love is not about it being worth it or not. humans always think of whether something is worth my time/effort, what’s the opportunity cost, what’s in it for me, he doesn’t deserve you, you don’t deserve her… i say screw it. why must there be something “in it for me”? do mums say, if i buy my 3-year-old kid an ice-cream, maybe he won’t put me in a home for the aged 30 years later? does God say, if i bless this woman, will i get an extra $50 in tithes or she’ll do a good deed for someone else? LOVE DOESN’T WORK THAT WAY. it’s probably the only thing that can make humans this stupid, but it’s also the only thing that make humans human. it’s not about what you get back, at least not tangibly.

in canada, we went to a home to sing christmas carols. sure, i’ve had praises on my singing before, and yes i appreciate them,  but when it comes from an elderly woman in a wheelchair with tears in her eyes, struggling to get the words out, you can hardly take it lightly.

angela was so worked up after chatting with a guy staying at the home. she was on the verge of tears, probably due to her korean background. “these people actually have children; their children just don’t want them!” and “in korea they would never send their parents to a home!” this was very unstandable - visiting such places does make you realise a lot. but it wasn’t the first time for me, and perhaps my heart has been hardened, but i told her “if the children are busy, or don’t have the means to take care of their parents, then perhaps putting them under professional care will be the best, especially under pallative conditions.” but nobody would like to go to a home. no senior would like to live with other old people; in singapore the elderly mostly like to see the children and the youth, even in their neighbourhood. the government here has built these homes near schools so that schoolgoing children can do their mandatory community service there, but children often dislike seniors. myself, i can hardly claim to be detached from these people.

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diffident i will no longer be.

i remember m telling me about how l (the letter ‘l’, not I) begged her to let him go back to her. and she hated it. why should a guy beg? being the naturally antagonistic person i disagreed with her, and i said why is it a shame to want to pursue one’s own happiness, and why is it a shame to try one’s best to be with the person one loves? she didn’t reply me for a while, and then she changed subjects. i knew she agreed with me, but pride didn’t permit her to admit that.

fuck pride.

earlier tonight i sent someone an email that revealed a lot. as expected, he scoffed at me. but it’s okay. as long as i get what i want, why am i afraid of people laughing at me? they can talk/insult/laugh all they want, but they don’t know the complete picture, and they don’t want to know the complete picture. all they want is to sit in their comfort zone and bitch about every little thing. my email exposed a lot of the vulnerability i have kept hidden for months now. and i wasn’t afraid anymore to showcase these raw emotions. i am not afraid of letting the ones i love know how much i love them, and how much i need them. it is not subservient, it is not submissive, and it is definitely not stupid. it is simply heartfelt. if one who writes is afraid of exposing one’s feelings, then please take your pen and give it to someone who actually deserves to write. why, are you too chicken to identify and deal with your own feelings and emotions?

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these few days i cried a lot. when i finally thought i had decided what route i should take, it seems that someone had already decided for me, that it was not to be. don’t count your chickens before they hatch, but who says that ducks aren’t just as good, if not better than chickens? so i picked the ducks instead. i’m still lucky to be able to have ducklings even though my first choice were chicks. but after tonight i realise my first choice should have been ducklings right from the start. why would anyone think the ‘ugly’ duckling is ugly? i think it’s special.

when i was young(er - haha), i’d watch those 7pm dramas while having dinner, (my mom would always scold me because my rice would all be cold by the time 8pm rolls around.) and i thought how awful it was for a woman to give birth to a disabled (mentally or physically) kid. i know dear mrs kan would shake her head sadly and say a silent prayer for the mother and her kid, haha (mrs kan, i miss u!). as i grew older, and been to hospital and homes to do volunteer work, i think these people are really special. some time ago, i went to a friend’s family and saw a very special girl. she was very pretty, and you know she wasn’t like normal folks, but she was very endearing. it made you notice her, a little girl that you normally wouldn’t give a second glance to. it was as if she was attracting you to love her more. she would cry easily, and it really hurt to see her in pain. i wondered if i would be lucky enough to love someone in special need like her one day. always thought that having a special needs kid teaches you more about love than having a normal kid does. if i were to have a special needs kid one day, i’d thank god for choosing me to love and have such a special child. if i have the means to, i’d definitely adopt. not an exotic child for an international family unlike ms UN ambassador a.k.a. show-off, but a precious, special child.

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today i saw an old woman. i don’t know why my eyes fixed onto her, for she was so ordinary, so common, blending into the crowd on the mrt. then i saw this old photo she had in her transparent card case of sorts. it was sepia, and featured a young woman probably in her late teens or early twenties. everyone has their story, and it’s just so fascinating to know that everyone has their own secrets and heartaches, as well as their joys and happiness. everyone has their own unique purpose for living. you look at the girl tearing in the corner, and you know she has a story. you look at the guy smiling to himself and you know he has a story as well. be it the elderly woman who clings on to her old young photo or the young couple tangled up in each other opposite you, everyone has their story. i don’t know why people complain that autobiographies are boring, when you can learn the gist they learnt in their lifetime in a book. actually i don’t know how people can condense their life stories into chapters with one-word titles when all the beauty is in the details. all the little bits and pieces account for life, and although life so far hasn’t gone as smoothly as i hoped it would have, all remain precious to me and i wouldn’t have it any other way.

i’m letting go. the moment i clicked send on that email, i felt a wave of serenity and peace wash over me. learning to let go, learning to stop clinging on to the things that just weren’t meant to be. when you’re a toddler, you learn to give up your little blanket and your pacifier, things you’ve held so dearly to your heart. but there’s a time for everything to go, and there’re pastures we have yet to seek. only by giving up your security blanket can you venture forth into the real world and learn to be independent. you might cry and be depressed but this is all but permanent. i remember having to give up my bottle when i was a kid and crying for days. if things don’t mean much to you, it won’t hurt as much when you have to part with them. but you learn to cherish. you learn to treasure memories, and that at least you had them once. you’d lived it, tasted it, experienced it. and that’s really more than enough for me :) it’s better than hopelessly trying to make things work when everything has changed and deceive yourself into believing this is really what you want. with every sorrow comes a greater appreciation for happiness. and failures make the eventual victory sweeter.

working on myself for now. hope to change things for the better, and to put my words into action. that’s the trouble with us dreamers. plan and dream and take our own sweet time to do things. well i’m gonna be pro-active from now on, and start living life the way it should be lived.

i’ve heard so much about her, known so much about her, yet i don’t really know her. and today, i got to hear her side of things. and i was floored. it’s so easy to judge people, from what someone else says, from people’s opinions of her, from the way she does things. but no matter how much you know about someone, you can never truly know him or her just through hearsay. it’s not just a single her, but so many hers, and so many hims as well. girlfriends complain about their jerks of a boyfriend, or guyfriends are frustrated because they can’t seem to figure out why girls are so demanding. you tend to side with your friend, and form your own baseless convictions about a person. today i finally understood another piece of the puzzle. she’s like water, crystal clear, strong in her own way yet so fragile that the slightest movement can upset the serenity. and oh so beautiful. but what strikes me the most is her herself.

women. how many times have you read reports on abused wives silently suffering for twelve or so years while muttering ’stupid woman’ under your breath? how can there be such silly women who don’t know how to stand up for their rights, you wonder. but looking at it from another angle, there’re some traits that i can’t help but to admire. their love, no matter how badly their SO had treated (or even are treating) them, never falters, and they continue to be there for them. remember the song “as long as he needs me” by nancy from oliver? i can never be one of those long-suffering women who willingly allow their SO to manhandle them. sacrificing everything, including every shred of pride or dignity, for a man, is not exactly smart, but their love and giving is very much admired by yours truly. it’s a love that’s pure, simple and yet stronger than diamonds. for someone to take such physical or emotional abuse, there simply has to be single-minded, concentrated love. i remember those ads saying how a ring covered up rape, and i also remember thinking how scary it is. in older days, if you were married to a man and yet didn’t have sex with him, others would mock you or maybe even haul you off to the magistrate/court for not fulfilling the duties of a wife. it’s like you belonged to the man, and you have no rights of your own anymore. but snap back to today, and in a civilised society like singapore’s, it’s still shameful to be divorced, or even press charges against your spouse. you’re subject to the pointings and glancing away of others, as well as the lashings of cowards who hide behind computer screens, and who can honestly say that these don’t hurt. it’s scary that in a not-exactly-long-ago past, wives were still expected to be like this. maybe we’ve become too modern, too obsessed with self-worth and equality that we don’t allow ourselves to love til such standards. lots of people would want to make their SO happy as possible. being the wife in the guide doesn’t surprise me, but unsurprisingly it piqued the attention of many feminists and modern women. fathers and mothers have given so much to their children in the name of love, so why let modern rules stop you from loving your spouse wholeheartedly? thinking that loving too much will result in bigger heartbreaks later on is just akin to the pre-emptive strikes by the USA (i am very tempted to write in the past but unfortunately that is not true).

back to her. if i were an alpha male (and everyone knows every man has a bit of alpha male in them), she would make the perfect wife. she’d do the cooking and cleaning and cater to my every whim and fancy. of course, she would be unwaveringly loyal and devoted, and i would be the luckiest man alive, because it would seem that her very purpose for existing is for me. omg. i wouldn’t look for a girl like that, but to have one like that as a wife would be a bonus, no? why would anyone give up such a dedicated girlfriend is beyond my comprehension.

i am channelling whatever unhappiness i have into motivation! no more emoness for me, even if it does allows me to think deeper. i cannot allow myself to sink further into depression. come to think of it, those abused wives would probably also suffer from pent-up depression. hmm. so would people with high EQ. hope i can reach this month’s goal :D

p.s. blogging is indeed therapeutic. will try to blog regularly in future ^^

edit: I just read one of my (somewhat related) blog posts when I was fourteen. Haha it’s really interesting to see how my opinions have changed. /end edit

wow… i just came home from my lesson and omg i took a super old-school sbs (now smrt) bus! i haven’t been on one of those in years. i remember taking them and having to regain my balance while i fed my ‘mrt card’ through the red machine and pressing the 45c button, then just running to my seat, aka whereever you land when you finally manage to stop running (because the bus is taking off!). of course, my mum or whoever’s taking me out would then come along and scold me for sitting too far away from them (very wtf right i chose the seat first leh!) irregardless, i tell ya, it’s better than the knight bus. the bus tonight resembled one of those old creepy, rundown hospitals in japanese horror movies, where the exit sign is the exact shade of garish red, flashing like the emergency sign at a byoin, only with incessant beeping noises.

i just typed all of the above in like 10 seconds. *catches breath before it runs away again*

hahah penang buses are run down and old and the exterior may resemble that of the old-school smrt bus but they are really different. penang buses have two categories. the old white & blue buses and the new, rapidpenang buses. i’ve had my share of weird encounters on penang buses, and that after hearing those you might not want to send your kid to school on a penang bus hahah. smrt bus drivers are reckless yes, but when they stop to let you alight they make sure they slow down (so sweet right!). who can forget those smooth brown chairs that are so much more comfortable (and hygenic, really!) than the current furry seats on buses now, where all the bacteria thrive! >:D *cue fat man & perverts jokes*

who can forget collecting those pink/yellow sbs/smrt bus tickets?? some people had a huge collection, with the wordings fading off slower than that of a movie ticket. i remember huge creative artworks made from these little scraps of paper, and of course, the horrible littering in buses. tickets could be found in every nook and cranny of seats, all folded up into tiny squares or rolled up like little ciggie butts.

when it was coming to my stop, i glanced at the bars anxiously looking for the bells, only to remember that the bells were on the sills. handles were still round - i remember sliding my hand through and taking them for bangles as a kid, and there were individual seats as well.

it just isn’t the same, having futuristic-looking ezlink devices installed near the doors of the old sbs bus, looking awkwardly out of place, as if it were a little girl dolled up in diamonds and adorned in the best silk wandering among the slums and squatters of india (or any other country, really).

anyone who knows me should know that my favourite form of transportation is the bus. it used to be airplanes, then i got sick of it just like any frequent flyer. up till a few years ago, whenever i was sad or just needed a place to think, i would take the 67 bus at night to the end, then alight, cross the road and take the same bus in the opposite direction. bus rides are ideal for thinking, for long conversations, for just watching people. perhaps my love for buses stem from my childhood, a reminder of simpler times before where everything was so much easier, a reminder of 1990s singapore where it wasn’t all that much of a stepford wife.

i wonder how i have willingly given up my simplistic life for one that’s materialistic, for one that finds the simple notion of faithful love sickening, for one that i would never would be proud to have ten years ago.

have we grown up, or have we deteriorated?

i wonder why i can’t write anymore. all my posts on this site are crap. hell, i don’t even know why i have to password protect so many things. what happened to that heart-on-sleeve style blogging? died out, for sure.

i love kl at night. the cold air and the empty streets. the garish lights on the lamposts in the shape of a hibiscus. the twinkling smiles of menara kl and petronas twin towers. the sunway pyramid style glow of some buildings. a tinge of familiarity mixed with phobia of a foreign land into a cocktail of apprehension that adds only to the mystery and allure of this strange city. wilayah persekutuan. jalan maharajalela. names that i can never pronounce accurately on first go. we have so much in common yet we’re as distinct as chalk and cheese. malaysians are a weird and wonderful people. the more i know about them, the less i really understand them. compared to them, we gen-y singaporeans are so culture-less. how many of us can proudly say we can speak hokkien/cantonese/teochew/hakka fluently (no, expletives don’t count)? yet we often pride ourselves for our proficiency in english(but i have expounded too much on this topic. need to let it out all at one go in the near future). big deal. malaysians can speak three languages fluently, and multiple dialects to boot. well, of course i know many bananas in malaysia, and chinese-malaysian accents crack me up all the time, but it is precisely these little idiosyncrasies(and so much more; i could go on and on) that make malaysians nothing less than fascinating. let’s not even get started of the proportion of lengluis to yandaos in this country. one more thing: if anyone calls me ah moi again that guy better have insurance coverage. it’s not going to be pretty.

kuala lumpur does not hold as many good memories than it does bad ones for me, and it’s proving to be quite a mix this trip. i shall refrain from commenting much on this trip other than this fact for now. two more nights left in this city. i intend to savour it.

there’s been nothing much of interest for me to blog about since i’ve been stuck at home all day doing nothing but watching tv shows and playing pokemon sapphire study, so i’m just going to move old posts from all over the place here. random musings, yes.

26 sept 2007, originally posted in my notes in facebook

A long time ago (we used to be friends… haha ok no), I used to wonder how it was like. I used to sit by the viewing gallery in Changi Airport (which still looks like ice-cream after all these years) and watch planes take off and soar into the sky, imagining the initial adrenaline rush, the cloud-watching and the feeling like affluent, upper-middle class people sitting watching movies while pretty air stewardesses served you drinks and smiles.

I remember when I was young, one of my ambitions was to work at an airport. No, not be an air stewardess because that didn’t pay well (I know, I was practical as a child ok… hello I’m Singaporean?) but because it was one of the places, like TV studios) that made me feel classy. I used to walk along the corridors at the local TV station, behind glamourous TV actresses who walked in heels along the glossy marble floor making those click-clack sounds that I now find so annoying. How things change. Anyway. I guess being at the airport gave me a similar feeling. I had my fill of haughty actresses and glaring cameras, and looked towards the airports instead. My friends and I used to go to the airport just for kicks. Some place to hang out. We’d have fun with the trolleys and have ice-cream at Swensen’s, or go to the library and attempt to get some studying done. Pretend to be tourists and speak in fake accents. Take the new MRT line to the airport and spend the night there, watching foreign workers lay down their mats and get awakened by the alarm at 6am. Sleep for a couple o’ hours and finding out our thick textbooks make pretty good pillows (or maybe finding out we really could sleep anywhere).

Part of the surge of going overseas was the plane ride. Short flights to destinations an hour away were always part of the draw and the lure of a holiday (which I didn’t have many of). On my first long trip (24 hours) to Canada, I was the only excited person, smiling to herself and actually listened attentively to the instructions regarding the life jackets and oxygen masks. Fast forward just a little, and the excitement of a plane flight has gone. Perhaps too much of a good thing is really plus plus equals minus. You learn to sleep through most part of the ride and let the pretty ‘jie jie’ wake you up for meals. You pick the window seats not for the views but for undisturbed reading. You go on seatguru.com to pick the seats with the most leg room. And all you think about is getting yourself occupied for the entire plane trip. There was no more gum chewing during take off (of course, not in my case), no more imagining/day dreaming, no more looking forward to actually getting some free time thinking and planning.

Well yeah, considering how Canada killed all my enthusiasm, the last point can actually be disregarded. Still, I miss it. The late nights at the airports feeling like an adult, the strolling in Narita Airport in Tokyo with a newfound friend looking for food, the smirking at a customs officer (oh this.. I was carrying a heavy box full of notes on my last trip from Detroit Airport and the customs guy didn’t let me wheel my stuff on a trolley:
Me: No, I can’t carry these on my own (points at luggage)
Customs guy: Actually, you’re only allowed 7KG for hand-carry. I also dunno why they allowed you to bring that on board. (Okay you can see that the guy’s Singaporean. & my box weighed about, what, >25KG?)
Me: Um I don’t know. Maybe because they’re so much nicer than you are? (promptly pushes trolley through and strolls off before the guy figures out what I said (I can speak like a machine gun when I want to). He’s Singaporean la, takes some time to process things. Ok yeah I get the irony.)), finding out you can charge your laptop at some airports, duty-free shopping, hanging out at airport lounges with bratty kids who never shut up (ok so you get the bad with the good)…

Now, as my peers all send out emails and notes telling people when they’ll fly off to some far-flung country, that strong sense of longing returns. Perhaps I’m not so immune to peer pressure after all. Perhaps it’s the jaded been-there-done-that-but-still-miss-it-secretly attitude. I still go to the airport, like every month now, but the feeling has changed. I know that in the next few years or so, it’ll still continue to change. It’s the classic case of “going away, finding out home is still the best, and still don’t wanna come home”. The draw of being away from home is still there. Returning to Singapore still hasn’t made me want to be here permanently. I’ve always known that I was going to be a “quitter”, in SM Goh’s words, but a part of me still thinks I will change my mind in the end. Perhaps Singapore will always be Where I come from, but never Where my heart is.

I am still intrigued by the flight (flighty? hah) business, reading Richard Branson’s biography and the latest AirAsia story, learning about Southwest’s business model, loving Changi’s new Budget Terminal… I guess the charm of the airports will always be there. Mention airport to me and I’d think of dim streetlights, red car lamps, cold rushes of air, the anticipation of somewhere foreign, hugs before going in, and tears after the departure gates.

I don’t really remember much, but I’ll try.

In no chronological order..
1) Went to Thailand on my own for 2 weeks (first trip to Thailand) , returned for another 2 the following week
2) Fell in love with Thailand
3) Went again to Chiang Rai for a week and ended up staying for another
4) Got really sick :(
5) Missed CNY like crazy in Canada
6) Left The Jail :D
7) Got lost in Canada and missed my curfew
8) Got grounded about 4 times
9) Had Diversity Day where we prepared Nasi Lemak, Chicken Rice, Mee Goreng and other Singaporean fare
10) Fell out of love
11) Fell in love
12) Went to Taiwan for the first time
13) Took an exam in Bangkok
14) Participated in a musical
15) Picked up Deutsche
16) Felt utter desolation and despair in Canada
17) Volunteered with ‘patient interaction’ at a hospital
18) Met some of the girls I’d miss like crazy at The Jail
19) Had a much better 2nd half of the school year
20) Moved to Malaysia and realised that I really don’t belong in the Western World
21) Lived alone for the first time
22) Discovered that kids weren’t really that horrible after all
23) Discovered that I could be quite nice to people
24) Had many mental turmoils
25) Lost a grandmother
26) Poisoned myself by mixing soya milk with egg
27) Had my first snowball fight
28) Tried Archery for the first time
29) Smoked cigarettes and shisha for the first time
30) Encountered the effects of being drunk only a day later
31) Celebrated my birthday at the beach
32) Tried fried squid ink in Taiwan
33) Je suis tombé amoureux d’un garçon (autre)
34) Picked up minimal Thai
35) Got harassed by a taxi driver

Too many, so I shall stop here.

2007 has been a great year where I experienced a lot and grew up significantly. There were many mistakes along the way, but I don’t think I would have not made them if I turned back time. No man is infallible, and that’s really how you learn things, by trial and error.

Here’s to 2008, which is already looking like it’s gonna be a great year :)