Annoying nouns.

My parents have weird friends, and they're a superstitious lot. It goes back for centuries, and maybe it's understandable given that, before the advent of sophiscated navigational hunt for gadgets, they have been hunting for qipaos worn by celebrities (qipaos; noun; long flowing chinese dress with high splits and should ONLY be worn on people with great bods, or they might be consider as aunties. Read on.)

The superstitions those 'aunties' (aunties; noun; women who likes asking the obviously wrong questions; specifically one who wears a size 8 qipao when she should be wearing a 12, and ignores mundane questions for idiotic questions. I shall drone on that later.) believed and abided by were unending. Superstitions dictated what we wore, ate and said. (Annoying and totally UGH). It was considered bad luck to say "shit!" - I might have fungus in my mouth. Hello?

Only the first five minutes of any visit is important - the part when you shake those aunties' hands and wish them a great year ahead, and tadah, you get your share of fortune, the red packets. Gee. But the rest of the time is... can-I-just-die-?.

"How's school?"

"Currently I'm just waiting for the results coming out in Feb. So, not schooling for the moment."

"What?! *gives that I'm-so-shock-I-might-die-anytime face* Did you drop out?"

"No, aunty, I'm just having a long break right now."

*staring and gaping at me like I'm speaking greek* "Then why didn't you get married?"

"(HELLO, I'M ONLY 17?) *smiles* I'm only 17, aunty"

"See those women in China? They get married when they're 12! Have a boyfriend?"

"(*STRANGLES*) *still smiling* Ha ha, no aunty, I'm single."

"Want to marry my son next time?"


Guess what. Her son's only 8.

Big girls never cry.

The first reunion wasn't easy to handle. The stilted conversations people used during president's meet was needed. Worst, the wait for aunt (actually for the dinner, which we cousins called supper) was droning. Upon her arrival, not a single "finally" was heard, we just waited and peeped through the hatch where she hummed Forever Shall Be and clang about in the kitchen. Not even grandmom made a comment - we all knew well aunt's way of doing things are not negotiable. My timetaking became meticulous.

Anyways, the upsetting thing wasn't about the reunion; it's about what happened before that (to be exact, it's two days). The display name on his IM was disturbing and caused a little tinch of distraught. "Sarah." was his nick.

Yes, the name he clearly knew I hate (no past tense, it still is) - it's a long story. The display names shown (including the 'I got squash on vday how bout you? HAHA') clearly shows how weak he thought I was. Well it's an imprudence act though, I'm not going to break down and wet the blanky with sniffles.

Big girls never cry.

Lovely and Death

Lovely...

...I love this word. It can mean alot of things - beautiful, sweet, pretty, kind, or just full of love (you hate me using those vocabulary, don't you).

Death. I hate this word. It only mean one thing - doom; or if treated illiterally, it's just vicious misogyny.

How do we actually deal with this 'something' we can't have control over? Denial? Fear? Do the bereaved actually really get comfort instead of the usual "sending you my condolences"?

Elder Toh's funeral service was, well... glamorous, extraordinary, eye-opener (ears opener too), and of course, very dedicated. I love his funeral - all white, with loads (and i really mean loads) of people attending it - flooding Toh Yi Drive. No confusing noises and plastic tears, no mourning-out-loud and unnecessary bowl-breaking. It was so silent, so peaceful.

I want a funeral like his'. I want the congregation to not only sing the well-known first verse of Amazing Grace, but all four verses. I don't want my parents to hear those insincere and crappy generic lines from those nincompoops. I don't want some agonozing drive from NUH to CCK Lawn. And I don't want anyone to trivialize my parent's feelings.

I want to be dead dead.


Comments (2) Leave a comment

Thanks for thorns the stems contain.

Thanks to God for my Redeemer, thanks for all He have provided, thanks for times now but a memory; thanks for pleasant balmy spring-time, thanks for dark and dreary fall, thanks for tears by now forgotten.

Thanks for prayers Lord have answered, thanks for what Lord have denied, thanks for storms that I have weathered, thanks for all Lord have supplied; thanks for pain and thanks for pleasure, thanks for comfort in despair, thanks for grace that none can measure, thanks for love beyond compare.

Thanks for roses by the way-side, thanks for thorns their stems contain, thaks for homes and thanks for fireside, thanks for hope that sweet refrain; thanks for joy and thanks for sorrow, thanks for hope in the tomorrow;

thanks through all eternity. <33

Too busy? It's just another excuse.

Some ask what are boyfriends for other than bring you to the 55th storey and throw you down.
Boyfriends are there to discuss the idiosyncrasies of C2H5OH. Boyfriends are there so you never have to drink copious amounts of Margaritas alone.

But what if that's not the case? Stuff just change. So. What changed?
Everything.

He have to admit he's too into everything but her. Joanna? Who's that?

By asking him to leave under bad circumstances, am I being a self-centered fogglehead? Wells that's my highlight in this post actually: I'm not being selfish;

it's survival.

This is for you.

I sure you've never seen this place in the rain.
I've always thought that James Bond and Gong-Li built a strong mentality in women these days that kissing should be done with class. But it isn't usually this case. Being partially attached to Korean dramas, reality seems to beat me down; achievable love life becomes a reminder of who and what you are.
I sought shelter from the well-spread branches that don't quite hold enough rain back to keep me dry.

I'm sure you've never stood still in the rain.
And I just stood there with the rain water soaking into my gray ebase, reminiscing the past. Do you remember how we held hands running against the rain and stronghold of Holland V wind? I don't know how long the "marathon" took; but the fear as well as the satisfaction over mahogany is strong, still. Just by recalling that particular moment, I could feel the pulse of my soaked body as I ran through the sidewalk with you, and I know why we never stood still - the life we shared was like a film being fast-forward with a series of brief pauses. And a full stop.

I'm sure you've never won when you lost.
You left with the door open - Do you know how my heart was?

It was raining.

This is for the person who, when they walk away, walks away with a part of my heart.

xoxo
Jo.

Your life - Our challenge.

Cassandra. Not many people talk about her - she's just another girl-who-dribbles, but I was thinking about her last night. Her story though, wasn't ordinary (neither was it extraordinary); which is why I've decided to bring her out from everyone's mental statement.

Do you remember how adenocarcinoma and edima killed her? It metastasize her whole body in just two months. Steroids didn't work, and chemotherapy made her worse; she became so gaunt, her unpoloshed nails turned from pink to a shade of purple, and her bold hair fell off - portion by portion.

And her guy? Is a jerk (bastard is an understatement).

The memory of her telling her mother not to cry kept me awake. Even at the last moments of her treatment she still kept up with her comforting smile. Why must all the sunshines fade from everybody's lives?

It just isn't fair.

Snow White, your prince might be a dickhead.

I hate to say this, but I do. I do miss him.

Every part of me aches to recall his last message on my cell, but I'm smart enough to trust a woman's sentiments; I should just frigging move on - date Brad-look-alike, go Kbox, dig CLEO mags, go for mani-pedi, or whatever - Just get over with the weeping part.

I didn't go on hibernation for nothing - I needed time to get over with the shits. I spent 89% of my muscles (I badly didn't want to contradict, both literally and illiterally, myself, you see) to not even think about him. Well... Maybe a little too hard that I shoved myself into hell (dammit).

I've never wanted to actually think about this issue - not until today (when ELLE doesn't give me the hots anymore), that I know my soulmate guru butta is right (totally) - I'm scared.

Afraid about how the brush would paint my future like. Will the canvas show a hello-I'm-Nicole-Kidman, or a freakhead waiting for doomsday. Afraid that one day I might wake up with the realization that my cell isn't going to contain his morning messages and "I love you"s, and that life still moves on (sadly or gladly, I'm not too sure about that) - even in staggers. Till you finally realize how much time you've wasted on waiting (aimlessly) for his "Hey darling, how's your day". Damn the man who created sheepish "happily ever after"s.

However, I'm sane enough to know why in the first place did I make him get out of my life - To make him hold me back.

And he didn't.

Just like fiction.

It wasn't intended as a headstart but it just happened anyway - the proceedings between the parent and God-knows-who. Relations between the two parties' so judgemental (ever since birth) and it's no wonder the money (hell, it's close to a hundred thousand US dollar) can't be parted from the case itself. On deeper thoughts...

...That God-knows-who could be me (sniggers). My mistakes may be worth the cause as it prevented me from breaking down because of all the denial I'm in - or are they just simply m-i-s-t-a-k-e-s?

All these chaos I'm causing, all these bridges I'm burning, all the promises I’m breaking, is it all really worth the pain both of us (or maybe, probably, just me) are (- or is) suffering?

I think my happiness is just a figment of everyone’s imagination - It never occured... somehow. It doesn't hurt (at least not that much) to grind a burning cigar into your lungs because all you've done is worth every tear (haha, or cash, for the above case) shed. Everyone keeps telling me that I'm positively moving on the right track*, and no tears should be shed - at all, apart from the grief. (Not forgetting that p-men** should be sent for death-sentence)

And to elaborate the verb used (grief), I didn't wear black so occasionally for the wrong fashion statement - I was mourning, if it was intended so.

But.

How could these words be taken into Joanna's thoughts if this world is not deceiving enough?


*in initiating with the break-up.
**If Oxford put this word into his collection... p-men; noun; thoughtless (and mean and anything bad) nincompoops who breaks women's heart; specifically standing at 175, vain, and egoistic - and took up business.

Gritty "optimism" with no common sense.

"He say he love him and actually commented on his moustache!"
"Keep your volume down. Well, he's not gay."
"How do you know he's not?"
"Trust me, he's got a fiance already."
"Who knows, maybe the other half's gay too."
"Gay marriages are not allowed in Singapore; and please don't say 'gay' in front of your little brother."

This gay conversation on gay have been so gayed between my mom and big brother. Well, in this dysfunctional and soulless society we all live in, it's no wonder we can't tell insanity from sanity.

Look at all the beasts feeding from onion rings (apart from damaging Earth's ozone layer with methane); they're all screaming and advocating for gays, drugs, and abortion.

How do we clean up this spiritless mess? Well, I'm only seventeen and am too young to comment anything more about this (not forgetting this is a public blog - I might get banned even, lol). I'll just shut up and wait till I'm older to have more say.

Maybe, just maybe, we should feed them with gummy bears instead.

P.S. Becca and Luke's pop got robbed yesterday by three Indians. SEE, what a lousy modern world.

You won't want to know the song.

Boo to me, champagnes please.

I made a fool of myself last night, getting so caught up with that song and letting those emotions show. Marc and daddy saw it all.

Not smart.

At that point of time I wanted to tear that scene down and burn it.
*screams!*

040106 Wednesday

Right.

My brother broke my marathon trophy.
He pulled my school tie down from the showcase cupboard (which was tied around my b-e-a-utiful trophy) and tada, he was hit by the 3 by 8 "gold" (they never give real gold, you see) plated statue of liberty of a runner - whose body eventually broke off from its feet. No pity for his multi-coloured bruise.

Five minutes of utter sadness, staring at the broken object in my hands, anger finally got into me. The next minute, we were throwing stuff at each other - bottles, toys, pencil case... whatever we touched (and damn, he threw my broken trophy - twice)

Couple of minutes after the fight, a piercing sen' was felt. No fractured bones for the both of us, but there was a purple knot the size of a fist (sorry, I was exaggerating) protruding from my skin, and a 1 and a 1/2 inch pink slash cutting across my shoulder, warping about 1/2 of my shoulder's width.

Lifting my arm is (note the present tense) awful - it's like stretching your wound for an inch. Arm movement not more than a wave.
At best.

So what do we learn from this? If you ever feel the urge to let loose with the bitch-ferocity, curb it. Especially around someone who is two times stronger than you (and is never known for having mental stability).

But hey, Congrats on the victory finish.



_hate you_

030106 Tuesday

Just last night that van pulled over again; it was pure purple (or some sort of lilac mixed with violet) and with streaks of unicolours - like some bouncers' transport. The vain women who got out of the transport were like whores (or at least close to that); 8/10 of them were half naked, writhing and grinding and dancing in the faces of the sickadee men whose paunchy bodies were immobilised by longing and lager (for your info', I call them p-men). If you look close enough (it was up ten storeys then), you would notice the women's garter belts were stuffed with red and blue notes.

Sick.

020106 Monday

[Mood: - ]

Everyone is making new year resolutions and new wisheswhatevermoomoo. I should be making one too! Except I don't know what to make and where to start. I want to be somebody else.

Anyways, remember to catch Campus Superstar tonight at 8pm, Channel U.







I saw something I wish I hadn't. But it's okay, I guess. It's like that - reality is cold.

I'll be too busy and tired, and I'll forget... about everything. Besides, someone beautiful is taking me away to somewhere new.



_leaving my home_