With some people solitariness is an escape not from others but from themselves. For they see in the eyes of others only a reflection of themselves.
~Eric Hoffer

Life has been sailing pretty smoothly, if I ignore all that stuff at the back of my head and what. What? What stuff? Well, for one I now have to conduct a lesson on Margaret Atwood. For S Lit. Five pairs of eyes on me for like three hours, which can sound positive (thank God for small favours, like I told Mi'er) or negative depending on which way I look at it. I nearly flipped when I read Julian Lim's e-mail to us all last night.

Still, at least it's a subject that I like (plus one), and after all I DID make that vow. (Plus two.) Which I'll have to keep to, no excuses now. At least it's not twenty eight people, or forty-four, or anything scary like that. (Plus three.)

After the shock it's actually possible to look forward to it, to a time when finally I will know I CAN and I ALWAYS WILL be able to do something like that... something that will send my fears flying to outer space forevermore. Let's not think about the way I'll feel, IF (I nearly typed "WHEN") I screw it up.

Positive mentality, positive mentality, positive mentality. Right.

Speaking of positivity, I went out to Far East Plaza recently (got a nice new watch that I'm decorating/ mutilating myself, depending on how you look at it) and had this perfectly HUGE double-scoop ice-cream cone. All by myself. When I licked it it came right up to my nose. I think the girl at the counter thought I was on drugs or something, I had this huge, dazed, goopy grin on my face... ^_^

Gave Miaka a bath today. He was NOT pleased. He used to give us these "I'm-so-pitiful" looks to get his way, but recently he has acquired this challenging glare. My sister says it's because he's an adolescent cat now, so he's turning rebellious ^_^;

Made a list last night, of some things I really want to the point of need. This came from reading half of Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale, and I realised how much I have around me that I take for granted. You know these things: Things you want for yourself but don't buy cos' "They'll always be here anyway... perhaps some other day." Well, big surprise, one day these things might still be around, but you may not be. Or you may be around, but these things may not be. Why not pamper ourselves? I like to feel like a deserving, fulfilled human being.

The essential self is, after all, quite easily satisfied. I can't quite reason out why I want these things. They are, after all, not necessities. But it seems that I've always wanted them, I just used to rationalize about why I can't have them yet. "Reason not the need".

I want:

1. Double-scoop ice cream. I don't care about the brand, chocolate sprinkles might be a bonus, but I want them double scoop. The cheap kind, in a little biscuit cone. I never used to buy double cos' my mom said they were too expensive. Screw the expensive.

2. Cleo magazine. I've never read any others apart from the 1997 issue. I like their writing style: informal, funny, and their articles are not bad either.

3. Make-up. I know, why buy it if I'm never going to use it? I just like the look of it, the delicately coloured powder, the perfumed scents. What I want now, is lavender eyeshadow. No, I never wear make-up when I go out, and I'm not intending to. But looking at it makes me happy. I like pretty things.

4. Hallmark notebooks. The really colourful, pretty ones. I got one for my birthday, I don't use it. Again, just looking at it makes me happy.

5. Black clothing. When I was younger, my parents wouldn't allow me to wear black. Now I want black, lots and lots of black. Gothic style.

6. Jewelry. Bangles that jingle with a silvery sound; chunky metal with stones set in them, elegantly carved.

Finally, at least, I know some of the things I really want, and guess what, finally, they're attainable.

What do you want?

I was getting worried that I'd never write again, but just a few days before, I got out three poems in one day. That's the only second time I've ever done that, so far. The last time was when I wrote "Firedust" and "Autumn Light", which are my favourites. This time my poems were pathetically mediocre. "Lie" and "Oneiros (dream)" and "Something Happy". Ironically, not a very happy poem, but then you expected that.

I could say that I'm just not in the mood, but then what am I writing for? To prove something to myself, or to you? Who are you anyway?

I was just reading a couple of people's blogs as well as some poems by my e-mail writing group and there's a whole bunch of stuff on unrequited love, or love, or "You-hate-me-but-I'll-love-you-anyway" love (a rather popular theme), and I can't quite say I can connect to all that. I like angst, but when it's about love, I'm quite out of it all, you know? But I was reading these two blogs of guys I sort of know and I really admire their devotion to their girlfriends, even though they've broken up. Unlike a lot of stuff I see, there's nothing immature about it all. They really loved them. I admire strength of devotion in men, especially after having stereotyped them as heartless/ faithless or simply less emotional. That's why I like books like Jane Eyre.

It all makes me stop and reflect on myself. The business I started... I really should stop it. I really should. I just don't want to admit that I'm losing control, and yet by saying this, I'm admitting it already. Still, sometimes I really hate having to be so bloody rational. It seems that I always have to stop, check my position, North South East West, see where I'm going and where my life is headed... after a while, does it even matter?

How old will I be before I can finally stop caring?

Oh my sleeping child the world's so wild
but you've build your own paradise
That's one reason why
I'll cover you sleeping child

For the sake of faster page-loading (got tired of sitting before my com waiting... and waiting... and waiting) I just changed the number of posts shown on this page to eight. Just eight. So the rest, if you're still interested in my life, are hanging about in the archives.

Got 159 visitors here in one month minus two days. Not bad. But really, I'm kinda getting sick of this monologue. Comments would be appreciated. Also, I spent an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out how to put links up on the left margin to no avail (gomen, minna-chan) so if anyone knows, please tell me... oh, and I'm trying to change my background too. It's the only decent-looking one Blogger has, which means half the world has it too, so change is good. Um. Yeah.

What am I saying. Bleah.

I need coffee...

Art Club elections today were a real eye-opener. In terms of attitude, that is. Only three juniors actually bothered to turn up on time (whereupon Weibin humorously pointed them out to Jacinth, Kah Yin and me: “President, vice-president, secretary. Ok, we can go home now”). Furthermore out of the six current Ex-Co members, only four bothered to turn up, and three of them were extremely LATE. If generations after generation of Ex-Cos are going to follow this tradition, I foresee the demise of our beloved Club.

You Heng photocopied his face -_-; and the J1s were supposed to come up with a new hairstyle for him. J2s did it too, but since we weren’t being judged for the elections, we had a huge flaming ball of fun. Out of all the J2s, only the “regulars”—Jacinth, Janise, Weibin, Kah Yin, Zhang Qing and I— were here today. I gave You Heng nice pink lips, purple eyeshadow and blue hair with slight curls (someone said he looked like Kelly Osbourne)!!! Weibin made us all laugh by churning out pictures of You Heng as a shithead clown, a bearded old man etc etc. Zhang Qing turned him into a really pretty drag queen, I gave him psychedelic hair, Kah Yin did a great one in liquid paper of him as an old lady. We had such atrocious fun. We hadn’t known till now that we hated YouHeng so much—this was sheer malice—and Janise supported us by photocopying more and more pictures of the Most Decorated Face in Art Club.

Actually, I have to confess that You Heng never did anything directly wrong to me. But there is really something wrong in his arrogance, his awful attitude, especially the PERVERTED things he said to Janise etc etc etc. Janise and You Heng have never got along well together. All us J2s foresaw a repetition of that during the election, when one girl candidate actually started arguing with a guy—interrupted him right in the middle of his speech, for godsakes—over some trivial matter of definitions in his speech. These two must not get elected together (though it is highly likely). They’ll devour each other like their predecessors do.

Anyway, we did sixteen pictures of You Heng in all, and we’re going to use it as a Art Club recruitment poster next year.

Something tells me no one will mind.

Tori Amos lyrics that caught my little eye: (this one's quite well-known)

Silent All These Years

Excuse me but can I be you for a while
My dog won’t bite if you sit real still
I got the anti-Christ in the kitchen yellin at me again
Yeah I can hear that

Been saved again by the garbage truck
I got something to say you know but nothing comes
Yes I know what you think of me you never shut up
Yeah I can hear that

(chorus) But what if I’m a mermaid in these jeans of his
with her name still on it
Hey but I don’t care cause
sometimes I said sometimes I hear my voice
And it’s been here
Silent all these years

So you found a girl who thinks really deep thoughts
What’s so amazing about really deep thoughts
Boy you best pray that I bleed real soon
How’s that thought for you

My scream got lost in a paper cup
You think there’s a heaven where the screams have gone
I got 25 bucks and a cracker
Do you think it’s enough to get us there

(chorus)

Years go by
Will I still be waiting for somebody else to understand
Years go by
If I’m stripped of my beauty and the orange clouds raining in my head
Years go by
Will I choke on my tears till finally there is nothing left

One more casualty you know we’re too easy
easy easy easy

Well I love the way we communicate
Your eyes focus on my funny lip shape
Let’s hear what you think of me now
But baby don’t look up the sky is falling
Your mother shows up in a nasty dress
It’s your turn now to stand where I stand
Everybody lookin’ at you
Here take hold of my hand
Yeah I can hear them

But what if I’m a mermaid in these jeans of his
with her name still on it
Hey but I don’t care cause
sometimes I said sometimes I hear my voice
And it’s been here
Silent all these years

This used to be da-jie's favourite song. I know, because she used to sing it in Sec. 3, when I was sitting next to her. Janise and I also sang it in Art Club last week while we were doing our stuff, along with lots of Celine Dion. Anyhow, this song got stuck in my head today, for strange reasons unknown.


Melissa Manchester
Don't Cry Out Loud

Baby cried the day the circus came to town,
'Cause she didn't want parades just passing by her.
So she painted on a smile and took up with some clown,
While she danced without a net upon the wire.
I know a lot about her, 'cause you see,
Baby, is an awful lot like me.

Don't cry out loud,
Just keep it inside,
And learn how to hide your feelings.
Fly high and proud.
And if you should fall,
Remember you almost had it all.

Baby saw that when they pulled that big top down,
They left behind her dreams among the litter.
And the different kind of love she thought she'd found,
There was nothing left but sawdust and some glitter.
But Baby can't be broken, 'cause you see,
She had the finest teacher, that was me.
I told her:

Don't cry out loud,
Just keep it inside,
And learn how to hide your feelings.
Fly high and proud.
And if you should fall,
Remember you almost had it all.

Don't cry out loud,
Just keep it inside,
And learn how to hide your feelings.
Fly high and proud.
And if you should fall,
Remember you almost made it.

Don't cry out loud,
Just keep it inside,
And learn how to hide your feelings.
Fly high and proud.
And if you should fall,
Remember you almost had it all.

I. Am. Freaking. Amused.

Actually, I'm not. But I don't quite know how to feel, so let's just place it under "amused".

... On second thoughts, I am amused. Sort of.

I give up. Go figure that out for yourself.

I don't normally see many people that I know at the canteen like, oh, two whole periods after school ends. Suddenly on the day that I cry three people have to see me, one of whom is my civics tutor, and he took me aside for a little while to ask if everything was ok. I think I kinda freaked him out that day. Anyway, I got out of it by laughing stupidly at nothing and saying lots of vague elliptical sentences (nice and Pinteresque) so yeah. I'm in the library right now, waiting for my Book Club to begin.

Actually, what I'm waiting for is Lit S, but I like to think of it as a book club.

12 people died in Hongkong today.

Feel quite upset.

You are Morgan Le Faye, King Arthur's sister. One of the most mysterious and enchanting ladies of Camelot, Morgan was an powerful sorceress.

Which Lady of Camelot Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Suzanne Vega
"Book Of Dreams"

In my book of dreams [X3]

I took your urgent whisper
Stole the arc of a white wing
Rode like foam on the river of pity
Turned its tide to strength
Healed the hole that ripped in living

In my book of dreams [X3]

The spine is bound to last a life
Tough enough to take the pounding
Pages made of days of open hand

In my book of dreams [X3]

Number every page in silver
Underline in magic marker
Take the name of every prisoner
Yours is there my word of honor

I took your urgent whisper
Stole the arc of a white wing
Rode like foam on the river of pity
Healed the hole that ripped in living

In my book of dreams [X3]

Destruction, the sixth of The Endless, you are a rebel. You abandoned your realm, refusing to be held responsible for all the disasters in the world. You roam forever, trying to escape what you are. Always on the run, and never facing the truth, you live in denial. It's not your responsibility, it's not your fault, and it's not your problem, even when it is.

Which Endless are you?
brought to you by Quizilla


... You know, I really take back what I said about the piano leg? ...

I tried the test again, seriously this time. This time round I got "Dream", whom I really like, though I would have also wanted Death or Destiny. Everyone loves Death. She's cool.

"Dream" seems to fit me better though.

Dream, the third of The Endless, you are in charge of the Dreaming, all imagination and creativity. Everyone knows your beautiful realm, but none truly understand it. You are dark and brooding, creative, and spend a lot of time by yourself, just thinking. You are almost as serious as Destiny, but not quite. Everyone is enchanted by you, but you keep them all at a distance, even when you shouldn't.

You're depressed. Really you are. And you definitely have a reason. You often space out and stare at things blankly, even if you're normally hyper and energetic. This is because nothing really seems important anymore. You might just be sad right now, or you might be manic depressive. Don't worry. Have some cocoa and stuff'll be ok.

How Depressed are You?
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... Eh? I was aiming for "normal". Really I was. And no, I am NOT depressed, thank you so very much *whacks computer with a flaming antique piano leg and starts screaming*

Alright, joking aside, I really do feel good today. I've been doing Math. (Does the first sentence contain any relevance to the second?)

At least this graphic matches my layout. Sort of.

Was at the class bench after school with Hanjie, somehow Gaston and I just started talking. Strangely I actually found myself telling him I write poetry -- it isn't something I ordinarily like to reveal, but he was just so easy to talk to. (Wouldn't let him read any of it though.) John has the same effect on me -- surprisingly, I like to talk to guys. I don't quite have to put a guard up against them, which sometimes I do, with girls.

Spoke to Wanyu after that, when she'd got off from class. Won't say much about it but I think talking is therapuetic. I didn't get very in-depth; however when you find you've talked things over to someone other than yourself it becomes much easier to let go. Shujun saw me crying and sms-ed me after that, even though I hardly know her. It reminds me of what Aziz said in A Passage To India, about what makes the world a better place (or something to that effect. I might have misquoted it, it's off the back of my head).

"Kindness, kindness, and more kindness. I assure you it is the only hope."

There's going to be a Full Moon tonight. Make a wish, everyone.

... And before you know it, suddenly I feel like I'm about to cry.

I'm in the library now during break. The silence here is cold but comforting, and the "quiet light", lying peacefully on everything, on the screen, my face, my fingers, on me. It gives me a nice delusion that I can say anything I want here and it will just be carried away by rippling waves of light. That maybe my thoughts will reach a place nicer than the one my mortal body is stuck in. But of course I know it isn't true really. Yes, I know life isn't really bad.

I don't have anything much to say now because I'm not feeling anything.

I wonder if anyone has ever tried posting a blank message on her blog.

There's going to be Plath for Lit later. I should like that.

...I miss him, and I'm tired of finding real people as his substitutes.

I was perfectly fine today, and yesterday, and the day before, and all of a sudden as I went into the library and took a book of "Selected Poems of W. H. Auden" from the shelf I started to feel an overwhelming panic and it seems the only way I can get it out of my mind is to sit down at a computer and type...

It feels like a thread somewhere has broken, I was perfectly fine this morning I even laughed a lot at Yihua's letter and nothing of any importance really happened, so why do I feel so anxious?

There's something wrong something is wrong I only felt it during our last period Lit lesson where we were doing practical criticism and she was talking about embalming and dead bodies and I got a jolt a sharp sudden shock, I thought I should be over it it was five bloody years ago but why do I still feel this way whenever something of this sort is mentioned in school? Last year when we were doing Plath Ms Lim started talking about Buddhist funeral rites where you have to use chopsticks to pick up pieces of bone after they cremate the body so that you can put them in the jar and suddenly I thought of the gleaming fragment of skull I touched... I never thought it influenced me very much but apparently it has as she went on and on and on I put my hands over my ears but I could still hear her talking about it, and talking and talking and talking and I wanted to grab the door and fling myself out but that would have attracted too much attention...

Why do I want to improve myself why do I want to change things why do I even bother isn't it so much easier to be dead?

Isn't it so much easier to be dead?

Had Council Elections today ^_^ Very fun!!! There was this guy I quite liked the look of (pity he's younger than me), he was doing this comic thing, went round trying out pick-up lines on girls. "Do you believe in love at first sight, or shall I walk by again?" Thought that was real funny. There was also a guy who played the guitar and sang, he has a fine voice. Overall, it was very fun, not like an election at all. =)

We had a long break today as a result of the elections. Mi'er and I spent a long time talking, which was really nice. Mostly we talked about Lit S. It feels so good to be able to read a book and then discuss it with someone... we both like Hamlet better than King Lear, but King Lear is so tragic... especially, I think, the moment where Kent says, "Is this the promised end?" It just feels so, so very sad.

Should be getting back our Lit papers tomorrow. *shiver*

I read somewhere once that songs which appear subconsciously in our minds can be pretty accurate reflections of our emotional state. Now, I kinda believed this when I got "Semi-Charmed Life" stuck in my head when I was feeling down. Today, however, what is in my head is "How much is that doggy in the window", which has got me totally bummed.

O_O

“What is plucked will grow again,
What is slain lives on,
What is stolen will remain--
What is gone is gone."

“Who has choices need not choose.
We must, who have none.
We can love but what we lose--
What is gone is gone."


Quotes again, from “The Last Unicorn”. I’m getting very fond of quoting. I wonder if I should stop that, if it’s getting annoying for people who read my blog. Still, this is my blog, this is my space, and anyone who doesn’t like it will just have to endure. ^_^

“What is gone is gone…”

I was doing some thinking last night while writing in my diary, thinking about my feelings. Wondering if I feel uneasy because all the way from suicide and back, nothing has really changed. Sure, I’ve got a self-help book, I’ve undone my negative self-image, and I’ve been trying to change things. Yet after a while none of it really pleases me, and I don’t know why.

When I write I often use the image of a glass globe. That goes all the way back to Secondary school. I bought this glass globe; you know the kind with water in it, and lots of shiny pretty glitter. Inside the globe was one of those Japanese fortune cats with a big, beaming, satisfied smile. I thought: I would sure like to be that cat.

Nothing can hurt her; the globe protects her, she will forever be untouched by the world. The world of the globe is unreal. You know that; I know that. Yet she doesn’t know that, and she’ll be perfectly contented as long as she doesn’t know. She can sit, safe and secure, in an artificial world of her own and silently bring happiness to people.

And her world is so perfect. Her world is so pretty.

All of us sit in our own glass globes, because all of us have our own versions of reality. Too many times I have felt that things, or people, come along and land a huge blow on my globe. And I have to mend the cracks, as fast as I can, because I don’t want to see the darkness howling outside.

So “What is gone is gone…” Is that true? Can I believe that? Nothing really triggered my depression. Nothing really pulled me out of it. I cannot believe that more cracks won’t come; I can’t sit safe, and secure, and think that the glitter is real.

Maybe I’m just thinking too much. Maybe I’m just plain hard to please. But you know what it is like; when you build things up with your very life, and they break… at one blow… just like that.

A song by Joni Mitchell

Both Sides Now

Bows and flows of angel hair and ice cream castles in the air
and feather canyons everywhere, I've looked at clouds that way.
But now they only block the sun, they rain and snow on everyone.
So many things I would have done but clouds got in my way.

I've looked at clouds from both sides now,
from up and down, and still somehow
it's cloud illusions I recall.
I really don't know clouds at all.

Moons and Junes and ferris wheels, the dizzy dancing way you feel
as every fairy tale comes real; I've looked at love that way.
But now it's just another show. You leave 'em laughing when you go
and if you care, don't let them know, don't give yourself away.

I've looked at love from both sides now,
from give and take, and still somehow
it's love's illusions I recall.
I really don't know love at all.

Tears and fears and feeling proud, to say "I love you" right out loud,
dreams and schemes and circus crowds, I've looked at life that way.
But now old friends are acting strange, they shake their heads, they say
I've changed.
Something's lost but something's gained in living every day.

I've looked at life from both sides now,
from win and lose, and still somehow
it's life's illusions I recall.
I really don't know life at all.

I've been feeling good for no reason at all for quite a while now. Which feels really strange. And strange as it may sound, it really doesn't feel good. There's this vague awareness at the back of my mind that tells me something will soon break and I will fall. But then again, that could just be paranoia.

Been trying to straighten out my life a bit... my relationship with my mom, for one, and the little things about myself. I have a deadly fear of public speaking, so I made a vow that I'll do every single darn group presentation there is until the day that I'm no longer afraid of it. Now, when I made this vow, it really DID NOT FEEL GOOD. But like Martha Beck (the author of the self-help book I swear by) said, trying to overcome a fear without actually placing yourself in it is like learning to swim without touching the water. It just isn't done.

There's another mess I feel really responsible for... that's the guy I used to like. He can't even bear to look me in the eye now, though he does look very happy to see me. And when we take the same bus together, he practically runs off once we alight, which I found quite amusing... am I really that scary? ^_^ I felt like grabbing him and telling him I really don't eat people... (I prefer chicken). But seriously, all along when I liked him I was very much aware why.

He reminds me very strongly of my father. My father died when I was thirteen.

I have been extremely irresponsible and unfair towards him.

Never fall blindly in "love"... cos' when you regain your eyesight, what you see will definitely not be pretty.

What Type of Flirt Are You? a test from Emode.com

Were you just winking at us? We couldn't quite tell... In fact, we think it's pretty safe to say that you're a Subtle Flirt — you're a master of the flirting game. You know how to attract attention from anyone, any time. A quick come-hither smile, a little game of look-away-and-look-back-again — before long you have the object of your affection wrapped around your little finger. One of the best things about your approach is that it's discreet. You can always act innocent and coy if something gets taken out of context or misunderstood. Just make sure you're not too subtle, or you may end up playing the game all by yourself.

Just last night I was flipping through this back issue of Cleo magazine (and if you really wanna know how back, that was a March 1997 issue… my birthday present in primary school) and it had lots of interesting articles about what men think which really, well, interested me. Speaking as a girl who used to avoid boys cos’ they teased her for being fat and later went to a girls’ school and still doesn’t come into much contact with them these days… men are, in my dictionary, listed as a sub-point under “Alien species—TOUCH NOT”. I was never very aware of them, not generally. I mean, I can’t help but notice not everyone in school wears a skirt as part of the uniform, but because I don’t talk much to them they might as well not be there. And now all of a sudden they’re getting into my consciousness.

I am not referring to him in particular… yeah you all know who I am talking about. I mean that I’ve recently got to know this girl friend that’s had six boyfriends and is, to me, quite the expert on men. And all of a sudden there’s this whole new dimension out there that I only ever vaguely knew existed. I never knew, for one thing, that men actually got concerned over their weight, that “90% of all men watch pornography” (a generalization, I realize, but when you’re in a group of knowing females and most of them agree on this point it tends to have an impact on you) and some men know all about the different types of women’s underwear even more than I do (what the hell for?!) and when a group of men get together, no matter what the topic of conversation starts out as, they will eventually and definitely get round to talking about women. I clarified this last point with a guy, who agreed it was true. What do they talk about? Erm, body parts.

My reaction: !

Besides that, there are also the more subtle differences… in personality, you could say. I learned the hard way some time back that when a man says he wants to be alone, he means that he wants to be ALONE, and it’s a matter of life and death to a woman if she tries following him. Now, I know some women behave this way too. As a matter of fact, if I just go off by myself all of a sudden I really don’t want or expect anyone to come after me… but if I storm off in a huff or something, that’s different. Then I DO. I think men have difficulties recognizing this difference. Also, when I’m around a woman in any situation, instinctively I know I have to TALK, and sometimes I just don’t want to. Again, with a man, it’s different… when I’m around guys I feel no pressure to talk whatsoever which is really more comfortable in that way.

And then another fundamental difference is how we spend our time.

I wouldn’t mind sitting in front of the TV watching sports and drinking beer (I’m quite attracted to alcohol actually, despite all my past Biology lessons) but it has to be a sport WORTH WATCHING, like Judo maybe. 22 men chasing after one little ball is simply not my cup of tea. What are women famous for doing, then? Shopping, of course. And then again we have the difference. I once described a shopping experience to a group of friends comprising of two females and one male… the girls were attentive and understanding, and the guy was attentive and very, very horrified.

Here’s a tip for all women: If you have a guy you really, really hate and you want to do something really VICIOUS to him, make him go shopping with you. Better still, bring along this old, ugly and really BIG handbag. MAKE HIM CARRY IT. And then make sure you shop somewhere that his buddies might be hanging out, just to keep him on his toes.

Now that’s evil.

A song by Suzanne Vega


Solitude Standing

Solitude stands by the window
She turns her head as I walk in the room
I can see by her eyes she's been waiting
Standing in the slant of the late afternoon

And she turns to me with her hand extended
Her palm is split with a flower with a flame

Solitude stands in the doorway
And I'm struck once again by her black silhouette
By her long cool stare and her silence
I suddenly remember each time we've met

And she turns to me with her hand extended
Her palm is split with a flower with a flame

And she says "I've come to set a twisted thing straight"
And she says "I've come to lighten this dark heart"
And she takes my wrist, I feel her imprint of fear
And I say "I've never thought of finding you here"

I turn to the crowd as they're watching
They're sitting all together in the dark in the warm
I wanted to be in there among them
I see how their eyes are gathered into one

And then she turns to me with her hand extended
Her palm is split with a flower with a flame

And she says "I've come to set a twisted thing straight"
And she says"l've come to lighten this dark heart"
And she takes my wrist, I feel her imprint of fear
And I say "I've never thought of finding you here"

Solitude stands in the doorway
And I'm struck once again by her black silhouette
By her long cool stare and her silence
I suddenly remember each time we've met

And she turns to me with her hand extended
Her palm is split with a flower with a flame

My first reactions to using charcoal:

"Mmm."

"Gugh."

"Oops."

"Oh no!"

"GAAAAAHH!!!!!"

I've fallen in love with using it... it's so smooth! And very dark. But as for the way my pictures are turning out... that's another story :p My putty eraser, which I bought only yesterday, has absorbed so much charcoal it now looks suspiciously like blue-tac. Now, I'll just have to remember not to stick stuff on my bedroom walls with putty eraser... ^_^;

I was soaring with delight after I got home from Art Friend yesterday... immediately sms-ed everyone in Art Club about my new purchase. Turns out Yu Heng knows something about it and offered to guide me!!! Hee... hope this will help me make lots better pictures... Mi'er... I'll need you too... :)

Here's part of a poem for all of you:

How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be;
Let the more loving one be me.

~ W.H. Auden, "The More Loving One"

I've always liked this bit of the poem. Even if, dissecting it with the rational mind, one might say that waiting for love that can never be is pretty dumb. Not to mention useless. Yet a lot of us tend to do dumb and useless things anyway. But, if 50% of the world does stupid things at the same time, then in some weird way it isn’t really stupid any more, is it?

I'm not very sure of what I'm feeling now, apart from being bored out of my mind. I mean, the past few days I was nothing short of buoyant, but I woke up this morning feeling distinctly like one of those seven dwarfs whose name starts with a G. Nothing that a cup of coffee wouldn’t cure, but at least it shows me to be mentally healthy. Have you ever met one of those people who float around radiating joy and exuberance and goodwill? I’m sorry, but meeting one of those people when I’m miserable just makes me want to kick them. Hard. Fortunately for us, most of the human population is relatively normal.

I'm going out to Bras Basah Complex later to buy charcoal (for drawing), which pleases me immensely. My mom is paying, which gave me a pleasant surprise, cos’ this is the first time she’s actively supporting me in my art. I seem to only like drawing in black and white... though recently I've been intrigued by doing colour-pencil on totally black paper. It has quite a nice effect, as long as the rules in the mind are changed: To make an area darker, you don't shade more. You shade less.

Miaka (my cat) has been boisterous to the extreme lately... which wouldn't be bad, if I had the energy to keep up with him. However, yours truly has spent the entire holiday lying about exuding the inner vibrancy of a salted seaweed. And in case you're wondering, Miaka turned out to be a HE, after all. We all thought he was a she, but well, things started developing. Literally.

8.20 am. I shall try to get some work done now.

This is what you wrote under "comments":

He wrote a 1300 word letter to me in reply to my letters to him asking for advice. is that lengthy or what...? i haven't read it--it's so long i don't even feel like reading it. or maybe i'm so afraid to discover criticism and statements in his letter that i could have so easily given myself. it's funny how i hoped for his response and now, i'm so afraid of it. condemn me.

i thought about the problems in my life. but i didnt really know what to think of them. i was too afraid to face them. but one thing i'm sure. HE is one of the problems. he was. and he still is.

And this is my reply.

No I will NOT condemn you, and I have already told you what I think of his letter, so I’ll just say it again: Downright insensitive. On the phone you kept saying things like oh, it didn’t affect you that badly, sometimes people need a bit of shock to jarr them out of depression, guys are generally less aware about the power of their words etc. etc. etc… Now. I don’t honestly know if you REALLY feel that way. What really complicates things is YOU DID LIKE HIM, in some way YOU STILL DO, and I’ll bet a whole package of my Oreos that on some level it definitely HURT. I don’t know the guy, so I can’t comment too much on him or tell you that he probably wrote that in the fit of a bad mood (which it does sound like he did), so if you think that’s the way brothers should act towards each other, that’s fine with me. What I have to say is, I know you and Sean talk to each other like that too, but Sean has been your brother much longer that /he/ has, and when you talk to him like that you probably know beforehand that HE CAN TAKE IT. Does kx appreciate being your brother? I’m not very sure about that. But again, as I said, I don’t know the guy. You will have to judge that for yourself.

RGS taught us all about a self-respecting spirit. Let’s show a little bit of that. Do you really want him in your life? Despite all that you’ve said, do you still like him, really? I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again now: If I were you, I’d kick his ass to the moon. You decide. You know I’ll still be behind you.

Some quotes about the war that I got in my e-mail...

(No prizes for guessing what I think about this whole thing. I mean, if there's one thing history is supposed to teach us, it's how to learn from others' mistakes. And all what I've learnt from history is, damn, people absolutely. never. learn from those mistakes. They seem to have some kind of warped preference for making their own.)

"CNN said that after the war, there is a plan to divide Iraq into three parts ... regular, premium and unleaded."
-Jay Leno

"The president boasted at the top of his press conference that we have the support now of Britain and Spain for our attack on Iraq. You know, when you want to make it perfectly clear to the world that you're not an imperialist, the people you want in your corner are Britain and Spain."
-Bill Maher

"We have it. The smoking gun. The evidence. The potential weapon of mass destruction we have been looking for as our pretext of invading Iraq. There's just one problem - it's in North Korea."
-Jon Stewart

"In a speech earlier today President Bush said if Iraq gets rid of Saddam Hussein, he will help the Iraqi people with food, medicine, supplies, housing, education - anything that's needed. Isn't that amazing? He finally comes up with a domestic agenda - and it's for Iraq. Maybe we could bring that here if it works out."
-Jay Leno

Alright, since the mean and evil Blogger absolutely REFUSES to let me post this poem in full, I'm separating it into two entries, cos' I really do like it...
Btw, if any of you write poetry or have particular favourites, do feel free to post them in "Comments" or e-mail them straight to me. I'll put some of them up here.

As I Walked Out One Evening
by W.H. Auden

As I walked out one evening,
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
Were fields of harvest wheat.

And down by the brimming river
I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
'Love has no ending.

'I'll love you, dear, I'll love you
Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street,

'I'll love you till the ocean
Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.

'The years shall run like rabbits,
For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
And the first love of the world.'

But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
'O let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer Time.

'In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
And coughs when you would kiss.

'In headaches and in worry
Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
To-morrow or to-day.

'Into many a green valley
Drifts the appalling snow;
Time breaks the threaded dances
And the diver's brilliant bow.

'O plunge your hands in water,
Plunge them in up to the wrist;
Stare, stare in the basin
And wonder what you've missed.

'The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
The desert sighs in the bed,
And the crack in the tea-cup opens
A lane to the land of the dead.

'Where the beggars raffle the banknotes
And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,
And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer,
And Jill goes down on her back.

'O look, look in the mirror
O look in your distress:
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless.

'O stand, stand at the window
As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbour
With your crooked heart.'

It was late, late in the evening,
The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
And the deep river ran on.

Here's something I wrote quite some time ago.

Firedust

Night after night they come.
After the rain has fallen on the steely street
Glacier-white needles piercing a common pool of dark.
Then the hush. Hush; hear the shadows come.
Loneliness is stifling—they seek an electric sun.

And so they dance, about the aura
Of an illusory flame.
They are the outcastes of butterflies, wing-spirited, drab.
Icarusian. They submit themselves
For a warmth, a joy beyond this world.

Perhaps in the very moment before the burning
They are loved.
Illusory love.
Broken and half-winged, but yet not quite
Dispirited. They had dared to know.

(c) Ling 2003

Am in the mood for poetry today. ^_^ Starting to like W.H. Auden, though I haven't read much of him yet. I like Margaret Atwood's "Interlunar", too. Pity Blogger has some infernal grudge against really long blog posts.

I'm re-posting an entry from my previous blog here, because Kai wrote me this lovely, lovely poem in response to it. Here's the entry, followed by the poem, "Ephemeral".

Sunday, March 09, 2003

The roses you gave me have died.

I put one in a jar of water, another suspended over my bed to dry. I loved them so much. I thought they were absolutely beautiful. Even though you know I like orange daisies better.

Then I thought the one in the jar would live longer if I gave it some sun, so I put it out of my window for three hours. Now it's bent to one side. I almost cried. But I didn't want to cry, so the only way to stop myself was to do a sketch of it instead.

It's a beautiful sketch.

While I was doing it I realised the flower was still beautiful in its own way, however dead. The angle it's leaning towards is very nicely artistic. Then I realised that just because something was dead, it didn't mean I had lost it.

I hope you know what I'm talking about.

This sketch I named "Acceptance".


Ephemeral

In danger of speedy disappearance
We have pucked the roses from the garden
"Ere they fade," you said, ardent
In your worship of their beauty, and life's importance

You cried for your roses today
Brown twisted things, a mockery
"Of what they were and should be,"
You said, but your bitter tone does betray

A tinting of your view of life
I would show you beautiful, simple things
If their leaving did not depress you, too fleeting
Even for the words that I write

Not everything has an order
Not everything can be kept on a shelf
You grasp at them vainly and break yourself
Holding what cannot be held together

Their brevity makes them precious
I would rather be ephemeral


Thanks Kai :)

What I feel right now is a little eensy-weensy bit of fear.

Maybe it isn't so strange. But somehow I feel this sense of loss...

It was all those thoughts, in the past, of pain and fear and darkness and suicide and whatnot, that made me develop my writing a lot more smoothly because nothing drives eloquency out of you like sheer intense feeling, and the most sheer intense feeling you can get constantly is, well, pain. (If any of you here experience truly inspiring intense joy all the time, I would really like to hear from you. Nobody? That's what I mean.) Over the months I was depressed, I did a lot more work on my inner side (I mean the kept-away-from-public side) than I'd done the past ten years. I wrote a lot of deadly depressing poetry, which my teacher complimented me on, and did some angsty pictures I really liked, stuff that was much better than what I'd ever done in Art Club. One of my poems I turned into a song, which I figured how to play on the piano. I also started blogging, and for the first time in my life people told me they like my writing. A lot of things hinge on my pain.

Now I'm afraid that I'll never be able to write as well, think as deeply, or come up with anything worth drawing any more.

Let time prove if this fear is unfounded.

It does feel strange, that when I ask all my friends to tell me some positive feedback about myself, I feel seriously awful like I'm pinning myself to a fence for military target practice.

And when it all starts streaming in, it doesn't feel bad at all.

In fact, it feels PRETTY DARN GOOD. (Forgive me for being thick-skinned, but that's the truth, it does feel good.) I've been spending the entire morning crying, and I can't tell you how weird that is, cos' for the longest, longest time now I've been trying to cry, only I never could. Now I feel like I'm being thawed out.

Everyone should do this sometime. In fact, everyone should do this for each other RIGHT NOW. I'll be spending some time these days doing compliment sheets in return.

And when I try to identify why I felt so terrible asking for positive feedback, my answer is, "Cos' I thought everyone would shoot me, or whisper comments behind my back, and say what I was doing was unbelievably imbecile." Everybody who? That's the question. I am no longer in the past.

Thanks...

This is a great world.