338: wishing only wounds the heart

We’re in Paris now, after a week in London. The journey to France has been tumultuous, to say the least. From changing travel companions to booking Eurostar tickets to finding last minute accomodation just as Christmas Eve drew to a close, the event that reinforced how this entire trip so far has been a godsend was the fact that we missed our Eurostar train yesterday morning due to rather unforeseen circumstances. And yet, we’re here, in Paris, freezing our asses off in the winter, but the night lights are lovely and the buildings sparkle.

It is vastly different from London, but I am glad to be here. Christmas in London was special, not just because I spent it overseas for once, but because I didn’t spend it with family. I was glad to be with friends, and not alone, and meeting new people on Christmas night itself was also fun. I was glad I took that chance. It scares me sometimes; how I seek company now more than ever, as if being alone is really such a bad thing.

It is not; but when the weather is cold, sometimes all you need are some friends.

I have bought a lot of things. Buying things always makes me happy, for some reason, and whatever that says about me, it doesn’t matter. We also ate an insane amount, from cheap food at the borough markets to expensive one-starred restaurants, went to the Tate Modern, took stupid pictures along the river and filmed retarded videos, and I haven’t laughed this much in a long while. My buys were good — Kwek was my porter, carrying all my shopping and my jackets and my bags (thank you) — while I tried on shoes after shoes after clothes after clothes.

I watched Wicked, which I enjoyed immensely. Some parts made me almost cry, but this is me being subjective. This is all I can say. I am trying not to live under shadows, to come out into the light and be myself again, the girl I used to be, or maybe the girl I have become. Remembering what I used to love, what I used to do, and all the things I have been.  I am getting excited over the old things, rediscovering new things, and indeed who can say if I’ve been changed for the better; but I have been changed for good.

WATCH IT. WATCH IT NOW. Funny and heartbreaking as hell.

(如果你能拿得起，我也一定会放得下)

337: and where are the deep shelters?

I have been probably pushing myself too hard. There are things that I don’t need to do, but I have been doing them anyway. This includes stupid things like reading articles and cross-referencing them, putting in citations in my own paper that cite this article which cited that article on this page under this footnote, and drawing an insane number of mindmaps for that last International Company Law exam just so I would remember everything, which I didn’t, in the end. The last three weeks have been crazy and mad, and I’d like to say I’ve barely had time to think, but the truth is I’ve been thinking a lot (and maybe too much), and I don’t like what I come up with. Everything I write does not make sense, now that I read it again, and even though I passed my exam, I am still somewhat unhappy with the results. I want to do well, even if I don’t have to, and this bugs me. Am I asking for too much?

336: the sky will soon be full of suns

Time takes it all, whether we want it to or not, time takes it all. Time bears it away, and then there is only darkness. Sometimes we find others in that darkness, sometimes we lose them there again.

Stephen King

Everything must have a Before and After, just like a person is meant to mark time passing. Once gone a person becomes a milestone, and everything narrows to just a passage of time, and a bunch of labels. Memories are boxed away, stored for safekeeping, hiding themselves in the dust under the table, waiting for the time they may be taken out without pain or awkwardness. The person who stays may shed tears, hurried and quiet, furtive. Once the tears are gone, the ache dulls. Everyone heaves a sigh of relief as the epiphany eventually comes. They have been holding their breath hoping they too do not die waiting in the process.

One does not keep loving photographs of the past. The magic hurries on, even when the lovers remain, solitary as they are and separated by a world of nothing, and the label disappears. Though change is often imperceptible and sometimes fatal it is inevitable, and this is at least the one truism we are resigned to have to accept, even if it nevertheless cannot become our excuse. The past is a video game, the chase blurred in time and with memory; it makes things better, or worse, than they were. The night lights will seem brighter, the air cooler, the kisses gentler and more filled with love, and suddenly the light stronger, the words harsher, the shadow of a back darker, the actions more cold. One learns to stop speaking in the present tense. “Are” must become “were”, “is” must become “was”, and even “we” must change to “I”, “ours” to “mine”. One is never more aware of how the semantics of language must change for one to adapt, to survive, to avoid looking back what it all was. One must forget the old words, make up new ones. Descriptions must change, and so must greetings and goodbyes. Nothing is the same, and it must stay that way, a fragile truce to keep from breaking back into dangerous waters.

But words are words, and they only say so much. Photographs are photographs, and cannot be altered or reshaped or erased; they nevertheless remain moments from a previous life that may not be resurrected, but cannot be ignored. Most of the time they are good photographs: there are laugh lines, twinkling eyes, wide grins. In uncommon moments there are downcast looks, a melancholy forehead; and rarely, a tear or three down a cheek. Grief is never as easy to capture in a moment, knotty and tangled at the beginning as it is at the end, skilled fingers teasing away each painful memory as they continue. And one cannot pretend: that there is no pain, nor guilt, nor a love as measured and wonderful as it was sour and bitter. The moment remains, and so does the truth, and memory cannot make things better or worse. Forgetting is as big a crime as remembering too much.

As we twist and turn in our sorrow, the day becomes more beautiful. The sunrises may come later, the sunsets earlier, the day shorter. There is less time to do anything. The weather turns cold and the snow begins to fall, strange and wonderful as it is to have it at this time of year. As the year enters its darkest days the air fills itself with sparkling lights and festivity, the churches begin to open, and hearts themselves try not to close.

334: baby do you remember when

When I turned 21 I wrote somewhere that this may have been the best year of my life. More than 2003, when the world was my oyster and I thought I could do almost do anything, or 2005, where I was older, slightly wiser, proud of having overcome my pain. In 2005 I found friends, friends that have supported me till now, even if I didn’t find love. I worked my ass off and made it to where I am today, I had fun, I laughed. When I turned 21 I had the best birthday I ever had, possibly ever. It was the first time my mother realised, how many people there were besides her who loved me. 

It was a beautiful year, for the most part. I studied hard, I did well, the world was out there, and for once there was real promise, a real hope, a real future. There were friends, amidst the long hours spent in the study room. We spent beautiful hours together, beautiful days, beautiful weeks. I thought I was never more content when you came over and rocked me to sleep, like nothing else mattered, only me. With you I was everything and nothing, and I could be who I was. There was nothing to hide, nothing to run away from. We spent hours on trains, traipsing all over Japan, just you and me and the world out there, waiting for us to explore. We were young and happy, and in love, and I thought we would last forever. In those two weeks there were ups and downs, but I came back more convinced than ever that my choice was right.

This year has been full of decisions, of realisations, happy and sad. There are so many that I have made, and there are so many that I am unsure about now. This year I decided I wanted to spend a year in Europe. This year I decided to make my second year count. This year I decided to rebuild my old friendships, because something is better than nothing, and we have all grown up. And love is a strange thing; it creeps up on you. This year I was never more sure of my feelings. This year I decided who I wanted to marry.

In August Europe was waiting for me, and you, and it was going to be you with me. I wanted to spend these long wintry nights with you, huddled up somewhere, fighting the darkness and the cold.  It would have been just you and me, and love. There have been ups and downs this year, people have changed, people remained unchanged, people died. But everything has been fine, and I pulled through, because I have you, and you have always been there. It would have been 26 months yesterday.

This year I grew up. From intense happiness, to intense pain, I have felt everything there is to feel. I have not felt anything other than happiness in a long, long time, and I have not been alone in equally long. All those nights that I went to sleep with a smile on my face, I remember fondly, and I think about how it is like now. Many things have changed; but many things haven’t. I still think of you everyday, but I cannot tell you anymore. 

Be strong, I tell myself. The world is not ending. But there are walls between us now, walls I can’t climb. There was a time I prayed that these walls, not having to be built up, would never have to be torn down. I remember how we began, those slow, tentative beginnings, and the way we ended, quick and hurried and brutal. In between the beginning and the end there are all these memories, which don’t just drift away and die. Everything that I am has part of you in it. Everyone we love changes us irrevocably, but I wanted it to end with you. 

Between us there has always been the years, there has always been the love — and still, there are always the hours. I’m a selfish idiot, and maybe I’m crazy and stupid, I know that, 

but I love you

332: where’s the fire, what’s the hurry about

… we’ve got so much to do, but only so many hours in a day. And we can dream on, but don’t imagine they’ll all come true.

I have decided to update this post everyday for a week with the things that make me happy everyday. It is time for some POSITIVITY! Also, strange how they say people only blog when they are either 1) very depressed 2) very free 3) very busy. I suppose this must be true, because I do it all the time. 

330: one night in beijing

Things begin, things end, things begin anew. The logic is the same and it is always the same cycle, and everything appears to be a game. You play, you win, you play, you lose, you play. You win again, or you lose. There are never grey areas; everything is one or the other. Still you play. Everything defines itself by something else, and when there are only two alternatives there is always something that has to give. Rarely are we faced with more, and like most life-changing decisions, there is really only one way to properly go about it, which is to say, not at all. Nobody thinks. Nobody cares. We remember the times that we sat together by the riverside, thinking about our lives, wondering where we would go. We eventually came to the conclusion that there was nothing we could do; this is the way it is, this is the flow. If we make a mistake, so be it. It is our life to live. We win, we play, we lose. Everything is a risk and we pursue the exciting rather than the familiar, because we are free, because we are young, because we can. It is the reason why nobody turns back, why nobody wants to be faced with regrets, why everyone looks forward and keeps going, because the past is painful and hard to bear. There are only two alternatives. And yet everything in the present must also have a past, in the same way that it must also have a future. It may not be better, it may not be worse,  just — different. And then how much remains the same is the scariest question, because it is possible to come full circle and realise one has never moved from the same spot. It may be the same as watching someone sit quietly by your side, not saying anything, but understanding. It may be that someone’s back is turned away from you, someone who doesn’t look at you anymore, who doesn’t say anything and will never say anything anymore. It may be the case that having someone is like not having anyone at all; or that we are faced with the ghosts from our past all the time, pretending all the while that someone is there when they are not. 

329: distance has no way of making love understandable

One year ago I wrote about winter. It was exactly a year ago, give or take a day. It was after exams and I was emotional, I was high, I was thinking about a lot of things. It was a year ago, and I made my choice. The other entry’s title seems strangely and funnily ominous now. It’s funny how my feelings haven’t changed, not at all. But people do, and then I remember that I am not enough, not anymore.

It’s snowing outside and I wish I was warmer and had less work to do. I wish for your sake, that I could be happier in this silence. I am trying to be strong, and give you space, because it’s not my world anymore, but it is so hard. It is unbelievably hard.

237: how new year’s eve was spent

Pictures above courtesy of Michelle!

 

 

After watching the first episode of Coffee Prince with Nurul on Ian’s TV on New Year’s Eve, I went and looked it up. And I finished it in two days. Oh man. I love it. Every character is so well-developed, even the minor ones. And the acting was wonderful. Okay, and the guy was hot.

235: remember 2007

And so — how has it all changed?

This year things are very different. For one, I’m now typing in caps. I don’t know why, maybe I think it looks nicer, but actually I just wanted to do it for that particular post, but now I’m stuck doing it because I like uniformity (gasp) and I can’t stand it if the post is anomalous, not anymore. Which is also why I’m in the process of changing all my ITunes song info into capital letters, after I spent nearly three days changing everything to small letters when I first got ITunes, back in 2004. Maybe it marks a transition; who knows.

Being in university changes things. For one, I no longer really see January as the start of a new year, since I’m still in the middle of a school year, with the promise of a second semester, a second chance, looming in the horizon. It makes things that happened this January so far away, back in my first year of university, though still part of 2007. And it started with nearly getting bombed in Bangkok, spending our New Year’s Eve in a hostel room huddled together, playing drunken games with lots of beer, because that was the only thing we could do. In that time, how much I really felt as if I grew up was a mystery, and it has yet to be solved.

There were lots of holidays; a lot of travelling, and breaks. From Bangkok with my friends to spending a night in a chalet all by myself, Malacca, to visiting Bangkok with my mum when my dad first relocated (with all the promise, yet again, of strengthening old relationships, putting water under the bridge, etc), to Hong Kong, that wonderful place I will always love. During summer holidays, I went out unafraid into the sun for the first time, in a long time, without getting burnt, or any side effects that come with usually being in the sun. For those who have never had this problem, you cannot imagine how liberating it was, or how frustrating it must have been, all those years when I was never allowed to do anything for prolonged periods under the sun (effectively putting an end to whatever burgeoning sports career I had). The beach was there, and so was the sun. With the sun, came the food writing, and somehow I spent all those suntanning days reading about food; Anthony Bourdain, Jeffrey Steingarten, Ruth Reichl. Dealing with Law Camp in between. Crashing my car on the way to Ian’s house. And then, the drunken parties, the heart-to-heart talks, seeing how social dynamics changed from semester to semester, and all the histrionics that the aftermath of being in clubs brings. Seeing relationships get ruined, slowly but surely, with all the force of an oncoming train but being powerless to stop it, too much alcohol, a wayward hand, and strangely enough, struggles for power. When you think you can do anything, you really will.

Then there was the most difficult part; dealing with the aftermath of last year. When you think it is all over, it starts again. There was summer, when everyone came back, and there was MAF. Where I renewed old friendships and was glad for them, knowing nothing could replace them, and yet, feeling so far away. With each year comes the renewed feelings of clutching at straws. But no, some things are only as big as what you make of it, and I will take it as it comes, drunken spontaneous forays into Zouk after drinking like delinquents outside Cineleisure, and all.

This was the year I bared the most of myself, and had the most heartfelt conversations with people. Some regarding love, or life, relationships, family. There was lots of alcohol involved, or I would not have said anything most of the time. Circles of trust, in the dead of night with a dozen shots down, smiling drunkenly at each other. I wonder now if I really knew the impact of what I was saying, but no matter now. And a random day of skipping school, going to Far East, just hanging out and talking. We were supposed to have lunch, but we ended up talking for three hours. I was scared, most of the time: of disappointing myself, loved ones, hearing doors close, phones slammed, messages deleted. Communication being cut off. Things that didn’t appear to matter suddenly did, and became bigger than they were. When family to me was still a belated, distant concept. Maybe it still is now. Maybe my feelings are an intellectual construct. Who knows? And I thought to myself, maybe things would change, but they didn’t. Was it regret? Nobody knows. But I think not. Somehow this year I found out, and perhaps admitted to myself, what I knew all along, which is that people don’t change, or change irrevocably.

Am I too old to dwell on my pain? Maybe, and maybe I need to get over myself, or anything that stands in my way. We always have these conversations about people without realizing they are equally applicable to ourselves. Strangely enough, the best thing that may have happened to me was probably getting banned from Bogglific, without which I would have wasted my entire life away. And those days were dark. In April I huddled in classrooms, shivering from the cold on weekdays and sweating like a pig on Sundays, when the aircon was off. Waking up obscenely early, and going home at obscene times. Killing myself over moots with Patrick, determined that I should do a good job, practising again and again in front of people, getting shot down by questions again and again in front of a full classroom, going up in court, delivering my argument. I was damn bloody scared, but who wasn’t? Then, in second year, all those trial/advocacy tutorials, which we never put in effort for, till the last minute, where I decided that even if it wasn’t really graded, I would do this properly. In November, I left school at 4am on a regular basis, going home only to bathe and change, then come back, and start again. Getting intimately acquainted with the numerous delivery services across the island, bringing our own exam wellness pack, staying in the study room where the same old same old people came in everyday, sending each other nostalgic Chinese songs from our childhood and beyond. I went to Starbucks almost every other day, having some version of coffee or another. While I listened to Wu Bai on repeat I looked through mortgages again and again, trying to remember the rights of a mortgagee, arguing with others over the duties of a director, and what happens with a legal or equitable lease, making stupid and utterly lame lawyer jokes. Chomping on wasabi peas to keep me awake, constantly hounding the co-op auntie to bring new stocks in. Sitting outside on the canteen chairs way after closing, so that mine was the only chair left outside when the night ended. Seeing the number of cars along the front of the school dwindle to just mine, and whoever was in the study room. Honestly, I have never taken so much pride in my work.

And then, after all of it, I must let it go. All those notes, thrown in some random corner, while DVDs and Japanese dramas and random history books take centrestage. Then I went to Starbucks again and again, this time doing nothing but lazing around, reading and having a coffee, just like I dreamed of during the exams. And I took pleasure in the rain, the cool weather, pretended it was winter and it was freezing, though January is coming and it is no longer all rain and clouds. Tonight I saw the most stars in a year, and I thought of the time I was 15 in OBS looking at Orion’s Belt on Pulau Ubin, and that black, black sky in Mongolia where I stared up with no lights on for miles and miles, my legs up in the air. It reminded me of Christmas Day, with familiar and comforting rituals, which I know are about to end, because now all the boys will be going overseas, and nobody will come back anymore. Then I remembered that overwhelming disturbance I felt that day, whether it was due to family or new information or not, I will never know. As I drove home that night at 4am, it felt a little melancholy. It seems every Christmas there is some little saga, some revelation, and whether for better or for worse, at least some things remain constant.

#

I felt as if I should mention you, but I didn’t know where to put it. But you are everywhere, so maybe there is no need after all.

234: giddy-up, giddy-up, giddy-up, let’s go

Christmas. Always a good time to get together with people, and laugh your head off.  

233: here to stay is the new bird

Sometimes I think, someday I’d like to live in a world where nothing changes. Where everything stays the same, stagnant and unmoving, like a puddle on the floor. I’d sit in my pool of water, and look up at the sky. A frog in a well.  

But puddles grow bigger and bigger as the rain gets heavier and heavier, and eventually spill over into the drain.  

232: gone away is the bluebird

Went to the toy museum at Seah Street today. 

229: lovers’ chatter is as dust

I’m having a headache. I’ve been having a headache on and off for the past week, and I don’t know why. This is all so strange. I feel like a mysterious and fatal disease is quietly descending on me. Hur.

This week –

We went to the National Museum on Friday, and I hadn’t been there since the last primary school field trip, and to Timbre for dinner after, because we happened to park there. It’s changed a lot, and I liked it. There are a couple of pretty cool exhibitions there, including one on New Buildings (modernist architecture) and Greek sculptures from the Louvre. Now they make me want to go to France, not for the first time.

We watched Two Days In Paris on Monday night, and it was wonderful. I hadn’t watched a movie that uplifted me in so long (I’m sure you will agree that of the many things that Lust, Caution is, uplifting is not one of them), given there was never a single down moment or a lapse in concentration. Like every movie with Julie Delpy, the conversation just keeps going, even though sometimes that’s all there is keeping it up. I love it. I love how a movie can be made so completely out of words, and though the surrounding is important in providing a context for these words to fall in, it’s still part of a supporting role. Each character, whether mimicking life or art (Julie Delpy’s real-life parents are her movie parents as well), has their own backstory and past, the glimpses of which are shown solely through conversation, evoking a picture just as vivid as a visual flashback.

I love her. And the part about the balloons and where Adam Goldberg smiles goofily like a squirrel. Daniel Bruhl (Goodbye Lenin fame, another movie I love) was totally random.

#

So the second week of my vacation has passed, with three more weeks left to go. In another week, it’ll be Christmas, and then the New Year. It feels strange not going away this holiday, but I’ll live. I’ve been spending my time redecorating my room, unearthing old photos and sticking them on my wall, fixing random things like the TV wiring and getting a tape unstuck from the VCR (antique device that it is), going out with the bf and my mother and grandmother, watching Japanese dramas.

More on Japanese dramas. I like them a lot, not solely because the cast is attractive, but because they deal with interesting issues (not like Taiwanese ones, which are either idol dramas or about scheming heirs to a family fortune plotting to take over the company), like Kimi wa Petto, which deals with the highly improbable situation of a young OL keeping a teenage boy as a pet after she finds himself abandoned in a box outside her house. Or Kindaichi — which though predictable after 2 seasons — continually amazes me with ingenious ways to solve crime. In addition to that, they come in manageable 9-11 episodes, not requiring you to follow the slow unfolding of a very complicated plot (like in Hong Kong) over something like 30 episodes. And unlike Korean dramas, nobody gets a fatal disease and dies at the end (most of the time).

My boyfriend is probably sick of me talking about them, since I talk about a different one every week.

In other words, I’m doing nothing very productive. But lovely enough, for the days to come, where 18-hour days come to haunt me again.

226: i need some intelligentactile 101

When I first thought about the holidays coming I thought of all sorts of things to do. But it never fails to surprise me how much I’ve missed and failed to take in while I was holed up in school.

Today I went out alone again. I wasn’t intending to, since I was supposed to meet someone, but my phone (un?)fortuituously went dead and I decided to spend my Saturday alone after lunch. Sometimes I feel sad that he’s not here, but most of the time I quite enjoy it. It reminds me of what I used to do when I was single, and had all the time in the world to myself, without thinking about rushing off to meet the bf whenever. It’s not a bad thing — being attached — alot of the time I wanted to run away and go meet him, but there’s something. About solitude.

I’ve always liked big cities. My cousin-in-law asked me which city in Europe was my favourite, and not having been to many, I said London. I wasn’t lying, since I was prepared to spend 3 years there anyway. And I said, yes, the bigger and more crowded, the better. (Only after I said it did I realise the contradiction, because I’d just professed my hatred of Zoukout merely 10 minutes earlier because it was too crowded and squeezy — and drunk) My cousin said bodies pressing against each other are not her thing, and I thought back to the MTR in Hong Kong during peak hour.

I remembered I hated it, but I was glad to finally have a chance to push someone without getting my head bitten off, since no one would know who it was anyway. There was that freedom, that anonymity, to do things you ordinarily would never get away with, to lose yourself in a big city. Of course I’m talking about more than just pushing random commuters around in a train. But you understand.

So — I read No Reservations in Kino today, after buying a pair of shoes and reading half a Christmas story (like Good Omens, only worse, so I stopped) in Borders. And yet another trashy romance novel. In what seems to be the greatest irony ever, I read the first romance (few days ago) in the corner of the Parenting section, which looked like a fairly promising place to read, but turned out to be full of random people. Who are younger than I am and not supposed to be old enough to need advice on parenting. (No comment.) Then I read the second one in the Children’s section in Kino — after No Reservations — on a bench, where I happened to find a seat, although I had to share it with an overly excited expecting couple who were cooing over baby names from a book.

Parenting and Children. Are my maternal instincts subconsciously taking over?

The woman was cooing, anyway, while her husband continually objected to every single name she picked out till she got fed up. Maybe it was the bad pronunciation. Imagine if the Registrar of Births got your name wrong because your mother couldn’t pronounce your name. Worse still, she’d be able to spell it correctly. And the Registrar will try valiantly not to laugh.

“Bree?

“Eee like cheese like that.

“Britchet!

“Dowan! Sounds like Bridge.

“I know I know! Clo!

“You mean like Chloe?

“Yeah! Clo!

“No dear, it’s Chloe.”

At this point I felt a family disaster crawl slowly but surely towards the backs of the unsuspecting couple. Luckily they left, so I could stop eavesdropping on other people and concentrate on my own book. But really. Clo?

Well. There were other things I noticed, like the inordinate amount of people snapping pictures with the Takashimaya Christmas tree. And a girl I saw walking down Wisma wearing a sports top and shorts with a Deuter backpack and really high wedges. Dressy wedges. Really high dressy wedges with jingly-jangly things hanging off the straps. Wish I’d taken a picture.

City life. Great innit?

224: distance has no way of making love understandable

Today I sat alone in Borders reading a trashy romance novel for 3 hours. Then I went to Starbucks, walking through the puddles with an umbrella being blown against the wind. It was a very strong wind.

Looking outside, it actually feels as if winter is approaching. Or is already here. The bells are ringing, from a place I cannot see.

It is the headlights; the lights of the oncoming cars hurling themselves the glass door, as fragile as the snowflakes painted on them, if they were real. The outside gets dark quickly, even though it is not yet 7pm. All these things and more, remind you that in times of good cheer and tidings, there is usually the most loneliness to be found.

171: city of blinding lights, a city lit by fireflies

so you take a little trip down to town and find that nothing much has changed except the christmas decorations, although those at peninsula hotel always seem to have that extra sense of class, that magical feeling, those yellow stars. the neon lights draw you in, there are side alleys that lead off into darkness, into people sitting on wheelchairs begging for money, into unbidden surprises. one thing about hong kong is that appearances can be deceiving. walk into a shop and take the stairs down and suddenly a space becomes ten times bigger than it turns out to be. flowers are fake. a massage centre is really a pornographic wonder. there are stars on breasts, there are porn theatres, advertisements flashing out in neon colours that blind your eyes and are a grandiose swirl of colour. such nuances cannot be accurately portrayed by words nor by the unsteady hand of a camera. one day i’m going to go back into lan kwai fong and see the other side of hong kong, away from midnight curfews and parents’ prying eyes. it’ll be lovely. there’ll be lights.

*

111: i give you special student discount, 300 baht

the last day of 2006 was eventful, to say the least. from boarding the free seating tiger airways and irritating fellow passengers all the way to bangkok with our noise and nonsense, we arrived hollering down the aisles and barging our way out of the terminal. once we got on the bus we waited and waited and waited for the bus to move only to find out we were 5 metres further away from our destination, because the bus reversed instead of moving forward. the sights are fascinating, though, and we photo-whored all the way into town, amusing the rest of the passengers (which seems to be a trend, we provide live entertainment everywhere) while patrick kept imitating borat and we kept screaming for sam to take his shirt off and get molested by gayboys.

it was all joy and laughter till we went exploring the area for a nice place to have dinner. when we finally settled in, somebody messaged kwek saying 7 bombs just went off in bangkok — right about the time we were on the bus into town, though we didn’t hear or see anything, continuing in our happy cocoon of bliss. it was scary when we found out, i guess — kwek kicked into soldier mode and called the embassy and made sure everything was okay, the boys ran to 7-11 to stock up on water (and bought beer, and chips, and nothing else) while we all walked back separately in groups after the restaurant rushed to settle our bills so they too, could go home. it was frightening — but when you’re removed from the danger you can’t really feel much, though it still looms ever-present, the threat of more bombs going off while you’re walking on the street. it seems trivialising to say now that we’ve never been so close to almost dying before, but the thought stays at the back of your head, and comes off the top of your head, so easily. it’s so difficult to imagine, but the danger is so real.

on the way back it was strange because i wondered what would happen if all the beggars, sitting harmlessly by the wayside, ended up dead in the hours of the morning traffic, while more bombs went off outside our hostel over the new year, while we were (relatively) comfortably esconced in our rooms playing stupid card games and getting high on beer, our idea of punishment being not being able to go to the toilet, while later sitting and wishing random italians a happy new year. the ones whom nobody remembers to remember, or even forget. all these people who suddenly disappear, without a trace, while the world runs on into the rest of its days.

here the city is at its cut-throat best. the kittens sneak their way around dogs lazing on the pavement, though they pose no harm. it’s funny, their country and ours, even the differences are in small things. how the cats here know enough not to be afraid of the dogs, as if all the animal instinct has been bred out of them. in singapore they’re all afraid of people, and the enemy of your enemy is your friend. at the markets everyone looks to sell their goods; some give you attitudes when you bargain and walk away not buying, some try their best and throw in everything and a smile. in their musical, sing-song voices they entice you, they beckon you over, feeding you sweet-sounding lies after lies about this being their lowest price. things are different, though, if you’re asian, and they skin the caucasians alive. which is lovely, despite it being in a racist sort of way, but it underlies the communal tradition, a remnant from thailand’s subtle and invisible colonialism. it makes small allowances in a country where people continuously struggle to maintain an existence, proud and polite as they are.

here there is no shame. somehow seeing foreigners with one of the numerous, willing thai girls bring to mind all the strange and weird sexual encounters i’ve read about on worldsexguide.com (don’t visit if you’re underage and/or squeamish about porn ads, but once you get past the sexual descriptions and vulgarities it paints a fascinatingly grim picture of the social fabric that survives on the underground sex tourism that goes on in the world) and it disgusts me slightly, this vast continent of whites that prey and feed on asia, just as they’ve always done. in bangkok there is no seedy underbelly; the girls are open and unashamed, they lift their heads and walk with a grace you don’t find in geylang or anywhere else. when the boys walk by the men eye them with open interest, even though their arm is around another man. sometimes a whole row of them will line the pavement of the street just outside a bar, and it’s an amazingly fish tank-like experience, walking by in single-file as if you were displayed for them to pick out. it’s unnerving — but here the boys are forward, and don’t care much about propriety. caitlin says it’s because one of the thai kings used to be gay, and they found it impossible to divorce the near-fanatic reverence for the monarchy with his apparent decadence. and here the king is everywhere, his portrait on the streets and in the shopping centres and markets and restaurants, a veritable father presiding over a country where anything goes, but everything works.

in between the days of endless shopping where we scored cheap t-shirts, dresses, belts and shoes — joanna bought 4 bags’ worth of stuff and joel even had to lend her his extra bag — we managed to run across the road holding cup noodles full of hot water over the overhead bridge and having supper every night. we tried to sleep before joel so we’d all avoid his snoring, but always caitlin and i ended up having to plug our ipods in so we could drown out the sound. on the last night joanna joined in the snoring, and the jos conducted a symphony between them the entire night. it was harrowing.

the rest of it all passes in a blur: sam’s shit clogs up the toilet bowl, dennis, christine and zhengx keep oversleeping, the toilets are always flooded after a bath, raffli and caitlin singing horrendously while in the shower, dancing furiously at bedsupperclub where zhengx picked up a thai girl and spent a whole day with her and her honda civic (and her uncle, who was translator), concussing on the lovely white beds at bedsupperclub, the obscenely-priced drinks, the way everything closes at two, the drunk angmohs and their gayboys and thai girls, the random bursts of yellow on the streets, the bombs, the car wreck by the side of the road due to the impact, the happy christmas and new year lights all around screaming happy new year 2007, the cool shops in the big shopping centres, the immaculately clean food courts, the insanely dirty side-streets packed full with roadside stalls and lovely cheap food, random graffiti on the sidewalks about thaksin and singapore, watercoolers along the street that don’t work, numerous black canyon coffees, twisting my ankle on a step that said mind your step, justin and sam getting eyed by gayboys, a&w meals, cabs that con you if you don’t insist on asking for the meter, observing people on the train, crazy pictures.

and you know what, as a completely random point, i should have bought black instead of red heels! arrrr!

109: so hurry down my chimney tonight

now that my macbook’s finally back up and running, here are the christmas pictures!

this was everyone at ian’s before midnight, on christmas eve; and before we tackled the horrendous crowd that was seething around in orchard road, while i ran off to alex’s.

ian, and clement!

 

 

the boys; rz and i — we haven’t gone out in so long!; this would’ve been a gans and roses photo, but…; the girls and kenneth

 

 

chue; michelle (seems weird calling her mitch now, hmm) & wanxuan with the reindeer hairband; beekee!

 

pretty girls in dresses!

 

 

everyone squashed on the sofa (: and people whose names contain three letters — sam, ian, ben & mok!

 

 

more sofa squashing wheeeeee

 

 

 

ian, JQ, & jon :D

 

this might be a picture in which JQ actually looks substantially taller than me! :D; christine; jgan minutes before he passed out on the floor somewhere.

 

three days ago, while at pret. look at the pretty star!

 

 

and this is a year back, at the pret in london, where i was noticeably less fat.

 

and, well, this is a random photo from three weeks ago, and i’ve just finished dinner, but… shit.

 

108: some kind of lazy day

st james was… interesting. the cover was only $10, though, so it’s worth a check out just for the variety. i’m sure the music and crowd will improve with time — though it seems horribly overaged, and the guys were suitably disappointed by the lack of fresh meat down there (heh). and the DJ was vaguely annoying. but happy birthday JQ anyways, you’re 21! (:today was possibly the first day in a long time without any rain, and i finally watched curse of the golden flower, starring gong li’s boobs (and about 10,000 other extras’) — seems a trifle excessive, though, JQ was telling me he’s off boobs now after watching it, he’s “now an ass man” — quite a depressing film, really. there are loads of good movies coming out in january, though, so that’s something to look forward to. since we watched it in yishun, it seemed like a throwback to the past (when was the last time you visited yishun?), and it was pleasantly nostalgic and suburban. the spaces are so much wider, and you can actually see some greenery… bumped into ziyao at the interchange, and had a drowsy, pleasantly stony bus ride home. stopped a bus stop earlier and walked back, soaking in this glorious cool non-rainy weather, just in time for dinner. lovely. off to bangkok in two days!