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!

Maybe the Moon can see Me.

You know how some things simply lose their magic because you were foolish enough to have thought that by verbalising it there wouldn't be a difference?
But there always is a difference when you say things out loud, which makes it better sometimes to keep your thoughts to yourself, and be selfish for a bit, while the world continues its rotation on its imaginary axis.

It is okay to be self-centred for a while, to be the core of my own universe every now and then.

It is okay to tap my feet in time to the music that is playing in my earphones and bob my head with the beat and pretend that it is due the train carriage's instability.

It is okay to be awkward in social situations and fade into the background, rather than try, and make things even more awkward.

It is okay to not try sometimes.

It is okay to have (momentarily) lost direction in life.

It is okay to be convinced that it just a momentary thing.

It is okay to give up dreams when financial means don't allow them.

It is okay to think that I have got the best family in the world.

It is okay to dislike the rain sometimes, and like it at other times.

It is okay be politically apathetic and not read the newspapers in order to keep up with current affairs.

It is okay to want to cry, and then cry, because I feel like I have screwed up one module.

It is okay to feel loved one moment, and feel lonely the next.

It is okay to be living in this world without knowing what it's really like to have lived in another country in another life.

It is okay to go on about things that I think are okay to experience.

It is okay to think about lost friends sometimes, and wonder if things could have worked out differently one way or another.

It is okay to fall in love with an inanimate object.

It is okay to dislike noisy children.

It is okay that I have never travelled in an aeroplane before, and not feel like it is blasphemy.

It is okay to feel sad because of most of the things I think that are okay which really are not, on hindsight.

It is okay to talk to my blanket.

It is okay to bite myself when I am very, very frustrated.

It is okay to grow up.

It is okay to believe in purely aesthetics without deeper meaning.

It is okay to pick up calls from people who rarely do so, and try to carry out normal conversation.

It is okay to feel down for a bit.

It is okay in wanting to be left behind by the world.




It is okay, really.

Hi Paps!

Three sharp raps on my bedroom door sucked me back into the shitty dump that is reality.

"Come in."

The door opens and behold, MightyMe storms in.

"What are you doing online when you should be STUDYING?!" she booms.

"But tonight is rest night..."

"Why you insolent brat, don't you take that tone with me!"

"Urm, what tone? That's how I normally speak," I whimper. I always seem to be whimpering around her. "And I can't start studying when I've got one more assignment due."

"Then? My problem ah? Get it DONE LA!"
I didn't know MightyMe spoke Singlish.

"Oh okay, I will when I've thought of a direction for the essay."

She glared at me and I mysteriously shrank.

"That will take you eons, don't think I don't know you!"

With that she closed my IE window, and opened a blank Word document.

"DO!" She booms.

I experience a bad case of deja vu.

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Papa is amazingly brilliant at solving the Rubik's cube. I mean, not that he managed to get all six sides, but he did simultaneously get four sides almost done, which I think is not bad, not bad at all, really. He is secretly brilliant like that, and I never knew this before he attempted the cube. I've got new found respect for him, and currently he's probably the coolest dad around. (Unless you compare him to Will Smith's character in the Pursuit of Happyness, but then I don't know Will Smith personally, so Philip is the next best.)

Oh and he once told me before that he named himself after the character Pip from Dickens' Great Expectations, whose real name is Philip Pirrip. The more I think about it, the more wonderful my dad is turning out to be.

I remember Philip did an art assignment for me when I was in Primary School. I was supposed to sketch a gourd, and he did such a lovely job that the piece got selected for the year-end art exhibition in school. Of course he never gained the recognition he deserved for that piece of art. I was full of admiration for him then. Only recently did the memory of this incident resurface, and once again like history repeating itself, I am filled with admiration for him.

This is Papa in new light, like I have never known him before.

Peppercorn Mourn.

The last book of the Harry Potter series is the ultimate tear jerker. First few chapters into the book and I was tearing. Last few chapters got me crying quite badly.

I think it might be PMS.

I think this qualifies as a still from a horror film.
Or a still from my life it it were a movie.

A Hundred Days and Ninety-Nine Nights.

This fine morning I was rudely awakened by a stranger hovering beside my bed. I felt her presence even before I opened my eyes, and when I eventually did, she immediately said

"Oi you! Wake up and do your assignment!"

And I'm like all groggy, "Unnggxhh. whooo aare yooou?"

And she's like, " I'm your MightyMe."

And, not unlike a retard, I go "Whoooo?"

And she goes "Whomighty shoomighty. MightyMe! I'm your MightyMe! I'm the part of you you never knew existed."

I swallow a large amount of saliva that has been collecting under my tongue and it tasted like lack of sleep.
"Uuurm I'm going to go back to bed okaaaay."

"Oh no you don't! Stop running away from things like you always do! Wake up and continue on that wretched assignment!" she hollers. And for someone so petite, I've got to admit she's got an irritatingly loud voice. "Wake up! WAKE UP! WAKE UP NOW!"

I sat hunched on the edge of the bed and looked at the life form in front of me. MightyMe looked nothing like me. For one she had impeccably neat short hair, matched with impeccably creaseless clothes. I felt like the grubbiest, dirtiest girl on earth just sitting there looking at her.

"Urm, I'm gonna go wash up. Catch you around, bye."

"Bye? No, don't you shoo me off like that with a wave of your hand and on the word 'bye'. I'm here to stay, and there is nothing else you can do about it but to accept it and to accomodate."

With that MightyMe yanked me up from bed and plopped me down in front of the computer and opened the Word document that is my assignment.

"DO!" she booms.

"Okay," I whimpered, looking eye-level at her timidly, and proceed to contribute to the mass of words on my screen.

"You'd better submit this TOday or ELSE..." she menacingly growls.

"Yes ma'am." I meekly reply.

This is going to be one hell of a journey.

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.