recentaboutlinksarchive
INFORMATION

Someone speaks softly through the horror and pain:
'Love has gone, but it could come again.'
Spring arrives quietly, warming her skin
Her heart, now red, is beating again
- Hannah Fury, 'Someone Speaks Softly'

Not a writer but a professional student. Instead I can be the jaded passer-by that caught a glimpse of a fling or a fatal mistake, a murder in the back alley, and I keep it all to myself so I don't lose any of it during the spilling from heart to paper on an unimaginary dark night. I write opinions, facts, emotions and other satisfied sentences that are the offspring of my imagination and external influences. And I do not need your validation to live, for the record.

CONTACT

FS/augustkills
FP/thepapercult
LJ/snipethedoctor
WP/electricsleeves

CREDITS

Icon: DW/tablesaw
Layout: tuesdaynight
Inspiration: DayBefore!Misery
The incredible time machine with no return.
Written on: Friday, January 15, 2010
Time: 10:30 AM

I have unfinished business, and though I'm reluctant to head to the streets again I know I must.

- Present for a friend
- Use up Harris vouchers
- Borders 30% voucher

Orchard can be rather conjested in the afternoons, and the searing heat just worsens the mood, but with determination I will brave the crowds and the sunlight for meagre paperbacks to call my own. It's a pity Harris and Borders have such limited collections, and already I doubt they have in stock the books I'm desperately searching for, but for armchair travels and a feeble glimmer of hope I will try.

Mother worries that I will not have any friends when I head off to JC. What she fails to comprehend is my very own theory that I might be too occupied with work to socialise, and that makes me happy, and standing around in the crowd without an idea whether to speak first or not is awkward and I'd rather be in the company of papers and pens, which do not reply, nor do they initiate a conversation with a lame pick-up line and expect you to carry on. But if (and the proverbial IF) time permits me to, or the curriculum allows for, or university entry requirements speak of it, then I would take the plunge into the sea of faces and probably pick out someone who will suit my personality, or rather someone whom I do not cause friction with, if I do not drown first.

Terribly excited, yet frightened of what is to come next. I have chosen, and now comes the wait, and then the inevitable release of posting results. It's this or nothing.

I hope it's either Raffles, ACJC or National. Dear Lord, please.

Labels: ,


Deviant.
Written on: Monday, January 11, 2010
Time: 6:56 PM

I did not cry today. These were the only words going through my head as I held the results slip where I sat in the hall, wondering how strange it must seem to the overly-emotional. Although I had an admirable 8 marks to my name, and I made the honorary mentions list on the presentation slide, I never smiled or shed a tear. I tried to, but the grins always came out incongruous, and even my hurried 'thank you' to the Principal as I stood on stage to claim my results slip from here seemed out of place; everything unorchestrated is wrong. I thought I should enjoy myself, so I stopped trying. It was as if my emotions have been bottled up, like they would have been savoured better when I would uncork the bottle known better as my heart alone in my room tonight.

But do not get me wrong as the others do; I am ecstatic, beyond happiness, for no words alone can describe anything I've felt within in the past four hours. I have plans, possibilities, and it's hard to focus on anything when I'm still feeling thunderstruck and numbed. This is supposed to be a new year with new beginnings, but my room is still messy with last year's books and papers and disjointed sentences.

THIS HAS NOT BEEN A TRAGEDY. THE LORD BE PRAISED.

I prayed last night.

It makes me feel alive; after the monotony of holiday fun it's only dutiful to be back to serious business. I will visit JC open houses, watch a few movies and exit the theatres feeling happier than I have ever been. Sherlock Holmes tomorrow; my father knows not how to spell it. A pity, really.

I'm trying to write more, this is notedly one of my new year resolutions and I plan to keep it till December. There is an interesting book on generating philosophical thought at the bookstore: originally meant for the General Paper but I think short essays would make a wholesome read on half an hour journeys.

Went to the library too: it feels almost like a home one returns to after wandering in some dense wilderness. The Central Library divides its Fiction section into Thrillers, Romances and General Books and I forgot that completely before looking for my book in the wrong section. Fortunately I spotted the notice just in time or else I would've walked out disappointed for coming such a long way for it. Sometimes I arrive at a shelf just as another is browsing there and most of the time I'm patient enough to wait. However I found it so annoying when I'm wait conspicuously beside a young woman and she hovers there uncertainly, biding her time and hogging the space in front of the shelf. She finally leaves emptyhanded while I worry about getting home by 5pm.

On some days I find it increasingly hard to separate fiction and reality, when both seem to blend into each other, especially when I concentrate too hard.

Labels:


Say they won't disappoint me.
Time: 9:48 AM

It's the day. Today. I'm expecting a sunny afternoon, and I'm taking it light in case I disappoint myself. I do not want to do this, but who does one listen to when a voice says 'it would be fine' and another whispers 'do you think so'? Overjoyed or crushed I'll still be making my way to the Central Library for Grimm's Last Fairytale, which would be either a comfort or a reward.

I have been spinning yarn since 8am, and a pitiful 900+ words were the only thing I could coax out of my mind. It does not take into account the two hours I have spent lying in bed thinking about shaping it into form and its overall feel. The words do not come as naturally as before and this is only part of the difficulty. Some words I have forgotten, but there have been space for new ones.

Some like it deviant.

Labels: , ,


Results.
Written on: Saturday, January 9, 2010
Time: 12:11 AM

Monday might be a tragedy, the culmination of my stewed hopes and dreams may simply fall flat on its first flight. The nervous, flighty chick might plummet to the ground in mid-air to its bloody end. I say 'its' as a dead foreign animal is no longer an animal as it's a dead one. It's no longer a loved, warm snuggly creature; it is but a thing.

I'm overcome with anxiety like the rest. Don't you dare lie as you are too, despite that comforting ray of overconfident sunshine you exude. That is not you. It was never you. No matter how intelligent one might be, nervousness permeates all into the core of your being. It's all part of the genetic code explaining why you're human, bundled together like a special package with the tendency to tell the world aloud how you feel, what you did, who you loved, who you didn't anymore. Like they really care if you had slightly-burnt toast for breakfast.

Anxiety makes me peevish, and I realise that easily enough. Maybe on Tuesday when I'm done mourning for the lost hopes I'll feel better.

Labels:


Like, we stole the sunlight.
Written on: Friday, January 8, 2010
Time: 11:38 PM

Dated: 13 Apr 2009
Choir practice at Victoria Concert Hall cut my school time short. It was...an experience to actually be there, and since I haven't set foot in that place for two years now, it felt like a homecoming. The hall wasn't as intimidating as it felt like during 2007's SYF judging. Silence sets in immediately and I felt I was being swallowed up by the faded white walls as we entered the premises. The building looked like it had been stopped in time: that was how it looked like, stubbornly adhereing to the Victorian architecture, holding its only tower high although the surrounding skyscrapers had already won. It would look seriously anachronistic, if not for the fact that the Court of Justice and many other preserved buildings were in a similar state, furnishings and all. It was gorgeous.

I was very exhausted by the time the school bus drove the choir back. Listened to MCR again and tried to go to sleep but obviously it didn't work. I had glutinous rice for lunch but it wasn't very filling. Had to keep from falling asleep during the extra lessons and dragged myself painfully up to Chemistry Lab 1 for a practical an hour later. It was more than the usual torture but it was clear practicing under the strong lighting in heeled dress shoes had taken its toll somehow. Something very embarrassing happened during the practice, which I would have wicked delight of disclosing but I don't feel like being mean today. Sigh, I don't even like her, so I would have done her a great favour by hiding this from the world. This, however, doesn't prevent my fellow friends from divulging it in their blogs.

Sometimes I earnestly wish everyone else would leave me alone. On other times, abandonment becomes my worst fear. I think I should ask for a psychoanalysis for clearance. I wonder if this is just a by-product of maturation, fearing everything and nothing. Sigmund Freud ought to have done something useful on this while he still lived.

Psychologists.

I wish I was better at ranting. Some people provide the most marvellous rants: they ramble, curse and swear and everything still comes out comprehensible, entertaining and simply wonderful. I wish I described anger better, or even attempt something that doesn't flop. I feel like a twelve year old trying out 'fuck' on my tongue. This takes some getting used to.

Labels: ,


Insanity is there for me.
Time: 11:29 PM

Dated: 2 Feb 2009
English class: I completed yet another composition in less than two hours, which was worth celebrating; usually it takes about three hours to pen out something really well. There's a feeling of satisfaction, like as if one has just emerged from a refreshing shower, except the fatigue still remains and slowly melts into incurable ecstasy. I couldn't stop wondering if anyone else's was done.
'Heroes': what a simple yet deceiving title about maybe saving a drowning citizen or a puppy from potential abuse. Frankly I'd steer clear of happy endings to avoid the plot spinning out of my control and turning into hyper blooming parks filled with blissful children. I would turn every story I write into a tragedy in retrospective if I could, because tragedies are what keeps the plot moving with energy fuelled by pain and suffering. I would like it a lot if my teacher would sing my praises.

I ended with an eulogy: not about how a war hero was put on a pedestal in honour of his country, but rather of a humble mother educating her daughter after the demise of her husband, then perishing from a fire which she saved her daughter from. It is not a tear-jerker, but (hopefully) some piece of writing that leaves people with strange unexplainable feelings lodged deep inside their hearts like shards of diamond.

I wonder how I would fare attempting to write a long-drawn out affair of a murder; the outline (or skeleton; in fact, that was the name's true origin) seemed encouraging; usually what I write in a dreamy stupor at night turns out horribly pathetic in the morning, but this time it was alright.

Labels: ,


Stresses and books.
Time: 11:27 PM

Dated: 10 July 2009
No, I am not stressed. Rather, I am...

I have been looking for words to replace that lately. Somehow I feel that 'stressed' isn't the right word to use in the case of myself. That word conjures up a protagonist at her wits' end, and nothing could help her out of her messes. Her heart is knotted into itself like a ball of yarn gone awry that someone had tried unsuccessfully to put it back together. the only possible actions she could take would simply worsen her dismal plight, hence she has decided on the least harmful: sitting at her desk, moping with her face in her hands.

Which is, as she knows, ineffective anyway.

But, as I had reasoned to myself countless times, I am not a picture of dull despair. Not always, for I have my own moments when I wished I was behind closed doors and alone, but not to the extend where I would shriek, call my friends up, shriek some more on the phone and shatter their brief moment of peace. Even so, surprisingly, this description even seems understated when compared to some others. I wouldn't even scream.

My stress (all of a sudden the keenness to spill it out on the pavement is overwhelming) reflected in my view, with the uncomprehended thoughts chained to it cut away, is plainly fear. Trepidation of a major examination inching ever nearer and myself, jammed into a tight corner and watching its advance helplessly. It's like being in a ship with a threatening kraken under the waters, or a lamb hiding in the bush in the path of a ravenous lion, hoping with every beat of its tiny heart that it wouldn't be spotted and its heart'll lie in shreds. How many masks can this often underestimated emotion wear? At times she seems so harmless, but when she hears your shields drop she'll come at you, all spindly fingers and bloodlust.

Especially today. I tried assuring myself that the Additional Math mock exam is nothing but just a serious bit of practice, but as much as I looked as the epitome of calmness, I. Just. Wasn't. I could be fooling myself for all I--No, I think I was. Sometimes I think it boils down to not how I feel, but how convinced I am.

I still dislike people who scream for the slightest things. I know I'm susceptible to that, but as much as I can help it, the battle rages on the inside of the closet doors. What is wrong with keeping your anxiety away from crowds? Let it through the back door; to a carnival, a rifle ranch, or out on the streets where it gleefully feeds on imaginary, unsuspecting souls. Rather than making my windows rattle.

Being nice is nice, but after a while, my facial muscles ache. Still, I will try, if you say it suits me.

On a brighter note, I am looking forward to reading The Chemistry of Death this evening as it elevates stress. My first proper reading session! since I snatched reading time from between precious subject periods yesterday just to complete Let The Right One In as it was already overdue. Thoughts? Besides the fact the that author's name still escapes me, and the translator's name isn't prominently featured on the cover, I like the dreamy-yet-factual tones of the whole book. Even when the characters are angered, the pure rage doesn't seep through the pages, instead I felt it was akin to watching the whole scene from behind glass. Its potrayal is beautifully intense, yet it doesn't run away from the snow-heavy, poetic, slightly-somber atmosphere of Stockholm. Scenes of Eli and Oskar together throughout the book are beautifully echoed by the strains of Hannah Fury's The Vampire Waltz I played in the background. All in all, it's an unforgettable comparable classic romance that I actually like.

Labels: , , ,


I want extra Math worksheets now.
Time: 11:25 PM

There's always a sense of pride when I start on the extra worksheets my Maths teacher distributes when he knows fully well the chances of anyone doing them is bordering on zero. It starts when I actually decide to do something today, something that makes me happy and this happiness would travel on a steady line throughout the process. It would dwindle as the weeks pass, then the graph would spike up suddenly when he requests them to be handed it. (Almost) everyone would spontaneously and simultaneously panic, questions will be passed around whether anyone had already done it, the people who are halfway-through it or even "does anyone have any extras? I've lost mine."

"Oh, so you can't come over today because of this worksheet? Um, okay. Huh what about me? I'm already done with that worksheet. Good luck." It's easy, hiding that grin of satisfaction, saving it till I'm back in my room.

I should be paying the library a visit any time today, to settle fines and borrow more books. I find myself running out of things to read and how bland my life becomes when I wait impatiently in line!

Labels: ,