imagine

yes. imagine. one of the lost arts of our age. do it, and open a world of magic. perhaps find that child you once were.

fyi, The Little Prince is such a great book. Yes, its a kids book, and if u're thinking that bcos of that, i shld not read it, the it's exactly why u shld read it!!! bcos "grown-ups are really strange people." and we are always "concerned with matters of consequence".

anw, more updates on the book coming up!!! but this entry is abt my castle. yes, MY castle.

it rests upon a mountainous region, surrounded with trees as far as the eye can see, my kingdom. it is a tall imposing building, as castles should be. it has a glorious wide entrance, but also a small secret one, through a small door and up tall winding stairs. it is a mystery, as one floor would seem like two.

the view is beautiful from the top floor, my private lair. 'Tis a Great Hall, magnificent and kingly, fit for a great ruler such as myself. Looking out the many balconies give splendid views, each one not quite the same as the other. On sunny days, the sun dances with the trees, hiding herself coyly among a veil of clouds, playing, teasing. On rainy days, a dreamy mist is cast over the lands of my kingdom, and cool winds from the ends of the earth caress my face, enveloping my spirit in a peaceful enchantment. Oh, how well my Sorcerors and Architects and Alchemists have built this strange and glorious castle.

but the most magnificent and wonderful and strange of all are the Grand Stables, which hold creatures never before seen my any other mortal man. They lie in ranks, sleeping giants, great and gentle beasts. Each is different, each has the strangth of ten elephants, and breathe deadly fire. As they snore, black smoke rises from their huge nostrils, as none can escape their thick iron scales. And when they wake, they give a roar so frightful to men who do not know them, but familiar to me, their master and king. They truly are magical beasts, my pride and joy.

wanna see my castle? step 1, read The Little Prince, step 2, find out where I work (a king must have secrets, he is a king after all!) step 3: visit where i work. (ok, for those of u who read the book, i must seem v much like the king on the planet who likes to think he rules thigs which he doesn't... but then u're not getting the point!)

good night, my royal subjects.

well, don't i look queer?

ok. i know what u're thinking. shove it. queer in this case means weird. full stop. (i refuse to say "period"...)

so imagine what weird series of events would lead to this. a shaven boy with thick black specs, sweating into his formal long sleeved blue shirt, long black pants, with New Balance running shoes, carrying a huge backpack, with a big green SAF waterbottle sticking out, and carrying an umbrella like a walking stick, running alone down a dark empty street in an army camp in the middle of the night. yup, that's me, Geek de la Nerd Extraordinare.

can't imagine?

Well, i went for an interview earlier in the morning, so i wore formal clothes. i forgot to bring a foldable umbrella, it was raining, so i took a big umbrella from Dad's car (he sent me there). Then i went straight to camp, with my portfolio in a big blue suitcase.

When I booked out, I packed a lot of stuff and my smelly Number 4, and figured i would get thirsty, hence the bloated bag with the big green bottle. the formal black shoes was too uncomfortable to walk the long distance, so i wore sports shoes, and packed the black shoes, futher excerberating the already precariously bulging backpack. Then, adorned with my umbrella, my big blue file, and my sean connery look, topped up with sports shoes, i said to my friends, "well, don't i look queer?"

then after the helluva long journey to CCK MRT station, i stomped clumsily out of the bus, improving my gait with my lovely walking stick of an umbrella. and thought to myself, "don't i look queer?" then realised my full battle order was missing one component, my big blue file. my protfolio. O level results, A level results, testimonials, and every single award i've ever accomplished in my whole life.

i think u can imagine what followed. panic, hair pulling, feet stomping, swear words, a very fast taxiride, and the scene i described in the 2nd paragraph.

taddah! i managed to pull it off. ain't i good?

i am a blur shit, aren't i?

well, after a night of running, sweating and adrenaline-pumping adventures (not the types that involve whips, lions, huge rolling boulders, and Nazis, but adventures nonetheless...) , i finally lumbered home, luke opened the door, and i said, "well, don't i look queer?"

hey, but God helped me thru that ok...

what i miss about bmt

"it's sad how

treasured memories

slip away

slowly

ever so slowly

like a lover you want to hold

fading."

like it, or hate it. bmt was a bittersweet experience. like it or hate it, it's gone. but we can hold on to what little of it we have left.

"a writing,

an attempt to preserve

the unpreservable

tenderly"

lol... i'm feeling so nostalgic today...

i think actually the 24 klik was one of the best experiences in bmt. when we were approaching the finish, we were so ecstatic, so high. our singing changed from a tired, worn out song, to the loudest and most garang we could ever sing; we felt like we could conquer the world. and when we touched down on that finish point, we felt like we did. then, all the memories of all the route marches we had done in bmt came flooding back. we immediately recall the first 3 klik march, and how we wondered at how we caould complete such a gargantuous task. and we did. and it felt great.in our hearts, everything came full circle, and it was all worth it. we did it together. all of us.

another experience was coming back to the bunk after physical activities. tired, sweaty, wasted, we would sit at the table of section 2, slumped. chunkiat, mus, and herry would rush to the toilet, their towels hanging on to dear life around their waists. and the rest of who weren't so concerned with hygiene would sit at the table, talking cock, and simply enjoy the "shack but shiok feeling", as lt hakim put it.

the sit test was really cool. the best part were the nights. we would cook using a small fire, and later, talk cock over a single candle, conveying our hopes, dreams and secrets. we would laugh and enjoy life in a stiny and wet number 4. and of course, cling on to our wives for dear life, lest lt aaron pops out of nowhere (and he's legendary for this, ask daniel...) and stuns her, burning our precious bookout time.

strangely, i also miss marching back after meals, in our little groups, singing those lame army songs with our own modifications to them....

ah well... remember but don't dwell...

"remember me this way."

back again

it's almost time for POP. "POP loh!!!!" and it feels like an eternity that i haven't made a blog entry. wow i'm writing again. to use vocabulary and string them together in a gramatically correct sentence. i'm losing it. as i said, SAF screws up your vocabulary. they take out elegant words, conjectures, and expressions, replacing them with "fuck", and the variant forms of this highly versatile little four-letter word.

so how's BMT u may ask? well... don't feel like discussing it. but i guess i'm compelled to, owing that it defines and predominates the past 11 weeks of my measly existence. in BMT, i'm a blur cock. yup. it's a persona. if u do something long and frequent enough, people expect you to do it. you're reduced to a series of expectations, characteristics and cliches. till it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. but i have only myself to blame.

ok la it's actually quite fun. field camps create lasting memories of endearing powder baths (and the charming ease-spring and check clear) and heartfelt talk cock sessions under the moon and starlight. IPPT is always a pain, and i cna't jump for fuck. 185cm. it's 216 to pass. i hate arti, sniper, and casevec drills. but then again, who doesn't? i actually find route marches quite fun. why? cos we get to sing whatever we want. it's a chance for my pathetic exhibitionistic self to get some of my bathroom singing out for human ears to cringe upon. it gives me a kick. and sometimes my platoon mates sing along as well. hah.

but i have something to prove. that the SAF does not define me. i will not talk only about that. tho sometimes it seems the thing easiest to talk about. but i have a life outside SAF ok... owever miniscule it may be. even things as simple as writing this blog gives me a precious opportunity to whip out and wipe the dust of my much unused stash of vocab. so yeah. i will not be doninated by the army. i will not lose myself.

sceptical? well i read. been reading roald dahl short stories. switch bitch is a cool book. it's all about sex. it's dark and funny. uncle oswald is really cool. the triumph of roald dahl is his sublime ability to paint a vivid picture of a highly unique, gripping and unexpected character. Mr Botibol, Georgy Porgy, Uncle Oswald are one of the more memorable ones. i also read... graphic novels! no i'm not gonna talk about V for Vendetta any more. It's sandman this time. i borrowed fables and reflections. I thought the most meaningful story is "three septembers and a january". i was really touched when i read the ending. it's about knowing who you are, being true to who you are, character, and integrity. sounds like a bore? read it first, then judge.

tmr is 'A' level results.... it's the last moment in bargo, in limbo, in the state of being both alive and dead (i make reference to Schrodinger's Cat). tmr, the uncertainty will be resolved, the tossed coin will land, the fate cast in stone. ok, that's enough analogies.

ok. wish me luck. i'll pray. of course. for A level as well as IPPT.

if i had a choice now, can i stop the world revolving,
holding on to the times that mean the most to me?

ok i changed format again.

i'm really experimenting here.

I like this one much better, but how to get rid of the heart thing?

hmm...

new format

ok so here's the new format. i got it from blogskins.com... it was the nicest one i could find so far... the creater's name is there... and somehow, the titles for my entries don't appear... oh well...

anw, now i'm really really just so busy and so dam tired everyday...

hope u guys like the format... i've always loved the city at night... it's enchanting.

ok now i know

haha now i know why nobody leaves comments... my settings were for registered users only! haha how stupid was that... well everyone, that's changed. now u can comment as u like.

ok, i also just found out that there's a website that gives u good blog formats instead of the boring old samples listed on blogger! hah! i'm gonna check it out.

see how tech dumb i am. so everyone pls help me. if my blog is getting too boring then, it's probably bcos i don't know how to make it more exciting...

ok i'm back again

hmm... it seems nobody is really reading this blog... is it bcos i never updated much recently, or cos the layout is too boring...? i realise having a plain white layout really bores the pants off everyone... not my fault that i'm shitty at technology... ok, i'll do sth abt it i guess.... or issit a lot of pple read it, but don't wanna comment? hmm... if u read this blog and want more, just comment la... it won't hurt, man...

been real busy with my prelims all the way until today... that's it for now... see if i can change my blog layout, ok?

The Bridesmaid

ok all u poor souls who are reading this... here's my attempt at writing a song.... well, i just wrote the lyrics, but it's structured in the style of a song i guess... anyone wanna write a tune for it? ok so here goes....

The Bridesmaid

The Bridesmaid
She looked real pretty in that dress
Of onion soup and cream caress
The pearls that shine in the orient
The love of swines in rooms for rent.

Yeah this girl
She wanted one of you.
Oh yeah this girl,
She wanted,
She waited,
She died.

The dark man,
Who walks in shadows of street lights
Of bright blue sounds and kangaroo fights.
His eyes spell hope of abandonment,
The breath of plastic fifty cents.

Yeah this man
He wanted one of you.
Oh yeah this man,
He wanted,
He waited,
He died.

The queer boy.
He loved cookies, cakes and clefts
A million kisses, right of left?
Kissing boys in gthe days gone by
When Peter Pan, he still could fly.

Yeah this boy,
He wanted one of you.
Oh yeah this boy,
He wanted,
He waited,
He died.

Oh yeah,
They all wanted one of you.
Oh yeah,
They all wanted you.
A part of you.
A part of you.

Love your neighbour as yourself.
Drink Coke in cans that can eat with chopsticks.
Don't ask what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country.
Turtles' eggs are found in sand.
Piano keys are white and black.
You will reap what you sow.
The camel's hump don't like Jazz.
The tortoise wins the hare if the hare sleeps.
Flowers swirl and time tastes like coffee.
So who is faster?
The one who wishes on the star.

Yeah this girl,
She wanted one of you.
Oh yeah this girl
She wanted,
She waited,
She died.

And the bridesmaid smiles.

ok ladies and gentlemen, that is my song. pls tell me what you think of it... all u have to do is click on the button below that says "comment". thank you very much. have a lovely life.

Valerie

This is from V for Vendetta. Evey gets it while she's in prison being tortured.

I don't know who you are. Please believe. There is no way I can convince you that this is not one of their tricks. But I don't care. I am me, and I don't know who you are, but I love you.
I have a pencil. A little one they did not find. I am a woman. I hid it inside me. Perhaps I won't be able to write again, so this is a long letter about my life. It is the only autobiography I have ever written and oh God I'm writing it on toilet paper.

I was born in Nottingham in 1957, and it rained a lot. I passed my eleven plus and went to girl's Grammar. I wanted to be an actress.

I met my first girlfriend at school. Her name was Sara. She was fourteen and I was fifteen but we were both in Miss. Watson's class. Her wrists. Her wrists were beautiful. I sat in biology class, staring at the picket rabbit foetus in its jar, listening while Mr. Hird said it was an adolescent phase that people outgrew. Sara did. I didn't.

In 1976 I stopped pretending and took a girl called Christine home to meet my parents. A week later I enrolled at drama college. My mother said I broke her heart.

But it was my integrity that was important. Is that so selfish? It sells for so little, but it's all we have left in this place. It is the very last inch of us. But within that inch we are free.

London. I was happy in London. In 1981 I played Dandini in Cinderella. My first rep work. The world was strange and rustling and busy, with invisible crowds behind the hot lights and all that breathless glamour. It was exciting and it was lonely. At nights I'd go to the Crew-Ins or one of the other clubs. But I was stand-offish and didn't mix easily. I saw a lot of the scene, but I never felt comfortable there. So many of them just wanted to be gay. It was their life, their ambition. And I wanted more than that.

Work improved. I got small film roles, then bigger ones. In 1986 I starred in "The Salt Flats." It pulled in the awards but not the crowds. I met Ruth while working on that. We loved each other. We lived together and on Valentine's Day she sent me roses and oh God, we had so much. Those were the best three years of my life.

In 1988 there was the war, and after that there were no more roses. Not for anybody.
In 1992 they started rounding up the gays. They took Ruth while she was out looking for food. Why are they so frightened of us? They burned her with cigarette ends and made her give them my name. She signed a statement saying I'd seduced her. I didn't blame her. God, I loved her. I didn't blame her.

But she did. She killed herself in her cell. She couldn't live with betraying me, with giving up that last inch. Oh Ruth. . . .

They came for me. They told me that all of my films would be burned. They shaved off my hair and held my head down a toilet bowl and told jokes about lesbians. They brought me here and gave me drugs. I can't feel my tongue anymore. I can't speak.

The other gay women here, Rita, died two weeks ago. I imagine I'll die quite soon. It's strange that my life should end in such a terrible place, but for three years I had roses and I apologized to nobody.

I shall die here. Every last inch of me shall perish. Except one.

An inch. It's small and it's fragile and it's the only thing in the world worth having. We must never lose it, or sell it, or give it away. We must never let them take it from us.

I don't know who you are. Or whether you're a man or a woman. I may never see you or cry with you or get drunk with you. But I love you. I hope that you escape this place. I hope that the world turns and that things get better, and that one day people have roses again. I wish I could kiss you.

Valerie
X

my life so far

hey today i met cassandra... this primary school classmate i never saw for ages... think the last time i saw her it was sec2 i think... so yea it was really cool cos i walked into this classroom and my class was there then she was there mugging with them wearing the vj tee so i was like... eh... is that...? so i don't wanna ask cos usually these kind of situations it's just someone who looks really like the actual person but is not the actual person and u go "eh r u cassandra?" and she goes "who?" but this time it was the real person and she knew junkiat so she decided to mug with my class in the classroom... and guess what? despite my initial inhibitions, i still succeeded in looking like an idiot cos the first question i asked was "eh... what u doing here?" so it was like i was so defensive and looked like someone whose husband just came back from a night full of drinking... (btw this metaphor implies i'm an angry old wife, not myself, cos i don't see myself having husbands anytime in the near future thank u very much) so yea i upheld the jumpoverthewall legacy of never failing to look stupid... haha but that's really ok...

yes i know i've devoted an entire paragraph to a boring event like meeting an old friend but u know, sadly, now that we're all in mugging mode, that's really one of the more exctiting events in my life these days... oh i helped paint a banner for mr beetsma yesterday... it was really all sheeyin and clara's work, i just helped put in a few colours. and i realised shiling is really skilled at toning with multicolours, and sherli too. (yes i know this phrasing implies shiling uses sherli to tone but i don't care) so ya that was the highlight of yesterday... but it was really kind of fun watching sheeyin and clara get every single finger of them a different colour and not care abt the toxic stuff and all... actually i think its not toxic.... ok i know some of u pple will be thinking i'm some kind of special breed of gentleman who lets girls get their hands dirty but keep mine clean... yea well... haha... tough... ok i have an excuse:

ok i don't have an excuse. i just didn't want to get my hands dirty yesterday. and besides i'll have two whole years to get my hands dirty while theirs' are clean.

oh and the piece de resistance (please do not read this as it is, its french; i just dunno how to put in the strokes on top of the words... *_*) so as i was saying, the piece de resistance of my week was my visit to the library book sale. u know, the newspaper said come 1.5 hours early. so i thought: yea, eat ur shit la straits times... s'poreans are not that book loving.... i hate it when the s'pore media blow stuff out of proprotion to try and make s'poreans look like what they're not...

but this time, omg the starits times was right, man! s'poreans impressed me with their enthusiasm for literature and the great works of Mankind. the line was extemely long. it took me 1/2 an hour to get in. pple camped there i think. and i was lining up next to some delightful pple. in front of me was this really weird ang mo guy discussing with an indian guy abt america, when he's clearly not american. and behind me was these 2 guys discussing how to plot a graph of how many pple come aginst dunno what. and then they discussed the probability of a person leaving the line... and how that is inversely related to the opportunity cost of leaving the line... haha u know what the worst part is? i can actually remember what they said... and i'll probably end up like that in the near future if i don't fight gravity. so ok, i finally manage to get in the booksale and find that all the books are going for 2 dollars each. sweet! so i rush to the crowd.... there was practically no spae to walk or breathe... pple were constantly moving and pushing and u had to keep moving. pple were just chucking like 50 books into their plastic bags, baskets and trolleys. (yes, trolleys, so strategically brought from home, relieved of their menial duties of carrying busloads of groceries to and from the market, and ennobled with the sacred task of being graced by the pages upon pages of literature for the great duty of enriching singaporeans' minds) so yeah they just whack and pile their modes of transportation with books galore (like abt 50 per person) and take them to one corner and sift thru them one by one to decide on what they wanna buy. so i tries to take the moral high ground and tell myself i'm better than them. that i have more finesse, more class, but guess what? lemme give u a quote from alice in wonderland.

"but i don't want to be mad." said alice.
"we're all mad here, i'm mad, he's mad, you're mad." said the mad hatter.
"but how do u know i'm mad?"said alice to the mad hatter.
"of course you're mad,"replied the mad hatter, "otherwise, you wouldn't be here."

ya so first i want to say one thing. looking at this, i think lewis carroll is really twisted. he's probably a psycho or close to being a psycho. i mean if he were not mad, he wouldn't write abt this right? so ya i guess i'm as singaporean as all the rest of my beloved countrymen. so if u can't beat them, join them. i thus began my frantic hunt for good literature admist the widerness of outdated programing books and teen books like "boywatching" and "sweet valley university". by the way, i'm thinking of applying to sweet valley university. it'll be killer on my resume (ladies and gentlemen, this is french, too). and i joined the hunters in their ingenious hunting methods. after all, if i weren't mad, i wouldn't have ended up in a place that sells reject books that nobody wants to borrow any more. so after an hour or two i returned to the checkout counter, my prize (8 books) brandished proudly in my hands, a young hunter back with with his first kill. i joined the greats, the true shopping veterans, the hardcore lovers of good literature, the heroes our country needs. i join them, humbled as my 8 measley books trembled beneath the shadow of their hundreds of books, laden in half-bursting plastic bags, spilling from bright red trolleys that were once the lowly transporters in sheng siong supermarket, the spoils of glorious war, the ruins of an exhibition room raped and ravaged. i stood humbled at the piles upon piles of literature that was going to enrich the minds of the hunters, bcos i'm sure that the moment they get home, every single one of these heros are going to read every single page of what they bought so cleverly with so little money. btw, i haven't started on any of those 8 books i've bought yet. i feel so ashamed.

yup so that's my life so far. sounds exciting right?