Gimme That!

So now I am a kEwTsiE. Yes, Germaine is a kewtsie. Rawrrr I likez.

You cannot imagine how much I giggled while typing that. I am beyooonnnnddd eggcited. Nice to know that at 4am in the morning, when everyone is dead asleep and dreaming of bluebirds and pineapple tarts, I am still remembered and missed. This deserves <3 xcorez forever tillinfinitybeyondandeverafter.

I am wishing for a lot of things, and its surprising that many of them can’t be bought with money. I never knew I was that unmaterialistic. But right now I really want for a hotel room, great kickass kiddy pyjamas (preferably with alphabets on them like my old ones),  ice cream (cookie dough!) , cable tv, my camera (sob) and a crazy boy with the same initials GC as me, and I’ll be all set to have the greatest slumber party everrrr.

 I WILL BE KEWTSIE NINJA! Rawr…

Complexities Of Time And Love

I’d spin the rest of my life, for you. If possible, I’d hope for you to spin with me too.

Intellectual Cyberninja

The Wild Rose

Random Brutal Love Dreamer (RBLD)

Colorful, but unpicked. You are The Wild Rose.

Prone to bouts of cynicism, sarcasm, and thorns, you excite a certain kind of man. Hoping to gather you up, he flirts and winks and asks you out, ultimately professing his love. Then you make him bleed. Why? Because you’re the rare, independent, self-sufficient kind of woman who does want love, but not from a weakling.

You don’t seem to take yourself too seriously, and that’s refreshing. You aren’t uptight; you don’t over-plan. Romance-wise, sex isn’t a top priority–a true relationship would be preferable. For your age, you haven’t had a lot of bonafide love experience, though, and this kind of gets to core of the issue. You’re very selective.

The problem is them, not you, right? You have lofty standards that few measure up to. You’re out there all right, but not to be picked up by just anyone.

Always avoid: The Bachelor (DGSM)
Consider: The Vapor Trail (RBLM)

-

Okaaaay, so not what I expected at all. Not even close. “For your age, you haven’t had a lot of bonafide love experience.” REALLY?!?!

Okay, 20 minutes have passed since I typed the previous sentence and now I guess its true after all. 2 years in a relationship doesn’t measure up to a “bonafide love experience” considering that I was only 16, but it opened my eyes to a lot of things. I guess right now with every guy that comes and goes, my expectations only gain a notch, and I am uncertain whether its a good or bad thing, or both. Right now I am uncertain about a lot of things, so many that it hurts just to think about it. I’m uncertain about my future (though I’m getting a pretty good picture of it, and its bleak), I’m uncertain about friends, uncertain about love, uncertain about the choices I have to make, and all this uncertainty is making me confused about what I am, who I am in essence. I’d love to say love doesn’t need justification, because its poetic and it makes people dreamy to think about it, but at the same time I lie awake at night thinking about how much, just how much does he love me? There are too many doubts, and too little reassurances. Again and again, I tell myself to trust and to believe with all of my heart, because if not I shouldn’t have the right to be in love with him. But yet, I am guarded and my walls are getting higher and higher, and I can’t help it. I want to protect myself, but yet I am afraid that this very act will prove to be my downfall. How much can I trust myself to do the right thing?

“Its one thing to not be able to trust someone. But if you don’t even trust yourself, I would like to say you’re fucked, Germaine.” FUBAR.

When Did Your Heart Go Missing!

The lyrics to the Rooney song by the title above so doesn’t match up to what I’m feeling and going through now, but its just so happy and dancey that I’ve had it on repeat for about an hour now. I’m feeling ecstatic beyond words and I can’t help but want to call everyone up and tell them that I love them. I might just go bonkers soon, and I sure hope I don’t end up jumping into the fountain in school just for the fun of it, though its something I’ve always wanted to do, complete with clothes and those hats that have those colourful tiny umbrellas on them. How dope would that be?!

Looking forward to friday like I’ve never looked forward to anything before. Today I crossed my fingers so tightly that they went from pink to red, and I guess you could say I’ve got sacred fingers (even though they were quite damaged and tingly after) because I got what I was hoping for. That phone call at 1024pm would remain a momentous event in my little thumping heart forever till infinity and beyond and ever after. When he broke the news to me I was punching my fists in the air and got cigarette ash all over my hair, and all that happened while I was silent as a muted radio and acting all nonchalant. Talk about great skills in pretend! I am so multi-talented, bow down and call me Master you little people.

So, to sum everything up, the week DID end pretty well after all, though that damned week-changing moment had to come almost 2 hours before the week ended. How…strange. Well, guess some things work in weird ways, like me. I leave you with this picture I came across while ogling at Adam Brody online.

This has got to be the weirdest way a guy could tell a girl he loves her, but at the same time it makes my heart reduce into a puddle because I guess that’s the way I want someone to watch over me too. Don’t mop the floor yet! I’ve got to collect that damn heart puddle of mine…

Run

What a night. It was fun while it lasted, and part of me wished it wouldn’t end. Hung out with Cherry Terry Ho Jiewei, Marcus and Alvin, and paint the town red we did. I never imagined that pure stupidity came in threes, and they proved to me that it was possible with every single pain-inducing game we played. Its a real wonder how Marcus ever came up with nonsense like that, but thank the lord he did because it was the shit. And its also a wonder how I thought it was dumb to a point of no return, but yet when I tried it for myself, the satisfaction of seeing pain on someone else’s face was just a classic xcorez! moment. Fun and games soon took on a whole new meaning when we came to the topic of “the fainting game”, and I never thought I would have the balls to allow myself to black out. This was probably peer pressure at its best, and soon I was on the floor with slight fits (according to them) and totally fucking gone. I never thought I’d say this but that feeling was just dope with a capital D.

It was such a strange feeling for me, and while I was taking those ten deep breaths I was shaking so bad and my heart felt like a machine gun in full fire. When I awoke everything was just fucking surreal and I had no inkling of the right before and during of time that I drifted off. Nothing felt as good as that. Nothing. I was in total contradiction with myself, even right before, and I guess part of me decided to do it because there was every possibility that I might not get up. The feeling of losing control combined with the recklessness of such a decision was probably the main reasons why I said yes, and I don’t regret it. I guess that says something about me. Right now I’m just in the mood for losing total control and not giving a flying fuck, and knowing that it might just be detrimental to my well being is what thrills me the most. Rebel alert.

Face cramps and stomach aches and more “neng-ing” times are what I look forward to now, and Jiewei, you better fucking watch out because I shook your hand goodbye with good faith and trust and you took advantage of it and nenged me. WATCH OUT I AM SO GONNA GET YOU BACK. Cunning, cunning.

Chan Mali Chan

Last night at Zouk was just the best, though the guys were just a tad disappointing, and I didn’t get laid. Hah! But of course, partying with Eileen, Jia, Rodney, Doll and Shirley just made my day, or my week actually. Let’s see, 2 tequila shots, half a flaming lambo, 2 long island teas and half a jug of vodka redbull and you can officially pronounce me high (NOT DRUNK). Helped me forget a lot of things I didn’t want to remember, albeit only for a few hours. I hope this doesn’t make you guys blush but its really awesome spending time with people that I know love me most.

I got home sane and sober, knocked off really quickly and awoke with my phone ringing. Well, who would’ve thought, he finally called. He might have gotten knocked down by a car and I wouldn’t have realised, why? BECAUSE THE CALL WAS SUPPOSED BE COME AT 5PM YESTERDAY. No worries, I’m over that. Say hello to a celibate Germaine. Think I might have to start knitting pretty soon. What a joke. Me. Knitting. But thank god he called if not I would’ve failed APEL by now, and thanks to Ally for being such a sweetheart and calling me too, though I think her intention wasn’t to remind me about class but to tell me that she would be late. Haha! But thank you anyways. I got to school 40 minutes late for class, when I could have been on time. Three words: Fucking cab driver (just to clarify I am not pissing on all the cabbies out there, just this one because he’s a real dickface. Ask why another day.)

I’ve given up on telling myself to give up, it just doesn’t work anymore. I change my mind like Flash changes his underwear, and all it takes for that to happen is one phone call from him with a normal conversation. Telling myself that I might get a perfect ending is making me sick too, so this is pretty much one big suckfest, with shit falling from the sky and all that jazz. Not just normal shit, but the most awful kind that you don’t need the details to. Think 2girls1cup. The fact that I’ve spiralled down so deep into this is insanely contradicting and soon its going to drive me into psychosis. What a horrible end to what was almost a perfect week, don’t you think? I’m starting to realise this is a pattern in everything I do, and its making me wonder if “life’s just like that” or if I got all my bad luck at one sitting, because God decided that I deserved it since I am the biggest sin he ever created. Oh well.

“I wanted a perfect ending. Now I’ve learned, the hard way, that some poems don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next.”

“The dream of falling in love, marriage, death, love.”

This dream seems as if it lasts for hours, although it always takes place in the five minutes between my returning from the field and being woken for dinner. I dream of when I met my wife, fifty years ago, and it’s exactly as it happened. I dream of our marriage, and I can even see my father’s tears of pride. It’s all there, just as it was. But then I dream of my own death, which I have heard is impossible to do, but you must believe me. I dream of my wife telling me that she loves me, and even though she thinks I can’t hear her, I can, and she says she wouldn’t have changed anything. It feels like a moment I’ve lived a thousand times before, as if everything is familiar, right up to the moment of my death, that it will happen again an infinite number of times, that we will meet, marry, have our children, succeed in the ways we have, fail in the ways we have, all exactly the same, always unable to change a thing.I am again at the bottom of an unstoppable wheel, and when I feel my eyes close for death, as they have and will a thousand times, I awake.

Each moment I wait seems like a lifetime, an eternity. Its hard to be the one who stays put, while the world pushes past with such vigority. Its hard being left behind.

Why is love intensified by absence?

TILL INFINITY AND BEEEEYOND AND AND AND…EVER AFTER!

23rd Jan is probably the best day that I’ve had for the past few weeks, and I guess the greatest invention ever discovered is the almighty cellphone. Ah, the magic of telecommunications! Even though I didn’t get to see the people (or person) I’d have liked to see, the effort made alone far surpassed my expectations.

The day was filled with silly guffaws and insane stories that made something that was turning so bleak and disappointing into something that probably could work out. I’m crossing my fingers so tightly that they’re turning pink in the shadow of my back. Hope is probably Love’s ally in this cruel game, and it seems like I’m always their target. But what can I do except to succumb? What else can anyone do in the face of Love except to give in?

Thanks Alvin, for the ghost stories (I’m not sleeping tonight) and being my lucky charm (OMG HE’S CALLING!), it’s been one hell of a rollercoaster ride, and still is actually. But we’ll get through this all the same.

-

And you…I wished I didn’t have to grow up, so we could forever be this silly and insane, like nothing mattered more than that joke we just shared, or the way you tried to stop my laughter by covering your face with your hands like I do (COPYCAT). You’ve been the only person I’ve ever really told about my future plans, and the only person who knows the true reason behind me not wanting to leave for Melbourne. You’re the cream in my Oreos, and even that doesn’t fully describe how speh-she-yall you are to me. Second priority isn’t always the best, heck it never is, but if it makes you this truthful and this unabashed then its what I’ll settle for. TILL INFINITY AND BEYOND AND EVER AFTER.

I’ve crashed so far down that it I’m clawing and clawing to find a space to breathe.

 My dear brother, you have no idea how much I want to talk, how much I want to have that conversation with you. I want you to help me pick up the pieces from the ground and sew them up into something decent enough for me. I want you here to listen listen listen and not give a damn about what a poor young hopeless soul I am, and instead feel eager to educate me about the ways of the world and how love is an ugly, ugly thing, but tell me that some good can still come out of it, like how it worked out for you.

You have no idea what a fortunate person you are, and sometimes I wonder if I was the first out of our mother’s womb, would things have turned out better for me. I can’t help but feel so utterly useless and fucked up when I stand next to you, and yet, I am so goddamn proud of the way you are, and I just wish you’d take some time out of your busy schedule and hold my hand and tell me about life. Not in the harsh way you always work with, but in the special, I-care-about-you-and-cos-I’m-your-older-brother way.

I need you like a little sister again, and I would gladly do your art homework if you had any, just so you’d want to be nice to me for a few hours. I need that few hours, but I don’t know how to ask from you anymore, because we’ve grown so far that I don’t know how to start a decent conversation with you. I hope you see this, my dear big brother, I really hope you do.

4366685683968.

I am not here. I am not here. My hands are shaking and my heart is going too fast, too goddamn fast and I want it to fucking stop but its rambling on like I am doing here, now. This is all too surreal, too goddamn fucking surreal and I was actually happy 15 minutes ago. How could everything have gone wrong so quickly and so goddamn rapidly? Like it was just waiting for me, ambushing with a vengeance as fierce as it can possibly get.

This is it, I am leaving with a curtsey. Not with a stomping of feet, mimicking my heartbeat as it is now. No, I am leaving with a goddamn curtsey, and a graceful one at that. Good riddance to your miserable life and your miserable beliefs, because none of it will be of any use to you when you finally realise that I am the best you could’ve ever had. You wouldn’t be able to breathe, you would choke and you would cry and you would be looking, searching and calling out for me, but I will never answer because by then I won’t hear you. You will be dreaming with a broken heart, and I’ll be waking with one renewed.

Breathe, and I will be tangible.

“1, 2, 3, 4 tell me that you love me more…”

Because I can’t shed tears at all, they flood inside me instead. And today, the dam opened and a deluge of tears has emptied upon my heart, my lungs, my veins. If I can’t cry through my eyes, the only way is through my blood instead, because they flow through my veins like a meandering river. My blood isn’t red any longer, its clear and transparent as the morning sky. It tastes like the sea breeze when you stick out your tongue while walking on the beach with the sand in between your toes. Its consistency is as light as a little girl’s footsteps when she has a lollipop in her mouth. I will bleed my tears till I’m dry, but looking how broken we are now, its not going to be anytime soon.

When patience is short in supply

Feist is in my soul.

All I need is reassurance, that one thing that I will ever ask for, the one thing at the centre of my core which will assuage this irrational monster that is eating away at everything inside of me. Its not even too much to ask for, because I am feeling so shortchanged, seeing what you have been up to with your object of utmost priority now. It disgusts me, and it makes me feel like all the words in the dictionary that describe the word revolting. Actually, you disgust me. And right now I just don’t feel like being the understanding party anymore because that’s all I’ve been the past week, and what I get in return is not even close to appropriate.

I haven’t blown up in quite awhile, and all I do is accept accept accept, from anyone and everyone. I am tired of apologising, tired of being someone else’s punching bag, tired of being the ever ready listener who will never fail to be there when someone is in need of an ear that actually processes the words that are going in, and bother to dish out humble words of advice that are rarely taken anyway, no matter how hard I try to drive them in like a nail to a concrete wall. Who will be my listening ear, my humble dish-outer of famous last words?

We were born with two ears and only one mouth. Its for a single reason: its twice as hard to listen than to talk.

Life ain’t strictly business

I am a hateful, hateful person today. So much so that I could scream and hurt and damage and it still wouldn’t cease to stop the enmity in me. My eye bled today, and it was fun looking at the blood pool on my pupils, and then see it rain down my cheeks in streaks of red. Sadistically pleasurable, that’s what it was.

I want someone to hold me down while I kick and scream in refusal, of what I do not know. But still, I want to fight back, I want to fight for that control over myself. I can only gain it back through physical means, and its better than nothing. Right now I’ve lost control over my heart and my mind, and they’re out playing, running circles around the field that is my own sanity. I want to bite and tear and hit and curse, at anyone and anything, until I am spent, until I am certain that my physical self is exhausted as much as I am on the inside. Because I hate having to drink myself to sleep, and since it seems like my tear ducts have decided to retire on new year’s, I have nothing left to lull myself into that blissful state of rest which I need like a baby needs a mother’s touch.

The taxi driver said today, your life is in the hands of God. Read: We are all of God’s puppets, and it seems like since I’ve been broken beyond repair, he has left me behind in a pile labelled “Destined for the Dump.” Whoever said God wasn’t as sadistic as the creatures he created?

As I said, I am a hateful, hateful person today.

“Shhh…”

I’d like to stay in bed and feel the sheets on my skin, entangling like my hair through your fingers. I’d like to taste that unique snowflake, the very one that was destined to fall on the tip of my cherryade-stained tongue. I’d like it to rain rain rain, and let it flood the streets, so I can finally play on the roads like I owned them. I’d like to jump on a hotel bed, until the springs are busted. Then I’d laugh loudly and wake the old people next door, and I’d scream to you, “I LOVE YOU LIKE I LOVE ICE CREAM!” and do a little jig.

Its broken into more pieces than it was ever made of.

5683

Alvin is “The Lit Guy”, and I’m “The Speculator”. Call us if you’re in need of detective work, our specialty is deciphering song lyrics and the agendas behind them. Sidenote: I’m also available as a relationship consultant. You know, the most lucrative business nowadays. So. Fees are $50/hour and we’re available 24/7, except when Boston Legal, House, Las Vegas and Brothers and Sisters are on the cube. Namecards will be available soon, priority to friends. Watch out for us! We’re gonna paint the town red.

-

Today I discovered that my heart is made of steel, and I’m the most sadistic girl I’ve ever known. Its a feat, figuring these two out on the same day, and as much as this makes me sound weird, I’m kind of proud of myself. But even though my heart melts only when its 1510 degress, it doesn’t make it hurt any less when I’m thrown with disappointments every turn I encounter. It just makes the red flow onto white a little bit faster, just like a drop of blood in a bowl of milk. (Its funny when I say this because our national colours are red and white, oh gosh, how ironic.) It makes sleeping a lot less easy, and it makes the confusion whirl around me more too, though I doubt it can get any faster considering the shit I’ve been through these few days.

I’m eternally grateful for Alvin, you’re the best. The hotline might ring soon, so keep yourself on your toes. Same goes for you, my hotline is always available. Always, literally.

And the red will flow onto white perenially, and the thump of blood rushing will never stop. Forget forget forget, its like an eternal struggle, its like a constant in my mind, like a sticky note in neon pink or some other nu rave colour that drives me up the wall. I want to put everything I’m feeling in ink, on paper, anywhere that will leave its permanent mark – in the hopes that it will replace what I’m feeling in my heart, so that the suffering will cease. But I’m afraid there wouldn’t be enough paper, nor enough ink, nor space, to fill everything in my heart. Maybe all I need to do is skip the paper and ink, and cut my heart out, slice it into pieces, paste it all over the walls, covering it like wallpaper. Red red red, a colour of anger, a colour of passion.

And when the blood dries it will be black, black like scribbles of ink, black like your eyes, black like me.

5683

I put my hand on him. Touching him was always so important to me. It was something I lived for. I never could explain why. Little, nothing touches. My fingers against his shoulder. The outsides of our thighs touching as we squeezed together on the bus. I couldn’t explain it, but I needed it.

Sometimes I imagined stitching all of our little touches together. How many hundreds of thousands of fingers brushing against each other does it take to make love? Why does anyone make love?

Nice day today. I want to forget forget forget but all I can do is remember remember remember. Forgetting will protect, remembering will hurt, but caught between either is the most painful, and it is the place where I least want to be, but unfortunately, I am always at. There is comfort in his voice, in the way he says I’m funny, and in his eyes. But that comfort is not enough. How much will ever be enough for me? How much? Maybe it will never be enough. Maybe I will never keep wanting. I hope he never keeps giving.

Today wasn’t enough. The days pass and the less we entangle, the more our feelings are lost in the web of unspokenness and hazy confusion. Irony, right in your face. The intensity of my wants and my shouldn’t-do-its are crashing like waves to rocks, and sometimes this waging war leaves me desperate for an escape.

I should have, I should have, I should have.

“It was enough just to know it was there.”

“It’s getting almost impossible to hear you,” said the young girl from her bedroom in Manhattan as she squinted through a pair of her father’s binoculars, trying to find her friend’s window.

“I’ll holler if I have to,” said her friend from his bedroom in the Sixth Borough, aiming last birthday’s telescope at her apartment.

The string between them grew incredibly long, so long it had to be extended with many other strongs tied together: his yo-yo string, the pull from her talking doll, the twine that had fastened his father’s diary, the waxy string that kept her grandma’s pearls around her neck and off the floor, the thread that had separated his great-uncles’s childhood quilt from a pile of rags. Contained within everything they shared with one another were the yo-yo, the doll, the diary, the necklace, and the quilt. They had more and more to tell each other, and less and less string.

The boy asked the girl to say ‘I love you’ into her can, giving her no further explanation.

And she didn’t ask for any, or say ‘That’s silly’, or ‘We’re too young for love,’ or even suggest that she was saying ‘I love you’ because he asked her to. Instead she said ‘I love you.’ The words traveled the yo-yo, the doll, the diary, the necklace, the quilt, the clothesline, the birthday present, the harp, the tea bag, the tennis racket, the hem of the skirt he one day should have pulled from her body. The boy covered his can with a lid, removed it from the string, and put her love for him on a shelf in his closet. Of course, he never could open the can, because then he would lose its contents.

It was enough just to know it was there.

Raisons d’être

What if the colour of our skin changed according to our moods? Imagine if you were sad, your skin would be blue, a really dark blue – like midnight – the colour of the sky on the nights you spend staring at when you can’t get to sleep. Or maybe you’d be black, because black isn’t a colour, but the absence of it. And when you’re really really sad, your whole world loses its colour, and you’re viewing the world like a black and white film, and you’re not even sure if its real or not.

If that was the case, then when you’re happy your skin would probably be a rainbow, a myriad of all the colours – raspberry pink, cherry red, kelly green, citrus orange. Or maybe you’d just be white, because white is a combination of all the colours of the spectrum, spun around on a wheel at a speed so fast that everything’s a blur, just like how you’re happy when you’re clinging to the miniature horses on a merry-go-round.

But what if you were confused? Confused probably isn’t a mood, but it sure should be. Because when we’re confused it doesn’t make us happy or upset, it just makes us feel…confused. I think confused should be grey. A real dark shade of it, so close to black because usually when you’re confused you feel upset too.

So right now I’m confused and I wished I wasn’t because grey isn’t a nice colour to live with. I’d like to be the kelly green of the grass I’m picking fistfuls of if we ever manage to have a picnic together, because that kind of green makes me a rainbow. I’d like to be the cherry red of the strawberries we’re sharing if we ever get to share them, because that kind of red makes me feel unbelievably lucky for some reason. I’d love to be every colour, but unfortunately with you I’m all grey.

I’d love for myself to be your raison d’être, but now I’m not even sure if I’m your reason for anything at all.

Why I’m Not Where You Are

She was extending a hand that I didn’t know how to take, so I broke its fingers with my silence, she said, “You don’t want to talk to me, do you?” I took my daybook out of my knapsack and found the next blank page, the second to last. “I don’t speak,” I wrote. “I’m sorry.” She looked at the piece of paper, then at me, then back at the piece of paper, she covered her face in her hands and cried, tears seeped in between her fingers and collected in the little webs, she cried and cried and cried, there weren’t any napkins nearby, so I ripped the page from the book – “I don’t speak, I’m sorry”- and used it to dry her cheeks, my explanation and apology ran down her face like mascara, she took my pen from me and wrote on the next blank page of my daybook, the final one:

Please Marry Me.

I flipped back and pointed at, “Ha ha ha!” She flipped forward and pointed at, “Please Marry Me.” I flipped back and pointed at, “I’m sorry, this is the smallest I’ve got.”  She flipped forward and pointed at, “Please Marry Me,” and this time, she put her finger on “Please,” as if to hold down the page and end the conversation, or as if she were trying to push through the word and into what she really wanted to say. I thought about life,  about my life, the embarrassments, the little coincidences, the shadows of alarm clocks on bedside tables. I thought about my small victories and everything I’ve seen destroyed, I’d swam through mink coats on my parents’ bed while they hosted downstairs, I’d lost the only person I could have spent my only life with, I’d left behind a thousand tons of marble, I could have released sculptures, I could have released myself from the marble of myself. I’d experienced joy, but not nearly enough, could there be enough? The end of suffering does not justify the suffering, and so there is no end to suffering, what a mess I am, I thought, what a fool, how foolish and narrow, how worthless, how pinched and pathetic, how helpless. None of my pets know their own names, what kind of person am I? I lifted her finger like a record needle and flipped back, one page at a time:

Help

YOU ARE THE DRUG, AND I AM ADDICTED.

Aren’t we just the craziest bunch of kids you’ve ever seen?

Sidenote: Don’t ever, ever throw your tantrums on me because I’m not one to tolerate them. Just because you have the upper hand doesn’t mean you should flaunt it and do as you please with me. I am not your whore nor am I someone who will mollycoddle you when you feel like being a baby.

 

“Have I been too undenying of you?”

Let’s stand under a tree, she said.
Why?
Because it’s nicer. Maybe you should sit on a chair, and I’ll stand above you, like they always do with husbands and wives.
That’s stupid.
Why?
Because we’re not married.
Should we hold hands?
We can’t.
Why not?
Because people will know.
Know what?
About us.
So what if they know?
It’s better when it’s a secret.
Why?
So no one can take it from us.

The History of Love

“If I had a camera,” I said, “I’d take a picture of you every day. That way I’d remember how you looked every single day of your life.”
“I look exactly the same.”
“No, you don’t. You’re changing all the time. Every day a tiny bit. If I could, I’d keep a record of it all.”
“If you’re so smart, how did I change today?”
“You got a fraction of a millimeter taller, for one thing. Your hair grew a fraction of a millimeter longer. You got a little happier and also a little sadder.”
“Meaning they cancel each other out, leaving me exactly the same.”
“Not at all. The fact that you got a little happier today doesn’t change the fact that you also became a little sadder. Every day you become a little more of both, which means that right now, at this exact moment, you’re the happiest and the saddest you’ve ever been in your whole life.”
“How do you know?”
“Think about it. Have you ever been happier than right now, lying here in the grass?”
“No.”
“It isn’t like that for everyone, you know. Some people, like your sister, just get happier and happier everyday. And some people, like Beyla Asch, just get sadder and sadder. And some people, like you, get both.”

“What about you? Are you the happiest and saddest right now than you’ve ever been?”
“Of course I am.”
“Why?”
“Because nothing makes me happier and nothing makes me sadder than you.”

“Heart on my sleeve”

The tables have turned! Germaine Chen Shiyun is officially declaring that she has yet again been unforgivingly naive, even though she was always pretending with all her might that she wasn’t. Heck, she even fooled herself. Marvelous 5-star performance worthy of an Emmy. Applause!

If this doesn’t work out, I won’t ever, ever forgive myself.

OH. MY. GOD. YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH OF AN ASSHOLE YOU ARE.

I AM SO UTTERLY DISAPPOINTED.

BASTARD.

Above is the product of assumption. Sorry.

“Restraint, Release”

“Wherever love is, I want to be. I will follow it as surely as the land-locked salmon finds the sea.”

First day back in school and I am alarmed at how the new year has started off on the wrong foot for so many people close to me. It’s making me thankful for everything I have and all the love I have received, so much that I could pack out the extras and dole them out like free meals on wheels. I’m not bragging but I have been so blessed with a great, understanding family, and I’ve never realised it till now. “You never realise what you have until you have lost it.” Thank God I came to my senses before the phrase actually became reality.

2007 is one indelible year, for I have loved and lost, laughed and shed tears, and all through this chaos, emerged victorious. 2008, I have all but one phrase for your impertinent ass – Bring it on.

“I have a strong will to love you for eternity.”

Happy ‘08 kids. As for new year’s resolutions…I quote from Ming:

“People shouldn’t use the new year as an excuse to make resolutions…”