nothing more to add, your honour

sometimes, just sometimes, when i finally step in through the door of my room, out and away from the world, i let out a breath of life.

then i think, what's there left to say?


what's necessary has been said and done. i couldn't have done it better nor could i have done it worse. i'm not sorry neither, for whatever that's happened.

no regrets, that's been my motto.

and now, i add another one: make a decision, stick to it.


it doesn't matter if others say the same thing but don't know what it means. what matters is that i do, and that i stick with it. cause i mean what i say and say what i mean.

no regrets.

a possibly strange idea

today i was looking into the mirror after my hair has dried, and i saw that there is this kink, on - in - my fringe that meanders (if hair meanders) in a loose s-shape across my forehead. it is a stranger amidst the straight-laced rest of my hair.

it irritates me, because i took pains to not have my hair meander so. that's why i had part of my hair rebonded, so it will not meander as it grows out. the fringe was left untouched because as hair goes, it will not to do have a flat fringe: i did not want to look like my entire head had been blown dry from above. as a result of that thought a tress of my fringe is now actively meandering across my er, countenance.

i know it will become "pretty hot" when it gets longer but right now it says "DIDN'T BOTHER TO COMB HAIR". which in all due honestly was probably true, considering the fact that trying to pull a comb through my hair is a lot like trying to pull a plough through a tangle of nets.

when it's wet, i mean.

but that's what rebonding was supposed to resolve, see? i straightened my hair so i won't have to comb it. isn't what why a lot of people rebond their hair anyway?

so the funky funky fringe has a personality. just like its owner. even the rebonded parts - despite being rebonded they still retain that slight bit of a curve, a hint of a kink, just to say "ha!", if anything.


as i stared at the tress brush in hand, i had an eureka moment.

i realised that i wouldn't quite be as pleased if i were to be perfect. i mean, that's what the media is for. they give you perfection, because you expect it, and that's how you expect perfection to look like, a generic perfect-ness, does it make sense?

hair has to be sleek or sexily wild, the make-up must be flawless and the lashes must be just so. then the rest of it all, the suit, the pumps, the shell buttons and that newscaster "so how do the rich and famous spend their weekends?" way of speaking.

sure, i want to be perfect, but i'd hate to be generic. i don't want to sound like every newscaster there was on teevee. i don't want to be every marilyn monroe that ever traipsed across the screen, honour that may be.

i want to be me.


and if having a kink in my hair means that i'm more believable, more human and more of a loren than anyone else, then wow, i'll take that kink anytime.

consider these two illustrations: -

"she's tall but not too tall, slim, almost but not quite to the point of being skinny. there is a certain jaunt in her movements, the same kind of jaunt hats have when placed at certain angles on peoples' heads, that makes peoples' eyes seek and rest on her. it is apparent that her hair has been put through some chemical process they call rebonding, a process that makes the hair appear silkier and more groomed... though somehow the hairdresser must have missed a strand: a tress at the corner of her forehead that seemed to have escaped that chemical fate."

and

"she's perfect."

uh. what? sorry, i must've blinked.

"she's perfect."

ah. right.

uh. so. right.

seriously, how else do you describe perfection? perfection in itself - correct me if i'm wrong here, please - but isn't perfection, in itself, a manner of generism*?

i don't know if you're going to call this sour grapes, but i'd really rather have unique points about me so my kids will have something to write about me when - if - they decide to write about me, assuming i am going to have kids in the future, so that i'm uniquely, definitively and unmistakably me rather than a shadow and imprint of every say, movie starlet there was.

so... while i may not be a movie star, while i have stubborn kinky hair that defies all chemical logic and have one ear higher than the other - i'm kinda glad that hey, these things make me who i am, they make me recognisable.

i want to be me. not a hollywood barbie everybody likes but nobody recognises. i mean, what if i got murdered and everything rotted away and only my ears remained?? we have to think about such things, folks!

so yes. i want to be me. not barbie, not manufactured.


me.

home

where is home?

i live by myself. i envy those who live with their folks, still. when shit happens i only have myself.

and the song speaks well.





I'm loving living every single day but sometimes I feel so....
I hope to find a little peace of mind and I just want to know.

And who can heal those tiny broken hearts, and what are we to be.
Where is home on the milky way of stars, I dry my eyes again.

In my dreams I am not so far away from home,
What am I in a world so far away from home,
All my life all the time so far away from home,
Without you I will be so far away from home.

If we could make it through the darkest Night we'd have a brighter day.
The world I see beyond your pretty eyes, makes me want to stay.

And who can heal those tiny broken hearts, and what are we to be.
Where is home on the milky way of stars, I dry my eyes again.

In my dreams I am not so far away from home,
What am I in a world so far away from home,
All my life all the time so far away from home,
Without you I will be so far away from home.

I count on you, no matter what they say, cause love can find its time.
I hope to be a part of you again, baby let us shine.

And who can heal those tiny broken hearts, and what are we to be.
Where is home on the milky way of stars, I dry my eyes again.

In my dreams I am not so far away from home,
What am I in a world so far away from home,
All my life all the time so far away from home,
Without you I will be so far away from home

In my dreams I am not so far away from home,
What am I in a world so far away from home,
All my life all the time so far away from home,
Without you I will be so far away from home

In my dreams I am not so far away from home,
What am I in a world so far away from home,
All my life all the time so far away from home,
Without you I will be so far away from home....

today

today, i wrote a lot of things to a certain someone.

i could've sent it to him, but i didn't. what would be the point, really?


if someone does not want to move forward he will not move forward.

i love him.

so what? i made a decision. so stick with it.


like the psychiatrists say about changing lightbulbs: it's not about how many psychiatrists it takes to change the lightbulb. it's about whether the lightbulb wants to change itself.

on happiness

http://www.ted.com/index.php/talks/mihaly_csikszentmihalyi_on_flow.html

blather

minister mentor said that it is best for graduates to marry graduates. okay. so... wow. it's true, i understand, that it'll be best if both parties are at the same intellectual level as the other, and he uses that as a yardstick.

after all, it is hard to find another form of measurement, other than "do you have a degree", because... well, degrees certainly mean that you are the kind to be able to sit down at the desk to study, no?

and if you cannot, then you're probably in a polytechnic somewhere, nothing against polytechnics or any other institutions, really. the reason why i bring this us is because where you go to reflects your kind of personality and preferences. people with degrees are probably more interested in (or at least don't mind) debates, exploring sides of the same coin, love (or at least don't mind) reading - as opposed to those who absolutely cannot stand reading, debates, et cetera.

that is of course, a general statement and definitely there will be exceptions to the rule. but seriously. sometimes it is just hard to talk to a person who doesn't understand where you're coming from.

that is vastly different from talking to someone who knows what you're talking about but rejects it.

one may well be as frustrating as the other, true, but it is undeniable that the two are very, very different from each other.


personally, i find people who do not understand me to be a bigger source of irritation than those who were to reject my opinions, simply because the latter understand what i'm talking about. with those who cannot understand what i'm talking about, there is a lack of connection; like all my ammo has been aimed and fired at where i thought bullseye would be when the bullseye probably never was there to start with.

i am not a supporter of the supposed elitist way, no. i am not one of the elites neither, if you must know. i do not possess a degree, if that's how one begins to qualify to be an elite, or to begin be an elitist.


i think the reason why minister mentor said what he said about marriage is because two people should have similar ways of thought and doing things i suppose. i don't know the man personally and i can only guess, as sometimes... well, what you're not familiar with causes worry. he cannot say similarity in background will guarantee similarity in thought, because well, it's true.

what he can be more sure of though, is that once two people have gone through similar ways of coaching chances are they will have similar ways of thought. not completely, but at least to a certain, if not large, extent. and sometimes it's just important to be able to understand and appreciate what the other is talking about - and a similar level of education gives you that, even if two people were to have majored in very different subjects.

i'm not saying that only people of similar educational level can understand what the other is saying; there are obviously exceptions to the rule. it's just that, well, that's the most logical way to measure how two people can survive as a couple, as parents, as partners.

so what's my point, really, after blathering on about what the MM has said?

well, my point is that i see the virtue in his words, and that i agree. it might not be very well-received (thanks to taiwanese and korean drama serials), but it makes sense.

...also... sometimes, just sometimes... people of a certain educational level will tend to not take the "less-educated" partner less seriously, because of pride. we can go on to discuss how a person of a lower education level may look up to the one with the higher level of education and it might work our just fine.

but what if the one with the higher (not better education, but higher) education feels somewhat contemptuous of the one with the lower education over time and suddenly her loving care and adoration isn't enough to compensate for her "not knowing enough"?

well. i am a firm believer that education does not automatically mean schooled. so many people are educated but unschooled, wow. just look around you, they're all over in singapore.

i reiterate: i agree with what MM has said about marrying within your education level, for practical reasons cited above, and then some. again, there will be exceptions to rules, but those are probably not many. it takes a certain kind of person to be happy in marriage i realise, no matter who the spouse might be.

it's just a little sad that somehow, somewhere, people have forgotten how to be happy.

and from today.

and from today, I IS A CHAMPION OF GOD!

plumber boy

hand-washing, ladies and starbucks

i often wonder, as i wash my hands after i'm done with the necessary in the lavatory, that why we women wash our hands, regardless of whether the loo-visit was for the purpose of a tinkle or for something more.

before you condemn me for one who's against hand-washing: i'm not. i am honestly curious about this ritual, is all. and yes, i do wash my hands each time i go to the ladies. but why, i often wonder absently about others. i know why i wash my hands each time i'm at the ladies.*

i mean, boys (cough) - men - need to handle certain equipment when they tinkle (that's the tradeoff for not having to sit). women don't. not really, no. and not all the time, especially when alone.

men need to unzip, fish out their woo-woos, hold them in place, give it a shake when they're done then put it back where it belongs. well, that's a private part they'd just touched so of course they need to wash their hands. but women?

other than those who come into actual, manual contact with bodily outputs - correct me if i'm wrong here, please - most urbane women do not, in actual fact, come into direct contact with certain parts of their own body. until when they shower, presumably.

so... why do we wash our hands when we go to the ladies? so our hands can smell nice? to fulfill an unwritten societal demand that thine hands must be washed each time thou goest to the ladies and they must be moist and smell of that lavender handwash from department Nix from Sector Two so thou may pass through the scanner at the Portal to return to thine Motherboard?

come on people, really. we have loo paper most of the time; once we're done with wiping, hey, it's done.

no, no i'm not saying that "wow, hey you water-wasters, don't wash your hands!" i'm saying "are we wasting water when we hadn't really touched anything?"

are we, unknowingly, the STARBUCKS of society, albeit more sporadic and somewhat compulsive?

after all, it's not like we're spraying it right out so that the stall's full of vapour - if that were the case i'd honestly advocate more than just washing your hands.

but seriously. it comes out in a stream right into the bowlful of water, and stays there. then we clean the rest up with a bit of paper.

so... what contact, and what contamination? are we trying to prevent buildup of germs by washing? so... we prevent germs by washing after we're done with the ladies... then come back to touch the keyboard? then proceed to pick up that donut we bought for tea..?


what's worse, really?

well, i know why i wash my hands, and why i wash them often. i hope you do, too.

i hope we're not simply wasting water, because we happen to have loads of it.

i really hope it. so. the question is: do you know why you're washing your hands?

i do. i know i do. do you?


---
* i wash my hands each time i'm at the ladies because i handle the papers a lot. my fingers are almost always stained black by both glue and newspaper ink. it does not help that i have sweaty palms.

i wash my hands before i even go into the stall because i worry about my pretty panties that would show grubby marks of my own fingers: what if i was about to get hit by a bus and then the bus sees them fingerprints, misunderstands, and decides to hit something else?

can you imagine the embarassment in trying to explain an it's-so-ordinary-it's-absurd predicament? God forbid that you miss the moment, cause you know in your heart that each time you see that person you will try to broach the subject and try to explain but it is never going to be an appropriate time and place and situation for you to do so anymore.

so. i'd rather wash my hands than have to live down that kind of trigger-able SILENT SCREAM. same reason why some people say "always wear pretty underwear in case you get hit by a bus."

not that i'm ever-ready to get hit by a bus. more like if i'm going to die, i'll die with no regrets, because my hands are washed.

crystal ball

sometimes i wonder, what is this itch that grows from within my being? the propulsion that happens inside of me every now and then, that tells me that i need to do something more, because i can?

i realised, today, that hey, i've learnt some stuffs about the world in general, and that's the kinda stuff that most others won't have, nor want to talk to you about because they know squat about them. i mean, politics and economy?? and sometimes because i know a little bit more than others do the conversation becomes stilted, cause nobody really can carry on a conversation without additional ammo, so to speak, to carry on with.

i know, because it's happening more and more often. not because i know a great deal, of course, but because whatever i know they don't know and whatever they know i don't. it also does not help when i get conversation fodder like fashion, who's worn what, which's the newest watch, where the swarovski-studded shoes are, suchlike.

i mean, what happened to topics like how to run a business, for example? how to rear fish? how to invest, what various financial tools are, how to manage people, how to deal with tough customers, how to keep the company's reputation up - this kind of topics? whatever happened to those?

i'd love to listen to these. but do i get them?


noooo.

i get things like:-

• the weather - which is alright as long as they're talking about typhoons, taiwan, ike, after they get past singapore's roiling humidity
• fashion - which i like but don't follow like a KARL LAGERFELD stalker
• parties - superficial. why talk about them when you only need to turn up and attend them? i personally don't see the point of saying "oh hey, were you there at the party last night?" when if you were not too busy getting bloody drunk you most probably would know whether he/she was at the party or not. and if you weren't drunk? what're you trying to prove to whomever's within earshot of your query? that you have a life? please.
• who's snogged whom - does it really matter to you??? if it does i'm saying do something about it, and fast.


so i do nothing but sit on my arse and read articles. precisely because i do nothing but sit on my arse and read articles. i like my job, but somehow, just somehow, it gets a little bit stagnant.

so what is it, God? why am i there for, other than resting and taking the necessary step of cutting some people loose and then healing from there, where privacy is allowed and independence is unapologetically granted? will You let me know when i am to move on, Sir?

Right now i am at peace, mostly. the sense that something should be happening is assailing me and i need some action at the workplace, action wherein i may feel good about. not that i don't feel good about my work now Lord, but that it's... wow. i need something more.

give me something more, Lord, more responsibility. let me learn. let me venture and speak with people, interact with people and good heavens, please show me the boundaries so i may push them! i have energy, i can commit, but let it be worthwhile and interesting!

let me leave the ratrace having enjoyed every moment of it. in Jesus' Name i pray, amen.

reflections of a cartoonist

Mad TV - Michael Jackson And Justin Timberlake

Mad tv-Michael Jackson parody

Action Jackson - Michael Jackson Parody

MadTv - 50 Cent - C.R.A.P

ooh i'm going to see a racer tomorrow! on company time, too!

good golly, i love my job :))


then, then! day after that i get to wear this pretty dress and have reason to walk around like that in botanic gardens talking about F1 and JOHNNIE WALKER.

i can't wait!

johnny walker night

i had gone for training for an event as classy as crystal decanters and long-stemmed glasses - dressed smartly as usual in my short button-up dress topped off with my black jacket.

only i was carrying far too many books (three exercisebookfuls of good honest stuff, from economical articles to GARRISON KEILLOR's witty pieces - and a book by niccolo machiavelli. yes, that scheming bastard) - and a bottle of shampoo.

don't ask me why i had a bottle of shampoo, i just do, okay?*

anyways. so the training went on and we found out aaall about johnny walker and the blue label, how it started and how it's going on, how the blue label has earned it stripes, so to speak.

suffice to say, we had bombarded our trainer (his name's colin) mercilessly with questions. being the indulgent host that he is, however, he answered our questions patiently and with humour, then proceeded to take us out to the bar, where he mixed magic cocktails for the bunch of us**.

the cocktails were especially created with the coming F1 race in mind and sported names like pitstop, yellow flag, suchlike. we sampled these mixes and suffice to say, they're a hit both with the ladies and the gentlemen. we had about six cocktails in all, and these mixes are sold only at six other places (with pretty names like "hilton" and "marriott").

being the bold, demanding chit that i am, i had requested that we have a taste of the blue label with ice water, as colin had so deliciously described when he was enlightening us to the joys and pleasures of the best whisky in the world. and boy, was i glad that i was the bold, demanding chit!

colin had instructed us that the palate needs to be cooled with plain water before it should touch any of the liquid gold - the palate must be chilled. when the whisky touched our tongues, omigosh - the divine flavours i never knew existed - nor ever thought could exist in a whisky - fanned and spread themselves out in my mouth.

whatever the japanese comics had illustrated when the characters tasted good food? those happened to me when the flavours blossomed on my tastebuds. the best bit was when i breathed out - now that's another flavour altogether.

whatever idea i had about a whisky being a man's drink had suddenly become hogwash, sudden enlightenment dictates that the only reason why i had equated whisky to paint-stripping agents was because i was drinking paint-stripping agents.

blue label and paint-strippers? vast difference.


and thus came the end of the evening. colin, as before, was gracious and i was a little sorry to go, but am glad that i am an ambassador of this particular whisky.



* unless you really want an answer. and if you really wanted an answer i would have told you that it's because I BOUGHT A BOTTLE OF SHAMPOO. BECAUSE I WANTED IT.

** comprised of four team leaders in the F&B industry (they've got the know-how as to how to treat a guest right), four of us whisky girls and jackeline, nixon and albert, our minders. ahem. "minders". it makes me feel posh just saying that.

meal with a friend who's going away

had a meal tonight with a friend who's leaving for thailand tomorrow. there were four of us, all buddies from the days of yore, when i sported a spikey 'do because i thought it was a bad idea to stop the hairdresser from being creative.

we all have grown smarter and wiser since then and... yeah. it's a joy to meet up and have a meal together.


jasmine's going to thailand tomorrow. we sang in the van that had a broken back window in full-throated triumph on the highway - and that's the way life should be.

...but i could feel shao han's missing jasmine before she even left. what a cold, clear feeling that is.

some days are just like that

some days you just gotta label as bad days. not because they're not good, but because they're really, exactly and explicitly, not good.

you have no words for it, because the elements that make up that day are all small. so tiny in fact, that mentioning them would seem petty. so you grit and grin through a day of that and you're tired out and are probably feeling down as well and eureka! you decide to use one of your lifelines and call a friend.

so you call a friend who might understand the situation and then you get told, in a nice, roundabout manner, to "suck it in and take it like a woman", followed by "it's probably because you didn't do this, this, this and this".

why, what else can you do but take off your hat and say humbly, thank you very much sir, for listening, then hang up.

do you dare call another friend? nooo

who's there to call anyway? words would have dried up like an exhausted pot of tea left in the sun for far too many days on a day such as this.

plus nobody likes to have to begin with "hi" and then have to end with "well, thanks anyway" and come away feeling like you've made a bid for that swing when you're on the trapeze, air-clawed for the one you're meant to catch and hang on to but missed instead. it feels like you've huge grains of salt stuck in yon tearducts but you can't cry it out. so now you know how it feels to have salt crystals in your tearducts, only it's not salt: it's the fact that you took a nice long fall and hit more than just your face on the ground and you couldn't even cry.

you're too proud and too logical to do so and yet you can't deny that there is the desire and need to let the floodgates open. then someone asks, "are you okay?"

what may you say, really, other than "no. no, i'm not, but i'll be alright. thanks for asking" while you dust yourself off, all the while bleeding from the nose and a bruise actively spreading across your person?

you're not okay. you know you're not okay, it's obvious. you're not okay. and no, everything's not alright, why do you ask? is it because of the nickname that clearly reads "FUCK OFF", or is it the blood that's dripping from your metaphorical nose onto your metaphorical shirt? someone - you, namely - 'd just missed the trapeze and hit the mother-fuckin' floor, for God's sakes.

"are you alright"??

Gawd.


don't you have something smarter to say, like "i'm here for you if you need me" or do you say nothing at all and well, "let it run itself out", like you usually prefer to do? and it won't be your fault because she probably needed some space, anyway.

well y'know what? when someone's bleeding, the last thing anyone else can do is to leave it alone. worse if you know about it: it's almost like witnessing a car crash but not calling the ambulance "because someone else would have called" or worse yet, "ah don't want no trouble".


the next thing you know, two years have passed and all parties realise: you don't care like he or she - whomever that friend may be - doesn't care and work's always such a wonderful excuse. you're sorry about that but are even sorrier to know that that's the way it is. and it's not touching you anyhow like it's not touching him or her in any way.

it somehow makes you look at the situation and nod, resignedly to yourself in understanding and you realise that welp, life goes on. "c'est la vie," you say. then you turn off the lights, shut down the computer and go to sleep.

and what's changed? it's been like that since three years ago, before you realised the farthest you have gone to is "hi" on instant messenger.



---
walk away from it loren, walk away from it. improve as you must, and leave the worries behind. clichéd as it sounds, pack up your troubles in an old kit bag and smile, smile, smile.

because you're the only thrash-hauler in your world: if you don't throw the rubbish away sooner or later you're going to living in thrash. being happy is not a choice. it is survival.

being strong is not a character trait; it is a by-product of survival/happiness.

and i must be happy, cause that's the way i choose it to be.

dubious pride

i am dubiously proud to come back on a tuesday evening drunk - at 9:30pm. it must be something to do with the fact that i'm working with a japanese boss.

i think he's nice.


older gentleman, and i think as long as i show respect and courtesy everything should be more than fine. :)

well he brought me to a restaurant today and had hokkaido dishes - it was great! light and appetising, coupled with sake - oh good heavens. i loved it. :)) and i work hard for my boss. :D