A History of Mr Polly;

Tell Me What You See

2010-01-27T22:55:00.007+08:00

July 27, 2009

Often, I have to fight the urge to give them everything that I have on my person because I feel guilty for having so much while they have close to none. But as I walk on, amidst fields so impossibly green that everything else is dimmed in my eyes, I realize how close that borders to condescension. Because they're happy. Some may say that that's because they don't know what lies beyond and maybe to a certain extent, that's true. But it doesn't change the fact that barefoot in the mud, with nothing but a wide emerald expanse before them, they're happy, ~~even if just for a while~~ even if it's in a way that we can't quite comprehend.

And maybe that's more than some of us can ever hope to have.

[Edit 17/02/10: I think "even if just for a while" is the wrong phrase to use. Misleading.]

Of Coffee And Wars

2010-01-26T14:23:00.003+08:00

July 18, 2009

Today, we discovered the pitfalls of being too bright-eyed in a foreign land: missing money. But we are determined not to let it affect our day.

___

As I write on the mangled mess of paper which used to be our temporary guidebook (now defiled with streaky ink, crinkled corners and suspicious looking specks), Ellen is sipping her 10,000 VND coffee which she declares to be 'very good' while she contemplates the guidebook.

The streets are considerably less crowded than they were this morning, a welcome relief for road-crossing novices like us. Well, me, really, who jumps every time a horn sounds too loudly. The heat is simply sweltering, so much so that I can see heat waves rising from the ground. I half expect the ground to sizzle and smoke if I pour water on it but of course, that would be a terrible waste of good resources (even I am slightly awestruck at the amount of time we spend hunting for the cheapest water but well, we are proponents of Good Budgeting).

So while the heat has driven everyone else into hiding, we are in a small cafe disrupting the afternoon tea of a family which, strangely enough, consists of beer, rambutans and a lot of back-smacking among the younger, more boisterous lot who seems to be the only ones who remain undefeated by the incessant rays. The rest of us, well, we've turned into snivelling, whimpering pansies.

It is rather amusing though, how they siesta in a town that isn't Spanish while playing American pop hits from the 1999-ish era, of which the Backstreet Boys seem to be a particular cult favourite.

Off to visit the Hanoi Hilton now.

PS: Our conclusion is that Hanoi is not dirty. Singapore is just far too clean but I'm not really complaining.

Dusty Conclusions At Dusk

2010-01-26T14:21:00.001+08:00

July 17, 2009

As we entered the Vietnamese street kitchen (authentic, no less), everyone stared at us most curiously. Fortunately, we were largely forgotten after a while and after saying an extra fervent grace, were left alone to navigate our way through the jungle of herbs compulsory in Vietnamese cuisine. The food was excellent, but really, I shouldn’t even be surprised. So far so good, no throwing up.

Later on,we realized that the staring was somehow inevitable. But then again, I suppose we were a curious sight, foreign Asians, female. A strange man tried to take a picture of us at one of the random temples that we ventured into and when he realized that he had been discovered, he grinned sheepishly and herded his friends away. We were rather amused, to say the least. Partly because we looked a sight (defeated by the humidity of Vietnamese air, sweating profusely; I think ‘mangy’ would be an appropriate descriptor) but mostly because the only reason why we discovered his secret attempt is because we spent most of our day secretly taking photos of old men. Old men sitting, old men smoking, old men fishing, old men in pajamas.

Because I am falling asleep, the following thoughts have to be captured in a most haphazard manner:

Ellen thinks that we look lesbian since she is in a baggy polo and jeans (instructions from her mother to deter potential rapists: “No tight shirts!”) and I clutch her whenever we have to cross roads. And at this juncture, I will have to admit that whatever I may say, my heart rate rises dramatically whenever we cross the road.
The Vietnamese people are very polite. Although travel websites always have people complaining about touts, the easiest way to get by is to shake your head and smile, and wait for them to smile back
Vietnamese people dress rather well, although the curious fashion here is long-sleeved shirts and pants, with these universal slippers
Overall, a fairly safe country
Still debating whether to go to Ha Long Bay and Sa Pa. The prices are exhorbitant and this is one area where Ellen’s famous charm is not functioning very well
Vietnamese men are all fairly good looking. Like Ellen said, the ugliest people we saw today were the Singaporeans. Maybe Ellen will find a hot Vietnamese boy to cook pho bo for her everyday afterall
The giant tortoise is not real. Disappointed.

Strange Encounters (Coffee-Fuelled)

2010-01-26T14:18:00.003+08:00

July 17, 2009

After flapping in the wind and rain for a bit, we discovered a decrepit little shop selling an assortment of coffee beans. It even housed the Weasel variety, where the bean is passed out through the said animal’s intestinal tract which is supposed to mellow the flavour. There, was an American man in his sixties, his wife and baby, and two skinny cyclo drivers, who were all (except the baby) sipping cups of freshly brewed coffee. Naturally, Ellen could not resist so we gingerly plopped ourselves on a chair only to have the perplexed shopkeeper tell us that that was in fact the table, while motioning us to a stool so tiny it could only be accurately described as ‘kindergarten furniture’.

Having finished his coffee, the American paid (for Ellen’s coffee too; USD 5, was it that good, Ellie?) but as he and his entourage stood up to leave, the rain started to patter with such great intensity that all thoughts of departure were abandoned. All of a sudden, the queer assortment of humans perched on miniature furniture found themselves in the most awkward moment where silence seemed impolite and chatter, desperate and inadequate. Amidst the furtive eye-darting and toe-shuffling, what should fall through a hole in the ceiling but a brassier. Only the American man was amused (highly, I might add) and the rest of us looked nervously around for somewhere more innocuous to rest our gaze. But there it was, with a loud American guffaw, the magic had been cast and the awkward veil lifted. We then proceeded to discuss a strange variety of things, including the strange fact that many Vietnamese men in America run an offer manicure and pedicure services. The Vietnamese shopkeeper was horrified. “Unbelievable,” he said. His spanky English was due to his work at the embassy in Malaysia. Coffee beans are only the family business.

You And I, We Travel At The Speed Of Light

2010-01-26T14:14:00.002+08:00

July 17, 2009

Watching Ellen’s face while she discovered that the toilet in our USD15/night hotel room did not have a separate showering area was something right out of a comedic entity and when we found a better hotel for only slightly more expensive (it was actually quite a bit more, but the man was Waggling his eyebrows at her while she bargained), we lunged at the opportunity to jump ship. Although we felt a bit guilty, the thought of the flimsy plastic door which looked as though even I could dispose of it quite easily, coupled with the lack of a proper lock, soon remedied that.

So far, my theory about Ellen and Southeast Asian men in general has yet again been prove true. when we broke the news of our intentions to the hotel staff, one was rather dismal to hear of our premature departure and after a woeful farewell, heaved a sigh and flopped rather pathetically. Of course, he could just have been woeful at the thought of the disappearance of his cash cows but I choose to believe a more comedic truth.

Since discretion was key, we lugged our bags into the street, quite prepared to walk to the other hotel. However, the rain soon began falling with quickening intensity and although we had been warned of rigged meters and unscrupulous taxi drivers, we thought that flagging down the first taxi we came across would be of little consequence, since the other hotel was in fact on the next street. However, after the taxi driver had established our Singaporean-tourist status, we had, according to the meter, travelled the amazing distance of 20.7km in a span of 5 minutes and were charged a grand total of 80,000 VND – I suspect the correct fare would have been something like 12,000 VND (10,000 VND = S$0.80). Still, not much harm done for a well-timed lesson, I say.

We Pound The Pavement With Our Eyes

2010-01-26T14:06:00.004+08:00

July 17, 2009

Confusing as they are, the curious thing about the streets in Hanoi is that if one walks around long enough, all the streets lead to the same place. This is the phenomenon that Ellen and I have discovered after tromping around in the temperamental rain, our raincoats blowing in the wind and our feet soaking in the soul of the Old Quarter.

We have discovered this delightful ice-cream parlour, Fanny, as as I write, Ellen is devouring her second scoop of nougat flavoured ice-cream, and reading Cecelia Ahern. The funny thing is, I bet she wouldn’t be caught dead with that book back home, despite her protestations that The New York Times called it “intelligent chick-lit”. But then, this is the wonderful luxury of anonymity that being in a foreign country provides. Something that home, with all its trappings of preconceived notions, can ill afford. We are who we are, more than we care to admit.

We spy a group of Singaporeans in the far corner, easily identifiable by their dressing. A check of the Inventory quickly yields one gray army shirt and one junior college orientation shirt. My eyes struggle to process this strange, familiar unfamiliarity, oddly displaced, and I wonder with a mild mortification if we look as queer to the Vietnamese as they look to us.

Otherwise, we are very much alone. We have been conferred the gift of invisibility in this pulsating bustling place where while crossing the road is in itself as skill, crossing it while looking unperturbed is an art, one that we have clearly not mastered, as evinced by our terrified faces every time we are faced with that unsavoury prospect. Nonethless, I suspect we provide hearty entertainment for the Vietnamese.

Sunburnt in Shanghai

2010-01-26T11:25:00.007+08:00

24th June 2009; 11:24pm

The grand total of stray animals that we saw today is 2 (cats). I was bitten by mosquitoes again, which Ellen thinks is weird since she says there aren't any mosquitoes here. I am convinced that she lies. Either that, or she doesn't smell clean (refer to previous post on the preferences of Shanghainese mosquitoes).
Shanghai is, at least for now, the Land of Construction. Cement, cement. While we were in People's Park today (which is a garden), the wind blew and I thought I saw a shower of mist. Until Ellen informed me that it was in fact, dust.

We decided to walk to the Old Town. On the way, we saw strange and beautiful buildings. Neoclassical and Gothic. Pathetically enough, we were too tired to walk around the Old Town after actually reaching so we went to sit at a Japanese resaurant above the pond in a garden (Shanghai has many) run by Real Japanese Men with Long Hair. I had a sparkling grapefruit drink and only after a slight headache and many giggles over nothing at all, realized that it contained 3.5% alcohol. I doubt my alcohol tolerance is that pathetic so I am just going to avert any potential mockery by maintaining that I drank on an empty stomach very quickly.

The Old Town is brash and colourful. So colourful and vibrant, that the place looks unreal. Instead, it resembles a movie set, a make believe town. Like a distant relic of some heritage, once forgotten, now dragged out from its hiding place and hurriedly constructed together. I won't deny my disappointment.

On a slightly more cheerful note, did you know that the Shanghainese can sleep anywhere? And that they have this amazing habit of sitting down and doing absolutely nothing at all. I have also now learnt that to cross the roads here, one needs to walk briskly but slowly. All I have to do now is remember that the traffic comes at you in two directions. Oh well, practice makes perfect, especially when the alternative is not quite so instataneous death.

The Lover's Tears

2010-01-26T11:18:00.007+08:00

23rd June 2009, 6.31pm

After having been in Shanghai for a grand total of 3 hours, I have learnt that:

The air smells oddly like decaying cement
It is possible to break into cold sweat while crossing the road (Ref: when the taxi nearly runs a person over and before the person has fully recovered from the trauma, a loud honking monster of a bus comes along, with apparently no regard whatsoever for pedestrians and traffic regulations)
Mosquitoes attack clean-smelling people
The Shanghainese people tend to sound angry when they talk, even when they’re actually not (E.g. the security guard who was trying to tell me that I had to pull the door instead of pushing it; the evident lack of communication saw me pushing the door very fervently indeed)
The city is a curious mix of old and new; She is like a child tottering in her European mother’s heels, unsteady in her gait, but nonetheless choosing to barrel forward furiously with a petulant determination. A facade I’m not sure anyone is taken in by, save the occasional brash tourist who is only too happy to partake in a such a happy revolution and to be awestruck at the wonders of Progress

431kmh/h at 14:21

2009-07-08T19:11:00.007+08:00

23rd June 2009, 3.13pm

I have arrived, and dustily so. Have successfully navigated my way around a foreign country and its transport system which, in my opinion, might as well be monolingual.

Did you know that the gantry gates to the MRT in Shanghai look exactly like the ones in Singapore? Right down to the colour of the arrows on the sidebars. Only they haven't learnt the automated gates technique.

I have become extremely excited about being in new, unexplored land and kept smiling to myself in the MRT (Two Chinese boys thought I was a very queer personage).

On a sidenote, Shanghai's mulptiple unpaved roads and trolley bags do not make a good match. I keep clanking around.

Ethereal Places

2009-07-06T18:17:00.008+08:00

23rd June 2009; 7.14am
So this is what the waking earth looks like.

(Although at this point of time, booking an 8.05am flight is an act that can only be termed as overly enthusiastic/optimistic)

I am sleepy but at the same time, so thrilled and exhilarated. It makes a strange combination because while part of me wants to run around the the travellators at the airport, another part wants to curl up on them and fall asleep to the hum of its strange lullaby, amidst unsuspecting travellers.

I can't remember the last time I walked so slowly.

And when it was 11 minutes to Gate A21 (nowadays they tell you how many more minutes it is to your gate which is crazy since people only care when they are late and when they are late, they will be late regardless of whether they know the time or not), I got scared. Of being alone; of getting lost.

Did you know that the colour of morning is a greyish green, with threads of gold?

In Between Here And Now

2009-07-06T18:00:00.009+08:00

23rd June 2009; 4.40am

When you finally admit to yourself that you’re not sure of who you really are, the world becomes infinite. There’s nothing left to keep you in, but there’s also nothing left to keep you from falling off the edge of the earth. This uncertainty is terribly frightening, but it’s also oddly liberating: when nothing’s for sure, how many mistakes can you possibly make?

This, I guess, is my really strange way of explaining why I bought a plane ticket for one to Shanghai.

2009-04-25T01:39:00.002+08:00

It's not true.
Only an afterthought, the pause after the full stop.
Have always been.

Lessons From History

2009-04-21T16:11:00.003+08:00

Who would have thought that the ghost of Edna and her ATQs would still linger, among the residual remains of my Contract essay, no less. Although I really should be ashamed of myself, since ATQing should come naturally to any self-respecting Edna humanities student, it was one of those Sudden Grin moments that made everything seem less bleak.

But still, to ignore lesson from history would be undue folly. So now we know that the moment you get your exam paper, one should scrawl a large ATQ with vehement exclamation marks in some hideous colour, think of Crocs, and write as though your very life depended on it. Which was often true, in Edna's class.

Bless her and her ATQs, wherever she is.

In A Manner Of Speaking

2009-04-19T18:14:00.005+08:00

A quiet Sunday afternoon, and I re-discover Jason Mraz's music. He reminds me that there is still beauty in the world, value in dreams and that not all pursuits are mindless.

I think I now understand Kaye's mania with him.

You've got the best of both worlds
You're the kind of girl who can take down a man,
And lift him back up again
You are strong but you're needy,
Humble but you're greedy
And based on your body language,
And shoddy cursive I've been reading
Your style is quite selective,
Though your mind is rather reckless
Well I guess it just suggests
That this is just what happiness is

-- Jason Mraz; A Beautiful Mess

In Between The Morning and You

2009-04-06T21:24:00.002+08:00

I eat a passion-fruit, two halves actually;
And watch the lone cherry barb swim on my bookshelf
Beside The Lovely Bones and Eleanor Rigby
Oh wondrous night
I wish you'd never end

Ellen, I think this sums it up

2009-03-29T23:09:00.002+08:00

When I saw the break of day
I wish that I could fly away
Instead of kneeling in the sand
Catching teardrops in my hand

Matthew 6:2

2009-03-15T22:47:00.006+08:00

"For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also"

I think the problem comes about when you have too many treasures because your heart can't possibly be in so many places at the same time. And, it's rather painful to discover what some of these treasures are.

2009-03-15T00:21:00.004+08:00

With all that's been going around lately, I really am starting to wonder if I've too little time left. I know that Providence always enters and works in beautiful and unexpected ways, but with the rain pattering like small feet, and a thick and foreboding Textbook in front of me, it somehow seems rather apt.

The Grass Withers And The Flower Falls

2009-02-24T17:05:00.001+08:00

All flesh is like grass
and all its glory like the flower of grass.
The grass withers,
and the flower falls,
but the word of the Lord remains forever

1 Peter 1:24-25

Yesterday Once More

2009-02-24T12:45:00.004+08:00

you stared at us strangely
but after we had walked away
you hurried to the sign
and looked up at it
as though you were wondering why
we were examining it so intently

I hope you found your shard of beauty yesterday

The Monday Project

2009-02-24T00:52:00.002+08:00

We wander on the left side

Collecting shards of beauty
To piece together the earth

The straight road ahead calls
And after the hand hits 12 thrice
My eyes are full

But I wonder if I have missed
The beauty that lies on the other side
In secret places I cannot reach
Because I chose the road ahead

We breathe in the air of what we never knew

No. 53 On The To Do List

2009-02-23T21:46:00.003+08:00

~~No. 52 On The To Do List~~

Disinfect until Very Clean after romping around, sitting on the road, petting tumbling cats and generally, having a very lovely day.

The Fear of Mediocrity

2009-02-18T11:32:00.003+08:00

"I don't want this year to just be another change in the numbers on the calendar, quantifying the moments that have passed and the ones to come; a cacophony of days where each might as well be other. Because I think, and I want to think, that it could be so much more if only I were brave enough to make it such." (August 25, 2008)

"Help me not to dwell on yesterday, or worry about what will happen tomorrow; But to live each day for You, in all things, big or little alike.
Let not the dust of the earth blind me to that that has true and eternal value and put perspective in my eyes that I may have the wisdom to discern the important from the urgent and the bravery to do that which I must." - August 26, 2008

Oh dreams, surely you were meant to be more than just.

No. 52 On The To Do List:

2009-02-07T12:39:00.002+08:00

Walk the entire stretch from Katong to Siglap.
Gumption; the world awaits.

2009-01-30T18:21:00.001+08:00

I can't say I've ever felt like that.
And it makes me envious.
And wistful.
And somehow, like I haven't lived before.

The Name Of The Song Currently Playing Is Rock With You

2009-01-29T12:11:00.006+08:00

I always tell Moonie that I can't think of any decisions in my life that I regret making.

Partially because I don't like to look back at things, much less with regret, but mostly because I don't like being wrong (And regret does tend to make you realize that you were wrong).

But occasionally I think about them. All those thoughts and words, frozen midway. It fascinates me that that if I ignored those thoughts or caught those words before they left, that my life could possibly be in an entirely different sphere. It becomes even more complicated especially since lately, I'm not entirely sure if those words and thoughts were really from me, or really just the person I wanted to be. So small, and yet so big.

No one will say that any of the decisions I've made are bad ones. But sometimes I can't help but allow myself to wonder if despite all that I thought I stood for and believed in, I made those decisions because, really, I was just too afraid to make them any other way. And that now because of that, I'm somehow missing out.

This is troubling.

Still, no regrets.

20 Is Just Another Name For Nostalgia

2009-01-17T17:34:00.003+08:00

I know I'm supposed to be reading my Legal Theory about Senaca the Younger and Cicero-what's-his-face but!

Taken from MGS 4A3'05

You know you're from A3 when...

Your form teacher was enthusiastic about almost every class competition, and motivated the class to get the top prize for everything!
Your class was multi-national, with our dear scholars from Indonesia and Malaysia, who taught us bits of Bahasa Melayu (?) and received roses from their boyfriends at the school gate ;)
You skipped an entire school day to go to Suntec City with your class to watch Charlie & the Chocolate Factory for FREE :D
You were allowed to do the above because of your hard work in raising funds for the school, and winning the top prize :)
Your class shared a delicious lana cake from the teachers, to thank us for the amount of effort the Sec 4s put into raising funds for the school!
You secretly made hong bao lanterns during lesson time, to help your class win the lantern-making competition.
Your class won the aforementioned competition, achieving a grand total of 5388 lanterns!
Your class notice board was frequently updated by the Khoo Khoos, with news and updates on the Beauty Queen!
You looked forward to lessons in the com lab, usually during Mrs Tong's or YY Lim's periods
Your entire class dressed up as fairies/vampires during Teachers' Day
You own a red 'SINGAPORE' shirt from Hang Ten
our class would burst into random songs (merry christmas, happy birthday, etc) just to entertain your teachers!
You saw Jiayi fall off her chair during Geog
You mistook the cheesecake Keziah brought for class party for shepherd's pie
You did the total defence rap in retarded costumes
You did 'Come Out Baby One More Time' in fish net stockings
You know what Eddie did in his underwear
You are not hungry for anything to eat
You know how to 'play like that', and that an ant's life is tragic cos you get 'pressed'
You saw Daphne Khoo fall on stage
You heard Christine say 'Gender is an example of continuous variation'
The whole class turned their chairs around and faced the back of the class during April Fools
You greeted your physics teacher in chinese on April Fools"
You saw Gail pretending to faint and Shyna screaming for help during Miss Oon's class on April Fools
You saw funny business going on in the OHP cupboard
You loved singing teletubbies during math

Christine the Beauty Queen, you'll probably never read this, but No. 21 was total ownage.

That we might learn to face the trials of
Life and faith and hope
And nobly run the race

True To Daisy Buchanan

2009-01-15T01:09:00.002+08:00

To Bimin: Remember that you must always be "Sophisticated". Much love.

Heal Over

2009-01-12T21:22:00.001+08:00

Once in a while I find that I am gripped by this strange and whimsical, although sometimes overwhelming, sense of loss.

It seems that the more I live, the more I grieve. Not necessarily because there is more to grieve for (although sometimes this can be said to be true), but because with each year that passes by, there are more moments lost, more thoughts forgotten, more lost dolls and their dust tendrils that are being abandoned under the cupboard.

It's not that I am sad; neither am I in the hysterical throes of a midlife crisis. Rather, I am feeling loss in the sense of it being a feeling. Isn't that strange? I'm not even sure if loss in itself is a Feeling.

Oh I know. Even I get impatient with myself because I should really be living in the moment. But somehow the anticipation of growing up is much sweeter than growing up itself. The anticipation brings with it gleeful thoughts of legitimate rebellion, unrestrained freedom, uninhibited expression (as opposed to the sullen Neanderthal grunts of our younger years). And as for growing up, well, that just creeps up, unnoticed in the fanfare of the anticipation.

Until you feel Loss.

Everybody sails alone
But we can travel side by side
Even if you fail
You know that no one really minds

Toads (Amongst Other Things)

2008-12-04T11:18:00.002+08:00

I am in a strange little orbit today.

Oddly washed over by a sense of tranquility (which is altogether unbecoming, considering that I have a contract exam tomorrow) that I haven't felt in quite a while.

Maybe it's the jazz music. And the breeze and the trees.

Or maybe it's because when I can look back on what has passed with an element of wry amusement (amongst other various emotions, of course), I know it's going to be okay.

We'll all get there someday

A Little Bit; Of Your Heart and Mine

2008-12-03T17:53:00.001+08:00

Loss is explosive.

At that particular instant, your emotions scurry like pathetic mice in frantic disarray.

Fast, faster, fastest.

Until something deep within the recesses of your heart explodes; a quiet sort of violence; an irrevocable sort of violence. With a tremble, and then, a sigh.

Sometimes, loss is customary and so nothing changes. Only the ceasing of a heartbeat that was so quiet, you forgot it was ever there in the first place.

For-get-table. Forgettable.

Loss makes the Heart infinitely larger and yet, indescribably smaller, all at the same time.

Engorged with grief, the irony is that it is only in our loss that our capacity for pain increases. Yet loss incessantly gnaws away (the result of which is a Dull Ache) and a small hole appears. Sometimes the hole is merely enlarged.

We’ve all been told that we have an infinite propensity to heal. And we are fundamentally forgetful; our muddled conscious can only sustain but so much. But the hole, the gaping hole. Does it ever actually close up? Or does it merely cease to bleed?

I don’t know.

When I Talk To You; Leunig

2008-10-05T18:11:00.002+08:00

Dear God,

We struggle, we grow weary, we grow tired.
We are exhausted, we are distressed, we despair.
We give up, we fall down, we let go.
We cry.
We are empty, we grown calm, we are ready, we wait quietly.

A small, shy truth arrives.
Arrives from without and within.
Arrives and is born.
Simple, steady clear.
Like a mirror, like a bell, like a flame.
Like rain in summer.
A precious truth arrives and is born within us.
Within our emptiness.

We accept it, we observe it, we absorb it.
We surrender to our bare truth.
We are nourished, we are changed.
We are blessed.
We rise up.

For this we give thanks.

Amen.

I thought I knew, but I didn't. Help me not to forget this time.
Thank You.

We Stand Up; We Remember

2008-10-01T22:00:00.004+08:00

I'm really curious as to why they included that the door is decorated and that there is a plant outside.

Hi Bimin,
whoever said we weren't happening Obviously Wasn't In The Know.

Summer of '69

2008-09-25T09:40:00.000+08:00

hello to all,
especially those who are away,
you'll be alright.

Words, Beauty, Mine, Yours

2008-09-06T22:55:00.003+08:00

God give us rain when we expect sun.
Give us music when we expect trouble.
Give us tears when we expect breakfast.
Gie us dreams when we expect a storm.
Give us a stray dog when we expect congratulations.
God play with us, turn us sideways and around.

Amen.

- Leunig, When I Talk to You

Hi, Moonie

2008-08-29T23:36:00.009+08:00

For some strange inexplicable reason, I felt like that tonight.
And even stranger, she seemed to know more than a year ago, that one day I would need to hear it again.

to ponks:

sometimes monstrous things lurk in the depths below.

the sky around you's a reckless mess

and you're upset because although you see the white teeth that gleam occasionally,

you can't gauge the extent of its owner's ferocity. whatever that thing is.

but turn your face higher up!

and you'll realize that the sky above is infinitely bigger than the waters below.

sometimes it needs to get dark before you can see the stars, and the first ray of light only comes after the blackest moment.

and then if you look further to the right,you'll know the moon's always there too. (there, where the pen points. it's just hidden in the corner.)
-moonie

She Sells Seashells By The Seashore

2008-08-26T23:12:00.001+08:00

I learnt today that the bravery, it seems, is not in knowing precisely what to do and doing it.

For it is uncertainty and the possibility of error and futility that we fear most, and there is no bravery in the absence of fear. It is in an apparently dogged and foolish perseverance despite the constant clumsiness, the fumbling and falling; and the audacious belief in what is apparently contrary to all that we know and feel.

Courage, is resistance to fear, mastery of fear – not absence of fear. (Good old Mark Twain)

Help me not to dwell on yesterday, or worry about what will happen tomorrow; But to live each day for You, in all things, big or little alike.
Let not the dust of the earth blind me to that that has true and eternal value and put perspective in my eyes that I may have the wisdom to discern the important from the urgent and the bravery to do that which I must.

For Danae

2008-08-25T22:23:00.002+08:00

20th February 2008

i.
We forget so easily
You and I
New gold, shiny with lacerations
Sink deeper than memories
Wrought with the roses of yesterday

ii.
Such careless despair
Abandoned in cold neglect
Wrinkled sweet wrappers in the pocket of new jeans
Cast aside after the lusty satiation of a single spin cycle

iii.
Forgotten prayers from dusty altars to
Forgetful gods who frolick in the waterbaked sun
Sinking into the luxurious seat of oblivion
The roaring promises of a pink curled shell
Fragile as the skin on your sullen eyelid
Danae, wistful in the wake of her lover's golden trail

iv.
Wait, wait, wait,
It drips
The persistent leaky tap
Forging madness in its incessancy
Wait, wait, wait
But nothing happens
Because we are forgotten

v.
The dolls have fallen behind the chest- of-drawers
With only dust tresses for company and beauty
Jagged edges, the lines are spilling
The misery is not in the falling

I am amused that I cannot remember the reason for such intensity

Drip, Goes Time

2008-08-25T21:26:00.005+08:00

Somewhere in the room below mine, someone is listening to Hokkien pop songs and suddenly, I have a strange urge to bellow a loud and cheery 'hello!' but somehow in the crevice of my exhausted mind, I think that that would be rather socially unacceptable.

It disconcerts me that it is only the third week of school because somehow there is already an oddly old familiarity to the routine. There is something significant about unrecognizable and indistinguishable faces slowly becoming familiar ones.

And yet, there are still traces of surrealism because I can't quite reconcile the (relative) permanence of the situation in my mind. It both reassures and scares me that I will spend four years in this routine; the reassurance from the fact that there is an established routine and that the macabre uncertainty is sufficiently over and the fear, from the realization of how easily we get used to things;

the thought that we are willing to give up and forget what we thought we would fight for in exchange for the comfort of a routine pattern.

I don't want to be merely settling, I want to have reason to believe that I am much more of a person than that. I did think that I could turn matyred resignation into contentment but sometimes I think I'm not really sure what the difference is anymore. Of course it can be reasoned out, intellectually and rationally. But that rarely works, mostly because I doubt I am inclined to function that way.

I figured that by deciding what was important to me and making a committment to it, there would be some sort of meaning and purpose that I could use to justify everything else. But the truth is, and I am ashamed to confess it, that the niggling notion of practicality remains. True, it is tucked away. But it remains, nonetheless. And in the face of everything else, it's even harder to ignore it. I think what's worse than being weak is thinking that you're strong and realizing that you're actually not when it's too late. I always thought that I was never one to conform but with the often sad benefit of hindsight, I've come to realize that that was precisely what I was doing with my life: conforming to expectations. Not entirely mindlessly, but sufficiently so.

I don't want this year to just be another change in the numbers on the calendar, quantifying the moments that have passed and the ones to come; a cacophony of days where each might as well be other.

Because I think, and I want to think, that it could be so much more if only I were brave enough to make it such.

And the music has stopped.

And So The Old Adage Goes

2008-04-22T21:41:00.000+08:00

ellen says: i want a boyfriend now!

2008-04-07T23:24:00.004+08:00

when your duty as a friend calls, it calls.
So.

Meet Ellen.
18, female and most importantly, single.
Hails from the western area of Singapore where there are many trees.
Which is a good things, considering she is actually a primate in disguise.
Is highly intelligent, can lay claim to an almost freakish SAT score of 2300 and is very, very particular about cleanliness.
Dispenses clear, rational advice in a sometimes not so clear and rational manner. (refer to below)
Likes her Long Island Iced Teas very much, thankyou.
Is not a communist, despite prior evidence.
Is actually extremely cheerful. Okay, somewhat cheerful. When she feels like it.
Has a penchant for Thailand, beach mats and "see-hups". Or it could be the other way, actually.
Likes Eric Clapton, Sufjan Stevens, Snow Patrol, Jack Johnson and when the occasional embarassing moment beckons, Shakira and her Hips that Don't Lie. Spends her time watching Grey's Anatomy and Gilmore Girls, in between being a primate and paddling in her pool. And working at a company that pays about $20/day to talk herself hoarse.
Would like a man whom she can dispatch to buy CDs (Sondre Lerch, Josh Rouse and more Sufjan Stevens would be highly appreciated) and who will listen to her whine about anything under sun. Intelligence and cleanliness are traits that are non-negotiable but level of hairy-ness can be further discussed.

Interested candidates, contact ponkleberry via this blog.