I just fried another 'cool' keyboard. This is beginning to get embarrassing. (Or else BenQ sucks.)

Intruder around 8

When my sisters heard the jiggling of keys and someone trying to unlock the door, they assumed it was one of the family returning. Then the sounds stopped.

I think it will be a good idea to sleep with our bedroom doors locked tonight, and the dogs in the living room.


A series of not-unwelcome interruptions at work today - he asked: What if the world around you stopped? And in that time, even if it were just 10 minutes, you had it all to yourself. Don't you sometimes wish you could go away to some place and nobody could contact you?

:: Frozen ::

Freeze frame - faces

I walk past -
Glass eyes
Flash of teeth
An arched brow
A raised hand

Fragmented -

And I ponder
My existence.

(c)k. march 2005

For me

I've been meaning to talk to you
but I dont know what about

It's not that I forgot
but just some passing thoughts

I think, I thought, I sought, I found
of poems, songs and other sounds

I think I thought, I think I frowned

I think i fought, I think I drowned

Alas, my thoughts were lost, not to be found
like the man in the sea with his limbs bound.

~ Val. 30 March 2005.

And all because he forgot what he was going to talk to me about. Heh.

Frantic Butterflies

It is meant to be read as you first read it - with all the innuendos.

It is also meant to be read again - without.

It is about drowning each other with our words - and tearing each other to pieces.

Writers are such teases, yes? :-)

Then again, there are so many ways to read a situation or person, wouldn't you say?

Frantic Butterflies

The beating of butterfly wings -

The kindling of breath
Rushing to face
Cheeks coming alive with the fire within.
(Your breath hot against my ears.)

The quickening of pulse
Throbbing in soft of neck
Eyes changing with the shifting shadows.
(Your pulse pressed against mine.)

The awakening of thought
Urging flight to
Fingers impatient for deliverance.
(Your thoughts are drowning me.)

Choking -

As breath slows
The pulse to a deliberation
And eyes darken with
The stillness of thought

Challenging -

Then, desperation -
As we try to hold on to
Grains of realisation that slip faster than
Impassioned words.

The beating of butterfly wings -

So easily
Tearing each other to pieces.

(c)k. march 2005

Worm food

Eh. Do I look like a bookworm or what? Another 3 books just got added to my pile of unread ones in the last week. Siow liao.

Before Sunrise

9 years later - That fascinating mix of desire, longing, restraint, sadness, and above all, the pain of realisation, in Ethan Hawke's face each time he looked at Julie Delpy. Exquisite.

I don't quite get the ending though...


Dog blogging! Hehehehehe.

Frantic butterflies (work in progress)

The beating of butterfly wings

The quickening of breath
Rushing to face
Cheeks coming alive with the fire within.
(Your breath hot against my ears.)


Cheap thrill

Well, we didn't exactly do the biathlon, but I got a kick from knowing that we bladed more than 10km this morning (as evident from the OCD touristy photo-taking; actually I've got more but I'm practising some self-restraint here so I won't scare away all my blading companions). Heh.

And there's a lovely stretch of new track just beyond the twin jetties towards SAFRA.


A tap on the arm.

"...(unintelligible)...your shorts." Some 50-something Caucasian man points to the back.

Oh grrreat... did I tear them? And I haven't even started blading!

"I love your shorts!!!" (Ermmm. Ohhh. Really? I don't even like them that much.)

"Eh...thanks..." Smile graciously. (Because the men have been trying so hard to educate me about accepting compliments graciously instead of with suspicion.) Turn back to friend with a shrug and continue where we were before the strange interruption.

"Ocean Pacific!!! It's good!!! ...(yada yada yada)..." A finger comes dangerously close to label on hem.

"Yeahhh..." Smile graciously. Turn back to friend.

"I hope you don't think I'm trying to hit on you!!! I'm already married, you know!!!" (Yahhh...which is why I took your compliment at face value and was gracious about it. But...now that you mention it...)

Smile graciously. Again. Turn back to friend. Again.

Chow ang moh. And a really loud one too. (Now, who was that who said I should accept 'compliments' graciously?)

Doggy tales

2045 hours.

Home alone with the Jack Rascals, who are in one of their rare sedate modes. The fat one is waiting quietly by my door with his toy (the black rubber tire) for the rest of the family (read: able-bodied playmates - since the one watching him now is hurting from a stiff neck and shoulders) to return - though the eyes would often slowly close and the head nod gently; and then he would regain his composure, willing himself to stay awake. Awwww...

He always has this semi-worried look when he finds himself being watched. Heh.


Hotel Costes 7 - Don't Stop by Dolphin Boy.

Nodnodnodnodnodnodnod :-)

Balaclava Boys

Sniff. The nice collage has been taken down because Mr I-want-a-reshoot! won't quit whining to me that he looks 'phat'. And Mr KNN-you-took-my-photo-secretly! wants to maintain his mysterious brooding-stranger-with-good-looks online persona, which, ahem, apparently has at least one rabid female fan wanting to meet him in person. Phwoar.

MEN!!! Roll eyesss...


The yoga instructor commented that I've lost weight. Tonight cannot sleep liao. Hehehe.

It's all that sweating and detox, I'm telling you. (I've not been eating any lesser.) It worksss...


Work That Body & Lavish from the Hotel Costes 7 album. Phat! Phat! :-)

Drinking on the job

It was a good red and the Magnum cham was interesting. Hey, I deserved it - everyone wanted to know where the cakes were from (Cedele). Ahem.

And now, zzzzz...


"Just give me what you want to; what you think is 'right'. It's up to you."

My mother has this extremely infuriating habit of leaving it to me to make the call, especially when it concerns money matters like sharing household expenses. This is in spite of her already having a figure in mind. I hate it when she plays these guessing games with me; setting me up for her sometimes eventual disappointment, or to her sometimes 'pleasant surprise' - especially when she gets more than what she had expected; which I am beginning to suspect has always been her intention, and not so much some warped satisfaction from having me guess her mind correctly.

I do not like being tested; being set up; being emotionally blackmailed.

People should just tell me what they want. It makes things so much simpler, no?

It has been a strange, strange start to the week...

Balaclava Boys

Have you ever had one of those Mondays that felt more like a Friday?


Bounce Boy
- Everyone's favourite supplier of online pornographic literature, oops, I mean, soulful I-have-a-brain-too-you-know misunderstood sex fiend artist type. (The one with the I'm-too-sexy-for-this-place look lah.)

Blues Boy
- Not so 'blue' anymore :-) (I'm glad the wait was worth it.)

Ehhh... Just a Boy Lor
- Well met, good sir.

It was a lovely evening. Thank you :-)


It was a very humbling experience - to know that one can be so unprepared in a (simulated) life-and-death situation.

Otherwise, it was a rather pleasant weekend out at sea with nice people (except the ones who puked on my stuff during the overnight boat ride), many 'personal questions' and a lot of woman- and man-handling (heh).

Truth or Dare

"Telling someone that you are leaving her because she is not The One is a stupid excuse."

The irony of it all - flew right over his head. An excuse, no matter how 'stupid', is already symptomatic. While some of us would go to the extent of concocting elaborate reasons ('stupid excuses') to avoid the truth, I suppose in his case, he is simply incapable (for whatever reasons) of seeing the truth; seeing things 'the other way'.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The simplest things are the hardest. Like truth. Bare-faced truth.

Perhaps some of us grew up watching too many masked crusaders of justice.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

And then, there is the kind of truth that arrives in an as yet unexplained but undeniably pissed off message on your mobile. I wonder if I dare to dig deeper.

Water Girl

A phone call from one of the guys in my rescue class this afternoon...

I wanna go! Who's on? :-D So my plans to leave the country were dashed twice, but I guess leaving the mainland, even for just a day, is not too bad either, eh?

Deja vu

OMG. Someone's photo on Friendster sure looks like my dad. Ack.


Thought I saw Smoo at Yogaffinity tonight. I did. Heh.

Sigh. Getting old and senile.

Just realised I missed the closing date by two whole months! Whaaattt?!!! But January seemed like only yesterday... whine...

Too many things have been slipping my mind lately... sometimes I even forget about the best friend... sigh...

Time sure flies fast. That, or I am really getting old and senile. Sigh!!!


I stared at the registration card for what seemed like eternity, willing my shrivelled cultural roots to remember the Chinese characters for my name, and feeling the strain on my neck deepening as a few more strands of hair turned white. Dohhh!!! Fortunately, that sorted itself out after a while, and I got my neck massage at the Chinese chiropractor. Heh.

"Open up your legs more..." And whadaya know, as I dropped forward, my forehead landed squarely on the floor - effortlessly! Dance the dance of joy! Smaller classes (only 5 of us today) are definitely better for me - less distracting smells (not so much body odour, which is rare anyhow - just... smells...) and the heat does not feel as stifling. Or maybe it's the morning massage :-D

Lunch at the NIE canteen almost felt like Shangri-la with lush greenery just a few metres away and fluffy blue skies in the horizon. Niceee.

Number One on the dress code for female teachers of the future states that skirts must not be more than 4 fingers above the knee. Why? Because anything more than that and you'll get palmed by students, like so:

"'cher! 'cher! Your skirt too short! Can see my whole hand above your knee already! I show you!"


And 'cher shows student her entire hand too.

[5] Finally, I've not resorted to hanging out at gay clubs, ok? I'm just trying to spend quality time with my sister and my future gay brother-in-law.

Tired. Sleepy. I can't seem to understand or pay attention to what anyone is saying; or rather the processing centre is working better than before but there's just too much coming my way and there's a disconnect somewhere. My spirit is willing, but the flesh is not strong enough. Or maybe it's just the stiff neck getting to me...


I didn't hear you leave
I wonder how am I still here
And I don't want to move a thing
It might change my memory

Oh I am what I am
I'll do what I want
But I can't hide
I won't go
I won't sleep
I can't breathe
Until you're resting here with me
I won't leave
I can't hide
I cannot be
Until you're resting here with me

I don't want to call my friends
They might wake me from this dream
And I can't leave this bed
Risk forgetting all that's been

~ Here With Me, Dido


[1] Karl Ho is one of Cleo's 50 Most Eligible Bachelors. Phwoar!!! (Choke.)

[2] It's almost surreal that the scratching at the door has stopped as suddenly as it had started. (Next time, find out what the girl looks like; and for that matter, how tall - taller - she is; before you start anything.)


My pleas to be excused for an early night went unheeded. Instead, several hands (and an ice-cube) had a go at my very stiff neck. Apparently, the Happy Boys are good at this. Not bad for a temporary relief, actually...

Anyway, does this mean my risk profile just went up? Somemore I drank from the same jug as one of them leh.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

My sister's Happy Boy seemed almost smug as he brought his 4 women around. And he seemed quite happy to hang around us mostly. Shrug. Strange, strrrange, people.

Chio bu


Oso Ristorante. Finally had my 'revenge' linguine with baby clams in basil pesto ;-)~~~ to make up for the bad, very bad, vongole at the The Book Cafe.


Either he's telepathic (which I doubt) or a little wabbit has been passing on information about my whereabouts on Friday evening. Everything is beginning to fall into place... the question on the drive back... the unnecessary phone calls...

Suspicious glance at wabbit. There's something you're not telling me, yes?

PS: He's not reading my blog too, is he? Raise eyebrow.

The following contains strong emotional content and offensive language.

The AC came back from the dead last night.

I was absolutely ecstatic.

So I decided to work late into the early hours of this morning on a rather tricky edit.

I was almost done when the computer died.

My computer DIED.

The edit is now stuck on the harddisk and I have to redo everything from my unreliable memory.

My emails, photos and assorted items of sentimental value are stuck on the harddisk too.

All because my computer D.I.E.D.

I am very upset right now.



Bananas in Pyjamas

Eh... I need to go to this chi-na, I mean Chinese, music cafe called The Ark, or Mu Chuan, at Apollo Centre to check out the band's 8pm performance this Saturday (for work). They play mostly chi-na, eh Chinese, pop songs. Anyone wants to come along and be my B2? Heh.

All work and no play

Man, I have some kinky (new) colleagues. Glow-in-the-dark handcuffs?!! The only glow-in-the-dark thing I own is a T-shirt from the family water theme park at Pasir Ris. See, I'm such a good girl, rrright???

On another note, giving me three job titles only reminds me that I'm being paid as ONE headcount.

Itching. Shedding. Evolving.




Aaaaaarrrrrrgggggghhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Bloody airconditioning (the lack of)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Meeting the parents

In a few days, I shall be meeting the parents of someone I haven't even met in person yet. Gosh.

Speaking of the devil

Last night. His name came up only because he happened to be a few degrees removed from someone we were talking about - his sister was the wife of the man who was thought to have dated the someone before he got married. This morning, the named one appeared - in fact, he had only just returned from an overseas posting. Strange, no?

The Water Bearer

Hmmm. Can a person hold up 2kg of variable weight at any one time? It seems that I have shed another 2kg in the last couple of weeks after some fluctuating readings. And sweat was pouring off me throughout the entire yoga session on Monday.

Singularly peculiar

0542 hours: Woken up by itching skin slightly past three and have not been able to go back to sleep. Must be the #@$%@%! clams. And the airconditioning is dead. It was four hours of sleep the night before too - except I was up until four in the morning working. Double the fun. Grrreatttt...


Twice. Another is reminded of his first love. Dohhh...

Twice. Two nights in a row, I was asked, first by a male, and last night by a female, why I am still single.

"I don't know... it's not my choice to be single." I turned to her and said with what I thought was conviction.

Although, technically, there is always a choice - but 'bad' choices are not real choices, are they? It always seemed to me a strange question to ask. Probably because I never have a 'because' to the 'why'. And the question does assume a certain deliberateness in choice, doesn't it? Or not...? (Humour me. I'm not thinking straight from all the itching and scratching and sleep disruptions.)

"What about you? Why are YOU still single?" As I listened to her 'because' - something about the right guys at the wrong times, and the wrong guys at the wrong times, and eventually deciding to just enjoy the freedom of her singlehood in the meantime - I wondered if maybe, I do have a 'because' after all...

Maybe... I'm too intimidating - moi??? Harrr??? And it most certainly has nothing to do with me being 'fiercely independant' - I'm the hopeless blur sotong that the know-it-alls, I mean really fiercely independant types like and need to have around to feel more independant and smarter about themselves. Heh.

Maybe... I'm too fussy? Rrrighttt... and where did you say you met your boyfriend/girlfriend? While you were blindfolded in a game of tikam tikam? You don't say! Anyway, I don't think I have 'high standards' - hardly. Perhaps, the qualities that I look for are just not... easily found - but by no means are they thus 'high standards'.

Maybe... I don't really know what I want? Well, I don't have a checklist, but that is NOT the same as not knowing what I want. It's really as simple as: "I know when I know." (Or see, for that matter. Looks are important, just not what you think I mean.)


Maybe... I should take up Lysithea's offer.


Maybe... instead of succumbing to my baser instincts *wag finger at self, you naughty girl* (talking about which, I have no intention of blindfolding or closing my eyes when engaged in hypothetical act of said intimacy - it's all about the seeing), I should try to imagine whether I could wash the guy's underwear. Heh.


If I did have a real choice now, it would be to curl up somewhere cold with the dog (the fat one - because he's nice and warm) and go to sleep.


Anon, good sir.

Look down at notes with studious indifference. Smirk to self. Pointedly ignore exchange. Look up occasionally with studied nonchalance. Smirk some more.


I did not say anything. I promised, didn't I?

A few emails. A new development. Soon, I would either have to stop blogging (unlikely) or move this blog somewhere where only close friends (and complete strangers) know. Sigh. Maybe I'm just being paranoid. Maybe not. We'll see...


Outram Secondary School Pool. 0900 - 1600 hours.

We were waiting for our turn at the 25m underwater swim, part of a series of proficiency swims to ascertain our fitness levels before the actual rescue drills. The lifeguard and water polo player in our group made the length, as expected. The others came up for air between 15 to 20m. M prepared for his turn, while I mentally ran through the sequence of steps for mine.

"You can do it." I, Cheerleader.

He looked into the daunting distance and frowned.

"You must complete it ok? Because *I* am going to make it, and you better not lose to a girl."


He didn't make it.

Heh. Heh. Heh. Heh. Heh.

From 2030 last night to 0300 hours this morning...

And in between coffee and beer, and trying to keep up with Bounce Boy whenever we were on the move, I was told that I:

- very bitchy. Leh!
- am a romanticist.
- have noisy gears in my head.
- have a certain 'funny' expression.
- am strrrange.

So now, maybe Mr Tight Pants can breathe a little easier since I have obliged by not blogging too much about everything else. Hmmmpppfff.

12 hours later...

I was back at work. On a Saturday afternoon. Much later in the night, as I spaced out in the cab home and looked out at the nightscape passing me by, I started to daydream of sunny days of quietude outdoors, and drifting into a dreamless sleep under fluffy blue-white skies. For many, many, many hours.

I am so tired.

While you were asleep

The dogs would not stop barking in the early hours of the morning. I wondered why.

This morning, the phone woke me. My mother had just left for work and found out that the old man next door had passed away. A mattress left outside was soaked with blood.