Freedom Writers.

Spent Thursday night watching The Freedom Writers on HBO; it was well worth the 2 hour investment. (As a sidenote, isn't it sad that we've become so calculative about everything? A constant weighing of benefits vs. consequences from dimes to seconds, about everything and anything. It scares me. Whatever happened to just doing things 'for the fun of it'? Now that's a term you don't hear very often these days. But that's an angsty rant for another time.)

The first feeling I felt was that of immense, immense gratitude. God knows what those kids in the movie go through on a day-to-day basis. I can't think of any way to describe how destitute and bereft those youth are, it's shocking. But I think this dialogue nicely sums it up:

Miss G: Who here knows what the Holocaust is?
[no hands are raised, except one]
Miss G: Who here has ever been shot at?
[all hands are raised, except one]

So yeah. Go figure.

We're all fighting our own wars, some - much, much - worse than others. And in comparison to the wars waged against these kids everyday, the average Singaporean teen's looks like peanuts.

If all of us would only just appreciate what we have and how incredibly blessed we are, this world would be a much happier place. 'Nuff said.

Resuscitate this.

Frustration wells up in the pits of stomach and I shake my head wildly from side to side. Maybe, just maybe, if I shake vigorously enough, memories will spill out and vapourise in the cool morning air; condense into nothing more than water droplets on sparkling, brittle glass. Alas, condensation is but a hopeless hope. (Oh what an oxymoron)

That stupid green shirt is still there.

Dang.

Terrified

So I've decided that this post will be dedicated to myself; I swear I'm not a narcissist.

I was browsing lazily through my blog archives and to my horror I realised that a reader - even a consistent one - of this blog probably won't know very much about me just by reading my blog entries. That's mostly my fault though. I intentionally avoid rambling on about my day to day life for fear of boring people out of their wits AND I do realise that a lot of my posts can be rather cryptic and esoteric so ... Combine that realisation with a brainwave and tadahhh you have this post!

Okay. So. What should you know about me? Hmmm.

Well the first thing you should probably know: I am conditionally organised. Which basically means that I can be all OCD about certain things and a complete slob when it comes to others. And just your luck, it turns out that I've decided to be thoroughly unorganised in this entry which means random facts about myself galore.

Well, not many people know this, but running is a father-daughter thing for me. My dad and I usually run on the track inside the central catchment nature reserve (it starts from SICC, which is really convenient since we're members) and ends at MacRitchie reservoir. It really is quite different running under a canopy of green inside the forest. I'm always happiest after a good run.
I haven't got the slightest clue what I want to be when I grow up. And sometimes the vision of a bleary, far-off future proffering a myriad of opportunities liberates me but at other times its like a condemnation, to take the beaten track, to give in to convention. It frustrates me to no end that I could end up as just another face in the crowd; lost, listless, weary.

I have a really sweet tooth. That's pretty self-explanatory.

I love more than anything to admire beautiful scenery. The feeling I get is beyond words. I can't even begin to describe the way in which beautiful scenery arouses feelings from the very depth of my soul that remain repressed in the hustle and bustle of daily life. Beauty takes so many forms and for me, scenery is one of its finest.

My room is in an utter mess. I've tried time and time again to clear it but all my attempts have proven futile. I think I'll clear it soon.

I always feel really sad after watching movies, even if the movie was a happy one. It feels cruel to present someone with a portal for escapism for a mere 108 minutes and then take it away all too abruptly. I mean, it's like putting someone through all the joy and struggles and disappointment you've faced and then shoving them out of your life with a 'the end'. It's too sudden, it's too cold. So yes, movies kind of make me feel despondent.

I think that's enough random facts for now.
I now know why I've never shared much about myself here - it drains you, makes you feel exposed. But oddly, I've never felt this comfortable being vunerable.

I'm your junkie.

The End.

This is The End.
I'm letting go, like how I should have a long time ago.
And I'm only sixteen but I know that it shouldn't have to be this way. It's so difficult and it hurts.

It hurts.

Raise the white flag; blow the final whistle.
I'm done here.

Nothing left to lose

The holidays have been, um, mediocre.
There've been good days; there've been bad days.
And it really irks me that I've been so unproductive.
I hate myself for being lazy.
And I miss you.
What is there to miss actually?
There was nothing there to begin with.
You foolish imbecile.
I hate you.
I like you.
Oh and Federer won the french open.
Whippee.

Please let something happen.

This anticipation is killing me.

Once again, I'm about to be disappointed.

I just know it.

Forget this,

I'm off to get some work done.

Ciao.

Agreed.

That's me inside your head.

So I recently stumbled upon this fashion blog called gofugyourself.celebuzz.com - yes, please pardon it's slightly crass-sounding url - and it certainly propels the meaning of 'wit' to a whole new dimension. I found myself giggling, rather irrationally, at the witty and clever banter of the blog writers who practically bleed sarcasm.

And despite my love for Lucas Eugene Scott (Okay, I admit my love doesn't extend as far as his middle name. I mean, they were obviously severely inebriated when picking the name. I've heard of DUI, but seriously, WUI (Writing Under Influence), should be punishable by law too; just look what they did to poor Lucas.), I couldn't help but snigger - rather guilty, I must add in my defence - at this following paragraph:

"And my conclusion is, despite whatever dumb salary dispute they're having, I'm pretty sure Chad Michael Murray CAN'T leave One Tree Hill, because where is he going to go? Who is clamoring for his services, exactly? How will that show work if Lucas can't squint with joy, or squint with pain, or squint while deep in thought, or squint in judgment, or squint in confusion, or squint with pride? And what other show, or indeed acting role of any kind, could accommodate that kind of deeply nuanced emotional range? Is he supposed to squint with concentration on CSI? Squint with lecherous evil on Gossip Girl? Squint with a popular kid's disdain at the Buy More nerds on Chuck? I guess he could squint at the Squints on Bones, but then would the universe fold in on itself?"

Oh dear dear Lucas Eugene Scott.
But to give you credit, I must admit you've got some of the best quotes with Peyton Sawyer in TeeVee History. And when I was fourteen, young and still blithely naive, I used to sit in front of my computer and watch you with glazed eyes as you squinted (ooh can you feel the sheer intensity) your way through all sorts of mishaps and accidents.
We'll miss you on OTH.