http://princesspurly.blogspot.com/

For the love of my life

You saturate my universe-
with the smell of your skin
and on mine your lips
the taste of the promises and hopes and lies you utter into my hair,
laughter and passions we used to share -
the way you hold me and then tell me you don't believe in love.
You saturate my universe -
with the everything you are that i crave,
.and no longer crave,
with a constant unrequited craving for reconciliation, waiting.
with misunderstandings, dismissals, verbal abuse,
with disappointment.

I hate you, you motherfucken bastard.

love is completely useless. romantics use its temporary insanity and blindness to shield themselves from a realistic world. the real world is filled with hate and contempt. Pain, anger, loathing, grit in your teeth, the heat from the scratches you drag across your burning skin. It wakes you up from your embarrassing slumber, it threatens to crush your insides. the real world is filled with insensitive pricks who cannot and will not see pass their own atrocities and be convinced that you are a person with feelings and with your own individualistic limitations and ideas. but once you fall in love, your capacity to forgive expands. your world widens and flattens in a blurry two-dimensional manner. you let him treat you like shit for years, and allow his apologies and negligence become a norm, a fact that you just HAVE to live with. love makes you rely on someone who is never going to be there, someone who postpones your life to make room for his, who compromises your feelings and closure and comprehension of ridiculous situations that wouldn't even have come up if you hadn't let yourself become vulnerable.
love ends up hurting you even more. makes you bitter about anything else out there in the world. it fucks up your hopes and beliefs, your dreams and an imagined future smashed to bits over and over again- but love will let you repair it with two hours of stolen bliss. it doesn't occur to you that your bliss has always been stolen, begged for, achieved - never given to you, never ever for you to take for granted - it has never been yours. stolen because you have always been a taboo, u were never allowed to be in his life the way you long to be. and even when you thought u had worked your way inside, you just realize there are some things that he doesn't make worth fighting for anymore.
im so fucking sick and tired of your dismissals, your insensitive accusations, your lack of acknowledgment of what EXACTLY i need from you.
but i doubt you give a shit. you just need to sleep, you need to distance yourself from me, you need to move away, you need to do everything on your own terms, you need to not factor me in your life in any real way - you keep me on the outskirts, telling me of false possibilities, promises that you would treat me differently, better.
its been years.
i wish i had never given you the power to persistently break my heart and mend it again to walk over all over it the next day.
and you have no clue about what the pain does to me. it shrinks my version and mind, it dims the world, i completely lose my sense of self.
what am i going to do for the next 5 years? how can you have barged into my life 4 years ago repeatedly telling me you want to spend the rest of your life with me and still dangle me at such a distance.
i wish i never met you.

sometimes i wish you didnt exist.
at least someone would want to help me get over this inexplicable craziness.

"She's nervous about seeing Blue. She keeps holding on to some earlier memory of him in the belief that his essence remains. She had thought he simply needed the right loving hands to peel away the ugly veils and reveal his spirit, but she's no longer sure if she believes in the idea of some essential core, some aspect of self which remains relatively stable and true. If enough worms eat their way through an apple, they will get to its core: they will gnaw away its pithy centre and the whole structure will ultimately collapse, decompose, and become dirt. He might look the same, but then again, you can bite into an apple and find it full of maggots. You can kiss a princess and she turns into a frog. You can fall in love with an illusion that crumbles before you in some unexpected moment - through a simple gesture, a smell, or a misplaced word. You learn that earth is actually heaven, which means that your only options after death are purgatory or hell. A sweeping tour of all the major religions leave you disillusioned, and suddenly you cease to be a believer in anything at all" - Camilla Gibb, 2002.

yet sometimes i find that cynicism and pessimism are merely shields for sore, bruised spots. masks that camouflage the fears that threaten to destroy and desecrate one's passionate beliefs and hopes.
on the other hand, sometimes believing just gets too hard.
god lets you down. people let you down, they change, or refuse to. Or maybe you were just too blind and disillusioned to see that they were never who you thought they were. identities shift, as does dreams, hopes, understandings of the world, like liquid, filling up the molds you surround yourself with. sometimes it gets so confusing.
then shit just happens. or something unexpectedly pleasant comes along.
both of which calls for some sort of coping mechanism.
who is god anyway?
or the persons you are and love?

embrace sappiness:)

"love must surely reside in the gap between desire and fulfillment, in the lack, not the contentment. Love was the ache, the anticipation, the retreat, everything around it but the emotion itself" - Desai, The Inheritance of Loss

how many times is this going to happen again?
you wake me up, tell me to get out of bed to call you just to make sure i can hear your stories of the lack of time and weariness clearly, and then impatiently insist you have to go within the range of 2-15 minutes.

how many times is this going to happen again?
i rely on your useless, random msges, phone calls that come once or twice a day or less. or a mere response. don't make promises you cant keep. and you get angry that we talk but i dont tell you everything. fuck you. what do you think i am?

how many times is this going to happen again?
for your sake and complaints we urge you to take it easy and you say yes you will work on it. and then the next day i get screamed at for not understanding you needed the money.

how many times is this going to happen again?
i am just sick and tired of caring. i will never ever understand how you handle things when i just see so many other options. logical ones. not your offensive and dismissive comments about me being "too emotional". maybe i should get going.

you dont have to be intentionally mean to be an asshole/jerk. you just have to not care enough. but then again. who can blame you for not caring enough right?

it's just bloody old me.

maybe i need pain.
maybe because pain is the one thing that reminds me that i am still alive.

i dont know why i want this love that isnt meant to be mine. ive never been one to resist the flow of things, but not having what i want drives me crazy. i want to peel my skin off my bones, lick them clean and show you, im alive.. because of the pain you give to me.

but i dont feel like i have lost my head. in fact, it is the very rationality that makes this pain an itch i cannot scratch, an growing tumor inside of me no radioactive process can remove.

maybe i am a masochist. i beg for you to hurt me.
every second i grow more aware of how much i hate myself for doing everything i do, the more i need you to hold me. but loathing does nothing with you. you turn your head, and walk away from the glare of my anger, oblivious to the fact that it is the very thing that stokes it, makes the flames rise to my eyes as a mess of disappointments and failures.

just like you want me to be something i am not,
you are not willing to be what i wish you could be.
i am in love with the potentiality of you.
and you are in love with the memory of me and not what i want to become in your eyes.

i question my dispoablitity in your life.
its strange how its not longer about assurance.. or self esteem. or men.
i just want you to be mine. and ironically it is its impossibility that spurs my insistence.
perhaps because i believe you are the love of my life?
or maybe i just dont beleive in love anymore.
i just hate being abandoned... by you.

and it is this pain that remains.
if only i can hire my own assasin.

"love ain't supposed to feel this way
.
.
I don't know why i spend so much time,
On a love that isn't mine." - Trey Songz

Why Can't I?"

Why can't I breathe whenever I think about you
Why can't I speak whenever I talk about you
It's inevitable, it's a fact that we're gonna get down to it
So tell me
Why can't I breathe whenever I think about you

cool picture


lol


so sweet..


i could hardly blame cupid for doing so

i was on facebook.com again.. yesyes.. i know how unconstructive and useless it is.. but then i stumbled across a discussion board with the title "Penises are Gross" when i joined the group "no abstinance, just sex education"... and in the disucssion.. you would asume that it would be amusing and the people would be comparing the different genitalia of human beings. but this was not so. instead, you have women talking about how (heterosexual) sex is still important and they are just sitting on their asses waiting for the right penis to pop up and prove them wrong. this pisses me off!!

why?

because if you want to join a group called "penises are gross".. say it with conviction! and mean it. dont just sit around discussing the false notion of the heterosexual soul mate who is also good in bed. thats close to being impossible. its usually either or. physcologicaly satisfaction.. or physical gratification. whoever is experience both simultaneously oconsistently.. u have my utmost respect and envy.

wait. i have nothing against penises at all. quite the contrary actually. i just hate how women are constantly dreaming about the perfect guy, thier prince in shinning armour to come save them from thier misery. while (most) men would never complain about how vaginas are gross.. actually any one is good! and anything else that makes the women merely increases the value of that sepcific vagaina. and everywhere i go i hear about women moaning and groaning about the lack of intimacy and love. FUCK THAT.

and then another part of the discussion was about how most women have been brought up to feel that they have inherently filthy bodies. there are always things about themselves to keep disclosed and hidden, because it is only inappropriate and unpleasant. tell me about it. i still see it at home, i hear it, i feel it.. and it pisses me off! how is it that boys are allowed to have farting, burping contests, long discussions about taking a dump, openly scratch their balls with filthy nails, and walk around with a face full of acne without shame. and on the other hand, women walk around... AT LEAST 25% of thier lives defined by the concept of shame. how unfair.

thank god for the growing population of "metrosexuals".

anyways gotta run. :)

today i woke up to a heaviness in the heart.
(even though it feels more like the chest, diapraghm, the stomach - it seems to have become the phantom space the heart has been assigned to dominate)

i miss you.
(i know i should not, i hear your voice on the line every morning, i still hold your hands sometimes and you tell me you love me)

but i remember the taste of your skin, the faint coloured dust i carefully shaded onto your wall.
it seems, these days, pointless for any form of romanticization, for beauty to be softened, lovingly moudled and melted into into strawberry flavoured plams.
sticky sweetness, caught in your hair, your eyelashes.

it becomes a burden, theories of love, theories of broken normalcy, telling you that you are wrong. you
are
wrong. everything you know is
wrong.

right when you thought you had it all figured out. you inhale books written on pyschology, sociology, the science of politics, the science of your spleen, the ugliness of your spirit, your obnoxious ego, the contradictions of your mirrored self, the politics in the very language, the medium of your thoughts. everything you know is really not
what it seems.

anger arises, where the heart is. it feels cheated, lied to, disappointed in your very own gullibility, your vision framed by the black arms of prada. how could i have believed it was all true?

love is wrong. love you believe in is wrong.

so you close the door on yourself.
stop.

(just)
stop.

today i woke up to a heaviness in the heart.
i miss you
i miss the conviction i had in dreams of our entanglement, your cinamon finger tips and what i thought we could have been.
(but of course, it had been
silly
of me).

he could be that boy -
but i am not that girl.

"waiting, waiting, waiting
waiting for him to make a move.

Doesn't he know
He's gonna be my salvation?

It's lovely that he is caring, compassionate, and politically correct
but I need him to kiss me right now." - film adaptation of Prozac Nation

there comes a time when you realize you simply cannot go do something ever again.

months have passed, i thought i was doing so well.. i thought i was coping just fine, that i'll be alright.. i wasn't even thinking about it that much anymore.... a little time would fix any emotional ailment.. i might even have found a good landing strip...

i thought it would be a phase like any other... heartbreak was typical and inevitable, and hence supposed to be inconsequential, temporary and bearable. i had vowed never to let boys do anything to me, that love is merely a false compromise between stability and happiness. the only irony now is that i am (still) devastated to find out i was right.

for the past 3 years, i loved him obsessively, my world evolved around the perpetual cycle of having and not having, the whole time immersed in a constant ache for something concrete, the same promises and dreams etched into the lines along our palms. i never knew how much i needed and wanted until i let him become my ever shifting shoreline - i never knew exactly where and when i could land and remain.

i am (still) very angry, to feel completely cheated and ostracized and rejected for the superficial facts that make me. dare i call it racism? dare i say i do not deserve this bullshit? dare i proclaim its hypocrisy in valuing labels over human autonomy? there had been no room or time for growth, learning, compromise. and now you tell me you had never understood me for even more reasons.

nothing could leave me more defeated.

was it all a waste of time? emotions and energy fed to the wind to fuel the storm this morning? but you heard it on the news, and only felt the drizzle of rain on your skin.

you still don't understand me.


and i am letting go.

If You Can't Say Something Nice, Don't Say Anything At All - Margaret Atwood, Dropped Threads 1

read it.

Augusten Borroughs on couple-cohabitation and magical thinking:
" Have i given up anything by living with another person? Has there been a trade off? Always, there is a trade-off. And the answer comes to me instantly. i have given up a certain degree of freedom. the ability to plow through my life with utter disregard for the thoughts and feelings of other people. I can no longer read a magazine and throw it on the floor.
In exchange, i get unlimited acess to the one person i have met in my life whom i automatically felt was out of my league. My favourtite human being, the single person i cherish above all others. This is the person i get to share the oxygen in the room with.
And for this, i will happily scrub the toilet. And i won't make fun of anybody who drives an SUV. Unless of course, they really desearve it. And I'll try to let things happen. Not always feel like i have to control everything.
With the exception of those things i can control, that is, with my mind." - Magical Thinking

a wonderful ending to a hilariously appalling book.

oh, love.

" You thought you had it all figured out. You thought you were over him but now here he is again, sitting down at your kitchen table, saying, I've missed you, I've changed, you know you can trust me.

What you do know, within these ten minutes, is that you are willing to do absolutely anthing for him. You also know that you are going to give him another chance and he is going to hurt you again"
- Diane Schoemperlen, In a Dark Season

one of my favourite authors.

maybe one day i'll write like her.

why do i love in despair?

so much pretense.

pretend.

f.a.k.e. - - smells like artificial fur. tastes like polyester.

p.v.c. leather - pleather - for s.k.i.n. i cant feel anything.

our [s .p .a .c .e .g .r .o .w .s as the cicadas call for love----> ] still.

now, what?

who? how. owh. woh. ohw. owh. hwo. who? how. what?

i miss yoU.

Under the weight of your wings, you are a god and whatever i want you to be.

I make believe you've got all that i need.








some of the random usless things i made...

this is another rant:

i am sick and tired of people cateogrizing feminists into a small, fixed iditoic box in which only those who are unable to assimilate into this shitty sexist racist society completely would qualify. people are so blinded by all the bullshit stereotypes and rigid rules that they simply are toooooooo fucking retarded to find out that feminism.. isnt about lesbains, it isn a commmunity of only WOMEN. we aren't butches, we arent fat ugly women who cant get men( and trust me.. i think those who get away from wanting anyone are the only ones who have reached nirvana), neither are we trolls who prance the street and burn bras(why would we? if it wasnt an act of defiance? bras provide faboulous support u know.) and are man haters... when infact being a feminist merely means being someone who supports equality, for all (men included... men and women of alllllll cultures and races and what not. but of course, there is no such thing as race or nationality).

for example,(as a young woman)

if i like wearing makeup, it doesnt make me less of a feminist. i just have a soft spot for wanting to look desireable.. whether or not the mainstream idea of what beauty is is mostly defined by men. it doesnt mean that i dont support equality.

if i love men, i have sex with them and i fuck around. it doesnt make me less of a feminist. neither does it make me a whore, slut, while men are studs, casonovas... i just enjoy what most prudes are too afraid to enjoy. not to mention, being sexually active and unbashed is a form of resistance, as long as i dont go on international tv and celebrate what mass media would make me into.

if i wear tight jeans, to show off the nice ass i got from the gym, it doesnt make me less of a feminist. i just like the occasional attention. i mean, DONT FUCKING BLAME US if we have been brought up in a certain way to lik certain things. maybe not everyone has the bloody courage to change so completely. it does NOT imply that i do not believe in equality .

if i get married and have babies, own a nice picket fence and a golden retriver, it doesnt make me less of a feminist. i just happen to find someone i love(who simply happens to be male), and if i CHOOSE to stay at home, look after my babies and cook food, it doesnt imply i do not believe in equality. i merely enjoy doing what i do. and as long as i am fully appreciated, i choose to do what i want to do. isnt equality about choice?

if i have a lifestyle that never inspired me to think about feminism, per se... doesnt make me less of a femninist as long as i beleive in equality. so what if i had a lucky privileged life? does it mean i must feel guilty and ashamed of what i had because of my "lack of experience"? as long as i posess empathy, dont put me down.

also, i do not understand why women ahve to do allt he changing around here.. like.. not wearing skirts.. not wearing makeup.. not having children.. not having this not having tat.. like there is an economy of how much women are supposed to have or not have... while men sit on their big fat "masculine" asses with pants, not caring for the kids.. waving their big paycheques around(because they wont have as many family problems as women).. and so on.. the only change being that they ahve to start proclaiming that they support their women. like WHAT THE FUCK?

i am VERY VERY sick and tired of idiotic men insisting that since women have this now.. therefore men should have that as well. fucking idiots dont even realise that everything people talk about.. everything people study.. everything people do... is already centered their penises. everrrrryyythinggg done is done on their terms...or in relation to them. but alll they really do is just sit ont heir asses.. continue saying that they believe in equality.. do nothing else and insist everything must be exactly the same. its like telling the black person to pretend slavery didnt ever happen. what is this? historical amnesia?

if thats the case then, how come people dont group each other by the size of their ears? or noses? why create a whole hooha with a load of bullshit based on genitals? or skin colour?

i've been so occupied with real life i have forgotten to look for beauty.

this blog has been left alone for too long. i ought to blabber some insanity at 3am in the morning just to justify its meaningless existence.

maybe i could use my upcoming 20th birthday as an occasion. what happened to the good days when everything would be grabbed and made into an excuse to celebrate. valentines' day, christmas, new year, then chinese new year, then hari raya, then thursday morning, birthdays, aniversaries, etc. now they are merely seen as a way for consummerism's menacing hands to curl its swiney fingers around people's money and lives.. OR they just return to their original state of being useless, meaningless, tiresome days..... to match the monotony of my insiginificant life. or maybe im just bored out of my mind. and angry about it.

so.. do something about it. the most irritating offhanded, uninterested remark ever received by yours truly. oh i will, thank you very much. since i intentionally made it that way. please note the sarcasm of my words, and the very unhidden agenda of wanting to serverly fracture the skull of whoever says it to me with my very bare fists (and a handy brick wall). at first it made me sad, i felt unwanted, stupid, useless( not that i am not of course), but another part of me felt patronized, put down, insulted, dismissed, and therefore furious. maybe i had just made the mistake of believing in compassion and understanding in certain people.

as always, im always wrong. (note sarcasm has not yet ended)

i am dully aware that i am becoming incoherent.. and im sure to find some laughs in my rational state in the day when i do read this again.. (even though i have been accused for being irrational.... as the person i am). regardless.. i am enjoying this completely unedited rambling... considering i have yet to do anything of this sort for the past 4-5 months or so. maybe even longer. i dont know.

anyways back to me being furious. why do i get furious? how come anger is such a familiar flare in the pit of my stomach yet it bothers me so. desensitization doesnt occur all the time, particularly when it comes to anger. saddness... joy... yes. but rage still Burns. with a capital B.

i believe that it is mostly induced, or rather, casused, indirectly by the expectations and assumptions i make about people, especially the ones i hold dear. i would now see it as self-centredness on my part, to seek sympathy and understanding from someone else just as self centered. explanations, justifications, clarifications fly by the ears of the feigned listenter. reciprocity(of better things, not self centreredenss) does occur.. once in a while. many times however, big words, large oblivious accusations are thrown around, resulting in repressed, unexpressed, slept off irritation and anger that urges me to stop breathing and just wither and die. just so i wont have to ever deal with shit like that again.

but of course. it would happen again soon enough.

why cant i just die?

maybe after my useless, ignored, insignificant birthday. at least then it would be official that i died at nice, beautiful age. at least ill be young forever. age is terrifying. i decided i wont want to live past 45. espcially if by then i am not accomplished, elegant and perfect. it would be too vile to imagine if i am not. really and truly.

no one understands so many of the fears i have. yet they are so true. happens everywhere.. but everyones just denying the fact that LIFE IS FULL OF SHIT. instead, we spend our whole lives trying to find that something or someone special(after the godforsaken puberty) to serve as a disclaimer(if we havent already confirmed it somehow. my belief has just been continuedly renouced almost daily).

then, the funny thing is.. when we think we have found that someone of something.. we let them make our lives Burn, and vice versa. then we hold on to the sickly sweet gorgeous flawless days shared, adamant that all misery is temporary, the sickly cotton candy days are worth every bleeding heart, every reopened wound and every sleepless, Burning night. however, in the midst of hope and illusion, we fail to realise that hope only emerges together with miersy and the death of hope. ironically. just like how optimisim emerges the need to see the good in the shit thrown at us. and pessimism.. is merely seeing, in the good, how shitty things can get. because goodness = higher stakes = more chances to either fuck up or raise the stakes even more.

what happened to ambivalence?

how come no one talks about monotony, grey, dull hours, the in-betweens? no one talks about boredom, the looming nothingness of each second. the flat, dusty surfaces of life. are they not intersting? maybe the irony is.. by describing these things in a certain way... suddenly we are not merely describing the the thing we are describing. what we say suddenly becomes a stance, a position we simply must Choose in order to be comprehensible. am i being comprehensible? must we live in black and white, blue and red, roses and carnations, joyous and miserable, fucked up and blissed out, steady... and?

no room for in betweens.

or maybe we dont want them. after all, humanity rejoices in its fluctuating psyche. or am i just taught to beleive so?

well, my hands are getting tired. and i justwent on a strange rant to work of the Burning in my chest. although i barely said anything about what is exactly bothering me. i tend to lose myself in all the different Burns. its still there, but its now a orange glow of a discarded lit cigarrette butt floating on a ripple in a puddle by the road.

but the hate for my life..... has probably only begun. im only 20. i daresay i've got a good couple of decades to endure.. until maybe one day i'll grow some guts and initiated a change.

btw, as an end note. love sucks. i can almost hear the chorus of agreement of my immaginary audience. but goddammit, i want it too.

Tumble.

One day the world stopped turning,
turned inside out.
I lost my bearings,
and she lost her heart.
And as we were tumbling inside the void,
I heard the silence and I also heard them say...
Hey now, my dear,
don't you know we prayed for you,
when we went down and we're waiting up here till we meet again.

But until then....
Hey now, hello....
calling all angels,
to bring some comfort back to the earth,
and to hold her all through the storm,
when she's tired and overwhelmed,
broken,
and worn.
And it feels like the movies,
when we're on the ground,
and everything's not alright but somehow there's peace to be found.

One day the world started turning again.
I opened my eyes and I'm down one best friend.
And if you should see her at least tell her this...
Hey now, my dear,
don't you know I care for you?
And if your heart hurts,
it’s only for a lifetime,
then you rest.

And it feels like the movies,
when we're on the ground,
and everything's not alright but somehow there's peace to be found.

"there was a sense of distance, disjunction, a sadness that seemed to flow from some irrevocable and inexpressive failure." - Island Walkers, John Bemrose

your oblivion scares me.

maybe i have failed.

feel like i dont want to be alone.

ultra racist pictures. they were real ads for Pear's soap during the colonialism period.





so so shocking.

another inspiring picture. but about patriarchial society. :) i love this one.

the colour of today.

Your words are like knives
They peel my skin and pierce my soul
Your body will burn tonight
Though your heart may still remain cold

And I will blame myself
For holding onto what i hoped would keep you by my side.
I will blame myself

The sheets are stained with
Memories of your soft kiss
Now this is all I have
Paper and pen
to remember you with

Can I have you?

- Dallas Green, Like Knives

im not sure how to do this anymore.

it seems most of us have problems defining the wispy line between true lover and soul mate. must a soul mate also be great lover? must the soulmate be The One? Who's The One? a person with whom we have a great affinity, or someone you are romantically attached to? must you love your soul mate? must we only have one?

there has always been that assumption that soulmates constituted mating. that is, most of us assume that our soulmate would compliment our sexuality. you hear it in flamouyant romances, accounts of "soul-fusing" sexual encounters, and in wedding speeches, great love declarations all the time, about single inviduals who somehow manage to successfully play all the roles he/she is generally expected to, and become the hotly sought after cliche : friend, soulmate, lover, partner, cleaner, waitress, waiter, etc. does having a perfect marriage, perfect life, great sex, mean you found your soul mate? or did you just find a perfect partner?

we dont hear much about the platonic relationships, deeply rooted friendships, simultaneously complex and simple bonds between people, true understanding that does not require worry about sexual preferences, or romantic love. Are these people we hold so dear to us(and we dont even consider having sex with) our soulmates too?

heterosexuals appear to be the only ones allowed to even entertain this idea. well, we do know religion has done its trickery on most people .. so have olden greek legends about hermaphrodites, and even modern romance harlequin novels and movies that falsely romanticize man-woman relationships.it makes me wonder... if having a soulmate is a priviledge given only to hetereosexuals... is it just another one of those ridiculous stories used to socialize our sexuality?

another belief holds that we only have ONE soulmate lurking somewhere out there.. and that there is one for everyone. this thought is horrifying. what if we cant find him/her? what happens then? are we lost souls who wander the planet incomplete, a soul without its supposed companion? i simply do not accept this notion. it is simply too cruel, too narrow... inflexible. afterall, are we not creative humanbeings with our wonderful variety and multiplicities? wouldnt that mean the permutation of our intricate qualities, personal understandings, bring so many possibilities instead?

besides, what IS a soul mate really? are there different types? varieties in the type of soulmate a person can have? are soulmates default... or can we grow them? a dash or fertile soil, a sprinkle of seeds of potential, occasional rain, and a sweet hearted gardener.. wouldnt that work? and can soulmates lose a connection.. due to tragic experiences, disasters? "happily ever after" implies permanency.. but then how come collisions happen even to the best of us? no one ever talked about cinderella burning the toast once too often, or snow white getting a tan, or jasmine wishing aladin would go work, or beauty hating how her prince leaves the castle so much due to business trips, or Ken staring at the newer barbies.

do soulmates belong together? or can soul mates be apart, just being a part of each other?

.....

during my racism class on thursday, i learnt that being cunning was attributed to the chinese stereotype. it somehow shocked me, although i know it shouldnt, to be reminded that people around you are constantly taking in how you look, what you have and who you talk to, what you do, and insist everything that makes you YOU, physically and inside..MUST cohere. it also shocked me to hear something so absurd and almost foreign. Is that me? Is that us? Who is us?

i have always been aware of racism, sexism and other random crap tha social science has taught me, but at the moment of hearing it, i finally understood. i didnt feel defensive, or smug, or suddenly hating myself for having belong to a certain ethnicity. it just hit me in that very instant, that hey, its an inevitable part of me, and of every single one of us. not just in books, the black and white war, not just on tv, ur angry groccer, ur feelings of injustice and embarassment. these ideas, language, our life experiences are the very things that shape our flesh, calls us into existence. its name.. racism, whatever -ism. is just there. named, or not.

and must be fixed.

....

someone recently told me i had a very systematic life. highly structured, everything neatly placed. emotions here, brains here, actions here, and how. it was suprising.. to hear that. i always felt i was in a mess, everything i did was a mess, i am a mess in itself. confused, jumbled, worthless and scattered. emotions and all, everything was a huge mixed puddle of splatters of different paint.

maybe i let my emotions tell me more than they should.

....

i have plenty more to say.. i dont know why.. im tired, worn and my heart and head hurts. ill continue another time..

no more.

colour of today.

now.. where did i put my drugs...?

im getting fed up with this pretend-love bullshit. romance, girly(note the gender) mushie ooshie stories, experiences are all simulated, lies, illusions. propaganda for men or women(and heterosexuality) which/who do(es) not exist, the notion of the soul mate merely an apparition, a false destination that is permanently out of reach. a smiling ghost that mocks at you every time you notice its lack of tangibility.

people/i find themselves "incomplete", lonely, sad when they/i are/am left on their/my own. suddenly the world seems to empty and dull, its essence slowly and torturously gouged out layer by layer using some heated icecream scoop to be served chilled for another's pleasure. the ruby from raspberry sherbet loses its colour, with a generous dash of desertion, desperation and neglect. not to mention what other emotions and irrational actions that would invoke.

why do we/i let these pretenses and lies get us/me down... or even up?
...

i remember the first time a boy made me cry. it was strange but the only reason why i did it was because it felt appropriate. i didnt want to cry, i was not as upset as he was, i couldnt care enough. i was fine. who cares? but after heaving a book into his skinny, adolescent chest, i learnt that hurting is one of the ways to show you actually care. but i couldnt physically smash his face in for making me feel like shit. so i cried.

i didnt believe in love then. sex, thankfully was not yet in the equation. boys were fun company. i liked their lack of restraint, their coarse yet innocent taking up of what was supposed to be masculine... until i did it better than them with a nice punch in the stomach. they were easy going, less complicated. and besides, i was obligated to like boys with penises. which of course, i do. but like i said, that was all i knew then. i was convinced love was a coverup for hurting one another, selfishness, possessiveness, financial obligations, monogamy, and fake family values. tears were silly, a sign of weakness (=emotionality), girlishness. oh how i hated girls back then. useless little long haired helpless brats with pink mary janes and tears. and then that one day i mentioned above, i felt that helplessness. i became weak. i became a girl. suddenly i needed that love coverup.

now, the act of crying is alot simpler. most of the thought process is gone. just like how those dogs salivate at the ringing of the bells, for me hurt = tears. and there is hardly anything i can do to stop it anymore. in the name of this thing called love.

then came sex. because love makes us weak, susceptible to any form of tenderness and heightened intimacy, not to mention the mysterious hype surrounding it. to be clear, sex here means anything physically personal most of the people reading this blog would already have had experience with. for me, there was no mystery. i had the mindset of just figuring out how things are supposed to work. emotional attachment..? none. it was like the first time i played pool, drank beer, took the bus on my own. I felt a little excited only because i was doing it, and finally getting to see what it does. for a few years it did nothing for me. Apparently sex was supposed be part of love. part of the beauty of being stupidly vulnerable and close to your lover. but how come there was no fulfillment, satisfaction or even that much fun? most of the times it was awkward, ticklish and strange. all i knew it made things even complicated. little did i know in exchange for the awkwardness and the lack of fun for emotional attachment and good stuff, it would get even more complicated with investments, emotional/physical stock markets and so on. Even with extreme methods of contraception thanks to modern technology, is sex ever safe?

Now I am in love! I ride on the waves of endorphins, I yearn for one person, one body. I let sorrys work their magic because I care so much I forget myself. I want him to be mine. MY raspberry sherbet. MY world. And I want to be HIS. Is this love? Or is it a coverup for hurting one another, selfishness, possessiveness, monogamy, loneliness and the socialized desire to find a soul mate, one who "completes" me?

During the downtimes, I revert to my cynicism, angry with myself for letting myself get so easily hurt. Disappointed. Hopeless. Weak. Silly. Wrong. Useless. Deserted. Even more lonely. Pathetic. I mean, arent parents made to feel like that all the time too?

I tell myself its my fault for believing the hype in the first place. And that I am just stupid to give in to such romanticized notions of living life and the relationships that form along the way. But im secretely hoping someone would tell me I am wrong.

i falter.

We are doomed to choose, and with every choice, an irreparable loss.

The economy of having and not having; needing, wanting and then lacking

I guess that is what they mean when they say life isn't fair.

Receipts recording transactions can be found lodged somewhere in the cracks in my memory, and heart made of sand.

Somewhere in between here and where we were supposed to go,
I faltered and drifted away.

how do i love?

Take me home.

hi, my name is sarah jessica parker. i wear couture every day and i spend 40,000 dollars on shoes alone in a year. i have my own column in the new york times which then became a book and it made me 25000 in a month. i own a cozy little apartment and i cannot cook. i only date boys who have houses in the hamptons or paris and have drivers who take them around in bentleys and i sleep with whomever i want. i am also popular and i party with the girls all the time. i have 3 best gal pals who are just like me. except one of them doesnt work at all, ones a pretigious PR and the other is a kick ass lawyer. life is good. and everyone wants to be like me.

...

yea, thats why idiots like me are addicted to sex and the city. she lives the fantasy life.. in my opinion.. of being cmpletely autonomous and as individualistc as she wants. there is no traditional push and pulls, no religion, no social pressure whatsoever(except not to wear scrunchies in public), nor does she need to watch her weight despite so much cake, martinis and junkfood. oh sigh, the jealousy.

then again, its the fantasy that keeps me watching.

the fantasy of being independent, carefree and confident, on a "chic" journey to find "all consumming, inconvinent, cant-live-without-you love". ironic thing is.. thats when the shit happens.

once again, on being beautiful.


everyday.


capulet and montague.


an ollldddd picture i took

http://www.julietmartin.com/ - simply genius!!

Random thoughts from 2:23pm - 2:55pm, 13th March 2006.

i have been told so many times that i might be asking too much out of life. the funny thing is.. that never struck me until yesterday, talking to ronald (r1). for a split second i experienced a jolt of dejavu, names of peole flooding my head, suddenly fully aware that was far from the first time it has been said to me.

i always considered that a good thing, a drive that might somehow land me into wonderful exciting spots. i remember telling myself since i was a little kid, that once i am 17/18, i would be carelessly unwise, nonchalant, seeking and moving from life's perk to another, happily wedged between understanding and mastering the world. but of course, things never happen as planned.

i am 2 years over due and im still waiting.

did i grow too fast that i missed those moments? did my desire to devour everything ironically caused me to miss my stop? or does the hurt and decaying self-worth come from nostalgia for something that never existed? or does it come from my helplessness and powerlessness, and struggle to suffocate myself and become someone else? the contradictions of my personality?

maybe it is just all my fault.

....

labels are thrown at me. i admit to one thing, beleive in another and i am called a hypocrite. i hate being the unpredictability of being in love, but i am in love with love. i call myself a feminist, but i worry about looking like a female fat ass. i scorn bimbos, but damm do i love those dior bracelets. superficiality. pretentiousness. people become means to an ends for each other. give each other labels, smile and pretend otherwise and use the labels for whatever reason.

....

what is love?

is love having no expectations or having them satisfied?

is love found in constant excitement and maintained novelty, or familiarity and reciprocity?

is love allowing to be hurt, or being allowed to hurt?

does love carry us through all the tough times, or is love about making each time good?

....

people tell me my thinking is gonna kill me soon enough. and i agree. we are but human, they say. flawed beings and bodies. then why make that ideal? why the concept of perfection? why do we judge? why do we bleed each other? a mechanism of control? what control? who? why?

why must i care? why would i bother? why do i fear? why do i cry? why do i laugh? why do i love? why do i dread? why do i anticipate? why can't i just be alone? why do i live?

why dont i want to live?

Almost Doesn't Count - Brandy

Almost made you love me
Almost made you cry
Almost made you happy, baby
Didn't I didn't I
You almost had me thinkin
You were turned around
But everybody knows
Almost doesn't count

Almost heard you saying
You were finally free
What was always missing for you, baby
You found it in me
But you can't get to heaven
Half off the ground
Everybody knows
Almost doesn't count

I can't keep on lovin' you
One foot outside the door
I hear a funny hesitation
Of a heart that's never really sure
Can't keep on tryin'
If you're looking for more
Than all that I could give you
Than what you came here for

Gonna find me somebody
Not afraid to let go
Want a no doubt be there kind of man
You came real close
But everytime you built me up
You only let me down
And everybody knows
Almost doesn't count

Maybe you'll be sorry
Maybe you'll be cold
Maybe you'll come runnin' back, baby
From the cruel cruel world
Almost convince me
You're gonna stick around
But everybody knows
Almost doesn't count

So maybe I'll be here
Maybe I'll see ya 'round
That's the way it goes
Almost doesn't count

toss me into a whirl whenever you please.. and then leave me hanging.

this is what i call.... scanner art.

i am back into my tori amos / skunk anansie / (old)alanis morrisette moods these days..

moody, angry, lonely and a tad helpless.

again.

anyway, who has time for this anyway?

Hedonism - Skunk Anansie- gotta love her

I hope you're feeling happy now
I see you feel no pain at all it seems
I wonder what you're doin' now
I wonder if you think of me at all
Do you still play the same moves now
Or are those special moods
For someone else
I hope you're feeling happy now.

Just because you feel good
Doesn't make you right
Just because you feel good
Still want you here tonight

Does laughter still discover you
I see through all those smiles
That look so right
Do you still have the same friends now
To smoke away your
Problems and your life
Oh how do you remember
Me the one that made
You laugh until you cried
I hope you're feeling happy now

I wonder what you're doing now
I hope you're feeling happy now

on being beautiful today:



picture of uprising "it" model from FLARE magazine wearing a 5200dollar Chanel wool dress.

random cuttings for today:



came across them while i was looking through old magazines

welcome to the age of wonder woman:
the woman who is everything your fantasies encompass and more.



shes strong, she's superman's beautiful counterpart. she is an amazon goddess with a 22 inch waist,long muscled martial artistse legs - thanks to her wonderful personaltrainer and her hectic schedule of saving the world, glossy raven hair that cascade around her bronzed shoulders, courtesy of loreal hair studios and olay illuminating lotion respectively. she never leaves the house without her truth rope - a priceless family hierlom, custom cavali-made red knee-high patent leather stileto kick-ass boots, and limited edition earrings and reflective platnuim cuffs from tiffany that protect her from sparkling bolts of evil.

when superman goes out to work at the justice league tower in his immaculate amarni pleatless suit and dunhill briefcase, wonderwoman quickly cleans the house with superspeed, takes dinner out to taw and scribbles down a new delicious recipe, reads an intellecutal journal and the papers, spend quality time with superbaby(s),take a calming lavender scented bath, puts on her makeup, picks out a gorgeously flattering yet fashionable outfit that is both professional and subtly sexy, examines her perfectly manicured nails, kisses superbaby goodbye and gets to work perfectly on time.

at the tower, she asserts herself tactfully, climbs up to origianl committee, establishes fufilling bonds with her fellow superheros, make a few best friends she occasionally has tea and crossiants with and with whom she would confide in, gossip, have philosophical discussions, charm everyone with her playful sense of humor, save the world without a hair out of place. all in a days work.

back at home, wonderwoman puts dinner on the titanum stove, refreshes herself, plays with superbaby, changes into a comfy agent provocateur satin camisole set and does the laundry, spends relaxing evening flirting with superman over dinner and tiramisu for dessert, lovingly puts superbaby to bed and then have intense emotionally and physically satisfying sex with superman on their 4000 thread count sheets, after which she would write down poetry inspired by Lord Byron and endearingly draws a sketch of her sleeping lover before getting her 8 hours of enriching deep sleep.

Wonderwoman: the eptitome of female perfection in our society today. the modern woman who keeps a perfect household filled with gorgeous things, is a wonderful mother, makes delcious meals, looks immaculate, is an intellectual who is at the same time funny, charming, artsy, atheletic and beautiful. a woman who has found her perfect lover, her perfect best friends, and has mastered her workplace and world. nothing fazes her. nothing holds her back. she gives all of herself. nothing smudges her eyeliner. she is constantly happy, passionate, balanced. all with only 24 hours in each day. a woman who can do everythng. and has everything.

most of us modern woman-mortals have tried and failed. what now?

And so it is.

i am still the same.

everyday, every week, every month,every year, i tell myself things will be different. i will change. i will make things different. i was so determined, on every new day, to finally shape my own world and make it rotate on the axis i choose. don't we all?

yet it would spin precariously out of our hands each time we thought we had a good hold on it. hoping it would be our under control, our manipulation, our very own measured pleasure... until we reach a certain point, also known as reality - breaking through a crakced surface to an ephiphany that our lives are not wholly independent of one another, we cannot always choose. not even what happens within ourselves.

what is this ephiphany? defeat or growing up?

I am
repeatedly
folded into the empty, available hollows of your life.

and I let it be.

I still yearn,
to melt precariously into the bodies' crevices.
A heart dissolved in
tears.
blood.
words.
sex.

This liquid debris is
mellifluous, changing, shapeless.
charmingly silent –

Malleable,
the only way it can be.

The way I let it be.

-purl.

the MOST beautiful love scene i have ever, ever read. the reconcilation of grief.

"There was very little that anyone could say to clarify what happened next. Nothing that would separate Sex from Love. Or Needs from Feelings.

Except perhaps no Watcher watched through Rahel's eyes. No one stared out of a window at the sea. Or a boat in the river. Or a passerby in the midst in a hat.

Except perhaps that it was a little cold. A little wet. But very quiet. The Air.

But what was there to say?

Only that there were tears. Only that Quietness and Emptiness fitted together like stacked spoons. Only that there was a snuffling in the hollows at the base of a lovely throat only that a hard honey colored shoulder had a semicircle of teeth marks on it. Only that they held each other close, long after it was over. Only that what they shared that night was not happiness, but hideous grief.

Only that one again they broke the Love Laws. That lay down who should be loved. And how. And how much." - Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things

the whole book is gorgeous and so moving.

thanks to hilmi.. for telling me about this song.. i just adore it!

"So leave yourself intact
Cause I will be coming back.
In a phrase to cut these lips,
I love you.


The morning will come
In the press of every kiss
With your head upon my chest
Where I will annoy you
With every waking breath
Until you decide to wake up.

I earned through hope and faith
The curves around your face
That I'm the one you'll hold forever.
If morning never comes for either one of us,
Then this I pray to you wherever." - Coheed and Cambria, Wakeup.

its funny, this love business.

i am starting to get sad looking at models and other women in magazines that sutlely instruct us on what a woman is.. and what a woman/girl is supposed to look like. the more i look at them..in magazines.. on television.. on my computor screen.. the more i feel like the ugly, short, fat imposter who is trying to pull off the new "young woman/girl" look.. that has been trendy since human civilization apparently.. and failing miserably. i have days and moments i feel i have no right to actually even call myself a young woman... much less a little lady. im okay with girl.. coz it doesnt hold much.. just a young internally and externally shapeless female character waiting for the moment she finds a fitting mould.

its pathetic.. this body image frustration.. the constant plumment of self esteem over something so trival. i always thought ovaries made a woman.. not the length of her legs, the size of her "tits" and ass..perfectly tanned skin.. perfect eyebrows, perfect "feminine" clothing, a small perfectly proportional body, perfect hair that tumble and cascade over lovely shoulders. i never knew it would mean wishing i LOOK like someone else.. or having so many contradictions and problems rising from wearing a mini skirt and such fixed roles. nor did i know it also meant for the female sexuality to be under the control of society. (i am not saying the male sexuality isnt either.. but face it.. whoever thinks critically would get what i mean).. even without mentioning how "sexy" a woman is now defines her.

lets just talk about stereotypes... women are happily reduced to walking sizable body parts.. a fuckable moving object.. the men exclaiming and sweating over images of naked women... or how so damm "cute" a woman/girl is. coz the man's sexuality is apparently insatiable.. continuous, understandable. love comes later. whenever the man is ready. the level of her accomplishments and intelligence simply determines how valuable her "pussy" is. then maybe it MIGHT slavage a relationship when the poor woman becomes unattractive merely by aging. the guy, regardless of age, is the hungry increasing wise wolf on the prowl. on the other hand, women are supposed to take men for being themslves.. hence the complaint that hot women somehow end up with unworthy counterparts.. coz apparently the woman searches for love and personality.. she is supposedly emotional and understanding, nuturing, soft.. sex and the size of his joystick comes later.. coz if she puts it first.. she is immediately reduced to first her fuckable body parts.. and then to labels. the men get the words "stud" and women become "sluts".. simply because it is "unnatural" for a woman to be in touch with her sexuality. and because men are.. they are allowed to be assholes.. while society banishes the sluts.

then the stereotypes of the biological side of men and women. lets see.. the men sweat in expensive gyms to cultivate lickable abdomal muscles, they bleed from fights, they fart and laugh, they ejaculate and openly beg the women to swallow in magazines.. and somehow everyone applauds and take all that in stride. a shower, deoderant and colonge is optional buddies.. the manliness of your body secretions is aparently so sexy the women wil fall to their knees and kiss your filthy cowboy boots in hope of taking them home. on the contrary.. the women "glow", they ovulate and then bleed during their periods... the whole time frantically scrambling for "solutions" to mask it. there is an amazing array of products to make a woman smell like lialics, wine, crushed violets.. so she wont smell "funny".. so she isnt allowed to be human. during ovulation.. women are your fucking buddies.. their bodies "want" babies.. they splurge on ridiculous lingerie and makeup.. gym memberships to somehow maintain their lithe-ness without packing on "too much" muscle.. to seduce the "typically" wandering eyes of the men. and then.. on her period.. everything is hush hush.. we are supposed to shut up.. and pretend it doesnt happen.. coz its "disgusting" and a "hinderance". women run in and out of drugstores in shame, a pack of maxipads tucked discretely under their arms. the discussion of bodily functions of a woman is never allowed. well.. except for the overrated and exaggerated orgasm 62% of women admit to faking every now and then.

so.. whos allowed to be "themselves"? am i being myself? are you?

.. to be continued.

been reading my old emails as i resisted the urge to laugh and cry at the same time. i wonder what happened in the middle. i always thought i am a consistent person.. am i? or maybe i have just grown to want and expect more? it sucks the most when happy past memories hurt now. you look at the debris lying around you. but then again.. we dont want to lose them. such contradictions. how will i ever learn to juggle magic and logic? the loss of myself?

i have spent mostof my day in bed.. just thinking, daydreaming, reading.. now and then dozing off to voices of musicians singing of worlds strange and familiar.

why did you mess with forever

i have to admit, i had wanted to give up. on everything. i wanted to give up because i knew i only had myself to blame for making myself a victim. it can only be my own fault for being lonely, angry, miserable. i asked for too much in too short a time. i sought to conquer a terrain i have absolutely not idea about. i did not plot and execute my plan accordingly. i was too impatient and emotional. now here i sit hours upon hours within the confines of my room too aware of what mistakes i made.

start over i guess. its been so long.

this sudden injury. to have you go away.
love.the one thing i'd love to hate.
its strange a strange emotion, having to remind myself you are not within reach. i had thought you were far.. but this is a dull ache at the back of my head, my chest, my words. it is also strange how much i want you, how much i want to tell you.. the colours of the sky today, my thick comfy socks, my dreams.
maybe i miss u.
come back soon.

i cant help but feel the urge to chasten myself for being the weepy old romantic i am, evident just from my blog - the celebration of the tortured soul that burns at the tip of a lover's tongue, a crushed aluminum can clattering noisely, but unnoticed, along the side of the road while cars speed by as frozen rain falls from the overcast sky.

fraility, mallability and softness were not attributes i would have celebrated a few years ago. what caused this change? what happened to the impenetrable heart, refusal for intamacy, my stiff, unwieldy desires? what happened to the petulant girl who fought fiercely for what she thought she believed in, regardless of who it hurt, just by the words being said. for a while she thought she did everything right, she got what she wanted, she thought she was a glowing inextinguishable light.

it would be easy and dull to say puberty happened. or maybe certain things had forced me to stop resisting softness, and to embrace my emotions, allow myself to be shaped and moulded, rather than to shape and mould. it is only natural, to do what is right and instructed. maybe i just let my "true self" through?

at this point, i find myself confused. how to i tell the story of a person? a person who has lived within me, as me, and is me. do i know myself best? or does someone else who knows my life?

the light in your eyes dim,
your oblivious touch has become foreign and cold.
surely you cannot blame me for recoiling in unrecognition and hurt;
the words i say;
the words i dont.

i thought by numbing myself it would work, but im sick and tired of being so sick and tired, disappointed with my disappointment. hopeless with the absurd power you hold.

what fell through the cracks?

...

i feel like a great loser. nothing is turning out the way i hoped and imagined. i feel like a failure in every aspect of life. school, love, family, work, friends.. everything. i feel helplessly redundant, useless - a cumbersome and hideous outgrowth of society, my patheticness a slap in my face. i cant even bear to look in the mirror.

every day my faith burrows itself into the dirt a little bit more.

...

and there is no one to hold me anymore.

maybe i will just keep sinking.

careless.
you have become the greater world.
i stand,
ready to leap.
and perhaps,
fall.

...

why do the world behind our eye lids and the one we see differ so?

...

im slowly losing my mind.

todays blog will include random responses to edwards blogs, given we havent spoken for months:

a mentor. why do we need one? a trusted teacher and counselor, a guide. why wouldnt we want to throw ourselves into life with abandon, relish in its unpredictability and suprises? to allow oursleves to gravitate toward worlds that pull at us with its inexplicable forces, and react the way we were "naturally" conditioned to? why are we the way we are?

why do we need justify, to rationalize, to know what is right and wrong, the thick, solid earth under the soles of our "caged" imaginations? do our imaginations even deserve to be called remarkable? or worthy? why do we feel the need to justify our tiny lives? the thoughts streaming from minds however big and small, yet so petty and inconsequential, only except to ourselves? why do we do what we do?

we ask for faith, a someone, something, to tell us what to do, how to do it and why. we refuse to consider the possibility that we are but insignificant. reasoning being the only excuse and purpose we have to multiply; and behave like the tiny giants we are, stomping on other lives, inventing crumbling walls made out of intangible commodities that somehow land and truly destroy, creating similar monsters that ravage and rape all that surrounds the ones in control, while perhaps the trascendent watch and chuckle. vapors of prayer swirlling up to their oblivious eyes, as we hang from their lips.

but who made right and wrong? who invented morals? the ones with money or the laughing gods? why do individuals find themselves tormented and confused, yearning for a role model? the other individual that we trust somehow represents all that is right and appropriate in our eyes. but whos eyes are we seeing through?

maybe, edward, while u find the absence jarring, my questioning is what messes me up. i dont know what i dont understand.

.

conrad's heart of darkness, the lord of the flies, the beach, oscar wilde, baudrillard, kristeva.. etc.. the books/writers(of whom i have happened to read, albeit a tiny number) who expose the replusiveness of man(to clarify, i mean humankind in generally, to establish my lean toward politically correctness).. especially the modern man. the stink of the rot and burning flesh discretely covered by expensive perfumes made from crushed plants, hidden by the fur made from squealing animals, the sound of bank machines, the cocking of guns, the pouding of acid rain and hail stones in a tropical country. optimisim, my friend, of which i am glad you still harbour, isnt even an option for me anymore. im just waiting for the day we explode and slaughter each other with sharp tree branches. :)

.....

i only want you to see me as the most beautiful girl in the world.

haha found this on msn.com:
Leo profile
Leo can be among the most arrogant, self-absorbed signs of the zodiac, but also among the most tender and generous. As the lion king of the cosmos, you are a force to be reckoned with — and you'd have it no other way. Full of ego and the insecurity that inevitably accompanies it, you demand respect. The successful Leo, however, learns how to command it. You thrive on the esteem of others, but privately your self-esteem wavers. A natural performer, you can be a powerhouse of creative talent, charisma and instinct. You crave the spotlight and take great pains to grace it. But as you mature, your opinion will grow more independent of others. You'll seek a quieter dignity and nobility, not unlike that of an elder statesperson. Great actors may begin by upstaging their colleagues, but they eventually let their art speak for itself. You'll come to view self-promotion as a crude distraction and get out of your own way. At that point, your devotion to longtime loyalists will overwhelm your temptation to indulge lusty flatterers. As life experience humanizes you, appearances will still matter, but they'll take a back seat to true feelings.

my mars+venus sign:(how frigheningly true)
Mars: capricorn
Venus: libra

You're driven, ambitious and tough. Serious about relationships, you play for keeps. Casual affairs and kinky play aren't your bag, baby.

Your Mars is in capricorn True, you have natural poise and reserve. But that shouldn't be interpreted as weakness. You need respect and you'll earn it — or else you'll leave. Your innate trustworthiness makes you a dependable mate who's willing and able to commit (even if it does take a while). You enjoy lots of wholesome sex — no one would accuse you of being kinky.

Your Venus is in libra Your natural state is to be in a relationship, and even when single you're always juggling prospects and options. You know how to treat your lovers well. They enjoy being with you because of your looks and sense of style. Underneath it all, however, you can be high-maintenance. You're likely to say whatever someone wants to hear in order to keep a relationship stable.


i kinda agree with it. :) finally one i can relate to. haha.

ill save my newyears speech for another time my shoulders arent hurting.
....

now that we have come to the end of 2005, i will do the cliche of making a list.

who would have thought:
- i would be driving people around with a licence
- i am able to talk to strangers without any qualms when i am in the mood
- i find soft snow flakes on a not so cold morning pleasant
- i would succumb to wearing heels for more than 2 hours for the sake of vanity
- i would enjoy shovelling snow as the cold numbs me inside and out
- i would have to beg someone to love me the way i thought i should be
- i would make more friends in sg more than in canada while being in canada
- i would still be lonely
- i could work almost everyday for long and tiring hours at a sales job without breaking down so far
- working distracts me from my emotions, which then allows the illusion of rationality. or maybe engaging in the mainstream society is rationality?
- i would hate life and the world this much.
- i would love and want this much and not get it back
- i would find shopping as pathetic and superfiial consolation that ends up making me feel like shit anyhow
- i would still spend endless days alone, and still feel the impact of it
- i would bring in dough!
- i would realise i might never have you, nor everything i want

.. to be continued.

i think you might be right, ronald, to say that im cursed.

cursed to either be stuck with someone i totally do not want to be stuck with, or wanting to be stuck with someone i cant have. at least, never in the present.

but sometimes i cant take the waiting.

what can i say. i do not regret anything. i would not say i would swap this hurt for moving on from one empty relationship to another, which i know i would do if i hadnt been truly stolen. the cliched search for the worshipper, the friend, the worshipped. the person i would clip wings on.

did i make a mistake u ask? perhaps i did, to have knowingly put myself in this position, and anticipating this explosion that nevertheless took me by suprise. maybe its my own fault that i cry hot tears of frustration so freely, my fists clenched so angrily like a disgruntled child who did not get what she wants, out of desperation, overwhelmed by disappointment. maybe it was my fault this was foreseen and i did nothing to prevent it. i cannot even deny my previous urge to give myself insurance, to hesitate and save myself. but i gave in one and a half years ago. what would i be if i had not?

i hate being held away at a distance because of inevitable reasons. i always hated not being in control, not completely understanding, to not be completely understood. nothing to do to fill up the gapping hole but to embrace my irrational emotions and simply cry. helplessly like a girl. the one indulgence i gave up fighting at moments like these.

often i wonder if i am meant to just collect promises, glowing stars i hold close and never get to redeem them. i only hope. maybe one day you wont have to leave me the way u did on those crazy summer mornings, rainy fall afternoons, yesterday, the day before, this evening, sighing, alone, loneliness annouced by a dramatic hush of silence that falls. sometimes even to hear u didnt want to after 6 hours no longer hold consolation for the damage already done.

i am still waiting. forgive me if i become a girl once in a while. this searing abandonment has yet to leave, distractions are hard to find here and loneliness does take some time to get used to.i guess i have to start picking up the pieces from the bottom again.

Catalyst - Anna Nalick

L.A. lights never shine quite as bright as in the movies
Still wanna go
There's something here
In the way, in the way that we're constantly moving
Reminds you of home
So you've taken these pills
For to fill up your soul
And your drinking them down with cheap alcohol
I might be inclined to be yours for the taken
And part of this terrible mess that you're making
But me, I'm the catalyst

When you say love is a simple chemical reaction
Can't say I agree
Cuz my chemical, yeah, left me a beautiful disaster
Still love's all I see

You'll be the thing
You'll be the pain
You'll be the star
You'll be the road, rolling below
The wheels of a car
And all of the thoughts, oh god
Don't know if I'm strong enough now
You'll be the thing
You'll be the pain
You'll be the
Catalyst

These L.A. lights, no no,
They don't shine quite as bright as back in Frisco
Do you wanna go?
Still wanna go

...

i dont know where i am going.

...

i admire the truly self absorbed. i am one of them i know, the world revolving around my own selfish pain, sucking everything into a blackhole. believing the world has my heart chained and wrapped barbed wire, dragging it along the ground as it moves in a way i cannot comprehend.

i admire the ones who truly believe in the face value, the ones who party and drink and shop endlessly, with bonds held significantly by those activities itself, and find that their lives are full. those who believe the world moves with purpose, that everything we do isnt written in ash from the burned souls. the ones who can only talk about themslves, insist everyone cares and their stories relevant and important. those who believe the lousy cliche that "actions speak louder than words".

they both work in parallels dont you think?

i
am
defeated.

i guess you will never feel what i feel.

Winter
The beginnings of frosted windows, breaths plumes of vapor against the grey skies, and numb, chapped lips. Constantly fleeing from the merciless winds that make me forget how to live. Ice crystals in my wet hair early in the morning at the bus stop as I watch you look away.
Days that begin too late and end too early.
Long nights I crave and pine for the warmth of your skin. Just for you to be close enough.

Tears
from the sky. Snow flakes plummeting and rushing into my reluctant face.
Tears overflowing messily and continuously from my eyes.
Today, my heart can only hold so much.

Superheroes
You are my superhero. The one with flames at your finger tips, thorns in your eyes, wine and knives in your words, and in the sound of your leaving.
Superheroes fight the battle of good versus evil. Beowulf swam for weeks in the sea, receiving torques of gold and honorary goblets of mead.
Good princes fight dragons with emerald scales and glowing eyes, and scorching breaths.
I am not good. Nor am I evil. Why do I feel like I am fighting to find you?

Why
the overwhelming desire to share the dull agenda of daily life?

Ordinary
Normal, usual, same, sane, accepted, understood, unafraid.
I never mean it when I say I am just an ordinary girl. I may look like one, but they are the lucky ones.

"I would like to think that what we have could exist outside of real time, that it could be a thing apart and not invade. Foolish and dangerous thinking. It has already invaded every part of my life" - Anita Shreve, The Last Time They Met.

im stupid, obsese and ugly. why would anyone care? maybe i do deserve being the way i am. maybe i do deserve to spend the whole of my life in tears, angry, jealous, depressed, skeptical, cynical. maybe i deserve to loathe myself the way i do. maybe i am going to spend the whole of my life self conscious and then angry that i am self conscious. maybe i am going to spend the rest of my life pinning. maybe i will always be lonely and misunderstood. not that being understood will make me less angry. i will still be angry that i am the way i am.

maybe i deserve to spend my whole life watching the clock. waiting for something to happen. something that would make me forget the time.
all
i
am
doing
is
waiting for you.

"I envy everyone. I feel I don't deserve any of what little I have. I wonder when I came to hate myself so much. I envy people that can go around ignorant to everything. I envy the perfect plastic people that I will never become a part of. I envy happy people. I envy people that don't want to die, and haven't had to consider dying as their best option for future happiness. Was it all worth it in the end? Is it ever worth it? Is anyone ever truly happy?"

" i didnt get along with my parents either, but at least i didnt know anything better or anywhere else, except the bloody icy playground and streets around my home. But Zulma? she talked of beaches and blue sea, sunshine and coconut trees, and days being so hot the asphalt would melt, and a gran who thought she was the most important person in the world. If i were in her shoes i would have gone mad, or maybe run away, but she didnt. At least she had me" - Harriet's Daughter, Marlene Nourbese Philip

thats what friends are for

maybe i will never understand the words, the intoxication and ecstasy you hold obliviously in your hands. maybe you wouldnt. But i will never forget.

you are my everything.

its been a long time since i blogged. seems like i never really had the time nor the energy to. the past weeks have been occupied by essay writing.. searching for comfort amongst the endless and yet familiar corridors of york campus.. the nagging reluctance to drag myself to work where i would smile and talk with false confidence... all in the drowsy cloud of the lack of sleep, emotions, insecurities and urges that tug and pull at obligations, the descend of faltering warmth, falling leaves, black coffee fumes at 6 in the morning, my headlights flinging beams of light forward into the grey.

the same old.

thoughts fill my mind. i just cant seem to write them down. yet. perhaps.

just some funny pictures me and dawne took today.

"this sense of disjunction between them seemed stronger than ever to him, a saddness. it seemed to come out of the ground, out of the damp hay and blossom scents, out of the brances of new leaves: a saddness and yes, a sense of deepening vulnerability. like a trapeze artist, he had abandoned his swing to throw himself into the air towards her. He had to be sure her hands were there to catch him. Perhaps, he wondered with a kind of terror, she was warning him off love in an attempt to get him back to her perch. But it was already too late. He was tumbling through the air, his arms outstretched, his hands open." - The Island walkers, john bernrose.

what a gorgeously sad paragraph.

i really should stop reading random books instaed of doing my homework. for the past 3 or 4 days i have been read about 5 novels.. 2 of which i read twice, not counting On the Road for my essay. like woh. havent done that in a while.

im deprived of attention. :( im like those pathetic miserable toddlers sitting sullenly at the corner of the daycare feeling anti social and tired of tryin to get attention instead of having it come to me. hmph. :..(

maybe i really should pick up tv for good. at least it talks to me without me having to prompt.

aww _@*_)($#@$@ i got work tomorrow.

why does everything i do in life feels like a bloody obligation and all i feel is just so effin tired.

i crave bubble tea. winter melon red tea with aloe vera :( i SULK.

I SULK. :(

"You're an academic.

"Not even close. Academics follow a train of thought. They specialize. i see a book on dressage or beekeeping or Elizabethan footwear, and i have to check it out. I'm not a gourmet, i'm a glutton. It's a sickness."" - Balloon, Tim Wynveen

the anarchy of desire.

a very weird thing to think about in the shower but yes, i was thinking about the little letter a professor from Queens university being disappointed in her white students who would become racist and everything politically incorrect and indignified at the drop of a beer keg. wonderful for someone to be so passionate about her work, i thought as i inhaled the yummy sweetness of my shampoo.

then i thought, in her sense, being dedicated to her work would mean passion for intellectual material, education. which i have come to convince myself is merely like what the ancient greeks said knowledge was - a way to conquer the body. AND then it lead to the thought of how ironically it is the most educated, most composed and rational that suddenly decides to fling caution(so only certain extents, funnily enough) to the wind and celebrate sensuality.

poems, music, stories, actions, broken rules, morales then gush from this stream of thought.

then at moments where a person is stripped of the educated consciousness, all has gone to hell.

hmm. how ironic.

well, whatever.

today, i have been abused and vandalised and trapped in a hideous cement cage. in other words, given burises for saying im flubbery(which is true. i feel terrible about it too), drawn on really nicely with a blue pen and sat in the worst plastic creaky chair ever made for mankind at scott library for 5 hours almost. needless to say, i got depressed within the first 1.5 hours. sorry hammy, i've been so depressed lately it probably bothers you as hell. MWAH.

silence and frustration just jumbles itself up deep deep inside and u feel so heavy. your arms and legs and brain slows down and all u know is you are going crazy. everything is nothing and nothng is everything. everything you misunderstand and understand becomes the same.

i think i AM going crazy.

but tonight im ok. i'll dive into the black lines of words laced together by another, kiss my love goodnight, electrionically for now, and dissolve into the dark of unconsciousness and sleep.

its not that early anymore afterall

about 2 more hours to work.. its quite unhealthy how i count down the hours with dread even if i had 5 hours before i have to wear that hideous shirt and my oversized khakis.. i look like a disgruntled kid drowning in clothing and grumpiness at the store. i shall just pray we dont end at 11 again and that hammy drops by before nine as a good excuse for a break instead of loithering around the mall lookig pathetically sad for 30mins.

lol, oh dont i hate my job. dont take it personally dear sportschek.. i hate every job. anything that exercises my obligation rather than my moods tend to irritate me. predictably of purl, persuading complete strangers(who often think everything is just too darned expensive and should be in a discounted walmart instead) to buy badly mechandized(applies strictly to sportschek) products unfortunately happens to be one big, badly dressed, boring and banal obligation in my book.

-pst, notice the use of words that start with B. lol

its only been about a month and im already threatening my considerably healthy blood pressure to rise. trust me my friends. i would so rather write a 500 word essay than watch time sprint toward 5pm.

well whatever, at least getting through those hours always give me a petty excuse to congragulate myself for being patient, kind and generous with my fake smiles and pretentious enthusiasm to make u spend as much money as possible - the ideal kind of sales person which i am fuly aware i certainly am not. i pat myself on the back and tell myself " hey, although u are already considering the options to escape your current job, you are about to beat your grand goodlife gyms record of 2 months!(they paid me better to be a slacker)". so i guess its a good thing.

besides, that way i dont feel as disgusted with myself for not having time to go to the gym so often. i tell myself at least im doing some form of cardio at work with the constant walking, climbing and carrying of boxes. but damm, im feeling so pudgy. prissy piglety pudgy purl. thats me. havent done regular strength training in so long and i swear i probably cant run up a couple flight of stairs before collapsing on the sides in a flubby heap. i dont care if i can now feel my whole pelvic bone and i dont have to pout to poke heartlessly at my cheekbones with familiar self hatred.. im getting soft :S!! oh good god.

and oh, i forgot, i get crappy pay too. so i guess its all good. maybe after working for 5 months i can go shopping for one day.

oh rats, 1 hr and 20 mins left.(given i take 10 mins to get there)

the unedited ramblings of purl of tonight

the melancholy i exaggerate.

[i]
The artist's somehow narcissistic gift of self exaggeration, the typical amplification of pain and sorrow, joy, love.
Especially the endless echoes of my constant desolation that haunt me
Such a cliche, how dare I mutter such trivial words, my trivial mind
Of which I struggle for individuality, which is simultaneously being copied into another's.
Cycles of disintegrating dignity, integrity.
Both of us sitting silently by the glowing jukebox, enveloped by our own silence
We weren't holding hands I recall
Surely we aren't the same.


How I would allow my own
Alienation, from myself, of course, I still don't know.
Documentation of this internal dialogue, transforming it into something no longer just mine
The ironies of language -
They tell us in school, this education, of the new age phenomenon of the
Constant commodification of my body, my voice, my face, my private thoughts
The words tattooed on my skin, along the temples, along my jaw, etched onto my dry finger tips.
Yet ignored, hidden
We forget how to read. We forget what matters.
Winter is approaching; the leaves fall red like pools of blood at my bare, childish feet
My bleeding heart on my torn, dusty sleeve
Hers, his, theirs.

[ii]
Hatred burns for and within the skin you are in
The repulsive reality of tangible flesh, the glaring obligations to listen to this Absurd artifact of nerve endings.
You are just so tired,
Tired.
Lethargy lulls you into the silent tomb of unconsciousness, the smoldering voidless of everything.

The world and its words. Its pictures and sounds and money that scald and hurt.
You still do not understand how, where, when and why,
These blades that render you voiceless got caught in your throat.
You simply woke up one morning, loneliness and frustration bleeding tears into your lidless eyes, your palms cold and sad.

[iii]
Alas!
It is the exuberance of your love, darling,
that saturates the corners of my mind, my world -
a cliche that finds itself cast aside once so often,
and once more redeemed just the same.

Step in, half stranger, half twin -
so present, yet so elusive -
and hold me.
Allow me to tumble into your strange and familiar embrace,
let me fall as prey.
The hunter hidden in your lips and fingertips.
The wilderness of the heart.

[iv]
Repetition, repetition, repetition.
I love you I love you I love you.
The ecstasy and elation that often confuse or awaken.
I keep finding myself falling through the cracks of my heart
into oceans of valium,
orange balloons,
rain,
laughter,
pain,
flames,
you.
I love you I love you I love you.
But I cant find my voice.

- amidst it all
You feel paralysed,
A squashed bug under a shoe.

"When you experience the loss of a beloved, you somehow lose more of that person than you even thought possible. I was prepared to lose my tennis doubles partner, my dinner companion, my sexy girl. But I was not prepared for the exodus of all those other, little Margarets, Margarets I had never even bothered to notice: Margaret checking the mail in just socks, Margaret at the kitchen table eating unwashed grapes, Margaret falling asleep with a book across her face, Margaret leaving her galoshes by the door, Margaret writing long letters that she could never bear to send.

The casualties seemed to go on and on. Just when I thought I was done losing her, I would find yet another way to lose her all over again." - Margarettown, Gabrielle Zevin

havent written a real blog, or anything for that matter, for so long.. as much as i want to, it seems as if i stand in the midst of a cloud of dust. i cannot find the words. nor the energy to string them coherently together. there are so many things i want to talk about. my love, my dispair.. everything. but it just doesnt seem fair.

i seek for inspiration.. searching for and finding beauty in my lover's face, the dry gravel, another's words. yet i cannot separate my own from my churning consciousness. daydreams, reality, hopes find themselves blending into a whirl from which i have yet to pull myself out.

its been so long.

yes, changed my blog... into ANOTER NARCISSISIC ONE! cut me some slack. i love attention. ahhahaaa sure.

lol its always hilarious when my mom wants to buy somethng and my dad grumbles in that funny way of his. his new gardening hobby is funnier!

mm havent been writing lately.. so i decided to sit in my backyard(a.k.a. tan) and write about not writing hoping to get something out. but uh uh. my pen ran out of ink after the 3rd sentence. hahaha.

excerpt from journal (when it was still snowing 05):
"i think im begining to understand and appreciate shared beliefs. its no longer about just keeping things simple, a way out of committment. before, having my beliefs constantly challenged and attacked,i gradually allowed them to suffer some damage and get pushed back, almost forgotten - i became like them.

When hammad(no, we're not breaking up LOL) suddenly entered my consciousness, bring finally a rush of fresh air, i eneded up getting hurt by guns similar to the ones i used. suddenly, i didnt have someone to fight against, someone's words to oppose or ignore. for a while, in the midst of confusion, i understood their pain.

true, i do get tired of hearing "we'll see how things go.." of course moments arise when i realise i want assurance, a promise, something steady, loyal i can clutch in my fingers...
its funny how while thinking of this, my university education manages to insert its little bit in here: the western society has lost many of its traditional mindsets/values, lifestyles. lovers wander amongst one another, dreamless, hopefull, constantly wanting that one person to fill that lonely gap in the crook of their arms late at night. it is almost strange and immoral to blatantly state that we are recycling one another - after being tossed out, exchanged for another recycled individual. funny how we can never love two people the same way either. different stories, complicated, intercepting emotions, those silvers of stolen, private memories float about above us, around us, in us, trascending us.

also, ideals plague us all, the perfect configuration of a person, expectations, rules, scars - all these dreams so different, yet so alike, converging only to have us behave like travellers, everyone of us, reaching for that hand that would hold ours forever.

but with each day, the likelihood of that decreases. even the words of my love smoulders my faint, pulsing hope i almost shamefully hide. i used to get hurt when he speaks of a future evidently dis-cluding me. but i dont want him to lie either. i would have told him to pretend he wouldnt let this go, the way i can easily gratefully and thankfully confess the same. but i dont want him to lie. my vulnerability shimmers as it sits in his oblivious hands.

maybe its our age, the uncertainty and opportunities that line themselves up so endlessly before us. who knows when things may change. i stare enviously at friends who confidently call their loves their "other halves", "laogong", etc. i always thought it was somewhat vile and pretentious, overtly sappy. but thats not my point. is that false consolation? an illusion of absolute assurance? will i be fooled? will i beleive its real and watch it materialize? the only times i briefly let someone call me that never really gave me all that.

then again, there is that "Dont go for what you need, go for what you want" mentality. is that pure irresponsibility, irrationality, or following the heart and private instincts? what responsibility anyway what instincts?

strangers milling around a large square, a rose in hand, damp with tears and blood, doused in perfume, beer and cocaine. what are we to do? what am i to thnk and feel? how do i express this? who will want ot listen?

"baby you're everything i want and need right now" - why right now? why cant people grow together? since when did life and love become periodized, sorted into coherent phases, with labels slapped onto the surface of the glass bottle? does this make it better? simpler?

i cannot claim to be ready for lifelong love.. nor can i say i am not. who is to tell? how would i know? wanting stability and loyalty doesnt mean the person you want it from is willing/ready to give it to you. i am not the type to nudge or push somone into feeling or wanting the same thing i do either. who am i to do so - with only my own personal/private experiences and the other person his own? must i ask for assurance?

i don't want to. neither doi want to settle with knowing i will never find it. and i never want to pretend that i am sure to find it either. as much as i long to take so many things for granted, i dont want ot at the same time. it gives me constant stress, and everyday i almost feel that tangible struggle to maintain everything i am supposed to be, but how else will i learn to value someone?
.
.
.
i always entertained that fairytale that one day i will be loved for everythig i am, hat one day someone will fall to my feet and worship me th way i would fall to his. and now that i found someone getting closer to that, my fear of losing even just one speck huants me.

i always thought being emotional is a sign of weakness, tears only for the confines of your own impenetratable space.. and admitting i am weak doesnt give me closure the way they say being honest to oneself should. rather, it frustrates me that i am nothing like what i want to be. not a perfect person, obviously, but a real, beautifully flawed and raw individual without the hopeless constant hemoraghing core and loneliness that now permanenetly resides in my chest, my lungs, my feet. on good days, with my baby's help i am able to ignore it.
.
.
.
..........

haha, stupid weak and hopeless pearle. who would have thought a person can be this insecure.... even after censorship of some paragraphs. this made me think though.. about then.. and now. ofcourse. now its diffferent. this was written way back.

and yarr... i actualy write like that in my own journal. lols. what a loser

been 4 months and my hairs still soo curly!! even though it prolly grew an inch or more after i permed it! wow. hahaa.. maybe i have curly/wavy hair naturally and the perm jsut gave it a real form... instead of me tryig to comb it neat every day when it was wavy and puffy last time. yay!! i like curly hair! not ron type obviously. but nice curls! heheee *mwah* for bummmm

been so lazy. i need to get fit!! bleargh! hahaa... a hard body is so nice to have and i hate my legs!! argh!! *snores and stuffs cake into mouth* hahaaa... dododooo.. feel like going to the library. that thick book is impossible to read. simply because its farrrrr too thick and it weighs more than a kilogram im suree... holding it will give my biceps definition.. but only 1004 pages. hmm. these people should make such books paperbacks with lighter pages. then i will read.. lols.

ok ima goo! then come home find the ts-elliot poems and off to school i go~