I have decided that it's frightening to grow old, what with all the afflictions that accompany significant age. There's too many what ifs, too many unknowns, too much uncertainty. Too many has-beens, done-thats, been-theres.
I'd rather die young, beautiful and healthy, at the prime of my life.
My maternal grandmother is lying in hospital now in a semi-conscious state, suffering from low-blood pressure due to negligence on the doctors' part to prevent excessive bleeding during her knee operation. Even then, they did not perform the necessary blood transfusions needed to replace the lost blood. They overlooked the fact that normal human beings need an outlet for waste, failing to provide my anaesthesized grandmother with a urinary tube until many hours after the operation.
As a result, she has undergone a period of great stress, her problems are compounded, and what was supposed to be a routine operation has been blown out of proportion and scale. Sudden onset of low-blood pressure is prone to cause permanent damage to the brain, and patients are highly susceptible to slipping into a state of coma. Already, she has spoken of hallucinations comprising of my already deceased grandfather and another unidentified figure calling out to her, asking her to come over to their side.
In response, the doctors are taking steps to rectify the damage done, but they have become unduly defensive, stating that they were ignorant of my grandmother's kidney problem, and that they are not specialists in that particular area, and thereby were not able to take specific precautions to prevent exacerbation of her current medical problems in the duration of the operation.
My only question to them is: WHERE IS THE ACCOUNTABILTY?!!?
Those s***heads.
For bohboh and mingming- Today's daily extended astrology forecast *laughs* :
Your field of vision may be getting blurry from information overload. Too many graphic images and colors can send your brain into a frenzy. If you think the media-created world is fascinating, tear your gaze from the screen and look out the window. You are amazed when you realize nature trumps technology. Tonight, you sense that an old prediction seems to be coming true. Strange, compelling messages arrive from unexpected places.
Wait a minute.... Haven't you been looking out the window a lot today bohboh? And seen a huge waterfountain in the distance? And wondered if Singapore was sinking?
Heh. Seems like these forecasts can be rather accurate at times eh? :)
By the way, I think I've spotted the man of my dreams at the gym yesterday. New motivation to gym?
He's the WAHWAHWAH type of good-looking, perfect in every way. Tall, dark, handsome, muscular with beautifully defined biceps and gorgeously broad shoulders, athletic, suave, toned, muscular... (oh did I mention that already?!? *bimbotic giggle*) All together compacted into a droolsome package that even some guys were eyeing. (!!!) Go away competition! He's mine! (Yes janny... comtinue in your state of delusion)
Yunwan: I want to be qiangshou!!!
I applaud this small and insignificant butterfly for its tenacity. To cling on to life (and to cc's shirt for the better part of the afternoon, for that matter) with such determination and inspiration certainly does not come easy. It is one of nature's wonders, that even the smallest creatures fit into the greater scheme of the biosphere we call the Earth. Unfortunately, I had to witness the demise of a fellow creature when life ebbed away from it as it lay in a lonely corner on my table. Kudos to you, and may you be happy in heaven, as I imagine all butterflies do.
View of the humungous structure of the KPF-designed building coming up next to my office: another act of sabotage in the Singaporean skyline? I simply cannot understand how exactly this massive concrete slab with veryvery minimal openings (we counted 2 i think) functions. It's pretty obvious that it forms the core structure of the entire building, with secondary steel beams protruding out from its solid mass, to support perhaps a curtain-wall facade. However, given the thickness of its mass, shouldn't some activities occur within this seemingly inpenetrable fortress? If yes, how does one access the interior space? Surely two pathetic openings aren't enough for such a monolithic volume? The smooth flat surface of concrete intrigues and baffles (me).
View of the construction sites around the area as seen from my bigshot lawyer friends' office: ever wondered why Singapore is always constantly "under construction"? One could almost go as far to say that the subconscious need to transform, to have a facelift, to propogate speedy urban renewal, stems from a lack of self-confidence, in history, context and identity. Exactly what or who are we?
Heartbreak is the departing familiar shadow,
Fading away to an obscure and foreign glow.
It is the acquaintance with the face of Hope,
Then meeting Despair in all its incandescent robes.
It is knocking at the door of life's pearly gates,
Then spiralling down hastily in ominous hate.
It is to be engulfed within a perfection without trouble,
Beguiling and clandestine as a precarious bubble.
Heartbreak is the soul that earnestly seeks,
Only to find that nothing lasts, love is bleak.
Such a beautiful song to start the day with... I'm glad janninypod didn't die on me halfway through it. :)
Fields of Gold - Eva Cassidy
You'll remember me
When the west wind moves
Among the fields of barley
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky
When we walk in fields of gold
So she took her love
For to gaze awhile
Among the fields of barley
In his arms she fell as her hair came down
Among the fields of gold
Will you stay with me
Will you be my love
Among the fields of barley
And you can tell the sun in his jealous sky
When we walked in fields of gold
I never made promises lightly
And there have been some that I have broken
But I swear in the days still left
We will walk in fields of gold
We will walk in fields of gold
I never made promises lightly
And there have been some that I have broken
But I swear in the days still left
We will walk in fields of gold
We will walk in fields of gold
Many years have passed
Since those summer days
Among the fields of barley
See the children run as the sun goes down
As you lie in fields of gold
You'll remember me
When the west wind moves
Among the fields of barley
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky
When we walked in fields of gold
When we walked in fields of gold
When we walked in fields of gold
(source: http://www.brucepaterson.org.uk/Nature/rain.jpg)
I love cold rainy days,
Of muted colours and budding flowers.
I love cold rainy days,
Of sporadic puddles and cosy cuddles.
I love cold rainy days,
Sending my heart a-flutter,
With every tiny drop of pitter-patter.
I love cold rainy days
That oftentimes serves to remind
How one is human against the sublime.
Heartbreak is like the momentary scent of a newly-blossomed flower,
That fades quickly leaving one wanting more.
It is the anticipation of the perfect bright sunny day,
Which comes to pass but inexplicably turns overcast and grey.
It is the longing for the comforting physical touch,
Replaced by empty words that can only say so much.
It is the vulnerability of spirit that tries to please,
Taken for granted and trodden over with great ease.
Heartbreak is the connection between two people speaking from the heart,
Only to discover it was never meant to be right from the start.
I was happily watching tv just now, a luxury which I hadn't been able to afford recently, when a particular line from the dialogue of the 9 o'clock chinese drama serial jumped out at me. This is especially so in the light of what I had posted earlier on in the afternoon.
It reads:
Comparisons breeds vexations.
Lessons in the school of life abound, even though I have, technically, not stepped a single foot out of the house today.
Some hilarious metaphors forwarded via email from mingming... Hardyharhar... :)
These are (allegedly) metaphors from actual GCSE essays:
Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two other sidesgently compressed by a Thigh Master.
His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a tumble dryer.
She caught your eye like one of those pointy hook latches that used to dangle from doors and would fly up whenever you banged the door open again.
The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowlingball wouldn't.
McMurphy fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a paper bag filled with vegetable soup.
Her hair glistened in the rain like nose hair after a sneeze.
Her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the centre.
Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.
The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hotgrease.
Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having leftYork at 6:36 p.m. travelling at 55mph, the other from Peterborough at 4:19p.m.at a speed of 35mph.
The politician was gone but unnoticed, like the full stop after the Dr.on aDr Pepper can.
John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had alsonever met.
The thunder was ominous sounding, much like the sound of a thin sheet of metal being shaken backstage during the storm scene in a play.
The red brick wall was the colour of a brick-red crayon.
Even in his last years, Grandpa had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long it had rusted shut.
The door had been forced, as forced as the dialogue during the interview portion of Family Fortunes.
Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.
The plan was simple, like my brother Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.
The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for awhile.
"Oh, Jason, take me!" she panted, her breasts heaving like a student on31p-a-pint night.
He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck either, but real duck that was actually lame. Maybe from stepping on a land mine orsomething.
Her artistic sense was exquisitely refined, like someone who can tellbutter from "I Can'tBelieve It's Not Butter."
She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes justbefore it throws up.
It came down the stairs looking very much like something no one had ever seen before.
The knife was as sharp as the tone used by Glenda Jackson MP in her first several points of parliamentary procedure made to Robin Cook MP, Leader ofthe House of Commons, in the House Judiciary Committee hearings on the suspension of Keith Vaz MP.
The ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a lamp post.
The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated because of his wife's infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free cashpoint.
The dandelion swayed in the gentle breeze like an oscillating electric fanset on medium.
It was a working class tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with their power tools.
He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a dustcart reversing.
She was as easy as the Daily Star crossword.
She grew on him like she was a colony of E. coli and he was room-temperature British beef.
She walked into my office like a centipede with 98 missing legs.
Her voice had that tense, grating quality, like a first-generation thermal paper fax machine that needed a band tightened.
It hurt the way your tongue hurts after you accidentally staple it to the
wall.
This is a constant search.
The search for the meaning of life. To perhaps begin to understand what or who you are, the overlappings of complexities and subtleties that seem superficial and yet simultaneously hint at the presence of a unknown depths. Who can really understand what makes a person? Or what distinguishes the great from the greater?
There will always be someone smarter, more intellectual, more artistic, more talented, more sociable than I am. This is a fact that I have to live with and I have stop beating myself up over it. An overly-competitive spirit coupled with an intrinsic lack of drive to achieve can only give rise to dissatisfaction.
E.n.n.u.i. With great precision and conciseness, a simple word encapsulates my entire life. A feeling of weariness and disgust; dullness and languor of spirits, arising from satiety or want of interest. Life is tedious and overly convoluted. A life without a goal is a person without a soul. The mundane things grate on my very existence and drain me to a pulp. Is there light at the end of the tunnel? Or is it a mere projection of random incoherent images, a by-product of prolonged containment in lala-land?
M.e.d.i.o.c.r.i.t.y. The rut that most people fall into. I am neither bad enough to be condemned nor excellent enough to warrant approbation and distinction. I'll get through life on my own terms, seeking always to do better but never really getting there. It irks me that I am so.
O.v.e.r.-.d.i.v.e.r.s.i.f.i.c.a.t.i.o.n. I've spread myself too thin, being unfocussed about my dreams, over quantifying my abilities, masking my eyes with self-induced veils of hypocrisy and escapism, succumbing to constant procrastinations, and occasionally abetting my delusions with proclamations of " I can do it! Come on jannyjanjan!"
All is futile, all is waste.
"The best ideas arise from a passionate interest in commonplace things."
In our time and age of rapid technological advancements, where transience and ephemeral qualities abound, where existences only stand for a moment, and with a mere gust of wind is superceded by the next, it is the notion of the 'commonplace', the everyday things, that lend some form of solace, normality and provides the base with which we can anchor our lives down to. It is what we experience, what we feel, what we know, what we live, and what we are. As such, the ideas that arise from a passionate interest in the very nuances of our existence can only serve to provide some form of insight and discernment into the meaning of life, and into the larger scheme of things.
The concept of passion brought through in the statement, presents a important key in the unlocking of this analysis. Passion, much more and above a mere cursory fleeting interest, is characterized by an all-consuming desire, strict discipline, intense focus and rigorous testing. It is a quality that by its innate requirements, already serve to distinguish the ordinary from the extraordinary, the good from the excellent. This passionate interest in commonplace things then, bestows upon the keen intellectual mind the ability to draw upon the everyday for inspiration, and to surpass the barrier of rigid conventions with a breakthrough in thinking.
Can there be any doubt therefore, that the best ideas could possibly arise out of such rigour and determination, from the approach of intense foray and exploration into personal experiences?
In keeping with this line of argument, the term 'best', whose overly generalised and hence, vague, meaning in the context of the statement, when applied to the field of architecture per se, relates to the state of 'thinking out of the box'. This rather cliched but apt phrase for connotating the notion of transcending the ubiquitous, brings through the idea of providing a fresh perspective towards that which one was once desensitised to. For example, Pritzker award-winning collaborating architects, Herzog and de Meuron, in a startling rendition of the commonplace cast-iron roadside drainage grills found within the city of Basel in Switzerland, utilised the exact same material and form as a facade skin to an office building, thereby jolting one's experience of the city via the condensation of the whole into a succinct statement.
Similarly, renowned Swiss architect Peter Zumthor drew upon the vernacular within the bucolic region of San Benedetg to produce a powerfully simple yet well-integrated chapel located high up in the mountains of San Benedetg. His use of traditional wooden roof shingles as an external wall cladding resulted in a distinct weathered look that related directly to the rustic buildings found in the chapel's immediate surroundings. This brilliant architectural gem does not shout out its presence to the world. It merely exists, and takes its place as if it had always been there. Such breakthroughs in the architectural field, while neither groundbreaking nor earth-shaking, result in the 'best' kind of architecture that is appreciated by the layman and specialist alike, stemming from a desire to transform the everday into something awe-inspiring.
Correspondingly, the 'best' ideas in the field of art is possibly that which seeks its audience in the masses, replacing the esoteric with the layman, thereby increasing its appeal and allowing for widespread appreciation. What better way is there to achieve this end than to depict a subject matter that most people can relate to personally? Monet, a highly-lauded Impressionist painter from the 1800s, clearly understood the benefits of this concept. His prolific series of waterlilies, haystacks and train stations as seen in various atmospheric conditions, bespoke of his foresight at drawing inspiration from the everyday, and thus emanating from keen observation and a sharp eye for details, sought to immortalise these fleeting scenes into eternal images of beauty. It comes as no surprise then, that Monet, to this day, remains as one of the greatest painters of all time.
Consequently, in conclusion it is perhaps imperative to note that the notion of what is 'best' is a purely subjective one, and what is deemed 'best' on my part may not sit well with people who hold opposing radical views. However, it cannot be denied that the statement stands simply because the preoccupation with the commonplace is a tried and tested formula that has withstood its detractors over the ages. It is a fact that beauty is all around us, if we would only take the time to pause, look, and meditate on it.
<<<
I took a freaking 2 hours to practice writing this essay when it's supposed to be done in 45 mins flat... And all I could muster was this pathetic crap?!? Gosh. My GREs are done for. You know they are when it's 11pm and my test is in the morning and I'm still blogging. Sigh. Tired. Head's swimming. Back's aching. Eyes are going blind. Win. Best.
charmy boh! Why are you still wearing so much?!!? w00tw00t. You horrible girl... out partying away while I'm stuck at home blogging and pretending to study for GREs. hmph.
Received this sms yesterday from a friend I hold dear to my heart. Some people you meet and you know they'll never go further than being mere acquaintances. Others, you manage to form a connection with and eventually become good friends for hanging out on a daily basis. But yet, there are those who touch the inner reccesses of your soul, who change your entire outlook on life and assume the greatest priority. This message, though simple, made me smile, and I just had to immortalise it by posting the contents here, errors and all:
Hi babe..U haven't been texting me :) heh...Hope u r fine and nt too stressed out. Let's meet out after ur test. Take care & nitez
Doesn't it feel good to know someone cares? I simply love the feeling.
And for the record, I think tcc's food is yummy, the coffee's aromatic, and Morhange's voice in Les Choristes is so sexy it makes me want to cry.
P.S. HEY! Where's today's sms?!!? I need to feel loved everyday!!! hahahaha...
isn't she lurvely?!? muaks... I swear I will get her one of these days... My very own Kate Spade Dot Noel Tote!
(And I didn't mean that literally... There isn't a rocker my comp is on. Really.) Yups. That basically summarises up my entire day. Feeling irritated that I cannot blog (this is a terrible addiction I say), cannot msn, cannot do the online GRE test that I was supposed to do, cannot surf the net, cannot check out the Kate Spade online collection again (such pretty bags they are! :)), all because my computer has, without prior warning, decided to die on me. DIE. DIE. DIE.
You wonder and ask what I'm doing online now then? Well, by some hand of providence, my computer has decided to (yes it does have a mind of its own!) take pity on this poor soul here, and grant me some working time to post on my blog. (dammit.) Okay, you know I've gone off my rocker too when I start bitching about an inanimate unfeeling lifeless object such as THIS STOOPEED COMP! *takes in a deep breath of air*
Today's horoscope reads:
Change is on the horizon -- good change. Something exciting. Something you've been waiting for. Or, more likely, someone. And they're going to be more attractive than you can believe.
Believe?I have ceased to believe in these forecasts anymore. The pinch of salt has now accumulated into a bucketful of salt. More salt than grains of rice you can ever consume in an entire lifetime, to pun on the old Chinese adage. What change could it refer to? What excitement? What am I waiting for?
Could it be...
A NEW COMPUTER?!? *flutters eyelids*
Or the funky green Kate Spade tote bag I've been eyeing for some time to date?... And it's a r.e.a.l.l.y. attractive one at that.... I think I'm in love! *flutters eyelids until eyelashes drop off* woohooo
Actually, all the above nonsense talk belies a more serious issue I wanted to get off my chest today. I finished my entire pile of ironing in 2 hours! Yippee! But no, that's not it either.
You see, this afternoon, my family had a major confrontation with each other. The trouble was brewing right from the start of the morning, when my younger sister (J) responded rudely to my well-meaning mom who was attempting to guide her in her studies.
[Some background information: J isn't doing well in her studies AT ALL. Come on. She's in secondary 3, and she still needs my mom to sit by her side just to make sure she studies?!!? I could go on and on, but that's the most I will reveal for now, for fear that people will start thinking badly of me, what with this airing of dirty laundry in public. Which isn't the case at all... I'm just very disturbed and I need an outlet. So help me god.]
Okay. So what happened was that when J expressed boredom halfway into her revision, that explicit statement of disinterest pissed off my father greatly, who proceeded to reprimand her. Being irrevocably stubborn and unteachable, she put up a strong wall of resistance, quarrelling and eventually screaming (yes, screaming, as if desiring to win based on loudness/shrillness alone) her lungs out, sharing the entire argument with our lurrrvely neighbourhood. How gracious and benevolent. In her fit of anger, all the while flamed by my dad who kept on reproaching her, she tore up her assessment books and threw her pens onto the floor.
And that was IT. All hell broke loose. Violence ensued, with my mom and I trying to keep the peace but failing miserably. I was afraid really, that someone would get hurt in the scuffle. I mean, my parents are not young anymore, and J is strong beyond her years, thanks to the good nutrition and ample proteins in our diet bestowed upon us ironically by our parents. But uncurbed anger is a dangerous thing, even an anger that stems out from love and concern. It was a frightening scene, to say the least, and at the end of it all, I could feel my parents' disappointment emanating almost to a near physical presence that stifled and choked the atmosphere, reeking of unmet expectations and unfettered hopes, yet finding no solace in my sister's indifference and rebelliousness.
I seek not to harp on this issue, neither will I presume that the worst is over, or that all has come to a happy fluffy end. Instead, I was astonished by the amount of apathy that I realised I felt towards J's not-so-gleaming future.
"If she doesn't want to study, so be it. Just leave her alone and let her learn the hard way through her mistakes. Completing her secondary education isn't the only way to earn an honest living. Lots of people go through life not having a proper education anyway," I found myself telling my parents that. They were appalled. To them, some mistakes once made, can never be made right again, and as parents, it is their innate duty to guide and discipline their children in order to prevent them from going astray. They will no doubt continue to do what they can, while a glimmer of hope still remains, just as J will continue to wallow in her self-pity.
Is it possible to live under the same roof with a stranger whom one regards with all forms of distaste and at times even disgust? To feel no love for someone who shares the same blood running through her veins? These questions, for me, have never been difficult to answer. And it is a resounding yes. Am I simply a cold-hearted intolerant creep who can find nothing in the seemingly murky depths of her heart to be the slightest bit bothered about what her sister is going through in life? Perhaps then, I should assume partial responsibility for the brat that she has turned out to be. Even so, inertia prevents me from doing anything about it at this point in time. These family relationships although life-binding, have never been permanent for me, the love although apparent, has never been easily felt.
Contradictions abound, and seldom find resolution.
You are the one person your friends know is willing to take risks for what you believe in. You stand as a living monument to your ideals. Your life is a work in progress, every moment a new act of creation and today you have all the energy you need to progress even further. Don't be surprised if you get so lost in the moment that you forget about appointments and previous commitments. There are a number of people who find your current state unbearably attractive, but your family members may not be among them.
That's my astrology forecast for the day. I don't profess to entirely believe in these 'insights into my future', but I suppose it's a pretty interesting read when taken with a pinch of salt. Sometimes a bigger pinch than usual, but... heck. :p This forecast applies to all eccentric and screwed-up (yes bohboh I have resigned to the fact that we are as aforementioned) Aquarians like me! For the record, that's YOU, mingming, and YOU, bohboh. *bimbotic laugh* We are all unbearably attractive today!
Went down to my bigshot lawyer friends' office again in the morning, got to talk to their superior (who apparently liked my works since she was willing to hire me) and their accountant person-in-charge, who were both nice and friendly, and generally supportive of 'budding entrepreneurs' such as myself, to quote from the horses' mouths, albeit intimidating in their self-confidence at the same time.
The thing about walking into an upmarket law firm located within the central financial district of Singapore's business hub is that you have to look decently presentable in order to be taken seriously. And that for me, translates to a no-no for my typical work uniform of tattered jeans, comfy tees and floppy flats. (ok so my hair's still weird... i can't help it! grow faster puh-leeezee) I decided on an all-black ensemble and 3-inch high heels, the latter being the reason behind the subject title for this post. Pain. To make matters worse, sernhong insisted that we walk to amoy (again!) in the sweltering heat for lunch. I'm wearing black, hello! I'm unbearably attractive to radiant heat and mosquitoes! I was seriously considering taking a cab back from amoy to my office in shenton way. Painpain. I resolve never to wear high heels to work EVER AGAIN.
Anyway, check out this chio website if you have the time, courtesy of charmy boh :)
http://www.moma.org/exhibitions/2004/tallbuildings/index_f.html
yummy lunch at the fish head curry place! notice how the pot of gold takes centrestage on the table. :p
(from left): cc, wendy, charmy boh, sernhong, shuer, xiao feng, xiao liao, lisca, my hp+wallet
