Hey Liz

Here I am updating, DUDETTE.

Cynicism doesn’t hurt

I like how I’m more cynical now.

Stumbled upon a blog of this friend and it was filled with incessant ramblings about his broken heart. How the lyrics of songs “called out” to him. How it was “their” song.

I used to be like that!

Thank God i’ve moved on. For fuck’s sake, no matter what the sad songs say about romance, broken hearts do mend.

On Cliche

During moments of self doubt, I sometimes wonder if I have become a cliche. The sad, dark and twisted act has been overly portrayed. We got tired of Meredith Grey- she had to become happy.

Today, I am happy. I have been happy, as a matter of fact. It feels like a temporal sense of bliss, foreshadowed to be destroyed by reality anytime soon. They say you can never have too much of a good thing, but I see myself being complacent with my situation once more.

Another G in my life. this time, Gary. He is wonderfully complete without a wife or long term partner in tow.  He is, however, twice my age. What’s new, you say.

For once, I don’t have to prove myself attractive by leading him to bed. For once, I am quite satisfied with us standing together in silence, basking in the afterglow of a fulfilling conversation.

Maybe I won’t be disappointed this time. This is such a dangerous hope to harbour, because it can crush the spirit with twice the potency.

Brian.

Who are you and how did you chance upon this blog?

Wiping the slate clean

I will be unabashedly straight-talking in this post.

When I began this blog, I was at the height of drug addiction. I was lonely, I felt abandoned and I needed company. Fucking was the easiest and gratifying way of meeting the need.

My life is clean now, in more ways than one. I have a dream job, I have left G, Gav, Brent(s). I have left the idiotic housemates, I have left Uni and most importantly, I have left the addiction for human contact and drugs.

I was re-reading my previous posts and thought whimsically (or egotistically) how I enjoyed reading them. The flow of words probably came from a High or a good trip. Truth is- I don’t know if i can do that anymore in sobriety.

I spent a considerable amount of time at work today reminiscing how my life was a year ago. How I felt when I got my driving license, how I first started out with G, how I first got a job in Maccas here and how scared I was to be a new driver on the road. My editor broke the endless trail of such thoughts by asking how I was going to spend christmas this year.

It’s pleasantly disconcerting how things turned out. I remember making a phonecall to G last christmas, telling him I’ve had enough of being the Evil One, wishing him a good trip a day before he returned to NZ to see his mother. It was a lonely christmas despite spending it in a home full of uni people. I remembered getting plastered from an alcohol-binge, getting stoned by pot while thinking to myself: Fuck- I need to find someone else.

“You know, it’s really weird how my relationships never last beyond christmas and I can never find someone before Valentine. It’s as if that period is permanently marked for me to can’t have boyfriends,” I remarked in a devil-may-care tone.

My editor laughed and said, “Well, see? I’ve told you haven’t I? You’ve got a commitment problem- start committing my dear. Stop seeing people old enough to be your father!”

“Weird you’re telling me that. Are you afraid I might go for you?” I teased.

We had a little going on when I first joined the company. He ignored me for the first three weeks and kept me thinking: Why the fuck did he hire me if he doesn’t even like me enough to say Hi?

That little mystery got solved during one of the company’s yearly river cruise trip. I was a little tipsy after three drinks and went up to the deck for a quick puff. He was there alone and I didn;t blame him. He brought along his wife who was whingeing the hours away, sulking in a seat away from everyone. With dutch courage, I tapped him on his shoulder and said, “I get the feeling that you can’t stand the sight of me from the way you avoid talking to me.”

He turned around and replied in his signature stoic manner,” well, because I need to stop myself from looking at you.”

It was a moment of unadulterated awkwardness before J, my gay colleague, popped out from nowhere and told me to partner him for the dance, saving me from the weird situation.

I don’t know the reason for it, but that dissipated the uncomfortable sensation between us. When I returned to the office on Monday, things became normal and we’re now able to chat and joke like mates.

“Oh come on R. You can’t expect me to go for some teenage heartthrob! Do I look like a teenybopper to you?” I rolled my eyes.

“That wasn’t what I was asking you to do. I’m telling you to find a nice guy, not seduce the pollie you were interviewing last week or accepting dates with firemen whom you got to know when you were chasing the front page story!” he answered in a mock-serious tone.

I am so going to kill my colleague J for telling him all that.

I also chose not to tell my editor that both the pollie and fireman are married.

So you see, I can’t blame myself can I? I promise my friendsI will leave dysfunctionality. It’s just difficult when that bitch runs to me all the time.

The Intensity of Abstinence

Two months without touching, feeling the need for a long drag on the fag left me pretty much dried up, intellectually and creatively.

Tonight, I broke that long fast with a mug of hot coffee, laced with generous amount of Kahlua and five shots of vodka straight. I do not know why I decided to open the pack of Virginia Slims, neither do I know why I decided to imbibe myself with an intoxicating mix of cocktails. I knew I wanted to feel the shot of nicotine up into myself, resulting in a heady sensation of calmness, contradicted by the emotional clarity. I knew I wanted to let alcohol numb me and render me sleepy, yet untired.

Like abstaining from sex for a long period of time, in order to get a mindblowing bout of fucking. Like laying off the pot and coke for your body to slowly erase any traces of tolerance built up during those party days, in order for a hit to smack you right up into ecstasy. The first drag felt good; I questioned myself why I gave up the chemical-filled sticks.

Perhaps, the act characterises my own little way of being wilful. To show you that I can give up smokes anytime, but I wouldn’t do that just because you told me to. Besides, it’s not an immense task to undertake. I made Gav tell you that I gave up the habit because I feel like it, just to let you know how elusive and cold I can be.

Power-play at its most subtle.

Tonight, I applauded myself for moving on, for having the courage to return for a drive around the spots where we shared the most ridiculous and intimate conversations, where we could stand in long bout of comfortable silence. There is nothing weepy and sentimental about the places anymore, there is no invoked emotion when I listed to The Song. It took me two months and a cigarette to come to this.

“If you lay here, if you just lay here, would you lie here with me and just forget the world”.

 

There is nothing to forget anymore.

The L word and My Country

Five years ago, I had an undying love for Singapore, including the government. Isn’t that what years of ‘National Education’ taught us- love the government (or more specifically, love LKY), love the country?

I remembered going for the final interview of the United World College Scholarship. Two Singaporean alumnus of the college questioned the government policies and asked me for my opinion on the lack of free speech. I gave them what I learnt in NE talks, with fervour and passion, genuinely believing in what I said.

I said Singaporeans are not ready, not educated enough to understand full democracy, an ideal modeled by the US would only serve to crumble our faith in the country. Deep down, I had this nagging thought that I didn’t dare to face: we’re like domesticated dogs. Take away their alpha leader and they panic. Give them commands and they feel secure.

Now, I’m in Perth. Not exactly the most metropolitan city in the globe, but a truly good enough one for me. I see TV programmes with the opposition leader Kevin Rudd criticising John Howard. I see John Howard pulling up his socks, admitting to his mistakes, trying to improve on his leadership, without losing his sense of self. I see TV advertisements by welfare groups questioning and advocating the abolishment of certain workplace policy. Amazingly enough, some policies were taken down, or modified by the current ruling party. Over in Singapore, discussions were but a farce- policies are to be implemented, whether you like it or not, because our Old Man says “It’s good for you, good for Singapore.”

It might not be the perfect check-and-balance system, but at least there is a semblance of such system. Just a month ago, I had a discussion with my housemates. One of them intern-ed in the Prime Minister Office and she said she loved Singapore even more. I questioned her on the lack of criticisms towards our government. Was she worried about the lack of opposition? She replied in the negative, saying she would never vote for the opposition. The single ruling party allowed our government to be stable, she said.

What about check-and-balance? Who’s going to check on them and ensure their policies are workable, for the larger good?

“There’s no need for that,” she replied firmly. “It’ll be good because PAP’s recruitment process will only allow wise leaders to practise the best choices.”

“Don’t you want a say? Their policies will affect you,” I further probed.

“I know it’ll affect me. The government will allow a say, look at all those discussion forums. If they really believe it’s good for us, they will try to convince us one.”

I walked away from the discussion feeling very perturbed. She is of same age as me, but years of being inundated by NE propaganda seemed to work on her. Maybe she really does love Singapore? Do I love Singapore?

My Australian mates have asked me similar questions. “Singaporeans don’t seem to like Singapore a lot hey?” Brent asked wryly, when I first went drinking with him. Surprised, I stopped a drag halfway on my ciggie.

“I do like Singapore. I like that my family lives there, the food, the shopping. But that’s about it. After a while, I felt stifled. I had the urge to always wear what other people are wearing, to follow what the government say, and to always say Yes.”

He didn’t reply, probably overwhelmed by that burst of verbal diarrhoea or didn’t have the intellectual ability to understand what I said. (I think it’s a combination of both.) I thought of how I felt when I first started University. Why are people asking questions? How do they ask such intelligent questions? I have no opinions and even if I do, I have no idea how to voice them out. It took me awhile before I could fully participate in tutorial discussions, criticizing, debating on the relevance of economic theories in today’s world.

Wasn’t I taught that in Singapore? I don’t think so. I’m taught to memorise the theories word for word, I’m told that if I leave the second part of the theory I would get 2 marks deducted. I’m taught that to obtain a distinction for that question I am to apply the theory to real life examples. Other than that, I don’t think I’m taught anything else.

So yes, I will try to stay in Perth, in Australia, even though that would prove to be a very, very difficult endeavour. I would need to go through millions of paperwork, find an employer who would want to employ me on a higher-than-average salary. But I will try and if I fail, returning to Singapore would still be the last thing on my mind. I am thinking of Vietnam, China, Taiwan, or if I’m bored enough, London. Singapore doesn’t need me, a measly journalism graduate. They want angmohs because they can speak better angmoh. Either that or they have a giant hoard of NTU mass comm. wannabes queuing up to get a sad 1.5K per month, 60 hours work per week junior reporting job.

Arthur, this guy with a nice heart but has big mouth that’s disconnected from his brain said this to me when I told him I’ll try to stay in Perth: “Well, Don’t forget ok. You will always be second-class citizen. Always.”

The ‘Second-Class’ citizen can get a “job transition” payout, a sum of money that I can claim from Centrelink if I am leaving, or quitting a job and in the midst of looking another job and a better superannuation payout, as compared to CPF. I have retirement benefits, pension scheme from the government. I can get MediLife insurance. Of course, I have to pay a higher tax, but at least I know what the government is doing with most of the money, no?

So what’s the good about being a Singaporean First-Class Citizen?

On the Hilarity of National Education

“Do you like Tooheys?”

“Very much. Nothing like Australian Beer.”

“So what beer does Singapore have?”

“Erm, this brand called Tiger. I think it’s sold here. The pub owner must be crazy.”

“Why do you say that? Hey I’ll go buy half a pint and try.”

(thinking Brent just meant it as a joke) “Yeah. Go ahead.”

After half a cigarette and two sips of Kilkenny later, Brent came back with something that vaguely smell of piss.

“OH FUUUUUUCK! shit, it doesn’t taste good hey..”

I laughed too hard to reply. Man, that guy is a gem. Wholesome entertainment on a Friday night.

Becoming Conventional

Okay, the ‘Impending’ paper is no longer impending. In fact, its status was stripped 3 bloody days ago- I’m just too jaded to do anything else other than chill and catch up on the neglected housework.

Goodness, how terribly unsexy. I sound like some idiotic wuss who writes about wanting to get married, learning how to be a good wife, cooing over babies… yucks.

On the other news, Gav said I really should take away the self-annointed title of Domestic Goddess. Apparently that’s for “wholesome, clean women with short,sensible permed hair and believe that pleasing a man in bed means bringing a beer and a bowl of chips to the bedside table”. (His words, almost exact.) So, Domestic Slut? I was vacuuming the bloody filthy house with an apron on (a free one cos that was from my previous cafe job, i always wear apron when i do housework, can get very messy you know) and i actually toyed with  the idea of wearing nothing but the apron.

HA HA HA!

Ok but i didn’t cos Annie (Miss CB- Crazy Butch or Chee Bye, you choose) might just pop back into the house to grab some stuff and I cannot imagine the embarassment I would have to endure. Also, the idea of exposing my clean skin while emptying the vacuum bag isn’t very attractive. Despite Gav’s egging, Miss T stayed pure and chaste (insert snide giggles here) and continued to plod around the house with the noisy vacuum cleaner wearing a coral blue long sleeved fleece sweater from U2 and frumpy, sg-preppy, FBT shorts.

Plus, Miss T has put on weight.UGH. I blame it on the lack of shagging, housework and shopping trips. Oh, and the insatiable cravings for chocolate and savoury hot meals to counter the chilly weather. Miss TumTum is back with a vengeance, I am worried that a set of 40 sit-ups daily might not scare her enough to retreat. JigglyThighs™ like to tag along with Miss TT as well and worst of all, DC (DoubleChin) and Co. has carried out a full-fledge corporate expansion on my visage, acquiring two failing companies: Neck Pte Ltd and Jawline Inc.

The no-shag status is overrated by ‘well-meaning’ friends. Seriously. No guys currently and something tells me this is a giant mistake, not a solution on its own. Okay, so the G and Gav thing is spiralling out of hand, I feel awful, really I do. So efforts have been made to not see and talk to both of them, though the latter is almost impossible.

In fact, the more i try to distance myself, the more Gav tries to gambol towards me. Weekly exchanges become daily, the colder my replies, the further he tried to get me out.  There’s something particularly endearing about this that i cannot put my finger on, not that I should try to since common sense should prevail, right?

Ok I don’t need an answer, Never Mind.  

Lesser updates next week- Parentals are coming over and its time for me to erase all traces of men in my life here and present the sight of a clean, chaste, value-driven Asian female.

Woo Hoo.

Them! Yes, THEM!

OH MY GOD ELIZABETH!!!!

I actually found a couple of blogs from my… previous high school.

Aargh!

I never like any part of my high school life, other than the fact that I did relatively well for my leaving exam and could smirk at those horrendous teachers and stupid nerds. I know I’m being horribly unorginal by saying this: but internet really makes the world so much smaller.

Like, this person, whom I remember was obsessed over her first boyfriend. MrPuppyLove’s name consists of the chinese characters of orange, green and red.  In COMMEMORATION of their undying love, she got her friend to go to the bubble tea shop opposite our school to snuck straws of these three colours.

And what’s new? she still can’t spell properly. Blue dude, not B-L-O-O. and not HARLOW, but HELLO. H-E-L-L-O.

Weird.

Never mind.

What about her ‘best friend’, who, incidentally, called herself my best friend as well, only to end up bitching to the whole world about me? thanks woman.

I remembered hanging out with her all the time, cos, well, she’s a good listener and we all have teenage angst we need to vent hey? Noooo, it seemed she did me an extra favour by broadcasting it with extra tidbits added to them as well.

So you decided to be an accountant? Good on you, I always knew you have the calculative streak .

Or this person who used to sit in front of me with her ‘best friend‘. Person’s best friend used to bitch behind her back that she has body odour, is selfish, nosensical trivial things like borrowing her pens constantly… yada yada yada but amazingly, are still mates till this point of time.

Miracles of friendship, man.

Or Nuha? oh man, i remembered her for her petite lanky figure with thick black eyebrows and long black, immaculately braided hair. She’s the class jester- I love how she almost drove Ms Johara crazy.

and her! and her sidekick, her! I remember the latter who had this ‘boyfriend’ from the neighbouring school. (we’re a single sex school, you see, and most of the straight people in my school get their boyfriends in co-ed school around our area)

Amazing. It’s like highschool reunion, with a security barrier that allows you to gawk openly at them.