Introspective

I never thought I'd say this, but I'm actually enjoying the chill. Granted, it's still early days - averaging in the 50s, on the odd day down to 40s - though the days are getting shorter. The fall foliage was beautiful, but it only lasted a few days; now the colours are much more muted. My apartment keeps the cold out surprisingly well, and when I do venture out the air is fresh and crisp and wet after the rain (it has been raining a lot) - I just love it. It's the kind of weather that makes me want to go on a long, long walk from 69th St to 1st St to take in the whole city. Unfortunately, I'd likely be courting disaster going on my own. I live on 38th, and there's been 2 shootings on 40th in the past month.

I did, however, get a precious glimpse of the city at night yesterday - a group of us went to see the Philly Orchestra at the Kimmel Center along the aptly named Avenue of the Arts - it was breathtaking. I've been feeling pretty lukewarm about Philly - most of the time it's old, dirty, dangerous - but that night, walking back through the mist, my mind lifted in a swirl of music and enveloped in the rich red glow of the theatre - I felt an uncontrollable burst of appreciation for the city.

Everything is so much better after the rain.

---

We weren't allowed to take photos inside the theatre, so here are a few scoured from the web.


The Kimmel Center for the Performing Arts, and home of the Philadelphia Orchestra. [Source: www.gophila.com]


Inside the Center. [Source: www.gophila.com]


The cello-shaped interior of Verizon Hall. The program for the night - Beethoven's 8th Symphony and excerpts from Wagner's Die Meistersinger von Nurnberg. [Source: www.phillymag.com]

Of hunger and ambition

Here I am, off work again thanks to a brand new public holiday (Thaipusam) in KL. This one, while unexpected, was certainly not surprising in light of the upcoming elections and recent political going-ons.

Time then, to take stock of where I am and where I will be going. My 2 month stint at PricewaterhouseCoopers KL is drawing to an end. I'm quite reluctant to leave, despite having substituted my entire holiday for work, as I've really enjoyed this internship. My colleagues, both fellow interns and permanent staff, are an awesome bunch. While the scene in Tax and Assurance may be bleaker (so I've heard), my time at Advisory - Corporate Finance/Infrastructure, Government & Utilities has been extremely rewarding. I've worked on a number of projects now, and the opportunity and ability to make real contributions to their work is something I find very fulfilling.

Post-internship, I will have a 2 week break for general relaxing and of course, CNY. Then it's back to Melbourne on the 15th Feb. This coming semester will be hectic, and if things go according to plan, my final semester at university will be even more so. At this stage, it looks very likely that I will finish off my final semester at Wharton at the University of Pennsylvania. There is no expressing just how much I want this.

Why I say 'likely' is because there are two stages to the exchange application process. The first and biggest hurdle is obtaining the Faculty endorsement, which is based solely on results (so they say). Once Melbourne Abroad receives this endorsement, it will then nominate you for a place at your host institution. This, I think is based on the number of spots available any given year. I've never been so fixated on a goal, so hungry for something ever in my life as I have been with Wharton. Getting in was my sole and all-consuming motivation throughout the exams. While my Sem 2 results came in weaker than I'd hoped for, I somehow scraped through the selection. I feel a bit like I snuck in the back door illegally, but I may well have overestimated the competition. Either way, the picture Faculty advisers and Wharton return students painted prior to my application had not been a rosy one.

Anyhow, that's over and in my favour. I'm overwhelmingly relieved and 12 kinds of happy. I'm now waiting for the host institution papers, which may take up to 12 weeks. What this means for Sem 1 is that I will now have to complete the four prerequisite subjects for an honours year in Finance all in one go. To have a realistic bid at an honours year, I will need straight mid-to-high H1s in all four subjects - a feat I've not been able to pull off to date. But it's doable - I've quit competitive frisbee, minimised other commitments - it's just that failing is not an option.

I have no doubt that the States will be everything I've dreamed of and more. I just need to make sure I get there - that place, that stepping stone midway between Washington D.C. and New York City.

Semester 2 and winter blues

So, semester 2 began tamely enough. Work and assignments and mid-semester tests are starting to build up - about time for me to get into gear. I've been doing more of the same since I last updated, throwing plastic around and estranging my non-frisbee inclined friends further, though I suspect they can be easily appeased by the promise of gelati.

Anyway, barely two weeks since I properly recovered from my cough, I've come down with a sore throat, cold and cough of a different strain. It's very phlegmy, but thankfully does not send me into coughing/choking fits like the last one did. I'm trying very hard not to feel miserable, but some days, when I've got to drag myself out of warmth and comfort into the winter chill to play frisbee, I feel like running off in search of a corner to cry. Unfortunately, being only midway through the season, I can't afford to take time off for fear of losing fitness. As it were, I'm still struggling to get it back up to pre-sickness levels and the experience so far has been wholly and determinedly painful.

I haven't been sick for a long time, which makes this extended bout of viruses a lot less manageable. I'm not used to feeling shitty so much of the time, having dizzy spells after climbing up a flight of staircase and the general unhealthiness of my being. The cold doesn't help one bit either. I've never wished more fervently than in the past month to be back home, soaking up the sun and eating good food. Oh, take me away from this pale and pasty, dank and dreary winter!

Sigh.

In other news:

Alex leaves for India in 3 days for a 6-week long training course sponsored by his new work. I miss him already. :(

I am going up to Sydney again this weekend for the 1st National League tournament. I just want to get it over and done with.

I need a good, hot meal.

Quiet reflection.

In the maelstrom of work, I've allowed myself a luxurious hour and a half in the solitude of my apartment, listening to Jack Johnson and looking out on the grey, rainy afternoon outside.

Sigh. Life is for moments like this.

She speaks of the weather and of love.

I've become such a lazy blogger, I know. And when I finally decide to up and do it, I just end up grousing about the weather. Case in point:

The weather has been uncomfortably muggy the last few days, but heck, today's was worst. According to the statistics, temperatures peaked at about 37C, which no doubt occured at the exact period when I walked home from uni. Nature has that kind of a humour.

So I eventually made it back to the apartment, feeling like I'd just trudged through a vat of warm glue. Then the wind started howling outside my window, just in time for a pick-up game of frisbee at 5pm. After much swallowing of dust, chasing and retrieving frisbees 100m away from where they started and many turnovers later, the wind very suddenly turned chill. It was wonderfully refreshing, until 2 minutes later, huge, fat drops of rain started pelting down on us. They were icy and stung a bit. By the time we made it to Rob's car, we were smelly, cold and sopping wet. This was probably the 18C low the statistics were yammering on about.

Despite such unforgiving conditions, pick-up still managed to be fun, and great dinner and company at a nearby pub after more than compensated for it.

Apart from the weather, my life in general has been just peachy. Now and then I work myself up into enough of a state to review all those lectures and tutorials I've fallen behind in, and most other times I'm playing frisbee, grumbling about FMAA work or daydreaming about that someone in my life. Let's call him Ong. :)

He's probably grinning at this most uncharacteristic blogmention, and rightly so. I've never blogged much, or anything at all, on the subject of my love life. Too personal, too transient, too non-existent - take your pick. But many good things have happened since that happy serendipity that brought us together; one cannot help but immortalise those memories, this happiness, in some medium other than our sometimes unreliable minds.

On that note, dear readers, I bid you goodnight.

ahh the sweet, sweet smell of rain

There's something inherently exhilarating about walking through torrential rain with an umbrella. It's like saying, "STUFF YOU NATURE!! I REFUSE TO BE WET!!1!"

Of course, it wasn't quite torrential when I did it, but it never fails to make me smile. Also, the message might have gone across with more conviction had I not been carrying that white polka-dotted-koalas on blue umbrella, which I'm perennially embarassed about.

Rainy mornings make me happy.

Annoyance, guilt and gratitude are not a pretty mix. But after some sleep I am reminded again that a hot head inflates problems, makes them larger than they really are.

I guess it's time I put up that sign reminding me to pause for reflection. I'm notorious for forgetting important things like these. =)

I love you and all, but...

Sigh, parents.

Yeap. The 'rents arrived in Melbourne this morning, here on a 4 day sorta-business trip. I was quite looking forward to meeting up with them, because you know, I'm such a good, loving kid. But after spending half an evening and dinner with them, I realize I was looking forward to their visit partly because I've forgotten how tiring it is to be with them.

I mean, it was good to see them for the first...oh...5 minutes? Then the usual, persistent, interrogation about work, performance, work, achievements, work, exams, work, assignment scores and, will you believe it, work.

Not too long later, I felt as though I've spoken far too much for one night, I felt like my ears were going to fall off from all the well-meant but ill-placed advice and I felt like someone had put a steel skull cage on my head and tightening the screws, twist, twist, twist, twist, twist.

They did bring over a luggage bag full of an extremely specific list of stuff I asked for, and I delved into its contents when I got home with the excitement of a 5-year-old kid. But alas, my worst fears came true. No matter how specific a list I give my mom, there'll always, always be (undesired) modifications. Best of intentions, I know. My mom has the best of the best of intentions all the time, but arghhh...I wish I could appreciate it.

I asked for a bedsheet from the abundant stock we have back home, but I was greeted instead by a brand new, unwieldy RM 75 bedsheet which will be a hassle to wash. I asked for my old, simple, low-tech guitar cable at home, but got instead a brand new RM 85 circuit-breaker cable which I will never use, especially since I don't have the electric guitar with me. I asked for my ratty bolster (yeayea) but found my bolster encased in a new cover *hand-sewn* (until past midnight, according to my dad) by my mom, and the decade-long familiarity of it...gone.

I could go on.

After rifling through the luggage, I found myself surrounded by expensive, unneccessary items which I hardly value and almost dry-heaving at the thought of all that money and effort she wasted on them. What a shame, what a shame that my mom shows her love in ways that I wish I could, tried and never learnt to appreciate.

She the is kind of mom who buys extremely expensive ginseng and roots and boils Chinese tonic and brings it all the way to Melbourne in a thermos bottle for me. She is the kind of mom who spends so much time and effort painstakingly making little peanut cookies despite the busy lead-up to the flight. I even had to pretend I didn't really like those home-made pineapple tarts just so she wouldn't make them, because I know those are the most difficult and time-consuming to make.

She is the kind of mom who wants to make sure everything I get is the best, who wants to prepare me for any and every eventuality. I wished I valued all those things she does for me, but the truth is, I don't. All I want is for her to relax, enjoy her life, stop worrying, be happy and give me some space.

It makes me sad. I don't know whose fault it is; mine for not knowing how to appreciate those things, or hers, for not knowing when to let go and loosen up. I hardly reciprocate in any way that she recognizes, and it pains me to think that she could be and probably is unhappy because of me.

ARGH.

AAARGHH.

The Spectacle That Wasn't

Oh yes. So after the math exam about 6 of us boarders went up to McDs for lunch. We sat at a corner table, but were probably the most prominent group in the almost empty place, save a few elderlies. Some time after, these two Aussie girls came in. Looked about 14, wannabe bad-ass type. This theory was confirmed when they walked past us and one of them muttered, "Asian freaks." They must be idiot amateurs to pick a fight on a 6:2 ratio.

I wasn't too bothered. Had a similar encounter not too long ago with another pair of girls (who looked 12 and were 2 heads shorter than me) on the tram. Must be some growing fad. But that's another story. I only regret not extorting more money from them. So pre-pubescent, and still so much to learn from So You Wanna Be Bad-ass 101.

Anyway, the general reaction from us was mostly heated. Presently they walked past us again.

[transcript]

Boarder: (within earshot) Fuck you.
Bad-ass Girl 1: What did you say? *dirty looks all round*...Fuck YOU.
Bad-ass Girl 2: Yeah, go back to your own country.
Boarder: Oh yeah, why don't YOU go back to your own country? Go back to England!
Bad-ass Girl 1: *laughs derisively* This IS my country!

[/transcript]

So the comeback was a bit random. But by this time we were ready to attack. I'd have preferred to respond by digging my ear, flicking a nail at them and proceed to laugh at them. Or ignoring them, or any other way that'd have made them a joke. Why satisfy their attempt to cari pasal in the way they want you to?

Reaction from the elderlies -

Woman 1: *stares determinedly at her newspaper over her cup of coffee*
Man 1: *glares after them* Rude bitches. (at us apologetically) They're young. They don't know what they're doing.

We passed them by again at a tram stop as we were walking back. They happily bombarded us with rude comments and choruses of "Go back to China, freaks." I could've gone over and hit them right across, I was sorely tempted to, but decided in the end to help the half convince the other half of us not to do just that.

Kids these days.

I like it how this sunny Sunday afternoon seems to hang suspended in time, lazily peaceful with the whirr of the 3-speed table fan in my room.

It's rather nostalgic.

revisiting the cane

I'm stuck in a rut though I haven't even begun. Aditi will be disappointed in me. :-( *groan* ...ToK. I wish I knew what it really wanted. I'm not even sure what I think anymore. I keep debating the issue with myself but I feel like I'm going round in circles and never really stepping past the scope of personal experience.

Doing a ToK presentation on corporal punishment has generated some rather interesting effects. Every now and then, in between researching and trying to sort out the mess in my head, I'd be suddenly struck by a vivid memory from the times when the cane ruled, leaving me rather shaken at the end of the little video in my head. I'm surprised that I still remember the fear and the events so clearly though they haven't crossed my mind in years. I guess there hasn't been a reason for me to look back on that part of childhood, though doing it now, involuntarily at that, makes me feel uneasy.

I remember screaming as loud as I could even though the pain didn't warrant that level of screaming, with the wild hope in my head that the neighbours will hear and come hurrying to our door demanding to know if there's been child abuse going on. I remember rubbing my legs against the pillows, writhing about and weakly dodging, because usually the warning was the more I dodged the harder I would be caned. I remember sobbing out apologies and begging them to stop. I remember sitting in my room studying, trying to block out the screams that were coming from my brother's room next door, or from the neighbour's house behind. Other people caned their kids too. I remember telling my parents "It's about time you gave her a good caning" when my sister was being rude and impertinent. It wasn't malicious though, it was simply matter-of-fact. But all that, they were so long ago. I don't understand. Despite those...unpleasant memories, why do I still think corporal punishment is right??!

Have I been so strongly conditioned I find it hard to imagine otherwise? I've always been contented with thinking that caning should be a normal part of childhood and now that time has taken the sting away, I believed this meant I could reflect on it objectively, without emotions getting in the way. I've never questioned the authority of it, and was satisfied, even willing, to call it a neccessary part of the disciplining process. Perhaps because I attribute what I am today to the strict disciplining I received when I was younger. But as Aditi says, there is no basis for that attribution, and fine, even if I think it works for me, I cannot explain why others should receive it too, especially since I know people who turned out well without having ever been caned.

On a lighter note though, I've found some amusement from those memories. I could write a hefty volume on the cane, how thinner ones would sting more than thick ones, how we used to cellophane tape the end of the cane so we wouldn't have to deal with split ends, or how we tried to hide the canes from my parents, only it just postponed the act as canes were sold abundantly in shops like Star Enterprise.

...actually, to an unaccustomed ear, this probably sounds rather morbid. XD But it's all right. I don't hate my parents, I'm not emotionally scarred for life, and somehow, stubbornly, I still think a certain degree of corporal punishment under certain conditions can be useful. Now I just need to find valid reasons to justify this view.

please...help me...

I'm slipping. Slipping beyond my control into an abyss of ugliness, backbiting and mistrust. After fighting a whole year to keep my precarious balance atop the fence of neutrality, I feel myself grasping desperately to hold on. This whole boarding house experience, perhaps it would be significant to say, this whole girls' boarding house experience, might just be eating me up from the inside if I'm not careful. And maybe the process has started already. I beg you, give me the strength to leave this place alive, unscathed, this sometimes vicious place.

Perhaps it's the fact that everyone's just living in such close proximity all day all the time that you eventually begin to grate against each others' nerves, and seeds of insecurity and paranoia are sown in the hearts of those you once called your friends. It's terrifying, to see the ominous and steady decay of the sweet side of human nature, and watch, in mute despair, the hypocritical breaking and forming of new alliances, and in its wake, new enemies.

I've been lucky enough to keep myself at a safe distance all this time, keeping myself as far away as possible from the politics that chip away and crack the foundation of a community forced to live together. It's amazingly difficult to try and keep on everyone's good side and be sociable at the same time. Friendship is a progressive thing. The further you get along with it, the smaller the gap between two people becomes. But for me, sometimes, it's a little too close for comfort.

Suddenly you find yourself caught in the middle of a backbiting session, of which you had no part of and want to be no part of. Suddenly you find yourself hearing cold, vindictive words directed at another, while you bow your head and stare into blankness, trying to unhear all you did. Suddenly, you find yourself wanting to wash out your eyes, wash out your ears and scream, "Why does it have to be so ugly? Why must we put up such a horrible show of pretense?" It's awful to think of those people being talked about, or those being blatantly treated with ugliness and it's awful to think, that simply by being at the wrong place at the wrong time, you could be misunderstood as being a part of it all.

It's ugly ugly ugly >_< !!! What can I do but seek constant refuge in my room, my sanctuary, and close my eyes and ears and mouth and wait for it all to pass? When will it all pass? When will I see the beauty again?

Atlas Shrugged

During the holidays, I read a book called Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. Its ideology of individualism appealed to me, and I could relate to the heroes Ayn Rand wrote about - man as he ideally should be. It talked about self-centeredness (the negative connotations attached to it in real life is misleading), pertaining to how one should live life to seek one’s own happiness, and how life should be fair trade, you receive only as much as you give and vice versa, and there was no question of sacrifice for the sake of society’s morals, propriety, or tradition, or social norms, or family ties, or any other reason like that. It also said how everything you had should be earned and deserved.

I guess the underlying theme of the book was summed up in this statement that Ayn Rand’s heroes lived by and tried to execute in a world of hypocrisy and favours and groveling men.

I swear, by my life and my love of it, that I will not live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for mine.

I argued to myself that this was a fair enough proposition. I liked what I read. Could it be possible though, for society to function by that statement? It’s hard debating with oneself, so I’m eagerly awaiting an opportunity to discuss the book with someone. But I’m digressing.

Why I started this off is because, recently, something happened to make me ponder, how, as much as I liked this ideology, it was harder than I thought to live by it. I’m only speaking on a personal level, and a different person with a completely different character would probably have not been caught in this ‘dilemma’ at all. Either way, recently, I found myself making a decision for the sake of someone else, a decision which made me unhappy, a decision which was made at my expense, yet, it was a decision I felt obliged and compelled to make.

The effects of that choice will, I’m sure, not keep me unhappy for long, for I make decisions and quickly move on. Many a precious moment is wasted regretting the past. But the fact is, at that instant, I was upset. Why, I asked myself, did I compromise my happiness for this person? I found myself answering, because she has more need than me. Because from a moralistic point of view, it’s a slight inconvenience to me but a big difference in improving her life, allegedly. Because, it’s the ‘right’ thing to do.

Whose ‘right’? Whose morals? Have I compromised my own? I think, my nature has put me in a catch-22. On one hand, I could not bring myself to deny this person her pleading request, for if I did, I would have felt bad. In retrospect, I think I can safely say, I would go and have gone, many a time, to great lengths to ensure someone else’s convenience or happiness, at the expense of my own. There has always been a reprimanding voice in my head going, “You shouldn’t be so selfish!” whenever I chanced upon the thought “What about me?”

But then again, I always feel, what I’ve compromised in the many instances past have been relatively petty issues, issues that weren’t very significant on a grander scale of things. I’d probably play a different tune if that decision affected me to a greater extent (like giving away food till I starve to death for example).

On the other hand, after making that decision (as grudgingly as grudging gets), I was unhappy. I really didn’t want to do it, but I really couldn’t bring myself to say no either (it felt too evil, too cruel). My morals tell me I should help someone who’s more in need than me, even though I lose a little at the end. My happiness with status quo tells me, why lose that little at all?

I see no immediate solution to my catch-22. Perhaps one day, I’ll harden enough to be able to say No when I really want No, and not feel so horribly bad about it. I guess the choice is between compromising my morals or my happiness. And I believe, (unfortunately?) the scale is tipped in favour of the idea of ‘noble’ sacrifice – not because I seek nobleness or martyrdom or awe and unending gratitude at a sacrifice, but because I cannot bring myself to do otherwise.

I wonder when I’ll be able to pick up the statement I quoted above. I wonder if I ever will. But now, having been put to the test, I simply couldn’t shrug it off the way Atlas did.

across the miles

Heya peeps. Arrived safely yesterday morning, flight was ok, passed pretty quick as I slept through most of it, though there was this annoying woman nearby who talked with no regard of anyone else around her. And her voice! It was the sort where prolonged exposure to such wavelengths would damage your ear. Wasn't high pitched or anything, in fact it was pretty uniquely low-ish, but in a bad way. Her husband just muttered back answers and generally looked either harassed or grumpy.

The New Girls' Orientation has been going pretty well so far, we're into the second day. I think we have a day tour to Melbourne city, Southbank and Camberwell. Weather's quite warm, kinda like back home at the moment, and the worst thing was, there isn't air-conditioning in the rooms, so I had to sleep last night with only a table fan. My room's really stuffy most of the time so it wasn't very comfortable. There's quite a large Malaysian contingent in the NGO might I add...and they get along smashingly. Hehe.

I'm beginning to feel the pinch of homesickness, not in its conventional sense though...(and in a way I haven't quite experienced before. :-/ I think I've grown too attached to the company, and it feels like I've gotten closer with some of you over the 2 months) Having spent the hols, especially the last two weeks of them with you guys, it's hard getting used to not having company over, or someone to hang out with. Badminton with PK, cycling with TP, my dear Feebsies, Hui Lynn, Kang and Harold (a.k.a. pimp! :) ...have I missed anybody out? Ah yes, Grace, Jeng Sia, Keat Wei and co. ARGH. Just thinking about the hols makes me miss you guys so so so so so so much. Thank you, guys, for such a good time. For the toil up Kiara, for the crazy dinners, for lunch at TGIF, for the weekends, for the fun and laughter, for the inside news on college, for the sleepovers, for everything. I had an awesome holiday with y'all. Hope college is going well. Those doing their licence, how goes?

I looked forward to coming back here, raring for a good start to the school year. Now that I'm here, I wish I was back again. Sighhh. *consoles self* 3 months isn't that long...and when I go back, I expect to be driven round luxuriously by PK or HL! Mwah!!

reconciliations

My mom and I went out shopping today. And we rested, finally, on one topic which I had wanted so much for so long to talk to my parents about. I guess it was brought on by their finding out of my brother's love interest/girlfriend thing, especially when he's only 13. I was half waiting, half expecting for her to bring this up.

So what? I said. I like it. It's interesting, it's exciting to see him growing up and starting to go through all these new experiences. I not only agree with it, I ENDORSE it. But he's only 13, came the defense, followed by a well-worn lecture I've heard so many times before.

Click.

That was the sound of a torrent of words unlocking itself. Words that I have been wanting to say for so long, rehearsed innumerable times, played at the tip of my tongue, but inevitably disappearing back again into the recesses of my mind because I was too afraid to say them.

I have tried so long to make them see my point of view. I can't blame them. It has been ingrained so deeply into them to educate me on the evils of being in a relationship, how it would ruin your life, your studies, your future if you get involved when you're only in secondary school, only because they grew up the way they did and lived in the society they lived in, thinking the mindset that was so much a part of their lives. It's not completely their fault.

I had long predicted the outcome of events. And I've seen it before, mirrored in my friends' lives. The eldest child gets the strictest rules, the overprotection and the restrictions but slowly, as the years wear on, and your other younger children start growing up and going through the same thing, you grow more lenient and more open minded. Simply because you've been through it before and now you know better what to do and how to handle it. I guess it's a learning process for both parties, and the strictness was just something that I had to go through, that came as part of the job description of being the oldest kid in the family. Always the first, always the guinea pig. Huh.

I see how lenient they've become with my brother and my sister, and the little gnome of immaturity that still resides in me thrashes about indignantly, screaming, it's not fair not fair not fair. But life's never fair anyway. But I only feel that way for awhile. It's more of, I really should be feeling unsatisfied because they're having an easier time and I had to go through hell over the same issues, but I wouldn't wish the same upon them. I mean, it's great, it's happyfying ^^ that my mom has finally reached the pivotal point which would give my siblings the teenage years and more importantly, the relationship with my parents that I dreamt about, but never enjoyed.

They know now, they admit now that it's not going to do any good if you keep fighting against relationships. The only outcome from that in my life is that you drive your child further away. You say I'm cold, and I'm not affectionate and I'm this blistering streak of independence in the sense that I don't need you to be around for me, but think back a little bit. If at any point before, I needed or wanted help, I couldn't turn to you.

I had to do things behind a mask of lies and deception, playing with you a treacherous game of hide-and-seek. Only, I was hoping feverishly you'd never find out. And when you did find out in the end...oh god. Those are memories I never want to revisit. I was terrified to death, thinking how doomed and dead and buried I was, and my imagination started to entertain all sorts of possibilities to get out of it. More lies? A raw confession? A discussion? A plea? Escape? There was never a happy ending. Only more lies. Lies I'm still living in.

My mom came into my room just now, and for the first time, she said, "I'm sorry." And admitted that sometimes, when she thought about it, she realized that she'd been treating my siblings a lot more leniently than she had with me, and that made her sad and wish that she hadn't been so harsh and strict the last time.

I could hardly believe my ears. I just sat at my desk, staring unblinkingly at my laptop.

And then.

It was like a 5 year feud (which festered more badly in the last two years) being dissolved in that little moment in time. The reconciliation that I had been waiting for came to us at last, and I started crying. Mom hugged me and kissed me on the cheek, sobbing herself, but I stoned, as I have always done. I'm not used to any show of affection with my mom, and I always cringed whenever she would hug me. Shrinking away, pushing away, adding one more brick to that wall between us. It's wrong I know. I suppose I should try harder to love my mom like a daughter should. I suppose really deep down inside I do, just that I don't show it...

Either way, I apologized too. For my behaviour, for the times where I must have came across as rude or uncompromising or cold or anything. But when it was done, it was a load off my back. Our backs, I'd think. It's no walk in the park having a stormy relationship with anyone you live in the same house with, especially if it's your mom.

I'm glad it's over now. We don't talk about it nor make any reference to our half a day of heated and emotional 'discussions'. But maybe, hopefully, my mom and I have finally arrived at the clear after the storm.

if only i could

It's raining now. And it was raining this morning. In fact, it didn't stop raining all day. ARGH!

Fuck.

I needed to say that. I don't usually use profanities, there has been no reason to. A momentary lapse. People need to release whatever pent up frustration sometimes, and because I so seldom use this word, it gives me satisfaction to say it just once.

I don't think I'm mad at the rain. I love rain, just not so much in Melbourne in winter. It's like wading through crushed ice...the way my legs felt today as I shopped around the city with Charlene, Ruth and Sharlotte. It was pretty fun anyhow, despite my bedraggledness. Bought a black top, but that's of no significance.

I'm in a bad mood. For so many reasons only I know. Want so much to gripe to scream to cry to seek consolation, but I'm feeling lonelier than ever tonight. Which makes me even more sour. I think I'm getting mood swingy nowadays. I don't lose my temper, probably because there's been no occasion to, but I think it's also cause nothing can really get me angry these days. Annoyed, yes. But I don't think feeling annoyed is really the same as anger. In fact, I think my feeling annoyed is really more suppressed anger. Which brings me back to square one. I don't lose my temper, only because I'm suppressing my temper a lot. Only, I'm never really happy most of the time.

It's at times like these where I think. Damn. I don't want to be here. I don't like being here. Why did I have to be sent here. But I mustn't. It's too late for regret...that phrase is like a mantra to me. To help me stop thinking about it, until eventually, the doubts, the questions, the dissatisfaction, the unhappiness, ebbs slowly away. To say that I dislike living in Aus is not entirely true...but sometimes, it's not entirely false either.

And that adds to my frustration. I'm supposed to be appreciating this more. Other people haven't got such opportunities as I have, and I sorely wish they did. Because it makes me feel bad, that I have these opportunities mainly because I am financially able to. I don't want to be admitting this...that I am unhappy with how things worked out to be, sort of, and sometimes, but eventually it will come out. Saying this here gives me the impression that someone's listening, which is probably true.

But then, that is not the issue nor the reason for my bad mood, my being here. It's merely a thing brought about from me being in a bad mood. Either way...this little rant has gone a little way in alleviating whatever uneasy, unpleasant feeling that I'm feeling right now. I'm not homesick. I'm not the type that gets homesick, in the way some others do. Sure, I miss aspects of life in M'sia, like the food, the company, the atmosphere. But that's not what homesick means. Homesick, to me, is being unable to handle very well the separation from family for a period of time.

But tonight. Tonight, I just want to be home.

The Next Step

You try to convince yourself to be tough, but when the inevitable time comes for friends to say goodbye, all your defenses come crashing down, and you don’t care anymore that the tears are flowing freely from your face, you don’t care anymore if they see you cry, because there is nothing else you can do. You try to speak, your voice comes out in cracks and whispers, and you know the second you try to say something, it’s just going to make you cry even harder. So you keep quiet, you bite your quivering lip. Yet you’re bursting to tell them how much they mean to you, how much you’re going to miss them. You try to stop the tears from flowing, but they come anyway. All your fumbling attempts at maintaining composure breaks and you turn into a sobbing, sniffling wreck.

That was how it was. It was a crazy emotional day, one minute I’m laughing my head off, the next minute I’m fighting back tears. I’ve spent all the weeks leading up till Tuesday, my last day at school, fending off all thoughts of departure. Cause if I don’t think about it, I manage to hold out a little longer. I won’t deny that I’m a little afraid, afraid of what the coming days might be like. After all, I’m about to completely uproot myself after four years in this comfortable cocoon surrounded by familiar faces and places. I’m sure I’ll be able to adapt to life in PLC, but for the moment, I’ve to get over leaving my secondary life here in Malaysia. Let me mourn a little, dwell on it a little, then, a short while later, I'll move on. There’s a bit of regret that I have to leave prematurely, especially when everything is running so smoothly. I try to put things in perspective, you know the “Yeah, so I’m just leaving three quarters of a year earlier than everyone else. Big deal.” But the other side of me argues constantly that in this case, being the only one leaving, compared to graduating and leaving the school along with everyone else, the former never fails to seem more formidable. Like they say, you find safety and comfort in numbers.

…Life’s like a flight of stairs. You start at the bottom, and slowly make your way up, one step at a time. Along the way you’d encounter all sorts of challenges, maybe a missed step, a loose board, and sometimes, you even trip and tumble a little way down, and pick yourself up and re-start the climb: a second chance. On and on you go, until at last, after a long and fulfilling ascent, you lift your weary foot one last time – and arrive at the gates of heaven.

For me, well I’ve barely even mounted a quarter of the steps. But where I am now, it just seems so hard to raise my leaden foot to make that next step. Not because I’m tired, but perhaps it is a mixture of doubt and worry and trepidation that makes me hesitate. That is, only until I remember, I’m on a staircase, and if I don’t continue up to the rest of the steps waiting for me above, the only other way is down.

…Life’s like a flight of stairs, a one-way ticket with no return. There is only forward.

Hence forward I shall go. =)

I'm typing this as Satriani's Love Thing plays in the background...ex0dus!!! Look what you've done, I haven't stopped listening to this amazing song since yesterday...what business have you huh? To barge into my life, give me this song and render me incapable of doing anything else. You shall pay. }:-)

On a different note, I can't believe I've grown to love school so much. Perhaps it is the impending departure that lends a hint of poignancy to everything I do at school, perhaps it is the thought that I haven't many days left in CHS that makes me appreciate it more, perhaps...I don't know. I've come to enjoy little, little things, doing homework even. (Except Chinese Homework of course, that one, even if I'm bound leave for Alaska and never come back, I'll still feel the same way about Chinese HW - "Ugh." ) And rushing to get to the corridor every morning, just for those 10 minutes...I suppose I'm being pretty sentimental. I guess I am such by nature, I wonder whether it's a good thing. Less sentiment makes leaving easier. And since life is so much about a continuous cycle of meeting and parting, overall, it makes living easier too. Less heartache. Well, ultimately, it goes to prove I'm human, that's all, though emotions can be somewhat of a bother occasionally.

(Why does this song magnify so much the melancholic mood that I'm currently iN?! Hurgh, I'll snap out of it soon, don't worry. If not just give me a slap the next time you see me.)

To tell the truth, I can't help having mixed feelings about the school's No-Sport's-Day-this-year decision. Every year, as soon as it's over I'm waiting and waiting with bated breath and a strange sort of impatience for the next one. Thus you can imagine how I felt at the prospect of not being able to participate this 2004. After screwing up last year's with terrible, terrible mistakes of mine, I so badly wanted a chance to redeem myself, in my eyes if not in others. Now, it's apparent that whether I go or not, there won't be a Sport's Day. On one hand, I'm disappointed, just like all the other athletes, but my selfish side heaves a sigh of relief. A kind of sick, twisted relief and consolation that "Right, I can't win it, good that no one else can either." Is it natural? I'm kicking myself for thinking such, it sounds so selfish.

And the school competitions and concerts. I had my heart set on doing something for one of the school functions this year...and Forensics...no, no I don't feel that way about forensics don't worry. Only an overwhelming regret that I won't be able to participate with y'all. It'll be crazy fun, I've had a taste of it, and I'm dying to satiate my yearning for more. But I can't. Can't because of this great barrier that is the ocean. ARRRRRRRRRGH.

I bet if I were to really sit me down and make a list of what I could do if I stay back, those trifles on their own...once crammed together in a list, would give me enough reason not to go. Knowing this much, I haven't made a move to do so, instead I merely entertain the thoughts one at a time, as and when they come to me. I'm sure to others they appear as trifles. Things you can do away with; things you can live without. But it is those particular things that I live for every year and which makes secondary school life sweet. Especially friends. My irrational mind, driven by sentiments, leaves me grasping at straws, grasping to accept the reality that my parents and everyone have been trying to pound into me. That going to Aussie is better than staying back. Is it reality anymore then, or something else?

But of course, what I get out of Aussie depends on what I make of it. And I will make the best of my time there, to make every pocket-burning 3 RM to an AUD worth the while. I will come to enjoy PLC, I know so, just that now, my heart is feeling the painful wrench of someone who's not quite ready to leave.