3 Days.
And so much has happened. Many things regretful. Figuring out the outcome really screws me over and over. It's like when things are going right, something just has to come along and fuck everything. Exams are approaching rapidly. Lost in limbo land trying to find a place to put my two feet down. Weightless in such over bearing situations.

3 weeks and a bit till home is reached. A simple comfort that temporarily consoles my being. The warmth felt at home with every question of concern and smiles that stretch the face with every friend in sight.
Steph might come back. Just hoping that she will. It's been a while since the last exchange of words with her, well, face to face at least.

Seeing the boys would do good for me too.

Whether it tastes like butter is still a question that begs to be answered. Right, fuz?

I hereby declare that the movie "The Day After Tomorrow" should not be screened the day after it's released. Other than the stunning visual effects used to generate the apocalyptic events, the show is, with the lack of a better word, shit.
-> S H I T <-

The only thing that saved tonight was the Vitenamese dinner down at Darra Street. Small little cosy place with super hospitable chaps who dish out fabulous meals. There were six of us and it only cost us 10 bucks each. Absolutely Sweet.

Winter is pulling her weight around more these days. She's making herself more apparent to people as she blows her winds even stronger than before, forcing us to tuck our bodies into sweaters and rub on lip gloss. She's bullying us. She bullied summer and autumn. Now she wants to mock us.

Magpie mating season is here. Time to watch out for head pecking suicidal birds.

Often I wonder about myself. About why I prefer to listen to music that no one as heard on radio before. I think about why I like to lock myself in my room and think about life (some of you may call it day dreaming perhaps). I think about why I'm made this way, I think about my own imperfection(s). The wrinkles that plague my hands that resemble the dentrites of a river and the premature silvering of strains of hair. And just like that, 21 years of wondering has taken it's toll. Our life, I come to reason, is like a box that we built for ourselves. Some of us build really big boxes while others build small ones. Some of the boxes are unique, made up of different parts stuck together in a disorderly fashion. Others are like common card boxes, simple and orderly. Some of the boxes are unsealed, allowing for new ideas to be placed in it, allowing for people to peer inside and allowing things to be taken in and out of it. Some, are completely sealed. Their world is hidden within the box with their heads firmly lodged inside, alone and choosing to ostracize the opportunities/other boxes that are constantly trying to pry it open. Some boxes are big and heavy while others small and light. Some boxes are small and heavy and there are those that are big and light; the experiences in life. The box that I've built thus far is a bit of both. I listen to under played music so that I am able to hide from the world and not relate the sounds to anything or anyone. It is the same reason as to why I lock myself in my room. It has a few unique pieces but is mostly plain. It is mostly sealed but a small gap exists allowing the world to be peered at whenever I so choose to. There really isn't anything great about the box that I'm building. At the end of the day, all boxes get eaten by the insatiable appetite of time. Some are folded and stored while others are discarded and burned making way for new boxes...

Morning came and evening went and he was still wide awake. He dare not sleep for fear of repetiton of the same nightmare he got the morning before. He sleeps not, because his tears have been his lullaby and his morning star the entire week. He sleeps not, because his mind often drifts into the distant horizon, like an empty vessel, searching for understanding and direction. He sleeps not as winter winds blow away foreign expressions revealing morbid wrinkles on his face. He sleeps not as the silver lining passes him and steals from him. He sleeps not, for light is not light if she be not seen nor is joy joy if she be not by. But nay, do not think that she is or would be by. It is useless. She feeds upon his perfection and leaves him so unsatisfied like the rose that flies by night. He sleeps not, because his body is frost bitten by the wheel of indelible pain. He sleeps not, for the more he gives the more he does not get. Can he love a writer? Could he love a player? He sleeps not for he ponders to be or not to be in or out of love that sprung from his only hate, himself.

Well okay...

I haven't posted for sometime..

But heck...the only thing I want to say is that I watched Love Hina today. (I know it's out of point)

But okay la Boon, I understand what you were so infatuated about now.

I think it's totally CUTE.

I've been sucked to the dark side.

So it seems the days of winter have arrived; the leaves have fallen off the trees and light drizzle
that seems to last forever. It feels that a ciggie should be in my right hand and coffee -black- should be in my left. It feels like feet should be curled up together to hold together warmth that cannot be found. With gratitude toward summer, my joy is found in the latitude of winter. Windows fogged in the morning as walking through the mist becomes addictive; like using valium to dream. Like a dream bodies are caressed by the mist and dampened by the dew. Dew that tickles my toes as they gently brush against soft morning grass.....
***

Quentin Tarantino.


What else is there to say?

"Girl, you'll be a woman soon
Please come take my hand
Girl, you'll be a woman soon
Soon, you'll need a man"

I hate stats.
I hate stats.
I hate stats.

I FUCKING HATE STATS.


And no, I am so not a sexy beast. -rolls eyes-

These Damned Singaporeans, Part II.

Warning - Do not read if you piss off easily. Heck, make that do not read if you can't stand being around me. =p





You know, something I've been meaning to point out for a pretty long time is that, to solve the mysteries of Singlish, one has but to directly translate into English from a Chinese-thinking mind.

There are actually Chinese words for la and mah, and they are used in much the same context - to end a sentence with an emotive sound that can be accentuated to convey meaning. Leh and meh, I personally theorize, arose when people got too lazy to even say lah and mah. Sheesh.

Grammatically, what comes out as broken English works well in Chinese. "Today we go where", a typical phrase in Singlish, translates literally into "Jing tian wo men qu na li" in Chinese, which is correct in all senses.

People cannot, perhaps, be blamed for this. The common mind, and no, I do not -quite- exclude myself from this category, tends to think in a primary language; one that they grew up speaking. I have also, indeed, seen the reverse happening - Bad Chinese being spoken because the speaker thinks in English, and then translates (looks at Donald pointedly). Subsequent languages learned tend to be a case of literal translation, and in the case of Singapore, with the majority of us being Chinkity Chink, we have the blind and paraplegic leading the rest of the natives in an extensive bad language campaign.

That brings us to the crux of my argument - The ability to hold up your end of an intelligent conversation. Yes, it is blindingly obvious that my default tone tends to be one of condescension. Yes, I do have quite a bit of pompousity when it comes to what I refer to as 'Singaporeans'. It is all, however, at least in my bigoted view, justified.

For, as much I have just argued that these people cannot be blamed for bad English, it is another matter entirely as to their -attitude- towards it. I do not mean to say that, like in China and Korea, fluent English should have a kind of almost-revered status. What I -am- saying is that Singaporeans have an entirely misconstrued opinion of their own linguistic ability, the relative worth of other languages, and of people who speak better English than themselves.

In a bit more detail than just that, Singaporeans think they can speak English well. So be it, however sad it is when you see a local, upon query of his peculiar linguistics by someone entirely ignorant of (-wince-) our culture, boldly retorts, "ITS ENGLISH LA. Y U CANNOT UNDERSTND ENGLISH IZZIT? KNN! KP LA!". With this profound understanding of the language, they then proceed to make fun of Chinese Nationals, who, while being unable to speak English in any measure as proficiently as their Singaporean counterparts, are able to speak -flawless- Chinese.

Somehow, this ability is downplayed by the average local citizen as worthless. I have seen a side to side conversation between a Chinese national and a local, and it's painful to behold the contrast between the eloquence of the Chinese, and the crassness, as always, of the local, who obviously thinks nothing of it. Him, who would not be able to tell a bellhop in a Chinese hotel that he wants a cab in Chinese (Jing bang wo jiao yi liang de shi), but MUST do it in an abomination of two languages (Bang wo jiao TAXI, can?), thinks he is superior to the Chinese national.

And to top it all off, when confronted with distinctly good English, they feel compelled to defend their own mutation of the language aggressively, and if the speaker of it is, gods forbid, Singaporean as well, they heap abuse on him. "Y U TOK SO LYDAT 1??? CHAO ANG MOHZZZ. KNN CANNOT TOK PRPERLY AH??!!" .

I just felt a need to clarify what exactly it is I have disdain for in Singaporeans. It is not entirely the lack of linguistic capability - I have full respect for native Chinese, Japanese, Thai and what-have-you speakers. They have fluid conversance in a language I have not, and would that I could have. It is when, as with most of the local population, you are UNABLE to hold a conversation in a single language, that you earn my disdain. Just look/listen to the average Singaporean interviewed on television or radio to see what I mean. On any damned topic, they are laughable. "I feel that IS IS very er xin lor." Strangely, once asked to speak in the other half of the language, it becomes "Wo jue de it is very digusting lor." .

This was kind of brought about after watching 'Please Teach Me English." . Movie-wise, it was pretty horrible. It does, however, bring out Respect for each individual language (Korean and English), which I am unable to convey to my compadres, who would rather eagerly stone me for being Ang Moh Pai.

Wake up, Singapore. Do you fucking realize that the world is laughing at youz?

Lolx this.

-Drake

-slumps-
Just got back from my exam not too long ago.
It was er..alright? I'm not too sure really.

I'm just all messed up now.
Home is missed again.
And more so my grandpa.
Sometimes I ask myself whether I could have done more.
Why didn't he pull through...
Why didn't he wait...
Why why why...
-sigh-

I do trust in the Lord. I know He's a fair dude who knows what He's doing...but sometimes it's just so hard to comprehend it all.

I miss the rain...and I'll never look at it the same way again.