It's been a while...

I know, I hardly have (m)any excuses as to why I haven't been updating my journal. The past month or so has been an emotional moment for me, a rollercoaster of emotions, and there were times when I chose to numb myself so I just will not feel.

Ten went great; it was a great experience and I look forward to more performances coming this August. I simply cannot explain how much I love what I am doing at the moment. The only moments that bring me down are the moments when I am made to explain to my loved ones and my friends about why I can no longer spend as much time with them as I used to, or want to. I promise, however, with the end of August I will possibly have more time in hand and I would love to see each and every one of you who see the melodramatic side of me, even off-stage.

Tonight I am unable to sleep yet again. Insomnia hit me, while I am stressing out over an exam tomorrow, and while I am thinking hard about the decision(s) I may have to make, that may end up hurting myself or the others around me. Sometimes, pain is inevitable. Whatever decision one makes will cause hurt for one person or another.

It's hard to explain, really. I wanted time off because I wanted to be alone, because I wanted to experience many other things in life that I simply stopped enjoying because I was too busy focusing my attention on something or someone else. Love was not part of the question, or bargain, in this case.

I am brought back to the day of the T4YP ensemble audition in April/May this year. I chose this monologue because I could identify myself so well with it.

~~~~~~
Downtown New York, the 1980s. Cynthia contemplates her future, just after catching her ex-boyfriend and her best friend, making out in her kitchen.

CYNTHIA:

The realization hits me heavily, like a .44 Magnum smashing into my skull. My heart starts beating with a quick dread and my blood freezes in my veins. My stomach does backflips. The ordeal I am about to face is one of the most chilling, grisly, and macabre experiences known to woman.

Dating. I will have to start dating again.

Please, God, no, don't make me do it! I'll be good from now on, I promise! I'll stop feeding the dog hashish! I'll be kind, thoughtful, sober, industrious, anything. But please, God, not the ultimate torture of dating.

That's why I stayed with him for so long, probably. I couldn't stand going through it all again. Sure, he might be a trifle wild and intractable, I kept telling myself, but at least I know I'll get laid tonight, and tomorrow night. At least someone will go to the movies with me and not try to hold my hand.

Hand-holding. The WORST thing about dating. It's the most nerve-wrecking experience! Once I start holding hands, I'm afraid to stop. If I pull my hand away, will he think I'm being cold, or moody? Should I squeeze his hand and kind of wiggle my fingers around suggestively? Or is that too forward? What if my hand is clammy? A clammy hand is more offensive than bad breath or right-wing politics! A clammy hand means you're a lousy lay! Everybody knows that!

And what, dear spiteful God, will I wear?
~~~~~~

The point of all these rambling is that I chose to be alone so I could meet other people. I wanted to know if there really was someone out there who thinks like me, sees the world the way I do, or snacks on the things that I do, or loves food as much as I do. Random, true, but I am no hopeless romantic. I am just someone looking for the impossible, and making things happen one step at a time.

I will not lie (not at 3.40AM without sleep). I miss the good old times and I miss him. It may be difficult for many to believe, but he was one of the greatest things to have ever happened to me. Always reliable, calm, composed, loveable... most importantly, the one element that I had always admired in him was his ability to look at things rationally. True, it drove me crazy at times when I wished he could show more emotion or be more communicative, but it was his rationality that made him appear matured for his age. And maturity was what I needed, especially when I've grown beyond my own, and I needed someone who was stronger than I was, more reasonable than I was, more steadfast, and my pillar of strength.

But I'm sure he's destined for greater things in life, and having me around will probably not be the healthiest thing ever for him. I, meanwhile, will stick my head out a little bit longer. I will keep an open mind and a closed heart, because keeping it guarded right now is the best option. My greatest fear the day I said goodbye was this: will there be anyone else who will care for me the way he did, who would drive me to the doctor's at 4 in the morning like he did, who would buy me dinner simply because he felt like it, who would surprise me with randomly practical gifts like he did, who would be patient with me like he was, who would be constantly available for me at (almost) any time of the day like he was...

I wish things are not as complicated as they are now. I crave for simple platonic friendships and bondings. Why does every single male-female relationship in my life (in which case would mean me) have to be complicated? Why do they always end up falling for me when I am a nutcase, damn it... far too gone to be saved or comprehended. I shouldn't be worth anyone's time. Sometimes I realise I deliberately hurt the ones that I care for, in order to keep them away from me. I am afraid that once the feelings get beyond simple "care-for-a-friend", that's when they stop caring for real.

Every one says they'll do their best, when all I want is simply someone who will stick by me, be my best friend, hold my hand when I'm afraid, allow me to cry on his shoulder, be available for me, and someone who looks at things rationally while allowing emotions to speak on his behalf at times. I want someone who is matured, because immaturity is a big turn-off. I want someone who sees the world through my glasses, and someone who will challenge me to be a better person than I am now.

As much as excitement thrills me, I realise that at the end of the day, I am still a neurotic person who needs to be balanced out by someone who is not self-pitying or angsty.

It is true, indeed. It is about who you are when you are with the person that truly defines the relationship.

Now if only I could get a certain person out of my mind at this hour of night, that will be truly appreciated.

I want to hold your hand

My thoughts keep going back to you, that night so many nights ago when you had your arms outstretched towards me and enveloping me with those strong arms one minute later. I was standing at the pool, not in but right at the edge, and you looked at me with that look and smiled. And it stuck. What did? I don't know for sure. The memory, the smile, that look, the love.

From then on it's been a buzz of clear melodrama. One moment of static and the next, a jolt of sound on the radio as I tune in to your heartbeat.

I want this moment to pass without due respect to time. Driving back yesterday in the slight drizzle after the rain and after that last kiss that seemed to linger on for hours leaving me dizzy with the after effects, I thought of how beautiful we could have been, and were. You kissed me in the car for the first time, remember? It was night in a dark alley, and so much more could have happened, but it was just an innocent kiss. I had gummy bears right before, and you asked me why I was shy. But I was. You had that effect on me.

I've told myself a billion times to be strong. Rational. Less emotional. Less sensitive. I wonder if I could be strong without you, really. Remember what you said? You said I coloured your world, and you, to me, helped me separate the mess of coloured threads that made my life and gave meaning to it all. But I know, it's the right thing, isn't it? But why does right have to hurt?

I could give plenty of reasons to erase many memories in time, but with you, I'd rather keep them. I'll keep you tucked underneath my blanket at night, and to have you keep me warm. Not you, physically, but the memories.

We are all masters of our own fates, but we will never really know what will happen. All I ask from you is that you would think of me fondly once in a while and promise me you'll try. If our hearts shall beat together again, will you allow them to? No inhibitions, just love. Pure. Just. And beautiful.

One day you will look at me with that look again. Scratch my back for me again. And make those funny noises you do in the car. Or clap out of tune to the music that is playing on the radio. You'd do all that and more.

I wanted to say so much yesterday but all I could do was cry. I wanted to say "thank you". I wanted to say "I love you". But they got stuck somewhere. And it's funny, really. And I will never want to forget.

This Is When My Youth Ends

It's quiet at night here, where I am sitting facing my laptop screen, with only the sound of distant crickets and the soft blowing of the fan. It's pretty sudden, the missing, the aching, the pining of times past, of lost memories and childhood and those phone conversations we had in the past. I suddenly remember those moments so many years ago when I was seventeen, hiding in the dark downstairs with the cordless phone in the house, dodging my parents and their squealing and complaints of the exorbitant amount the phone bills always came up to.

Funny. Back then it felt like a task, like mission impossible playing in my life.

But I miss those moments most. I mourn the loss of my youth with the realisation that my childhood friends are getting hitched. I had a very good friend back in Form 6, when I was eighteen. I struggled all through Form 6, because of the many issues I had and stumbling in between the psychiatrist's office and home, I found my way into his car in the late evenings, spending hours upon hours with plain conversations. The attraction was there, I suspected, but it remained a platonic friendship, and one I certainly miss. Where are those days now? Why must every single male-female friendship these days seem more complicated than they ever were?

I recall those days with a smile. I'd mention his name, this friend of mine who always had a joke on his lips every single day, entertaining everyone including himself. His best skills were playing the guitar, running and football. Remember the song "Pupus"? Until today it's stuck in my head because of you. And I recall those days when we were close, when he and I were friends, when he cheered me up simply when I was down. I always thought those days would never end. But they did. They ended when I left town, and I never really came back. Sure, I did, every once in a while, but I never saw him. It's funny. I don't even remember how he looks like now. The only remains of his memory is this medal he dedicated to me, hanging from the mirror in my room at home. How I miss his smile, his laughter, his warmth. And this aching is multiplied now that I met someone who reminds me of him.

There were also those days, remember? Of spending them with her in the public library after school every single day. We'd study and laugh, and spent our evenings sitting outside the library making silly antics that others would hopefully find bizzarre. There was also "tok kura-kura", remember? This old man with his bicycle whom we thought resembled "tok kura-kura" from Dragonball so much. I miss him. I miss seeing him with his steady old bicycle, riding past every day. Remember when it rained, back then? We'd fold our pants up and play in the rain. If it became flooded, even the better. We'd skip in the knee-high water, and splashed our worries away. I remember how you felt when you suffered loss. We spoke about your mother a lot, remember? I wanted so badly to wipe your ache away, but all I could do was to sit beside you while you cried. We became best friends that way, you and I. How I miss those days. And how I miss you.

What changed, I wonder? I look back on all these years and I can't seem to point to a day when everything started morphing into the complexity of what it is today. I miss you. Please come back. Come home to me. But you can't. The days are gone, and this is how I will be spending the rest of the days. This is when my youth ends: with friends building families, lost childhood memories, and old flames settling down for good. For good, of course.

But if he ever did, I don't know how I will ever take it.

Being Alive and Happy

We got our scripts last night for our first Theatre for Young People (T4YP) performance, entitled "Ten", which will be showing in KLPac next month. I don't know about the rest the cast, but I know one thing's for sure: I am excited! It took me some time - a little longer than expected, perhaps - but realisation dawned when I finally got home after watching Ironman today, and I thought to myself, with tune and all, "what a wonderful world".

For the first time in a very long time last night, I hesitated for a long moment before deciding the answer to this question, "Are you depressed at the moment?" I would usually know the answer right away, that I was obviously deeply depressed by the state of my mind, state of my being, and just by being here on earth.

But yesterday, I hesitated. I questioned whether I was depressed. And although I stood at the "yes" zone, deep inside I realised that I wasn't DEPRESSED. I was far from it.

I looked through the archive of my old blog, and read some of my past entries, trying to recall what it felt like to be depressed, and if I bore any resemblance right now to how I felt back then. Here are some excerpts:

Sunday, March 02, 2008

Every day I walk the earth, I feel a greater sense of remorse and grief. I am eating yet another person's bowl of rice, denying another child that right to food. This child could be the person to create the cure for cancer. This child could be the person to create an atmosphere of warmth and love for thousands of other people out there. But who am I? Who am I to be taking away this child's right? I am, obviously, not creating nor am I close to creating the cure to cancer. I am obviously not bringing joy to anyone else's life right now, much less to the lives of a thousand people out there.

Monday, January 21, 2008

"You are a 40-year-old trapped in a 15-year-old's body"

An old person in a young body, a sad person with a bubbly personality... Why do so many extreme opposites exist in my life?

I'm sinking deeper and deeper into depression; I'm afraid I'll never recover this time. I gather all my strength and courage, and realise that there is nothing that makes or breaks a person more than the feeling of being crushed.

What was it I said last week? Oh yeah. That. "Nothing makes you stronger than being pushed to breaking point, when everything feels so wrong and you could never be sadder than that."

Of course. Nothing. But this.

Sunday, January 06, 2008

So there I was, sitting in Murni, after a heated discussion and a waiter who came up to me and commented that I was pretty; adding up to the oddness of a night that was yesterday, and all of a sudden I just curled. Literally. I wanted to go home. My shawl wrapped tightly around me, I had wanted to hurl it away, take my clothes off, and run home.

It wasn't anger. It wasn't outrage. I hardly had any energy to care if my food was coming, even after waiting for half an hour. I could hardly muster up enough strength to raise my hand to enquire. Because at that very moment, all I wanted to do was to go home. I wanted the pain to go away. I just wanted it to disappear, along with my physical self, from this earth that we call home. Because I felt as if I had no home - no place to belong - and I felt small, and all alone.

We left. He bought some food for me, although I barely had any appetite to eat, and I was sure that my stomach was unable to digest any bits and pieces of food. But he bought it anyway. We went home. I ate. He watched. And then I sat and poured my heart out. I could think of a billion reasons for a heartache... breakups, divorce, broken friendships, losing your favourite book, ruining your favourite outfit, being homeless, or even having your partner cheating on you. But how do you comprehend something when your heartache is there merely because of your existence? How could simply being on earth, cause you so much pain?

There are nights when I come home, kick my shoes off, lie in bed, and I wonder, I wonder, if I will ever find a purpose to being. A purpose to this life.

Of course, it is much easier to blame it all on the weather. Rainy days make you sick. But I thank God for blessing me with someone who, despite it all, sees through me and holds my hand and tells me "it's not your fault". I remember asking, "But is it really?" But I don't want to know the answer. Never.

~~~

I only went as far back as the beginning of 2008 because this was "me" merely a few months back. This was "me" before I decided that I had to do the things I love doing in my life in order for me to love life. This was "me" before I fell in love with LIFE all over again.

This was "me" then. I was unhappy.

I used to think that I would only be happy if I made others happy. I used to think that I had to make a difference in other people's lives to be happy. I would feel extremely selfish if I ever had the slightest glimmer of wanting to be happy for myself; I would often feel like it was selfish mistake. But now I see it differently, and if anything, more clearly. If all of us were put here on earth for a reason, and if all of us are essentially looking for happiness, by pleasing ourselves and making ourselves happy, we may essentially be making everyone else happy as well. To each our own. Our own lives. Our own faith. Our own happiness.

What a difference a small time can make. I used to work on too many operatives like "tomorrow" or "yesterday", dwelling on my past and hoping too much for my future. But now, there is only one operative word that comes to mind - TODAY. And today, I am smiling. Today, I am happy.

Today, I am IN LOVE with LIFE.



Today, I am ALIVE.

The Choices We Make In Life

He was aged. He wasn't ripe with backache, knee and joint pains but you know he was aged because he had a few grey streaks of hair colouring his crowning glory. It certainly had a certain gleam of glory; it was shining in the sun.

Ah, yes. The morning sun. Ten years ago, at 9.45AM the sun would have been safe for skin consumption - teachers recommended standing under the sun until 10AM for our daily dose of Vitamin D. Our Physical Education lessons would usually end at 10AM, and it was safe to proceed even until 11AM.

But today, it was barely 9.45AM and the sun had started scorching the skin.

His skin was reddish - I assumed it was due to prolonged exposure under the sun. His back was turned towards me; I couldn't get a glimpse of his facial features. Race, you ask? He may have been Malay, judging by his skin colour. But these days anyone could look Malay. And honestly, who cares, and why should we?

What mattered to me most was that cat he was holding in his arms, held above his own eye level, held above his crowning glory, the mat of greyish black hair that was gleaming in the sun. A fat cat. He moved the cat slowly, and just like a father would do to his son, he gently placed the cat next to his face and whispered into its ears. Amidst the morning traffic and shouts of passerbys I couldn't make out what he was saying. But even from his back, you could see that look of love. There was a certain sense of tenderness in the way he held the cat that could have easily been mistaken for love.

Oh, and the cat! What pride it held within itself to be held by its owner that way. It looked up to the morning sun, and for one moment the scenario reminded of me ancient Egypt, when Pharaohs would mourn for the loss of their cats by shaving their eyebrows and many other extreme measures. What power these feline creatures had.

I walked past a woman selling currypuffs and many other assorted local delicacies and kueh. I recognised a few, and tried recalling their names.

I smiled. It was a morning under blistering hot sun, but it was certainly a sunny day. I could feel my heart smiling from beneath my breasts, beating against my ribcage gently.

In our daily lives, we make too many excuses to justify ourselves, to justify our decisions and the things we do. I came to a realisation that it was just that - we've gotten so used to making justifications that we have become experts at conjuring new excuses. I have no time, I'm too tired, I can't, I can't, I can't. I just can't.

But if a grandmother can pick up dancing at the age of 70, what excuse do you have?

If a mother of five with a full time job can find time to cook lunch and dinner everyday, why can't you?

If a husband with a busy schedule can find time to make love (and I mean, make love) to his wife every night, what is your excuse?

If there are people who love and enjoy their jobs, why aren't you? Simply perhaps you're not doing what you love to do.

If others can find time to read, why can't you?

If people can be happy, why aren't you?

It all boils down to a matter of CHOICE. Even making excuses and justifications become tiring after a while. It's all a matter of CHOICE. We have that CHOICE to start doing something we love, even if we think it's too late, or to just forget about it and live our lives with regret. We have that CHOICE to appreciate those around us, or to ignore them and to live our lives with regret. We have a CHOICE to manage our time well, or to continue giving excuses about not having enough time. We have that CHOICE to be happy in the simple things in life, or to find fault in all that we do.

I made my choice today. What is YOURS?

Not Just Another Mother's Day Entry

There is so much to say to my mum, really. First of all, I must say how awfully dreadful I feel to not be home on Mother's Day this year. I constantly make an effort to be home on Mother's Day, even if it's just for the weekend. But this year, being involved with even more commitments, I can't make the trip home this weekend, although I will try to make it home later this month. It's tough, really. I have to pick days that do not clash with theatre rehearsals or my regular law classes.

This Mother's Day, I sent mum a card. I recall how I used to make her cards for Mother's Day and her birthday every year, and how she's put them in this drawer. I made her a "trophy" once; she still has it in her room.

An Ode to Mummy

Dear Mummy,

I tried to put down into words how I felt for you, but I honestly can't. This is because words truly can't describe what you've done for me in my life, but because words are all I have, I shall try.

This Mother's Day, I want to say THANK YOU, mum for all these and more:

For bringing me into this world and not regretting the decision,

For loving me unconditionally despite my weaknesses,

For rushing me to the hospital at age 5 because I climbed the shelf and fell and had to get stitches on my eyebrow, and then crying because you felt the pain for me while I was bearing through it all with a fake grin,

For threatening to leave me at cemetaries whenever I misbehaved and added up to my amusing childhood memories,

For laughing at me for falling into the bush the first time I tried to ride the bike, and then nursing my wounds,

For patiently understanding why I preferred climbing trees and skipping around and playing with sand than playing with dolls,

For sending me to school every morning from Standard 1 to Form 6, and for losing your patience every time I woke up late,

For teaching me discipline as a child; by caning me when I was being disrespectful, and hugging me right after,

For accepting my long letters to you after every argument we had,

For respecting my decision to focus on the many things I did back in school instead of forcing me to merely study,

For being my walking dictionary when I was a child, and now turning to me for literary "advice",

For instilling my love towards the arts,

For playing the organ with me when I was a child, and for singing together,

For teaching me how to sing "Unchained Melody" at age 7,

For stopping my attempt on ending my life at age 19 and teaching me the value of appreciating life again,

For understanding that I was really depressed, and not self-pitying myself when I was 19, and for sending me to the psychiatrist and for telling me that there is no shame in it,

For checking my arms for scars in fear that I was harming myself again,

For forgiving me for troubling you at age 18 when I wanted to switch schools for Form 6 and then deciding not to,

For always encouraging me to go for my dreams even when they seem so far away,

For sending me to organ classes since I was 6,

For bringing me along to your rhythmic gymnastics trainings and allowing me to skip along,

For paying for my ballet fees which came up to an exorbitant amount,

For forgiving me when I decided to quit learning the organ and ballet and for warning me that I may regret someday,

For telling me inspirational stories about others to inspire me to go for my dreams, such as the "60-year-old lawyer" or the "singing lawyer",

For not once blaming me when I made horrible mistakes like trusting people too easily and as a result losing the car,

For giving me permission to do anything and everything I loved as long as I "didn't get into trouble with the ISA",

For always telling me that you want nothing more than to see me happy,

For encouraging me to study law as a second degree even though many parents would have thought that one degree would have been sufficient,

For buying me unconventional gifts parents would normally not give their children, like the Flip Flap I have in my room,

For honing my English skills, without you I wouldn't be able to speak a word of English because no one else spoke the language with me,

For instilling my love in reading,

For comforting me with kind words whenever I called and was feeling down,

For begging me not to cry when I tell you of all my regrets and how I should have listened to you,

For constantly reminding me that I am still young and it's never too late to reach for my dreams even though you have every right of saying "I told you so",

For never once doubting my capabilities,

For always believing in me,

For teaching me the value of being a WOMAN,

For being my mother, my teacher, my role model, and my best friend.

For you, eternally my Mummy, I love you.

No one could ever ask for a better mother.



P/s: I know you may never get to read this ever (because you are rarely online and you never read blogs!), but I wish you knew how much I truly care for you, and I wish every day of your life will be filled with sunshine, and I hope to fill your days with pride someday. I hope to make you proud.

Voiceless and Rocked Up

I have a sore throat. No, scratch that. I HAVE A FREAKING PAINFUL SORE THROAT THAT HAS LASTED FOR THREE MONTHS. No kidding.

It started rather innocently, of course. Just a little itch in the throat. So what did I do? I went to get myself a bottle of "Ubat Batuk Cap Ibu Dan Anak" also known as the "Nin Jiom Pei Pa Koa" (I had to refer to the bottle to confirm the name), thinking that it would provide adequate relief to my situation. Well, no. The pain lasted, and got worse.

Within a few weeks, the little itch - that little innocent itch - had turned into a rascal of an itch. I couldn't sleep at night, had running nose, a bad case of sinus, and cough cough cough.

It's not that I do not want to be cured, really. I've been to more than five doctors in three clinics and more than five or six times in this three months. AND YET EVERYTIME I WAS HOPEFUL, I GOT MYSELF DISAPPOINTED.

Well into my fourth month now, and still no sign of improvement. The bad news is this: it has just gotten worse. I can't sleep at night because of my throat itch, and I've started wheezing (again!) every night and morning. I hate using the inhaler every single day. I hate being dependent on medication. I hate. this. stupid. sore throat.

What I need is an instant cure, instant relief from every pain I'm suffering from right now. I hate being sick.

~~~~~~~~~~

I finally visited JP's new place. Quite a nice cosy place she has there. Some pictures:

JP and her kitchen

The living room

Her room! She finally got her own room and space :p

Her housemate and her got these mirror pieces from IKEA and stuck them on the wall. Pretty neat. I'd wanted to do that in my room more than a year ago but was afraid of leaving marks on the wall.

Earlier, we were also at the Rock Up concert in The Curve. Rock Up is a concert aimed at raising funds for the Agathians Shelter, which is one of the orphanages we partnered with/did projects with under AIESEC.

Sadly, though, we arrived as the event was coming to an end.



I did very little (but I hoped I contributed) by buying a T-shirt. Managed to see some of the kids, but I certainly miss those days of playing "John mechanic" with them. Or watching them breakdance. Or having them "teach" us how to breakdance. Haha!

I'm retiring to bed soon. In need of some sleep. Finally went for a trial dance class yesterday, and still contemplating whether to join the class due to a language barrier. Dreading the Legal Skills class tomorrow morning, but definitely looking forward to T4YP rehearsals in the afternoon!

Fact or fiction?

It's rather interesting, really. I've successfully converted myself into becoming the person I said I wanted to be in the Acting For Beginners class awhile ago.

"Unlike many of you trying to step out of your comfort zone, I'm trying to find ways to step back inside; to not reveal much about myself and to open up even less to others," I'd said. Some of them asked me why, whether I had gotten myself hurt one too many times, or if I thought opening up meant subjecting myself to the torture of caring too much and subsequently getting hurt, and it was actually a yes to both questions. I used to be an open book - what you see is what you get - a crazy, self-assured woman who loved freely, cared freely, spoke freely. And that, in turn, was transformed into vulnerability when taken for granted.

In some ways, it was also because I felt like I barely knew the real me anymore. I've laughed so much, cried even more, and at the end I still stare at the mirror each day and wonder to myself which facade I had to put on, which role I had to play on which day.

Today, in our very first rehearsal for the Theatre for Young People ensemble, we had an activity in which we had to mention three interesting "facts" about ourselves and one of them had to be a lie. I, instead, went all the way and lied about all three.

"Fact" number one was that I was a born-again Christian, and that I had discovered God in my period of darkness and sadness. The truth is that I've been through many periods of darkness and depression, and at the end of the day I still can't see where God is. I'm agnostic; I believe in the existence of a Higher Being but not in religion.

"Fact" number two was that I'm a dancer, that I did gymnastics, ballet and now I dance contemporary and jazz. Technically I wasn't lying entirely, but the truth is I do not dance anymore and haven't been doing it for years.

"Fact" number three was that I was a lesbian -_-. Anyone who falls for this is. just. so. cool. Honestly, I WISH I'm really a lesbian. Chances are it's easier to meet a WOMAN who shares more similarities with me than a MAN. But unfortunately I'm not. Straight as a flag pole, although I am very pro-homosexuality, believing that even gay people deserve equal rights and the right to love and be loved.

So, bringing this back to the beginning. I think the reason why I withhold information about myself is because I'm afraid people will think they know me without actually knowing me. I'd rather people know the wrong facts about me and have that perception rather than knowing me for who I am, and still get facts about me messed up. I'm just afraid of opening up nowadays, that's true. I'm just groping around in the darkness searching for my comfort zone, craving to climb back in there where it's secure and safe and warm and to be alone.

But, certain moments, I want to be around people; to share light moments, laughter and to "be myself".

We'll see how the next rehearsal goes.

Why... did I let it go?

I wonder if I could dance like this again or ever. Beautifully danced; the chemistry between the two dancers made this dance breathtaking, really.


Allison and Ivan from So You Think You Can Dance
dancing to "Why" by Annie Lennox

My one greatest regret in life is stopping formal dance training when I was much younger. I've stopped dancing for almost ten long years, while others my age were training hard to be stronger, more flexible, graceful, with better agility and strength, and not to mention, better adaptability to dance with a partner, something(s) I haven't been doing for the past ten years.

Silly, isn't it? My mother was the wisest woman on earth when she sent her children for proper training in music, and ballet for me, but we took that opportunity for granted. I would do anything to take back the years, but I know there's nothing I could do now, that's for sure. She saw the importance in formal music education, but unfortunately I didn't. Nowadays I have trouble reading notes even though I played the organ for about 8 years. And I missed out so much on dance. All I can do is to replace all those years of "emptiness" with extra hard work and extreme determination.

It's ironic, really. I literally begged my mother to send me for ballet classes. I wrote numerous letters reasoning why I should dance ballet, and I even pulled cheeky stunts by leaving newspaper cuttings, comic books, and pictures relating to ballet on her table. Sure, I stopped for various reasons - I have knee problems and a constant backache, but that wasn't enough justification to stop dancing when you realise how big a part of your life it truly is.

For years, I had this great big void in my heart, and I couldn't really be happy even when I tried to be. I smiled a lot, laughed even more, but there was always an emptiness deep inside. Whenever I watched dance performances or clips or movies, I cringe because I realised that this could be me. But it wasn't. It took me such a long time to come to the realisation that the missing link was returning my body to its true purpose and calling - dancing.

I know that people say when you started dancing at a young age your body never really loses it; that it's always within you and I won't deny that fact. I've had people approach me, asking me if I was a dancer (even today) whenever they see me around (even when I'm not dancing). But skipping years of training means losing out on lots of experiences, and the opportunities to build up on my strength (especially my hands). Even trained dancers, whenever they stop dancing for a month or two, would experience body aches whenever they pick up dancing again. Imagine that experience when you've stopped dancing formally for almost ten years.

Which is why we always say "mother knows best". She truly does. I should have listened. I just hope it's not too late now.

Edit: I decided to share these two videos that I find pretty impressive as well.


Beautiful choreography. Seriously.


I personally feel that this lacked chemistry, but the dancers were wonderful, it made this piece stunning. The chemistry may not have been there, but it did make me want to cry. They weren't dancing it for each other, but you can feel them feeling the music for themselves.
And oh, I think Blake McGrath makes dancing seem easy. Both him and Melody, in fact, have bodies made for lyrical dance. Oh, the softness!
At 00:53, Melody made a noticeable mistake. But she covered it up nicely :).

My Favourite Things

What does a woman do when she's feeling down and depressed? I learn from the best, and who better to learn from than Maria from The Sound of Music.

I decided to make a collection of the things that make me happy, my so-called favourite things. Bear with the change of lyrics, but sing along if you please:

~~~~~
Sunny days without the sunburning hot sun

Orange juice, KFC and porridge with chicken
Good hair days, healthy days, and days of carefree

these are a few of my favourite things.
~~~~~~
Cute little T-shirts and beautiful dresses

A swim in the pool or dancing with masses

Sitting alone and writing a poem
these are a few of my favourite things.

~~~~~~

Watching a play and performing is better

Singing aloud and sharing what matters

Cooking and colourful things that are rare

these are a few of my favourite things.

~~~~~~
When I feel down, when I'm depressed,
when I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my favourite things,
and then I don't feel so bad.

~~~~~~

Warm hugs from those who love me and ditto
A warm mug of ginger tea or milk or Milo
Lazy days lying in bed without worry

these are a few of my favourite things.
~~~~~~

Old memories, laughing till sun hits my pillow

Ice cream, cheesecakes, raspberries and jell-O
Playing with kittens and making kids smile

these are a few of my favourite things.
~~~~~~
Old movies, sappy songs, moments alone
Acting silly, taking pictures of things known


Cuddling up, warm showers in the morning

these are a few of my favourite things.
~~~~~~
When I feel down, when I'm depressed,
when I'm feeling sad

I simply remember my favourite things,
and then I don't feel so bad.


So now I don't feel so bad!

Oh, and JP's officially moved out of Tiara.

Will miss such a dear friend. Promise me we'll still hang out sometime, and act silly as we often do!