The (losing) battle

My stomach and I are fighting a losing battle with the bad oysters I ingested earlier on in the evening. I am rushing out a post in between runs to the toilet whereby I attempt to purge my body of the evil it took in. My forehead has come in contact with the seat of the toilet bowl so many times, I'm afraid it has left a permanent imprint (on my head of course.) 


In case I do not make it through till tomorrow, please remember:


Do not pit yourself against food turned bad just cause a) you've had worst, b) you're broke thus feel compelled to eat whatever you've spent the last of your money on and c) you're too chicken to go up to the cook and bitch slap them for serving rotten food. 

You can't threaten a man into staying in a relationship with you.

It seems unlikely that anyone who knows me personally doesn't already know that I'm freshly single. It would seem that my violent threats don't really work, especially when dealing with someone who is much taller and broader and stronger than I am.


I also did something extremely stupid this morning - I went to beg. I know I know, the shame. I guess it sounds stupid, but I didn't want to go down without a fight, so to speak. Of course, my romantic ideals of happiness didn't stand a chance against the harsh practicality of life (or one that he wishes to lead anyway.) Or maybe that's just my way of coping, to lighten the sting of having a person walk away from you.


People tell me that it's not so much me he's giving up, it's just our extremely differing ideals and personality. I would like to believe so, but the love I know and recognise is not something I would ever walk away from simply because it isn't logical to stay together. The love I know is passionate, and great, and grand, and overcomes all obstacles, and doesn't ever quit. The love I know is a conscious decision I make to stay with a person through thick and thin (be it financially or physically.)  And rejection will always be personal, regardless of what others tell you.


I'm assuming he (and maybe everyone else) thinks that this is for the best. A part of me does believe that, is excited even to embark on this new journey. Another part of me feels a little dead, and misses and longs and wants everything that I just lost.


But as a very good friend has pointed out, I did not (and will never) define myself by a relationship. I thank everyone for their ridiculously generous outpouring of love and concern. I'm strong (relatively) and have pulled through worse.


I'll be okay. 

Maintaining a relationship.

Many of you may wonder how I manage to keep a boyfriend of such high caliber around for such a considerably long time.


This is what I sent to him last night before he went to sleep:


"Don't ever, ever, ever give up on me. I will hunt you down smash your brains in from the back pull your eyeballs out from the sockets and feed them to you."


For extra dramatic effect, whisper menacingly into his ear right before bed time.


Disclaimer: I refuse to claim responsibility for any bodily harm inflicted upon anyone as a result of this post. STAND BY YOUR PARTNERS. 

Bra

I not-so-recently caught No Strings Attached, that fuck buddy comedy starring Princess Leia and Mr Demi Moore.

For those uninitiated with the Hollywood crew.

What puzzles me most about the movie isn't the premise of there being girls being more horny and sexually forward than guys, and guys being so fucking romantic (and closeted gay) that they would actually burn a period mix; nor is it the fact that ashton is a bajillion times natalie's size therefore making the angles in their first sex scene a tad unrealistic.


What I want to know is, why is she shown with her bra on even during sex? That thing is NOT comfortable enough to be worn during a workout session. It has wires and hooks and elastic, and it pushes and squeezes your flesh (read: fats) together to create an illusion of a valley. WHY would she leave it on? No no, why would HE leave it on? Given men's great obsession with le boobies, the only way he's okay with it is if he is [insert name of super hero with x-ray vision here].


Either cut the scene off before it gets to the point where she's half-naked, or find some way to portray them getting it on without it looking like an expensive porn flick. Or be a porn flick, whatever. Just don't be half-fucked about it.


Note: bra scenes are totally acceptable before/after sex or any other random occasion. Just not actually in the midst of it. Unless it's an office quickie, in which case, bravo for taking time out to remove clothing.

Living in the Past.

I once knew this boy. He was my everything.


We were very different. We fought constantly over every little thing. We had contrasting dreams and aspirations and ideals in life. We were stubborn and headstrong and much too proud to bow down to the other.


We were exactly alike. We laughed and wept over the silliest things. We listened to music and drank fine wine and talked about life like we knew it all. We were passionate and full of zest, ready to take on the world.


We were idiots. We were mean. We did stupid shit we regretted and said hurtful things we couldn't take back. We were volatile and unstable. We were the ship caught in the eye of the maelstrom, too weak to get out and too afraid to let go.


This boy and I, we became one. He now lives in my every movement and my every thought. He creeps into every nook and cranny of my existence. He is all I see and all I know. He is with me in every decision and every relationship. He is, and will always be.


This boy and I, we must part. 

CHILDREN: imagine the most narcissistic adult you know, then strip away their years of human experience.

I decided to take a sick leave from sitting around doing nothing to hopefully sitting around elsewhere contemplating the next step in my life while doing nothing.


RIGHT, just got a text from the mother telling me that I'm going to be picked up for dinner in 35 minutes. I take an hour to shower, so this means that I'll be going to Jack's Place in my birthday suit all soapy and drippy.


Don't judge me. It's not wasting water if I do it once in 3 days.


In the mean time, READ HER. 

Ambivalence

Have you ever felt like you're permanently on the verge of tears? I'm not sure what's common for you common-folk but given my over-active tear ducts, I am ALWAYS on the verge of tears, regardless of my mood. I attempted to psychoanalyze myself, but given how I slept through/skipped all my classes in school, it did not succeed very well.


Yesterday, I caught Girl, Interrupted in the midst of my channel fliipping and nua-ing on the couch. Let it not be said that my days are unproductive! In the movie, our protagonist Winona Ryder, was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. She then went on to incorrectly use the word ambivalent.

I feel like I can strongly relate to her character somehow, and I'm not just saying this to appear all ohmygod-I'm-so-cool-cause-I-can-relate-to-depressed-slightly-mental-girls-in-movies. I'm saying this because I personally do feel that way, and have been told by several people (who know me very well) that I am slightly insane, unstable and full of contradictions.


I'm not crazy per se, but it does feel like like my entire life, or rather, my way of thinking, is a little unbalanced. I simultaneously loathe the idea of working to pursue wealth, and can't stop fantasizing about the life of the rich and loaded. I enjoy the idea of being in a stable relationship, yet somehow feel that deep down inside this is not what I want. I believe in a God and I believe I love said God, but I can't come to terms with the Bible and my religion as a whole. At times, I want to give up on the entire idea of life, yet I don't want to come across as a defeatist. I want to stand my ground and not care about other people's opinions of me and believe in myself and who I am as a person, but who likes being disliked? I want to appear independent, but I really hate being alone and doing things on my own and settling shit myself. I want to be grown up and mature and serious, but I want to have a life and have fun and be silly and do silly stuff.


MY GOD what am I saying?! I'm totally rambling. Right..


And all these conflicts just fester inside of me and they kind of create this whirlpool of turmoil. I get angry and lash out viciously at everyone within the vicinity. I say things I regret and create big fusses over nothing. It's like my brain is this huge tangle of thoughts and ideals but nothing ever comes out right, and I'm tired of not knowing and feeling envious at people who do know. And for once I would really like to know for sure and have it all figured out.


I don't really know the point to what I'm saying here. I guess I just want to feel normal. Or not feel at all. You tell me. Or don't. I don't know. Do you?

You are everything you say you are. Most people don't see it cause their shades are too dark.

So, a certain friend of mine once told me that if you want something really bad, you just gotta have faith and BELIEVE that you will get it. Just believe, and if you believe hard enough, somehow it will just happen for you. Subconsciously, your mind (an extremely powerful tool) would get cracking and make things happen.

What I Believe In:

1. I am extremely gorgeous, and even though the reflection I see in the mirror may disagree with this statement, it is only because I am so gorgeous that my mind blocks it out from myself to prevent my ego from over-inflating.


2. My short hair, instead of making me look like a mushroom, actually looks chic and gives my face the illusion of having strong sharp cheekbones.


3. I am the long lost sister of Carey Mulligan, and when the day comes that we meet, we shall embrace and become instant BFFs.


4. I am winsome and charming and an instant hit with anyone and everyone I meet. I do not repel people.


5. I am actually an excellent singer, I just do not sound like it to prevent overwhelming fame.


6. I will one day be published by the New Yorker. 

I HATE SUNDAYS

 I absolutely loathe Sundays spent out and about. Sundays are meant to be spent in bed, cuddling or snuggling with your comforter, not leaving even for food or toilet needs. Not waking up early and forcing a smile on your face, meeting other equally miserable people who are tired out from a long week of work.


Think about it. EVERYONE else on Earth gets off on Sundays. The thought of commuting in too-packed trains and buses, the taxis are ALWAYS busy, the roads are always jammed. Everyone else in this tiny tiny island is also trying to get out of their homes and get a bit of enjoyment out of their only true rest day. Everyone else is out in full force, squeezing out every ounce of conceivable pleasure from our extremely limited choices of entertainment. All the good restaurants and eateries are overbooked and understaffed, and the lousy ones make use of this opportunity to take their own sweet time knowing that this is the ONE day that they have the upper hand.


AND THE WEATHER. Do not even get me started on the weather. It is either sweltering hot to the point where one can see actual heat waves rising from the tarmac, or so cold and wet and dreary that I actually once thought that I was in London. Today actually managed to be both. Find a middle ground maybe? What about those windy and bright yet not burning Sundays singers sang about? Where have they gone to?


Everyone thinks that because it is the last day of the weekend, we should make full use of it. Well, has anyone thought of the fact that it is in fact the prelude to the start of a new hectic long week? Maybe having a well rested Sunday would make us not hate Mondays so much? This mad rush to do something productive and accomplish something, just to not waste a day. WHY?! We're humans, and we need a breather!


I say from now on, we abandon all Sunday plans, and take this one day a week to just laze around in bed or on the couch, drinking wine and watching mindless television programs. In other words, nua.


PS. I'm not hating on weekdays cause technically they are SUPPOSED to suck. They are work days after all. Saturdays are fine in my book cause I hardly ever leave the house then. 

I seem to enjoy writing at unearthly hours.

When I was a baby, I fell off my parents' double-decked bed. According to them, I didn't cry out or make a single sound. I just laid there on my back with a shocked expression on my face, waiting to be rescued. 

When I grew a little older and my parents got their divorce, my mum and I shifted into my maternal grandma's place and shared a room. She would wake up really early in the mornings and be off to work, leaving me confused and bewildered whenever I woke up to an empty house. I would repeatedly request that she bids me goodbye before leaving, but apparently I sleep like a log and am impossible to wake. 

This went on all the way till we shifted out of that room and into our own home. For the first time in my 11 years of life, I was to sleep alone in a room. I kept putting off unpacking in hopes that my mother would relent, but apparently my lack of independence is unhealthy.

To date, there is nothing that scares me more than having to sleep alone in a dark room by myself. This, of course, could be easily solved with a night light, except that lights distract me and keep me awake. I learned how to stay up all night, waiting for the gentle rays of the morning sun seeping in through the curtains to lull me to sleep. This would probably explain why I was hardly ever awake or even present in school.

I think the truly scary thing about being the only person left alive during a zombie apocalypse isn't the zombies. It's having to go to bed every night alone, and wake up alone, and know that you're going to be alone for the rest of your life. There's no one to hug and rock you to sleep, no one to rest a hand on your chest to calm your furiously beating heart. You're alone, indefinitely.

I'm not afraid of spiders or lizards or armies of fire ants crawling around in my underwear. Loneliness is my Achilles' heel.

(This post is written in response to a question an anonymous person left on my now inactive Formspring ages ago.)

Nothing good ever happens after 2am.

So, my best friend and I decided to grab a bit of beer at about 130am and it's now close to 5am and we've progressed to a bottle of sparkling wine and we can't finish it cause we're both a bit high. We've resorted to calling up random friends of ours in hopes that a kind soul would come finish up the wine for us. How pathetic are we seriously? Oh, and we're both blogging. If I survive my parents finding out the fact that I've just wasted a perfectly good bottle of sparkling wine for nothing (and diluted it with ice) you'll hear more from me!

Running out of witty things to title my posts.

It's very difficult to be funny and light and humorous when you're writing with a heavy heart. It's very difficult to be clear and concise when your thoughts are whirling around in a mess all jumbled up like the cords on your earphones get when you leave them in your bag for too long. It's very difficult to tell a person (what more an audience) funny anecdotes and attempt to be funny when you don't feel remotely funny. 


You know what the worst thing about feeling like this is? When you don't know why you feel like this. It's the same with being happy for no apparent when you wake up, and it feels like sunshine and butterflies and unicorns when in reality it's pouring buckets outside. You don't know precisely why you're happy, but you let it go and don't let it bother you because it's a good thing. You immerse yourself in the feeling, and enjoy it for as long as you can. You walk around the entire morning, desperately clinging on to that feeling, pushing away and ignoring every thing that threatens to burst your little bubble.You're happy, and you just don't care.


Well, it's the exact opposite when you're down in the pits. You analyze and think and over-think and stay up all night long wondering what exactly is wrong with you. Something's gotta give, you figure. But no, nothing does. Now you're desperately trying to remember when was the last time you smiled, and why. You watch an episode of a comedy, you watch the entire fucking season; you read shit, funny shit stupid dumb shit depressing shit; you listen to music, the entire range from classical to opera to house to r&b to Justin fucking Bieber. Nothing works. You're back to obsessing about the trigger, that tiny little thing that set you off. You rationalize and hold a mental debate and come to the conclusion that you were over-reacting. You feel worse. And you start from the top again. 


Whenever I feel this way, I cut my hair. I can't do it this time because I just went for a haircut yesterday. 

Carey Mulligan's look was more or less what I was aiming for.

Looks better/worse (depending on your angle and height) in person.

I guess I only have my deluded self (and this blind friend of mine who told me I sort of looked like an Asian version of her) to blame. I am now stuck in my vicious cycle of depression, with no hair left to cut. 

Do not blog next to your boyfriend when he's sleeping cause it will make him grumpy.

Apparently, people write better when they're 'under the influence'. No one did really specify what influence it is (and I'm going to pretend that I don't drink/do anything illegal because 1. my blog is public and 2. my Dad reads this.) Right now, I'm ridiculously alert and awake even though it is 5.47am. I believe I'm under the influence of extreme over-eating and just plain adrenaline from my body having to digest so much food at such an unreasonable hour.


I was on Twitter the other day, and ladyironchef asked the age old question: why do people write? I immediately replied saying that I enjoyed forcing my opinions down other people's throats, which is true to a certain extent. Honestly though, I write mostly because I have so much to say, and not enough time and people to say it to.


This blog is a very good example. You see, I have hopes that one day, I'll be successful enough to be published and recognised not just in major bookstores, but on the internet (which I totally spelt as interent, and just COULD NOT understand why it looks wrong) too. I mean, blogging is a pretty easy sit-back-on-the-couch-sip-some-wine-listening-to-Bob-Marley-while-eating-fried-chicken kinda job. I'll never have to do my hair and make up, look for impressive work clothes, or even shower. The only thing preventing me from being able to actually accomplish this, is the fact that I don't have enough readers. Without you readers, no one would care enough about me to advertise on my blog.


So you see, instead of having to go around explaining to all my friends and acquaintances and random people who add me on Facebook that I really hate showering and would in fact really appreciate a job that would allow me to stay home in my underwear all day, I can now just write it here! And really, it is for the betterment of everyone that I stay home. I always hear complains from friends about people who don't shower and stink up the public transport. I may not smell bad, but I do shed a lot of skin cells. Do you really want to rub up against old moldy skin while taking the train home?


Also, you should read and follow me here because I'm still quite unheard of (for now), thus still rather 'indie' and 'cool'. You don't want to become a fan only after I'm famous and be accused of jumping on the bandwagon, do you?


PS. even though refreshing the page does up the count for my page views, it doesn't actually give me more unique hits. SPREAD THE WORD! MAKE ME FAMOUS. I'll buy you a jet plane.


PPS. stop asking me why I don't shower. I'm a hippy environmentalist, and showering less makes me feel more 'in my skin'.


PPS. if you oppose to jet planes on the account that you're a hippy environmentalist too, I can buy you a whale instead.


PPPS. 6.23am now.

How To Be Likable 101

So a friend of mine recently told me that I'm not a very likable person. Which is like, you know, whatever.. I don't care about popularity.. Much. If, however, you wish to be instantly liked by everyone you know, here's a list of things you most probably should NOT be doing, based on my personal experience. 


1) Do not have an opinion on EVERYTHING.
I'm not sure why, but apparently going around giving your opinion on everything and anything from the weather to the architecture of a building annoys people. Don't walk around Borders exclaiming to everyone that the Twilight movies are shiteous and so are the books so please read Harry Potter instead. Don't yell and scream as though your ears are bleeding every time a Bieber/Miley song comes on. Be a mindless sheep; failing which, be quiet. 


2) Do not go around correcting people.
Be it their pronunciation or spelling or grammar. This one puzzles me too. I mean, wouldn't you like to know that you're wrong? Apparently, in the words of another friend, doing this makes you seem "like a douche." Besides which, Herve Leger is Herve Leger regardless of how you say it.


3) Do not drop random trivia/science facts.
People generally do not find this interesting, especially when they're loading up on drinks in a club. They have not ever wondered and probably do not care why they are served tequila with salt and lemons. Or how vodka became so popular. They just want to drink.


4) Do not stop abruptly while walking to pet and talk to stray cats.


5) Do not be honest with anyone with regards to their looks.
They're fat? Lie, and tell them that they're bloating. Ugly? Abstract. 


6) Do not loudly exclaim that the general public is made up of idiots. 
People do not wish to acknowledge the fact that they're stupid. 


This should be enough to guarantee you a favorable first impression. If you, like me, can't be bothered, then pray and hope that your friends love you a shitload.