Monday, June 30, 2008

Stoopid DBS ibanking. Giving me so much brain pain just trying to log in. URGH!

I have sent in my exchange application. *crosses fingers* I hope I make it to the university of choice, and I pray as hell I don't end up with that asshole guy from school. Shoo! But still, cannot absolutely wait to go over! I have already made some thoroughly considered plans. First order of business would be to prevent the ubiquitious US curse of growing fat. Apparently everyone who goes there for a long period of time come back with a few extra kg. I am determined not to let that happen. I will, as soon as possible, work out the logistics of using the school gym. Or run in the park. Or whatever. Find some kind of lodging that will allow me to cook on my own. And eat like the French do. Little tastes here and there, no gorging or binging.

Then, purchase some clothing. Then, figure out how to travel around LA and beyond. Then, plunge myself right into gay debauchery. Then, I don't know... stay away from weed?? *tough, tough* Haha.

June is probably the most expensive month for me this year. I spent so much that I have run out of rows in my notebook to fill in expenses. It is that bad. Not surprising though, I've been going out almost every night. Which warrants an atrocious amount of spending. It was good to catch up and chill with people though, and yes I thoroughly enjoyed them. Although sometimes it feels like you're trying to fill some glass in you. Hence, goes confetti overboard. But nonetheless, there are a great variety of places I want to discover. I haven't even been to the rochester area (how criminal!) or portsdown road. Have not poked my nose properly in Gilman Village (although I went there during the daytime and Holland V it is not). I have yet to listen to the really good music in bars, given that I missed last saturday night's jazz performance because the boys messaged me last minute while I was driving on my way there, and ohh, how could you resist a night out with the gay boys? I haven't yet had the chance to set foot on pathways undiscovered and shophouses not yet glimpsed and colours not yet observed. Peoples not yet met and chanced upon. A million whimsical things in this little island of Singapore, yet to be discovered by a denizen who has lived here for slightly over two decades. I have not properly trawled the treasures of my backyard and I'm planning to fly the coop to the US of A?

Despite the shamefully slow progress, I must confess in between guilty giggles that the money ripped out of my poor wallet did contribute to some kind of valuable welfare. The nights spent hushed and huddled amongst kindred spirits, exchanging sorrows as we do our drinks, was really quite carthatic. I have been to clarke quay twice and esplanade and arab street thrice within this month. And I plan to dig further into the night. In a way, life has developed into this comfortable routine. Morning = wake up or jog, daytime = work and stare at excel, get bored and surf net occasionally, nighttime = clear up daily chores and errands, really late late at night = go crazy with the bright lights.

I just cut my hair today. I think it looks fab! Can't stop swishing the mop around. Paid through the nose for it as well. Some people might find my modus operandi a little odd. I'm willing to spend on certain things but not others. Like for instance, I refuse to spend on the car. I will drive in a manner that saves petrol, less accelerating, less braking, mostly cruising. Those who sit my car will realise the ride is very smooth, or very scary (if I refuse to break around bends and lower speeds). I hate to pay for parking. I will walk (or run as in the case of last friday) to my destination. I can park at the substation and then walk all the way to the esplanade. I can park away from CQ and walk there. Yes, I will walk to drive. Ironic eh? Yeah, me is oxymoron. I also hate to pay for food. This only applies to the cheap, purpose-is-to-fill-stomache kind of 'neccesity' food. For example, I try to buy cheap stuff for work lunches. Cos the food isn't exactly mind-blowing, I shan't waste too much money on it. I also won't take the MRT if I have bus concession. I have not taken the MRT for a long time. Whatever I can save that is unnecessary, I will save.

But I will save to splurge. Like for my haircut today done by the salon director, which usually keeps very well for many months. I cut as often as the semester changes. And, I am very very particular about hair. Any hairstylist cannot just do! It must be of standard, because this mane is my crowning glory. And I must give it the look it deserves. Plus I absolutely refuse to dye it. What for? When your hair isn't pure-black to begin with, when it's a pretty dark shade of chocolate which God has highlighted for you. Why dry it out further? Lols. I am a purist.

Good food, I will spend. Cheap and good food, I will dig for. Drinks? Only pay for the really good stuff. Nothing good on the menu, gingle ale for me please. Yes, I'm very picky with the cash.

I'm also very picky with my company. Haha. Yes. I like to meet people in singles. Meaning, one on one. Heart to heart kind of chats. I don't do groups very well, especially semi-intimate groups unless it's with the gay boys. It either has to be extremely large where I can fade into anonymity by being contradictorily loud (and hence avoiding those cornered conversations requiring you to spill old blood). I've met a couple of new gay boys lately, who smile brightly upon seeing me. Gelling with men seem so easy. I wonder why sometimes.

Just the other day an old lady friend of mine asked the perennial question posted to e lsa. I've heard it so often it's like a broken record already. How do I explain myself? I can't, I don't even have the answer. And it strikes you so weird sometimes, bordering on self-depreciating amusement... how everywhere you go, you are like sunshine, a gust of warm and ever-smiling wind. How at ease the ones around you feel, and how natural it feels to you. But when it comes to something else, nothing strikes greater terror in this lion's heart. And you find yourself unable to deal, whether it's coming from you or it's coming from them, and you find yourself running away at the first signs of disturbance. It's mostly paranoia, maybe imagined, maybe real, but better safe than sorry. I don't know, but I think I did answer your question in the most apt manner possible. No need for words, just eyes.

Friday, June 27, 2008

I am sorry for the mistakes I've made,

regretful to the people I've hurt,

ashamed of my arrogance,

embarrassed by my foolishness,


but I thank you tonight, for showing me a way out.


For there is no should, or ought, it just is.



And the day looks FUCKING BEAUTIFUL!



*Cos the only Way is Up*

Saturday, June 21, 2008

Huil ing feels abit half-fucked.

It feels like a push back on the shoulders. And she is puzzled, confused and bewildered.

But you know what.

Nothing shakes the core.

And when she tries to share with mommy how things were, the mommy doesn't acknowledge her. Fuck then, I shall go to my room. Hide again.

-------

During cell group on thursday, we did an ice breaker. Think of your 3 favourite animals and list them in order of your best to least favourite, and give 3 reasons why you chose each animal. What you choose, represents who you are. But we didn't know this hidden meaning at first, we just knew to think of 3 animals.

The first animal, signifies who you want to be.

The second animal, signifies what people think you are.

The third animal, signifies who you really are.

I chose in the following order.

Cat. Goldfish.Lion.

Cat because they have feline grace that is very alluring. They are ...pussy. Haha.

Goldfish because their cute, round and docile.

Lion because it's my star sign I identify with it, theire powerful and I like their musculature.

------

Quite true actually.

Monday, June 16, 2008

Edward Scissorhands.


When you hug people, you cut them and they bleed.




Maybe it's better not to hug. Whether they wanna hug you or you wanna hug them.




Keep to a side.

I know I know I know, it has snowballed into a complete mess.

Even the friends give me panic attacks, and that is so absurd. But seriously, I almost ducked on a thursday night.

It's like how I could never imagine the deaths of family members because it's too impossibly painful a situation to witness. Any little sign, of before/nostalgia, contributes to a lurching feeling in the stomache.

I bet it's all self-induced. Oh but the horror it creates.

Still.

In times when you're holed up in safety in your little watch tower. With the BIG WHITE SCANNER in front of you, sometimes. You wonder what it'll be if things were done differently. It might lead to nowhere, second options. First choice is atrocious, but you know it's a double-edged sword. Just can't swallow when it really does cut both ways.



It ain't over.


I can feel it.

Sunday, June 15, 2008

I realised that mommy falls in love with my food, more often than she wants to admit.

The atypical mother, being the role-model for impressionable young kids, must always project this image of matronly holier-than-thou goodness. This applies to the realm of health and nutrition. Thus, for the past few decades, she has remained the stalwart benchmark to follow when it comes to eating. Sinful mealtime choices in front of her children is a no-no. She applauds our choosing of the greens and deplores our whimpering over the meats. Less oil, less salt, no skin please.

And when something really tantalises her tastesbuds and is remotely sinful? She will never admit. She might... speculate... Asking us for 'a bite from our portions'. Or picking with a fork at the dining table on the sly (when she thinks we're not noticing. But we are, keenly). Or making innocent random comments such as, "Cream soup??" [mild disgust], followed by "Shall we heat it up?" [said with poker face].

She never if ever, praises the food that I painstakingly lay on the table. The only Sign that the mother appreciates and actually likes, is if she asks for it. Again, and again.

Case in point: My aglio olio. I don't particularly think it's a culinary miracle. But I do think it's passable and has its simple merits. It's a simple dish after all, pasta whipped about like a cyclone with a mix of extra virgin olive oil, very good and expensive fragrant garlic, chilli flakes and an assortment of italian spices dusted on (sometimes random combination). I spend half an hour dicing the garlic alone, cos mommy loves lots and lots of it. Whatever mommy loves, must be had in unbelievable excess. She loves wasabi so much that she adds it to her soy sauce, such that the colour of the mixture looks more like green-bean soup rather than soy sauce once she's done mixing. So I add a hail of garlic for her in my aglio olio.

Lately, I have been making home-made garlic bread. Inspired by pool-side barbeques and grilled garlic bread, it didn't seem like a very tough venture. So whenever I have baguettes on hand, I would make garlic bread. Take a softened dollop of butter, dice (very finely) expensive fragrant garlic. Scatter the golden bits on the soft fats and dust with a variety of Italian spice seasoning (anything will do, as long as it tastes mildly italian, it will suffice). Stir the mixture until it's an unrecognisable clump of yellow and green (how very SCGS!). Slice your baguette thinly. Slop the stuff all over the fluffy white bread. I prefer the fluffy singaporean-kind of baguette compared to the crusty french types because they absorb the fats better. Make sure said baguette is carpeted evenly with garlicky jewels. Make A LOT. And slam them all in the oven. Bake till brown.

The second time I made this, was when my sister got hooked and developed late night cravings. I offered one to mother, who accepted with obligatory reluctance. Although years of daughterly knowledge and mother-child bond, knows that the reluctant look in her eye is actually one of gluttonious glee, poorly disguised (she's not gay like me, hence the lack of pretending skills). After one piece and a few days later, she commanded me to teach the maid how to make garlic bread. This is usually the clearest sign of food appreciation. Why ask me to teach the maid? Why, so she may ask the maid to create desired food without the daugther's knowledge! And without the daughter's knowledge, daughter will not know mother has particular sinful craving! Sly eh?

Then tonight, after our massive steamboat dinner for daddy's day. There sat a shameless bag of sliced baguette on the dining top, it's bare white body tempting someone to slather buttery oils on it. And to suntan it to golden nirvana in the oven. I didn't notice. Mother did. End of story. A 'suggestion' was made about garlic bread. Me and sister exchanged horrified looks. We just had full meals.

So now I know, added to the list of dishes that my mother loves and that which is made by me, is garlic bread.

Just a simple recipe. Bread, butter, garlic, spices and a labour of love. For food or mother?


Maybe both =)

I have been hunched and plaster-eyed over the computer the past few days. No it's not recreational porn, it's something more important.

See, I've been trying frantically to apply for exchange next Spring. And it's an ardously difficult process cos of the amount of research required. Worst still, I'm applying for US universities with early deadlines and that gives me only a 1 month window to complete everything from the moment they open the application process till the closing. It's just insane.

I've been so worked up by it that I spent a good 4 hours on friday night cursing OASIS cos it keeps logging out every freaking 20 minutes when I'm doing my online worksheet. Which proceeds to erase everything I just typed for the past 4 minutes (which can be significant given that I copy/paste and copy/paste). And then I have to restart. Plus all the double-checking with my course requirements and credit requirements to complete university. Urgh~!

But I really have to try and apply for next Spring, then I can travel during summer! And then do internship this year-end before awaiting for exchange. Moreover, there are very significant and intrinsic reasons for going on exchange besides academia. This, is a chance to break out of stifling Singapore and escape into Gay Mecca. i.e. San Fransico or New York.

So here goes my list of priorities which I look at when searching for the Perfect Exchange University (in the following order):

1. Must be USA university
2. Must be near California or New York state
3. Must have gay organisations on campus
4. Must have business modules I can take
5. Having gay modules is a PLUS POINT. (Getting them approved by the school admin is another question)

And oh, if I do get into the californian university. I AM GOING TO STAY UNTIL GAY PRIDE SEASON. If need be, I will travel on my own for about a month, or work during weekdays. Subsist on cheap healthy food so I don't spend too much, couch-surf to save money and see as many things as possible!


Rahhhh!!! =DDD

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

There's something hypnotic about fire.

Back in Nepal, during nights of callous cold. We would huddle about in our too-thin sweaters and coats. The freeze never letting up and our breaths all chilled. When it was time to burn the rubbish, everyone welcomes the moment. For it meant the creation of fire, life-giving, warmth-bringing, ever-renewing... fire. It also meant that more light would be created at the campsite, which is located upon a dark mountain top. Benches would be arranged around the bonfire in a semi-circle.

We would sit on the narrow bench, squeezed like sardines for greater warmth. Ungloved hands in the pockets, eyes fixated on the dancing flames. And we wouldn't speak a word, we would just. Stare.

I would watch the bottom of the yellow light, as it rises up in a nanosecond and disappears into a thin layer of smoke. And then the process repeats itself, as fire burns upwards and is forever reborned again and again upon the foundation of wood it rests upon. As flames reappear and cease to exist in an unending cycle. Over and over. And for some reason, unbeknownst to me, one could never take their eyes off this phenomena.

All of us. Would just stare at the flames and watch their rebirth. Wordlessly.

And you know what is most spectacular about it? When I am fire-watching, I am completely here. My mind is on the flames. Nothing else, no thoughts to circumvent the current and crowd the mind. All I see, think and feel.. is fire. Sometimes I'm not even mildy aware of what is happening around me. When I do other things, I'm not always present. My mind wanders off, as always, to it's favourite playgrounds (or torture chambers). And I'm thinking of something else, instead of what's real in front of me.

One of the few things in the world, in which I am completely present. The others being, softball, cooking, reading and computer gaming.



I could watch a fire, and coax this mind to return to it's rightful place.





"In Nepal, mountains have snow and hills have grass...." ~ nepali quote

Running through a list of people in my head...I realised that there are two kinds of poets.

The extroverts, and the introspective ones.

The extroverts create flowery and powerful poems.

Words made to be swords.

They are also very talkative. Sometimes, when conversing, it is hard for me to get a word in edge-wise. And that is quite a feat cos I'm usually the chatty one amongst new faces.

Then there are the insular ones. The ones who are economical with their words - minimal but with understated impact. They speak, and it is like rubies of wisdom falling out of their lips. And you get this hunch that their poetry is of the ordinary, mundane, but reflective. Hidden truths in the everyday obvious.

Words made to be mirrors.

Not that I know many poet friends, this is just something I noticed out of the number that I do know.

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

It's tricky when
You feel someone
Has done something
On your behalf

It's slippery when
Your sense of justice
Murmurs underneath
And you're asking:



How am I going to make this right?





--- Bjork "Desired Constellation"

Monday, June 09, 2008

What do you see?

When you look into a mirror

Wide-eyed but small,
High ceilings enclosed all around,
White sheets upon stark walls
A baby is a-wailing
Small little one, you have a sister.

Blue stripes upon your belly
A tiny stature invites mischief
Dogs eat little dogs in school
Your bag is nowhere to be found
No friends but cold teachers

First signs of courage
He is 1 feet taller
3 inches rounder
at the forearm, you plunge
your greatest weapons
for now.

In this cavern of music
The piano jarrs your ears,
but not the sound of she
Crawl away to secrecy
Behind a pillar and peek

Laughter short-circuits
Happiness doesn't last
The grey witch knows
And lances flesh against
the seat of your dignity

Roses have wilted
Old Time has moved an inch
In a flash, the malleable
is now finely chiselled
Coming of age, perhaps.

What do you see?

When you look into a mirror

Older flesh no doubt
Still fused and imbued
With the stupidity of youth
Set with cast-iron idealism

Now swapping scrapped knees
for broken hearts.

Saturday, June 07, 2008

It was a bleary morning today. Skies were grey and pregnant. Full and heavy they threatened to pour. I sat, sprawled, in the bumby new bus. Head in the clouds. No thoughts, no clarity. Just pure fog.

Stepped out of the bus. Finally. At my destination, surely, but maybe not fate. Feel the blast of wind as I walk against traffic, in a place so familiar to me as everyday sights. 2-3 years ago. Feel the hair whip all about my face, I take out my hairband to set them freer. And soon everything's a vortex and my vision's speckled with lashes of black.

I'm glad it's windy today. Not hot or still at all. The cars race ahead towards me and I wonder if any of them brought significance. Didn't see the navy blue sign. I should've known anyway, I look for the silliest voices of assurance. [but sometimes, when I'm not looking at all, they whisper in my ear.. and shake me].

Deeper into the future I walked. Closer to this engima that's been so elusive. Ever since that fateful August day. And now that my eyes are opened, I wanted to research it some more. The dots start to appear. First, like flicks on my shirt, and then on the pavement. Soon the little beads are everywhere, and I have to rummage for the brolly. In a while there is a mild sort of rain. One that isn't too wet, still manageable.

Along this walk down memory lane, the phone jolts you back to life. You hope it brings good news. But you tell yourself, don't be silly, the realist says something is wrong. And it is. You take the call calmly, surprisingly. But within there's a heaviness and resignation. You recall the night before. And the night and the night before. As you work your magic on your art. Realising, with a jolt, that people use their specialties. Some sing, some compose, some flaunt their wealth, some dance, some write. And this is what I do. Never thought I could ever use it as a tool. But why not? I am the best after all.

It is important then, to believe, that your creations are fully selfish. Meant for yourself only. Cos only then can you redeem this feeling. As I look upon my roses by the window, and the other pieces these hands and mind creates. These are all for me and me only. It's easy to think this way. And you walk towards futility, with almost a light-heartedness. There are people to talk to and discuss. After all, I have come so far.

Funny I have not crumbled, maybe the efforts of the Logician are not so draining. It flows with limitless energy and every diamond from this pressure is value on it's own. The Gnome doesn't fare as well. The more irrational of the two, the more helpless and weak. He can't fathom value on it's own. He can't see creations as fully selfish. But complete surrender. No autonomy, but stripped of dignity. The only way he redeems, is to jump ship and flee. Always been jumping away unto new lands, rarely has he sunk beneath the waves [oh but what peace it is inside cold waters!]. But one must understand, that it is not easy to be submerged. Most of the time, one doesn't get to choose.

And because the Logician chooses but the Gnome cannot. The gnome suffers more.

Friday, June 06, 2008

Strange things have been going on lately.

Strange things about the human body. Mine actually.

These days, I feel more and more like an animal actually. Like those well-muscled, fit wild animals you see on Nat Geo. Been exercising lately. Doing the morning runs on the threadmill. Settling into this predictable routine that the body is getting used to. 3 times a week, plus some core or toning exercises. Some people ask how it is possible for me to have the energy to run early in the morning before work. I guess it's just discipline, and you feel really great after runs anyway. So you won't exactly feel too drained (plus I get an excuse to drive the car since I'll need more time at home and that is motivation enough already) The more you exercise and connect with your physical self, the more in touch you are with your base natural instincts and feelings. Basically, you become more aware of your body. And this... animal shape it really is.

I'm also starting to settle into another kind of routine, not by choice. It's my body's fault. See, everyday I would religiously take a Daily Dump in the office. I don't know why, maybe it's the structured routine of office life that causes it. I have no choice, but will always feel that urge before lunch. And there will be this purge-until-cannot-purge anymore experience.

I guess in many ways this is a good thing. Because clearing your baggage daily is a healthy thing and more, superficially, it has contributed to a flatter stomache! I feel incredibly empty! Hence once more, attributing to the feel-good body image currently.

Strangely as well, I seem to be losing my appetite. I really don't seem to derive that much pleasure from eating lately. Maybe it's the average office lunches I've been having that has put me off food. Wells, I did have some good meals but that's few and far between. But it's strange because even when I have the opportunity to create a good meal experience for myself (i.e. cook at home or prepare a nice breakfast), I don't feel the urge to. In the past, I would do that cos I'm a real foodie. But now? I hurry through my breakfasts, slop it all down, not too much, just enough to fill myself up before lunch. And dinner? I abhor the mechanics and neccessity of it. My tongue, does not want to be 'disturbed'. The mouth is content to stay shut. But I still have to eat or else I'll be hungry. But given a choice, I would skip dinner if I know I won't feel hungry later. Either way, eating now feels like a massive chore!

Why???


No appetite, no desire for the tasty morsels in life, no.... impetus...

Thinking about toast masters...I am the true cunning linguist.

Not the lesbian kind of cos. Definitely not. Hell no.

Thursday, June 05, 2008

"You can't stop being who you are just because you are afraid"




---- From Sex and The City Movie

Wednesday, June 04, 2008

I have written a masterpiece of a speech!

After having attained CC status, I'm now onto harder projects. Those that last beyond 10 minutes. It's not easy to do cos this time you don't get to create your own topics. You have to select them from a few options. It was tough trying to formulate a speech at first, but I think I've stumbled on a gem.

Be extremely cheeky.

You know, I've always wanted to talk about being gay. Since obviously, I can't explicitly talk about it. I can infer it.

And here, if you read carefully enough, is my speech about stage fright.

CL Project No. 1
---------------------------

Once upon a time in NJC. Before they tore up the old track, hired a whole hoard of new teachers and installed those plasma TVs in the canteen, there was an 18yr old student called Huiling. Actually, she was 10% student, 90% softball fanatic. She worshipped her cca so much that she ran for captain and got it. In her second year, the bright minds behind njc, suddenly had this great epiphany. And that was, all cca student leaders have to give a speech about their club achievements during the colours award ceremony. Wonderful, she thought, I am so screwed. However, contrary to popular belief, giving a speech in front of the whole school, wasn’t so bad. She banged out a script on her laptop the night before, went to school the next day and waited for her turn on stage. All of the students had to speak from this professional-looking, high podium. However, being vertically challenged, plus having this high podium, made her speech a very easy one indeed. Because everyone could only see her hair. And she herself, couldn’t see her teammates, couldn’t see hundreds and thousands of students occupying the whole hall, couldn’t see a single audience member. All she saw was her script, and that was all she needed to make her speech.

But unfortunately, not all speeches have a happy ending, this is just my beginning.
As the years went by, there were no more podiums to hide behind and she could see her fears. And so she had to come out of her shell... and deal with this issue called glossophobia. Now what is this deviant term called glossophobia?

Well, glossophobia is when your limbs start to quiver, your voice starts to shake, your palms get sweaty, your heart starts galloping, and you don’t dare make eye contact with the persons you’re speaking to, and worse, you start stammering like a fool. Is this fear of speaking to your crushes? Close, but not totally. Glossophobia is the fear of public speaking. In kiddy terms, it is basically stage fright.

Now contrary to popular belief, stage fright will never go away. Mark Twain once commented that, “There are 2 kinds of speakers in this world. Those that are nervous and those who are liars.” Liars are those who deceive the audience by expertly covering up their stage fright, such as alumni.

Today, I’m going to teach you how to be smooth talker and savvy liar. The Tay Huiling way.
Just 3 simple commandments for you to follow so that you may butter up your audience and con them into thinking that you are so mm-mm at what you do, that you must have been born speaking instead of crying.

Commandment no. 1: Always remember to cruise. That means, you must check out your audience and look for the happy ones. By happy, I mean those who are gay, and smiling and giving you eye contact. Because the speaker’s motivation during the speech is largely determined by audience reaction. It’s like a wave you know, if there’s an aura of positive energy, you’ll feel like you’re rising and will be at the crest of your performance. If it feels as though you’re talking to a wall, then your confidence would be down in the dumps. And that is why happy-looking people are very important. Their attentions towards you signify that you are making an impact on them. That your speech has value and they are all enraptured. Those who are sad-looking will bring you down. Thus, if one is astute enough to discover, whenever we talk to people in groups, we tend to look at those who are smiling at us and giving us positive body language. Those who seemed ‘turned off’ from us, we tend to ignore. So to handle stage fright, one should concentrate on the happy audience members. While expertly, pretending to give everyone else sufficient eye contact. Did I mention that good speakers were also good liars?

Cruising is not just about seeing. One must also walk the talk. Now I don’t mean put what you say into action. Because that is impossible in toastmasters. All we do is talk, we do not prove it. So, what I mean is that one must literally, walk the talk. Walk around the speaking space that you have been provided before your speech, and lay your claim on it. Human beings tend to be afraid of the unfamiliar. So if you familiarise yourself with your speaking environment, you wouldn’t be as petrified when it’s showtime. Thus the moral of the story is, if you can own the ground and be comfortable with it, then you can own your audience.

Commandment no 2. I am the best, and everyone else can kiss my...posterior. Now this may sound like a very harsh mindset to adopt, but as they say, “no guts no glory”. One must have self-confidence bordering on arrogance. Now in a public speaking situation, this is actually beneficial. Because when you believe yourself to be the best, it will negate those feelings of stage fright and those nasty voices in your head telling you that you are going to fail. When this happens, you will automatically calm yourself and project a sense of confidence. Your audience will get the impression that you know exactly what you’re doing and that you have a commanding presence. On the other hand, speakers who do not believe enough in their own God-given value, will start to exhibit signs of nervousness. They will appear as though they have no idea where they are, and they have no idea what they are doing... and that is classic glossophobia. So just remember that, humility is not the way to go in Toastmasters. Always believe 200% in yourself and that you are worthy of the stage. Here’s a mindset that I adopt when I go for competitions. Instead of speaking to win, I have already won and speaking is just my victory lap. Now I know this sounds extremely arrogant, and yes it is. But believe me, this mentality works. 5 public speaking awards in my first year of toastmasters, this is what got me there. I can actually walk the talk too.

Now of cos, do not carry over toastmaster arrogance into everyday life. This only works while public speaking. If you go around believing that you will always win, that could backfire. So arrogance is not wholly bad, and it can be good when applied to the right situations such as public speaking.

Commandment no. 3 comes from our favourite Nike quote. Just Do It. People cannot get rid of their fears, they can only learn how to control them, and finally conquer them. And with respect to stage fright, the best way to conquer it is to get used to the sensations it produce. Before a speech, you will always start to feel edgy and your heart rate rising. Even the best speakers in the world, get this same feeling. But as they say practice makes perfect, the more speeches you give, the better you’ll get. Now is this is easier said than done. Those who already stricken with stage fright, will obviously not pursue more stage fright.

Here’s a scenario I’m sure many of you have felt before. How many of you, have felt the desire to try table topics but hesitation and fear held your hand. You thought, mmm I don’t think I can handle it, I might screw up on stage. I have glossophobia. And before you can think or do any further, someone else beats you to it. The chance was lost, and you sit quietly in your chair. Content, just to observe. But not participate.

I just want to ask you, “How many times, have you observed your chances in life passing you by.” You don’t try because you are afraid, because you think you’re not good enough, you don’t try because you think too much. So here’s a word of advice for the panic-stricken: Go out of your way to face your fears, find as many opportunities to practice public speaking and do it before you start thinking. You might not always succeed but you will always fail if you don’t try.

Now that you have armed yourself with this holy trinity of audience awareness, self-belief and motivation to try. Go forth and spread your word. Just remember the huiling way and the evidence of her toastmaster awards. And know that nothing, no one, and no goal is ever out of your reach. Even taking the terror out of the talk.


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Baby, you know you're good. =)

Monday, June 02, 2008

"You'll be given love.

Maybe not from the directions you are staring at
Maybe not from the sources you have poured yours

[here I change the lyrics]

But hurt will surely creep

From the directions you don't look at
From the sources you thought were safe

And the places where you don't seek,
Are the ones you should fear the most.

I can guard like a madman. But
It will still break your heart. And
One day, it will break your spirit

Only God can save me from the Curse."


-------- Bjork, "All is full of love"




Don't even try to say something cliched.

Sunday, June 01, 2008

Today.

Instead of going for lunch with the boys after church, I spent a lovely 2 hours singing vocals for the jazz pianist in church. We did a whole range of songs: hymns, jazz, lullabies and his own creations. Just the piano and my voice.

I don't know if I'm any good really. Truth is, I never ever imagined I would take singing seriously. Like to sing in front of people, in choir. To actually enjoy singing (which I hate in karoake actually). It's like a case of late-bloomer choir girl.

There's something really pleasing and ethereal in letting your vocals soar. It's like you get lifted along with the chords, trailing off into the skies leaving behind hearts and rainbows and flowers in your wake. It's almost spiritual to sing. We did some of my favourite songs. Like "Somewhere over the rainbow" and "The Girl from Ipanema". And also, his own song, which I could totally relate to. Anyways, here's my favourite jazz song:

Tall and tan and young and lovely
The girl from Ipanema goes walking,
And when she passes, each one she passes goes, "Ahhh."

When she walks, she's like a samba
That swings so cool and sways so gentle,
That when she passes, each one she passes goes, "Ahhh."

Bridge:
Oh, but I watch her so sadly
How can I tell her I love her?
Yes, I would give my heart gladly,
But each day when she walks to the sea,
She looks straight ahead, not at me.

Tall and tan and young and lovely
The girl from Ipanema goes walking,
And when she passes, I smile,
But she doesn't see, no she doesn't see,

No she doesn't see.


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After singing, jazz boy taught me how to say "you have beautiful eyes" in french!

t'as d'beaux c'est soir!

Today's new motto:

E.T. doesn't give a flying FUCK.

Began some time last week, before the nam aste party. When I decided to wear the hair a little wackier. Something aloof. Something that suggests, I don't care. And it was fun, I now have a new way to wear this hair.

Tomorrow, I will go buy some bandanas. A said I look like a rebel with them on during the trip. And it's a great substitute for my hairband anyways. So I'm going to get some funky ones. Also, I'm thinking of cutting the hair. It's too long. I want it... neither here nor there now. I want it partially at the shoulders. Not long enough to tye up, but long enough to look surfer-ish. And oh, of cos, long enough to actually look like a girl. I do not want to look like a pseudo-male. Any good hairdressers to recommend?

I don't feel like taking myself too seriously now. Or taking anything too seriously. It should be very laissez faire. Airy, float-y, and ignorant vibes. Like in a fog of your own. Drugged fog of quirky and weird. It's all about exuding the devil-may-care attitude. The whole look, should personify the middle finger gesture.

I think the steal-of-a-shirt says it all


EAT SHIT AND DIE.


=D




What me worry? *smirk*