Boxing up the memories.

There are some things that I'll never forget this Christmas. For one, it would take some serious memory-erasing to rid myself of that image of my uncle, looking suspiciously drunk, wearing a shoe bag on his head and doing a little gig. Or my mother doing a weird little tease for my aunt, which involved a lot of even weirder booty-shaking. Growing up among my maternal relatives means being dragged through a swamp of boisterousness and too-loud love, but knowing deep down, that you wouldn't swap it for anything in the world.

Before the party officially began - that is, before the arrival of my grandmother and before everyone starts tucking in, properly (more than occasional munching doesn't quite count as 'eating' here) - Suhui took Mingming, her eight year old brother, and I to the Japanese cemetery nearby. About a decade ago, I, with my overactive imagination, would have sooner died (and become a part of the cemetery for eternity, ironically, but it didnt occur to me back then) than voluntarily place myself within any conceivable distance of a cemetery. Each Qingming, I would dread the hike into the columbarium and cemetery, regardless of the kind of jokes the adults cracked to keep spirits (ours) buoyant. But the roles were reversed this time round. My company had an imagination to rival mine, and he, like I did, knew it.

He expotulated at the suggestion and took off. I laughed and ran after him, tackling him into submission. Despite his protests, dear Ming ming was crammed firmly (and rather comically) between the two of us - the human safety barrier promised to him, and marched to the cemetery. Throughout the walk, he talked non-stop, jabbering away about his fear of cemeteries. Conversation was precocious but lighthearted, as we talked about ways he could "master fear" (his words, not mine). But throughout the walk, I made sure he had both his hands held and was always between us, because I knew that was all I had ever wanted in the cemetery vists of my childhood. (But daddy would always walk forward, with me clinging on to his shirt, and mommy no where to be found.)

As we walked out of the cemetery, he told me proudly, "I am not scared now because I have mastered my fear!" (Mastered, he told me, was the word, not conquered, or overcome.) But I knew that the moment he could talk about his fears. I never told anyone about my fear of cemeteries, or ghosts, or the dead - that gripping fear, worse that I had ever known. And I knew, that when he mastered his, he had also mastered mine.

And it was with the courage vested in me by my dear cousin that I tackled today's reunion with my Sec4 class. I was so afraid we wouldn't get along, that our meetings would be silent and empty. But we did, and it was full of laughter and friendliness. (: And I actually am beginning to miss them.

Christmas!

Christmas is here again!

We've never had a more efficient year of Christmas shopping. You wouldn't believe it, but we managed to accomplish our shopping list of nearly 40-members within two days. We've become so profoundly proficient that we've even managed to use all the old newspaper advertisements as (passably) pretty wrapping paper, thereby propagating the spirit of goodwill AND greenness. I'm expecting Santa to visit me twice this year. I've noticed that the people in my family get great kicks out of ripping the wrapping off their gifts (sometimes I suspect they even enjoy it more than the gift itself), so, being the official giftwrapper of the Han Family, I've padded up all your gifts with newspaper :D (their actual sizes are really half of what you see)

The days leading up to Christmas have not been so unbearably long this year. In fact, this Christmas sort of snuck up from behind and devoured me before I could season myself with Christmas trees and goodies. When I look back on the Christmas of 2007, I'd like to think that it began on the night of the 20th, at the sleepover at Seng's, which set a comfortable mood I haven't been able to get out of. We started the night off at Harry's, and ended it trying to wrestle Seng's dog away from our poor violated legs. My poor legs almost lost their virginity to a jack russel, and I swear the same mutt sneezed all over me. Seng tried to comfort me by saying that he didn't really sneeze - more like "regurgitate its undigested meals and furball"; but I'm not really sure how that's of any comfort.

And oh, Yunsong cooked breakfast. Heh.

It was a lovely morning. And unless something more spectacular happens over the next two days, I'd say that was God's Christmas gift to me - simple and transcient. I'll leave my material needs for my friends and family to fulfil :P

The 21st was spent in the warmth of old friends in Geordie's beautiful house. His parents cooked a splendid Christmas feast! Think turkey, roast, log cakes, baked potatoes, wine and best of all Bailey's Irish Cream. I think I really like watching my friends sit around a large dinner table, eating elegantly in mock candle light. A far cry from the first time we looked at each other, caked in mud, soap and grime, gobbling off each other's styrofoam containers at Orientation. We've grown, I think, and I hope we age like wine.

Then there was Liangwei's party, the almost KI Christmast gathering, and Daddy's half's Christmas party. Tomorrow, Christmas would have truly come, with our annual and very traditional Christmas party with the Tan family and extensions. Tomorrow, my year will be complete (:

To know and to love

To Know Him is to Love Him
Emmylou Harris, Dolly Parton, Linda Ronstadt

To know know know him
Is to love love love him
Just to see him smile
Makes my life worthwhile
To know know know him
Is to love love love him
And I do

I'll be good to him
I'll bring love to him
Everyone says there'll come a day
When I'll walk alongside of him
Yes just to know him
Is to love love love him
And I do

Why can't he see
How blind can he be
Someday he will see
That he was meant for me

To know know know him
Is to love love love him
Just to see him smile
Makes my life worthwhile
To know know know him
Is to love love love him
And I do

*
I am not so daring and dynamic as I thought I was. Some social interactions still leave me wondering what I should have done, and if what I actually did was right. Sometimes I get this insane urge to jump up and plant a small kiss on the cheek of the person I'm talking to, but I fear he or she might slap me, or think me too bold and too transparent. Then I wonder, what do I care that they do - for if they are to love me, then they'll have to love the spontaneous, unthinking, affectionate me. And by the time all the wondering's done, the moment would have past and my eyelids dropped too long to re-open any interpersonal connection.

If every action is willed, then I must be missing out on something, for I find it harder and harder to translate will into action, especially when it comes to dealing with others. I could sit and expire myself with hope, but it probably wouldn't change the fact that some of us walk our separate ways. Do you begin with a small desire, and sit and wait for them to act on a reciprocated feeling that might not exist? Or do you walk in and declare your intentions like foolhardy, sexually-charged boys do?

I feel desire like an embarrassing relative, who threatens to announce to the world my life's most intimate details. It is a constant battle - the twisting of knife-handles in backs, not against any offensive, grumpy aunt, but with the little voice that keeps calling me a blood traitor.

People who fascinate me.

"Let's go." He said sharply. "I don't like the way he conducts his kids."

We got up from the long wooden benches in his lead and snapped our heels down the long aisle as the pastor's chastise of his altar boys continued. But as we reached the tall doors of the church, he stopped to pick up a bible. His slim fingers ran slowly down the spine of the old book, and in the stained dimmness of the church, he asked gently, "Would you like to say a prayer?"

Woohoo! Breakthrough!

My (drawing and painting) skills have upped one level. I'm actually wishing now that I didn't scorn those Dota/computer games lingo, so I'd have some vocabulary to release some of this chest-pounding, grunty eruption.

I am now quite sure that I have a remotely enviable artistic talent. Okay, okay, if I'm going to be disgustingly arrogant about this, I'm going to be disgustingly arrogant about this. I think I'm on fireeee!

Take that, Limmy.

(:

What The Holidays Mean to You

For you, the holidays are about celebration. You enjoy all the fun and fellowship that the holidays bring. You celebrate the holidays in a offbeat style. You believe the holidays are for doing whatever you feel like - and some of your "traditions" are pretty wacky. During the holidays, you feel magical. You love all of the decorations and how happy people are. You like to sit back and take it all in. You think the holidays should be nostalgic and sweet. The holidays bring out your inner child. Your best holiday memories are warm and intimate. You remember special moments more than gifts or parties.

What Do the Holidays Mean to You?

You Don't Know Much About Christmas

You only got 2/10 correct So you don't know all of the history and trivia of the holidays...As long as you remember to put out some cookies for Santa, you're still ahead of the game. Random Christmas fact: Thomas Edison has the first Christmas lights, three years after he invented the electric lightbulb.

How Much Do You Know About Christmas?

My top 10 Favourite Things about JC Life

The wonderful thing about words, I've realised, is that they keep what the memory and pictures cannot. My favourite things about these two years tend to fall under categories of "prolonged processes" and "fleeting moments" that cannot be composed into postcards. So I'm writing them down, and if you've loved them as much as I have, we're going to find a way to do them again (:

In no order of merit

1) All the in-between (classes) moments with Gaby, invariably spent in the canteen at our favourite Sunshiney seat. These moments were spent either in close confidence, silent companionship, exchanging TV knowledge, amusing bickering, and always, always eating.

2) The pink moments with Siobhan. I still don't really know what we do, but it always involves a lot of giggling at the stupidest things, and a lot great advice from her on matters of the heart.

3) The few movies (memorably, Invisible Waves, Into Great Silence and Little Miss Sunshine) with Chen and occasionally others (I would name them, but they keep changing). It was always terribly exciting not knowing what we had paid for, and immensely satisfying to walk out of them shaking in laughter and having completely different ideas of what happened in the cinema.

4) The mornings spent with Colin (usually Thursdays), just before he elopes with Myf. Our mornings are always spent talking about everything and nothing in particular, and always in resulting in a beautiful heartbreak. Oh, and I'll miss those pen-paper-and-coin Quorridor games, in which we would always know who would win at least 6 moves before completion. We never found a way to play well.

5) The moments during KI lessons where we would all giggle - the class at John Butterworth's omnipotence, and Mr Lim at some unfathomable Mormon reason. (Okay, I know *now* that he's Methodist.) I also love the one-to-one conversations in Mr Lim's potpurried office, and I know that I got lucky again, to get a mentor who cared this much.

6) The daily walks from school down to Farrer Road/Adam Road. Bukit Timah Road, I think, is my second favourite road, next to the stretch of Balestier I live on. I love the quaint small shops and the sunny, sleepy sidewalks and it always saddens me a little when I have to board the bus.
And when I had memorized all the shops and little roads by heart, Liangwei came along and made sure that there was always something new and something gastronomically delicious to focus on.

7) The msn chatting with Seng. Unlike the above, this has not been determined by the physical presence of HC. And has been all the more lovely for it.

8) Great conversations with Yunsong, always perfectly balanced between the meaningful and the hilarious. And the dinners, a habit I hope will continue. Unlike most of the friendships I've had, I don't think I grew into this one. I think I fell headlong into it. And this rabbit hole adventure has been exciting. I suspect it always will.

9) Quirky AEP moments, which made school feel like home. It was the feeling that we could do anything in the world, that we were free and powerful and creative. I loved the being around Ms Kee and the generosity of Mr Tan, who always made us feel like they, in spite of everything, loved us. And not forgetting, the conversations with Mr Lee, especially the one we had in my little gallery, which we thought was entirely private except that the box magnified our voices and everyone heard my angst about being unbearably light and his wanting to be a nurse. I think what I loved best about HCAEP moments was that it made an incredibly normal thing (going to school) feel like a disguise for our superhero identities which allowed us to drive out of school during lesson time, wear pathetic shreds for clothes, dance like nobody was watching, cook in the middle of paints, brushes and other unsightly things and build things from scratch.

I liked how my cellmate Pow would speak ever so gently and adorably when we talked (I figure its because he thinks my being short is a handicap, lol), how Yingshi would propose every so often, and how Yeenseen would wrap her arms around me and tell me that she loved me. Or my body. I think Yeenseen thinks they're the same. And how Shum would give us all a bit of vinyl so we could have Phua Chu Kang moles/weird tattoos. How Sophia and I survived The Incredible Coursework Nights together, how Siewch and I would talk and get ourselves all depressed, how the boys would concoct songs and sing in perfect harmony and make everyone laugh, and how everyone got excited over Pizza Days, Sandwich Parades, and highly unsanitary Fondue Parties. And oh, I will never forget the night we all put up elaborate acts of cannibalism and deaths to make Ms Kee and Mr Lee feel bad about delaying our dinner. (It worked, haha. Dinner was on them.)

10) The mishmash crowd of Sixoh. Always something hilarious happening. I love the way we're all so hilariously different, and how we talk little and do lots, and how everything's so laidback and simple it makes me feel like we're part of a kampung. And someone's always teaching me a new way of seeing.

Everything's baking really nicely now :D

My scones turned out well (or "quite edible" in yunsong's words), my internships are nicely settled (Drew and Napier!) , and my Maldives trip is not only happening, I know it's going to be one hell of a trip because we'll be celebrating the New Year's there too!

Met Yunsong and Karweng at a nice Christmassy cafe yesterday, and the outing, like almost all outings I make, consisted first of me getting quite lost, and like almost all outings with Yunsong, ended with a fabulous dinner in our tummies and no money in our wallets. The last time I frequented cafes, I was still Hiu's little measure of peace, and we would sit at Novena's Spinelli's (our favourite haunt) and do math problems, play, read and talk. I tried going back to the cafe after we split, but it wasn't the same - the coffee was too cold, the books were too empty and the crowd too hostile.

Lessons from Both Ends of Life.

Last Saturday, Suhui and I popped down to Grandma's to learn the sacred family art of making Soon Kueh. It was fun, and I can't remember the last time I spent so much time alone with my grandma (alone being not hiding in my mother's skirts, mute and bashful in the presence of a strange tongue). Grandma made me tell everyone I gave the kuehs to that Su and I made them, because according to her, they were so goddamned ugly they would ruin her reputation as Toa Payoh's Soon Kueh Soh. But I think, secretly, she was really proud of her two grandchildren. Even though she refused to let us do the frying, steaming, preparation and cleaning up, the bags of new flour arranged for display weeks before our arrival whispered her enthusiasm at having us.

Somehow, word of my soon kueh endeavour got around to all my aunts and quickly translated into a newfound enthusiasm for cooking. Now I've been invited to bake scones at my little aunt's place, cookies in my big aunt's place, and sample turkey and blue cheese with my cousin. I assure you being Martha Steward was never my intention. I don't want to cook, I want to cook certain things - to understand how they're made, to ponder their making. But I do realise now, that cooking is a great way for bonding with the matriachs of the family, who while sometimes scary, I suppose, can also be quite endearing.

Any interaction with my grandparents wrenches my heart out. When I made an independent suprise visit to my paternal grandparents last week, my grandmother was so pleased I had to go back again in two days, just so I could sit and let her look at me. These wizened, weathered figures, whom I should be closer to than life itself, either talk too fast and too much in a language I cannot understand, or speak too little and are equally incomprehensible. They have lived lives that I do not understand, and live lives I will not understand. No earnest but helplessly ignorant ear or anxious but inevitably careless touch from their foreign grandchildren, I have learnt, will take away the pain in her back, stop him from shrinking in his cot, or remove the tiredness in her eyes. I am envious when my friends tell me about the things they do with their grandparents and how their lives intertwine so intimately under the same roof.

If the elderly are a puzzle, the young are not straightforward either. I do not understand when people say they love or hate children, with such grand sweeping statements. They are little people, and I love some people, and dislike other people. I think I like my little seven year old cousin, hyperactivity, loud voice and all. Today, he asked me how onions were grown. Then he asked where the bulbs were obtained. Which led to the question of where the first onion came from. I told him, maybe God made the first onion, like how people think God made the first human. (Su told him evolution made the first onion). But I wish now I had said nobody really knew how the first onion came about. It would have been honest, and more importantly, it would have been exactly the kind of answer I loved as a child. God and evolutionary science! - bah, I'm starting to think like a parent. (I will not!)

Amazing, isn't it. Life's greatest questions summarized in one brown, dusty onion.

Run mad as often as you like, but do not faint

I am now sitting at the end of a day I thought would never come. And along with this day, many things have passed and are now gone forever. For every momentuous event I have lived over the last few weeks, I have tried to fit my reflections into incisive essays becoming of a bright young leader, but my stunning failure subverts this fate bestowed upon me by my nation. I couldn't, for instance, pin down my exact feelings when I sat with the Foundational stream students during the release of their PSLE results. I couldn't find the words to describe the view from the bottom dweller's collar, I couldn't decide if the difference between that and what I was, am, accustomed to was real.

I was not allowed, too, to document my forced metamorphosis from student to adult. I felt no feeling strong and clear enough for my pen to pick up. And when my dear cousin was finally married off, fixing the final chapter of a tulmultous romance in her life and foreshadowing adulthood for the rest of us Sisters, my words found themselves restricted to praise of the bride's clothings and the good wine.

I began this wanting to write about love and family and my frustrating lack of ambition, but this plague of wordlessness refuses to leave me.

My heart is breaking.

After the A levels, I will

1) Paint Yunsong
2) Read economics
3) Take a writing trip around Singapore
4) Learn animation
5) Learn photoshop
6) Make Art obsessively
7) Accomplish all Lee Ang Films
8) Accomplish all local films
9) Accomplish all good films
10) Hopefully pull together a small art exhibition, from which I may earn some money.
11) Learn how to make soon kueh and ou kueh from Grandma
12) Learn how to make rendang from Suhui's aunt
13) Learn how to bake a bake alaska from a cookbook.
14) Visit Shum in JB
15) Read obsessively
16) Make a short film
17) Make awesome Christmas cards and put Hallmark out of fashion
18) Learn how to use makeup
19) Jog everyday
20) Overhaul my red cocktail dress
21) Start and finish Indie Fashion project with Gab.
22) Get myself re-employed by the Substation
23) Become a curator
24) Throw an awesome party
25) Get a biking licence
26) Become fantastic at the piano
27) Learn how to dance

Where do broken hearts go?

Colin says that broken hearts can never be mended. This worries me, because I don't want the thing in my ribcage to be in pieces forever.

Malibu Barbie doesn't have a silk heart

Witness of the Menaced Assassin

I should be studying, but I can't and won't. I'll regret this later.

I am reaching the height of spiritual contentment, and it's a very nice and sunny plateau to be on. I didn't think at first, that this was possible, since my checklist remains full of emptiness. I haven't gotten any university offers (why am I not surprised)- in fact, only more jeopardy, no significant improvement in my attitude towards studying, no increased freedom of movement, no windfall or winning lottery ticket, no Prince Charming, or sudden, pain-free weight loss. But I am happy.

I think its because I'm finally beginning to see all the wonderful things I actually have (yes friends and parents, you've been right all along). I know why I've been called a charmed child now. (I need to write all this down, so that when I get my flood of rejection letters from the various universities, I can remind myself that I'm still a complete, wholesome, valuable person).

And you know what, it is a very nice feeling to be liked by yourself, and heavenly to be liked by others.

The Battle Has Begun

Physics 1 Charmaine 0
KI Draw Charmaine Draw
Math 1 Charmaine 1

Dear Life,

Despite your demons of smirking TYSes and impending academic doom, there are so many things I want to thank you for. You've given me such a generous slice of little pleasures that there isn't a day I spend without feeling all warm and fuzzy inside.

First of all, thank you for preserving my family, and keeping them under your wing. I know that sometimes you let people go in the best interests, but I can't help feeling selfish in wanting to keep them. I have been living in the fear of losing them, but now, I think I will live in the pleasure of sharing one more day with them.

Second, thank you for the friends you have given me. Over the past year (these few weeks more than anything else), I have witnessed the strength of the friendships you have blessed me with. And they're more than just good friends - they're good people too. On my part, I promise to pay it forward; you leave me with no room to think otherwise. Sometimes, I am afraid of losing them in the uncertain future; afraid of no longer being able to casually walk into their daydreams and plonk beside them, afraid of losing those days of languish in the sun, afraid of losing the pleasant chumminess of walking around side by side. Can I keep them forever?

Third, thank you for revealing possibilities.

I know I haven't been very good - I've failed spectacularly in keeping my tongue in check lately, and I haven't exactly channelled virtues. And I worry in retrospect all the time, that one day, I'm going to drive people who cares away. You must not believe in proportionality, because you've given me far more than I deserve.

I'm also writing this because the naive immortality of youth is starting to wear down. Our parting, I am finally convinced, can be very real indeed. It still feels a bit strange - my first thought was "But I haven't lived yet!", but then it made me realize only how much time I was wasting. I trust you'll be with me for some time yet, I'm only 18 after all, but that's still no reason to continue taking what we have for granted.

So thank you, for loving this flawed, flawed me. Thank you.


Love,
charm

Love is an arranging

Love is an arranging
Of blocks in your schedule for hospital visiting;
Written-down memos for polishing the broken head
And vacuuming the soiled body;
Constructed of germ-free brushes that fit between brown toes
And sanitized wipes for a gaping mouth.

In a white space where upturned corners must be pushed down
Unrolled and fingered and moulded backwards,
Love is soothing pillows and placating blankets
And a tender waiting by the washbasin.
It is comforting IV tubes before turning to crying catheters;
Love is whispering softly, "I'll be back tomorrow."

My Kingdom for Love

Married people should still be holding hands at forty, whispering sweet nothings at sixty, give each other little cuddles and kisses every now and then, walk into museums and steal their dustbins together, sing aloud together on long road trips, waltz on each others toes and all the furniture, have adventures, and love, love, love each other.

(:

preliminary ideas.

"I could quit you if I wanted."

preliminary ideas.

I'm thinking birds with legs (do birds have legs?) so long when they fly, they walk.

The Lynx Effect

I say genius.

(don't you just love 2 and 3?)

The Metaphor Menace

Seng: I'm a bananaaaa
Song: because you're sweet and very digestible?
Seng: and long
Charm: because you cause diarrhea? and because you're cheap? (:

What about

a piano that reveals a keyboard made of fingers?

Nothing's going on between us.

We tried to take Relationship shots. It was a vain moment, trying to live out our Before Sunrises in the little Space In Between, and I regret the lack of aesthetics.

It always gets me how that Nothing can bug people so much. They constantly regulate the diminishing Nothing between them; they bolt up straight when the Nothing disappears between two small fingers, tremble when the Nothing dissolves, jerk back to let the Nothing expand once again, then silently curse at how the Nothing should be something.

I'm putting this here to remind me no matter how busy I am, I will not be lulled into the convenience of Macdonald's delivery.


Okay, my will is set.


This is horrible. The world outside AEP seems so dreadfully dull now. I can't seem to be interested in anything outside the studios.

I like the work I do there - demanding, intimate, not always fun or liked, but loved.

I like the people in there. They are likeminded classmates who similarly know their lives would be absolutely miserable without Art, even as they are miserable now; A couple of seniors slept over to keep us company at the frontline. The nights turn them into one of us. The teachers treat us as more than just a job (or at least, they make us feel like they love their jobs). The people there are odd, funny, sensitive and sexy. We don't need clubs and clark quay, mindless sex games and meaningless social activities. I can prance around barefoot in my rattiest freebie once-upon-a-time tshirt and know that when people look at me, they see someone to love. I don't need heels and makeup and funny clothing to feel hot. I love watching them as they sing at the top of their voices into the night, in perfect harmony even as they make up the notes as they go along. I love watching them. I love popping around, helping one or the other make her baby pretty. I love the small talks, and the knowing that the other person will never be impatient with your ideas, because she has them too. I love how we can practically be one, but never symbiotic or clingy. I love how anything I dream of can come true - and how msky and mrly will find a way to help me make it happen. I love how they mentor me with friendship, and watch over me with companionship. They remain one of the few people who catch and understand every twitch of my eyebrow, even as I try to hide and deny it. I love how the girls love each other too much, and the boys don't love the girls at all. Yet they always make time to put a smile on our faces. I love the big group and small group talks. And the crazy names we give each other. And how we've promised to make everyone's wedding a reunion, while pretending to eat each other up.

And though I can hardly find time to breathe or sleep, I feel free I feel like I'm expanding and the world can accomodate me I feel happy I feel free

A word on photographs

Why you've been seeing photographs of me on this blog recently, when you previously couldn't even pry one out of my room

For a while I seriously thought my fate was sealed in the way of lonely old women with too many cats - only my cats were cameras. How my hand finished with a camera, had less to do brilliant photography skills (I like to believe that's my hidden talent), than a love for photographs laced with a dislike of being on the other side of the lens. It always made me feel somewhat like Captain Hook, whose appendage was obviously for brandishing at others, rather than catching itches.

Modern psychoanalysis has provided me with the perfect explanation for my almost hypocritical behaviour (Worship Freud! He who paved the way for excuses): my dad's a hobby photographer, who enjoys shoving his giant cameras up my nose for clinical mugshots. The result is always the same. He exclaims the sharpness, the detail, the colour balance of the me pinned onto a wall, mortified, while I agree, becauase thanks to his new thousand dollar gadget, I've discovered new flaws I never knew I had. All photographs taken by Daddy dearest never vary - always cropped closely around the head, with an engorged nose.

My affair with photographs rarely has anything to do with the masculine talks of resolution, high-tech cameras and other gadgets. Naturally, I recognize the value of a good camera, but I like it better when the people I photograph are not excuses to showcase the latest technology. (The only lighting I use is sunlight, the only skill, spontaenity.) They are people framed in a way I want to remember them, or slices of time frozen to last forever. When I see a person beautifully, I get to take it down and send it to him or her and keep a copy in my heart.

I think maybe that's why I'm afraid of having my photograph taken. I suppose I would say I know how to make someone look good in a photograph, only because I know the contours of his/her face by heart - which precise angle shows off the beauty I know so well, and which exact moment exhibits the person I love so well. Great insecurity, and perhaps even a tiny bit of narcissism, prevents me from placing this responsibility in the hands of someone else - would they see me in a nice way? Could this terribly flawed and human me be seen in a nice way? If my own dad, who loves me more than anyone has and ever will, can't, what hope should I place in anyone else?

But thanks to a couple of friends, I am learning to let others look at me - learning to curb my control-freakish nature, learning to let go of my insecurities. They send me photos saying "look, this is the you I have been looking at." And I have found that sometimes, regardless of how ridiculous the expression on my face, how wide my forehead looks, or how embarrassingly much I have accidentally exposed, what they really are showing me, is a nice, warm glow of friendship and the me they know and love.

oooh

My Lovely Friends.

In fifty years, I'll mail them both a copy of this photo (:

MAF '07

The Sketch

A couple of years ago, I watched a short film which has refused to let itself out of my mind. Its title and accolades - for it was a winning entry of some film festival - I don't recall, but it remains as though my mind was the camera the artist used. On second thought, the film could have been called "The Sketch".

My adaptation.


A woman is standing in an underground train heavy with the evening crowd. Her body – forty-year-old virginity – is wrapped in a brown autumn coat. All is quiet, save the mechanical breathing of the industrious beast.

With a sudden burst of unexplained spontaneity, a lanky young man picks himself out of the inertia and stands up. He clears his throat hesitantly. “My name is Serge Durand. I am thirty-three this year. I am looking for a nice woman to share my life with.”

The crowd raises a collective eyebrow; the woman fights to keep a commuter’s necessary poker face on.

The man goes on. “ She can be fifty, or eighteen, I don’t mind – I believe what’s important is the heart. All women are beautiful, and I am hoping that one of you beautiful women will make me a very lucky man.”

“I am a good man,” he adds as an afterthought. Someone lets out a chortle, not unkindly. Encouraged, he continues, “ I can cook and help with the housework. I can whip up a mean pasta! I work in a photocopy shop and earn a comfortable 1,200 euros a month. And I do not have any STDs.” The crowd laughs. The woman smiles, but drops her eyes.

The sparkle in his eyes softens a tad as he reaches up to mess his curly mop in boyish habit. “My fiancée died three years ago, and I’ve been single ever since. Now I think I am ready to move on. And if any of you ladies believe in love and romance, I will be waiting for you on the next platform.”

The train pulls into the next station. Her grip on her handbag tightens, then loosens in the wetness of her palm. The doors open. She springs out.




Nobody joins her. No charming, thirty-three year old with sparkling eyes and curly brown hair leaves the train. The doors begin to close. The young man scrambles towards her, “Madame, Madame! I’m so sorry – it was only a sketch!”

The doors close. His hands press a pasty green onto the glass. From the corner of her eye, she sees another man in the same carriage folding up his video camera.

The young man’s eyes now sparkle a bit too brightly. His lips, speeding away, mouth the words “It’s not real”. And the train pulls out of the platform.

When honey is not exactly sweet

I will never understand people.

(A spate of short messages, summarized)
charm: Hey hon, I'm so sorry - are you still feeling insulted by what i said last night?
Him: Why am I "hon"? Either its a nick I never knew I had, or you sent the message to the wrong person.
charm:.. "hey" alone sounded unfriendly.
Him: You can say "hey-ho", rather than "hey hon"! "Hon" sounds so meaningless now that you explain it.
charm: (amused) first you complain it's too meaningful, then you complain it's too meaningless, I don't understand. Lol.
Him: It was meaningless all along, that "Hon" word.
charm: (now feeling a little rebuffed) Well. Don't mind me for being meaninglessly affectionate to a friend.
Him: Oh, I can feel the affection... like [you] said, some things don't have to be said.


lol.
*shrugs helplessly*
P.S. "hey-ho" ?!?

Wuthering Heights

I decided to youtube one of my (many, many) favourite songs, Wuthering Heights, and look what I found.

Now I'm not sure if it's still one of my favourite. Kate Bush can move her body in ways I cannot understand.

Well.



Lockwood must have had some nerves of steel, if this was the Cathy that visited him.

Memed! (and 10 of you are involved)

I love interesting Memes. Alright, actually, I'm just looking for an excuse to not study. :D


1. (the person who tagged you is) - Tan Suhui
2. (your relationship with him/her is) - telepathic, expressed in giggles.
3. (5 impressions you have of him/her) - thoughtful, always fun, independent, and a great friend.
4. (the most memorable thing he/she has done for you) - everything we do together is usually memorable ;) but most recently, it has to be scrubbing the fish tank out at 2am.
5. (the most memorable words he/she has said to you) - if words are sounds that come out from the mouth, then it has to be perpetual heehawing :D
6. (if he/she becomes your lover, you will) - be homosexual and incestuous. interesting.
7. (if he/she becomes your lover, things he/she has to improve on will be) - probably get a sex change, then find a way to get out of my family tree. lol
8. (if he/she becomes your enemy, you will) - i dont even think we've ever had a proper, full blown quarrel yet.
9. (if he/she becomes your enemy, the reason will be) - I really have no idea. I like to think that being family makes one really tolerant.
10. (the most desirable thing you want to do for him/her now is) - Bake. :D
11. (your overall impression of him/her is) - like her mother. (:
12. (how you think people around you will feel about you) - clumsy? usually also horrifically independent and quirky. but mostly clumsy.
13. (the characteristic you love about yourself is) - that I can feel art.
14. (the characteristic you hate about yourself is) - that I feel too much.
15. (the most ideal person you want to be is) - right now, Mika.
16. (for people that care and like you, say something to them) - some things just aren't said (:
17. (pass this quiz to 10 people that you wish to know how they feel about you)

1. Liangwei
2. Jon Tan
3. Gaby
4. Charmaine E.
5. Favian
6. Siobhan
7. Yeenseen
8. Shumin
9. Colin
10. Siewching

(who is no.6 having a relationship with?) - heh, Jonathan. My gallery walls testify.
(Is no.9 a male or female?) - Male and Misogynous.
(If no.7 and 10 are together, will it be a good thing?) - Well, no.7 is supposed to be in love with me. I think, anyhow, that it will be a bad thing: too much of a strain on art resources. Multiplication of weirdness also would be an overload :P
(What is no.2 studying?) - PCME, and hard (curiously also Su's answer)
(When was the last time you had a chat with no.3?) - 30 August. KI exam. ): I miss her already!
(What kind of music does no.8 like?) - Rock. And recently, "Girlfriend" by Avril, though I can't understand why :P
(Does no.1 has any siblings?) - One brother.
(Will you woo no.3?) - I don't think so. I like my friends friends.
(How about no.7?) - Oh dear. I don't want to encourage her.
(Is no.4 single?) - Oh no. ;)
(What’s the surname of no.5?) - Koh! I remember.
(What’s the hobby of no.4?) - Craft. Archery. And recently, Ryan :P
(Do no.5 and 9 get along well?) - If they did know each other, I don't think they would.
(Where is no.2 studying at?) - Sixoh, HC
(Say something casual about no.1) - Heh. I would rather lick my lips.
(Have you tried developing feelings for no.8?) - 6 years together develops feelings without trying (:
(Where does no.9 live?) - In a bookshelf, 382.1 PHI
(What colour does no.4 like?) - Purple, dark red, brown? Oh dear. I don't know!
(Are no.5 and 1 best friends?) - I actually think they would hate each other if they met. Oh dear, my friends are all so diverse.
(Does no.7 like no.2?) - Oh she would :P But he would run away.
(How did you get to know no.2?) - He was so sexy, I ... hahaha. *wink*
5.(Does no.1 have any pets?) - No, just one peon. ):
(Is no.7 the sexiest person in the world?) - I'd say she's the most sexual person in the world

This is the Last Page of My Exquisite Pain

That for which we find words is something already dead in our hearts. There is always a kind of contempt in the act of speaking. - Nietszche, Twilight

(Twilight is fast becoming the most quotable book I have read/own. Every-Occasion-Nietszche. Hmm.)

So this, an annex of the previous post, is the last page of my Exquisite Pain (Sophie Calle). Made into words so I can finally pin these feelings in front of me. But I don't need Sophie Calle's numbness induced by surfeit. The words are here because I've decided they need to be taken out of my heart.

I want to laugh at my stupidity, but an overwhelming bit of me needs to run into the arms of someone who will kiss the hurt away. One whole year, Charmaine, and you haven't grown a bit stronger. ): I wish I could be the Alpha that everyone knows me to be.

But I'm definitely walking away from this a little wiser.
Should someone ask me if I've ever fallen in love, I'll say now, "I have felt for someone."
And should someone ask me what happened, I'll say now, "It was a good lesson."



(:

Infatuations, revisited

I wrote this (Infatuations) almost exactly one year ago. Many commented, laughed and cried with me - I didn't know I'd stumbled upon one of the most widely shared feelings. Some of them were friends, some strangers, some girls, some boys. Today, I am writing this because I want to record this other tiny feeling, which feels a little sad, a little glad, and a little old.

People say that an infatuation is easy to get over. All you need to do is put some time between you and your heart. They say, it's love that lingers, it's love that you never get over.

You no longer spend the bulk of your time talking to him, and all of your time thinking of him. Your rare meetings always leave you somewhat surprised at how unfamiliar he looks. Why does he let his arms dangle like that? Was this how he always smiled?

He greets you first now, because you didn't notice him as you walked by. He catches your eye with a cheerful "Hey", plucked from the happiness of his prior company. But he stops to grin at you. He does see you. You hold the thread of connection for a second in silence, then allow yourselves to be washed off by the crowd. His smile doesn't make your heart flutter, but it does skip a beat. You breathe only when his back is turned, stealing small glances at his jaunty walk. You observe that his smile was strange only because you were in front of it, when you used to be behind it, sharing it. No, wait, you can't claim his past.

For the rest of the day, your friends tell you that you've grown quiet. You deny it - you haven't. Two seconds of presence don't affect a year accustomed to absence. But you wonder what he thinks of you, if he remembers the time you shared a ratty cup of hot tea in the freezing room, or the time you shouted each other down. Perhaps he doesn't remember either.

He taps on your monitor late in the night and asks you for help. He needs you to make his sentences pretty. You're good at that, so you do it. His words are confused and poorly. He worries you won't understand him. But you do. You always do. And you don't know why. You take the raw thing he hands you and return it polished. Even as you hand it over, you are lost in its dazzling gleam. You cant quite decide - are those his words, or yours?

You let the conversation grow. A lot of what he tells you, you already know. He must not remember a lot about the two of you, if he says all these things again. You know his plans for the future, you know his principles, you know his pet peeve. You notice that he doesn't know your catchphrase, or your romanticism everyone else knows you by. Then he takes out a small detail and asks you if you remember this one whisper. You can't lie - you really don't. Now you feel bad. He says it's okay.

You talk about love. He tells you of a girl he has set his sights on. You wish him luck. You try to find something to say. He asks you if you've ever been in love. You think. You fluster.

Slowly, you say yes. Yes, but it never worked out. He laughs. He doubts, he says. He thinks you don't know what love is. You don't know what love is.

The world is a whirlwind, the conversation has ended. You crawl into your bed in a daze. No tears fall to dampen the pillow. He said he'd talk to you again, though you know it'll be weeks till then. You place your hand on your chest - your heart beats still.

It beats still.

31 08 07

This is what we made KI tutor Mr M Lim for Teachers' Day. A tuning fork, lovingly mounted on scrapbooking paper and pressed wood framing. If you don't already get the joke, it's supposed to be Hume's fork. And it plays an "A" note, just for luck. Super functional too: it acts as 1) a teaching aid 2) an office decor 3) a conversation starter. We're hoping, in the years to come, people'll sit in that perfumed office of his and go "oh, that's really interesting!" and he'll say "yes, it was from my first ever KI class - they were the most brilliant and precocious students ever." (Well, we can hope, can't we!)

Took the Art teachers out for prata later. But I think the highlight was the card we made them (note to self: get image) - which was a photo of us holding up placards reading: " :) T CHER S tian4" to save paper. And I was an exclamation mark. We were actually quite proud of ourselves. But when the teachers looked at it, the first thing that came to them was the odd colour balance, blur, and skewed alignment. But oh well.

Interesting Fact: The ages of HCAEP community form an Arithmetic Progression. a1 = 18, common difference, d= 10. Do the math.

*

Got another summon from the International Olympiad community - to be their photographer, of course. (Will I never get a Math/Physics medal! ): ) Spent two whole days working on them, and acquired some really really really nice photos, but $%!@** something happpened to the files and now I can't open them!!!

ARGH.

Also lost some cam-whoring moments with Yunsong and Seng. ):


Sigh. But this photo did make me feel better, after such a crappy day.
It's a little weird being on the other end of the lens, but well, I'm not complaining this time (:

Me, through Liangwei's eyes. (And he HAD to get one of me being a glutton!)
I guess one could say this is my vouyeristic photographer's just dessert.

the end of student life.

It still hasn't sunk in that I won't be having lessons in school anymore.

Nope, it still hasn't.

I suppose when it does, I will feel a little sad at the fact that I'll no longer have the excuse of being young and spirited and ignorant that often gets me away with breaking rules, not being practical, and starting school-funds-draining projects. And I'll feel a little sad at no longer being the centre of the nation's resources, because I now, I'm no longer THE FUTURE. And I suppose, I'll feel a little sad at not being able to plonk myself in tutors' offices anymore, talking about nothing in particular and soaking up their praise and hanging on to their stories of the future.

And I think I'll be a little afraid of the world. No more beige-brown protection and teachers picking you up. No more idle dreaming about what the future holds. And the roads and pavements will separate themselves now, because I'm no longer a student and no longer own the roads. If I become roadkill now, nobody will mourn for my youthful tenderness and unlived life.

Meme!

I feel like doing a meme!

Thought this might be interesting :D I give up fighting the teenage dream of romance.


List 8 qualities of your perfect lover
My Perfect Lover...:

1) Is amazingly talented in some way.
2) Is adorably domineering.
3) Has strong principles, and sticks to them.
4) Is smarter than me, but doesn't make me feel stupid.
5) Helps me cross the road.
6) Is Romantic, but also sensible.
7) Has nice hands.
8) Doesn't need me, but wants me.


Oh, i think i know why "memes" are called so - because they're all about "me". Nothing to do with Richard Dawkin's transmitting units.

Snippets of Memory

Happy Siobhan!


Happy Colin!


Happy Weixiang!

Remind me again of our love

I love Art, I do.

But recently, I'm needing to remind myself why I should marry it at all. It's so limiting, sometimes I feel like I can hardly breathe in the pollution of it all.

My mind is growing.

It must expand.

My Dream Ride

I found it!

The 2005 Vespa PX 150. My (near-future) dream ride. Of course, I'll change it's colour every month, all in pastel shades with helmets to match (: For a long while, I couldn't decide which was lovelier, the Limited Edition PX 150, or the 2005. But I figure this looks better - I like the wide front leg shield, and it doesnt have that odd light at the front wheel like the Lim.Etd.

Art is always eventful, but it has been a particularly eventful week, thanks and no thanks to Coursework.

If you don't happen to be within earshot of my perpetual whining, Coursework refers to the year-long Art project each final-year student has to submit for the GCE A/O Level examinations. Which, of course, doesn't sound half bad if you actually like Art - as Claire commented when I first talked to her as she waited for her AEP acceptance notice (tender, young one! She has not my callouses.): " How hard can it be? You only have to produce one Masterpiece. That takes, what, three days?" She now takes it all back, of course. I can't decide what exactly it is about Coursework that's so unbearable (what could possibly not be right about unlimited funding to do your favourite thing in the world, self-initiated and directed, for one whole year?) Recently, I've been convinced that it's because my brain simply works too quickly for such a long drawn project. The result is a consistently evolving and unmanageable Bogart. My tutors though, refuse to believe that Coursework is a tool of discrimination against Superbrains like me.

But anyway, back to the point: it was a very eventful week.

I suppose it started because it finally sank in that the deadline for submission is less than a week away, which prompted a trip down to some godforsaken corner of the earth to purchase large sheets of perspex for my installation. Mr Tan, who promised to get them for me, was away on a rather long sick leave, so I was frantically trying to get cab fare sponsorship, taking measurements and re-measurements, and hunting down the factory's address in rare display independence. But then Mr Lee, God Bless his soul, who technically isn't even a college teacher, offered to drive me there. He also paid for the perspex, because I didn't think to bring enough money.

Do you wonder why everybody adores him?

So we rushed out of school between my math tutorial and my math lecture, circumventing all offical sanction, as with AEP custom and let conversation take us to the factor. But what I really want to say is, my resepct for him as a teacher has doubled when he didn't bother censoring the word "fucker" when he related his University Degree show experience to me. Rare, isn't it? I didn't so much notice the fact that he used it, but that it did not impede him (although I thought he included it only after a brief moment of consideration - but hey, what was there to lose since he had already, technically, abducted a student?) And it has been from mentors like that, who do not feel the need to excessively shelter students (less out of moral obligation than out of an uncomprehended knee-jerk reaction), but relate the world as it is with an analytical mind, that I have been truly educated.

The factory,I must say, was Impressive. Run like one of those Starhub reception centres, with pretty ladies behind booths calling your number in a fully carpeted and air conditioned office. Never underestimate godforsaken factories. I think it has become one of my notable quirky places.

Now, this is where the exciting part begins. We decided to be really ambitious, and bought two sheets of 4 ft by 6 ft, nearly twice the size we knew a regular car could fit. Let me describe Mr Lee's car: it measures 3 ft wide, and 4 ft high. The factory men thought we were crazy.

It was also raining heavily to compound the drama. So I stood under the uselessly porous shelter of the loading bay, trying to spread my blind conviction that we would somehow manage to get the perspex in to the factory men who kept calling me "Silly Child" (somewhat affectionately) while Mr Lee drove his obtrusively small car in. Several attempts later, the factory men (whom, I suspected bothered to try only because of our peculiar stubbornness) gave up.

I shall get the photograph of the eventual Car+Perspex frankenstein put together. But the point is - WE DID IT.

So we drove back, with Mr Lee in a relatively constricted position, and me crouched snuggly between the backseat and the plastic, feeling somewhat proud. And we STILL managed to discuss Bjork and his neighbourhood. We are fantastic. I think.

But see, when people tell you pride comes before a fall, listen to them - because the interior of the car was horrifyingly scratched and the rubber torn in several places. This is where my conscience starts to tingle. I was all ready to be murdered, but this man not only did not mind his car being scratched, he said it ADDED VALUE to it.

I wanted to pinch his cheeks to see if he was real. Quick, women of the world, marry him.

And this wasn't all that made the week one to remember. Yunsong and Liangwei truly became superheroes when they came twice to paint my gallery walls blue.

And here's a memory, because I've already tried to say too much:

KI BBQ (photos!)

So, your friendly voyeuristic photographer went to work again at the KI BBQ (we use too many acronyms!). Courtesy of Liangwei, whose camera allowed for this.


Kitchen peons Charm and Zhiyang, up at daybreak.


The priviledged only turn up when the sun goes down, and garden benches come up.
[Edit: Seng demands that I acknowledge the hardwork he put in before he glued his butt to the bench. Seng's satayship acknowledged - But sensationalism calls!)


Cheryl and Siewch. Otherwise described as Pretty-in-Pink, standing in front sweatshop slave driver - see that bag she's holding? That's our contribution to her coursework.


He who claims he can roast a perfect marshmellow.


What did I tell you about being privileged?


Wang Can Cook. Empirical evidence on Zhiyang's face. We roasted mussles with shallots and tobasco sauce!


Delicious Satay lady Qiurong makes delicious satay! Come to think of it, nothing was charred this barbeque. Which has got to be a first.


And here's evidence. (:


Liangwei not supposed to be in this photo! Otherwise, that's Kian Hong and me, trying to look alike.


See - still sitting there!


Seng Yunsong


You know they've been sitting there long enough, when the camera starts to find more interesting angles.


Anyway, look at what this this facade of inactivity hides!


Blatant waste of energy, dont you think? :P

Haha, okay, that isn't entirely their responsibility.


This photo has a long story behind it. Unbelieveably (or believeably, if you know lw and me), this was supposed to be pretty memorabilia for the two of us, to remind ourselves of the day I was his kitchen peon. See, we are such good friends.


Everybody! Notice Myf, Colin, Seng and Yunsong have not been displaced. xD


In the end, I guess this photo says it all.

A Year of Cousins

This is a year of new cousins.

One is thirty-five, and the other three point five months.

Thirty five had the face of a Twenty, was quiet and soft like white-brown unleavened bread. Weeks preceeding the meeting, I asked, what did Thirty Five look like? What did his voice sound like? How tall was he? Was he kind and nice? What subject did he teach? But I heard nothing, nothing, nothing.

Three Point Five months was raw, like a tiny loaf of meat. Weeks before the birth, I heard everything about her. How big she was going to be, how she was going to be a she, how she would have the eyes of her mother, how she would be brilliant and excel in school, how she would be taken along for this and that trip, how she was healthy, how she was unhealthy, how she liked Bon Jovi and had no patience for Beethoven. But when we met, she was nothing, nothing, nothing.

But I will love them both. In seven years, I will take Three Point Five to the library. In seven years, I will visit Thirty Five, and bob his-and-her second baby on my knee.

United Forever in Friendship and Labour

I must remember that if anything, my friends make life precious and worth living. I am now hopelessly lost to the disgustingly sappy group of people who believe that interpersonal relations give meaning to life.

It was so terribly touching when people jumped up to help me paint my gallery. Especially when prelims and various tests are looming just ahead, and so many people have learnt to trip their classmates just to get forward, I am awfully glad I have amazing and generous friends.

To Gaby, Siobhan and Miaoqin - always my number one supporters
To Chen - you know how i feel!
To Yunsong and Liangwei, the best peons on earth, who painted smiles on my face, along with my toes, my legs, my arms and my uniform.(i think i shall always remember yunsong's blue knee, paint-roller wars, and yunsong painted into a small, white square)
To Colin, Steve, Geordie, Yanting, Louis and Philip, who volunteered without hesitation (but yunsong and liangwei spoiled the market! :D)

How can I be upset over a spare few who don't acknowledge or appreciate my existence, when there are so many others out there who'll be there for me in spite of their own interests, who are never to far away in time or space to appear, who throw out their arms in concern when I perch precariously on the edge of the ladder, who bleed anxiety when I bring knives to watermelons, who steer me across roads, who put themselves out to find my smiles, who rub my tiredness away with gentle eyes? And if I should ever be sorry for love misplaced, it should be that I didn't love these friends infinitely.

Loyalty, truly is a wonderful, wonderful thing.

Tonight is how forever begins.

There are so many things to think about tonight.

a) We were thinking of three adjectives to describe each of ourselves - or each other, since describing someone else is always easier, even if just by a tiny little bit. I probably don't need to tell you how hard that is. Every nuance of the word must be accounted for. Also, just because you have it, does not mean it defines you at all. I think Colin put it nicely when he said, " You are all that (referring to how people tend to use words like "charismatic", "confident", "poised", "quirky" on me), it's just that it doesn't describe you." Personas are so easy to describe, but people?

We finally settled on two for Colin - Quirky and Flighty. Not that he was the only quirky one, but because quirky was definitive of him.
And we settled on Romantic for me, with a capital R.

b) He is Vulnerable. It breaks my heart.

c) If I were a tragic hero, then I think Emotional Malleability is my tragic flaw.

d) KI gathering. For a more objective documentation of this event, I should probably add that it was in lieu of the Debate dinner. The decision to stay with the KI bunch is not wrong.

e) Yunsong took me off the Godmother list because I told him I secretly wonder what babies taste like.

f) When the laughter and games died down, we started a slow and quiet conversation about what we would have like to have done within the next ten years of our lives.
I want to sing in a small pub.

g) Tenderness of friendship, it seems, does give way to the tenderness of gender. Or am I merely confusing the two?

h) LW paid me a huge compliment today. Over the fire and away from the crowd, he mentioned casually and quietly that he couldn't believe I wasn't applying for Cambridge, because I was precisely the kind of person who would get it if I tried. I wish that were true.

i) I was his little kitchen peon today. And he looked at me and said strangely, that I was a little child.

Charmaine < 18

Oh. My. Goodness.



Giggle.
That's me, on the left, and Su on the right. Age three or four, I should think.
I did not know we looked like this! It was also then, I think, that Su and I giggled instead of talked.


On a second, sweeter note, here's what Charm Eng made for me!