If I had one million dollars, and if I spend 50 dollars a day for the rest of my life, that one million dollars could last me 54 years, 9 months and 18 days. School is awesome.

1. I don't spend that much a day. That sum will last me much longer.
2. I don't know if I'll live to 76 years old. I could probably spend much more than $50 a day.
3. It would be awesome if I had a million dollars.
4. School is not awesome.

right...

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAaaaaaaaaa......

新年快乐!

WE ARE NOT WHAT YOU THINK WE ARE
WE ARE GOLDEN
WE ARE GOLDEN!

I just think that people shouldn't be so narrow towards others' beliefs, ways of life, mindsets, habits way of doing things etc and think that just because they do it a different way from them that they should be restricted, and told off. Nobody has the right to tell anybody else what to do, and how to do it. Unless it's morally incorrect, then that's another story for another day.

What does Chinese New Year mean to you?

Hello Post Exams World!

Reading mel's blog inspired me to update mine. I think it's amazing that she's started a blog, and I really like reading her entries. (:
Jas' blog is so depressing, she's always talking about disappearing that I'm quite afraid that she might be entertaining some darn morbid thoughts. But I've got faith in her that she will tide through this, because like rachie says, bad things always pass, and I agree. Hang in there skippylee!
Datou's blog is pretty much about random things that I sometimes don't get. But recently she's been talking about her preparations for the exchange trip. Exchange sucks, it takes people away. =/ For 6 months at that.
Carinnie's blog is like mine, the entries hardly come, and the blog can't update itself, so in her words, "I think my blog is gathering mould."

Well I've been wanting to update for ages, but somehow exams, work, love and friends managed to get in the way. I still want to write about the fantabulous birthday that 9P did for me! Because I don't ever want to forget the euphoria of that day. I keep thinking, okay I shall do a post about my birthday, but I never do get to it because... well, see above. I also want to write about how the exams went, and how terrible it is when ray falls sick, and how i missed my mom when she went to vietnam, and how guilty I felt leaving my dad at home to eat dinner by himself when I went out everyday for one week after the exams, and oh, how I found this exact same La Dame aux Camelias quote in one of my previous blog entries on a schoolmate's blog. (What are the chances! The exact same passage with the exact same way of citing the author! Technically it isn't plagiarism because there was the book title and author's name, but it was weird seeing that, like someone just ripped your entire entry off your blog.) But well, you know, life got in the way I guess.

Right now I'm supposed to be doing editing. I've got like, 210 Word pages due on the 22nd, and then another 70 due on the 24th. And it's christmas week next week, I don't think it's even human for people to be doing work during christmas week! ): Why can't we have week long (or is it month long?) holidays like they do in China? And I've done christmas shopping for my family and I am so happy hohoho! I just know that they're gonna like their presents. Actually that's what I thought last year too, but it turned out that they didn't really like their presents. Nonetheless, it's a new year and a brand new christmas, so hurrah! They'll love their presents this year! But I haven't bought any for 9p and ray yet, and CHRISTMAS IS IN, WHAT, SIX DAYS?!! AND OF ALL TIMES I'VE GOT EDITING NOW?!?! AND WHAT ABOUT CHRISTMAS CARDS?! AAAAAAAH!

One thing though, I can't have xmas eve dinner with 9P because my folks are having it on christmas eve despite my relentless objections. ): And 9P always has dinner on christmas eve! Man. How do I resolve this. ): Gah.

Ray is sick with a throat infection poor boy. And I've got to go to my sister's house tomorrow at 9.30 am because she's expecting her furniture to arrive, and she doesn't have anybody else to accompany her so I'm gonna be nice and do it. After all her birthday's in 6 days' time. (: The dog is whining outside my room door I'm gonna let it sleep on my bed tonight because it's gonna be Christmas soon.











Nah the dog is imaginary. But the rest is real!

Another Day Over, Another Year Older.

Paying tribute to my loner days in JC, I have taken to updating this blog in school once again. This time the computer lab is filled with girls. And I am looking off their screens and seeing some KFC webpage, which is making me hungry. By now it should be pretty apparent that I am trying to while away time. I am supposed to meet Ray at boonlay later for a movie, but he hasn't had his last parade yet.

You know what? I really miss Rachel. Especially when Coldplay's 'The Scientist' comes on in my playlist, I feel like I can swim all the way to Australia and walk to Canberra to find her. Talk about budget travel.

Tomorrow I turn 21, which means that I'll be able to vote for the next elections. But other than that I really don't know what else it means. I haven't found the meaning of turning 21. Right now it just feels like a number to me. A number like 14 or 9. Let me figure out some new direction, and then I'll tell you how it feels to turn 21.

The other day in lecture, this Chinese girl came to sit beside me and started chatting with me. Her english was good for someone who only came to Singapore 2 months ago. (Did the school term only start 2 months ago? It actually feels like half a year had already gone by.) She asked me what my favourite book was. I was speechless for a moment. I find that at times like this when people ask me what my favourite book is my mind usually goes blank. Because I can't seem to think of the books that I like in an instant. Then I answered "Roald Dahl" because I honestly do like his works. Not those that he wrote for adults, but his childrens' books. Fantastic. I grew up reading them.

I am bad at formulating my thoughts and recounting events when you talk to me face to face. I usually stutter and have to think for a long time before actually remembering what exactly I want to say, and what happened. So if you ask me if anything interesting happened I'll probably save myself the embarrassment and say "nope, nothing interesting happened to me recently, how about you?".

After half a year this semester at school I concluded that I am officially a moron.

Rantings of a Retard

Today I was being absolutely moronic by wailing and wailing while we were stepping into the house, utterly disgracing my parents because there were neighbours coming downstairs.

"Oi, siao ah."
*Whines* "But you whacked my butt just now, and I helped to scrub the hall floor today!"

And I ran into my room in a mock hissy fit and started giggling because I had effectively embarrassed my parents in front of the neighbours. They must regret not giving me away when I was 2.

I am such an irritating kid, it's a wonder my parents still love me. So, I am going to stay up during Chinese New Year's eve so that they will have a potentially long life. I don't see how it works, but it's worth a shot anyway. And it will give me a legitimate reason for staying up late (and my mom shall not come out and say, VANESSA GO AND SLEEP LA SO LATE ALREADY STILL DON'T WANT TO SLEEP!!). It will make my parents happy too.

I have resolved to make resolutions for the Chinese New Year (talk about cheesy resolutions. It's an easy-to-achieve goal, and it will be attained by CNY yaaay!). Well it gives me some time to settle into 2009 and properly think about what I want to achieve this year.

(I HAVE HEEDED THE GOD OF BLOGS!)

I Lick My Teeth.

I am looking out of the window, and the streets look so inviting at night that I am tempted to go for a walk. Something's preventing me from doing so, and it feels a little like caution, and it feels a little like Bessie's advice against staying out late. If I close the window the temptation might go away.

So instead, I decide to write an entry in this blog, because it's about the only thing that has the patience to tolerate my ramblings. I appreciate it in ways it doesn't and cannot even realise.
O why is my blog inanimate? I lament its indifference. ):

And narcissism decides to get the better of me, and I decide to make a list.

5 things you never knew, or already know, about me.

1. I like painting my nails.
I paint my nails because I've got a bad habit of picking at the skin around my fingernails, and painting them stops me from doing so.

2. I am often in a dilemma over painting my nails vs cutting them short to facilitate in guitar/keyboard playing.
I do have the urge to make some music-sounding noise sometimes. I can't even play the guitar properly with my nails short, nevermind them being long. Long nails click horribly on the keys of the keyboard and when that happens I feel like cutting them off. But then I am faced with the possibility of the bad habit returning, so I usually just mope around until I lose the urge to make more music-sounding noise. ): But sometimes I choose to heed my musical calling and cut my nails till they are really short.

3. I sometimes talk to inanimate objects.
Like this blog. And my guitar which I had (impulsively) named Cherrystone. And the Spongebob stuffed toy. And Vanny the monkey. And my daily planner. And sometimes to the general crowd of inanimate objects in sight. And sometimes to air. Oh and I talk to some insects too. Only some though, those I am not afraid of, like flying ants and moths. Only. I occasionally talk to myself in the mirror too. And trust me, I am not loony.

4. My conversation skills (when I am with most real people) are almost nonexistent.
I perpetually lack appropriate topics to talk about, and sometimes appropriate responses to what people are saying. When people ask me to talk I clam up even more. Gah. I don't like it-- having nothing to say, and having people ask me to talk. ): But of course there are some who I am extremely comfortable with, and that's a different case altogether.

5. I didn't know how to spell acoustic until end of last year.
I don't seeing spelling mistakes on posters and signs, and when I was with Lim and George at DXO, there was this poster which said "Acoustic band" or something like that and I pointed at it and said "acoustic's spelt wrongly isn't it? It should be double c right?" And then Lim pointed out that I was wrong and that "acoustic" is spelt the way it is on the poster. Ah. What can I say, we're never too old to learn spelling.

Speaking of which I was watching the Scripps National Spelling Bee on ESPN the other day, and it was amazing the kind of words that actually exist in this world. I can't even remember what words the kids were asked to spell, and they were like, 12 to 14 year olds?
This twelve year old was asked to spell 'bulbul'. Yes I know it's a bird and you've heard of it before. That was not so bad. Another guy was asked to spell 'torii', which is Japanese. Why would they test them on Japanese?! Another was tested on the word 'trophallactic'. And this-- 'cryptococcosis'. Or how about 'sciuromorph'? (My jaw drops.) Whaaaaaaaaat...? And this was only round 7. They went all the way to round 16. Words like 'écrasé', 'aptyalism', 'esclandre' and 'hyphaeresis' don't even sound like English to me. Some of them probably aren't I wouldn't know.

Urgh. But those kids are terribly brilliant. Wow. I'd make my kid take part in a Spelling Bee in future like an evil parent. That is if I even have kids in the first place.

High on Air

This is moments after the rain.

The green looks especially green, and the air feels especially airy. Emerging from puddles of water, even my feet look cleaner and fairer against the blue of my slippers. I am almost skipping home from the bus stop today because the soundtrack of Mr Magorium's Wonder Emporium is playing in my earphones, and the glorious surroundings are making feel chirpy inside. It is a moment of pure magic, I swear. Alexandre Desplat (the composer) is brilliant. (Although I am certain that some of the magic is coming from my having watched the movie, nevertheless, it's good music.)

And it's rather lovely how music always changes the mood.

I decide that if I ever have a dog, it'd be a golden retriever, and it'd be called Hamilton. Or Milcote. Or AJ - yes, that's it. AJ sounds like a cute generic name for golden retrievers. Or I could name it Bob, like as in Bobdog. Okay bad joke. Or I could call it Harry, although I think Harry, like Baldwin, is generally a wrong name whether on guys, ladies or animals. (Unless you're thinking of a snake named Harry. But I think snakes should be named Sissy because it rhymes with Hissy.) Or I could call it Danny. Danny sounds like a pleasant golden retrieverish name. Nah. AJ still sounds better because the name itself sounds like a bundle of energy. (I mean it rhymes in an obscure way, like EN-ER-GY --- N-A-J. But anyway.) I like them because they're big and furry, (like bears, but bears are fierce) nice and friendly, and boundy. Always bounding.

Them golden retrievers look like they'd make lovely friends, and I won't mind having one as a friend. (:

But anyway.

p.s. I'm sorry tofu, that we cannot celebrate your birthday today, but I promise we'll make it up to you!

Oh, turd.

Yesterday I went on a walk with Bessie and we talked.

"I want to be happy everyday."

"You know that's not possible right, if you're happy everyday, it wouldn't be happiness, it'd be reduced to normalcy."

"Come again? I didn't absorb that."

"You see, if you were happy everyday, you wouldn't think of it as being happy, it'd just be an average feeling, because in order for one to feel happiness, one has got to not feel happiness in the time prior to the onslaught of happiness. It has to be a cycle you see. That's how things work."

"Well, ol-- no I mean, middle-aged people see things very differently."

"Hahaha."

When people ask me if I like what I'm doing in school, I am sometimes momentarily at loss for words. Because it's not that simple an answer like yes or no. I always find myself having to weigh out the pros and cons each time before giving an answer. Most of the time I know that I like it, but again I don't want to give any false impressions that I like everything about it. Things are always changing, and in a sense I don't like that. Why I might be saying that I don't like change now, and in another 10 minutes I might say that change is the best thing that can ever happen. How drastic, this concept of inconsistency.

Nowadays it's increasingly difficult to find someone to confide in. I know my friends are there, but to what extent are they there when they've got a whole lot of other stuff to worry about? It's becoming more and more apparent that school, work, significant other halves, projects, CCAs, physical distance do drive some mightily big wedges between us. It's like there's always something more important. Something. And it really isn't that appropriate lamenting to you about me when you've always got that something which is really much more significant. I dunno.

One thing that's obvious though, is that when you don't ask, people don't tell. More and more I am relying on extremely superficial indicators like MSN nicknames and blog entries to keep me updated on people and the state they're in now. And even then those aren't accurate indicators.

And you really don't want to start thinking about those who are absolutely inactive online, because that's too much to cope with. It doesn't help that people are too busy to meet up, or to even talk on the phone. And then you've got to worry about those who are just terrible telephone conversation partners, like me. It really doesn't help that in meeting up I've got to be very, very comfortable with you before I really start talking, like, talking you know. Sometimes you just find that you don't know what to say, and sometimes there's just so much to say but you don't know if it's too much, and all that comes out is a morose sounding "yea. haha," and then you feel utterly stupid, to the extent of wanting to kick yourself.

And there are topics of conversation to worry about. Why are things made tedious that way?

I want a strawberry sundae right now, but because I am about to declare hermitship for about 3 weeks, I think I'll save it for 3 weeks later.

Okay. Hermitship, now.

We Learn. Every Day.

Would you still be friends with me when you find out that I have done the following:


1. Shaved my head completely bald in a fit of intense frustration over the collective of hay that constantly flops down my short forehead. Without hair my forehead looks like it extends all the way to my nape. There's no knowing where my forehead starts from/end at because the barber did such an amazing job that it looks like I either waxed my head to remove all hair roots as well, or was born without pores on my scalp such that hair cannot grow. In other words my head is now smooth as a marble, literally, and when you touch it it feels like a baby's ass - minus the fine hair on the baby's ass of course.


2. Went to the barber's instead of the hairdresser's to shave aforementioned head.

3. Officially changed my name to Baldwin because of a simple thought which grew into dislike for the name, which eventually got me hung up on, which snowballed into something like fascination, and then it become an obsession. Thus I am now known as Baldwin Tan. Suits my hairless image fine too.


4. Bathed, when I say bathed I mean I shampooed my head of thick long hair (when I still had a head of thick long hair) and soaped the entire surface area of my fat body, with just one full pail of water, which I amazingly found out, is still excessive. I shall start campaigning for "One Pail Per Bath" in a bid to save water. Lovely.


5. Sat at a coffeshop in Avenue 4, where I was positively sure I was the youngest around, thinking of how much is excess when it comes to thinking of a person. (Is it me being fussy, or do you detect a subtle difference between "thinking OF a person" and "thinking ABOUT a person".) And then enjoying it.








6. Has lied to you twice in this entry alone, specifically in saying that I've done points 1, 2 and 3. Did you really think that I'd go to a barber, huh? A barber?!







And no, I wasn't lying when I said that I bathed with just one full pail of water. Go on try it! (:

Your Voice Sounds Hoarse

I pinch my forehead and I think it is too short. My fringe falls like a messy flop over my short forehead.

It's almost becoming a prerogative to be hungover on the days I have a date with the jc bunch. Of course I try not to let the puking get in the way of my stepping out of the house, but you've got understand that puking in public can be potentially mentally scarring. In a warped way I'm always clear headed when I'm hungover. It's like I see and feel about things in a way I've never seen or felt before. Especially with regard to my adamance in total abstinence from alcohol which peaks at its strongest when my stomach is retching and I'm expelling bile. Other than these times my resolve to stay away from alcohol is like my attendance to school - almost religious.

Okay la scratch that, who am I trying to kid right.

Other than these times my resolve to stay away from alcohol is like my attendance to school - nonexistent la can, nonexistent.

They say the alcohol, dear, it ain't so sweet

You don't have to drink that much.

But you can let your hair down,

Every once in a little while.

This was playing in my head the whole time the last time I was hungover. It's a twisted version of When You Were Young by The Killers that my horribly clear mind came up with.

Today I realise that I'm almost slightly perverse when it comes to doing housework. I only derive enjoyment from cleaning up when I see a substantial amount of dust on surfaces getting transferred onto the wet cloth, and then into the pail where it gives the water a dark, murky appearance. I only enjoy sweeping the floor when I see a lot of hair and dust gathered by the broom into a pile. I absolutely abhor it when there are mysterious droplets of water either on the floor or in the dustpan, and when the broom sweeps the hair and dust across the droplets it does something icky to the pile of rubbish collected. Bits of the rubbish pile are now wet, and this causes some of the hair and dust to coagulate on the floor, and strands of straw on the broom to stick together as well, and I lose all enthusiasm for sweeping after that.

But you know what that means don't you? It means that I'm only inclined to cleaning up and sweeping when the place is awfully dirty, and only when there's enough dust to make a pail of water murky, and only when there's enough hair on the ground to cover up the shiny patch on a balding man's head.

On an absolutely random note, Baldwin's not a very nice name to name your kid eh. Imagine the names he/she is going to get at school. Why, it's not very nice to name your daughter Baldwin, considering how Baldwin sounds relatively like a guy's name. (okay, okay, let's not go into the masculinity/feminity binary debate here)
Well, unless you really hate girls for children and want impede her social skills for life seeing how she wouldn't be able to get past introducing her name to strangers she meet, and end up depending on counselling for the rest of her life till she goes to change her name. Which she probably wouldn't dare to because she'd be gripped by the potential trauma she might face when she submits her name-change form to the counter person and gets horribly sniggered at. O the devastation, how unfair life is to girls named Baldwin.
And it wouldn't help if people named Baldwin reach middle age and actually start to bald. Urgh it's a terrible, terrible name.

Back to the point, I think it's perverse to actually derive joy from doing housework in any case, regardless the amount of dirt accumulated. So anyway, I'm a little bit high in a wacked up way purely from the time itself. The clock reads 5 a.m. and I can almost smell the fresh air which comes with nice early mornings when the sun hasn't risen. I think I should go for a walk but I'll probably faint about halfway and roll down the six flight of stairs from my house to the ground floor. Alternatively I can take a lift but I think I'll probably faint about halfway down the corridor to the lift. I'm being a little too ambitious here I think before I even get to stand up from my desk I'll fall asleep in front of the comhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhuyj

Speeding down Failure Avenue.

This is when I decide to cease attending school, both lectures and tutorials. Considering my current attendance, I figure I won't be missing much if I simply stopped going completely.

Now now, there's no need to look so shocked. You should have roughly been able to recognise all the telltale signs foreboding that this kind of thing was about to happen in your, ranging from the daily to the sporadic, interaction with me. (Oh I swear the mosquitoes are out to get me. They fly around incessantly when I am seated at my table, and when I leave the room to take the insecticide they're all gone. I think they actually recognise the shiny, slim cylinder of insecticide spray. Have I mentioned before that mosquitoes don't bite me? Do mosquitoes bite or sting anyway? Technically they're puncturing your skin with that needle like tube of their's right, so I guess it's stinging.)

Methinks it's a good time for a list! (Oh boy, lists! Lists! I love lists! And on a sidenote, people with lisps cannot pronounce lists eh. Just like how they cannot even communicate their condition adequately because the word lisp is a cruel word for lispers. The world works in cruel ways.)

Telltale Signs of Subject's Imminent Cessation of Attendance to School.

1. When Subject gets less than 8 hours of sleep in two days and nights.
This may be due to Subject rushing out assignments as one very, very strong possibility among various others. Or it may be due to Subject's furious attempt at reading course texts. Or it may be Subject's disgusting habit of procrastinating coupled with the evil Internet with access readily at hand, all while assignment-doing is ongoing.

2. When Subject gets less than 8 hours of sleep in two days and nights, but still fails to hand in assignment on time.
This causes Subject to be panicky, and distraught even if Subject's face displays calm and nonchalance carried off by a blank look which is a result of insufficient shut eye. Although friends of Subject may not possibly be able to tell, deep down, Subject is really freaking out. One cannot possibly fathom the stress level of Subject unless one happens to be Subject's Procrastibuddy and is in the same boat as Subject.

3. When Subject runs amok in the house with hands flailing in the air, loudly proclaiming "I DON'T WANT TO GO TO SCHOOOOL!"
Family members should immediately be able to pick up the negative vibes Subject is exuding, and take Subject's claim seriously for once.

4. When Subject gets around the house by rolling about on the floor like a blob.
Okay this is random.

5. When Subject merges molecularly with bed and sheets, to the point that Subject has difficulty detaching body from bed on school mornings.
Some may think this is a matter of mind over body, but Subject's assimilation with bed has been proven by Subject's perennial case of bedhead.

6. When Subject goes to school but does not attend class.
And instead hides away in a certain auditorium with a certain Procrastibuddy to talk and laugh about everything under a certain sun, which is ironic because it certainly has been raining cats and dogs these days.

7. When Subject stops asking people out because Subject has schoolwork in mind.
This highly impediments Subject's social skills, and it does not help that Subject hardly sees school friends due to Subject's failure to appear in school.

Thus concluded.

But then again I think that if I start going to school regularly, in a warped and twisted way I might be able to recognise the joys of school again. So I am going to try. Have I mentioned that I thoroughly enjoy doing project with my project mates because they're all super funny people? And have I mentioned that my friends from Lit are super funny too? And not to mention uber lovely. (:

Gosh. This might just get me going to school again.