It's all about her; her self-indulgence, her ego, her greed.
Me me me me me. You're willing too.
The nagging guilt that this has been one hideously unproductive recess week caused me to climb out of bed at 4.30 a.m. with the intention of studying chapters 5 and 6 of 'The Language of Language'. Waking up early wasn't very difficult 'cos I couldn't really sleep anyway, owing to a particularly potent cup expresso ingested on an empty stomach yesterday afternoon while I was out studying with Cindy. The poor girl was positively struggling with her Philosophy essay! It's certainly not an easy subject to study; after seeing Cindy (nearly) tear out her hair over justice, law-abidingness, Cephalus and other whatnots, it's quite unlikely that I'll ever take it as a module in school.
Visited Chloe and Damien (my 8 month-old baby niece and nephew) the day before yesterday. "Cute" does not even BEGIN to describe them. No other baby can frown like Chloe can - she seems to have perfected the look which says, "Uh, excuse me, I'm cute! Hello!! LOOK AT ME. Now. NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW!" It's really funny to watch her facial expression change when she sees someone pay more attention to her cousin, and everytime she does that she looks just like a grumpy little old lady with a bad case of piles. Damien, on the other hand, is much quieter and doesn't demand for attention. His grandparents taught him to "sayang" other people - which I think is very sweet ( note to self: teach that to future offspring) - by touching his head to theirs. The first time he did it to my uncle, he exerted too much force and both of them ended up with very sore foreheads. Since then, he has learnt to do it very gently -you can actually sense how careful he is as he slowly leans forward, and it's completely aww-inducing. I wish I could have taken pictures but my phone battery went flat, as it always does in situations when a camera could come in handy. It must be taking revenge on me for dropping it so often. Hmph.
Anyway, I think it's virtually impossible for anyone to resist a cute baby, no matter how macho, tough or child-hating they claim to be. My friend Andrew once remarked, "I adore cute babies! If my baby wasn't cute I swear I wouldn't bring him out." (Of course he was kidding.) A baby can break down even the usually composed countenances of adults with just the merest sneeze (after which everyone within a hundred metre radius will rush over to swaddle it in blankets or warm clothing) or tiny little smile.
Don't wanna end up like pirate bones While the thought was treasures just a pile of stones I might have to judge, rather then be lying alone Just a pile of pirate bones
I'm three quarters into my recess week, yet I've accomplished precious little with regards to revision and assignments. The stress is creeping in as I type, and the little voices in my head are screaming the names of unaccomplished tasks ("Pearlyn, do your Jap Lang Revision, dammit!") and deadlines in high-pitched munchkin-like tones. The twin terrors of guilt and panic rear their ugly horned heads.
Projects are the main source of my worries at the moment. I quote Brice, my EL1101E (English linguistics) project groupmate: "F*cking project! F*CK! -thumps table violently-" To say that we're all frustrated would definitely be a gross understatement. Nevertheless, we shall persevere and hope it'll all be worth it in the end.
You know what else is a gross understatement? "Pearlyn drinks too much coffee." I haven't been sleeping well since last week, partially due to a particularly nasty Lit test but mainly my imagination going into overdrive. I swear that my body was running on caffeine for at least 85 percent of the time (10 percent due to overpriced veggie sandwiches from Olio, and normal biological functions contributed to the remaining 5 percent.) Let me tell you, when you get an average of 4.5 hours of sleep a day, when Mount Pimplus erupts on your face 'cos of the irregulat sleeping patterns, when Joseph Conrad's convoluted prose style threatens your plebian brain with permanent paralysis, caffeine is your best friend. See, friendly!
But you know you're ingesting too much when 1) the lights suddenly seem very bright. 2) WAY too bright. 3) You can't sit still. 4) You get excited and laugh hysterically when your friend drops her pen during a lecture. 5) Triple G (Greasy Gross G*ee) starts lookin' real good from where you're seating.
Okay, I was kidding with the last one. Maybe not. You'll KNOW that you've gone off the deep end if that thought ever crosses your mind. Caffeine does things to your brain. A couple of days ago, I had 2 cups of kopi-O earlier in the day and spent the whole night tearing while thinking about how much I love my mother. Uhhh..ya.
Natasha Bedingfield is getting me into a party mood at 11.37 p.m.. Oh dear.
My brain is still reeling from the effects of an unbelievably draining Lit lecture. Today's Japanese Studies Lecture was about post-war Japanese history, which wasn't really very interesting. Nevertheless, with Juni nodding off next to me, I tried my very best to focus; I cannot afford to space out anymore! The mistakes from Junior College musn't be repeated.
Duty, responsibility, obligation, passion. In that order, but sometimes I wish could just let passion rule everything. You, dear friend, will probably laugh at me as you read this from your room in Miri. Good-naturedly, of course. Somehow there was a pang of loss when you told me that you were already out of Singapore.
You, with the key to my Box: I wonder if you've really thrown it away. That look in your eyes as you struggled to comprehend - I do believe that you really tried.
Love - selfish and selfless at the same time. Consuming, devouring; comforting, nurturing. Smothering, stifling. My grip slipped. Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts.
The bitterness has faded. Into what, you ask? I'm not sure about that. I still haven't forgotten, and I think I won't ever forget. Our hopes, our madness, our infinite joy. This isn't an attempt to be poetic; neither is it a moment of destructive self-indulgence. It's just my matter-0f-fact acknowledgement of circumstances. Acceptance isn't exactly a choice...it never was.
We were innocent, once.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
HAHAHA
From Juni's blog: Reminds me of last week's Lit lecture.
Childhood living is easy to do The things you wanted I bought them for you Graceless lady you know who I am You know I can't let you slide through my hands
Wild horses couldn't drag me away Wild, wild horses, couldn't drag me away
I watched you suffer a dull aching pain Now you decided to show me the same No sweeping exits or offstage lines Could make me feel bitter or treat you unkind
Wild horses couldn't drag me away Wild, wild horses, couldn't drag me away
I know I dreamed you a sin and a lie I have my freedom but I don't have much time Faith has been broken, tears must be cried Let’s do some living BEFORE we die
Wild horses couldn't drag me away Wild, wild horses, we'll ride them some day
Wild horses couldn't drag me away Wild, wild horses, we'll ride them some day
Someday. Some day.
Envy
You're a lucky girl.
*
I'm sitting at my desk in my usual cross-legged Zen way. It's 6.30 in the morning, the air is crisp, and from outside my room comes the familiar tinkle of plates and cups being washed in the kitchen sink and the footsteps of my Mum as she walks barefoot around the kitchen to prepare the family for yet another eventful day. The sounds I've woken to since the beginning of my school life that never cease to comfort me, the steady timeless rhythm that soothes while enveloping me in sweet, sweet Love.
The only kind of Love in this world, I think, that will never change. Unlike people.
-"Twelfth Night", act 1 scene 1 (William Shakespeare)
I can hear the collective sigh of nostalgia from all you secondary school Lit Loonies. Heh.
Lit in university couldn't be more different from Lit in secondary school than Jimmy Choos and Crocs. Frankly, I have alot of say about Crocs but as usual, I am determined not to succumb to my tendency for digression. I'm not saying that I don't enjoy Lit at the moment - although listening to Triple G's attempts to cram tonnes of intellectual garbage into the space between my ears during lectures will probably be detrimental to my health in the long run - it's still an immensely enjoyable subject to study and I'm still very much the same girl in the white blouse and ankle-length navy blue pleated skirt who could be moved to tears of pity or mirth by the lovely tapestries of words (overused, but very apt phrase). Who can still, at the age of 19 and 2 months, spill water all over herself while reading Sula in the comfort of cafe Olio, and not realise it till after a delay in reaction time of approximately 10 seconds because she was too engrossed in the part about Plum being burnt to death (spoiler spoiler) by his own Mama. Aiyoh.
Cyril, my Lit tutor, lead a discussion about self-destructive thoughts on Thursday. I'm actually comfortable with calling him by his name 'cos he seems more like a knowledgeable peer than a teacher. Anyway, Conrad's The Secret Agent deals with how people become alienated from others because of a lack of communication...how a secret grow inside a person like an insidious weed on a fertile bed of soil, eventually devouring him from inside out. We talked about how such ends can be self-induced and somebody brought up the example of depressed people who seem to actually languish in a self-imposed state of misery and don't do anything to pull themselves together. This immediately reminded me of Orsino from Twelfth Night, not really in love with the beautiful Olivia, but with the idea of Love itself. o_O
There's definitely a bit or Orsino in everyone ; we all have emotional quagmires that we willingly sink into at some points of time, and everything seems to come to a standstill until we finally let the blows of reality sock us into action again. Nothing wrong with being a little self-indulgent - it is, in a sense, an innate vulnerability that makes us human, right? The only thing I resent about this is the amount of time wasted during that period, sighing/moping/crying/basically doing nothing. We spend time mulling over things that are probably irreversible and overlook the things that actually do matter, as well as the people who love and care about us. I always wish that I could turn back time and redo many many things. Sounds cliched, but don't you wish you could too? So many things left undone, to be undone...countless words I wish I could have taken back, others I regret having left unsaid. I am so not good at handling all that emotional stuff where matters of the heart are concerned and I find myself always, always retreating into this state of total inertia and melancholy. I hide my emotional baggage like how I used to hide stuff all over the place when my Mum wanted me to clean my room; some things get lost along the way but some remain buried and forgotten until a random occurence results in their discovery, like the dredging up of a not-so-forgotten memory. I really want to buffer myself against all the hard knocks that'll come along, as well as the occasional repercussions from past memories... but obviously that's a very naive thought.
I just want to protect myself.
Many transitions have been encountered since the end of my sheltered Dunman High School existence, and even more so, after the end of Junior College. Moving on is good, but I'm still trying to get used to the pace of varsity life; the pace of lectures and tutorials, meeting so many new people in different tutorial groups (and struggling to remember their names)... Sometimes, it's like an out-of-body experience because everything seems so fleeting, that precious little has enough time to settle in and budding friendships aren't really given the chance to develop. It all seems kind of superficial, people just walking in and out of one another's lives...so sad, because I have this feeling that I can be really good friends with some people if we had more opportunities for interaction.
Sentimentality and nostalgia. As I sit here typing, there's this vase of dried flowers sitting on my shelf. It's been there since year 1 of JC, and I really have no reason to keep them anymore..yet, I can't bear to throw them out. My thoughts also drift to that box inside the cupboard with all my stuffed animals. My very own Pandora's box, which I still don't have the courage to open.
Freudian Slip From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
A Freudian slip, or parapraxis, is an error in speech, memory or physical action that is believed to be caused by the unconscious mind. Some errors, such as a man accidentally calling his wife by the name of another woman, seem to represent relatively clear cases of Freudian slips. In other cases, the error might appear to be trivial or bizarre, but may show some deeper meaning on analysis. As a common joke goes, it can be like "saying one thing, but meaning another." A Freudian slip is not limited to a slip of the tongue, or to sexual desires. It can extend to our word perception where we might read a word incorrectly because of our fixations. It is important to note that these slips are semi-conscious. This is to say that these thoughts are consciously repressed and then unconsciously released. This is unlike true Freudian repression which is the unconscious act of making something unconscious.
I've always been unsure of what the term 'Freudian Slip' really meant and I initially associated it with sex, and only sex. Tsk, stop sniggering! Anyway, Wikipedia, the trusty online encyclopedia has once again enlightened me. The phrase came to mind during a msn conversation with Weldon, when I was suddenly inspired to pose a a situational question. It didn't exactly come out the way I intended though.
Pearlyn - Gingko nut poisoning!! says: weldon. i ask u sth Pearlyn - Gingko nut poisoning!! says: if u were a guy Pearlyn - Gingko nut poisoning!! says: i mean Pearlyn - Gingko nut poisoning!! says: I MEAN Pearlyn - Gingko nut poisoning!! says: if u, AS A GUY Pearlyn - Gingko nut poisoning!! says: (of course u are a guy..)
It was seriously unintentional! FREUDIAN SLIP!! =x
Okay, okay...I'll go back to Jap Studies now.
I *hearts* Singapore - Rantings of a disgruntled commuter
I *hearts* Singapore! - Rantings of a Disgruntled Commuter (and an ugly one at that! hoho!)
Thanks to dear Evon, the font on my blog is much easier to read now. (: I wanted to change the template 'cos admittedly, the current one's rather boring and doesn't show titles of the entries. Unfortunately, nothing caught my eye, so I'll just have to include the title in the main text body for now (I can't believe I didn't think of this earlier!).
As mentioned before, I live in Tampines, which is practically on the other side of the island from where NUS is. It's a commuter's nightmare comprising of 1 hour on the MRT followed by a 20 minute bus ride, waiting time not included. I usually get onto the train at between 7.15 to 8.30 a.m. because classes start at 9a.m. on Mondays and 10a.m. for the rest of the week, and it's always a tight squeeze as that's the time when many people are on their way to work. Hopes of getting a seat and putting down my heavy bag and laptop are dashed, at least until City Hall (if I'm lucky) or Tiong Bahru. I'm usually alright with standing as long as I'm not wearing my 3-inch elevation but sometimes, I long to sit down with my readings (hohoho!) or a good book and lose myself in the streams of text until I get off. Anyway, being the naturally curious (read: kaypoh) person that I am, observing others in the same carriage becomes my pastime while standing. Anyone who is familiar with the public transport system in Singapore will definitely have his or her own fair assortment of interesting/infuriating/bewildering/weird mini-experiences to speak of. Here are just a couple of mine. (:
Chivalry is officially dying (dead?)
I worked in Clementi for the months of January and February this year and needless to say, I had to take the MRT to and fro. I got onto the train heading home at around 6p.m. and got cramped sardine-style into the space between 2 adjoining carriages. A tall, well-built man in his twenties (henceforth known as Horrible Guy), a middle-aged lady and I were clustered around the seats-for-two region, where the black and orange figures are seated in my artistic representation below:
So anyway, orange lady reaches her stop and stands up. Obviously Middle Aged Lady needed the seat more than me and Horrible Guy, right? By default, 'cos she was older, hunched and carried what looked a bucket instead of a handbag. Apparently Horrible Guy didn't think so, because at the speed of light, his huge, hairy arm shot out and blocked, while he skilfully manoeuvered his massive form in front of MAL - who was actually moving towards the seat- and plonked down, causing a small earthquake in the process. He didn't even bat an eyelid when MAL and I stared daggers at him! In retrospect, I should have said something at that point of time...but I guess I was intimidated by his imposing physical stature. Hmph.
Another similar incident occurred on Matriculation Day, when I was on my way home. The train wasn't particularly packed when I got on, but all the seats were taken. An elderly couple got into the same carriage - they were really old, totally white-haired and wizened - and guess what? All the able-bodied, strong-looking men that were seated in the row in front of them promptly fell asleep. It was the most ridiculous display of SYNCHRONISED indifference I ever saw! Fortunately, the couple got off the train 2 stops later. Once again, I'm ashamed to say that I could only rage silently as I witnessed all of that. I admire people who have the courage to speak up for what they think is right, without any fear of being judged or criticised by those who disagree with them. Speaking up in class or standing up for a friend seems so different (to me), compared to such situations in terms of the amount of courage required. It doesn't exactly help that I tend to blurt out things in a fit of sheer recklessness - as a result of this, I need to mentally "screen" whatever I want to say first, in order to (a) avoid offending someone, (b) not sound stupid or (c) both.
Someone once told me that he saw a huge group of people clamouring to get into the lift at the MRT station. The only one who didn't manage to enter the lift eventually was a guy in a wheelchair. It's things like this that make you wonder what parents teach (or don't teach) their kids nowadays. Things like what I encountered during my relief teaching days as well...good grief. Call me a prude if you will, but I'm really proud of my Confucian-style upbringing. Anway, digression, DIGRESSION! More about this some other day.
Actually, the main reason for this post was a conversation I heard on the train yesterday, between a girl from China and a young woman from Belgium which basically debased and insulted Singaporeans. I told Juni (Jun Yi, fellow Teh-Gao freshie cum JS lecture mate and fellow singing enthusiast) all about it and after he got over his "ohmygoodness-Pearlyn-you're-such-a-voyeur" thing, he suggested that I title my blog post 'I *hearts* Singapore', saying that I should go and be a member of Parliament. Now, I don't consider myself patriotic but what I heard really pissed me off and nearly (see lah, "nearly"...oh, the cowardice.) sent me into a lengthy exposition about the virtues of our little island. Basically, from what I heard (hey, in my own defence, -albeit, quite feeble...-they didn't even bother to keep their voices down.) the women lived in the same condominium but only just met. The Chinese girl said that she preferred her friends in China, because they are more friendly and the lady from Belgium said that she had no real friends in Singapore despite having lived here for 7 years. Then, she went on to say, 'Singaporeans are so shallow, they're not geniunely interested in anything!' Chinese girl just nodded and smiled, while Belgium Woman continued, 'Don't you think that the people here are really ugly? The Chinese ones, especially. They're supposed to be Chinese, but not Chinese-looking. I've been to your country, and there are so many good-looking men!' I was reading through my copy of Sula, the latest to-be-discussed-in-lecture text for Lit, and as compelling as it was, her remarks were so audible and so virtriolic, that I couldn't help eavesdropping. Yes, yes, yes. Enough.
She continued dissing Singaporeans about their looks, saying how she and her boyfriend were so amused by this "Monster Island" - she actually gave a little bemused giggle at this one - that when they saw this man that 'looked like an alien', they wanted to take pictures. She also called us dwarves and laughed at our 'short little limbs'. My goodness, the irony at that moment was so thick, I'm actually surprised that she didn't choke on its fumes. Hello, womannn! You call us 'shallow', and ALL you can come up with in your verbal tirade against Singaporeans are some remarks about our less-than-perfect looks?? Now who's superficial, you tell me! She kept comparing Belgium with Singapore, citing how much better it is than our "Monster Island" - all this while seated in air-conditioned comfort, being transported to atas City Hall for work, all thanks to our very efficient (okay, most of the time.) and organised public transport system. Hurhur, imagine that.
Okay okay, I should leave for my NUSSU- Public Relations Unit General Meeting NOW. Goodness, such an abrupt end to the post. Catch you all soon. (:
Everytime there's a man in my life to complicate things, I get thrown into an emotional whirlpool of instability. It's pretty frustrating when that happens because I don't realise it until I'm out of the whole mess, feeling like I just woke up from an overly-long afternoon nap after a carsick-induced bout of vomitting. Ugh. Anyway, whatever that was going on between Number 2 and me is more or less over. Keywords are: incompatible, age gap, the past. Connect the dots, please.
Ah well. ):
I'm quite disappointed that "age gap" belongs there, actually.
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pearlyn
I thrive on temporary highs.
Neurosis is my middle name.
