Saturday, June 24, 2006

I'm so glad I'm an SC GS girl. And how I get to read some of the great SC GS blogs. How I'm so proud that they can write so well and me being glad to be associated with them.

And how all their blogs kicks the ass out of all those so -called 'famous' blogs in Singapore. Be they activism blogs or blogs of complete narcissm. How the words are simple when apart, but when put together sounds so lyrical? So... SC? How it's so beautiful to hear about people who talk about the simple things in life, the small little details. I'm addicted to them becos it feeds my voyeurism. How it's so sinfully intrigueing that you're offered a glimpse into someone else's window. How their words can speak right through to your soul? And say the things you never ever verbalised. But it's there, you just don't acknowledge it.

Lol, is it any surprise that my fave 'famous' blog is the one by the S C GS girl? Adrianna writes magic.. just like the rest of the anonymous.. hidden girls.

Lovely. God forbid I ever lose contact with the SC girls...or their blogs.

House work has been ... strangely, fulfilling.

I once saw this segment/documentary on CNA about Opus Dei, and how the women in the Opus Dei houses had to do all the housework. One of the women said that housework was her passion, it was her calling. I'm thinking its not that bad as it seems.

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After a shower one day, I proceeded to wash the toilet in my birthday suit. After attacking the floor at full force for 10 minutes, I turned to look up at the bathroom mirror. There I stood clutching my weapon of choice, the scrub-on-a-handle, dressed in nothing but lemon-yellow dishwasher gloves. They almost go all the way up to the elbows. Hair still wet and sleek back behind the ears.

I thought I looked like a superhero. Coffee-coloured suits and bright Wolverine yellow gloves make a nice colour combi for a heroes' outfit.


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This week has seen my family subjected to 'wanton' dishes. I decided we needed to do something about all the minced meat in the fridge. So I decided to do wantons, cos I needed more reasons to just play around with food. So today, I spend a grand total of 7 hours in the kitchen itself. I was there from 11 am in the morning, making fried wantons for lunch. It took me a looong time to do it cos I decided to add water chestnuts. And if you ever came near a water chestnut with a knife before, you'd know that they are nasty little things to peel. And messy. Fastforward one hour and 6 chopped water chestnuts later, the kitchen is covered in little bits of chestnut skin. And I'm starting to sweat and my fingers are cramped. My sis calls me a slow cook.

The commotion in the house wasn't helping either. My mom is getting very menopausal as of late. She flares up over the slightest thing. And today, the slightest thing was my dad arguing with her over bread. He claimed that the white flour they ususally dust over those rustic bread loaves that they sell at cedele was.. mould. Plus, the juicer broke down, and the small kitchette area was covered with fruit pulp. Oh, she also stuck a small bread knife into the juicer grinders while it was still on. It now looks like one of those corkscrew 'fun' straws. This family is retarded.

Right after lunch, I starting making cheng ting for desert. Whoa, cheng ting is a real slugfest to make. There are so many tiny little details you have to take care of. Gingko nuts, some nut-like small beads, barley, white and another kind of fungus, chestnuts (again!), dried lychees and red dates. But it was worth it, cos later my sis told me it's 'restaurant standard'. Yay!

Dinner consisted of more wantons, becos I need to use up the skins. This time, I folded them differently and steamed them instead of frying. They didn't taste as good, and therefore, law of wanton making No. 1. Never ever use chicken mince for wantons. Too dry. Use pork, or beef.

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I'm becoming a domesticated. Unfortunately, my maid is coming back tomorrow. So therefore it's time to go back to being a slug.

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

I love this game to bits.

Sometimes I wished I had started it earlier. Wished I had that chance. Then maybe I can continue more... and be better.

I step into N J and see an empty field. In my head I picture people in caps throwing/lobbing balls from afar. People doing high pop-ups. I want to do massive, huge high pop-up catches. I miss them, and when th ang used to lob them at me from one end of the field.. to the other. I wish I could hit just one more homerun like last time. Just once. Or do that dive again.

For some weird reason, the juniors and their childish antics makes me happy. Cos it gives me a reason to be childish in this adult world and its silly adult concerns. I laugh over nothing at all. We play with our Macdonald food.

Nothing beats the feeling of being in a team again. And doing your shouts and cheers. Even when I f*ck up all over the field. And do stupid mistakes I've never done before, in unfamiliar positions. Even when I'm not the softballer I used to be. No more the MLB. Even so... it's still great to play. To be given the chance.

And even though I doubt we'd win anything. At least at every game, I see my prize...

I wished I had those softball conversations again, with the peers (seniors), and most especially with ms li ng. And how I said I really REALLY admire good softballers, cos its just amazing. And she knew what I meant.

I'm in my element, when I'm playing. You feel alive. Like the r j vs N j match last year. 6-5. I bet we all felt so alive. A feeling like no other. I keep thinking and reliving the past, trying to get the feeling again. Of being alive. Of being so... indescribably happy.

Happy yes.

Softball makes me happy =)

I feel so dumb. This is pathetic.

This is super late but on Vesak Day, I went cycling around Pulua Ubin with the cell. Alot of crazy things ensued. Good food, laughter all around. But I'm too lazy to recall...

However, there are photos! Enjoy!







(We found two buggers mating...)

Sunday, June 18, 2006

Society wants you to put up a tough front.

Peers expect to see a tough front. Or else, you'll get slammed left right center. People will critique the way you think/whine/indulge in self pity. I think this is both a good and bad thing. Cos alot of times, I just tell myself to disengage.. disengage..disengage.. just what-the-heck push it out of your mind. But there are other times I slip up and think about it. And how this whole thing is a let-down.

And there are times I wish I could just say it. What the heck. It's true. It makes me look like an ass. But its so damn true. There are times I'm so sick of tired of... holding my breathe. Holding it in. What the heck? Things you say can be so loaded. So full of.. potential damage/unknown effects. Once spoken you can't take back your words. And the impression which then forms... of you.. stays.

So what the heck? Shut my big mouth. Better still, shut out the thought. Thoughts can be dangerous things when left to fester in the pits and gutters of your brain. Face it and bring the sad reality to fruition. Deny it and it grows like a tumour. How then do I cut out the cancer?

Besides the real issue which shall never be mentioned, this also applies to softball. Sometimes I think I'm mad, agreeing to compete with only abit of preparation. Mentally not there yet. So unused to game situations/dynamics. Sometimes at a lost. And worse of all, not playing my usual self. Pay money, drag my butt down to training, play badly and get scolded by coach. Wah lau. What happened to my softball?

Then I think of the better times in the past, and know I can get back to that stage. But I'll need more chances and more training. But every mistake is a chance for me to learn back again and improve, but also costs me a chance to perform. What the heck? Disengage.. disengage.. disengage... It doesn't help that you play with the pressure/expectation of others on you. I need to go back to last time, when there was no pressure no heat, all you do is play. And focused on your game. Who cares about what other people think? You're too busy perfecting your game.. Time to go back to the start. The old player in me needs to come back. Come back...

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Bad thoughts are like pestilence. They bring rot into my physical world. Get out!

Oh wow. I love the author of this post.

This is the most gay-friendly, anti-homosexuality christian I've ever heard of.

Friday, June 16, 2006

Okay I admit.

I'm an ageist. Probably of the worse kind. Not to others but to myself.

Being around an older crowd has kind of made me aware of my youth. And how it's fleeting. How it's disappearing, ebbing away, slowly, unseenly, seeping out of me. Everyday spent is another day older. The body is breaking down. Molecule by molecule.

A few nights ago I realised that half of the nineteenth year of my life has passed already. Six months, in one blink. And I don't even feel like it has been that long. Has it? The things that I take for granted now, the tough knees that can withstand my pavement pounding (which I inflict upon it without proper care), the skin that heals so fast, the body that doesn't sag. Yet. The face without the wrinkles, liver spots and pigmentation. The hair that still shines. The body right now that is in it's prime. IT'S FREAKING PRIME!! I will never look like that again.. when I'm old. And yet I never really bother to take pictures to capture this moment of youth, this image. Even when I know you can't ever really remember what you looked like when you were young. In detail. Could you? I have not sealed my memories...

To ny once offered to do a black/white nude photography for me. To capture your youth, he said. Becos once it's gone. It's gone. Never to return. Would I remember what it's like to be young again? When I'm older?

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Predictably, (and not as if I could help it), I used to have this sense of immortality. That the troubles of tomorrow will never come. That work is far far away. The growing up into an adult and being.. 'mature' is a long way off. I love the fact that everywhere in the gay world I go, I can have the bragging rights to, 'oh I'm the youngest, or.. second or third youngest'. That I'm in the category of 'youth'. And that I had all the time in the world. I am a teen. Always a teen. Pre-teen even. That's how I feel sometimes. But now this is the last year before I turn 20.

I don't want to grow up? Seriously. I know this sounds childish and immature. But I AM childish and immature! I still feel like 16 or ... 12 or something. (Being at the height of a 12 or 16 year old sure adds to this feeling). The other night I had a panic attack. Of growing old. As I randomly pictured thoughts of losing this youth, I suddenly awoke. Staring at the moonlight shafting through the windows. Clutching at my bolster, mouth agape. In that half-sleep, half-conscious, self-induced horror.


I wanna be Peter Pan. And stay in Neverland.