Mr Mao"We will never know. But we hope you will find the peace in death - wherever you are now - that you yearned for in life."
0023 hours2 kg lighter. After three nights without dinner (no time and then I simply forgot). Sigh...
Anyway, just noticed another small spike in page views. He's like my blog pimp (of sorts). Heh.
TodayI feel some better this morning. I guess getting out for a while (and a little alcohol) last night helped. (Ah yes, and the 'koyok' that I took to bed with me. Heh.) Three more days. I badly need rest.
Same place same timeThe evening was not too humid, so we took a table outside for a change. While waiting for the food, I remembered a friend was here just last week to check out the place.
"I am at Zen now. Heh. How did you find it?"
A couple of hours or so later, I look up and see a familiar face stepping out from the main dining area. It takes my fuzzy mind a few seconds to register that the familiar face was my friend. Heh. He had returned a second time with a colleague. (And he did not get my earlier message.)
Say my nameThe trees have lost their vibrant greens. Shades of grey are everywhere I look. This strange fuzzy world seems almost unreal, and I find myself having to suppress the rising panic within. I hate having tired eyes.
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I spent most of today wishing it would be thyroid. At least then, whatever it is that has been plaguing me would have a name. I just need a name; I need to know what it is.
Speaking of which, maybe all we want out of life, more than "Why this?", "Why that?", "Why you?" or "Why me?" is just to know what and who we are. Though our questions might bring us closer to the answers we seek, we sometimes miss what we seek, because we do not (yet) understand or choose to see what is before us; what and who we are. Life is not so much about the questions - the unending questions - but the answers. How often have we skipped around the truth with our own questions - unending questions - seeking the answers we want; willing the answers we desire.
You do not ask a truth why it is. It just is. Your questions might bring you closer to and help you to understand the truth, but they would not change its nature. It still is.
You still are. You are.
But do you know who you are?
Run! Lola! Run!Here is an amusing little saga involving FF and a very persistent male colleague. Heh. Heh. Check out the rest of the related stories too.
To write or not to writeIt is becoming so easy to not write. I am just not in the mood to; and it does not even bother me. Maybe it is the medication; it could have been a coincidence but I remember being on a constant high the two months I was on Diane, before deciding on the lesser of two evils and switching to Rocaccutane. Gee. I miss that feeling.
Or maybe there is just too much work. I suppose things will be better in a week's time when the peak passes, and that nice long weekend swings by.
DeletedFinally figured out how to delete a huge file which had been giving me the "file in use by another program" error message and hogging precious disk space the last several months. I deleted the folder that it was in. Who would have thought? Roll eyes.
Where is this?
Just what the doc orderedPrescription for Tuesday Blues:
 Specially warmed stool, courtesy of the chivalrous one with the 'hot' buns.
 Self-appointed Butt of Everyone's Jokes.
 Welcome smiles and winsome laughter of 2 ladies.
 Late dinner of sausages and onions at Wala.
 3 pints of Boddingtons to unwind the burdened mind.
 Conversations about coupledom, male-bashing, meeting strangers, language and communication etc etc.
 Making full use of the self-appointed Butt of Everyone's Jokes.
 More conversations in Mandarin and more merry-making.
 Late supper of wan ton mee at Lavender foodcourt.
 1 mug of very strong coffee to clear the buzz.
Sorry folks, no photos this time. But if I had remembered to bring along my new (and free! thank you Starhub!) digital camera, here are the photos I would have posted:
- Aberwyn looking happy and being sociable.
- Tetanus squinting his eyes at Aberwyn after being suan.
- Mun Mun's pretty beige pumps with flower details and black trim from Pretty Fit.
- Tetanus squinting his eyes at Aberwyn's muse after being suan.
- The cute dimples on Aberwyn's muse everytime she smiles or laughs.
- Tetanus squinting his eyes at Mun Mun after being suan.
- Me explaining to Tetanus the therapeutic effect of asphyxiation.
- Tetanus squinting his eyes at me after being suan.
- Tetanus in a pastel (awww) blue and furry (awww) sweater, looking all warm (awww) and fuzzy (awww).
Heh. Heh. Heh.
Now, about a prescription for the stiff neck that #@$!$!!&$! refuses to go away...
What did I say?Pointing to one of the paragraphs, I explained that it did not answer the question; the paragraph would have to be taken out or rewritten. (It was an obvious oversight but I figured the others had missed it in the flurry of revisions; and the rather clumsy writing.) Looking up to await his further instructions, I was taken aback by the sharp look that he shot me, almost as if he had just realised my presence and was (re?)assessing me in those few seconds.
I let my eyes glaze over in slave mode and looked 'away'.
Anatomy of a bear
It was a birthday gift from four or five years ago. It is no longer with me; I returned it to the giver.
I just felt like posting something cute tonight. Heh.
Amazing graceHe frowned, face knitted in a curious expression of disapproval and disbelief for several seconds, as he watched the woman a few tables away, feeding on a late dinner.
I turned towards a not-uncommon sight. She was shovelling rice, meat and vegetables into her mouth, chewing in that vigorous way that made her swollen cheeks and entire face heave with the motions of her mouth; feeding. In that moment, it seemed as if all semblance of thought and self-awareness was gone, replaced by a mindless hunger that sought to be sated there and then.
Like him, one of the things that has always bothered me is how people eat. But it is not so much whether they know their soup spoons from dessert spoons, twirl spaghetti with the fork or slurp it up like Maggie Mee, or scoop remaining soup away from themselves. It is how they eat; that beyond the need to satisfy a biological urge and necessity of living, there is nonetheless, a continuing awareness and self-control that differentiates us from mere animals.
He talked about the general lack of social graces among Asians (in particular, Singaporeans), which he observed in the way many carry, or rather, mis-carry themselves when they move, talk or eat; the sloppy T-shirt and jeans combo; the ubiquitous neighbourhood pyjamas brigade; and the non-existent service (perhaps more aptly named dis-service) industry.
I suppose that with most people, it is not so much ignorance, but a lack of effort and possibly, general disinterest in life as well. In his words, there is "no vibrancy" (life) in a shuffling gait. Ah. The Walking Dead; as opposed to The Bouncers, ya? Heh. Heh.
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"Hot date?" She eyed the dress.
"Nooo. Just dinner with an old friend from school who hasn't been back for eight years and the gang from back then."
See what I mean? Why should we only be motivated to dress up to impress a date? Is it so surprising that we want to look good so that we can feel good about ourselves?
Pimping itI so wish I was there to see it for myself. Heh. Heh.
Wine NetworkMet some new people who I would be diving with at Layang-Layang in late May, and ended up at one of the guys' place for another bottle of red, and more lazy talk about interesting dive sites and our upcoming trip. Most of the group have gone beyond Advanced training: 1 Divemaster, 2 Rescue SD, 1 Master SD and 1 Advanced SD (don't know about the last who could not join us tonight). I feel so safe already. Yah rrright. Heh.
Anywayyy, it was a slow and subdued evening and everyone kept their hands to themselves. There was no selective groping of male butts by women, same-sex spanking among the *ahem* happily attached men, or therapeutic neck-squeezes.
Ah well. The quiet evening was not an unpleasant change from the hurried day I had at work and feeling harrassed (from
a few quarters actually). Pout. But I shall restrain myself from making comments about someone's
Mind your languageSouth Park has a minor character who goes by the name of Tolkien Black. I just realised today that it sounds like 'Token Black'. (South Park has a predominantly white cast.) So corny. Hehehe.
Culled"I won't pretend to know what a real writer is. But I can recognise a good one when I read him / her. It shows in the obsessive perfectionism that burns beneath the veneer of breezy effortlessness. Or in the detached perceptiveness concealed in the most passionately voiced narratives. It is equal parts panache and measure, a touch of overt humility blended with subtle conceit."
And certainly does not involve jumping up and down on a piece of half-sized national tabloid, doing the raspberry and ending up with more spittle on yourself.
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy"Curiously enough, though he didn't know it, he was also a direct male-line descendant of Genghis Khan, though intervening generation and racial mixing had so juggled his genes that he had no discernible Mongoloid characteristics, and the onl vestiges left in Mr L. Prosser of his mighty ancestry were a pronounced stoutness about the tum and a predilection for little fur hats."
0220 hoursAs certain as the sun will rise again, he is back.
Tell me what to do this time.
Behind the wordsReading a new blog from someone's links, I realised that I know who she is, not so much from her writing style, but a few things that she had mentioned before. And the demographics are about right.
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Sigh. Again. The same questions are beginning to sound really silly. Why would you want to meet someone just so you can experience more of the same? Or is it some kind of test? Ah well. Nevermind. (Do you know just what it is that you are asking for? Do you?)
My only consolation is that the people who I do not want reading this blog are unlikely to realise who I am.
Intruder at 102204 hours
As I walked past the living room, I heard the catch of the main door flip twice, the way it always does when one of us is unlocking the door, the sharp metallic clack-clack announcing our departure or return. I figured it was dad since both sisters were home and mum had left for a holiday. More than ten seconds passed, but the door remained closed. Some nights (and days), having just come off the ethanol high-way, it takes several more seconds for the man's head to stop spinning from the earlier effort expended connecting key to keyhole and flipping the catch, before he would attempt opening the door.
As several more seconds of silence passed, I began to wonder.
There was no one at the door. Elmo, coming over to sniff at the doorway and look out into the quiet corridor, seemed to think so too. Come to think of it, neither of the dogs came running or barked when the sounds started, which they usually would, if it had been one of us, or a stranger, or any person.
I remembered my sister telling me that she had smelled insecticide outside our door a few days ago. Perhaps the Environment taskforce had just come by on one of their dengue rounds. Or it was from the neighbour whose windows are adjacent to our main door; the neighbour whose father used to sprinkle our plants with some kind of white powder or spray them with insecticide until I caught him in the act and we complained to his son.
I'm not going crazy. I'm not going crazy. I'm not going crazy from. I'm not going crazy.
SoundGabriel (by Lamb) *video here
I can fly
I can love
Bless the day he came to be
I succumbed to a 50ml bottle of fresh, green, crisp scent of garden lavender. Yum :-)
And went home with another 5 pretty babies (perfume samples) - because the sales remembered me as the 'Violetta Girl' - snorting myself to high heaven. Mmmm }-)
Petite Cherie (Annick Goutal): "The perfume you want to kiss. A fruity-floral fragrance in which vanilla, peach, musk rose and freshly cut grass recall purity and boldness. Like a naive and determined woman-child who both stirs the senses and moves the heart."
Quel Amour! (Annick Goutal): "The discrete scent of peonies, suggestive of a budding impudence, is enhanced with a blend of wild roses and geranium rosa, and the result is a beautiful bouquet, reminiscent of the spring day and of a new love. Notes of red currants, pomegranates, cherries and wine peaches lend a sense of sweet cravings and vague desires. A question lurks: Will the love last? The answer, at last, is Yes!"
Le Chevrefeuille (Annick Goutal): "Honeysuckle: the joy of a flower of love. Heloise and Abelard loved each other with a passionate but impossible love. The letters they exchange are masterpieces of romantic poetry. In the garden where they lie in eternal rest, it is said that a honeysuckle plant sprang up between them. Ever since then, the plant has become the symbol of passion that knows no obstacles."
Mimosa Pour Moi (L'Artisan Parfumeur): "Memories of a weekend on the Riviera with the mimosas in bloom."
La Chasse Aux Papillons (L'Artisan Parfumeur): "Chasing butterflies... a heavenly fragrance playing hide-and-seek amongst orange and lime trees in blossoms."
SightI wish I were there too. Lucky dog. (And thank you for the link.)