings, what I really want to say after all is a huge sincere 'thank-you' to everyone, my best friends, my friends, my family for all the love and concern and - yeah, strangers too. For in some ways, have helped to make my steaming bowl of rice. Posted by |z|r| at
Saturday, December 17, 2005
"Oh, you should have seen, they are so sweet together!" My friend gushed with much gusto. I nodded wearily. And she continued rattling about how another couple in school look so compatible with each other. Oh yeah. Did I mention that the girl is so pretty that my friend's guy friend (not the pretty lass' boyfriend, mind you) had once splurged fifty bucks on his first present to the girl? Good grief. I was exasperated by people, not just my friend, who have this irrational concept of relationships: Romance equals to love. And people waste their time endeavouring to be oh-so-sweet-and-romantic to the point when it simply becomes sappy imprudence. Their partners would then feel so pampered and so special that they think they are in love. I know of this guy who buys presents for his three-month girlfriend every month to celebrate uhm, monthly anniversary. Monthly anniversary. When have anniversaries literally become a monthly thing? And so, if they are lucky enough to pass one year together and assuming he spends at least $20 for each present, by the end of that one year, he would have spent a minimum of $240. If he further embellishs his effort to be romantic, the total cost of being (unnecessarily) romantic amounts to an estimated $500. How ridiculous. It's ridiculous enough that he splurges hard-earned money for the wrong reasons. Think monthly anniversaries. It's even more ridiculous that he sees a romantic relationship as an investment of red roses and kisses. He's not the only one. Oh don't they see? Don't they see that a relationship is fundamentally still a friendship? No wonder when these people break up, chances are, they end up not talking. Because the friendship was not deep enough to cushion the collapse of a love relationship. Because all they did during the days of togetherness were red roses and kisses and more red roses and kisses...when what they should be doing was building a firm friendship. I think many people have this tendency to become engulfed by the heat of passion so much so that they eventually forget that such is only but transient. It is only natural that the initial ardour gradually turns cold as two people settle in a relationship. And that is when friendship becomes the essence of love. Your partner is your best friend. You are your partner's best friend. This friendship would weather life's every trial and tribulation and emerge stronger than ever and keep the love going. Not sappy romance. Avril Lavigne sings of this special friendship as thus: Because I've never felt like this before
I'm naked Around you Does it show? You see right through me And I can't hide I'm naked Around you And it feels so right And I think it says enough of what the special friendship really means. Really. Posted by |z|r| at
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
By definition of Cambridge Dictionaries Online, fuck, as a verb, means to have sex with someone. As a noun, it is an act of sex. When you fuck something up, you ruin something. When you fuck about, you are behaving stupidly and doing unimportant things. And 'fuck' is basically an emphatic word to express your anger. "What the fuck is that?!" "Man, she's a fucking bitch." Just now, I did a tiny research on the origins of swear-words. Boy, it yielded so much more information than I have expected. The origin of 'fuck' is still pretty much recondite. There are, however, two richly imaginative explanations for it. One version speculates that this word was born as an acronym from the phrase "Forced Unlawful Carnal Knowledge". Apparently, in colonial times, rape was then termed that way and rapists found guilty were branded F.U.C.K on their foreheads. Another variant of this phrase goes "For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge", in which, an adulterous couple would be punished with F.U.C.K carved on their skin too. The other version suggests that 'fuck' is an acronym of another phrase too. An injunction, "Fornication Under Consent of the King", was purportedly carried out during medieval times, shortly after the Black Death plague, to increase the population. Couples were given special permission to copulate and they hung the sign "F.U.C.K" when they carried out their reproductive obligation. Then, we have a 'mother-fucker' to deal with. Surprisingly, it was created by the tongues of African slaves who were forcefully brought to America back in the past. It was used as an offensive name for slave-owners who raped the slaves' mommas. You didn't expect the word 'mother-fucker' to mean so literally: Mother-fuckers fuck mothers, did you? How fascinating. And you didn't know that the word 'frig' means to masturbate. So all the while, if you've been using the word 'frigging' unawares, perhaps that might provide some insight into some seemingly innocuous swear-words. Even a harmless word like 'crap' does have its colourful history. In Victorian times, there was a plumber supposedly named Thomas Crapper who invented the toliet flush we know today. Most probably Crapper didn't wish for that, but his name became notoriously associated with toliets and their effective flushes. You got it. From Crapper to Crap. Crappers were toliets and crap made excrement which necessitated the existence of toliets. What brilliant replacement for 'shit'. Now, enough crap, I need to go to the toliet. So sorry for the unintended pun. PS If you want to read more of what I have read, go to: http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A753527 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fuck Posted by |z|r| at
Monday, December 12, 2005
This morning, while I was at the computer, Mom suddenly appeared next to me and in an imperious voice, declared,"I want you to go down and buy a bleaching solution and raffia string." "Waaaaa..." I said weakly. I had almost sputtered a rude "Walau!" that might have earned me a disapproving look following which, another half an hour's worth of incessant clucking. "What's this?" Mom demanded. "Nooo...I don't want..." I moaned. That was a wrong move, I tell ya. For Mom started angrily on the issue of - "Why can't you do such simple errands? This is not the first time. I ask you to do housework and it's always this same response too. At this rate, I pity the poor bloke who marries you!" I promptly shut up. And Mom went away to get her purse and a few minutes later - SLAM! "At this rate, I pity the poor bloke who marries you!" These words kept replaying in my mind. For a while, I was completely pissed. What? My worth as a spouse is solely dependent on my ability to do housework? My ego was stung. So, Miss Tay would never be a good wife in her momma's eyes. Or is she? Look. In this relatively modern society where the notion of feminity has evolved to embrace the female independence outside the perimeters of a household, a woman's ability to do housework should hardly affect her marketability as a potential spouse. I doubt most guys, save for an unusual few, would look to a woman's ability to do housework as a deciding factor in selecting their prospective spouses. That is, if they are serious in marrying someone they love. I know of some men who marry out of convenience or other practical reasons. In any case, if a guy wants to marry me, he should love me for myself afterall. Besides, busy career women are too preoccupied with the daily challenges at work to bother themselves with the domestic trivialities. They have the money to hire a maid, anyway. And so, as long as the house remains clean and uncluttered, I don't see why not doing household chores should diminish a woman's value as a spouse. I don't see why I cannot be a good wife just because I hate household chores. I just don't. Then again, my imagination brings me to a scene in which, owing to unknown circumstances, I am forced to stay at home and look after a wailing baby of three months. There's no maid because I no longer work and the family income has reduced to a mere four thousand dollars, just enough for the three of us to live comfortably. I need to feed the baby now. I haven't finished mopping the floor and there're puddles here and there. My husband would be coming home in about two hours and I need to start preparing for dinner. Oh shit! I have forgotten to buy the brocolli and prawns. Everything's a mess and, and, and... I didn't dare to think further. And against my wilful tendencies, I came to a conclusion that it is imperative for me to be adept in household chores. Not just for marriage, but I guess it's also means of securing my independence. Imagine not being reliant on a maid or someone else to help you clean and maintain a house. It's freedom because you don't need to brood how much a maid is taking up your monthly expenditure. And being able to clean your house gives you a sense of control over your possessions. Not that it is important but I guess it boosts your marketability anyhow. I imagine my husband telling his friends,"My wife is a doctor and you know what, she knows how to cook too!" How spiffing. Mom's back now. And you know what, I shall go and help peel the prawns. Posted by |z|r| at
A few days' of lapse in writing have amounted to a morass of unsorted thoughts that I feel compelled to free them in unbridled words. And so. Another conversation with my best friend led to the topic of deep-thinkers. I think I might be one of 'em because simply, I like to think and analyse things around me. Sometimes, I wonder how I may appear brooding and pessimistic with all those unspoken thoughts afloat in my head. But that's beside the point. Anyway, she professed to be a deep-thinker too and she doubts whether anyone knows this fact. I said,"I presume that's because you don't think anyone would understand, huh?" "Yeah, along that line." Now that is the universal problem faced by deep-thinking people like her or me. No one seems to understand. I couldn't have put it better when she said that she could not bother with telling people what she thinks because chances are, they would misunderstand and she doesn't want to undergo further trouble in trying to explain what she thinks. And sometimes, I doubt even my closest friends would understand despite the effort to lucidize what I am trying to say. But that doesn't matter as long as I have the freedom to write what I want to write. Deep-thinking isn't a bad thing at all. In fact, I wish I know more people who bother to even think where their lives are heading. If only people can stop, and look, listen, think. The way I see most people out there is that, they are air-heads living a zombie's life. People give them shit and they take it happily and even want more shit. How sad. You see, this life has no birth warranty. Anything can happen to you. Like how she puts it, what if it happens to me? And at the moment when your life seems to be about to be put out like a flame 'poof-ed' by a sudden gust of wind, imagine all those thoughts rushing in a blur through your mind. You wouldn't be thinking about how you are going to rush out the report by tomorrow, would you? Nor would you be picturing yourself shopping which you have long before planned. Because you would be overwhelmed with a mess of feelings: confusion, regret, shock, sadness. Two days back, both of us were discussing about life's fragility. And I said,"If I were to die NOW, I will die a person full of regrets." To which, she jokingly said,"CHOY! TOUCH WOOD!" Of course, I laughed. But I continued by saying,"Because I've hurt too many people. Have done too many mistakes and wrongs. Haven't done too many things." She agreed. Sometimes, abit of deep thinking serves as a sombre reminder of many life's tragedies. The truth is, suffering is only but universal and unavoidable. But many of us, surrounded by life's lush luxuries, have turned a blind eye to what should be the most important things in this world. We choose to remain seemingly ignorant of the brevity of life, thinking we are still young and take many things for granted. But self-denial never works. We may occupy ourselves with playing life's toys to distract ourselves from disturbing notions of sickness and death. We may find ways to stall ageing. But com'on, let's be honest. We all are gonna die - someday. It may be one year later, or decades later...or even the next minute, today. Even a deep-thinker like me, as what she calls me, I tend to take things for granted too. But at least, I think. And I know. It's sadder for ignorant people to die without understanding and experiencing at least some of life's truths. It's not my business to care anyway. Whether those people are thinking or not. It's their lives afterall. But sometimes, when you see too many air-heads, you just can't help but wonder, whether deep thinking really has become a lost treasure of life. Posted by |z|r| at
Sunday, December 11, 2005
----- "Lord Buddha can take me whenever he wants," said the patroness of the temple. "I am old; I have lived a full life." Each evening, she would visit the temple, light incense, and intone these words for all to hear. One night two boys hid behind the statue of the Buddha and boomed out: "Prepare, old woman. Tonight is the night." With which the old woman died of fright. Although the two boys never told anyone of their deed, they carried with them for the rest of their lives an immense respect for words and the power locked inside a simple sentence or mindless jest. Posted by |z|r| at
Friday, December 09, 2005
I had a late-night conversation with a guy friend who was suffering from unreciprocated love. I could acutely feel his agony. I most probably would be weeping days end if I were in his shoes. You know, it's really an irony that when love is supposed to be a happy feeling, it brings so much misery to people too. However, if anyone ever bothers to examine his feeling of what he calls love, perhaps it isn't love at all. Because if it is a feeling of longing and clinging, then is it really love? And what is love in the first place? I imagine love for someone really to be a pellucid understanding that the someone is just like ourselves -a human complete with thoughts and feelings- and we care for the someone as we would for ourselves. Which would mean love is without expectations because it transcends all physical and emotional definitions of a person. You love for no reason except simply because the person is a human being, like yourself, and you don't like him or her to suffer. If that's really the case, then unreciprocated love should not hurt. Yet, an unreciprocated love hurts because we want the people we love to love us back. Then in the first place, what we have for the other people cannot be love because it selfish. It's like an emotional transaction: I love you, you love me back. And there's also this funny part about people. Most of us design people to love. And so we come up with a list of desirable characteristic traits we want to see in a potential love interest. When tried and tested that a particular kind of person isn't suitable for us, we move on to other choices, ticking off those 'failed' ones. It is an insult to Love's name when we claim to love someone if we think he or she pleases us. And I hope I shall never make this mistake of loving wrongly and ignorantly. For I want to love a man despite all his flaws and wrongs, and to the end, he can be sure that he would always be loved - no matter what. Posted by |z|r| at
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
That, was a lesson my drawings taught me. I love drawing. The love was already there when I started doodling nonsense. When I was a toddler, I drew on paper Mom gave me. When I was five, I drew on the underside of my bed, the sides of my parents' bed, the wardrobe surface - everywhere you can think of. Mom whacked me quite a number times for vandalism but the crime continued until I went into primary school. When I was eight, I drew in my assessment books secretly when Mom left me to myself during 'study-sessions'. And she once tore one of my uniforms for drawing instead of studying. The funny thing was, the kid I was then loved to draw real stuff. When I say 'real stuff', it really means that I liked to draw realistic drawings. And I still now. I was particular about how a human should look like in my pictures. And to the best I could, I would draw them as real as possible. I remember how once, I discovered how to draw the high-heels on a woman's feet and I was so happy about that because kids around my age that time only knew how to draw flat shoes. And then at a tender age of around seven or eight, I discovered that women should have breasts. And so I incorporated the chest swelling in my women pictures from then on. For a period of time, I drew naked people (complete with the necessary parts) when I came across an art book Mom had. Once at my grandpa's house, I drew a naked man and a woman, reminiscent of Adam and Eve, and showed it to him. Imagine his shock. He reeled and started scolding a string of undecipherable Teochew words, presumably berating me for drawing such shameful stuff at such a young age. I was only eight. My art teachers liked my drawings. And they frequently would tell my classmates to learn to incorporate some realism in their drawings, like what I did, instead of drawing deformed people with huge round heads without ears, and short and shapeless bodies. Then suddenly, I lost drawing - its art and passion, almost everything. When I drew on a few occasions, I was so angry with the state of my drawings that tears would spill. Because to me, what I drew lacked what I wanted. Life. Passion. Feeling. They weren't in my drawings. Worse still, the faces looked distorted. The human bodies weren't as magical when I first discovered them at age eight. I just gave up. Then, holidays came. And a few days back, I came across a very pretty face in a magazine. So inspired by the human face, I decided to experiment drawing a face as pretty as that one. It was completed and I gazed at it in awe because for such a long time, I never seemed to get 'it'. So I tried a second drawing. I wanted to draw a woman's face smiling. I did. But the process was not exactly a happy one for I was soon gripped by the disgust of the face staring back at me from the paper. I was angrier still when Mom pointed out and confirmed that my woman's face was distorted. When I was correcting the face, tears spilled again. But I told myself, never give up. The face was completed. Though it wasn't exactly what I had imagined earlier, relief washed over me. It was still a face alright. Distinguishable. Human-looking. Day two. I started drawing again. Drawing from my imagination as I once did before. The face gradually manifested as one of a lady with her lips slightly apart. Prior to that, I read up on how to draw a good proportionate face. The face was so much better looking. And as I drew, for once I threw my expectations aside and concentrated on crafting a face and just that. I rediscovered my childhood joy in drawing. The perfectionist in me wanted to emulate the great artists and rejected my desire to learn as a result. If you cannot learn, you cannot improve. And if you don't enjoy learning, there's no way you can improve. As a young kid, I drew what I wanted and I celebrated each effort in every drawing. As an adolescent, I drew what I wanted and I booed each drawing for its imperfection. Now in my late teen years, I have re-learnt the appreciation of every drawing and embrace each effort in every drawing. Now, I see my man portrait and know his nose is abit crooked. But heck. Because every drawing is worthy in its own way. Posted by |z|r| at
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
 Zhiru's ManA less than ideal face that Zhiru PREFERS in an available (preferably) Caucasian boyfriend-going-to-be-husband. Posted by |z|r| at
Monday, December 05, 2005
 Woman with slightly parted lipsI certainly feel that this portrait is much better than the previous one and I hope my reader agrees. The previous face was not so realistic -just look at the eyes and the face is abit too big. Whatever. I have churned out another drawing from my imagination yesterday night, indulging my artistic sense. A few problems remained in this picture. I have yet to master the technique of shading; my shading is still rather amatuerish. I have yet to capture the liveliness of the eyes. But she's certainly my best work to date. Posted by |z|r| at
Sunday, December 04, 2005
 Young Girl ( an inspiration from a very beautiful face in a magazine *lol*) Posted by |z|r| at
Saturday, December 03, 2005
 Aqua(!!!) seniors & juniorsPosted by |z|r| at |
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kindly. SHOUT. archives credits |
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