Thursday, March 31, 2005


I feel like listening.

tell me about you.

who you are. where you're from.
what you like. music you listen to. books you read.
passions you entertain.

I want to know.

The email's down the bottom.

Wednesday, March 30, 2005

I'm too young to worry my pretty little head about this

oh really now.

I've actually had conversations with former "old children" recently (we're no longer old kids because we're all over 21 for most part). And guess what. We're all afraid we're stagnating. Like we're just puttering to a stop just like that.

putter putter putter. backfire.

That somehow our maturity has reached a plateau and we're gonna be stuck in early 20s mentality when we're 80.

of course deep down we know this is horse turd. but well, maybe it isn't.

What recently irritated me though, was when someone actually said

(you guessed it) "you're too young to worry your pretty little head about this"

I can't remember who it was, or what it was about...but this was further exacerbated by one of PotatoQueen's ex's current boyfriend. (got that?)

Within 2 minutes of gerri and I sitting down he's asked us how old we were and immediately adopted a "look down the nose" attitude to us when he learnt of our delicate ages.

gerri inadvertently called him 'old' which pissed him off even more.

Well, since you're the one who started the ageism thing first!

I remember when ageism was a big thing to me. Way back when I was 14. You know the whole high school thing- Seniors vs. the Juniors. blah blah blah. The hierachy of the lion's den. Oh yeah.

Then of course, I grew an attitude. Like, hello! You are talking to the holder of Ms. Attitude '98 and '99 here! *snorts back a giggle*

And when I hit uni, I realised that while age does matter in some instances, it's hardly a barometer for everything.

Guys under the age of 25 are more likely to get incolved in car accidents. Younger people do indeed have less life experience as a general rule. I'm certainly not denying factoids like that.

But to judge purely on age is something I have learnt never to abide by. Especially in the past one and a half years.

chalyz is a good....2 years behind me. She's still my soul sis. She's far more mature than several 29 year olds I know. And she doesn't go on frenzied drunken sprees every single weekend like a certain 27 year old I know. In relationships, she's a whole heap more stable than a whole slew of over 25s (right to their mid-30s) that I know.

In fact, in certain aspects, I find chalyz ahead of me. Just like I'm sure she'll find certain aspects where I'm ahead of her. However, we view each other as equals. We are on even playing ground. She acts no different from anyone my age I've met.

In fact, sometimes, gerri can act alot younger than chalyz. As can The Diva. and there you have it, when gerri is an entire 24 hours older than I am, and Diva a whole year. Or so many other people I can name, we all fall between this small (and sometimes not-so-small) age range. and the differences aren't really that big.

We identify with each other. We get along. As friends, this should pose no problem.

No one matures at a uniform level across the board. It depends on where your insecurities lie. Or vices. Or how your life experiences have panned out.

I'll admit to being more cynical and jaded than the average, but hey. So. freaking. what. I'm also a lot more boppy than most 17 year olds you meet.

So please. If I want to worry my pretty little head about AIDS and euthanasia then let me bloody well do it.

It's not like all my head is stuffed with is the latest hair styles and cotton wool.

Listening to: Boom Bip- Roads Must Roll

oh my cousins

you know how I said before that half my family is good looking and just plain infentisbellyey (cant spell - well I can, but I won't and you can do shit about it) smart?

Well, I just found one of those super-cousin blogs. In fact, she's one of my super-duper cousins. Smart, good-looking, musical and athletic. Oh where did all the good genes go? Oh yes, that's right. To THEM.

And you know what.

She writes for an audience indeed. very very self aware. But boy she makes it sound good.

Hey mama, keep shakin' that thang.

Tuesday, March 29, 2005

hit me, you know you want to

I just watched Closer and it is one of the most emotionally punishing movies I've ever seen. Okay. Not punishing. More like....emotionally enlightening, but that's wrong too. Because we all knew what the movie simply showed us. Uh. let's just leave it with mentally stimulating, because as always, the head is much easier to describe.

my head is still spinning, and my heart is still pounding and I'm still too turned on by the intelligence of everyone in that movie.

I guess everyone was too smart for their own good. And watching that movie forces you to confront so many things you may not want to confront, and it's so real. Just so real. So raw. Because as I said before, no one's well adjusted.

I can't believe I had a few people tell me it was boring! It may have been....disturbing...but boring was not one of the words I'd have used.

Strength in weakness, weakness in strength, manipulation, and how small we can really be when we're in love, while we're pouring our entire souls into something and someone. But also how great we are in love. Ahhhh.....crazy little thing called love.

btw, I popped into imdb and the banner advertising damien rice's O actually has rollover facilities to watch his MTV clips! Talk about marketing!!!!!


It's the next morning and I woke up thinking about the movie.

I could shred the movie into bite sized pieces and chew each morsel all day.

Act like Diesel and Ash and Ember and bengy and sit there with paws clasped around their chewy stick and nibble. nibble. nibble.

I'm still marinating. Massaging the proverbial drunk chicken.

and well, I reckon part of the reason why Clive Owen got Julia Roberts back is because he didn't hit her. Because as he himself said she loves a guilty fuck. and well, having a man hit you makes you just that much less guilty about walking away.

It sounds dumb, but it makes leaving that much easier. Because suddenly it's justified. Not that it wasn't before. But it suddenly becomes even more so. It's a physical manifestation- that finally there's physical proof of the scars inside. And so the line is drawn.

And you know how sometimes you leave, and then you only remember the beginning and the end, and happy edited G-rated bits. And you wonder if you could really have made it work.

And all that other over-analysis.

And two months later you're back with the person because of all this residual silt-like happiness.

Having someone hit you just makes you feel that much better. Strange but true.

and well, because I LOVE reading bad reviews.

I especially liked the one that told me I liked it because I was an urban bourgeois snot who feels so much better about myself by watching other people miserable and justifying it in the name of art. (and hearing horrible shocking the f-word!)

Almost right. Almost.

translation: I gave my glass slippers to you, 12 o' clock to him.
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Monday, March 28, 2005

blogger ate my post. I am very very very peeved.

nice girls do wear black bras

before I start, I just thought I'd tell the world that I haven't changed my mind on the last blog post....YET.

anyway, I guess the universe is preparing me to go back to Singapore because I've been introduced to an onslaught of traditional Singaporean men of late.

The type who waylay me on a Saturday afternoon when I'm minding my own business and tell me that girls really shouldn't be listening to Oasis and promptly flip when I tell them that I really really like the Smashing Pumpkins.

Yeah. The same type who like the rebonded hair girls. pale, wan, helpless damsels in distress who turn evil (and posessive) just when you get together with them. Don't believe me? Ask Gene (of Eye For a Guy/StarHub infamy).

Anyway, since I like to think I'm a progressive, independent, upwardly mobile (some might say kantang, SPG, wannabe) kinda girl, I often flip them off with a wannabe-black "talk to the hand!" gesture. (shut up ok, at least I don't claim that I'm a sista from another motha, or that I'm black inside, or that because I'm black inside, it's shown on my butt crack...unlike SOME PEOPLE!)

Anyway, I'd kinda forgotten how annoying these people were. I even forgot how I used to turn on them furiously and say "DON'T. PATRONISE. ME." ohhhh. my memory. where has it gone?

Yes. and I remember another thing those morons used to say, when I overheard it again today.

"Look at that girl. Hot yeah?"

"A bit slutty lah. Black bra"


SINCE WHEN????!!!!????????
and in defense of the Black Bra, I shall tell you why a black bra is NOT slutty.
Obviously, those guys must have seen the black bra on the girl to even have noticed that she was wearing a black bra, non? Well, the girl was wearing a black bra with extremely thin straps, underneath a black spaghetti strapped top.
She wasn't wearing an aqua bra, or a violet one, or even a red one. She was wearing a very thin-strapped black one. Why? Because it's TASTEFUL.
If you wear and aqua or violet one, it shows your playful side, and lots of girls do it here as an accessory. And besides, those see through ones, really are not invisible.
You're deluding yourself if you think those see-through ones can take the place of a strapless one. And it rubs, snaps easily, and well, to me anyway, looks kinda cheap. (not as in cheap slutty cheap, as in $1 for 5 cheap)
If you wear matching bra straps, it's more sedate. You've made the effort to camoflauge it somehow.
I mean, if you wear a black bra under a see-through white top, depending on who you are, what your attitude is, and what you're wearing, it can look rather slutty. But just coz that's one way of wearing it doesn't make you slutty wearing it any other way!
I have knee-high leather black boots, short skirts, and stockings (not fishnets though). I just don't wear them together. Simple as that.
And honestly guys. Do you really think that if you wore a somehow more virginal white bra under a black top it wouldn't show?
Kindly refer to your nearest tabloid where you'll find out that flashes in cameras have a very charming habit of revealing your underwear (and its colour) to all and sundry by making your previously opaque skirt/dress transparent.
So boys. next time you take a flash photo with a girl and her underwear doesn't show, and it's a tight-ish non-cotton or non-denim black top, chances are she's wearing a black or darker coloured bra.
does that make her slutty?
Someone (read: another one of these conservative guys) asked me why gays can't be sent into hypnotherapy to "straighten themselves out".
I OBJECT!!!!!!!!
It's one thing to say that perhaps they can be counselled for childhood trauma (imaginary or otherwise) and perhaps if the trauma is addressed they can "become straight".
It's quite another to suggest hypnotherapy. Mind control to MAKE YOU become straight?
How about this. I hypnotise you into gaydom.
I'll make you become the biggest most OUTrageous queen who oils his body and prances round "like a pansy" on the Sydney mardi gras floats in nothing but a white loincloth, angel wings and a halo. I'll make you PEE in rainbow.
How would YOU like THAT?
***end of rant about people who are either stupid, idiots or morons***

Sunday, March 27, 2005

first thoughts at 7am

I woke up this morning...had thoughts doing laps around my cranium at F1 Grand Prix speeds and came up with these conclusions (that are most likely to change during the course of even one day)

a) well-adjustment is a myth
b) being grown-up is a myth
c) my heating bill is going through the roof
d) I really am getting a little too reckless
e) everyone's life is infintely more exciting than yours

a) well-adjustment is a myth

who the hell came up with well-adjustment anyway? I mean after years and years of doing cultural studies, I know there's no such thing as a bloody norm. and a norm is an imaginary concept. But I swear well-adjustment takes it up another step. Self-norm. It's so 90s. I bet some shrink thought it'd be cool to earn money and fuck with people's minds for just that much longer.

Be yourself. Be normal. Be different. Conform. March to the beat of your own drum. Be a team-player.

Everyone's maladjusted. It's just to what extent. On a scale of "having insecurities" to "entirely, totally and utterly loopy", I'd say I was on the former side, and I'm quite happy to have beautiful dysfunction.

I've decided that I am pretty damn "well-adjusted". I function, in all senses of the word. and if I have numerous issues (which I readily admit to) then, I am working on them, and they are probably no more than Mr. Baker 2 doors down. (who could be a serial murderer for all I know)

b) being grown-up is a myth

a close relative. Everyone associates emo with being adolescent. And it probably is. I mean, I certainly don't have as many crazy hormones flooding my system. and of course, I'm definitely not emo any more.

But when does "emo" become "having issues"? When does Dawson's Creek or The OC become Melrose Place or Desperate Housewives?

On another front, man-child, girl-child, "some people never grow up".

While some people literally never grow up (and I'm not talking Michael Jackson), the reality is that overall, there are some parts of you which remain "immature" till well, your mid-twenties, or perhaps always.

They extort you to be young at heart, then tell you at the same time that "never growing up" is a bad thing. Don't get me wrong. I think it is. Infantile behaviour shits me like nothing else.

But where's the line? This is not from just personal self-examination.

I'm looking at my "well-adjusted" to "not-so-well-adjusted" friends. Some are a mental age of 17. Most however, are a blend.

My friend with the perfect family life, he's mature enough to oversee the bills, look after his cousins (and their bills, and general well-being), run some properties and finances for his family, drive a BMW 5-series, and live in a penthouse. He's also really well-adjusted on the relationships front, with a long term girlfriend whose parents get along with him and vice versa. Oh. And he's pretty ruthless in the boardroom. On the other hand, he plays computer games with childish glee, likes mindless (cartoon) violence, and still has some boyish traits in him that make him endearing, not childish.

And that's a blend.

And then I thought- what the hell. How do we form our personalities anyway? Psychologists tell you it's pretty much formed by the age of 3. The basic personality that is, and life experience obviously does the rest of the work for you.

Thing is, personality is formed layer upon layer. Experience upon experience. Decision upon decision. And all this goes allthewayrightbacktowhenyouwereaweetot so how can you be you, without your kid showing through?

c) is self-explanatory

d) I really am getting a little too reckless

and I really need to stop. I know there are consequences despite my blinkers, despite me telling myself there are none. Consequences not only to me, but to people around me. And yeah well, it's the people around me whom I'm more concerned about. I make my own shit, I clean my own shit. Other people didn't ask for shit.

e) everyone's life is infintely more exciting than yours

My life is more interesting than yours, damn straight!

Well no. It's not. Truly, honestly.

Everyone thinks everyone's life is more interesting than theirs. and it's not. I don't think I meet wonderfully varied and overwhelmingly interesting and different people who colour my life and take them as my friends. But people do.

Just like I think some people have the most interesting lives I could never have. Meeting a communist in the slums of the phils, knowing a raggae singer, painters, artists. Constantly having to travel around with 14 bodyguards because you may well be kidnapped. Having lived and studied in 5 different countries throughout your life, speaking each local language, knowing each local culture. Having been penniless and having slept on friend's couches. Modelling in Europe, while doing a degree at the same time. Being a jazz recording artist by night, and a suit by day. A drug pusher at night, and a straight-laced nerdy student by day. A guy running a family construction business, who then qualifies for the Olympic team, knows royalty, and the obscenely rich. Someone who went to school with Paris Hilton, had Linda Evangelista as her next door neighbour and has Kelly Chen as her cousin.

The mind boggles.

but if you think about it. Your life must seem interesting to them too.

You who study Law. You must know all these rich kids who drive a different car to school every day yes? Or that guy who dated that famous singer, he's in your batch isn't he?

Or you in advertising who catches the 6.30 flight to Sydney on business to be back in Melbourne by 4pm.

Or you with the family beachhouse.

Or you who lives in a sharehouse with 15 other people, sleeps on dank couches and knows that you can't ever turn on the hot water in the bathtub when your housemate in the room 2 doors down from yours has the heater on because the tap would electrocute you.

Or you the fag hag who knows more gays than people thought populated the entire country.

Or you the traveller who waits on tables at a pub, lives upstairs with 10 other people, no door to your bedroom and finds random people on your floor the next morning.

Or you the struggling student who does waitressing at events and meets the most interesting people through your job.

Think about it. Your life is infinitely more interesting than you think it is. Because while it all seems 'romantic' or 'glamourous' or 'fascinating' to everyone else, to you, all the stardust has been stripped away simply because you live in that skin, day in day out.

Think about it. and think about the fact that in the end, we are all made of stardust.

(and now I think I'm slightly late for a 9-hour shift)

Saturday, March 26, 2005

alpacas and holy books

Happy Good Friday y'all. If there is such a thing as a 'Happy' Good Friday for people who even 'celebrate' it. I reckon it's one of those little oxymorons that come up every once so often.

I went to Daylesford today, to visit a certain PotatoQueen on the premise that we were supposed to set gerri's chickens free. Or rather, into PotatoQueen's chicken coop. Or PotatoQueen's bf's chicken coop. Whatever.

Her (or rather, her boyfriend's) chickens have grown too large and no one remembers to feed them.

Instead, gerri overslept, and we left without her...or her chickens. Punkster reckons we should just all have a huge meal of spring chicken one day and her problem will be solved.

Daylesford was GREAT despite it only being a day-trip, and the three babies Ember, Ash and Diesel were in on the ride. I also got to see HotWaterBottle, Rambo, Punkster and Act-Cool for the first time in ages, AND take a ride in P & AC's brand new old car Ketchup, the Supercar.

I've actually never seen a tired Jack Russell before. Today, I did.

I also saw 3 shorn alpacas in the cutest form ever. Black, white and brown. PotatoQueen's boy had one in each colour. It was SO CUTE. Rambo liked the brown one, and kept taking pics, but I liked the black one, and the black one seemed to like me too, except that Ash and Ember kept running inside and I was a little scared that the alpacas would do something to those tiny creatures.

I won't have photos anytime soon, so I thought I'd tell you the highlights:

A NottingHill-esque second hand bookshop
Ash and Ember swimming
Yabby hunting
Homemade pie shopping

When I came back, I hurried around stuffing contacts into my eyes and looking for "totally covered up" but nice clothing (not as difficult as I thought) . It seems I had to hurry for a religious Sikh ceremony I knew nothing about, and all that I knew was that it was a) religious and b) I had to cover my head up.

I knew it had something to do with my friend's sister's birthday, as well as something to do with her coming engagement party, but that was about it.

I turned up to hear singing, and was greeted to the sight of over 200 people sitting on the floor on white sheets, listening and chanting and singing along to the religious verses.

I managed to find several high school friends I hadn't seen in 5 years, and sat down next to them, listening to the prayers go on for another 2 hours. More and more people turned up, and by the end of it all, we had 6 ex-schoolmates sitting there.

It turns out that we were there for the Akhand Path, where the entire Sikh holy book is read out non-stop from cover to cover and we were attending the middle stages of it. My friend's family had invited some living holy men down from India for the readings, and apparently listening to these men sing the religious verses is considered a huge honour and blessing - which is why the family had invited so many guests.

After the layman part of the ceremony was done, all 200 people queued for a delicious dinner. MMMMMMMM good naan is so hard to find! I also stuffed myself silly with Indian sweets. For once, I threw my weight conciousness out the window and just went the whole hog. It's been too long since my last Gulab Jamun! (Ghee? What Ghee?)

Caught up with friends, met my beautiful friend and her equally beautiful family (seriously, some of these Sikh women are GORGEOUS. I was practically mesmerised by two women- one in white and the other in purple who were just so beautiful) before we all realised we had to go home and my friend realised that she was facing about 1000 people coming in and out tomorrow.

Sarah gave me a ride closer into the city, and at a red light, I simply jumped out and jumped into a taxi in the next lane scaring both the driver, and the traffic behind me. Oops.

So here I am, blogging too much, too late, and feeling too sleepy.

Have a great weekend peeps.

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

well let's see

Today I:

  • put out a fire at work while I wasn't on shift
  • was told something really interesting about Australia in class.

I was extorting coffee out of my poor overworked manager (the place was understaffed) when suddenly an entire group of people starting banging on our fishbowl.

The fishbowl, as I call it, is this huge pane of glass that leads out to the side alley of where I work, where people sometimes gather as much as 5 deep to stare at us preparing desserts, making coffee, and just generally running around like headless chickens and looking really stressed and dishevelled.

I thought it was my manager's friends, so I ignored it, until she shouts out to no one in particular 'there's a fire!'

I quickly turn to see my manager running as I shout, 'fire extinguisher!' and then head for the door.

She's behind me, and we emerge to see that our portable gas heater has caught fire. But it's not our heater up top, it's the gas bottle down the bottom.

she aims the extinguisher, fires it and puts it out, then screams,

'EW!' really really loudly. There's a fine white powder layered all over everything in the proximity. And some of it has blown back into our faces. It tastes bitter, and scratches our throats.

The people banging on our window are far far far away, watching with a mixture of fear and excitement, a girlfriend peeps from behind her boyfriend's back.

We wait to see if it explodes, and when it doesn't, I flip open the latch and yank the gas bottle to hear a hissing noise.

'It's leaking' I look up. Then say 'we have to turn this thing off before it relights.'

My manager, seeing that I'm still in one piece, approaches and turns it off with her apron, and we dislodge it and leave it out in the open, just in case it explodes. (as opposed to in our storeroom)

Everyone's staring, we call the scared group back, and then call our boss. The cute gay guy from 2 restaurants away comes to check on us. It's all good, so I demand a double shot coffee instead of a single shot, and then leave.

So much for a nice sedate day.

and now to the boring stuff. (notice this is how the news does it too? This is my equivalent of a kitten getting caught up a tree)

Apparently whenever there are global surveys, there are always 2 countries that differ from the norm. If there is any chance that there will be a country that diverges, it's most likely to be one or the other, or both. And the countries are- France and Australia.

My lecturer went on to say that French people think they're the best in the world, so well, they don't really care and just do their own thing. (hellllooooooo Freedom Fries)

While Australia is descended from

a) convicts


b) people escaping something.

While war is an obvious one, others include crazy in-laws, crazy parents and seeking better lives. Up till recently, these people meant to stay, not to earn a quick buck and then try to go home and never succeed.

Which of course means that contrary natures seem to be a genetic thing. (or an upbringing thing - but let's not get into the whole nature/nurture debate)

Of course, this suits my nature perfectly well. What with being called a 'free spirit' and whatnot.

Not to mention that I seem to have the pre-requiste crazy parents.

That said, I realise I actually have 5 months to go. Not 3.


5 months and a week to go. (maybe less)

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

I just realised

That I really should be pasting all this shit into seasidedusk instead since uncunnninglinguist is meant for well constructed articles instead of random shit.

Monday, March 21, 2005

what I'll be like at 30

I was having a drink with ChinaDoll and Jazz Player today, and I mentioned that sometimes, I reckon ChinaDoll is going to be what I'll be like 30.

and ChinaDoll actually agreed.

"Sometimes, I look at you, and...well, not to say that you're really young...but when I look at you, you remind me of what I was like at your age"

I hardly take that as an insult, since I think that I can see snippets of myself in her. And I was the one who brought it up in the first place.

It's an eerie feeling though. I guess I was the polar opposite of my mother in too many ways, and I'm nothing like any other females in my family save for my rabid independence (read: stubborn streak a mile long - my family is filled with strong females). I don't even look like anyone.

To see someone whom I think I might "grow up" to be like at 30 is very freaky.


she did say that if I were a colour I would be bright yellow because I'm so vibrant....but due to my vibrance I'm unstable. I'm not sure if she meant that as unstable or not. I guess I have mood swings- which would I guess, equate to emotional instability in a roundabout kinda way.

I have to say I'd like to think I'm extremely emotionally stable for my age. and even in general. I may be kooky and totally utterly screwed up, but for all that, I'm pretty goddamn stable and down to earth.

People who have seen my aura (if you believe in that sort of thing) have claimed that I am usually a bright purple/violet though.

everyone has had the thought

that it would be so much better if we could somehow split ourselves into 2 so that we can accomplish so many more things just that much more quickly.

Or that teleportation was a reallity. A one or two minute time-lag maybe. That's alright. But teleportation would be great. Wake up at 7.30, have 15min to get ready, teleport self to work at 7.59, be there by 8. No jams, no public transport hassles.

Everyone wishes for that once in a while.

Lately, I've been wishing for both. Very often. Splitsonic myst. yee-ha.

(but then my mind wanders to The Fly and The Fly II and then I freak myself out)

Saturday, March 19, 2005

my deathwish

I was talking to Chalyz today, and she finally came up with an answer as to how I can love life so much, while wanting to die just as badly.

"Maybe because you don't intend to live very long, you're making the most of
what you have"

and maybe I am. Except that I'm not really. I mean, if I really were to die in say, a year. My life plan would be entirely different from what it is now.

To say I want to die "badly" is perhaps an exaggeration- more like, if I died tomorrow, I wouldn't really mind all that long as I was wearing a nice pair of undies.

But well, wanting to die so badly also makes for very bad long term planning. I guess I should PLAN for the event that I don't magically drop dead on the eve of my 30th birthday.

I love...

my friend who called me 1st thing in the morning and left this voice message:

"Uh....uh....HI MYST!.........................................(pauses for at least 7 seconds- long enough for me to worry if he was spacing out anyway).........oh what the fuck am I doing"

*fumble, fumble, click*

Sarah McLachlan

who was phenomenal last night. She actually sounds better live can you believe it?

Took too many videos, I swear my camera was threatening to overheat and explode.

The weekend

Oh, hello. Another weekend. Definitely not gearing up to be as fun as the last. What with proposals to submit, loads of washing to do, and work for the entire day Sunday. Still. It is THE weekend. which makes me very very happy. Except when I think about it, I have papers coming out of my ears.

Wednesday, March 16, 2005

my boss is a cheeky bugger

I crawl out of bed and check my messages, to find one that says "Please call boss"

So I do.

"Hello Myst" my boss answers

"What do you want" I rasp/snap...or snap raspily, if there was such a thing. Sleep still hasn't left my voice, my eyes are still scrunched up, and I'm grumpy as hell.

You can hear him stifle a laugh,

"Oh. Just to hear the sound of your voice in the morning"

The man is smirking. I can *hear* the smirk.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT BOSS" I'm getting grumpier by the nanosecond.

"Can you work tomorrow?"


Tuesday, March 15, 2005

tired and wired

what was I thinking? That last post is.....weird.

Not that I think I'll fare any better on this post- 6 coffees and one tea. woot!

Anyway. Someone asked who "she" was.

She is two people. Yish and Grace.


Yishie is crazy, mad, purple haired. Loud, proud and kooky cool. Her voice has a Dolores O'Riordan influence, but the attitude is all Yishie. It's ethereal, with power shining through. It's beautiful and deadly. Yishan singing Sarah McLachlan's Angel is a mesmerising experience.


Grace is full of grace. Her version of the same song promptly made 205 people feel like crying. Unfortunately, the recording of her performance is crap so I'm not putting it up. Her voice is Chinese-singer fragile, high pitched, pure.

While Yish makes people cheer, Grace makes people weep.

Not that Yish isn't emotion. Yish is 100% emotion. and she's one of the best showwomen I've ever seen. But Grace is one of those people. If she became a professional singer, she'd sing her heart out. Feel too much, burn too fast. If Grace were to rein it in, she could be a Christina Aguilera in terms of emotional power.

"She" has the power and ethreal quality of Yish but the emotional power of Grace.

BTW: I was at work today and I found out that there is already a remix of Stupid. It was playing in the morning - Stupid (mark bell remix). Not what I imagined, but good nonetheless.

Monday, March 14, 2005

delirious rant from lack of sleep

I've been trying to fall asleep and I can't. Bloody no idea why. Tried this afternoon, nup. Tried to study, ended up doing one of my song blogs (all rights reserved).

Anyway, the weekend was absofuckinglutely fantastic. Especially since it's most probably the last time I'll ever set foot on Anglesea ever again.

I'm a person of extremes and I swear I spent the whole weekend swinging from deliriously happy-to-be-there to depressed-this-is-only-going-to-last-3-more-months.

Which of course leads to my songs blogs.

I think I might write song blogs more often now. It's my sneaky little way of publishing lyrics of songs I really like without looking like an absolute moron, or a thirteen year old.

Everyone who's read my old blog knows I write the occassional story, and very often they are based on songs. The last one I seem to remember was "melbourne" at chalyz's bequest, but it can't have been that long because well, I just have too many stories in my head!

Ah no. There was the one about the girl with the golden heart. I remember now! I think there was more. Someone remind me! Was the one about the toes in the water (which is what I based it on) before or after that? Maybe I should rewrite it so her toes get bitten off.


The last one, in case you didn't figure it out, was based on Stupid by Sarah McLachlan. It's not as obvious as the other song blogs I've done, but well, I guess I was inspired by her remixed album and the fact that Stupid was playing on radio while Fear the remix was on my comp. Fear is still the best track ever and her voice really suits techno surprisingly enough. (unlike a certain other Canadian whose surname begins with a D)

I'm not too keen on her uber-feminist ways, but the woman's voice is phenomenal. And it's also based on an old family friend/friend's friend/every possible sort of connection friend/ of mine, S. Because I've just heard news he's still in Melb! YAY! and if you know which band I'm referring to, you'll realise I actually placed their name as a subtle reference in Stupid. (and now I'm patting myself on the back. Gee I'm subtle!)

It's the usual crap I write. Bittersweet. (I'm referencing myself! AGAIN! HA! If any of you know what I'm talking about, add 10 brownie points from me) But since the theme of the weekend was "slasher flick" (I'll update you another day) I was thinking of writing one to La Vie En Rose.

Only beacuse I nearly slashed everyone's throats to FINALLY get the Louis Armstrong version TODAY. About 10 million years later!


Anyway, Fayz, this one was written with you in mind. (even though you're not the one who knows S. and it's The Divorce Lawyer who does. No prizes for guess who that was! I like my irony ok. Gimme a break!)

OK guys you have been warned. If you don't want to read it, don't read the post that says "La Vie En Rose" on it.

Also coming up:

Bush- Letting Cables Sleep
and maybe,

Eric Clapton "Tears In heaven" because I *think* I've done "I'll be there before the next teardrop falls" hmmm. maybe I haven't. Maybe I'll do both.

Dream a Little Dream's already been done by cowboy to devastating effect. (shameless plug)

Maybe, Missy Higgins Nightminds, Sarah McLachlan's Black and White, the list goes on. Sheesh.

Maybe I'll do one for every week I remain in Melbourne. We'll see.

P/S If you didn't get half of what I was talking about, that's alright. I didn't either. If you didn't get half the references, that's all right too, because they're private jokes. Kinda like specific friends decryption inside joke only.

stupid (this one's for fayz)

It was one of those nights of legend. Everyone was there. The minor celebrities, all miniature suns in their own right, all of unbounded talent, but with no record label, and no wish to ever cut a record, make it big. They moonlighted after all, their day jobs in power suits and well-kept coifs.

Everyone knew who they were though, and everyone had heard about their famed salons, as they called it.

Frankie, litigator by day, DJ by night. He’d played clubs in London, Sydney and Melbourne.

Siv, tax accountant moonlighting as a bass player.

As the night progressed, the list grew.

Charlene, the divorce lawyer, Phil the model/presenter, Sue the PR executive, one by one, more and more of them filled into the smoky confines.

She walked into the bar, cigarette smoke wafting in the air forming a veil of haze across her face. All you could make out was her wavy waist length hair, tumbling down her shoulders and across her right breast as she made her way through the obstacle course of tables and stools.

No one noticed her at first, until she sat down with her friends. Longtime attendees of the salon.

Caleb came up first. “Hey, you’re here”

“yeah” she smiled. “It’s been a while hasn’t it?”

“perform tonight? Please?”

she laughed. Maybe.

Phil walked up next. Then Frankie.

Finally, she said yes.

Seated behind the piano, she appeared dimunitive. All you could see of her was still her hair, cascading down her back.

Then she sang.

Her voice piercing and sorrowful, an air of whimsy and regret and slightness masking the power of her lungs.

Everyone stopped talking.
Then she lay her fingers onto the piano.

“Night lift up the shades, let in the brilliant light of morning. Steady the night
for now I am weak and starving for mercy”

The bar was silent. Frankie smiled to himself.

“Sleep has left me alone carry the weight of unravelling….”

The beat kicked in, turning Stupid into a remix.

“Watch.” Caleb whispered to his friend. “Watch her sing.”

“Funny isn’t it. How happy and bubbly she appears all day. And all she sings are emotional train wrecks for songs.”

“And how good she is at it. Look at how she’s singing! Listen to that voice! Another friend whispered.”

“How stupid could I be?”

Her face had scrunched up.

“A simpleton could see”

And fallen into a beauty enhanced by sorrow

“That you’re no good for me”

the edge had left her voice, left her with the velvet tenor of the beginning bars

“That you’re the only one I see”

the desperation was clear in her voice.

Sometimes, Phil whispered. It’s the happiest people who are the saddest.

Friday, March 11, 2005

desperately seeking kiasuism

extremely desperately looking for Lush TV ads. esp the shower and sea ones. Apparently they contain kiasuisms.

Anything with kiasuism! ANYTHING!

Thursday, March 10, 2005


poooooooped from work.

Someone sent me the Singapore Universe contestants and lo and behold, one of the contestants is an acquaintance from swimming days. Hello CK2. You look oh so much better without pancake makeup that's 5 shades too light for your skin and bouffant hair about half the height of your head. *ahem* Blurboy, alaia, YES, That's CK2!!!!!!

And there's a very very too-young but oh so hot boy sitting opposite this terminal in the library. Overheard: his dad's Indonesian Chinese, mother's Malaysian Chinese-Dutch-French courtesy of a Dutch-French grandmother.

Given he's mostly Asian, he has all the Asian features with a slight sharpness, hazel eyes, and a street cred look so popular among the Aussies. Wax in hair, ipod in ears, some street savvy brand for a top and hipster jeans. He's got Asian build too, the type that's impossible to get fat, lean but yes, he works out. And he's nice and tanned.

And he's driving me to distraction. Everything's taking twice as long to do because he's smiling into his computer screen with his hazel cat-eyes. (and everyone knows about my cat eye fetish, as well as my dark hair/light eyed fetish, and if it comes with tan skin all the better fetish, and lean men fetish) In other words, he's a prototype of guys-I-find-extremely-attractive. In fact, it's all my fetishes rolled into one! Almost all anyway.

Anyway. Back to work. Enough perving. I swear one day, I'll take a leaf out of snow white's book and start leaning towards young men.

Wednesday, March 09, 2005

2 degrees of annendums

had an intense 3 hr session of International today, and I have a greater understanding of LKY perhaps. In a different view.


in further proof that there's only 2 degrees of seperation in Singapore really, I was having a break in International, went downstairs to get a coffee, and promptly bumped into S, who's a coursemate from my undergrad days.

With her was M, who was her primary school friend she hadn't seen in 12 years. I took one look and went "don't you remember me?"

He was M aka Jon's friend (and Jon won't mind his name blasted on my blog because his housemate angela does it on a regular basis) who went to school with him in Jakarta's British Intl School.

and Jon in turn, was Fish aka Blurboy's classmate and boarding buddy in Perth. And Blurboy of course, is one of the Fab 5....the constants in my ever dizzying ever-changing world.

M and I had met 2 years ago at....some bar outside a mall called suntec and we'd gone to Geylang for supper...and ended the night with a romp through the red light district and a dare for an accompanying friend to go "take a look in the aquarium". (local slang for visiting a prostitute) I think he was a tourist. Or something like that.

Honestly, that's all I can remember. but yes.

The latest in the Singapore is too frigging interconnected. It's incestuous.

As an aside: Jon, if you ever read this, CONGRATS! Hear you have a bigshot job!

As another aside: Fab 5 (now more like 6, or even 7), WHY do you have a photo of us looking like IDIOTS on ALL your friendster profiles???? AND. Jo is missing!

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

MM Lee vs PAP (click to link)

DISCLAIMER: I'm not big into politics, and I'm the last person to cite. I just recently found out that Jews had only accepted Christ as a prophet as recently as their US backing. I'm definitely not the most clued in person in the world.

Anyway, I *just* discovered the Jamie Han issue (late. I'm so late) and only because ST online (Singapore's national paper) has decided to charge and somehow the Jamie Han issue was brought up. So one thing led to another and here I am commenting on Jamie Han.

I think Jamie Han was extremely respectful, and his wording suggests to me that he has respect for the man, despite calling him a despot.

Myself, well. "despot" has 2 meanings. One meaning that a single person has dictatorial power over his people. The other meaning "tyrant". But since Han used the word "despot" in the 1st meaning, I'll take it as that. I'm sure being an honours student in history and all, he'd realise that calling someone a despot has negative connotations, hence the media furore.

While I'd certainly call MM Lee (Lee Kwan Yew) a dictator, I'd hardly call him a despot. I think that's pretty damn unfair. There are MANY things I may not agree with on how he ran the country, but I'll give him kudos where its due.

The man was, and is, a visionary of stunning intellect. and to him, the end justified the means.

And this has been my theory for a long time:

MM Lee stepped down for many reasons.

a) to show the world that he wasn't a DESPOT
b) to show that he had the presence of mind to hand things over...and also keep the people happy and not mind his son


c) because he knew that his fear tactics could only get so far.

Han calls his example "fear tactics" and argues he could find cases that show otherwise. This is certainly true. For every Mugabi and Castro there is a Marcos and Saddam. And history is shaped according to the winners. Mandela doesn't exactly have a clean slate. Palestine once had US backing. So did the Taliban. The US doesn't need to apologise for Vietnam or the War on Terror, but the Japanese need to apologise for WWII. The jews are still paying for killing Jesus, the muslims are still responsible for everything that goes wrong in the world that doesn't have to do with communism or Africa, and the christians are right. All the time.

LKY knew all this. He knew his ISA was causing a nation to live in fear. He stepped down to allow a more progressive, gentler, government to rule...without ruining his personal image.

The man's a genius. But we all knew that.

Han is also...idealistic. There's nothing wrong with that. In fact, I think it's frigging wonderful that there actually are Singaporeans who give a shit about ANYTHING. People who actually CARE. and I think that's Han's answer to his 1st question. He cares about the country. That makes it his. He owns it.

anyway, to justify why I call Han idealistic. LKY has obviously lived through the racial riots. He understands how tenuous the social fabric of Singapore is. He bloody made it up. Actually, I hold him personally responsible for the fact that it's still as tenuous as it is. Everything's just below the surface, and everyone is still bloody racist.

I also hold him partly responsible for the mentality that Singaporeans hold. Partly.

but well. Idealism. This is the case with most of the socialist left here in Melbourne. They throw up all these 'we must reform! rebel!!' statements, and can never find a viable, suitable solution. Also, as Staggard told me today, usually, and especially in the case of Singapore, the change needs to come from the inside, and not from external people power and rioting because god knows, in Singapore? HA!

But yeah. good on Han. He's got guts in a culture like Singapore.

So. That leaves me with my original statement. LKY vs PAP. (PAP= People's Action Party. Practically the only political party- and it's been in power since the birth of Singapore)

Let's just say I know through an inside source that when SM Goh (does he have that title even?) was PM, LKY employed brothers. One to be PA to him, one to (then) PM Goh.

and it's been well documented that Goh and Lee have had their differences. I'd argue that the PAP does exist outside of Lee. Certainly, Lee has a stronghold on the party, but I'd argue that there are very strong personalities within the party itself.

He wanted the reform, but also through the push from the other party members I'm pretty sure. As well as listening to the wind.

He's a genius. No way is the man going senile.

(and I'm actually going to actively invite comments for this post. Comment away all you William Safires!)

yeah all you desis

Welcome to India

not as good as

The Singhsons

Sunday, March 06, 2005

ji mi yu's GONE!

I feel compelled to blog this.

One of the most interesting netizens has gone entirely offline!

Do a random search and you'll find a zillion hits to her on xanga, fotki, modelling websites, asian avenue and other such places.

She was honestly one of the best bloggers ever. EVER. (and I don't mean her pictures, dolts)


and people think I'm crazy...

when I say that Singapore is a nation of people obsessed with being in coupledom

my meatmarket value is decreasing!

I’ve decided to put myself back on the meat market.

In the immortal words of Ally McBeal, “I don’t need a man, I want one”

I’ve realised however, that since the last time I put myself out on the market, my market value has decreased dramatically due to age and looks. (read: older, fatter, uglier)

like so.
Posted by Hello

As soon as I uttered that however, everyone at work pounced on me.

“She’s got like 10 guys stalking her!!!!! They come in here to see her all the frggin time!!!!”

screams one of them. (they’re FRIENDS- many of whom are cute but extremely unfortunately gay). I tell them this.

“No, you literally do have like 10 guys after you. You’re not allowed to say shit like that when you have 10 guys after you.”

“I DO NOT HAVE 10 guys after me. And the guys who like me I don’t like.”

“you’re just picky”

“so you want me to compromise???!! I’d rather take myself off the market!”

“You ARE picky”

Look. I know my market value has gone down, but my standards haven’t and it’s definitely gonna be harder. But what the hell. Let me be picky. Sheesh.

Anyway, to help all singles around the world, I’ve done some mathematical equations on how to calculate your market value.

AGE (20) + LOOKS (50) + PERSONALITY (30) + FETISH CATERED TO (bonus points) = overall meat market rating

The score caters to the guy you’re interested in since each guy has personal preference, but as general rule

AGE: The younger you are the better. Much like the immigration department, men seem to prefer girls 16-30. Although a 5 year difference either way seems to work as a general rule of thumb as well. Best to check what he likes. If he likes MILFS and you’re 17, not a chance sweetpea.

LOOKS: A no-brainer. The better you look, the higher you score. Related to fetish factor in some ways, your look (as any women’s magazine will tell you) can be anything from Sexy to Sophisticated. This will attract different types of men. This is the most important in guy's books.

PERSONALITY: some men like women with the personality of a sponge. Others like an equal. Others like them really really helpless. Demure. Whatever. Unfortunately you score on this one depends on the men’s rating.

FETISH CATERED TO: Quite Easily Done. +5 for each fetish you cater to. And –5 for each turnoff.

Likes glasses? +5. Thinks girls with short hair are spunky? +5 Hates light eyes? –5. Arm hair? –5.

Remember, these scores work on the guy’s scale.
e.g. If you’re Amazonian, blonde and blue eyed with a PhD but he likes 5ft 80lb goth chicks with the “helpless” look then you’re just not even going to have your foot in

Saturday, March 05, 2005

all my base are belong to you

today's a beautiful day.

It's cloudy, windy and cold with light rain, but there's sun poking through every once in a while.

Just the way I like it.

And the first of the leaves have started to turn yellow. Hello autumn. Autumn that always makes me so happy and so sad. It's the beginning of the end.

Anyway, I had the funniest pick-up line today.

This guy saw me in the lift and asked me which apartment I lived in. (our lift doors open in the middle with apartments on the left and right)

Seeing my hesitation (stalker alert!) he asked me which side I lived on.

I pointed my chin in the general direction of my apartment - 'That side'

'Oh. I was looking for someone to share an internet connection with.'

'Can you share connections between apartments?!?'

'yeah. It's a recent thing'

Nerds can be so cute.

(there's no such agreement on the official website and I'm pretty sure there's no such thing since a) there's no point and b) it's probably in breach of privacy laws)

oh so cute.
Posted by Hello

Tuesday, March 01, 2005

I. hate. money.

Here's reason #45668

apparently a friend thinks that I don't expect money back because I think he's poor.

Good God. Said that way, it almost sounds like a sin.

I don't expect money back because I never do. If I give someone something, it's a gift. Who the hell expects gifts back?

I do this across the board. Everyone who knows me knows this. If they ask, I usually tell them that one day, I'll need their help and then they can do me a favour for whatever I've done for them.

To presume I'm looking down on them, the very notion of friendship is shattered. Friendship is among equals. I'd take mentorship if I wanted to look down my nose and tell people what to do.

I know he's not poor. He's studying in Australia for one thing. That's enough said. His dad works in Dubai. Non-taxable income? Hello!

He works for his own money, just like I do. I make the money, I spend my money and I save what I can.

He also happens to be out of a job right now. And he's complaining he's broke.

I know when he says that he's not exactly stressing about next month's rent. Fair enough. I'd say the same thing if I was out of a job and I was using my parent's money. There's a sense of responsibility that you don't want to use their money as much as possible. Especially when you are in the capacity to earn.

But when you say that, then catch a taxi back home from the supermarket, or decide on an expensive lifestyle change, isn't that at odds?

If you were a self-proclaimed refuse-to-work kid, and you did that, I'd be like, ok.

I guess to me, it's all about being consistent.

I'll admit to several wrongs here.

I gave him crap about his lifestyle change because I am morally opposed to the products. I believe the same ends can be achieved through much cheaper and simpler methods.

That was bad of me.

And he took the words I said wrongly. Which led to this whole debacle.

But to say that I think he is poor makes me sound like some bourgeois, uppity nincompoop spoilt princess who hasn't touched a chopping board or used a washing machine in her life. It also makes me sound snotty, and elitist.

An oxymoron considering my previous lives. Before university. Before Australia. Before Singapore.

Each and every one of those previous manifestations held something that keeps me grounded.

I don't even pity the destitute often anymore. I admire their tenacity instead. After Cambodia, after listening to all their stories. After listening to stories of war, genocide and hatred from Sudan, Malawi, Palestine, Israel, South Africa.

I weep not for pity of these people. I weep for the fact that man can actually do such atrocities to any other living thing. I weep at their strength, that despite hobbling around on crutches, toothless, legless, skeletal figures, they are still alive after all these years. I weep that the children obviously so bright are wasting their time feting tourists instead of going to school, helping to rebuild their country. I weep for their loss that they will never know. I weep that $5 U.S dollar can feed a family of four for a week. That we spend so much more than that on a single coffee. I weep at how selfish I am, when I see these people. I weep that the government spends more of its expenditure in expanding the tourism industry than feeding its people because in the long term, it will make the country richer, and that it has to resort to such means to make ends meet....eventually. I weep that we as rich countries sit round and have to wait till a tsunami hits before we even think to decide to wipe out debt from countries that will never ever be able to repay it.

I do not weep in pity.

I got so angry for those few minutes when he accused me that I felt tears welling up in my eyes. I don't give a shit about the car you drive or if you walk 30 miles to school. I don't give a flying fuck where the hell you come from. I don't care whether you came from some shitty backwater Changkat Changi (or shock horror, the rest of Southeast Asia) high school or some private school that charges $30 000 a year just on tuition fees. I don't even frigging care if you're 3ft tall.

But obviously I was underestimated for a shallow bitch. The bitch bit I don't mind. It's the shallow bit I do. From a friend, perhaps that's one of the things I do care about.

inscrutable chinese

sometimes, we so deserve this tag.

all emotion is squashed, quashed, stuffed and stomped into nothingness whether happy, sad, angry, vengeful.

Well, maybe it isn't. But the rule is that we can't show it. Maybe that's why so many people blog about why they're so unhappy. Because to a degree, we all hide what we really want to say, and how we really feel.

Whatever the case, my father's best friend died last week. (and my parents tell me now of course) 6 months after he decided to retire. and my father sounds so cool and calm about it.

My parents have been to so many wakes since I've been a little girl. And they never seem upset. I've never even heard them mention it other than 'I have to go to so-and-so's wake this weekend so I can't come for dinner'.

It's almost a non-issue.

I don't know whether it's a coincidence, but his best friend's sons share the same generation-name as my sister and I. What I do know is that every Wednesday, my father takes an extended lunch break with 3 friends.

and every year, he meets up with his old classmates on the second evening of Chinese New Year. That night, I meet the kids, and it's one rumbunctious RI reunion of old fogies over a bain-marie fighting good-naturedly over the food.

And when I ask him how he is, he simply says in a very happy tone

"I'm alllllrigggghtttt!!!!!!"

Rest well Uncle. It's a pity you didn't enjoy your life while you could, and could nothing when you found out. I really liked you.

Moral of the Story: Live life while you can.

in the immortal words

of a certain gerri, (paraphrased)

why the hell is it so difficult get together with someone?

I mean.

On paper, it looks like the easiest thing in the world.

Take one boy, one girl and mix equal parts sexual chemistry. Make sure there are no chemical blockers, and voila! They live happily ever after- until the next person.

But no. Apparently it's the sexual chemistry that's the biggest problem. Most people are non-reactive to most other people. It's like trying to mix Argon and Neon. (and makes me sound like the chemistry nerd I really am not)

Of course, this is good, seeing that if it did happen that way, the whole world would be bonking like bunnies.

But still. It makes the search for someone all the more difficult. Of course ideally, you don't even bother searching. They just kinda fall into your lap. Just like that.

I spent the afternoon trying to talk to someone I just couldn't.
I spent the evening confessing my crush to someone I knew didn't like me back.

it's a strange little world out there.

and I spent this morning on a pointless trip to work because I only start in 2 hours.

listening to: Bush- Letting the Cables Sleep.
(Bush was Balthazar in Constantine! How weird is that!)