If I disappeared one day,
just one very ordinary, insignificant day,
would anyone notice that I was missing?

Would anyone come looking for me?

I know it has been about a week since the dragon boat incident,
but I've never really felt the impact until today.

I remembered catching a glimpse of the photos of the 5 in the papers last night,
and having the shock of my life.
I mean, I know that one of the men is from SIM,
but I didn't know that THAT'S HIM until I saw the picture.

He's the one who always came around with a petite bubbly girl,
(I heard that her name's Jocelyn)
to regale the bunch of us with silly jokes during the break of our soci class last yr
He's the one who is, was (I don't know which tense to use!)
supposed to be flashing me friendly smiles every Thursday morning during POA this yr.

Although I never knew him personally,
he has somehow become a familiar face in my SIM life.

There was an aura of sadness in the POA class this morning,
as Mr Balwant Singh talked about him,
as the group of Dragons walked out of the LT as a collective team
in the middle of lecture,
to see him off on his final journey.

I heard that Jocelyn cried her eyes out.

I'm sure many would cry at my funeral,
although whether out of grief or ecstacy,
I can't tell.

But I do wonder,
how many will worry themselves to tears if I just vanished one day?

How many will really come looking for me?

It is easy missing someone with the knowledge that they're gone forever,
but what about noticing that
that someone is missing?

It began with a mesmerising enchantment,
the promise of a wonderful evening ahead.

You know Patrick Dempsey has that effect on me.

*sighs*

Doesn't every girl wish to have a fairytale of her own?

I know I can just wake up next to him every morning for the rest of my life and not get sick of seeing his face.

IT'S THOSE EYES.
My god, I even love the wrinkles.

I can so forget about the awful morning breath.

Ok, maybe not :)

Unfortunately,
Life's more like < lust. caution > than a walt disney's movie.
So the rest of the night turned out to be a martial arts affair,
with elbows striking spines and ribs
and heels connecting squarely with toes.

Grrr...Yeehaaa!!!! HUR!!






There are no anger in fairytales,
but neither is there 爆点。

So here is my 爆点 !!!!

WOOTS~

I feel like a bitch.
One who doesn't feel like socialising,
one who just wants to close up and be with the self,
and just sink.

In silence.

Psychology probably has a very good explanation for this behavior,
but right now,
I couldn't care less about it.

I need to get out.

Physically,
but more importantly,
mentally.

Do you remember the times when you were younger,
when you were in Primary school,
say primary 5 perhaps?
And there'll be this girl/boy in class who's forever fighting to be seen and heard by the teachers?

We used to call these people teachers' pets.

Fine,
I admit,
I used to be that in primary sch.
I mean,
what am I supposed to do man?
I used to be damn smart.

Anyway, my point is,
it's cute in primary school,
and you'd think as we get older,
these days were over.
I mean,
we're all in uni and you'd think pple actually grow up,
boys especially.
Afterall they did NS.
But no!!!

Think again!!!

There's this boy in my ME lecture,
the one my partners-in-crime and I lovingly term,
"THE LOSER"
It's inarguably a tad unoriginal,
but I seriously don't think there's another name that matches him as well.

Anyway,
he did it again today.
And my dearest balding Manfred FINALLY lost his mask of civility.

So the story goes....

Manfred was going through our tutorial questions.
It was a disgusting one on bidding.
In short,
the question goes something like there's this tenant, and this outside bidder.
So the seller will get a quotation from this outside bidder and offer it to the tenant.
And if the tenant is willing to match the price offerred,
priority goes to the tenant.
And we are to find the expected payoff to the owner.

Manfred," So how many bidders are there?"

the loser raised his hand,
held up his pointer finger, his middle finger and his ring finger.
"Three!" he proudly exclaimed.

Manfred," Where got 3? You bidding also is it?"

SHIOK.
DAMN SHIOK!!

Noone does it like Manfred.
He doesn't serve u shit on a silver platter.
He just tosses it in ur face.

I'm not mean ok?
I really am not!!!
You've got to be present to know how irritating this guy is!!

Last week he was making some kind of crack against the international students
and those studying in the local unis,
like he's some disadvantaged guy who's been wronged by the entire world.
Worst,
he seemed to think that he's some kind of genius.

Unbelievable.

I'd think there was only one "Melvin" in the entire world?
But this guy just proved me wrong.

P.S Melvin is this equally irritating guy who used to be in my IBM class.
That's another story, for another day.

Alright,
that's enuf bitchiness for a day.
Trust me,
I was a total bitch today.
In addition to "the Loser",
I said alot of nasty things abt alot of pple who doesn't deserve the comments :X

You don't wanna get in my way on a Monday pple,
especially if I'm falling sick.

GRRRR!!!!!!!!!!

P.S apologies for the meaningless rantings. My throat and nose is killing me. Will be back for a proper update on the "younger generation" a.k.a si-gi-na when I'm feeling better.

You know how it is,
when you don't know how much you miss someone until you see them,
and then you realise,
that what you truly wish for now,
is for the power to turn back the clock.

I took pains in picking out my outfit today.
It wasn't because I was trying to impress.

In fact,
it was just the opposite.

It was pride, I guess.
That insane emotion that drives you to look presentable,
and yet not overdressed,
to portray an image,
to convince that you are really living the life now,
that you've never been better.

He looked good,
in a long-sleeved-rolled-up-to-the-fore-arm casual shirt,
yes,
just the kind that I really like to see a guy in.
And canoe-polo?
It shows.

So I observed him.

He looked to me,
and felt, to me,
so weary.
It wasn't just physical exhaustion,
it was weariness,
like that of an old man,
an old seafarer.

He lost that shine,
that drive,
that feeling of "I-know-what-I-want"
that gave a 16 yr-old that sense of absolute security,
that extraordinaire
that made everyone else after him pale in comparison.

Of cos,
some would argue that he didn't lose his ideals,
it's just that men like wine,
mellow with age.
They mature,
and it isn't that they've lost their goals and dreams,
it's just that they've gained the skepticism of reality.

(I say that fine wine,
just like every other thing,
should not be kept for too long.
Althoh the taste might get better,
I don't like what hallmark says, about what will happen to the cork....)

It's almost painful,
it's like seeing a vibrant photo yellowed and faded.

He became very religious.
I knew a long time ago that he's a christian.
But I never expected him to be such a devout.
And I made a face when he started to share about his faith.
It isn't because I do not respect his religion.
It's just that at that very moment,
I lost some of the respect that I had for him.
Call it the influence of too much karl marx,
but I always thought that religion and faith is more of a construct,
a shelter people run to when they grow weak and fail to stand up for themselves.

Watching him,
listening to him,
I realised that I really do not have much to say to him anymore.

It's ironical
because I always thought that there's so many things I'd like to tell him,
and it's ironical
because its been so long,
there are bound to be so many changes,
so many things
that I thought I wanna know about him.

There were really changes,
so many that I do not know how to begin to list them all,
so many that I begin to wonder if they belonged to him,
or to me.

Cos as I listened to him,
and as I looked at him,
really looked at him,
all that I saw,
was a stranger in the body of the guy who taught me what it was to cry.

And then again,
as I watched his familiar back
moving further and further away,
as it gets smaller and smaller,

I knew that I already started missing him.

But we can't turn back the clock, can we?
And we can't take back the choices that we made.
In the end,
the only thing that we can do is talk about the past,
evaluate it in the light of supposed maturity,
maybe even distort it a little,
all in the hopes of making it a little better,
all in the hopes of having a little less regret.

But we are really,
merely living the illusion of reliving the past,
aren't we?