Thursday, September 30, 2004

It's cold, wet and gray today.

Absolutely miserable.

And yet, I skip along the slippery cobblestones, and choose to see what I want to see.

Amazing architecture. Gorgeous old buildings, brimming with lost secrets accumulated with time. Surrounded by a palette of vibrant colours, individual and unique. Beauty is laid out before me.

Perhaps, I'm merely being selective and deliberately exclusive. Closing my eyes and my mind to the naked truth, where I choose to live in my own little Atlantis, my designed playgrounds where I tweak the control settings at will. Delving into the magical worlds of music, food and fantasy novels.

Whichever it is, we all have a choice to view matters and circumstances in a positive or negative light. Make no mistake: there's no grey area. It either is, or it isn't.

I've made mine.

she procrastinated @ 19:22 |

Monday, September 27, 2004

maligned.

Whinge 1: I can go online with my laptop in my dorm room BUT I cannot click on any buttons. Which means I can check mail, but I can't reply/delete/fwd, I cannot blog, I cannot view anything that is cookie-enabled... The bottom line is I can only do passive surfing and use MSN.

Whinge 2: I've a firewall. Enough said.

Whinge 3: I've been kicked out of the practice rooms by fellow coursemates for three consecutive days. In fact, I just got kicked out. Hence, the blogging in my school pc lab. Danquan just gave a brilliant Chopin recital during lunch at the SDR, and I was so inspired to practise my own Bach and Schumann, only to be kicked out of room 3a by Burkhard. I knew I should have booked the rooms earlier. Damnit. I need to be more 'kiasu'.

Now to the big stuff. As all nasty things come in threes, here goes:

(1)I lost my UK credit card. I'm praying no one swipped my card and used it for a free shopping spree. Cancelled it already but I haven't checked the transactions and stuff yet.

(2)I lost my Singtel sim card. So everybody, pls email/MSN me your mobile numbers. Mourning the loss of all my smses painfully stored from 15th Sept 2002.

Now for the one which pissed me off the most:

(3)I've been accused of plagarism. Well, not to my face, but still. To cut a long story short, I handed up an essay late last Easter, but I had a valid medical cert. Things got a bit haywire and apparently, my tutor received it without any note on it, explaining why it was late etc. To make things worse, he thought that the essay title wasn't sanctioned by him or the other course tutor. (It was, it's in the damned email.) And apparently, I did something so radically different from the rest (the subject being at such a tangent to all other works) so with all these points in mind, he had doubts 'whether this was really the student's work'.

Obviously I freaked out after reading all this in the feedback form I got, so I went to see him. And omg, he was awful. He said things like:

'I advise you not to bring it up any longer as this was in the past, and it'd not do you any good'

'I'm not saying that this happened, but you could have had a best mate somewhere doing something similar along the lines of this course, and he could have helped you do your work'

'It's not that I think you're any less of a good person'

'You had the feedback form, you saw me, I saw you, we had a discussion and now the matter is closed. I don't want to hear of it again, you understand? You go on out and have a good day'

and he hustled me out of the office.

Some of it wasn't word-for-word, but you get the main gist. Apparently it was so serious that my essay was brought up to the board of examiners and they were discussing whether to fail me.

What on earth is wrong with them? The whole damned essay was written by me, damnit, and I can't believe they'd think otherwise.

Throughout the ordeal, I couldn't even defend myself. He cut me off everytime I opened my mouth. Must have had looked like an incredulous goldfish, with my mouth opening and closing. And you know what's worse? He had already pronounced me guilty, right even before I said anything. He had already judged me and found me wanting. There're times where you just don't argue with your parents cuz there's simply no point, they won't listen at all? It was deja vu all over again, just that it's far, far worse.

Walked out of the office practically in tears. I never ever EVER had such an experience remotely close to this, being accused of something that I didn't do. It's awful knowing that all my hard work put in the essay went down the drain. And that I wasn't awarded the proper recognition for the essay. Blimey, they actually think the work was not mine.

No doubt they passed me, and I scrapped a first for the course overall plus the exam, but that's not the point is it?

I wanted the acknowledgement more than anything else, the proper credit that THIS IS MY ESSAY. All MY ideas. My work. Solely the product of Lynne Huang.

I don't really know what to do right now, as this bloke's gonna be my Advanced Analysis tutor, AND my personal tutor. With him thinking I'm a plagarist, a cheater... (I can just imagine all the horrible slurs against my character) I'd always have this overhanging cloud of suspicion over me from him, won't I? He'd be thinking: Is this really her work? Did she really do this on her own? I know I know, some of you already told me that I shld seek him out and clear the air. But I can't. Did he not say he wanted the matter closed?

I guess the only thing I can do right now, is to work really hard during Advanced Analysis and show him what I'm capable of doing 'on my own'. My writing style can't change in a matter of a few months, so hopefully he'd get it into his thick skull that I'm innocent.

Brilliant start to a year.

she procrastinated @ 15:50 |

Friday, September 24, 2004

again.

Oh boy, I'm back in London again!

Returned to the student hall I used to stay in (Canterbury Hall) and this time I got an ensuite room. Yes, it costs much more to have a private bathroom and yes, I'm spoilt. And you know what? I think someone up there is telling me I'm too spendthrift and I'm being punished by having a neighbour who blasts techno and rock all night long.

I'm going to take revenge by blasting Strauss's Elektra tonight.

That aside, it's totally weird being back. To some point, I feel like I've never left. That my 3 months of summer in SG was a vivid fantasy of my own construction and creation. I can recall what I did back home, yet I can't believe I lived the way I lived. My memories are all in sepia print.

Walking down the Strand from King's to Covent Garden, up and down Russell Square, good ol' Safeway at Brunswick Centre... Even the shop where I normally buy my calling cards is unchanged. And I've forgotten how deceiving the weather can get. It's brilliantly sunny today BUT it's also freaking cold. Had to run back to the halls to get an extra sweater.

There are a few jarring changes which leap out at me: I look fatter in the toilet's mirror *sobs*, the Dept Secretary has retired with a new grouchy woman in place, Tesco's Express seem to have sprouted like mushrooms overnight, they're all over!

And of course, the number of 'plus-sized' women is overwhelming. I feel much more comforted when I stand next to my Brit mates. Here, I'm petite! Ahahah! For once, I get to be thought of as small.

I'm deluding myself of course, but hey, we all need bewitching illusions in our lives to keep us happy. Chocolate, crisps, ice cream and weed works too.

I do miss home. It's suppressed by the daily routines of life, but it lingers still. Like an ulcer, a festering blister that never gets any better. There isn't any medication for it, so I'd have to learn to ignore it, and hopefully, it'd go away with time. Time dulls everything.

I've also been trying to avoid triggers of home. My Pictures folder in my laptop is one danger zone, and I can only briefly glimpse at my Rod Stewart CD before my vision clouds over.

There's no escaping it though. I look at a particular pair of white earrings and painful visions from the past are unwillingly summoned. Even listening to the CD that Selena gave me (It's Jerry Yen's latest album) evokes bittersweet longings. For all good memories are now contaminated with the fervent yearning for home.

I'm sure this is just the first few days of adjustment, I should be alright in no time. Looking forward to the start of school! Did I mention I only have a two day week? Tues and Thurs. And I end school by 1pm everyday. Not too bad huh. *grins*

Going to college now, wearing a pair of impractical high heels but those are my only covered shoes. Did I mention that it's freaking cold today??

Missing all of you.

she procrastinated @ 12:03 |

Wednesday, September 22, 2004

farewell.

Okay this is it people: I'm leaving. (Again??) Hovering somewhere between excitement and trepidation, though I'm not too sure why. And weird pendulum moments of sheer euphoria and absolute wretchedness. Here we go again...

I'm so gonna miss you guys. This summer was far too short! Shout-outs to Yee Chong and Weilin: we HAVE to meet up earlier next time!! And to Tian, Cheryl and Euge: although we just met this year, I'm still gonna miss you guys loads! =( Keep me updated yah?

Nine months should pass quickly. =)

Thinking of Rod Stewart's Time After Time.

Take care of yourselves. Hugs and kisses to all! Till then, see ya next summer in June!

xxxxxx

she procrastinated @ 09:43 |

Tuesday, September 21, 2004

end of UK visa saga.

I've my visa and passport in hand!! -squeals-

Helloooooo London!

This time, the UK visa looks like the US one. Instead of the purple stamp, it is printed on the pages with an endorsed seal. It's those kinda 'pop-up' ones you get on certificates and awards. Wah. They are getting vigilant huh.

I toyed with the idea of working there, to earn more money to shop and tour. Then I realised it's stated on my visa that I'm not allowed to work in London.

Bummer.

It's funny how mere papers can have such a significant impact on your life.

Just dawned upon me: I'm flying off exactly a year after the theft of my luggages. 22nd Sept.

It had taken me exactly 364 days to obtain a new passport and visa.

Moral of the story: Never overrate the competency level of Brits, and never underestimate the power of procrastination.

she procrastinated @ 10:33 |

Monday, September 20, 2004

Things have been pretty busy lately. But first of all, Happy 20th Birthday to my darling Tian!! You looked absolutely gorgeous and pink's great on you. Honest. Loved the chocolate cake.

This happened at Tian's party, not word-for-word, but close enough:

Me: Anything different about me?
D : Uhhh.. oh! Your hair!
Me: Finally! Someone noticed the difference.
D : Yahhhh.. This is how you score points when it comes to girls. You must take note of what she wears lah, her hair etc etc.
Me: Really?
D : Of course! You changed your hair parting right?
Me: (paused)
Me: Actually, I dyed my hair.
D : Oh. Ooops...

And this conversation took place with almost everybody! Oh man, does my hair really look the same? Damnit. And I thought the colour was slightly different.

I'm looking in the mirror. I concede I might be slightly colour-blind, cuz it looks depressingly black instead of the chestnut colour it's supposed to be. Apart from random gold streaks. Too sad for words.

Doesn't Lynne have to pack? She's leaving soon right? If you're my good friend, you'd know that I'm actually procrastimating packing once again! By blogging this time round. Hence, the random post about my hair. Anything to escape from the tedious task of uprooting my life once again.

Okay okay, back to more packing. Hate it.

Feeling hungry. There's chocolate in the fridge. Just one trip to the fridge won't hurt... And I haven't read the papers... Nor finished reading my Robin Hobb book... I need to practise piano... Oh and I haven't checked my mail yet... still need to go out for lunch..

All that comes before packing, aye?

she procrastinated @ 11:22 |

Friday, September 17, 2004

I know I always complain abt my 2 dogs, Bubu (Jack Russell) and Chacha (Cockel Spaniel). About how I abhor and hate them to the very core. But I don't really mean it. Most of the time anyway.

But today's really the last straw. I was dead to the world, immersed in a wonderful paradise of clothes, free flow of cash and lots of junk food. Think Leonidas chocolate and Walker Sensations Sweet Thai Chili.

Then I dreamt that some bitch spilt a drink on my foot and my new 60-quid heels while shopping in Selfridges. I was livid and gave her hell on the spot.

It's easy to guess what happens next: I woke up to find Bubu slobbering all over my toes.

Really. There's no worse way to be woken up at the unearthly hour of 830am.

she procrastinated @ 09:13 |

Thursday, September 16, 2004

"Ring-a-ring-a-roses,
a pocket full of hoses,
a-tish-oo, a-tish-oo,
we all fall down."

I remember reading somewhere that this nursery rhyme actually depicts the Black Death, where the earliest symptoms are similar to a cold. And that a-tish-oo, a-tish-oo, could be ashes, ashes, we all fall down.

Isn't that freaky?

Having the children sing so gleefully about dying (we all fall down) is akin to them singing a semi-macarbre requiem to the dead. And the kids know nothing about the grisly origins of this antiquated parody.

The incarnations of life artlessly mimeing death.

I know, it's just like any other childhood games, like Guns and Robbers, where the robber has to play dead too, etc etc. But this nursery rhyme is more disconcerting than others. It freaks the hell outta me.

It's a silly thought, but maybe one day kids will dance around with SARS masks.

she procrastinated @ 17:25 |

Tuesday, September 14, 2004

ongoing visa saga.

Just received word from King's that the documents are ready BUT the fax number has mysteriously disappeared.

...........

ARGHhhhhhh!!! It's already Tuesday!! TUESDAY!! The 14th!! 3 working days left to process my visa!!! I still don't have the freaking endorsed documents from King's!!!

Really. I don't know how I'm going to make it for my flight.

Scenes from The Terminal come to mind: where Tom Hanks looks forlornly out of the glass doors at New York. Enticingly close. I foresee myself in a similar situation, where I'd stranded at Heathrow T3 on the 21st. But I'd be staring at a grey door with a bulldog of a security guard and pasty-faced officers demanding for my visa. And heaven forbid, what if I can't enter London but I'm forced to fly home???

I need my visa, I need my visa, I need my visa, I need my visa, I need my visa...

I want my visa, I want my visa, I want my visa, I want my visa, I want my visa...

I know just typing all these down won't help a whit but I will still chant:

Gimme my visa, gimme my visa, gimme my visa, gimme my visa, gimme my visa...

she procrastinated @ 13:44 |

Monday, September 13, 2004

Had tea with a friend today, and he inadvertently said:

"I feel old, but not old enough."

The simplicity of that sentence overwhelmed me, for that is exactly how I feel.

The daily drudge of mundane affairs and the clockwork routine of life saps your energy, like an unwanted parasite. Multitude of tedious tasks plague you to no end: monotony breeds lethargy. The night doesn't hold any respite either, but instead, creates a sense of apprehension and resignation at the looming dawn.

That being said, as weary as I feel, I've yet to reach the quintessential level of maturity for a 21-year-old.

I believe age and responsibility are directly proportional to each other. (Until you're a doddering old fool with half your teeth left. You won't be able to even think by then.) Not that you would definitely be more responsible as you grow older, but simply, more burdens would be thrown at you.

As a full-fledged adult (yucks), a whole new host of problems enter the picture. Providing for the family cuz my parents aren't getting any younger, my siblings' education, watching over them as individuals, future housing, how much money to set aside for future medical expenses for my parents... and this is just regarding my family.

The underlying root of it all is money. Not that money would solve all my problems. But hell, it'd make matters a whole lot easier.

It's not just monetary troubles. There are other unseen complications. But who doesn't have any? We're all plagued by problems. Persistent shadows, that's what they are. Shadows of underlying doubt and fear.

I don't want to deal with these problems. I just want to scurry away to London, study study study, and not fret and worry about these bugging issues. Out of sight, out of mind. Yet, how long can I run away for? I should stand fast and deal with them squarely. But I don't. I don't want to.

It's shity, but I'm simply not brave and mature enough to face up to reality.

Honestly, I'm just a pampered kid who happens to be 21. A student garbed in a teacher's attire.

I've been masquerading all this while.

she procrastinated @ 18:35 |

Sunday, September 12, 2004

of days gone past.




Wish I'm Piper from Charmed.


she procrastinated @ 04:29 |

Thursday, September 09, 2004

i need to gripe for a bit.

Hello, Singapore. Bye, London.

(It's the Return of the UK Visa Gripe!)

Due largely to the Brit's incompetence, the Singaporean's stickler for rules and admittedly my own penchant for procrastimation, I still do NOT have a visa.

I went all the way to 138 Robinson Road yesterday, (where I got cheated by another cab driver, but that's not the point) queued for a goddamn 1.5 hrs (my hp bill's going way up), only to be turned away for my application because I do not have original copies.

Oh come on... They were all in my stolen luggages! Can't they just cut me some slack here? How the hell am I supposed to get my original certs? The bloody thieves must have used it as toilet paper by now.

And I've to pay 150 bucks for a visa application. And it's not even my fault.

You know, at least I didn't have to pay if I could have had it done in London. But nooooooo the Brits won't give it to me either. Even after three months of waiting. Even after I personally went down to Croydon-the-land-of-immigrants-and-pigeon-shit to plead with them. Nope, apparently this Oriental girl looks far too dodgy for them to approve of my visa.

Like Jing is so fond of saying: "It's a conspiracy, I tell ya."

she procrastinated @ 11:45 |

Tuesday, September 07, 2004

I'm still there.

Waiting interminably for naught, yet like a fool, I sit there limply and dream, of an idyllic paradise of my own devising, of hazy visions that only I can see.

14 days.

she procrastinated @ 22:21 |

Sunday, September 05, 2004

foolish things.

Like the viruses which run unchecked in my laptop, wrecking havoc and activating at whim, my own life is inextricably riddled with worms.

They're of a different breed. Not picky. Undiscerning. They don't practise discrimination. Whimsically plowing through without any purpose, other than annihilation. Leaving a trail of debris in their wake.

Who would pick up the pieces?

Hollowed out by the dire consequences of my actions. My own choice.

The anti-virus programme in my laptop had long been disabled. Time to bring in the big guns and reformat Karl.

It'd be virus-free, but also data-free.

I hesitate to wipe the slate clean.

It doesn't make things easier, but I yearn for a choice to reformat myself. Hobson's choice.

You fool.

she procrastinated @ 22:05 |

Friday, September 03, 2004

It took an astounding amount of effort for her to keep the pink bow tightly pressed together. And it had to be curved upwards ever so slightly.

She didn't even dare to relax her tenuous hold on them. Barely smothered, caustic barbs were fiercely fighting for escape, frantically searching for the slightest hints of internal flaws. With mindless abandon, they fling themselves against the rosy barrier with a marked vengence.

Impenetrable. Not even a hint of white enamel beneath. She has remarkable self-control. It was hard-earned after all.

Without it, the insidious danger of revisiting past ghosts, would always lurk around furtively. Reviving dead echos that were painfully laid to rest.

Incur Pandora's wrath? No thanks. She would rather forsake the petty satisfaction derived from indulging her temper and pent-up fury.

Anytime, anyday.

she procrastinated @ 22:34 |

Wednesday, September 01, 2004

It's funny how words are so powerful, and has so much impact on a person. After all, they're just verbal ideas.

They either lift you up to dizzying heights of fancy, or you fall freely into a bottomless abyss of desolation. You squirm under their unrelentless and sharp scrutiny, and start entangling yourself into dead knots.

Surprisingly, rooted and stubborn mindsets are easily changed, with just a few properly chosen words. Reluctantly wavering despite my brave words.

Spinning and spinning around in bizarre circles, with no visible end in sight.

she procrastinated @ 02:08 |

blueprint

I will like to spend my days, as though they are my own, which I mostly end up doing in halves, for duty beckons, and I am answering its clarion call. Soon enough! I am also a veteran procrastinator.

fresh monodies

Old wounds hurt most, I learned this today, becaus...
She speaks, repeating the old litanies, of worn ac...
time skips
and it all comes together!
beethoven's symphony no.7 2nd mvt
again,
towards that something
In the alley of shadows and death
Masking Tape
another end of the world

previous rants

August 2004
September 2004
October 2004
November 2004
December 2004
January 2005
February 2005
March 2005
April 2005
May 2005
June 2005
July 2005
August 2005
September 2005
October 2005
November 2005
December 2005
January 2006
February 2006
March 2006
April 2006
May 2006
June 2006
July 2006
August 2006
September 2006
October 2006
November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
February 2007
April 2007
May 2007
June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
September 2007
October 2007
November 2007
December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
August 2008
September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
May 2009
June 2009
July 2009
August 2009
September 2009
October 2009
November 2009
December 2009
November 2010
January 2011
February 2011
August 2011
October 2011
May 2013

treatises on life

arty jen
betty boop
carmentica
charming-linn
chasing snowy cars
cheeky lynn
cheryliciously glam
clean and cute
cyclist-mad bass
darling dominic
feisty jing
fellow ditz-sista/porkSTAR
hail mary!
hell's kitchen
hero on the beach
h-Euge heart
hunky lenny
lipgloss queen
little cheryl
live n learn, baby
lolita lou
loony loon
mr popular
musically dan
m y s t j
phringe
princess tania
roger smurf
runaway pigeon
sabotage king jeremiah
sibling angst1
sibling angst2
spector dan
spunky tian
steffy bunny
sun-sunzzz
teeny wee-nee
weeeee, leonard!
yangtze yang'en

frivolous pursuits

for shallow ppl
for very geeky ppl
for the truly bored
spun prose
binary thoughts
past imprints
some stamps
montage of images
other memories

mulling over

"One is wicked, because one see things clearly." - Beaumarchais's Le nozze di Figaro.

And there were phlegmatic souls.