Sitting on the bus on the way home, I murmured an 'excuse me' to a woman who sat on the outer seat. She shifted so that I could move in and take up my favourite spot next to the window, on the elevated footrest. Well, yes, I'm short and don't like my legs to dangle.
It wasn't till a few stops later that I noticed a woman sitting on the outer seat in front of me shifting to allow for another girl to move in. The conspiracy theorist in me then wondered, 'is there something wrong with the inner seats on this bus that they're not telling us?'
Then I remembered; even if there were something wrong, it wasn't likely for anyone to tell us about it anyway. Of course, I'm assuming it's something minor. Like a bad smell, a patch of dirt, or something. No one really bothers to tell you about it, and it's not malice or apathy so much as the tacit understanding that you shouldn't talk to strangers on a bus.
Yep, we prevent ourselves from spreading goodwill through a mother's caution and bashfulness.
My realisation of how our conversation with strangers never seem to move beyond niceties of P's and Q's activated the irony seeker in me.
What if, long long ago, in medieval (possibly fictional) times when people were hale and hearty and merry and chatted people up as easy as pie, some disgruntled Scrooge wondered why people weren't more polite?
Random funniness.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Gangsta Hipsta Rocksta Baldsta.
Yesterday was quite an interesting day at VJ - it was the day when approximately a hundred Victorians shaved their heads bald.
There were 3 girls among that number, so I heard.
It's not entirely surprising. After all, it's very true that girls value their hair a lot more, and have more reason to. Guys often cited 'preparation for the army and a reason to shave, in jest, yet it's true that the inevitability factored in the decision.
In fact, I was a tad surprised to know that any girl had even signed up in the first place, though the number ease it by a wide margin.
I guess that's what I have to understand about VJ - people genuinely care. My friend from KI, Wan Ting, told me forlornly that she'd wanted to shave, but her mother had threatened to disown her if she chopped her hair off.
That, was surprising. Wan Ting's a pretty girl who had nice hair, and though I never thought her vain or selfish in any way, I didn't think she would feel so strongly about the cause/feel so little for her hair that she would be so enthused about shaving it off.
Not that I don't think it's bad to not shave. I freely confess to being very unwilling to shave my head for a cause (though thinking back I remember telling Jack Neo I wouldn't mind doing it as an actress).
I didn't see the point. Sure, it was a pretty meaningful gesture, but I didn't think it would make any difference. There were no cancer patients in VJ, and I wondered how it would be truly effective.
I was so stupid.
It took two realisations for me to see it. One: My friend and classmate, Sean, was the only one from my class who dared shave his head. Before he did though, second thoughts were running wild in his brain. He voiced his regret and worry several times, yet he knew (and I, somewhat) that he wouldn't back out. I attempted to assure him by saying that he wouldn't look weird since there were so many people doing it, but he questioned 'what about when I go out in public?'
Two: It wasn't an event (unless you count an epiphany an event). It was merely a dawning of the fact that surrounded by the shavees in VJ, there was a tangible pressure for those who did not to shave. I began to feel ashamed of my hair and saw others the same way too. This environment was also created by the dozens of comments surrounding the shavees:
At the opening ceremony (of sorts)
'omg they're so brave(italicised)!'
In the hallways
'WHY YOU NOT SHAVE.'
*seeing fascinated girls touch the fuzzy heads of the shavees*
At this point in my post I shall insert a more negative realisation of sorts; of hypocrisy. I couldn't help but feel a flat of annoyance, increasing bit by little bit each time, whenever I witnessed some hairful girls adamantly demanding that some of the boys shave.
Of course, in retrospect, some of those girls could've wanted but couldn't shave. Like Wan Ting. Yet it can't be that all the girls were like Wan Ting. (obviously I am mathematically wrong, but hey, look at the probability).
My message to those girls: look at yourself before you look at others!
Although advising them to spend even more time in the looking-glass is probably not a good idea.
Update: Apparently there were 11 girls an a total of 164 shavees. With quite a number being walk-in, un-pre-registered.
There were 3 girls among that number, so I heard.
It's not entirely surprising. After all, it's very true that girls value their hair a lot more, and have more reason to. Guys often cited 'preparation for the army and a reason to shave, in jest, yet it's true that the inevitability factored in the decision.
In fact, I was a tad surprised to know that any girl had even signed up in the first place, though the number ease it by a wide margin.
I guess that's what I have to understand about VJ - people genuinely care. My friend from KI, Wan Ting, told me forlornly that she'd wanted to shave, but her mother had threatened to disown her if she chopped her hair off.
That, was surprising. Wan Ting's a pretty girl who had nice hair, and though I never thought her vain or selfish in any way, I didn't think she would feel so strongly about the cause/feel so little for her hair that she would be so enthused about shaving it off.
Not that I don't think it's bad to not shave. I freely confess to being very unwilling to shave my head for a cause (though thinking back I remember telling Jack Neo I wouldn't mind doing it as an actress).
I didn't see the point. Sure, it was a pretty meaningful gesture, but I didn't think it would make any difference. There were no cancer patients in VJ, and I wondered how it would be truly effective.
I was so stupid.
It took two realisations for me to see it. One: My friend and classmate, Sean, was the only one from my class who dared shave his head. Before he did though, second thoughts were running wild in his brain. He voiced his regret and worry several times, yet he knew (and I, somewhat) that he wouldn't back out. I attempted to assure him by saying that he wouldn't look weird since there were so many people doing it, but he questioned 'what about when I go out in public?'
Two: It wasn't an event (unless you count an epiphany an event). It was merely a dawning of the fact that surrounded by the shavees in VJ, there was a tangible pressure for those who did not to shave. I began to feel ashamed of my hair and saw others the same way too. This environment was also created by the dozens of comments surrounding the shavees:
At the opening ceremony (of sorts)
'omg they're so brave(italicised)!'
In the hallways
'WHY YOU NOT SHAVE.'
*seeing fascinated girls touch the fuzzy heads of the shavees*
At this point in my post I shall insert a more negative realisation of sorts; of hypocrisy. I couldn't help but feel a flat of annoyance, increasing bit by little bit each time, whenever I witnessed some hairful girls adamantly demanding that some of the boys shave.
Of course, in retrospect, some of those girls could've wanted but couldn't shave. Like Wan Ting. Yet it can't be that all the girls were like Wan Ting. (obviously I am mathematically wrong, but hey, look at the probability).
My message to those girls: look at yourself before you look at others!
Although advising them to spend even more time in the looking-glass is probably not a good idea.
Update: Apparently there were 11 girls an a total of 164 shavees. With quite a number being walk-in, un-pre-registered.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Reflections.
It's been forever since I last posted...
Oh wait, I'd posted my essay for Anu's contemplation. (@.@)
Decided to start blogging again to throw a few thoughts out after trawling through Tracy's blog. Am still doing it, lol.
Think I'm gonna stop using so many emoticons. I never really liked them much in the first place, but I gradually, and semi-consciously grew to use them more and more. Best bet: I was trying to make myself more friendly and likeable. The lack of emoticons always makes me appear more cynical than I actually am, and too many people were coming up with comments about me being a 'scary debater' after a cursory glance (I'm assuming) at my Facebook wall. (Stacy in particular.) It's gonna inolve a conscious and long-term effort to stop using emoticons, but I'm gonna start doing it. For sure, definitely, chop chop.
Because I want to preserve what's left of my identity.
It's a curious thing, identity. It's something that we are rarely aware of, but something to vital to ourselves. It's neither this nor that, and it's not something we can fully understand. But people have been able to live their lives (technically) without an identity, and without the knowledge of their lack of an identity.
But who am I to judge what constitutes an identity? After all, a common identity is still an identity. But then again, isn't an identity supposed to be unique, to differentiate one from another?
Oh dear, caught in another conundrum. OK, not really, but I'm blathering a lot now, arguing with myself, and I want to carry on; I have a lot to write out today. (type. TYPE.)
(It's 4.08am, and I am probably not going to sleep. On the train later, yes, but not to bed. Sigh. My bed...)
Oh, yes. Identity. After reading a lot of Tracy's blog posts, the thing that really struck me was about her identity. Of course, identity is never fixed. It's open to change. But that doesn't prevent it from emitting an aura of fixedity/fixedness, of certainty and resolve. It's like someone being very sure about a decision at any point in time, only the decision was liable to change. The key to success (Tracy's success) is to learn to stick to one decision, and have a more or less constant identity. To grab hold of parts of yourself by knowing them, and tethering them to yourself so that they don't go away.
But there were parts of her that were always with her, and though her ropes loosened after a while, they held fast while they were still tight. And that's something I find very admirable. Because I don't know myself. The bits I know a) are not enough to contruct the mainframe of an identity b) are not tethered simply because of knowledge, and c) I do not know are fixed bits.
Don't worry if you don't get this. Don't think I would either.
I've been mulling over a phrase in the notebook:
"We can rediscover ourselves together."
I picture it mentally, since I don't have the book in my possession. (though I can't even remember the colour of the pen ink it was written in.)
And a comment made by a Friend:
"I don't actually know you that well. You're a much more reserved person than Tracy is. (My shocked response: how is that possible?) I know what you will do, but I don't know why you do it. I think it's also because you yourself don't know why you do it. You're a much deeper person than you realise."
And a conversation with Tracy:
T: "How is it that I do not get that 'fresh perspective' from you in return?"
D: "I'm not a particularly unique person. (And you're hard to please.) Besides, I'm not someone who has a strong perspective on things."
T: "I like how you have an open attitude. I was the opposite when I was your age."
But I don't like not knowing myself. I want to know who Denise is, what she's like, what she does, why she does...
But I'm so open I don't even have a favourite colour. I seriously don't know what my favourite colour is. It changes a lot. Right now, it's light blue, but before that it was hot pink.
Okay well maybe I'm thinking too much. It's not abnormal for someone to have a variable favourite colour...But that was a bad analogy. I'm not gonna find another one though.
It's been a while since I've thought so deeply. I've been living simply and happily for quite a long time, and this is slightly new to me, yet not unfamiliar. In fact, after my hiatus from deep-thinking I find that I can sort my thoughts out slightly better. I used to go crazy. Like that time when I lost it and screamed into the phone at my Friend. LOL. It was the catalyst for such great change...
But I like this. I like thinking. It makes me feel alive again. I'm no longer worrying about superficial things. But this also means I'll have to learn to cope with so many thoughts.
Okay, strayed from topic again.
The answer I can accept for now is my age. (Okay, it's more of an excuse.) I have to keep telling myself that I'm only sixteen and still impressionable, still susceptible to external influences, and that I'm still shaping my character.
I know I'm supposed to cherish every day of my life, especially since I've made a resolution to, but sometimes it's not that easy, especially since this old mind (so I've been told) does not enjoy a teenager's life well. I can't say life in VJ isn't turning out well - in fact it's better than I thought it would be - but progress is stagnating. I need real friends, friends which are difficult to find for me (arguably I have yet to find one, since Chermaine is contentious). The need has been lessened with my Friend, but nonetheless it is a different Friend I am talking about.
Sigh. I am such a teenager.
Yes, I know. I know I am whining.
Doesn't anybody think that what you hate about others, others might hate in themselves too? That women would hate PMS-ing as much as you do, that teenagers hate their insecurity as much as your are fed up about it, that mothers hate their incessant nagging as much as daughters do?
Thoughts.
Reading Tracy's blog has also been immensely humbling, because I'm beginning to realise the full extent of my inexperience. I had a small taste when she tried to tell me about love, but I dismissed it too quickly. There are so many emotions I have yet to feel, so many events I have yet to experience for myself to even begin to try to justify myself as an important being. I recognise that I have built up a sizable amount of self-worth that is unwarranted, and I confess to condescending thoughts on many occasions that I something express, though I hope I managed to lather these bits of patronisation with nice-sounding words and usually, what-I-think-is-helpful advice.
After re-reading the conversation with Tracy, I must extend a sincere apology for the tone and attitude I took, and my lack of empathy for her situation. Being unable to do so, I belittled her choices in life, and accorded myself a sense of false pride and self-worth.
To be fair to myself (and also because I instinctively conjure excuses for myself up), I sometimes just sound that way even if I am actually not, and I was feeling rather insecure about myself in the presence of Tracy, and felt like I had a need to dominate the conversation in ways that I would otherwise not approve of. So, yeah.
Damn, now I'm flagellating myself. Again.
I have too little confidence, but berate myself for having too much confidence. What an oxymoron I am (pun pun).
I really do think too much, don't I?
Okay and now I ought to go, it's 4.46am and I need to pack my bag for school, even though I have quite a few other topics to cover. (Actually I don't think I can remember them anymore.)
Tata.
Oh wait, I'd posted my essay for Anu's contemplation. (@.@)
Decided to start blogging again to throw a few thoughts out after trawling through Tracy's blog. Am still doing it, lol.
Think I'm gonna stop using so many emoticons. I never really liked them much in the first place, but I gradually, and semi-consciously grew to use them more and more. Best bet: I was trying to make myself more friendly and likeable. The lack of emoticons always makes me appear more cynical than I actually am, and too many people were coming up with comments about me being a 'scary debater' after a cursory glance (I'm assuming) at my Facebook wall. (Stacy in particular.) It's gonna inolve a conscious and long-term effort to stop using emoticons, but I'm gonna start doing it. For sure, definitely, chop chop.
Because I want to preserve what's left of my identity.
It's a curious thing, identity. It's something that we are rarely aware of, but something to vital to ourselves. It's neither this nor that, and it's not something we can fully understand. But people have been able to live their lives (technically) without an identity, and without the knowledge of their lack of an identity.
But who am I to judge what constitutes an identity? After all, a common identity is still an identity. But then again, isn't an identity supposed to be unique, to differentiate one from another?
Oh dear, caught in another conundrum. OK, not really, but I'm blathering a lot now, arguing with myself, and I want to carry on; I have a lot to write out today. (type. TYPE.)
(It's 4.08am, and I am probably not going to sleep. On the train later, yes, but not to bed. Sigh. My bed...)
Oh, yes. Identity. After reading a lot of Tracy's blog posts, the thing that really struck me was about her identity. Of course, identity is never fixed. It's open to change. But that doesn't prevent it from emitting an aura of fixedity/fixedness, of certainty and resolve. It's like someone being very sure about a decision at any point in time, only the decision was liable to change. The key to success (Tracy's success) is to learn to stick to one decision, and have a more or less constant identity. To grab hold of parts of yourself by knowing them, and tethering them to yourself so that they don't go away.
But there were parts of her that were always with her, and though her ropes loosened after a while, they held fast while they were still tight. And that's something I find very admirable. Because I don't know myself. The bits I know a) are not enough to contruct the mainframe of an identity b) are not tethered simply because of knowledge, and c) I do not know are fixed bits.
Don't worry if you don't get this. Don't think I would either.
I've been mulling over a phrase in the notebook:
"We can rediscover ourselves together."
I picture it mentally, since I don't have the book in my possession. (though I can't even remember the colour of the pen ink it was written in.)
And a comment made by a Friend:
"I don't actually know you that well. You're a much more reserved person than Tracy is. (My shocked response: how is that possible?) I know what you will do, but I don't know why you do it. I think it's also because you yourself don't know why you do it. You're a much deeper person than you realise."
And a conversation with Tracy:
T: "How is it that I do not get that 'fresh perspective' from you in return?"
D: "I'm not a particularly unique person. (And you're hard to please.) Besides, I'm not someone who has a strong perspective on things."
T: "I like how you have an open attitude. I was the opposite when I was your age."
But I don't like not knowing myself. I want to know who Denise is, what she's like, what she does, why she does...
But I'm so open I don't even have a favourite colour. I seriously don't know what my favourite colour is. It changes a lot. Right now, it's light blue, but before that it was hot pink.
Okay well maybe I'm thinking too much. It's not abnormal for someone to have a variable favourite colour...But that was a bad analogy. I'm not gonna find another one though.
It's been a while since I've thought so deeply. I've been living simply and happily for quite a long time, and this is slightly new to me, yet not unfamiliar. In fact, after my hiatus from deep-thinking I find that I can sort my thoughts out slightly better. I used to go crazy. Like that time when I lost it and screamed into the phone at my Friend. LOL. It was the catalyst for such great change...
But I like this. I like thinking. It makes me feel alive again. I'm no longer worrying about superficial things. But this also means I'll have to learn to cope with so many thoughts.
Okay, strayed from topic again.
The answer I can accept for now is my age. (Okay, it's more of an excuse.) I have to keep telling myself that I'm only sixteen and still impressionable, still susceptible to external influences, and that I'm still shaping my character.
I know I'm supposed to cherish every day of my life, especially since I've made a resolution to, but sometimes it's not that easy, especially since this old mind (so I've been told) does not enjoy a teenager's life well. I can't say life in VJ isn't turning out well - in fact it's better than I thought it would be - but progress is stagnating. I need real friends, friends which are difficult to find for me (arguably I have yet to find one, since Chermaine is contentious). The need has been lessened with my Friend, but nonetheless it is a different Friend I am talking about.
Sigh. I am such a teenager.
Yes, I know. I know I am whining.
Doesn't anybody think that what you hate about others, others might hate in themselves too? That women would hate PMS-ing as much as you do, that teenagers hate their insecurity as much as your are fed up about it, that mothers hate their incessant nagging as much as daughters do?
Thoughts.
Reading Tracy's blog has also been immensely humbling, because I'm beginning to realise the full extent of my inexperience. I had a small taste when she tried to tell me about love, but I dismissed it too quickly. There are so many emotions I have yet to feel, so many events I have yet to experience for myself to even begin to try to justify myself as an important being. I recognise that I have built up a sizable amount of self-worth that is unwarranted, and I confess to condescending thoughts on many occasions that I something express, though I hope I managed to lather these bits of patronisation with nice-sounding words and usually, what-I-think-is-helpful advice.
After re-reading the conversation with Tracy, I must extend a sincere apology for the tone and attitude I took, and my lack of empathy for her situation. Being unable to do so, I belittled her choices in life, and accorded myself a sense of false pride and self-worth.
To be fair to myself (and also because I instinctively conjure excuses for myself up), I sometimes just sound that way even if I am actually not, and I was feeling rather insecure about myself in the presence of Tracy, and felt like I had a need to dominate the conversation in ways that I would otherwise not approve of. So, yeah.
Damn, now I'm flagellating myself. Again.
I have too little confidence, but berate myself for having too much confidence. What an oxymoron I am (pun pun).
I really do think too much, don't I?
Okay and now I ought to go, it's 4.46am and I need to pack my bag for school, even though I have quite a few other topics to cover. (Actually I don't think I can remember them anymore.)
Tata.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Surrogacy: To Be Legalised?
Here's the essay for my MOE Humanities Scholarship. It's been severely cut due to the chracter limit of 4000 words, but the points are there.
Posted for Anu! This blog is long dead...
Surrogacy became a sensation with the “Baby M” case . William and Elizabeth Stern desired a child, but for Elizabeth it posed a health risk. So a deal was struck with a surrogate mother, and Mary Beth Whitehead was impregnated traditionally; that is, she was the biological mother. Here's the catch: Mary refused to give her daughter up when she was born. The Sterns then brought the case to court and sued Mary for violation of the contract. The court granted custody of the child to William as her biological father, based on a “best interest of the child analysis”.
The case sparked international debate: should such contracts be enforced? Surrogacy can be morally good, especially when used as a last resort. It is then that objections to the process can be overruled, by virtue of the good it does to childless couples. Still, not everyone agrees.
As more people turned to surrogacy, surrogates were observed to decide to keep the children they birth, even gestational surrogates who have no blood relation to the child. The reason why is simple: this baby sale fails to take into account the strength of the bonds formed between a woman and her baby in her womb. Many people who oppose surrogacy capitalise on this phenomenon to express that defying Nature's will goes against natural order and therefore children must only be conceived and nurtured by their natural parents.
More pragmatic opponents argue that the moral contract can still be rendered invalid, because the surrogate fails to realise the strength of those maternal bonds. By proving it is impossible to obtain full or pure consent from the surrogate, it becomes a case of misinformation. The contract can thus be declared void under court law.
Yet a notable fact is that the judgement passed was to be “in the best interests” of the child. The government similarly has a duty to protect the mothers' interests as much as possible. This boils the issue down to two questions: who is the better mother and which mother's interest should be better protected?
Back then, it was an issue of the surrogate mother versus the biological father, but the adoptive mother should have also been considered an important stakeholder. Practically speaking, Elizabeth was better financially able to provide for the child. Seeing that Mary had two other children, Baby M would also be likely to receive more attention and care with Elizabeth. Furthermore, having gone to lengths to have her, Elizabeth would be more likely to cherish the child. Just because Elizabeth did not conceive the baby did not signify the maternal bonds were absent.
The second question concerns the issue of which mother should be granted custody, especially for a gestational surrogate who is not the biological mother. Prior to such cases, few people thought that gestation validates parenthood. But it became clear that parenthood is also defined by the sacrifices parents make, and pregnancy is a major part of it. Still, we have to consider that this was replaced with a monetary one. Even in child adoption cases, parenthood is about the choice to sacrifice daily comforts. Moreover, when the couple desperately desires a child, the inherent love they have should make them deserving of parenthood.
A important thing to note is that surrogacy contracts should not be like property exchange. Surrogacy involves the sale of a child, or paternal rights. It is said that both are inalienable; that is, they cannot and should not be voluntarily offered up in any exchange, much less a commercial one. It is the market for a child's life that dehumanises that very life and turns it into nothing more than a commodity. Surrogates, though technically owning their parental rights and thus the life of the child, cannot give or sell them away, because they are so sanctitious.Yet it remains my belief that exceptions can be made, because surrogacy is the only way out for childless couples, and it becomes humane to buy a baby to complete your life.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Analysis of Dream
Hello, as promised, my analysis.
1) The whole spirituality thing.
-Earlier that day I was having a discussion about spirituality, religion, and gods. It wasn't very in-depth really, just a friendly mutual exchange of views and all, but maybe it affected me more than I thought. Subconsciously at least.
-I'm a Buddhist by birth but really I'm a freethinker. If you happen to catch me praying or following some strange superstition, that's because I've become infected by my mother's superstition since I was born. No, I think it's before. Fear of offending the gods has long been ingrained in me and in any case, I don't know how these religion things work so I don't wanna risk it.
-So anyway, I don't believe in Heaven or Hell, but I do believe that there is an afterlife of some sort. As for gods, it's more complicated. I don't believe I believe in god, but I find it frustrating that I talk to him [internally of course, I'm not completely nuts] when I'm in a desperate situation. So I'm questioning my stand on religion. In any case, I don't really believe that any god controls our lives. Logic tells me that there can be no god, and that's what I say to anyone who asks, but head and heart say different things, you know.
-I blame my mother for making me superstitious.
*Glee's Season 2 Episdoe 3 Grilled Cheesus is an episode on spirituality, it's quite poignant.
2) The ambushing.
-Yeah um, that night during a break from mugging, I read the latest TIME magazine, which featured an in-depth study of extreme militia. So I was reading about the drills, the serious attitudes, the predicted situation such as a pro-Muslim president etc, and it was probably brought into my dream.
-The hiphop clothes was probably because of the YOG Opening Ceremony, that dance where teenagers started dancing Modern Dance.
3) The huge, huge mansion.
-It wasn't until Saturday during swimming lesson, when I was doing 4 laps of backstroke, [though I was mainly slacking and paddling along, occasionally pulling an arm to give the impression that I was swimming] that I realised that the high, high ceiling of the indoor pool resembled the huge, huge-ness of the mansion.
-If you want to laugh Chermaine go ahead.
-Cmon my brain has virtually nothing to do during swimming but think of random stuff! It's one and a half hours of mulling over stuff.
4) The dreadful loneliness.
-It's society. Or my perception of society, Singapore society at least. Singapore's full of people but they're more like workaholic robots who don't know how to touch touch hug hug or love love.
-The whiteness and blankness and windowlessness also supports the idea that the mansion was a metaphor for my perception of Singapore society.
5) Leighton and Qiyuan.
-The person with whom I was discussing spirituality was Leighton. Though how the crap Qiyuan got into my dream is indeed puzzling.
IT'S IRRITATING HOW I WOKE UP.
1) The whole spirituality thing.
-Earlier that day I was having a discussion about spirituality, religion, and gods. It wasn't very in-depth really, just a friendly mutual exchange of views and all, but maybe it affected me more than I thought. Subconsciously at least.
-I'm a Buddhist by birth but really I'm a freethinker. If you happen to catch me praying or following some strange superstition, that's because I've become infected by my mother's superstition since I was born. No, I think it's before. Fear of offending the gods has long been ingrained in me and in any case, I don't know how these religion things work so I don't wanna risk it.
-So anyway, I don't believe in Heaven or Hell, but I do believe that there is an afterlife of some sort. As for gods, it's more complicated. I don't believe I believe in god, but I find it frustrating that I talk to him [internally of course, I'm not completely nuts] when I'm in a desperate situation. So I'm questioning my stand on religion. In any case, I don't really believe that any god controls our lives. Logic tells me that there can be no god, and that's what I say to anyone who asks, but head and heart say different things, you know.
-I blame my mother for making me superstitious.
*Glee's Season 2 Episdoe 3 Grilled Cheesus is an episode on spirituality, it's quite poignant.
2) The ambushing.
-Yeah um, that night during a break from mugging, I read the latest TIME magazine, which featured an in-depth study of extreme militia. So I was reading about the drills, the serious attitudes, the predicted situation such as a pro-Muslim president etc, and it was probably brought into my dream.
-The hiphop clothes was probably because of the YOG Opening Ceremony, that dance where teenagers started dancing Modern Dance.
3) The huge, huge mansion.
-It wasn't until Saturday during swimming lesson, when I was doing 4 laps of backstroke, [though I was mainly slacking and paddling along, occasionally pulling an arm to give the impression that I was swimming] that I realised that the high, high ceiling of the indoor pool resembled the huge, huge-ness of the mansion.
-If you want to laugh Chermaine go ahead.
-Cmon my brain has virtually nothing to do during swimming but think of random stuff! It's one and a half hours of mulling over stuff.
4) The dreadful loneliness.
-It's society. Or my perception of society, Singapore society at least. Singapore's full of people but they're more like workaholic robots who don't know how to touch touch hug hug or love love.
-The whiteness and blankness and windowlessness also supports the idea that the mansion was a metaphor for my perception of Singapore society.
5) Leighton and Qiyuan.
-The person with whom I was discussing spirituality was Leighton. Though how the crap Qiyuan got into my dream is indeed puzzling.
IT'S IRRITATING HOW I WOKE UP.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Dreams.
I had a strange dream the day before the day before yesterday.
I think I should type it all out so that I can ponder over it better. I'm probably safe because only Chermaine and Perini know about the existence of this blog, and I've told Crystal and Chermaine about it already, so it's alright I guess.
Here goes.
It started with me being in my house. I was stepping out of my house when I was ambushed by a group of young adults, probably not much older than I was, though I never looked into a mirror at any time in my dream. They were dressed in hip-hopish clothes and I distinctly remember one girl wearing a solid-colour tank top, yellow or pink or something like that, with baggy pants, and she had cropped hair, probably with a cap on it.
Sorry, I forgot quite a few details, though I'm amazed I can remember so much already.
Anyway, so I was being ambushed. They were kinda trying to snatch my bag away from me and I yanked it back and I fended them off before going back into the house and shutting the grills on them.
A while later [though I couldn't keep time in my dream, one event just took place after another as if the time lulls had been skipped], I somehow realised that I had two bags left outside my house, one being my green Converse sling bag. I was fearful that those teenagers would grab them or do something, at least, so I opened the door and dashed for those bags. Once I left the house, I noticed that same group of people standing at the end of the corridor, which, btw, is a short one. When they saw me, they ran over to me and tried to snatch the bags from me. I grabbed the bags and threw them into the house before I slapped all their hands away, ran back into the house myself and locked the grills. As I was doing so, one by one, they all walked away, and one girl, the same girl I mentioned earlier, looked me straight in the eye. I can't exactly describe the look, but the nearest to it was blank intention. Contradictory, I know. Her eyes were devoid of feeling but they were staring at me, and me only, with great intention and deliberateness.
Pause it there, I need to point something out. One thing I need to say is that time was completely surreal in the entire dream. If the bags were right in front of the door, I could've grabbed them and ran back in in quick time, before they even realised I was out, but they managed to ambush me all the same. Consider:
1. The area in front of my door was actually a lot bigger than it was in real life, and so was my house, the living room. If I were to actually throw in the bags like I had in the dream, the house-god altar would have been hit for sure. Perhaps I could have had to run for a longer time before I could reach the bags, but then again the corridor was longer than in real life too, which isn;t saying something since it's really, really short too.
2. The fact that those people were able to ambush me so quickly could have meant that they were superhuman and could run lightning fast. Or, they could teleport.
Another thing I want to say is that I felt miserable. I was about to be even more miserable in the rest of my dream, but even at the beginning I already felt waves of loneliness I couldn't comprehend. That was the tenour of my dream throughout. I remember at this time even the sky was cloudly, so much so that I couldn't even tell the time of day. like I mentioned, time and place were surreal in my dream.
Play.
So, when I went back in, I realised that the bags were no longer there. Puzzled, I asked my sister, who was being her usual couch potato and fixing her eyes on the TV like she normally does, and she grunted out that she had moved them into my room. Although this is strange in itself because she very rarely helps me do anything even if I ask politely, and what is more she was busy watching television, something she doesn't stop doing unless the programme is over or my parents tell her to stop, I would like to point out something that would come to be even stranger.
She replied me. That meant that she acknowledged my presence.
I'm not trying to imply that my sister doesn't talk to me at all even in real life. She does. How else can we fight? But if you're scratching your head now, let me explain the next part so as to clarify what I mean by strange.
Like I mentioned, time was surreal. Any lulls were quickly skipped over. I don't recall even entering my room. Next thing I know, I was in a place that I cannot remember, with the group of people who suddenly didn't notice me at all. They were talking among themselves. While standing, I might add. So I stood there in plain view [probably], and I eavesdropped on their conversation and none of them noticed me. Or they could have been acting like they didn't.
So I listened and through one comment made, I realised I was dead.
Ba-da-bing.
Now you realise why I found it strange. Unless my sister had died too. O.O
After I came upont that revelation, the girl whom I've mentioned twice already turned and looked me straight in the eye again. She said something like, "Now you know." I'm not sure if she said, "Welcome," or anything like that but next thing I knew, I found that I was in a huge, huge, huge house that was pretty packed with people.
I didn't feel welcome at all, because it was in this house that my misery really started. I'm still not entirely sure, but it probably stemmed from the bitter loneliness that I felt. Ironical, hmm? The place was as full of people entering and leaving as a castle with servants preparing for a ball. And it was probably as dark and gloomy and large and empty as a castle, too. But there was nothing magical about that place. There were no windows, and while there were lights, some parts of the house were half shrouded in darkness, and at one time later in the dream, there were some places completely black. And I was feeling so bitterly lonely because no one, not a single person, acknowledged my presence. No one said hi, no one even looked at me. Though that girl staring at me was pretty creepy, it still signified that I was still there. Unequivocally there.
I'd like to stress that time was surreal. Again. Because I could jump from one scene to another with no explanation and experience as to what put me there, scenes don't link so it would sound rather incredulous. In any case, my dream was incredulous, but I'll type a full analysis of my dream and what could have brought it about, i.e. my thoughts and opinions of recent times, later.
The next scene was of me in the basement. Somehow, I was working there. The house was indeed preparing for some event, but I need to clarify that this scene was the haziest of all, so I'll put forth a whole host of 'maybe's and 'probably's.
I was in charge of arranging some sort of exhibition, I think. In any case, there were lots of those huge, vertically rectangular boards that they use for exhibitions, for you to pin your facts sheets and posters and what not on. The different thing about it was that the boards were all separated to become individual boards, while the exhibition boards are linked together in a zigzag pattern. Plus, those boards were smooth and white, probably like the boards that form a wall in the AVA Rooms. Thought in these boards, there were wheels on the bottom. So, my job was to move them around in different patterns. Strange, huh. I think there was someone who was directing me but if there were, he/she never looked at me once, and neither did he/she talk, at least not directly, I think, to me. I just understood my instructions and did what I was supposed to do.
Another thing was that the basement was basically this huge, huge, huge, doming hallway. One thing to note is that there was little or no colour. The walls were bare and there was an average stream of people entering and exiting.
Now for the next scene. This scene is rather cataclysmic. I was probably in some sort of cellar [note the underground-ness of the places in the house I was in.] because it was dark and the only light came from an opening in the ceiling and I was standing beside a staircase, those old rickety ones that you normally see in movies nowadays and definitely not in Singapore. This scene is pretty short but I say it was cataclysmic because two people I know in life appeared.
What's even stranger is that they were Leighton and Qiyuan.
Yes, I know your reaction. Mine, too. WHAT THE HELL.
Uh-huh.
Anyway, they were walking TOGETHER, and even TALKING AMIABLY, and if I recall correctly they were even eating ice cream too. Qiyuan never noticed me, but Leighton did, if only to spare me a glance. It was as if he didn't know me, my name, or who I was, just a stranger he was glancing at.
Pause. So were those two guys dead? And why was Leighton the only person to look at me and really acknowledge that I was there?
Play. This scene is even more cataclysmic in that it spurred me on to investigate his presence. Since he and Qiyuan were climbing the staircase up, in the next scene I found myself on the ground floor. Think, whatever happened to the exhibition work? But I was busy wondering whatever happened to the people that were constantly milling about in the house. Because the place was as deserted and bone dry as...well, a desert. And just as bare. The living room was white, spotless and perfect, except that there was nothing in the least homely about it. I think there was a sofa set in the middle of the great room, and though it was averagely-sized, it looked tiny in the white, white room. Moreover, it was a sickly light lime colour [the sofa], and the carpet was light peach, almost as light as the white floor. The table itself was made out clear glass, and there was no vase, no flowers on it of any kind.
You might be wondering why I didn't get snow blindness from the whiteness of it all, but that's because of the lighting. The room was illuminated in some places, but the lights were so far apart that it gave the impression of the entire room being half-shrouded in light, or in darkness, depending on which way your philosophy goes. One thing remained the same. It was as lonely as ever.
Until this one guy walked out. He was very obviously distracted, but I stopped him all the same. I was dwarfed next to him. I'm not sure but I was probably the size and height that I am now, though perhaps slightly taller than I am now, judging from the sizes and heights of the people from previous scenes. It is possible that the people in the afterlife were slightly smaller and shorter though. Anyway, so this guy was kinda plump and pretty tall, and he was wearing a suit. I only saw him for a while and he didn't make much of an impression on me so I'm not sure if he was white or black or if he was wearing sunglasses, but in any case he reminded me of those hulking bodyguards that the Queen probably has.
So I stopped him and asked him something. He pointed vaguely in one direction before walking off distractedly. In that direction happened to be three staircases, large, broad and looming. The most striking thing is that they were shrouded in almost-total darkness. I walked up to them.
Then I woke up.
How frustrating can that be?? I was just about to explore the second floor!
Another interesting thing is that I slept for only two hours, but in the dream though there was no keeping track of time, I felt as if a week had passed.
Thanks, mom.
I think I should type it all out so that I can ponder over it better. I'm probably safe because only Chermaine and Perini know about the existence of this blog, and I've told Crystal and Chermaine about it already, so it's alright I guess.
Here goes.
It started with me being in my house. I was stepping out of my house when I was ambushed by a group of young adults, probably not much older than I was, though I never looked into a mirror at any time in my dream. They were dressed in hip-hopish clothes and I distinctly remember one girl wearing a solid-colour tank top, yellow or pink or something like that, with baggy pants, and she had cropped hair, probably with a cap on it.
Sorry, I forgot quite a few details, though I'm amazed I can remember so much already.
Anyway, so I was being ambushed. They were kinda trying to snatch my bag away from me and I yanked it back and I fended them off before going back into the house and shutting the grills on them.
A while later [though I couldn't keep time in my dream, one event just took place after another as if the time lulls had been skipped], I somehow realised that I had two bags left outside my house, one being my green Converse sling bag. I was fearful that those teenagers would grab them or do something, at least, so I opened the door and dashed for those bags. Once I left the house, I noticed that same group of people standing at the end of the corridor, which, btw, is a short one. When they saw me, they ran over to me and tried to snatch the bags from me. I grabbed the bags and threw them into the house before I slapped all their hands away, ran back into the house myself and locked the grills. As I was doing so, one by one, they all walked away, and one girl, the same girl I mentioned earlier, looked me straight in the eye. I can't exactly describe the look, but the nearest to it was blank intention. Contradictory, I know. Her eyes were devoid of feeling but they were staring at me, and me only, with great intention and deliberateness.
Pause it there, I need to point something out. One thing I need to say is that time was completely surreal in the entire dream. If the bags were right in front of the door, I could've grabbed them and ran back in in quick time, before they even realised I was out, but they managed to ambush me all the same. Consider:
1. The area in front of my door was actually a lot bigger than it was in real life, and so was my house, the living room. If I were to actually throw in the bags like I had in the dream, the house-god altar would have been hit for sure. Perhaps I could have had to run for a longer time before I could reach the bags, but then again the corridor was longer than in real life too, which isn;t saying something since it's really, really short too.
2. The fact that those people were able to ambush me so quickly could have meant that they were superhuman and could run lightning fast. Or, they could teleport.
Another thing I want to say is that I felt miserable. I was about to be even more miserable in the rest of my dream, but even at the beginning I already felt waves of loneliness I couldn't comprehend. That was the tenour of my dream throughout. I remember at this time even the sky was cloudly, so much so that I couldn't even tell the time of day. like I mentioned, time and place were surreal in my dream.
Play.
So, when I went back in, I realised that the bags were no longer there. Puzzled, I asked my sister, who was being her usual couch potato and fixing her eyes on the TV like she normally does, and she grunted out that she had moved them into my room. Although this is strange in itself because she very rarely helps me do anything even if I ask politely, and what is more she was busy watching television, something she doesn't stop doing unless the programme is over or my parents tell her to stop, I would like to point out something that would come to be even stranger.
She replied me. That meant that she acknowledged my presence.
I'm not trying to imply that my sister doesn't talk to me at all even in real life. She does. How else can we fight? But if you're scratching your head now, let me explain the next part so as to clarify what I mean by strange.
Like I mentioned, time was surreal. Any lulls were quickly skipped over. I don't recall even entering my room. Next thing I know, I was in a place that I cannot remember, with the group of people who suddenly didn't notice me at all. They were talking among themselves. While standing, I might add. So I stood there in plain view [probably], and I eavesdropped on their conversation and none of them noticed me. Or they could have been acting like they didn't.
So I listened and through one comment made, I realised I was dead.
Ba-da-bing.
Now you realise why I found it strange. Unless my sister had died too. O.O
After I came upont that revelation, the girl whom I've mentioned twice already turned and looked me straight in the eye again. She said something like, "Now you know." I'm not sure if she said, "Welcome," or anything like that but next thing I knew, I found that I was in a huge, huge, huge house that was pretty packed with people.
I didn't feel welcome at all, because it was in this house that my misery really started. I'm still not entirely sure, but it probably stemmed from the bitter loneliness that I felt. Ironical, hmm? The place was as full of people entering and leaving as a castle with servants preparing for a ball. And it was probably as dark and gloomy and large and empty as a castle, too. But there was nothing magical about that place. There were no windows, and while there were lights, some parts of the house were half shrouded in darkness, and at one time later in the dream, there were some places completely black. And I was feeling so bitterly lonely because no one, not a single person, acknowledged my presence. No one said hi, no one even looked at me. Though that girl staring at me was pretty creepy, it still signified that I was still there. Unequivocally there.
I'd like to stress that time was surreal. Again. Because I could jump from one scene to another with no explanation and experience as to what put me there, scenes don't link so it would sound rather incredulous. In any case, my dream was incredulous, but I'll type a full analysis of my dream and what could have brought it about, i.e. my thoughts and opinions of recent times, later.
The next scene was of me in the basement. Somehow, I was working there. The house was indeed preparing for some event, but I need to clarify that this scene was the haziest of all, so I'll put forth a whole host of 'maybe's and 'probably's.
I was in charge of arranging some sort of exhibition, I think. In any case, there were lots of those huge, vertically rectangular boards that they use for exhibitions, for you to pin your facts sheets and posters and what not on. The different thing about it was that the boards were all separated to become individual boards, while the exhibition boards are linked together in a zigzag pattern. Plus, those boards were smooth and white, probably like the boards that form a wall in the AVA Rooms. Thought in these boards, there were wheels on the bottom. So, my job was to move them around in different patterns. Strange, huh. I think there was someone who was directing me but if there were, he/she never looked at me once, and neither did he/she talk, at least not directly, I think, to me. I just understood my instructions and did what I was supposed to do.
Another thing was that the basement was basically this huge, huge, huge, doming hallway. One thing to note is that there was little or no colour. The walls were bare and there was an average stream of people entering and exiting.
Now for the next scene. This scene is rather cataclysmic. I was probably in some sort of cellar [note the underground-ness of the places in the house I was in.] because it was dark and the only light came from an opening in the ceiling and I was standing beside a staircase, those old rickety ones that you normally see in movies nowadays and definitely not in Singapore. This scene is pretty short but I say it was cataclysmic because two people I know in life appeared.
What's even stranger is that they were Leighton and Qiyuan.
Yes, I know your reaction. Mine, too. WHAT THE HELL.
Uh-huh.
Anyway, they were walking TOGETHER, and even TALKING AMIABLY, and if I recall correctly they were even eating ice cream too. Qiyuan never noticed me, but Leighton did, if only to spare me a glance. It was as if he didn't know me, my name, or who I was, just a stranger he was glancing at.
Pause. So were those two guys dead? And why was Leighton the only person to look at me and really acknowledge that I was there?
Play. This scene is even more cataclysmic in that it spurred me on to investigate his presence. Since he and Qiyuan were climbing the staircase up, in the next scene I found myself on the ground floor. Think, whatever happened to the exhibition work? But I was busy wondering whatever happened to the people that were constantly milling about in the house. Because the place was as deserted and bone dry as...well, a desert. And just as bare. The living room was white, spotless and perfect, except that there was nothing in the least homely about it. I think there was a sofa set in the middle of the great room, and though it was averagely-sized, it looked tiny in the white, white room. Moreover, it was a sickly light lime colour [the sofa], and the carpet was light peach, almost as light as the white floor. The table itself was made out clear glass, and there was no vase, no flowers on it of any kind.
You might be wondering why I didn't get snow blindness from the whiteness of it all, but that's because of the lighting. The room was illuminated in some places, but the lights were so far apart that it gave the impression of the entire room being half-shrouded in light, or in darkness, depending on which way your philosophy goes. One thing remained the same. It was as lonely as ever.
Until this one guy walked out. He was very obviously distracted, but I stopped him all the same. I was dwarfed next to him. I'm not sure but I was probably the size and height that I am now, though perhaps slightly taller than I am now, judging from the sizes and heights of the people from previous scenes. It is possible that the people in the afterlife were slightly smaller and shorter though. Anyway, so this guy was kinda plump and pretty tall, and he was wearing a suit. I only saw him for a while and he didn't make much of an impression on me so I'm not sure if he was white or black or if he was wearing sunglasses, but in any case he reminded me of those hulking bodyguards that the Queen probably has.
So I stopped him and asked him something. He pointed vaguely in one direction before walking off distractedly. In that direction happened to be three staircases, large, broad and looming. The most striking thing is that they were shrouded in almost-total darkness. I walked up to them.
Then I woke up.
How frustrating can that be?? I was just about to explore the second floor!
Another interesting thing is that I slept for only two hours, but in the dream though there was no keeping track of time, I felt as if a week had passed.
Thanks, mom.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Student=Studying Machine?
Honestly. They don't do another recalibration to put our results percentage back to normal, but give us two more class tests to level the score? What is this? What are we, studying machines?
You know, I understand your intentions. I believe that you were acting in accordance with what you thought would benefit us. But the way that we students and our rights are being ignored...? This is really maddening and unacceptable!
Oh wait, we don't have rights.
Oh Singapore education system, thou art a heartless bitch. Sheldon couldn't have nailed it down better.
Speaking of Sheldon, I'm watching too little of Big Bang Theory nowadays. That's partially cos of the fact that I'm also watching Boys Over Flowers [yes, I'm lag, I know]. Both are great tv shows, in their own rights. Big Bang Theory is HILARIOUS. [So is How I Met Your Mother, so I've heard.] Boys Over Flowers is another Korean Drama that just...has charisma. I'm not bothering trying to analyse it's appeal to the Korean-show-watching audience, which I only recently joined.
Still, it's only during the post-examination period that I can slack off a little. Other times, I rarely have the time or energy to watch these shows. I just hope I can finish off Boys Over Flowers before the end of this term. I'm starting to get hooked.
Today I was musing over the stresses of a student [I'm alluding most of my posts to students, 'cuz that's the theme of this blog], and I realised that the stresses I was under during the CT2 period were pretty typical of the average student.
SOCIAL: I was vexing over what to do over an atrociously pink-edited picture of me on Facebook.
FAMILY: I'd prefer not to talk about it.
WORK: What else but Commons?
PHYSICAL: My eostrogen level was probably at an all-high.
HOME: I was having too many responsibilities with the care of the house and myself pushed into my hands, since my parents and sister were out of town. Allow me to pause for a minute to refer to an incident that happened not once, but thrice.
4.00pm-I go to bed for a short nap.
7.00pm-I wake up, see the dark blue sky light, think "HELL I SLEPT THROUGH THE ENTIRE NIGHT AND NOW I'M LATE FOR SCHOOL OMG AHHHH", dash out of bed, look at the clock, realise it's in the evening.
This is a direct result of a night owl who sleeps at irregular timings and depends on human clocks to awake each day at the correct time, but is suddenly thrown with the responsibility of waking up herself every morning.
I need to learn to be more independent. Sigh.
And we proceed...
LOVE [so-called]: Let's not talk about it.
I think that's about it.
You know, I understand your intentions. I believe that you were acting in accordance with what you thought would benefit us. But the way that we students and our rights are being ignored...? This is really maddening and unacceptable!
Oh wait, we don't have rights.
Oh Singapore education system, thou art a heartless bitch. Sheldon couldn't have nailed it down better.
Speaking of Sheldon, I'm watching too little of Big Bang Theory nowadays. That's partially cos of the fact that I'm also watching Boys Over Flowers [yes, I'm lag, I know]. Both are great tv shows, in their own rights. Big Bang Theory is HILARIOUS. [So is How I Met Your Mother, so I've heard.] Boys Over Flowers is another Korean Drama that just...has charisma. I'm not bothering trying to analyse it's appeal to the Korean-show-watching audience, which I only recently joined.
Still, it's only during the post-examination period that I can slack off a little. Other times, I rarely have the time or energy to watch these shows. I just hope I can finish off Boys Over Flowers before the end of this term. I'm starting to get hooked.
Today I was musing over the stresses of a student [I'm alluding most of my posts to students, 'cuz that's the theme of this blog], and I realised that the stresses I was under during the CT2 period were pretty typical of the average student.
SOCIAL: I was vexing over what to do over an atrociously pink-edited picture of me on Facebook.
FAMILY: I'd prefer not to talk about it.
WORK: What else but Commons?
PHYSICAL: My eostrogen level was probably at an all-high.
HOME: I was having too many responsibilities with the care of the house and myself pushed into my hands, since my parents and sister were out of town. Allow me to pause for a minute to refer to an incident that happened not once, but thrice.
4.00pm-I go to bed for a short nap.
7.00pm-I wake up, see the dark blue sky light, think "HELL I SLEPT THROUGH THE ENTIRE NIGHT AND NOW I'M LATE FOR SCHOOL OMG AHHHH", dash out of bed, look at the clock, realise it's in the evening.
This is a direct result of a night owl who sleeps at irregular timings and depends on human clocks to awake each day at the correct time, but is suddenly thrown with the responsibility of waking up herself every morning.
I need to learn to be more independent. Sigh.
And we proceed...
LOVE [so-called]: Let's not talk about it.
I think that's about it.
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