Am I an Adult?

Suddenly a lotta tags... hold on.......

Kairos: :9 hehehe... and I'm reluctant to take on full-time positions now, because of tuition commitments and possible-impending-donno-if-gahmen-wants-me NIE. Freelance work, however, is always welcome...... :D

In a way, this NIE thing is pretty irritating. I don't know whether I should seek out other forms of work because I might get this teaching gig. Ya, I do have that much confidence that I didn't totally screw up the interview. [Someone I know actually got told to his face that he should've become a priest. *wide-eyed*] So I might actually have a 50-50 chance of getting it. And I might take it up.

But then what if I should get other offers?

Gods, the spinning signpost is just spinning faster and faster....

And then there's the other side of me that says, why should I listen to my parents so much, and follow the norm so much? What's wrong with kicking back and striking one's own path, so long as it not be immoral or cause hurt to other innocent beings? Why do I have to keep listening to other people about how I should live my life?

If I be happy now, why do anything to change it?

But will I be like this forever?

What if something should happen to blast me out of this comfortable armchair in the future?

ARGH!!!!! I DONNO WANNA THINK ABOUT MY FUTURE ANYMORE!!! LET SOME CAR HIT ME DOWN IN THE ROAD, I DON'T CARE!!!

Goldfish: That cigar remark...... is jus too er......... not looking at havanas the same way again... :p but many congrats on your scholarship!

My fren here has gotten a scholarship to study what she loves in another country. My one thought to that is HTF DO I GET MESELF ONE OF THOSE?????

And oh yea, congrats again. :p

But on her blog, she wonders about how very un-adult it seems, to not be crunching numbers for a living, but still, at 23, be studying again, back in school again.

It's as if making a living, or doing something business-y has become a rite of passage of adulthood for most people. In the States, or Europe, it's the ability to move out of your parents' home. [Impractical, and almost impossible here for most people because of high property prices] In Asia, or rather Singapore, it's the ability to earn money, and contribute to the family coffers.

How much cultures differ huh? On one hand, the ability to strike out your path. On the other hand, the ability to contribute responsibly to the family.

Thus, in Asia, to still be studying, to still be in school, one is considered a student. A child, an adolescent, who has not experienced the 'real world', or in their thinking, the 'working world'.

Thus, are we children? Or adults? Biology states that we are adults. Society sees us as children.

What do we have to go through to be fully considered an adult? Some adults, with their HDB flat, car, 2 kids and various bill payments to be made, are childish and immature beyond belief, and yet they consider themselves adults, on the basis that they have done things, eg have kids, that younger people are not able to do.

And yet, their mindless pursuit of education, or material needs, does that not show their immaturity? Or their close-minded and uneducated criticism of all around them, of all they do not understand, or which does not fit into their narrow-minded view of the world, does that not show a level of immaturity as well?

Some kids, due to societal or familial circumstances, are wise beyond their years. They have seen and experienced things that no child their age has ever, or should ever have to experience. They have had to go through hardships and torments unfelt by most adults. They have had to grow up harder than most adults.

And before they know it, they are old. They are old beyond their years, the withered eyes of tired old age looking out from a body fresh and young with youth.

So is there ever a true state of maturity that we can reach? Something that's beyond the surface description that society has ascribed to it? An undescribable quality that will define the person regardless of the circumstances, or the cloth he drapes himself in?

Even if he be dressed in awful clothing, even if he has no job, even if he has the most disgusting habits and is not afraid to show them, can this person display an aura of maturity around him, surprise you with his wisdom and insight, such that one will look at this hobo and think, "This, then, is truly an ADULT."

So if maturity is truly a state that is undefined by societal standards, maybe it's time we all started thinking about what it truly means to be a mature adult. And whether we can all aspire to reach that elusive state.

note: the author of this blog, despite having graduated from NUSSUX, has yet to find a corporate job, is hardly interested in doing so, and is leading a bohemian lifestyle of low tuition income while messing around with blogs, graphic software and comics, and downloading anime. Whether you want to consider her an 'adult' is another thing for discussion altogether. This is partly as a thought for goldfish. ;)

The Sexy Blogger Campaign

This is real funny... a campaign started by mrbrown and mister miyagi for bloggers to post up pictures of themselves sticking their tongues has become something of a game amongst singaporean bloggers.

So it all started with this picture of Xiaxue:



Which got mentioned by Tony Pierce. Now I don't know who Tony Pierce is, and why's he so famous, but mrbrown and mister miyagi saw it, and came up with the following photos:



And



Admittedly, I'd rather look at the Xiaxue one for an extended period of time......

So the whole thing took on a life of its own, and other bloggers started sending in their own sexyblogger pics, and now, I joined the fun.



If you're keen on looking at the rest of the sexy bloggers in Singapore, [god knows why] or at looking at the tongues of some of Singapore's best bloggers, or seeing how many crazy people took up the craze, [like me, unfortunately] go to this flickr link. If you have a flickr account and wanna add your own photo to the lot, upload the photo and tag it with 'sexyblogger'.

[Personally I think mine's the best of the lot. Especially since it's been Freehanded.... Hahaha... ]

And then, LocalBrand Boss caught onto the fact that Xiaxue was wearing a Localbrand tee in that by-now-infamous photo, and he went gaga at the exposure that his brand was getting. Now, anyone who walks into a shop selling LocalBrand tees and does that sexyblogger thing, with the tongue sticking out, will apparently get 20% off LocalBrand tee shirts. Check out the promotion at their website.

It may seem silly, but from a marketing point of view, the brand exposure is fantastic. He's got Xiaxue endorsing his shirts, and he's hopped onto a blogging trend started by mrbrown. So basically, he didn't come up with a cent, nor wrack any brainpower, nor beg other famous bloggers for the exposure. All that marketing, and he didn't have to lift a fingernail. Damn. How often does one get a chance like that?

Many thanks to Krynnder for the link. My new Bittorrent client is now [hopefully] happily downloading Eps 1 and 2 of Gundam Seed Destiny. :D Ah, back to the days of P2P software... And for the interminable wait for your downloads... :(

Also notice the little search box at the side and bottom. Supposedly it's supposed to act as a search engine for my blog, but er, a bit screwed. Need to figure it out somemore... hmmm... But you can search for content for other blogs on it.

I came across The Great Credit Card Prank just tonight. For those of us who have credit cards, [admittedly, that is few] you might wanna take a look. It's a pretty interesting insight into just how secure the credit card industries are......

Rape, gays and AIDS

Now if that title didn't get your attention......... :p

On the way home today, Yenn coined an interesting term: Rape of the Lungs.

Basically, Rape of the Lungs ( ROTL ) occurs when a smoker is smoking in close promixity to a nonsmoker, such that the smoke from his cigarette can enter the lungs of the nonsmoker against her consent, thus, ROTL. [Do not confuse with Rolling On The Floor Laughing]

While we were walking towards our bus stop, she suddenly pushed me to one side, and when I asked what happened, she said, "My lungs were being raped."

So after she explained, the following idea came to mind:

Man is Beaten Up For Rape Of Lungs

Imagine this man. He's a 20something year old man, just graduated out of uni, got his paycheck just last week, and now out on a date with the hot chick from the Marketing Department. He's now walking her to her bus stop, and while they are walking, he asks if she minds if he smokes. Well, it turns out that she's used to her clients puffing away, [don't forget she's from marketing] and it's all right with her.

Therefore he lights a cigarette, inhales deeply, and blows a ream of smoke into the air, glad at last to have some nicotine relief after spending 2 hours in the cinema cigarette-free.

Suddenly, the girl who was walking next to him screams, "AAAAHHH!!!! NOOO!!! DON'T.... DON'T RAPE ME!!!!!" while choking and coughing and putting one hand to her heaving bosom. As he stares blankly at her antics, [like, what the hell? I didn't touch you, I didn't even know you were there, and I'm just smoking here lor.] to his horror, she starts sobbing.

And she's not just sobbing quietly. She's sobbing HUGE, wracking sobs of pure despair, worthy of any HK drama mama. A little concerned for his safety, [and her sanity] he asks her if anything's wrong, and maybe there's been a little misunderstanding?

"OHMYGODDON'TCOMENEARME!!!!!" she screeches, covering her chest with her arms, and covering her mouth with one hand. He backs away in alarm, [more for his own personal safety from this weird chick] and then he notices her friend.

Her friend with bigger biceps than his.

"YOU RAPED MY FRIEND, YOU, YOU... DIRTY RAPIST SMOKER YOU!!!" Whoa. Now he's in major trouble. He tries to explain that he had never touched her friend, he had never even noticed she was there, and that he was a good boy who believed in female rights and respect for the female body.

"DON'T TRY TO LIE!!!!" Ok, he knew she wouldn't believe him on the female body one. "I CAN SEE THAT DIRTY CIGARETTE OF YOURS IN YOUR HAND!!!!" Cigarette? What? Wasn't the misunderstanding [of course it's a misunderstanding, what else can it be?] over a possible molest?

"YOU'RE RAPING HER ALL RIGHT!! WITH THAT DAMNED CIGARETTE IN YOUR HAND!! YOU'RE RAPING HER LUNGS!!!" Her friend yells menancingly at him, pointing one hand to the cigarette he's holding between 2 fingers.

He gapes at the 2 in total disbelief. [are they really both mad?] And then he starts to get a bit angry. He doesn't know what game those 2 were playing at, and when they were both dismissed from Woodbridge, but he is so going to give them a piece of his mind when he suddenly notices a huge fist coming straight at him. And then everything goes blank.

Well, only for that while, and he clears up to find that he's now lying on his back, with an unnatural-seeming amount of blood on his clean white shirt, that seemed to have come from his nose. As soon as he registers that, however, the violent friend is back to kicking him in mostly sensitive areas while he's lying on the ground.

So the whole of Orchard thinks he's molested the girl, the girl is now inconsolably crying away, muttering something about her "poor, poor lungs", [her lungs?] and he's getting his ass [and other parts] kicked big time by another girl. [he would fight back, if not for that she's a girl, and also because scarily enough, she is definitely way stronger than he is]

Oh, and his date took a cab home.

Heh... I get strange ideas sometimes... :p Rape of the Lungs.

---

All the recent furore over HIV and gay lifestyles has been, to me, maddening, saddening, and even a little funny at times.

Once again, gays and lesbians have been condemned for their immoral, unnatural lifestyle and for corrupting our clean, upright society. And now, to pour salt, they've even added HIV into the mainstream. Shame, shame on them all.

We must control them. Slap huge ID badges on them, like the Germans used to do to the Jews. Make sure they have no way of working or supporting themselves in our country, so that they will flee to other shores and stay far, far away from us.

People. What is this? Such mobbish reactions only show how poorly informed and closeminded you are about HIV and gays in general. Not to mention how highly some straight people think of themselves.

It's almost a shame to have to live in this country, and see all this going on. Especially when you consider that some of the measures considered are pretty 1984-ish:

It may become a criminal offence to spread HIV through unprotected sex. Even though you don't know that you have the disease. [and yet, promotion of condom usage is not encouraged in Singapore. Boy are they headed for a hot zone with this combination...]

All pregnant women should be screened to check if their babies have been infected with HIV. So if you do find out that this pregnant mother is HIV positive and so is her mother, what now? According to the above, the first step is to break up the family by putting the father in jail for having unprotected sex while HIV-positive. Then the next step is what? To isolate the mother from the rest of society, and to deny the child any contact with human society for the rest of its life? Or tell the child that he is sick and that's why he can never play with other children?

This measure is lacking in long-term vision. What would the government do if they found out that pregnant mothers were HIV positive? Are they prepared to pay for the cocktails for HIV? Or would they find it easier to just isolate mother and child from society? Since, after all, no one will be cooing over the baby if they find out that it's HIV positive. Note all the response the family of Ariq got after they decided to keep their HIV positive baby.

Then Balaji throws the spotlight on the gay population, claiming that gay parties and promiscuous gays were responsible for the spike in HIV. Never mind that his evidence is anecdotally based on the views of one epidemiologist in Singapore. Never mind the god-knows-how-many promiscuous and sexually active unmarried straight people in Singapore. Never mind the straight men who have unprotected sex in Geylang, Batam, Malaysia, Thailand, Taiwan, China, and maybe even India, and then go back and go back home to screw their unsuspecting wives. Never mind that out of all the identified HIV sufferers in Singapore, only a third of them are gay.

No, forget all those insignificant factors. It's that damn gay party that's to blame. Ban the gays, everyone.

I don't even know what to say. This is just really, really sad.

One Week

Since the MOE interview... and still crossing fingers...

Meanwhile:

Highly artistic individual ( *gag!*) seeking flexible freelance assignments for graphic design. Proficient in Photoshop, ( Pay me and I'll gladly upgrade to CS ) Freehand, ( I can do more than just cartoons! Honest! ) Dreamweaver, ( So this blog is a template... so what! ) and Flash ( er, make that a little proficient.... Ok, gimme that Dummies book... )

Someone gimme a job. Please?

Also,

9 sessions at the gym since February.

9 sessions of running, stepping, cycling, and one stomach crunching session with Yenn.

9 sessions and I've finally passed my 2.4 again. Albeit with an E grade, but I still passed.

And after those 9 sessions, ( or rather after each session of running and stepping/cycling ) this is me:



'Nuff said. ( though this has to be one of my favourite pics. Heh. )

Tis' tough being single sometimes....

Ok Jane Green is starting to scare me. First, in Bookends, her main character was Cath, who liked books, had dry frizzy hair, wore black constantly, was a total slob n longed for love in her life.

Now, in Straight Talking, her main character is Tash, looking for love in all the wrong places, whose best friend Adam falls in love with her, but she doesn't know a thing until he confesses.

Is this some kinda freaky coincidence or what?

Nah...

Anyway, some lessons gleaned from He's Just Not That Into You:

1. Some [to be fair, not all] guys are scumbags
2. Scumbags use women for company, sympathy, entertainment and sex
3. Women should dump the scumbags
4. Women should look for men worthy of themselves
5. All women are worthy of good men

Hm. Now if only they had a part on how to find the good ones...

Although, it does make sense. Why do we keep surrounding ourselves with men who cannot make it? What we need is some kind of supervirus that will kill all the male losers of the earth, leaving behind all the good ones. With such a large excess of women, the population will definitely replenish itself in no time, and with a new population of people who will have Good genes in them.

Save the Earth. Kill all Losers. Has a good ring to it, don't you think?

To all the girls reading this: Do you think that it's right/fair/downright preposterous that SDU makes it compulsory for everyone to fill in their height and weight in their personals? Anyway, for those who require pictorial evidence, here's the pic of the application:



You can now see that the list ranges from "Athletic" to "Stout". Not only that, but this is also displayed on your profile page whenever someone clicks on it.

Now what is it about this that pisses me off? Well, for one thing, the word "built" has been used wrongly. HAhaha... :P it should be "build".

Another thing is again, isn't the point of Internet dating to get rid of superficialities like this? By allowing people to choose 'prospects' based on their "built", aren't you just perpetuating the same stereotypical perceptions in real life? Because when people are searching for people with the same interests, the same dropdown menu appears:



So if I was doing a search, I can specify that my prospective partner has to be from XXcm to XXcm, XXyears old, and have an "Athletic" 'built'.

And somehow... that's not exactly what 'love' is about is it? We get all these people shaking their heads over Singaporean men going to Vietnam to buy their wives, who have to be XXcm, XXyears old and be virgins, but yet, we have a government agency here who's just encouraging these same prejudices and practices, albeit in a more 'acceptable' form.

And is love all about how high the person is, or what her build is? If so, then all the fat women like me can just turn lesbian right now, because face it, if men aren't choosing women like me in real life, what makes you think they'd specifically choose me through the SDU website?

We all know by now that looks aren't [that] important, that ultimately, what cements a relationship is a deeper understanding and willing to commit, and that choosing a partner based on looks and body is a surefire way of getting into a lot of mess later on. Not to say that looks don't come into the equation at all, but why place all this emphasis on a factor that should not be significant in the equation?

I wonder if the head honcho at SDU wonders why more people don't get hitched through his fancy-dancy website. *PFISH!* Whoever you are out there, fire your IT staff [and I bet they're men] right now, for the sake of the country.

And btw: All those pics of lovey couples staring into each other's limpid eyes? Really makes me sick.

Choice and Luxury

Choice is a luxury.

Or is luxury a choice?

One can choose whether one wants to live in luxury or poverty.

Not to dream of luxury, but to make a choice for luxury. And then to take action such that you will live in luxury.

So luxury is a choice.

Then is choice a luxury?

Some do not say so.

Actions are restricted by other external factors. You may choose to be such, but external circumstances do not allow you to be such.

Or do they?

Maybe all along you did have that choice.

You had the choice to accept your current situation

Or you had the choice to pass, and go for something better.

Maybe only your own restricted vision told you there was no choice.

When actually all along the choice was before you.

So next time think about it.

Do you really have no choice?

---

Choice, luxury, well, who knows? I have no idea what prompted that in my head. Maybe it's all those bad vibes from the parentals.

Anyway, moving on... Some bits I thought about these few days:

I love Brit Wit!

- British writing wit is absolutely fab, darlings. I just finished Bookends by Jane Green, and 2 of the Shopaholic series by Sophie Kinsella. The fab thing about Brit female writers is that they really write it like it is, and thus, the writing becomes a lot more honest, a lot more real than other romantic novels. [you know, the kind with the tall dark mysterious muscled hunk holding a limpid female in his arms on the cover]

And when I read Bookends, the main narrating character was Cath, a size 14 girl who wore black everyday, with no romantic prospects nearby, who hung out mainly with her closest friends, but yet yearned for romance, loves books and is a total slob at home. What I want to know now is, who is this Jane Green woman, and where did I meet her such that she managed to write such a dashing description of me?

Now on Straight Talking by Jane Green.......

---

SDU people are tactless idiots

- Most of you might have heard about the recent computer security scandal at SDU, the one which has convinced me that their Head of IT is either an idiot, or has some real idiots working for him.

Just tonight, I received a package from SDU which tells me that the people working there aren't exactly masters of tact.

Firstly, the package came with a little black book, an address book, presumably for me to fill up with names of hot hunks. Hahaha.

Secondly, the Dating 101 handbook, which they hope "will go a long way to helping you cultivate the positive attitudes and skills to endear you to your dates." Oh wow. That's like the nice, gahmenly way of telling me my dating skills suck and here's the nice advice Uncle Lee has for you.

Plus, most of the advice in there is very......... well, gahmenly. You know how, when you read say, a govt publication about a place, for eg, Orchard Road, and you laugh at all the 'nice' writing that you know is just a nice white facade on an ugly brick wall underneath? Yea, it reminds me of that.

Thirdly, the stupid Lovebyte website. So sue me, I decided to log in and key in my personal particulars and see what happened. [I'm a Desperate Single. So sue me] And here's where I think their Department of Tact deserves to go through a retrenchment exercise.

Because there's actually a box for you to fill in your height and weight. And it's mandatory. So you absolutely, absolutely, CANNOT escape filling in those fields, because the dumb form will refuse to submit.

To add insult to injury, there's even a little drop down menu underneath. Options range from "Petite", "Slim" to "Large" and, *puke* get this, "Pleasantly Plump"

WTF are wrong with these idiots??? For one thing, this effectively ERASES all the chances larger women like me would have. Forget all that BS about how looks don't matter. Honey, on the Internet, it's one of the few info the guys can get about you. And you think a guy is gonna read the rest of my profile to find out all about my sparkling personality if he knows I wear a size 14? Somemore they make it MANDATORY. So never mind about my rights as a woman to privacy about my weight. These kaypohs want to know it all. Why don't you ask me to key in my vital stats at the same time?

And why on earth would they want me to categorize myself as "Large" or "Pleasantly Plump"???

Someone bonk off those guys at SDU. Because I'm convinced the IT dept is full of them. HALLO OUT THERE STUPID COMPUTER TECH GEEKS. The whole point of Internet Dating is that people are allowed to connect and communicate with each other WITHOUT KNOWING WHAT THE OTHER PARTY LOOKS LIKE, so that people will have a chance to communicate with my character, rather than the size of my boobs.

You put in a dumb option like this, where people have to key in height and weight, and categorize themselves as "Pleasantly Plump", firstly, YOU'RE A BUNCH OF STUPID TACTLESS BASTARDS AND I'M NOT AFRAID TO SAY IT, and secondly, YOU'RE DEFEATING THE WHOLE POINT OF INTERNET DATING.

Who the hell works at SDU anyway??? I'm really wondering at the idiot that came up with these ideas....

The Interview

"Good afternoon, everyone."

"Good afternoon, Miss Tan, is it?" A small room with a table, and 3 interviewers sitting at it. On the left, a middle-aged man with tanned skin. On the right, a middle aged lady, with the same kind of spectacles all teachers wear. In the center, a *cough* large imposing lady with an equally imposing voice. I sit down in the only vacant chair, facing the firing squad.

"So tell us more about yourself then. I see you graduated last year in December? What have you been doing since then?"

"Well, I was a research assistant in NUS for a while, then I was doing full-time tuition while looking for a job. However, later I found that I liked teaching so I concentrated on tuition instead."

"Why is that so?"

"How do I put it... You invest your time and effort in a student, you teach her throughout the year, and then when you get your returns in the form of good grades, you feel a sense of achievement."

"What if your students don't pass? I get this feeling that them passing their exams are really important to you. If you're teaching a class of 35-40 people, not all of them are going to pass their exams, so what are you going to do?"

"I won't be upset over it. If my students fail, then I don't see it as something to be upset about. I see it as something I have to help her improve on. There's no use feeling upset over bad results. The important thing is to find out their mistakes and help them for the next exam."

"You realise that tuition is totally different from teaching? In tuition, you're teaching one student at a time. With teaching, you could potentially face a class of 30 or more students. How are you going to handle that kind of pressure? Can you handle that kind of pressure?"

"Yes, I realise that, but..."
|
"What are you going to do, if you're facing a class of 30 students who won't listen to you?"

Self-deprecatingly: "I suppose one advantage is that I have a loud voice."

Middle-aged lady grins. "Shout at them?"

"Probably shout at them and make sure I get their attention. The important thing is to get their attention, and then engage it for the rest of the lesson."

"Have you any friends who are teachers?"

"Yes, I do."

"Have you asked them about teaching?"

The various accounts of egoistical principals, manical students and questionable colleagues come to mind. "Yes, I have."

"What did you learn from them?"

"I learned that there is much more to teaching than most people realise. Teaching is not just about standing in front of a class reading from a textbook for 6 hours and then going home." All 3 interviewers nod sagely at this. "There is also a lot of administrative work, paperwork to be done. Also, you can't just stand up in front of a class and improvise on the spot. Lesson plans have to be compiled, and sent to principals for approval. You can't just do what you like with the class." The 3 interviewers nod again, hopefully in approval.

"Are you sure you can handle that pressure? I have to ask, because you only have experience in teaching tuition, which is totally different from actual teaching."

"Well, I would think no job is exactly like teaching..."

"No, there is a job that is." interrupts the man, silent up till now "It's relief teaching. You could have applied for relief teaching. Did you?"

"Yes I did, through the MOE website, but they didn't get back to me."

"The website takes a long time. You should have directly approached the principals of the schools around your area. Did you do that?"

Pause, and then decide on brute honesty. "No, I didn't realise you could do that." A thrust, badly deflected.

"Why didn't you try working in the private sector?" A sensitive question. I attempt to sidestep and feint.

"I felt that in the private sector, er, how do I describe it? A lot of people seem to be out for material gain and nothing else, it's..." I falter, and all 3 stare hard at me. I feel like I'm standing in front of a class giving a presentation, and I said something stupid which the whole class picked up on except me. The imposing lady picks up the pace again.

"Can you handle the pressure of teaching?" She stares me straight in the face.

"Yes, I'm sure I can." I stare right back at her.

"Are you definitely sure you want to teach?"

Images of my menopausal mother spring to mind. "Yes, I'm definitely sure."

---

Well, a summary of the interview that passed on Thursday. Definitely there were other things they said, and which I said, but which I cannot remember for now. Already the day passed by into the vaults of memory and are proving hard to retrieve.

The strongest impression I had of that interview was fencing squad. The moment you sat down, the interviewers drew their points and immediately started attacking you in every possible corner. Sorta like a free-for-all debate... (--!) I felt like I was constantly on the guard, deflecting all their thrusts, and putting in some of my own. All the prepared answers went out of my head, and pure instinct seemed to take over, which, probably, resulted in a much more natural, honest interview. Which could have been part of their dire plan to disarm me. Dammit.

A weird thing about me though. The whole day before the interview, I was hardly worried. [I was worried more about spilling rendang on my white shirt during lunch, and of someone stealing my degree scroll, which I was carrying around] Even when he shook my hand and walked off and I had to enter the MOE building by myself, I was not worried. When I was waiting for my turn to be interviewed, I was not worried. When I was being interviewed, I was too busy defending myself to be worried.

After the interview... I GOT DAMN WORRIED.

After I left the building and could think normally again, I refreshed my memories of the interview. And then I realised, I could have said something better. I could have answered better. Perhaps I should not have said that. OH SHIT.

I called Yen and wailed to her over the phone. "AAAAARRRRGGGHHHH!!!!!!!!"

"What happened??"

"Ohgoditwasbadisaidabunchastupidstuffishouldhavesaidotherstuffwhydidisaythat"

"Er.................."

"Are you free now? Can you meet up with me for a while?" I sniffed.

"Sigh.............."

So I meet her in the Mac's at Clementi. With my shirt unbuttoned, [I was wearing a tank underneath, no worries] me clutching a cup of Coke Float in my hand, [comfort food] slumped over the table with the most forlorn expression on my face, Yen comments:

"You look like one of those broken-hearted drunks on TV."

"....................................................................................................."

Well, I wail out everything to her, about how disastrous the interview was, about how the 3 gorgons wanted my blood, about how I was so doomed, about how I'd be so screwed if I don't get it and how my mother was going to screech the whole house down if I didn't.

*Much thanks and kudos to Yen, btw, for the tons of patience she has, and for putting up with a almost-hysterical raving lunatic*

In the end, the combination of wailing and Coke float managed to calm me down. By evening, I had delegated the memory to the back of my mind, and once again, jumped into my tuition routine as if nothing special had happened in the afternoon. The only thing to remind me being my white shirt and my degree scroll, which I was still lugging in my hand. [stupid NUS never thought of making it into a more portable A4 size, grumble grumble grumble]

So now....... it only remains to wait. 2-3 weeks later I should find out whether I'm a teacher or not. Wish me luck on this.

*BTW, much credit, hugs and thanks to all who cheered me along the way, who kept telling me I could do it, who kept my confidence up, and who sent me their best regards and wishes on the day itself. All you guys deserve a huge HUG!*

So tomorrow is the day, the DAY when the barest surface impression of a panel of judges who don't know me at all will be key to deciding the direction of my life.

Ain't interviews grand?

Strangely enough, I'm neither worried nor supremely confident about tomorrow. I pretty much wanna just get it done and over with. The possible questions they could ask and every possible answer I could give them have been rolling around in my head ever since I sent out that online application. This is arguably the one presentation in my life that I didn't prepare for one day beforehand.

The shirt is ready to wear, the pants are out of the drawer. The bag is waiting, and the boots can't wait.

Certs, all check. IC, birth cert, check. Exam results, and NUS degree, check.

And now I'm just blogging as usual, like tomorrow is no special day. Tuition, meet him for lunch, and go home and watch anime as usual. It seems like such an ordinary day, TODAY.

Who knows? Maybe tomorrow I'll turn into a nervous wreck. I'll be a raving lunatic at the MOE building, and I'll spray the interviewers with my wisecrackin' bullets, and they'll wonder what kind of weirdo managed to get by their sophisticated screening methods.

Haiyah, I'm starting to ramble. Anyway, I've already been through some of the questions with Yenn, so at least I have a better idea of what lies ahead of me for the interview.

The path ahead that scares me is the fork where I get rejected by MOE. The path where my mother will go ballistic and accuse me of sabotaging my own future to enjoy my present lazybum lifestyle longer. The one thing that's majorly motivating me to get this now is the prospect of future peace in the household.

Another thing that scared me came from a book I read in DoE's apartment. The book was "The Art of the Deal" by Donald Trump, and it told the story of his brother. ( I forget the name now )

His brother was totally unlike his father, and himself. The Trump family were predominantly business-oriented, with the exception of his brother. His elder brother liked to fly, as a pilot, and loved hunting and fishing, but the father always pressured him into joining the family business, though he had no interest. Trump even told his brother he was wasting his time.

He regretted it later. The brother got pressured into joining the business, but was totally unhappy with it. He became an alcoholic and died at the age of 40.

When I read that, I felt the chills run down my spine at a possible sight into one of my possible destinies. When reality becomes too harsh, the Piscean will seek an escape. It is this way that many Pisceans have a tendency towards alcoholism or drug addictions said a horoscope I read somewhere, and that stuck in my mind. Call me nuts, but I have to admit, last week when my parents really pissed me off, I did feel an urge to drink like crazy, just for the heck of doing so. Thank my lucky stars that I realised it was an insane urge to follow.

Forget the world. Forget your parents. Sink into your own dreamworld and never face this plane again. Sink into the waters and never surface. Sink into the sands and never reach up. Sink and sleep forever.

But in a way, I realised that could be me. Pressured by my parents into walking a path I was reluctant on, regretting it later, but not having the strength to turn back, and eventually dying old and regretful. Full of unborn wishes and dreams that never became blood and flesh.

When first conceived, your dream is as a child in its mother's womb, tender and fragile, and utterly dependent on her for its survival. Nurtured in her loving waters, it will grow and eventually see the light of day. Unloved, unwanted, uncared for, it will suffer. Poisoned either by its mother's own addictions, or killed in one painful miscarriage.

And then one more soul is lost to the world.

*haiz* I ponder too much. I think the more I write in this blog, the more crap comes out from me. [blame me for having an affinity for the written word] Wonder whether anyone would pay me to write a book about my blog? Heh... seems to be a trend at the moment... :p

Back in Spore liao. :) And back from tuition, doing laundry, catching snippets of Desperate Housewives, checking mail, checking friends' blogs, checking other people's blogs, reading online comics, reading forums......

And finally I blog. Heh.

So anyway, a few notes about my short weekend first:

1. Travelling with DoE has resulted in a more eventful holiday than any I've ever had. On the way there, we get cheated by a bus operator, who promised us that the bus would appear at 1530. Instead, the driver apparently oversleeps and the bus leaves at 1700. Bleah.

2. Spent 2nd day walking around aimlessly, doing some shopping. Being an indecisive Piscean, my decision-making process is to let DoE name out a list of possible destinations, and then pick one at random for her to bring me to.

3. Went to a pet shop and glued my eyes at some of the most magnificent purebred cats I had ever seen. The popular one seemed to be a white Ragdoll, but I prefered the black, spunky Tortoiseshell, with its glossy blackish fur so hairy and soft I just wanted to hug it tight in my arms. Briefly entertained thoughts of PETA-like animal liberation but was withheld by DoE.

4. Met the Godfather. Or rather, the ENORMOUSLY magnificent persian [i think] that was being groomed in the store. And if you could see the look on his face, you'd know why I dubbed him the Godfather. Plus he's HUGE.

5. Distances are deceiving. DoE wanted to bring me to this nightmarket, which, while we were standing at the entrance of the mall, was "just behind that building" as she pointed to a nearby building, separated from us by the traffic-jammed road.

In order to get there, we crossed one busy highway, went around a construction site, through a kampung, over a drain, across railroad tracks, across another road, nearly getting our 2 foreign butts killed by some lorry, through a uptown neighbourhood, up a hill, down again, till we finally reached the place. I will never trust her on directions again.

But the market was sooo bustling with food and people. Clothes and toys sold there were uninteresting, but the food! Vegetables and fruits, strawberries and mushrooms from Cameron Highlands sold cheap, a strange, brown kiwi-like thing in a hard shell none of us knew the name for, fresh seafood lying in steel bowls and covered with ice, and a portable steamboat lorry stall, wafts of smoke floating up from the steamboats installed in it, and sticks of every kind of food sticking out.

And we go like, damn why did we have pizza for dinner?

Went back exhausted and sweaty.

6. The income divide there is strange. Upon exiting from the afore-mentioned kampung, we look up from the train tracks and we realise that the huge uptown mall, aimed at the upper middles, was barely separated from the wooden attap houses by a thin block of flats. So less than a kilometer away from where all these yuppies are paying $50 for bags and $20 for salt and pepper shakers, there are people living in rickety wooden attap houses, on dirt roads where chickens roamed and kids played.

Not only that, but the nightmarket, a huge bustling pasar malam full of cheap Roxy knockoff tees and open air vegetable and seafood sellers was plunked in the middle of a Holland-V-esque estate. And next to the market was another small suburban mall with the usual Starbucks and an organic food cafe and a shop selling expensive bottles of single malt whisky.

Makes one think, huh?

7. On the last day, we wake up early, but take our time, seeing as how DoE said, "Don't worry, the buses don't usually leave on time." when she saw me fret in my seat. Unfortunately, due to traffic jams, we arrive at the bus terminus late even by their standards, and end up having to buy tickets for a later bus. :p

I arrive back in Singapore just in time to postpone tuition by one hour, run through the customs, onto the MRT, onto a bus home, dumping my stuff in my room, [cleaned again by that cleaning lady. Hmph!] grabbing my tuition bag, and leaving again, back into the daily grind of life, into my usual work cycle so smoothly, that it seems almost as if I had never left, that all I had done over the weekend was but a dream I had after a really long nap.

Weird huh?

Anyway, lemme move onto another topic now:

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Going through the blogs, there's apparently been some recent furore over the presence of homosexuality in Singapore. The opinion expressed in the Press has apparently been the usual government line of "Straight, monogamous lifestyles with no pre-marital sex is good" but the underground blogging community has been of the opinion that this is "Bleah!"

Hm, can one get any more succint than that?

Anyway, one thing that caught my eye was someone in some comments box in some website [or somewhere else] mentioning that sex ed was simply too physical in schools. Barring all kinky thoughts, the author was saying that the syllabus in schools focused too much on the physiological aspect of sex, rather than the emotional one.

Looking through my student's Pri 5 science textbook, I think this is very true. However, open as I am at teaching sex ed in schools, I still froze when my Pri 5 student took one look at the overly simplistic diagram they had in the text and asked me "So how does the sperm join up with the egg?"

Other than I'm a prudish coward, I also think that such questions should not be handled by a tuition teacher. I tell her to ask her mother.

I got the Part 2 of the story from her mother today. Her mother told me that the teacher had apparently gone through the topic in somewhat more detail than the text, and that her daughter now knew that sperm came from the penis and entered the egg in the vagina. Man I'm glad she got that cleared up without my help.

The teacher, however, did not go through the topic in too much detail, apparently. Because now her daughter refuses to bathe in the tub with her 8-year old brother, citing worries that his sperm might exit the penis, swim through the water in the tub to enter her 11 year old vagina and hence impregnate her.

Ok now I'm getting worried. [After I had a good laugh with the mother] Because although the topic of puberty [penis enlargements, menstruation and the works] had already been covered by the school, the connection between that and pregnancy has apparently NOT been. And if you don't talk openly with the students about that, then what's the point of even covering the topic at all?

You think primary school kids are too young to understand the full implications of sex? Then why introduce them to the penis and vagina at all? Why not wait till they're in secondary school when you can REALLY be open with them?

Because what I feel is that the currently text is much too shallow a representation of the full story of sex. Sex is not just about a boy shooting sperm into a girl, unwilling or not. With sex comes a whole range of conflicting emotions, driven by our hormones and our natural instinct to reproduce and our natural longings for affection and nurture. And if you're willing to teach the kids the different parts of the reproductive systems, why not at the same time tell them how they might feel about it come puberty, and how to deal with it? And at the same time assure them that it's natural to feel that way?

Instead we get these incomplete, half-done cartoons taught by teachers who are too embarrassed to tell the whole truth. Phwah!

Of course I speak too soon. Wait till I actually have to face a whole class of expectant faces and teach them this topic. Bleah.........

The problem with me is that I'm the kind of person who gets affected by her emotions. So once I get too emotional over something, the rest of the things in my life get affected as well. So that's why I missed 2 GTS updates and missed a meeting with a customer from Yahoo! Auctions. Craps, I hope she doesn't rate me lower...

*Haiz* Anyway I'll be taking a break n heading over to stay with DoE over the weekend, so likely you won't hear from me till Monday afternoon. Hopefully I come back refreshed and relaxed from all the shopping and clubbing... Hehehe!

*update* and now my student just cancelled, half an hour before it was supposed to start. On the day she's supposed to pay me!!!!! *Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr* She can't make it on the Tuesday that I'm supposed to go down to her house, [this Sat morn was supposed to be a makeup for the previous Tues that she cancelled] and when I asked her when she could make it again, no reply yet! *pissed* Students have an uncanny knack of cancelling the lessons where I'm supposed to get paid, I really wonder why.......

Ohz, and I finally heard from MOE on Friday night. My interview will be this Thurs, 3pm at the MOE building in Buona Vista.

I finally found THE white shirt at Zara, so that's settled. [badgered into buying by Quet, Yen and Gamy, who were convinced that I'll never find a better shirt elsewhere. Which is somewhat true] Now for pants... hmmm...

At the thought of facing an interview after so long.............. my stomach is churning like crazy. I'm getting the jitters like never before, and my stomach feels sick whenever I think about it. I never even felt so bad during my first presentation in bizad.

Probably because there's so much resting on this interview. Not only the usual job security and salary, but also the prospect of future peace with my parents. :( If I don't get it, I can almost foresee the WW3 starting again in my household, and THAT scares me more than the potential loss of steady income.

ARGH! Whoever was the idiot who decided that certain steps in your life would determine your future forever more? That upon stepping on this road, there would be no return, nor junction for you? Did that idiot ever have a real life of his own? And why the hell did he have to convert my parents to his way of thinking??

*constraining herself from writing more lengthy rants on this blog*

Devoted Christian? On this blog? Where? Where? Where? :p

Well, as i said, i was in a writing mood at the time, and it hit me that that spinning signpost was a good metaphor for my life right now, and for a long, long time. Piscean indecisiveness. Damn the 'rents for their family planning.

One thing for sure though: My indecisiveness on the part of my career is earning me a lot of bad karma with my parents, especially my mom. Another debacle was set off again just tonight regarding this issue. Bear with me while I rant. Though then again, it is my blog so what am I apologizing for? :p

It started out with me coming home and my mom asking me for money to pay that damned cleaner woman. Me with me humongous mouth said, "I'm not paying if she's going to rearrange my things again." Which set my mother off on another menopausal fit. You never take care of your room rant rant tell you to do so many times you never do rant rant I told you this was going to happen rant rant rant.

Er, I don't wanna rant out all my dirty laundry here, so let's just say, IT WAS BAD. Strange that my mom would care so much about a room she never walks into, unless she wants to rant at me for something I did. Strange that my parents don't seem to understand why I feel so strongly against strange people moving my things around. Wouldn't they minded if I, say, moved everything on their office desk around, rendering them unable to find any important documents they wanted? But I digress.

And well... the thing about my mom is that even when you try to explain things to her, or tell her about your point of view, she rants at you again for trying to 'talk back to her' or argue with her. And after a few more times of this, I give up and sit and silently fume.

Once she starts, she cannot stop. So the irresponsibility regarding my room goes on to the irresponsibility regarding my work, too lazy to find a full-time job, too uncaring about your parents, too ungrateful rant rant rant till my brother tells her to stop it cos he's got exams coming up.

Then of course, when my mom gets upset at me, my dad feels he has to say something to me too. He calls me up to my room, says he doesn't understand what the big deal is about other people moving my things, and what a disgrace my room is and what a rubbish heap it looks like and don't I think so?

And the strange thing is, No, I don't.

Is that weird? Not really. It's like the comfy bolster or stuffed toy that you carried around, or had since you were a baby, and which you steadfastly refused to wash because there was no way in hell you could part with it for even that one hour, and because part of why you love it so much is the way it smelled, full of childhood games and tears and a myriad of other childish joys and fears and tears experienced together.

And one day your parents decide that it's a disgrace you carry around such a filthy thing around and they chuck the thing into the rubbish chute, leaving you teary-eyed while they explain once again why it is they're doing you a favour by chucking away your old lovable bolster and hence saving you from the multitude of bacteria on it and all you can think about is how you'll never see that beloved thing again, and how, dirty and flawed as it was, you loved it more than anything else in the entire world.

So yea, dirty, dusty and messy as it looked, it was MY room. And I don't see you spending a lot of quality time in it, anyway, so why are you caring so much?

Parents are like that, ya? They want you to constantly throw away the old, beloved things to make way for the new. And they complain when you buy more new stuff in.

So anyway, yea, another bad night with the 'rents. This will probably continue until I get a 9-5job, or I contract some incurable disease or get hit by a car or something. Now on one hand, I'm praying for MOE to hire me, because that will give me the financial means to stop listening to my parents so much, [and get them off my back] and also, I dread being hired because that will mean I gave in to my parents. Again.

Damned if I do, damned if I don't. Though I have to admit, my life will be infinitely more unbearable if I DON'T get the MOE job. They'll probably accuse me of jinxing my own interview to get back at them or something and rant at me for making such a pathetic excuse of my life.

NOW MY LIFE REALLY SUCKS.

Doushite watashi no sekai wa warui desu ka?
Doushite watashi wa sabishi desu ka?
Doushtie watashi wa hitori desu ka?
Watashi no kotae wa doko?
Watashi wa nani ga hoshi desu ka?

Tsukaremashitane..........

The Spinning Signpost

At last, almost at the end of her long journey, she sees a junction in the road in the distance. Myriad paths lead from its centre to widely different directions in the distance. Whither shall she follow? She decides to decide when she reaches the junction.

When she comes to it, however, she is faced by a most curious device. Indeed, there is a signpost there for the confused traveller, but it is of no help to her. For once she approaches it, the signpost starts spinning.

Round and round spin the directions on the signpost. Faster and faster they turn, till she cannot see the names on the signs as they spin. Nor does she know which direction lies the destination she seeks.

"What on..." She mutters to herself, bemusedly watching the signpost spin. What is a traveller to do in this instance? She decides to wait by the post and see whether it stops.

As she waits, another traveller walks up to the junction, and unhesitatedly walks off into one road.

"How did he...? Hie! You there!" she cries out, and the traveller stops, and turns to face her.

"How'd you know which way to go? How'd you know that was the right way?" She shouts at him.

"I just know!" he calls back, and continues.

She is left confused. How did that traveller find his direction so unhesitatedly? She looks up at the sign, still spinning wildly.

No change, she thought to herself, before sitting down again and making a sandwich.

"HO! WHAT IS THIS??" The booming voice jolts her to her feet. She is suddenly facing a stern, authoritative figure.

"DO YOU NOT HAVE BETTER THINGS TO DO, THAN TO JUST SIT HERE AND EAT?" He stares down at her, making her feel like a 7-year old in school for the first time and in front of the master.

"Please, sir, the sign is spinning, and I don't know which direction to follow." She pleads meekly.

"EXCUSES!! ONE SIMPLY TAKES THE USUAL PATH!" He waves his hand at the largest, and most worn of the paths, the one that has seen the most footsteps.

She stares at him. "How can I just choose a path like that? How will I know what lies ahead in that path?"

"THAT IS NOT IMPORTANT! AT LEAST YOU KNOW THIS PATH IS SAFE! YOU KNOW THIS PATH IS WELL-TRAVELLED! EVERYONE WALKS THIS PATH AND EVERYONE ARRIVES AT THEIR DESTINATION!"

"what if I don't arrive at mine?"

"AN IMPOSSIBILITY. EVERYONE ARRIVES AT THEIR DESTINATION WITH THIS PATH!"

"Er... I think I'll wait."

"SUIT YOURSELF" He says coldly, staring down at her one last time before walking down that same well-travelled path.

She sits down again, and munches her sandwich. Peace for now, but she knows that other travellers will come again. And indeed, this time it is a young couple who do so. They walk arm in arm, giggling at secret jokes she cannot hear, and they almost fall over her in surprise, as if not seeing she was there.

"What are you doing here??" They laugh in unison.

"I'm waiting for the sign to stop spinning, so I can figure out where to go." she explains.

"And where's your companion?" They look left and right. She stares at them. Companion?

"No companion??" They cry out in horror "Who accompanies you on this journey then?"

"Er....... no one?"

"You poor thing! Well, I hope someone joins you soon!" they laugh, before falling into each other's arms and, yes, walking off into another direction again. Watching them, she feels a pang and suddenly her sandwich wasn't as tasty as before. If she had to be stuck here, it would, admittedly, be a more pleasant wait with company.

Sitting down again, she wonders why she's been destined to wait alone, while others could find someone to walk on with. Would there be someone to give her the direction she wanted? Would there be someone willing to wait there with her?

Questions, and yet, she is still there, alone.

A snowfall. Gentle snowflakes fall down, and she wraps her cloak around her for warmth. The temperature falls and she feels colder and colder. She huddles up to the spinning signpost.

"Maybe my destination will be warm." She sighs, dreamiliy visioning it in front of her. And as she dreams, her vision seems to encompass her. Ignoring the coldness seeping into her skin, she sees only the warm sunshine spreading in front of her. There, were the blue skies she wept to see. The flawless blue skies with screaming gulls across its surface. Walking into her vision, she knew this was it. This was where she wanted to go. And there were a pair of arms welcoming her in...

And slowly the wind blows the snow over her, and makes the signpost spin faster....

God save me from Zara

Note: My little tagboard may be about to permanently kick the bucket, seeing as how the website that supports it DOESN'T EVEN SEEM TO EXIST ANYMORE. *Grrrr gnash* As an alternative before I get something else up, you guys can use the comments tag at the end of each entry. Simply click on the link that says 'pieces of crap' and follow the instructions like good girls, arigatou gozaimasu...

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The actual post:

*Warning: The following post contains references to nudity, underwear and embarrassing encounters in the female changing rooms. Red-blooded straight young males are advised to... keep it under control, since I've now undoubtedly gotten your attention.

I've been on a Quest. A quest of insurmountable odds, with foes at every corner, and numerous obstacles in my path.

The Grail at the end: A white shirt that will fit me perfectly for any impending interviews with MOE.

*Everyone reading this pengs and crashes to the ground*

HEY! It's not as easy as you think you know! Firstly, despite the White Shirt being the Classic Fashion Item, there are only SO MANY places that actually sell white shirts, for one! And to find a real Classic White Shirt, with starched collars, buttons down the front, and 3/4, half, long sleeves are even harder.

To find one that perfectly fits my size: SHEER IMPOSSIBILITY. I'd have better luck finding Atlantis, Babylon, and the Holy Grail before lunch before I'd even have a sighting of this perfect White Shirt.

My main grouse: The damned BUTTONS. Who da heck was da wise guy who dictated that button-down shirts looked professional and nothing else did? Who da heck decided that interviewees only looked presentable in button-down shirts? That person deserves to be strangled by having his shirt buttoned up to his neck so that he can't breathe.

For the buttons are the source of my despair. Because of my well-endowed assets in front, there is always that popped up space between the buttons that allow anyone standing beside me to get a sideways peek of my bra. [any woman who's gone shopping for a button-down shirt will know what popped up space I'm talking about] No way buying such shirts. The MOE interviewers will not be impressed.

But even when trying on other clothes [ok, i got distracted by the others] at Zara, I faced the same problem with my bosom. The current trend at Zara is Bohemian Chic, and oh I love it! Long-sleeved Indian-inspired shirts, with beads and sequins around the collars, long shirts which cover my unsightly waist, and yet cut to show off the female figure. *Goes gaga at the memory*

But therein lies problems. For one, most of the shirts are cut low. And I mean LOW, as in 'do not go out without wearing tube underneath, especially when going out with men who are slightly taller than I am' kind of low. *groan* Granted, as Necroz says, there is a feeling of freedom when one carries a 'see and be damned' attitude when wearing such stuff on the streets, but see, considering that my bust is like 2 sizes larger than hers is... such an attitude may bring TOO MUCH unwanted attention.

Then there was the brown long-sleeved shirt, which reached to my knees and carried hints of Indian inspiration. It had these gorgeous embroidery around the collar, and I loved the way it lightly hugged my figure and yet covered up everything else.

The problem: These little floral cut-out patterns around the collar, which was quite low, and offered anyone around me tantalizing views of what colour my bra was.

Of course, my long hair would help to cover up the holes here and there but still......? Even wearing a tube won't help much. It will still look like one's
underwear.

Or how about this cute white, long-sleeved hippie shirt? Quite cute, not too low, but terribly translucent. Wearing underwear of any colour other than white is a definite no-no-NO with that one... but I looked so cute in it.......

And Necroz wasn't much help on the matter. Her comments on all the bosom-revealing tops were along the lines of "Ask him lah! Bring him here, ask him how it looks and see his nose bleed!" -_-!!! I don't think I need to say who lah... [if you're reading this, it was my friend who said it!]

Well, at least the final saving factor for me was the price. At a starting price of $75...... I'm not too tempted to buy any of those tops now.

At least... not VERY tempted......

I officially got rid of one more student yesterday, not exactly a surprise in that particular case. I had only managed 2 lessons with him at the start of the year, before schedule conflicts prevented us from having any more lessons. Thus my income goes down again. :( :( :(

Though it really wasn't such a surprise actually, considering the mother had been cancelling lessons since Jan because of his school activities. Oh well... I'll wait till I definitely get into NIE [still crossing fingers for interview] before I decide whether I want to take up any more students.

[lesson to would-be tuition teachers: Do NOT schedule secondary school students in the afternoon. The likelihood of them not making it is very high.]

In the meantime, it leaves me Tuesdays free to do more illustrations:



This one's another 800X600 wallpaper practice, for all those who passionately sought out love, not knowing it was always right there behind them. [illustrations done in Freehand, and compiled in Photoshop.]

The wallpapers still tend to be a bit plain, cos I'm still concentrating on the illustration side, rather than the PS side. I promise to churn out better stuff next time... :p If I don't kill my PC before that...

You are a pink Haro...I
guess...you...should...be...thrilled?


What kind of Haro (Gundam) are you?
brought to you by Quizilla


*Breathes* Agenda during next chat with Mum: Bar cleaning lady from EVER touching anything in my room again. And threaten to murder said cleaning lady with broom if Kira Yamato is moved even 2cm from his current seating position.

I agree that I should have been clear from the start about just how extensive the cleaning session was meant to be. Previous cleaning ladies who came for a few times only vacuumed and mopped the place, so I guess I wasn't expected Hurricane Hattie to sweep through my room this time. *Sigh*...... In a way, it's fortunate that it happened after I graduated. Can you imagine if she'd completely rearranged my project notes and assignments??? *faints in a heap*

So at least Aki-onna ain't one pissed off onna anymore. Back to life.

Sunday was a bit more enjoyable than that testy Saturday night. I met up with the Dragonfly to go to church [twice now! Is it his lenten promise to lure this condemned soul back to the arms of God?] and then headed to the Career Fair at Suntec.

There were much less people walking around, it being the last day, and also MUCH less jobs. Where were the 10,000 or so jobs touted in the paper? Apparently 2/3 of them were being offered by Prudential, AIA, and Great Eastern Life. -_-! The moment you walk in you realise that most of the exhibition space had been given up to schools, and the actual job offerings were a paltry offering.

Which somewhat makes it the same as previous years.

As we walked further in, the poor guy got baited by a Prudential surveyor, hook line and sinker. [nice makeup, pretty eyes, fair skin, and kept trying to make friendly conversation. who can blame him?] He had to do a personality test in 10 mins, after which he was carted off to a table to sit with another guy, and I took this chance to run. [No insurance agent's gonna catch me! Bwahahahaha!]

I walk around the other side and I meet Ee Fan, ex-bizader and insurance agent made good. EF's one of the few insurance agents on this earth I'm not afraid to talk to, for the reason that he doesn't push me to buy another, never asks me to do insurance surveys, and he is able to carry on a conversation without turning it to my future financial needs, assurance for my parents, what if something happens to me blah blah blah why don't we meet over coffee this week and discuss this blah blah blah...

And being a girl, the one thing I push him for is gossip, hahaha... Too bad we didn't know too many people in common, but I did hear one interesting bit about a tall, hulky ex-bizader with curly hair who worked for one year and then quit to study at Bible College full-time???? Can't imagine that guy as Father....?? [for those who wanna know, like, MSN me or something and I'll reveal the identity of the guy] And Ee Fan has that infuriating quality of all guys, that they never know further details, like WHEN?? HOW?? WHY?? ARGH!

So I passed the time chatting to EF till DF was finally released from the clutches of Prud, and we continued walking.

BTW nothing has changed about the NUS exhibition booth. We walked over to take a look, and the NUS booth looks suspiciously the same as previous years. not to mention it has been overshadowed by the snazzier, handphone-promotion-looking SMU booth, which came in Starhub green and had soft neon light tubes. I don't know WHY they don't do a better job of rebranding and promoting themselves, since I've seen promotion management projects in Bizad that have been TONS better than what they've come up with so far. This is what happens when people with huge butts get too used to the comfy chairs they've been sitting on.

At least we managed to get freebies. [Yay for the freebies!] Cleo from Jobstreet, pen from SMU, carabina with stopwatch [cool!] from NTU, and..... a BBA magazine from NUS. -_-! Yup, serious rebranding is in order...

After that, dinner, followed by the movie Hitch.

[Guys, Hitch is hilarious! Will Smith is superbly suave in this movie, and though not drop dead gorgeous, has TONS of charm pouring out of his every pore. And yes, the way he teaches Kevin James how to chase the gorgeously unattainable goddess Allegra Cole is HILARIOUS!! The whole cinema was roaring with laughter at the hilarious duo!

That being said, I know a guy who could use the services of the Date Doctor. Hmmm....]

And by the way, getting to GV Marina is akin to walking in a deserted alley to get to the backdoor which sells porn. [ok, maybe I overdramatise...] To get to GV Marina, we had to walk through the now-deserted Marina Square, go down a staircase, which led us out into the entrance of Marina Mandarin, (!) walk past the doors, up another winding staircase, past what used to be the foodcourt, before we finally entered a small entrance that was the cinema. WTF???

And despite all that, there were still tons of people watching movies there~! Maybe they weren't aware of the topo abilities needed to get to GV Marina. One couple tried following us for a while, but kept hesitating and finally disappeared before we found the cinema. Maybe they thought we were as lost as they were.

After that, home, just in time to watch Cold Case.

Well, at least I had one good Sunday to make up for Saturday.

I am SO FUCKING PISSED OFF RIGHT NOW.

My mom, sick of nagging us to do the housework, got a part time woman to come in and clean the house one afternoon. Because I had tuition in the afternoons, and then Jap after that, I couldn't stay to meet the lady, so I only saw my room late at night when I got home.

FUCKING KITANAI

Because the moment I walked into my room, I sensed that it was wrong. The furniture was in place, as per normal, and there was nothing obviously missing, but everything in my room screamed wrong! wrong! wrong! at me. Only when I closely observed the things on the furniture then I realised what was wrong.

THAT BLOODY BITCH MOVED AROUND ALL THE STUFF IN MY ROOM

Anyone who's seen my room knows how much stuff I have in it. AND EVERYTHING WAS IN THE WRONG POSITION. I started at my desk. My comics and books were in different positions from where I left them. My Neopets and Gundam figurines were in different spots. My CDs were stacked differently. And this really stung it for me: MY PHOTOS. My photo with my JC Lib Exco fell off its magnetic frame. My photo with Julian and Jordan in London, fallen on its face. My photo with my sec school gang at our old basketball court GONE later found behind the magnetic frame.

Now I was really in a panic. Then I noticed that the boxes of books and stuff I had beside my desk, plus the 2 new Ikea boxes of comics, GONE, shifted to either below my desk or near my cupboards. My bed, with my stuffed toys, [Dobby, Slipper, Chubby and Blake] my blanket, all shifted, and my blanket even insolently folded and tucked under my pillow. My little side shelf, where I kept my savings bank and the wooden bowl for my accessories, SHIFTED into different spots. [thank God the money still feels there] MY ENTIRE DALMATIAN COLLECTION, AND EVERYONE OF THEM WERE IN DIFFERENT POSITIONS. [And yes, I CAN tell.] The stuff on my black table, ALSO SHIFTED.

*Almost on the verge of screaming by now*

EVERY LITTLE MOMENTO OF MY LIFE SHIFTED FROM ITS ORIGINAL SPOT.

And in my state of panic, my mother came into my room, and remarked, "Wah, you know how long she took in your room? 2 hours leh!"

*hysterical and jumping up and down* I DIDN'T ASK FOR HER TO SPEND 2 HOURS OF HER FUCKING LIFE IN MY ROOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[and now, as pissed as I was, I wasn't pissed enough at that point of time to scream my head off at my mom at 1130 at night]

I WAS HAPPY WITH MY ROOM!!!!! I HAD THINGS THAT WAY BECAUSE THAT'S THE WAY I LIKED IT!!!!!!!!! I WAS FINE WITH THE DUST AND THE DIRT IN IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I HATE PEOPLE TO MOVE AROUND MY STUFF LIKE THAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU DON'T LIVE IN MY ROOM, YOU DON'T SLEEP IN MY ROOM, YOU DON'T EVEN WALK INTO MY ROOM, WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU TELLING ME HOW MY ROOM SHOULD BE LIKE?????? IS IT NOT ENOUGH FOR YOU TO MESS AROUND WITH MY LIFE, MY CAREER, NOW YOU HAVE TO MESS AROUND WITH MY STUFF????????????????????????????????

In case you guys didn't realise by this point, YES I'M FUCKING MAD. My room is my sanctuary. I keep stuff because everyone of those pieces of junk in my room has memory, has sentiment attached to it. It's there because it's special to me. When I go to other people's houses, unless they're really close friends of mine for years, I don't touch their stuff, EVER without their permission. I respect property rights, and I respect others' property.

THIS WOMAN DIDN'T RESPECT MINE. AND MY MUM HAS THE CHEEK TO INSINUATE THAT I SHOULD BE GRATEFUL SHE'S SPENDING HER TIME DISRESPECTING MY THINGS.

My mom even told me that she had to pay the lady for it, and I didn't chip in. WELL IF I DIDN'T PAY FOR IT, THEN WHY ON GOD'S NAME SHOULD I ENJOY THE PLEASURE OF HER SERVICES? If that's the case, I'd rather NEVER chip in the cleaning fund and wallow in my own dirt AS LONG AS NO ONE EVER ENTERS MY ROOM AGAIN.

Oh God why did you have to let this saturday night end like this......................................................

Spent the afternoon at the library, and then came home to realise that family had no plans for dinner. Hence had to settle meal meself.

No mood to go out, too troublesome to jio pple, and too lazy to go to nearby coffeeshop. What does one do then?

One heads down to the convenient provision shop at one's block and buys a tube of Pringles.

And then spends the rest of the time putting it down on Freehand:



A simple 600X800 wallpaper, with banner potential...

One Dumb Roach...

*Note: The post has been edited, becos I suddenly remembered another stupid thing that happened last night. Read it guys, you really have to, even if you have to scroll down the previous crap...*

Handbag for Sale

[new] My mom got this white handbag free by bargaining with the sales staff at Loreal.

"Aiyah I buy so many expensive things from you already, give me another one lah!"

It would sound funny, if not for the fact that I know my mother. And the force she can project behind her voice when she wants something done her way, like how the dishes should be stacked and how clean the table should be kept.

So anyway, she ended up with 2 white handbags and here's the auction site:

White Handbag For Sale

If anyone is interested, and especially if you have a yahoo account, put a bid on it. BUT [and this probably goes against all the rules of fair trade] if you really want it, and you're my friend, I'll sell it to you at $12. [min. price set by mum sorry guys] Ok, steps are as follows:

1. Click on the link, and log on with your Yahoo account to bid.
2. Closing price is $15, so bid for that price. The auction will automatically close itself to others.
3. IMPT: Send me an SMS telling me you closed the auction. This is to confirm that a friend of mine bought the bag.
4. Meet up with me one day and I'll pass the bag to u for $12.
5. Rate me on Yahoo, so that my rating increases by 1 point. :p Unless u think that I cheated u or something, then don't.

It's a nice, brandless bag, [no embarrassing huge Loreal name on the front] and the material is a faux leather kind, not too bad. It's about, er, the length of my arm from my elbow to my palm? So it can hold at least wallet, handphone, makeup and wateva u have. Good for office and casual use.

Interested already? Hehehe... Bid Here.

---

Ok here's the other stupid thing that happened last night:

I was innocently and happily strumming my guitar in my room last night, when I heard a buzz from behind me. [If you know what my room looks like, I was sitting on my bed with my back to the window] I thought, well, maybe a little bug flew in, so I ignored it and continued strumming.

Who knows, the buzz started again, and this time it was nearer to me. I turned around cautiously and GOOD BLOODY F**K IT'S A KITANAI COCKROACH!!!!!!!!!

I lunged backwards, and I think the roach was similarly startled, cos it scrambled on its dirty little legs till it reached my cupboard.

My cupboard is fixed into the wall, but there's a slight ledge where the door jutted out. So it rested itself on that ledge, and all I could see of it were its 2 little antenna poking the air in front of it. Like it was playing some dumb hide and seek with me. "You can't see me.............." I could almost hear its taunting roachy voice in my head.

Right, fly into my room will you? I grimly went downstairs to look for a broom.

Now I'm a nice, kind, peace-loving individual. [cue to vomit] Whenever bugs like this fly into my room, I don't harbour bloody murderous thoughts to kill it to bits and drink its blood. All I really want is to swat it with a soft broom till it flies out of the house and never haunts me again.

It's also because I'm too much of a pissless coward to touch the thing with my bare hands, and kill it and clean up roachkill on my bedroom floor. [Heh...roachkill. That's a good one]

But I couldn't find a dry broom in the house. All I found was a disattached broom head, and a wooden staff. So I tried joining the two together.

What do you know? My hands slipped and I jammed the wooden pole onto my fingernail.

ITAI!!!!! TOTEMO ITAI!!!!!! !@#$%^! BLARDY F**K!!! [Language in subdued tones because father was watching TV in living room]

NOW I'M PISSED. First a ROACH flies into my room, it stubbornly refuses to fly out again and leave me in peace with my guitar, and I BANG MY FINGER WITH A WOODEN POLE BECAUSE OF IT??? HE DIES I TELL YOU!!! NOW I HUNGER FOR HIS BLOOD!!!

My black face, sore finger and I go back up to my room together, where we find the dirty bugger still trying to hide at the top of my cupboard, still taunting me with those pesky feelers.

=@*BANG!!!!!*@=

The wooden broom flies towards his malicious little cockroachy head. I wasn't sure whether I even hit him, but he was still alive, cos he managed to scurry to the other side of the cupboard. I took aim again.

=@*BANG!!!!*@=

It almost becomes a game. He'd scurry to one end of the cupboard, where I'd whack him, then he'd scurry to the other side again, and I'll whack him again. This went on till my father screamed.

=@*BANG!!!!*@=

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING UPSTAIRS???" My dad finally got alarmed at the repeated sounds of violence in my room.

"THERE'S A BLOODY COCKROACH IN MY ROOM!!!" I screamed, as I aimed another whack at it.

=@*BANG!!!!*@=

"SO KILL IT LAH!!!"

"THAT'S WHAT I'M TRYING TO DO!" I screamed as I aimed another shot at it.

=@*BANG!!!!*@=

"Kill it for her lah!" My brother said to my dad downstairs, as I whacked the cupboard again.
"Before she destroys half the house!"

My dad was now torn. Should he quietly lie downstairs, enjoy his beer and his documentaries, or wrench himself from his comfort zone and make the trudging journey upstairs before I broke all the furniture upstairs for one dumb roach?

=@*BANG!!!!*@=

The next bang apparently convinced him that I would potentially wreck my entire bedroom suite [and his] to kill that miserable insect. He goes upstairs to my room, where I'm holding the broomstick a la Kill Bill waiting for the roach to make a move.

"WHAT'S ALL THE FUSS HERE???" Moody as a grizzly awakened in the middle of hibernation.

"HE WON'T COME OUT FROM THE CUPBOARD!!!"

"AAAARRRGGGHHHH!!!!" Probably by now regretting that the expensive education he got for his daughter didn't include a module on Confrontation and Elimination of Cockroaches 1001, he grabbed the broom from my hands, swept the cockroach onto its bristles, and then in a very manly and barbaric way, grabbed the thing WITH HIS BARE HANDS. EEEEEWWWWWWWWW.

With a very moody look on his face [hoping to get back to his beer] he walks downstairs with the roach still trapped in his hands. AND THEN LETS IT GO IN THE FRONT BALCONY.

"AAARGGHH!!! WHY DID U LET IT GO THERE???" I scream.

"Why?? What's wrong?? He's out of the house what!"

My brother said it for me. "But from the front balcony...... It could fly back into her room, right?"

I slept that night with the windows closed and the broom by my bedside.

---

*The old post, originally posted on Wed, 3rd march...

*wryly* my little tagboard has apparently been hacked. Nur Farlyana, Sha, Yana whoever you are, that is not an IRC channel, doomo arigatou, it's a tag board for people to leave comments. This is not IRC.com, this is a blog. And btw, do I know you at all?

My blog must been getting a little bit of notoriety to attract people out of nowhere. Hehehe... The next Xiaxue in the making?? [yea right.. no way I'm turning my blog pink... ]

So continues the week of non-paid leave... From Mon to Sat, I would only have worked 2 days in the week, and spent the rest of the time blogging, surfing, and playing around with Freehand. Pray hope my dad never sees this blog and reinforce his idea that I am The Ultimate Bum.

Thus let me entertain you with funny episodes this week:

- Dad went to Johor and came back with Kill Bill 1 and 2. [pirated DVDs of course] And then spent the entire Wed night whistling some song from Vol 1 over and over again, leading me to entertain notions of hacking him up with a Hattori Hanzo while dressed in a yellow track suit.

- My mother is rather predictable in her ways. On Wed night when my tuition had been cancelled, Dad and I met her at J8 for dinner. Since there was a sale at J8, she went shopping. Since Dad is a man, and shopping is the exclusive arena of women, Dad happily left me and mom together shopping while he went home to watch Kill Bill 2.

Mom, in typical female fashion, agonized over whether to buy something at the sale, then followed me to a neighbourhood store to buy some shirts for herself, checked out prices at a shop next to it, went back to the sale, agonized further, tried it on in the dressing room [insisting I stood guard because it was one of those temporary cubicles with the drawcurtains and she was afraid somebody would suddenly draw the curtain open] came out, still deciding whether to buy, walked one round around the sale area, and finally decided to buy it.

Now I know where i inherited my shopping genes from.

After all that, naturally we're tired, so we head to Mac's to get ice-cream [and she stops at Bits N' Pieces to think about whether to buy a pair of earrings]. After getting my Coke Float, all I wanted to do was to walk home happily sipping the stuff, but she announces she's tired and wants to sit down. The last thing I wanted to do now was to sit down with my mum for one hour while she asked me inane questions about my life, like when I was going to mop the house again, so I pulled my trump card:

"American Idol's starting now."

"What??? Why didn't you tell me??" Energy from her ice cream cone suddenly surges into her legs and she hurriedly trots off in front of me, while I trail behind her with her shopping bags and her working bag.

Oh yea. I know me mum all right.

---

A letter to Someone...

I'm writing this to you, but I don't know if you'll ever read it.

Do you remember the first time we met? We were so shy around each other, and didn't know how to react to the other party. We hemmed and hawed around until we reached a level of familiarity that allowed us to be comfortable with each other.

Those early days were carefree and easygoing. We didn't have to worry about friends, parents or society, we just did our own thing together, hoping that somehow things would come out right. Those early days in school when we knew each other, we went through all the tests, exams and other problems of adolescence, and we overcome them all. Although we didn't know each other very well then, I thought, maybe this would be a longlasting relationship.

How wrong I was.

Slowly, but surely, we went further apart. You had your own thing, and you were too busy to hang out with me anymore. You hardly called, or SMS-ed, except to tell me that you were busy, and that you couldn't meet up. Even when I called you, you pushed me aside, saying you were busy. You said you'd call, but you didn't. We met less and less often, until almost none at all, and you only called when you were in dire need of my help, otherwise you wouldn't call me at all.

Well, I say enough already. I don't see why we should continue the relationship in this way. Obviously I'm not important enough for you to make time in your busy schedule for me. So why should I wait around for you to make a move? I'd rather be with someone that needs me, rather than be on call for someone who will only call me when necessary.

I think it's best that we just stop this charade now. This is obviously going nowhere, and I think it's best we both found other people in our lives.

Tell your mother I quit, and I hope you find another tuition teacher.

---

Ok now just how many of you out there thought I was writing that to someone???? Hahahahahahahaha....... The idea came to me, because this week, a lot of my students suddenly had to cancel or postpone tuition. Which means that I was on 'enforced leave' for the past 3 days. *sigh* The bad thing was that one of them was supposed to pay me this week........ *sob* no money till next week... And because of make up lessons i'll be missing the open house at LaSalle this weekend.....argh....

Well, the good thing is that it allowed me more time to draw, and surf net, and be a total slacker, as usual. Here's a new one:


[btw with flickr, you can also post comments on the picture, by clicking on it. So you can comment on whether you like, don't like, or blardy hate the picture.]

It's meant to be wallpaper, and I tried it on my PC, but the bad thing is that most of my icons are on the left side, so it totally blocked out the picture... *tiao* what a waste...

And yea, I do want one, even though I'll have to buy Mac software to put on my PC. Haiz..... and even though Creative Zen's is more functional, what with the PC compatibility and the FM radio...

Hmmm, if I do get into NIE, maybe I shld blow my first paycheck [or two] on an ibook? Hahaha... tempting even though my old IBM still works fine... I think...

And speaking of NIE, another has joined the teaching course. Welcome, Turtle, who will sign his contract on Sat. So [hopefully, cross your fingers] i now have 2 friends going into NIE in the same year, and hopefully we can all get hostel together.

But then, I haven't even received the letter for an interview. *haiz*

Cross your fingers and see how lah. N hope my luck with schools in the past extends to my luck with NIE.

Cramps and Frogs

Times are, I hate being a woman. That wracking, menstrual cramp at the onset of the wrong time of the month makes me hate being a woman every time. Fortunately for me, I don't get it badly every month, like I did in secondary school, but every time I do, I seriously consider either 1) tying my tubes or 2) getting a sex change and 3) murdering every male in sight.

Fortunately for me and half of Singapore's male population ( and some of the Parisien one last year ) none of these suggestions were ever seriously implemented.

*Groans and whines of self pity* Why in hell wasn't I born a male....... I could probably live with societal expectations of masculinity, ( seeing as how some of my male friends think I currently live up to it pretty well in my present state ) deal with NS and having a hard-on every morning, ANYTHING better than this.............

What an end to my sudden day off. Having 2 students cancelled for the day, I made my way to the AMK library to indulge in comic book readings, one of my favourite holiday activities which I hardly indulge in. ( Incidentally, For Better or For Worse is a great strip chronicling the adventures of the Patterson family living in Canada as they deal with kids, work, menopause, university and death. In other words, all of the things that make life. )

The afternoon was thus peacefully spent in the slightly-too-cold-for-comfort library reading For Better or Worse, and Cathy comics. ( All those working now, I sense an aura of animosity... )

The bad part came later. I had found out in the library that my least favourite house guest had paid me a visit again, and thus the usual chaos was to be expected. I thought, however, that since the last few visits weren't so bad, I should be able to make it through this one.

Oh flippin' god, how wrong I was. This was one of the BAD ones.

Pain, wrackin' pain, slight nausea at the sight and thought of food, ( and to make matters worse, the fragrant scent of Rotiboy was just a few metres away from us. Oh, cruel, cruel world... ) giddiness when I tried to stand, and more pain, and a persistent cold sweat, even when I was finally in the cab, and the aircon was blowing at me.

ITAI! ONAGA GA TOTEMO ITAI DESU!!! SEKAI NI ZENBU OTOKO SHINE KUDASAI!!!!! KIRAI! KIRAI! TOTEMO KIRAI DESU!!!

So anyway, I managed to grab a cab, stagger upstairs, n when I finally entered my living room, collapsed onto the floor, jeans and all, hugged my backpack for comfort, and went comatose there.

My family being what they are, they enquired once to make sure that I was alive and breathing, and pretty much left me alone for the rest of the night. ( My cramps are known to the world )

Anyway, when I finally regained consciousness, my bro bid me a belated birthday, and handed me a frog.

Yes, a frog.



Er, my apologies. Well, it seems a friend of his had got it from overseas, probably Thailand or Indonesia by the looks of it. What you're supposed to do is to take the stick from its mouth, rub it along the grooves of its back, and it makes a croaking sound, like a frog. A mating call, for all I know.



Yea, something like that.

Cool little fellow, ain't he?

And a new illustration again: [I don't know what's up with me... I keep getting tons of inspiration these days... better take advantage of whatever I can... :p ]



There's something about frustration and anxiety that's just very... artistically inspiring. No wonder all truly great artists were stone broke one way or another... All that anxiety and frustration over their finances made them paint and paint and paint...

The One Moment...

Another of my Write Wateva Crap things....

Some years ago, I watched a Japanese movie on TV which had an interesting concept about life after death.

In the movie, people who died ( or rather, Japanese people who died ) would enter an interview room right after death. Here, they would be able to choose ONE moment in their lives which they would want to remember forever. The crew would then assemble a sort of movie set to recreate the moment, and then the deceased would be able to live in that moment forever, all other memories having been erased. If you couldn't remember any moments, you had one week in which to view a video tape library of your life, to help you remember.

People varied in their choices of the ONE moment in their lives. One girl at first thought of the first time she had sat a rollercoaster at Disneyland, then decided on a time she was lying in her mother's embrace. Another man chose the first time he was on an aeroplane. ( This was those old warplanes where your head was exposed to the wind ) Another old woman chose the time she pirouetted for her brother, dressed in her favourite red shoes.

The hard part for many was choosing the ONE moment, but one man was rather poignant. Upon viewing the tapes, he realised that there had never been that ONE moment in his life. A typical Japanese bureaucrat, he watched tape after tape in his life, only to realise there was nothing in it for him to remember. Not his graduation, not his job, not even his marriage, which presumably was arranged.

How sad can that be? You live to a ripe old age, only to realise there was nothing in it for you?

But then again, how many people have that ONE moment in their lives? The ONE where suddenly, the world opens up before you, and you taste life in all its entirety. And you LOVE it.

The one high point in your otherwise humdrum existence. The one moment that you truly feel alive. The one moment that you'd want to relive over and over again for eternity.

The poor man couldn't find any. And then that's when he found out that those who could not choose were instead designated to work as crew in that halfway building between life and death, that state of purgatory, helping people choose the ONE before you could move on yourself.

I suppose if I couldn't decide on a ONE moment and I wanted to keep all my memories, that wouldn't be such a bad thing. But to remember for the rest of eternity what a boring loser you were?

Sigh.

To hold eternity in a moment.... Is it truly possible? Does the ONE moment really exists in everyone's lives? A ONE moment to be remembered and cherished forever, and which could never be surpassed by any other memory?

Maybe at our ages, we're still relatively young. ( Yes, in terms of an expected human lifespan of 80-90 years, we are young. ) We are still at the appetiser section, making way for the main courses. We haven't really tasted true pain, true love, ( Maybe some of you will disagree with me on this. :p ) true hardship, true luxury.

True life, in other words. And of course, at the end, true death.

So if you feel that you've experienced that ONE moment already, good for you. Remember that forever, for it will make the rest of your life pale in comparison.

---

Anyway there seems to be a conspiracy going on between my two kids. Yesterday one kid postponed on account of a CA on the same day, n another kid just fell ill today, and cancelled as well. So I suddenly have a day off, and I'm not quite sure what to do with it. :p

The laundry's waiting in the machine, though that will only take me a few minutes to hang up. I've checked all me mail, uploaded a few images, [more Freehand practices!] and read all my blogs and online comics.

Man. I truly have too much time on my hands today, and I don't know what to do with it all.

Nah, I do know. i'll go to the library, return and exchange some books, maybe do some sketching there, if I actually find space, get some food to eat, take a stroll through AMK imagining I'm 11 again, and remembering the thrill of being allowed outside by myself for the first time. *chortle* how young I was then... Nowadays I go so many places by myself it's ceased to be a thrill and become something of a bore. Though I have to admit it's more convenient sometimes... ( How many of you want to follow me to Kino and watch me browse books and comics and Copic markers for hours? )

Anyway, here's a sample of my latest practice on Freehand:



I'm getting slightly better on it, but still the thought of drawing the human face ( albeit a manga-ized version ) still makes me wanna scream. Can you imagine the no of strokes needed, not to mention the preciseness needed to perfectly express emotion? *stoned*

Anyway, laundry calls....

Blogging Earns Money

Holy fish. The first local celebrity blogger. Xiaxue is now endorsing a brand of t-shirts called LocalBrand. I truly wonder if she's getting paid for it, because if she is, she'll be the first celebrity blogger endorser.

Famous through a blog. WTF?? I better go incorporate my blog nick right now, before someone steals it from under me!

Anyway, she's not the first blogger making money from her blog. [although hers is a more indirect way of doing so, and it's not disclosed whether she is making money from the endorsement or not] The infamous London callgirl Belle Du Jour compiled the contents of her blog into a book, which is now selling at Kino. For those who don't read her blog, the book is about her experiences as a London callgirl, the strange clients she gets, and the conflicts with her RL relationships. What makes it entertaining is her highly witty way of writing, so for a sneak peek, read her blog already.

So now, blogging is apparently the new way to make money through the Internet. Write a controversial blog, get famous, and wait for all the book deals and the clothing deals to come in. Imagine what some of Singapore's famous bloggers can do:

Xiaxue : T-shirts, [done] kinky, naughty stuff.
Mister Miyagi : Action figures. The Wise Venerable Sensei, complete with white outfit and beard.
Mr Brown : Coffee Mugs, local news magazines
Popaghandi : Anything Mac-affiliated [sadly, her account has been suspended, so there goes her very excellent blog. Anyway, she's a Mac afficionado]

[Note: for some of these, you'd really have to read their blogs to get the joke]
[Note note: I know there are other good Singaporean blogs out there, but these are just the ones I know of]

Here's a good money-making opportunity none of us ever thought about! What could some of the bloggers on my friends list endorse??

From the order in my favourites folder:

Quetzal : scuba and diving equipment. Also underwater camera and photographic equipment, maybe from Sony, so that she can take pictures underwater, and then send them to her email, from which she will display the pictures on her blog.

Goldfish : jazz CDs and jazz clubs around Singapore. Especially swing music and clubs with enough space for her to swing around.

Yennhellbound : unofficial spokesperson for whichever school she is teaching in. If she gets famous enough, in the future, schools will beg her to teach there, so that she will publicise them in her blog.

Slayer : again, unofficial spokesperson for Murdoch and vegan food providers. And for the book, He Just Isn't Into You.

And of course,

Boredslacker : links to tuition centres, tuition agencies, and all kinds of online comic resources. hehehe.... plus of course, my own range of boredslackerTM tshirts.....

That'll be good, won't it? ;)