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Post-Poetic Ramblings [Jul. 3rd, 2008|11:33 pm]
Post-poetry recital, I reckon I've had a great day.

Woke up today and made time for a nice early morning swim. Went to work today and managed to make it through the day without angry, frustrating thoughts about my life, and began to acknowledge the fact that I may be off the 'dying' stage and unto the recovery path.

The poetry recital was a farce - I barely made it through the door in the last minute due to a crazy traffic jam.

I did, however, check out the store at its new premises, had a nice chat with a good friend over a pint of beer, and considered briefly the possibilities and benefits of being single. The idea presented itself to be slightly alluring under slight intoxication of the mind...
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Poetic Performance [Jul. 2nd, 2008|10:31 am]
Have been seeking to keep myself busy, and thus will be attending the below events.

Event One

Scream Blue Murmur,
a group of performance poets from Belfast, Northern Ireland, will be performing at BooksActually !

Formerly the Belfast Poets Touring Group, who last performed at The Arts House last year, Scream Blue Murmur will present a poetry showcase about 1968, a year of upheaval and revolt. From the assassinations of Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy to the rise of
Women's Liberation (not to mention the year of the launch of Apollo 6 and the release of sci-fi movie, Barbarella), it was the year that shook society's foundations.

Date: Thursday, July 3
Time: 7pm - 8.30pm
Venue: Books Actually, 5 Ann Siang Road (Tel: 6221 1170)
Admission: Free
Presented by: subTEXT, <subtextinfo@yahoo.com>

Event Two
The Proletariat Poetry Factory
Saturday, July 5, 2008
1:00pm - 7:00pm
Substation Gallery

Randomly making its appearances in flea markets like MAAD, FleaFlyFloFun and Black Market at Dempsey, this will be The Proletariat Poetry Factory's first performance as a cohesive group.

The work process remains the same, as it always has been. Give them a word to inspire the poem, leave a name behind, collect the typewritten poem and pay any amount for it.

A constant audio feed by The Board of Supreme Controllers via headphones aims to maximise productivity, by maintaining servility of poet labourers and complete mental submission to the system.

Now, The Proletariat Poetry Factory is aiming to manufacture and sell the largest volume of spontaneous poems in one sitting to date, as they set their sights on industrial performances of an even bigger scale.
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Hopes of July [Jul. 1st, 2008|07:54 pm]

It's July. I promise to become the best version of myself, every day.
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(no subject) [Jun. 21st, 2008|12:57 pm]
Am back - have been back for many days.

First two weeks post-Europe was spent calling the ex, wailing and cursing at him for screwing up my life. That did not work.

Next two weeks was coming to terms with the fact that he's on his graduation trip. I stashed the phone on my bed away, deep into the chaos of my closet. It was my safety net and amazing out of the world invention for ten years where he was a dial away and his voice would reach me magically. I no longer have that anymore.

On nights I don't hang out with girls (a ten year relationship renders me with 99% female friends), I hang on my queensize bed and stream korean videos non-stop. Not so fun.

Yesterday I had the brilliant invention of an imaginary boyfriend. Let's call him Nick. I explained to about ten of my friends who mostly think its creepy. 'Why do you need a man to validate your existence?' a friend asked. I reminded her of the month she spent hysterically crying over her own relationship problems. 'Well, crying makes you feel better,' she said...

Is that true? I don't feel better after crying. In fact I feel worse. Empty.

Fact is, even if you have a lizard in your room for ten years, and its the creepiest thing on earth, you'll still miss it when it's not there. Not to mention a flesh and blood boyfriend who has been always there for you despite his numerous screw ups and hang ups which we could never solve, despite the gazillion lies we tell ourselves.

So having an imaginary boyfriend will work, at least it eases my tired heart/mind/soul. And having him totally controlled by your brain is a plus  - he can't cheat on you or lie to you or smoke behind your back, unless you want him to.

I miss him every day, but when we talk we just want to kill each other.

I'm angry, very angry - ball of flames existing in my chest.

But mostly I just miss him. And I'm so tired all the time.
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Of Cultural Miscommunications [Apr. 27th, 2008|07:18 pm]
In anticipation of my three-week trip (longest ever away from this Little Red Dot!), I trooped down to Mustafa to get my roller luggage. Gave a call to a girlfriend who instructed me to drop down my plans of buying one from Chinatown, and head straight for the 24-hour gem of a shopping centre.

I did.

To my ecstasy, I found the same roller at a $12 discount - the inner cheapo in me rejoiced and did a little victory dance. Sure it was kind of scratched and used and they insisted there wasn't a new piece (don't lie to the consumer, she doesn't believe you!), but in the end it was still worth the money.

Lucky little roller, it's going to rattle away its virgin trip on European cobblestoned streets.

I went to the cashier merrily, who happened to be a young Indian man with the most mesmorizing raven eyes.

Him: *whispers some Mandarin sounding phrases under his breath*
Me: Can pay by Visa or not?
Him: You from China?
Me: Can pay by Visa or not?
Him: Can... you from China?
Me: No lah, I from Singapore...
Him: *stares at my Mao Zedong communist T-shirt with Mao's face plastered across my chest* Who is this guy?
Me: I buy from Bugis.
Him: Who is this guy?
Me: Mao Zedong. *signs my credit card bill*
Him: You not from China? *stares at my bill*
Me: NO.

Why is it so hard to believe that I am Singaporean, despite wearing an orange Communist T-shirt and having a Chinese signature?
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(no subject) [Apr. 26th, 2008|08:37 am]
It's the weekend and I will be away for a long vacation soon.

I need to be packing but am not, yet.

Its time to indulge in what should be the vilest habit - retail therapy. Two words, seemingly innocent and should conjure up happy thoughts. But if you stop and think - do you really need that branded pair of shoes slashed to only 30% of its price... but still money-sucking at three digits? (Yes I do!)

How often is it that we pace our happiness with items? Once I buy that car - only then will I be happy. Or a house, Manolo Blahniks, that YSL coat, a Tag Heuer watch, a damn Moleskine, that Europe trip? Except only the moment you bought it, you feel nothing.

That's arrival fallacy for you.

I'll still be going to the sale though, except with a discerning frame of mind to only grab one pair of three-digit costing shoes, instead of say - three pairs.
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Resounding Silence [Apr. 24th, 2008|08:24 pm]
Its quiet here - I've taken to holing up in my office cubicle as I await my conference call. I like that there is nothing moving except my fingers. I've plugged on my iPod to keep me company - the songs bring back fond memories.

With growing up comes the letting go of a lot of familiarity. I've bought a car, so I no longer need to commute. Without the noise of the public to block out, I no longer need to switch on my iPod unless its for exercise. But I still need the songs in it to make me feel sane, the way I need to write to sort my thoughts out.

I sing, and I write, but only for the moment. The songs are forgotten, the blog entries stored and archived. I never read them, and a couple of years later I forget what I was feeling or ranting about in my entries.

I've stopped scribbling in a notebook because I'm plugged to the Internet everyday and I have Google Notebook.  I've stopped mental calculations, I have my handphone and desk calculator. I've stopped speaking to acquaintances, I have MSN for that. I avoid speaking to hostile colleagues whom I'm not so close to, there is always the internal email or office chat system.

With so many convenient solutions, am I losing a bit of me everyday without knowing it?
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Starting Afresh [Apr. 23rd, 2008|10:02 pm]
I started this account years ago. I was in university, fresh out of a problematic relationship. I took a shuttle bus in school after class, and ran into my first full-fledged crush. I hardly knew him. Said less than ten sentences to him. Three years later, I look back and hardly remember him as a person, but I remember close to ninety percent of how he made me feel.

Now I turn back to this account, just as a separate place to write my emotions. As an anonymous girl who simply want to pen her thoughts.

I've always knew words can calm me, soothe me. Yet I often forget to turn back to this medium of peace in the chaos of life.

For almost a decade, I got my heart broken over and over again, by the same man. He was my first love, and really my everything. Over and over again, despite what my friends said, I went back to him with the pure hope that he can change. Because I believe in him, because I am good to him. Just because of this, he can change all his vices - his smoking, him seeing other girls, and most of all, his lying to get away with his wrongdoings. To me.

I guess I have to blame myself for that.
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