Saturday, February 26
Not vying to be exceptionally kvetchy, but I must conclude that some guys can get rather crass. I won't have much first-hand experience to vouch for, since I seem to have more chemistry with cissies and himbos, but I seriously ought to put some weight upon insights from certain girlfriends. Exceptionally observant and sensitive girlfriends. After all, wise words from a woman should never be too far off from the reality tangent.
I digress.
So, statistics have proven the male population to be lacking in a certain substance called EQ. Ah, yes - the all encompassing pair of letters that threatens the hegemony of men today. You can hardly blame us, women, for this emerging menace because it was a man, you own clan member, who came up with this brilliant theory. Daniel Goleman, if you must know and curse him under your breath all the days of your life.
Little or no EQ, however, does not suffice as justification for insensitivity, stupidity, or simply a combination of several resulting attributes. It is awfully sad to see a girlfriend getting all upset because someone failed in managing his emotions and related behaviour. A point to take note: it does not happen just five or ten times to two or three ladies.
These guys continue to wonder why they are swinging singles. Ending on a lighter note, I guess nobody has the heart to puncture their inflated egos by enlightening them on how they ought to conduct self-QC.
And yes, I consider this to be a lighter mood, my love.
I met up with Yvonne.
Slurping yoghurt and cat-fights are never such great fun without her.
As usual, we went bonkers together.
I suppose there's a side of ourselves unbeknownst to anyone else.
Just the one facet where you can totally be yourselves, which you present to a limited audience.
That of one for me, but I shan't be greedy.
O Level results are coming out on Monday, and I am anxious beyond words.
I realised Time passes at a frightening pace.
Time doesn't fly.
Time skyrockets away and away and away.
(while I dawdle along, sleepy eyes and all)
d e b b e e e kvetched at 11:48 PM
Friday, February 25
steaming cups of blues
one at a time, my love
savour each slowly
drink in its bitterness, drop by drop
by drop
Is it me, or is it me?
I can be the nicest person you ever knew.
I can be the weirdest.
I can be the coldest and most ruthless too.
Niceties are free, but they never come cheap.
Consider the opportunity costs.
Look at what you have done.
Nevertheless, I am happy.
Whatever about, I do not know.
What's crucial now is to keep on smiling.
Keep on breathing.
In moments of rash emotions, I get in the mood for waxing lyrical. Now I understand why admirable men like Wilde and Van Gogh are strapped by society for their seemingly absurd inclinations. They found solace and joy in those course of actions. They found themselves amongst the throngs of faceless crowds who didn't.
Catharsis warranted, my love.
d e b b e e e kvetched at 12:30 AM
Tuesday, February 22
constant blues' an epidemic among us
Even though I still defend my previous post,
the highly impulsive-depressive mood ought not mar this little thought-haven.
Verdict - replacement required.
How many times do you think I can repeat the words 'Thank God'?
The worst of WebCG is over.
To crapping buddies Noor, Nurul and Hana -
sorry for all the times I screamed and yelled at you guys.
[but there's still marketing, so expect more of the panic attacks]
School's such a chore.
I hate schooling.
Have I mentioned that school puts me straight to bed?
I watched Black Hawk Down again.
The VCD's at home and I still want to catch the one on Channel 5.
You never want to watch this show with me.
I am animated like anything when I go through the scenes.
Black Hawk Down is just so alluring.
Yeah, I know.
What a word - alluring.
Yesterday was just too lousy a day for me.
Project work always put my best friendships on the butcher table.
I decided it's never ideal to work with people you are too close to.
I rather hack at those I do not think a waste.
A waste to hurt them with my words.
My words and absurd attitude.
I am quite upset about running out of Marketing lecture.
On a serious note, the notion of having to submit an assignment worth 35% at 5 pm when you have only the navigation bar and banner to show at 4.13 pm is too much to bear with.
Oh, but facing J.Lo after that was the ultimate guilt-trap.
I would have felt better if he uleashed some of his sarcasm, but no.
He didn't.
And I'm plagued by incessant guilt pangs.
All hail Mass Commers.
I need to find God.
I need Him here.
d e b b e e e kvetched at 9:33 PM
Friday, February 18
I missed Jive while I'm at it - Latino dancing still intrigues me. (except for the schedule part)
Remnants of Cha-cha and Salsa linger in my mind, so that's alright.
I really do want to learn Samba.
The good news is they dropped the fees, pared it to half!
But I still haven't gotten good shoes and a skirt.
Shawn and Gladys rocks (the school, not the persons. they were either really stuck-up or truly kancheong)
Well, no more Bridget, but Melvin will do.
He's afterall our nation's pride in Latin ballroom (:
Loads of work and play swirling around - almost menacingly, I would say.
I need to master self-control and patience.
d e b b e e e kvetched at 1:14 PM
Thursday, February 17
3.56 in the dead morning.
In the last leg of my [not so] freshman race, blogging takes a backseat. Getting a couple of good grades should not allow me to bask in the glow and rest on my laurels.
Never.
I have to press on and make a mad dash for the finishing line. With so many things happening concurrently and all vying for my attention, I feel really wrung. But what's a little fatigue when I am reasonably happy?
So in true fashion of my favourite advertisments, here is mine:
Cabfare to beat the deadlne: $12
Printing at the Auntie shop: $1.20
Euphoria over history-smashing essays: priceless
d e b b e e e kvetched at 3:54 AM
Friday, February 11
Overdose of essay-writing renders me at a complete loss for words now.
Tucked away, tapping furiously at the keyboard.
You could say I am at the brink of self-reproach and sympathy.
Make yourself comfortable in my nocturnal dimension, won't you?
(At this point in time, all you can see will be my dangerously saccharine-sweet smile.)
Four-thirty in the morning:
I still have one more set of research cards to go.
I need You, Abba Father.
There's still radio tomorrow.
I think P.Wong ought to revise the semester schedule for next year.
'Tis inhumane to put students through such inane torture during CNY.
I am thoroughly sick of foot-binding now.
Let me drown in absymal silence forever.
d e b b e e e kvetched at 4:36 AM
Monday, February 7
I truly should run into a pillar.
Who would have known?
My own great-grandmother victimised by foot-binding.
Now it pains me doubly to write about it anymore.
So much for forgoing the Monday lectures just to finish the essay.
[NURUL.Nurul.nurul.
Please forgive me for letting you wait at DAW for so long.
Pardon my senility and sleepiness.
I'll never call you Huda again,
and look!
I even used your fave Barney colour]
Brilliant.
Now our one-minute SFX capsule for radio is stalled.
BRILLIANT.
O Mentally-Challenged Me.
I have Sunday blues.
Sundays scare the daylights out of me.
Sundays ceased to exist.
And I think I am addicted to the Holy Spirit.
Chinatown is/was a complete horror, I say.
Ugly Singaporeans rearing our ugly heads at each other.
(I reiterate: 'I' am never mutually exclusive)
Talking about Singaporeans leads us to crabs.
(You see the link, do you not?)
How many legs does a crab have?
Do they look sideways or upfront?
Why are pepper crabs always larger than chili ones?
The kind of questions we asked.
We even had our own bread (Ha, ha!)
We are supreme, man.
Timothy Koh.
A totally unfamiliar name.
What audacity to sms me and annoy me with his incessant laughter!
Better still, replied with 'u don noe me n i don noe u either'
BAH.
G O A W A Y .
I may have multi-faceted personalities.
Call me Debbie and Debbeee and Debbeeeeeeeeeeeeee (or bebe will do for fellow CWs).
Like a diamond.
Like the Centenary.
So many colours within the same diamond.
I can't write properly now.
I must focus on my essay.
Adieu.
d e b b e e e kvetched at 2:15 PM
Thursday, February 3
One of my favourite pastimes has to be sleeping.
(Never in the strictest sense of resting my mind)
A time when thoughts speed past logic;
a place where nightmares meet the most splendid of dreams.
I soar,
through all barriers of time and space and fear,
on the wings of my imagination.
This is my spinning wheel - threads of my desire[s] spun into the fabric[ation] of untolds.
If only I could bridge the crevice between the two,
Life could be much more enjoyable.
Yet, I am afraid:
afraid of a loss in novelty.
Will you understand what I mean?
I realise I do not really want to write about bound-feet women.
After all, the horror never ends.
How dare the school administration be so inefficient?
It's been over a week and they are still adamant about my tardiness.
If Life continue to be this messy,
I can probably just repeat first-year.
I like bus-rides.
They steal the knowledge of moments away from me,
so I can slack in oblivion.
Thoughts run free-er without the constraints of Time, you see.
My mum is pretty cool.
I love hanging out with her.
It's always a love-hate relationship between us.
But as for today, I do love her very much.
She's so funny, I wonder where her humourous genes went to.
Fragments of the fragments of a dream.
Nobody writes letters anymore.
I really truly long for one, but not yet.
Not yet.
d e b b e e e kvetched at 5:40 PM
Wednesday, February 2
Me: "... I am tired of being the mother hen
clucking furiously at her chicks.
I want to join the hens' association
where i can be productive with other hens
and just keep on laying eggs..."
- The kind of conversations I have with Megan.
It wasn't meant to be funny initially.
But somehow the words that came out really tickled me.
Even though it was a critical moment of awful revelation.
I was so peeved, my hair turned green.
Lynn's turned red with ... ... fire.
I have lots more to express, but words won't justify.
d e b b e e e kvetched at 9:38 PM
Tuesday, February 1
Meddling with the Mind:
Mosiac memories
Ersatz emotions
Tempting thoughts
Hear my song of dare?
Welcome to the snare.
d e b b e e e kvetched at 11:26 PM