Life of Social Retard, Scene 1 Take 1… ACTION

good god. this has happened to me so many times already. when will i ever learn?!

the selected setting: the lift…

by the way, ive realised many life’s weird incidents, or perhaps even life-changing, perspective-building moments occur in or near the lift. the lift lobby area is such an underrated social space. So many variables and conditions can take place in that area that we have to pass through inevitably or even linger around on a daily basis. there should be a geog paper or a soci paper done on the lift area seh.

so anyway, miss social retard here just reached her block. I headed straight to the lift without any deviations like a guided missle following its target. I did see a small family near the mail boxes beside the lift lobby but somehow instinctively i behaved as if they got a terrible infectious disease and the only way to survive is by NOT sharing a lift with them.

seriously, i dont know whats wrong with me. I didnt even look at them but it seemed as if i was programmed to avoid them. and not just them but everyone who has eyes, two legs and walked upright.

of course, i will be pretending as if i am not intentionally avoiding people and that i am not a social retard. So i acted as if i did not see them  and briskwalked at just the right speed to look as if its natural. My feet marched and clicked in rhythm liked “this-is-my-natural-pace-i-really-walk-fast-i-am-not-avoiding-you” chime. but i swear my heart was all “fuck-off-get-ur-own-damn-lift-this-lift-is-mine”.

but of course god decide to be funny with me today. the father in the family managed to pressed the lift button as the doors were closing on my pretend-stoning-i-am-not-registering-anything-in-my-head-face. He smiled so brightly at me as his family entered the lift. i was like “so friendly for wad”..but i didnt want to disappoint my mom and be rude to strangers so i flashed a plastic smile. the kind of smile i give to the my friends’ friends who are not my friends and i frankly dont want to get to know.

then, i moulded my face into the kind of expression you see on those elevator buttons pusher guys in movies. you know, with the lowered eyelids, slight pout of the lips, seemingly saying “which floor mdm/sir (because you are such a lazy pig to push the damn buttons yourselves)”. i was seriously doing a fantastic job at giving that elevator-man expression. its unfallible! i was only missing that maroon uniform with gold trimmings and that cute hat.

when they didnt respond to my fantastic elevator-man expression, i was not only insulted, i was all bitchy (inside). which floor idiot, im not a fucking mind-reader. again i didnt wanna disappoint my mom so i just pointed to the buttons and said ”which floor?”.

then the man smiled (i swear he’s too smiley) so widely i think i could see his wisdom teeth and said “Four, my dear girl, same floor as you”

“huh?” says the ex-elevator-man-understudy.

“we are neighbours (you numskull)! you did the same thing the last time. you always dont remember us.”

oh..fucking..shit.

 then, the social-retard syndrome hits full blown.

i cant remember exactly what i said but there were a lot of unthreadable words and sheepish ‘heh’ coming out of my mouth. the 10 seconds the lift took to reach the fourth floor seemed like 10 months. i wanted to die.

its quite a wonder how i didnt zip out like the road runner the minute the lift doors opened like doors of heaven.

oh well….

[confessed, but not reformed]

reality will check in another time. pls try again…

i swear looking at her pictures in the middle of the night makes me smile. heeeeeeeee….

oh well. reality check…check check, one, two, three

(taps microphone)

hellloooo reality…you theeeerrrrreeeeee……

.

.

.

heck, no answer….ok more drooling then

[confessed, but not reformed]

funny, wobbly bits of life

“i cant cycle well. i keep going left and then right (while gesticulating so dgn semangatnye)…”

long pause…

“oh but i do go forward la. just keep going left and right while cycling forward.. (more animated gesticulation)”

“u mean wobbling…”

“yes! wobbling!”

honey, you always manage to hurt my tummy. from laughing too much. you never fail to elicit chortles, yelps, guffaws or the burok snorts from me. for being you. im not laughing at you dear girl. im just laughing because its you.

“its a step. ive been delaying it for quite a while already. cannot procastinate any longer!!”

“procastination…hmm. thats the summary of my life.”

while people laugh and nodded, that is the truth of my life that is as solid as a rock. my life is completely wobbly, with all its unachieved aspirations.

anyway… i wrote an entry minutes ago. but i guess i’ll just saved it and upload it for later date. i dont think im feeling good enough to see it.

another thing, i got a bit scared tadi during lecture. it was actually the main reason why i decide to cabut night lect and go for the ice skating impromptu outing with the girls. it was like at around 4 plus when i felt so breathless. CFJ was talking about some development capacity thing and suddenly i just couldnt breathe. like my ribcage suddenly contracted and became too small for my lungs. i had to think and will myself to breathe the humid air around me. its damn scary! da la the damn air con decide to be sakit jiwa and bi-polar or smth and like, forget her medicine. (why do i refer to any temperamental equipment as a ‘her’, female?)  it was working perfectly well, just NOT at the temperature we wanted, no matter how we jammed our fingers into her buttons that says lower temperature.

how often do you need to tell yourself ,”ok suck in air through the nostrils, let them fill your lungs, then exhale out through your mouth”. lets see… NEVER! it was fucking scary. if i wasnt desperate for air, i would have been convulsing in fear, because i sure did not want to see the malaikat maut. no one around me knew what was happening. apparently CFJ was doing a fantastic job in capturing his students’ attention.

after i regain the control and ability to breathe subconsciously (thats the normal way to breathe), i told myslef i had to go out. get out of that stupid dirty dusty unbreatheable humid lecture room. there was no way im going to sit through another 2 hours of sauna atmosphere and play catching game with air. i need to live.

but then again… i think i knew maybe sauna lecture hall 427 is not really the cause of that fright. im honestly not sure. i dont think it can be that bad, can it?

12 more.

[confessed, but not reformed]

it matters whats within

went to sch on a freaking saturday because i wanted to submit my appeal form to do dissertation. i want to do dissertation, i really want to and i swear the reasons why i want to do dissertation that was compulsory to be included in the form were written in complete honesty from the deepest depths of my heart but beautified-to-impress with the gracious help from the thesaurus.

here is part of the email that was sent to me by the admin ppl from the fucking department of real estate:

  If you wish to appeal to take the RE4181 Dissertation module, please submit the appeal form together with a one-page research proposal of your dissertation topic for consideration by the Head of Department. Attached are the appeal and proposal forms for your usage. The completed forms are to be submitted in hardcopy. The appeal period commences on 22 Jan 2008 and ends on 26 Jan 2008. Please place your submission in a tray labeled ‘Appeal to do dissertation’ at the Department of Real Estate general office counter by 6.00 pm on 26 Jan 2008. Any appeals submitted after 26 Jan 2008 will not be considered.

 

read 26 JANUARY2008!!! hmmm, lets see now. wad is the date of the day i went to sch with the sole intention of submitting the damn appeal form…oooohhhh. 26 fucking january 2008. NOT 2007, 2006 or freaking 1508. 2008! lets see what time is the deadline. by 6.00 pm. wad time did i reach the freaking office? 12:24! so hmmm. im more than 5 hours early. so what did i get when i reach there…

A FREAKING CLOSED GENERAL OFFICE DEPARTMENT OF REAL ESTATE! WTF!!!

 

so i spend the rest of the day in sch worrying my ass off. i swear i wanted to exchange colourful words with the boyfriend and the dean and then resigned my singapore citizenship for such unprofessional behaviour of the admin staff, but then i really wanted that appeal to be approved. i didnt not sleep the whole night for nothing right?

had to stay in sch for a couple more hours for the boyfriend to zap some documents and more mundane things. so i decide to play with my phone camera

i decided to take pictures of my bag. its my favourite bag and i bought it at BATA. who wud have thought yeah?

     

then i peeked inside the bag and i saw this…

 

my stuffs are everywhere. papers, cards, wallet, spray-spray thing, earphones. the compartments were not used properly and i stuffed my naked retainers into the handphone compartment for gods sakes. pads everywhere (that really irks me sometimes).

ok outside but rubbish and crappy shit inside. well wadya noe. that describes me doesnt it.

no wonder i didnt get to submit my appeal form. I.AM.SHIT.

[confessed, but not reformed]

the puppetmaster is playing tricks on me

what the HELL do you expect me to do. was i suppose to rant and pray that the world would somehow turn inside out and she will ever see smth in me? i like her ok. so i freaking do. i find her every fucking breath, smiles,  move, muscle spasm, endearing. it doesnt help that she comes in swooping gorgeousness (oh that freaking hair) into my face. how the hell do u expect me to look at that beautiful face without melting into tiny tiny tiny lumps of patheticness. and if you look real close, you can even find find hopelessness in the lump mix. oh, and dun forget there’s crap too. sick load of crap. with all its cousins and second relatives and inlaws. my sickness diverges to infinity i tell you. sick sick sick.

im a living breathing piece of waste everytime im within 7m radius of her (inside…outside, im a fabulous actor who keeps it cool)

does she have to be so bloody adorable? does she have to be so warm and generous with that tiny lil bit of tangy zest? she is queer in her own delicious way and she is so kind. her heart is so bloody big. big i tell you! the vast square kilometres that ur naked eye can see.  she allows kindness to permeate through her the with the speed of lightyears.  damn you, you gorgeous creature.

must she be so fucking attractive that im not the only sick person to have a crush on her. bloody fate. bloody reality. bloody mother fucking reality.

[confessed, but not reformed]

missing

i fucking wrote a mother long entry on ock but its not here. this is pissing me off.

the guy who sings by the mrt station

see, i noticed him months ago. but i forgot to pen my thoughts on him. but i found him significant as just one glance of him and what he was doing at that point of time made me stop in my tracks and think, comment, judge and reflect. and i tell you, anything that can do that to me, its quite a feat! its equivalent to making me remember all my friends birthdays! which is almost impossible to happen. so yeah.    

you know there are a lot of buskers all over singapore. and our govt, in an attempt to konon make our country (uniquely singapore) more vibrant, rich with the arts and pseudo-new-asian whatever mumbojumbo term they can coin, they licenced street buskers. now we can differentiate the legal registered buskers from an illegal one (??). oh, so now we can say we feel better cos we put money in their box to people who are legally begging money through their talents. wad a load of crap. ok im sure there are perfectly good reasons why they decide to implement the registration system bt whatever.    

 k what was the main point of this entry? ok mrt guy. see, at Tampines Mrt station there is this old blind guy with a smooth accented voice. he sings amongst the fast clicking and stomping of heels and school shoes of the beribu human beings at Tampines. he plays his guitar, sings in-tune, collects money and go home. its a decent way to live. he HAS  a good voice and he is blind as a bat. he is old, always unshaven but there is a kindness that lights his face. i wish everyday at least a quarter of the people who passed him actually noticed that he is singing. he is pretty good, and listening to him is better than the permanent undistinguishable noise that hangs in the air. Tampines is bloody overpopulated and noisy. you are half deaf by the time you leave the area/estate/dgp (what is the fucking word?). and your clothes will smell of other ppl that you dont wanna smell.    

thing is recently he is not alone. he has stopped singing. he still plays the guitar but the one who took the singing role is a much younger man, a teen in fact. good voice too though not as good as the old man. i reckoned its the son or grandson.     

 can you imagine what he is feeling? what if his friends walk pass? i dont find the job lowly, or maybe i do. but what im sure of it takes guts to busk. and it sure helps if you are freaking blind. no offence to the old man but vision can do major damage to your self esteem. lack of it can do wonders to your confidence. see, this new young guy, he is perfectly sighted. he can see each and every expression on the faces of anyone who looks at him in the eys as he sings and strums his guitar. then, he is going to watch and nod thankfully at anyone who decides to bend down and drop a coin or note in the guitar casing.    

i mean i salute him. as a teen with volatile emotions and high dependence on the comments of your peers, what he is doing (i assumed he is helping the old man), is absolutely amazing and award-deserving. he is overcoming a lot of critics shooting his way. good job dude.   the boyfriend said “kesian seh, muda muda kena buat keje keje camtu.” i wanted to agree, but i swear, he didnt look a bit kesian-ny. in fact, he looked like he is enjoying himself. i mean its an avenue where he can showcase his talent right? but its honourable that he is able to steer from the common perception that ‘begging’ by singing is not something to be embarrased about. in fact there are alot of jobs out there, no matter how manual, that should not be seen as distasteful or insulting (including cleaning ol’ chang kee–> note to self).   

  and i think parents should stop that habit of telling their kids ” study hard. or else you’ll end up a maid or cleaning rubbish, foodstall vendor, road sweeper…its sad cos the mentality is shallow and very judgemental. hmm, its social inequality at work.   well, i hope i remember to take a pic of them busking. and if i have the guts, maybe i’ll bring them tea and have a chat with them. cos i really want to.    

[confessed, but not reformed]     

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between the sea and them

had a picnic recently. a simple one with a tent (we cheated by setting it up UNDER a man-made shelter called a gazebo), packed fried rice from home, snacks and simple distractions like magazine, dvd player etc.

                    company:my parents.     setting: changi beach.

i swear it amazes me sometimes how we, meaning my mom, my dad and myself, actually truly enjoy each other’s company. my family is tiny. and it definitely is far from perfect. it is also a system with that occasional virus of recurring bad history. betrayal, abuse, divorce. i cant de-virus it, or erase those bitter memories no matter how hard i try. yet, even with permanent stains and dog ears in the chapters of my family, i cant deny we are happy. and we love. my family is beautiful.

since the introduction of that amazing picanto into my family, our outings have become more frequent. we had campings, late night coffee talks, sight-seeing and more. but i love picnics. even late night supper and coffee talks comes second to picnics.

cos you know why? its an experience that is so raw. very basic. it forces you to actively interact with nothing else but your company. we got basic food (fried rice), basic shelter (6-men tent, solat-friendly), the salty sea air and the calming crashing waves as music. even if we brought mags and dvds, we cant help but actually truly spend time together. we talked about a hundred topics as we swayed in our separate hammocks, bitch about ppl in our lives, laughed at jokes shared, teased each other… we get to see each others’ true character through crystal clear glasses. the palette was so simple. just natural environment. the main attraction was just US. there were no extra garnishes in the menu like tv, phone calls, work/school and so on.

i love US (not united states). i love myself when im with them. i love my mom. and yes, i love my dad.

i do wonder though, whether my friends, amidst all their favourite obsessions, do EXPERIENCE their family. i mean in the raw-est manner. i hope they do. cos its an undescribable joy that bursts in your every cell.

[confessed, but not reformed]

ten plus twelve

In a wierd place. im in a weird place right now. like at crossroads. in the middle of sanity and total madness, in the middle of lasting childhood and full-blown adulthood. skirt or pants. square or rebel. stablility or 8.0  on the richter scale. lonely or solitude.

i hate new years. i hate the idea of new years. because it forces you to think (well, i’ll have a perfect life if i ever like to think), to reflect…and worst. it makes you feel. i dont like knowing that i will feel things. and it scary wondering what i’ll feel.

hmm, i’ll try to make this year better. i’ll try to make ME better. so that on the next birthday, i wont feel the same things like this year. so that at least there will be new things to worry about.

one thing though, that i feel is a major major issue with me…(major with the capital M)…is that, i wanna try… to try to do things out of pureness, rather than intertwined with hidden and unclean intentions. like say, writing words in an entry in this blog, not out to impress upon ppl, but simply because i feel and think those exact words.

apropos to nothing, i need a new skill. play guitar. learn chinese. learn arab. diving. pick-pocketing… god, anything!

lastly, ten is the age at which i attained ..or reached (i think reached is a better word) puberty.

“World, im twenty-two!!”

                                              

 [confessed, but not reformed]