Each invisible prayer is like a cloud in the air, tomorrow keeps turning around.

As I was saying, Christmas, dude. Wow. I’m nodding thoughtfully at my laptop, while gazing nonchalantly at the mess I made in the kitchen. Now I’m punching my palm with my fist. I don’t know why. Now I’m biting my fingernail. What am I doing?

Christmas was fun as always, but on the days leading up to it, I went about 20% too crazy for my physical and emotional health. Like, on Christmas Eve, I shouldn’t have spent hours in the kitchen baking banana bread, bailey’s cheesecake, chocolate peanut butter cookies, oatmeal cookies and such. I know, right? For hours, I could have been lounging in front of the TV, yelling at the baby, but nope, I chose to spend this special day in the kitchen. I’m biting my fingernail again.

Christmas, though. It has brought on this ridiculous frenzy of baking. I was worried that my sister would not be experiencing the heartstopping joy of christmas morning as remembered in my childhood. But my fears were unwarranted. Just the idea of being able to rip the wrapper of presents was enough to send her into an unstoppable rampage.It was then my mom stepped in and stopped her from eating my baked goods. “Sugar high,” she intoned. I privately agreed, and made a mental note to wrap each and every lego block next year.

As I am sure you are aware, Christmas, besides being Jesus’s birthday, is also my mom’s birthday. A bunch of people swarmed over, whom I joyously dumped my cookies on. One thing would have made this day perfect though. I wanted to teach the baby to play mahjong, but nooo, something about the wrong values of gambling, and anyway they were too busy teaching me.

Bah.

Anyway, I swallowed my bitter disappointment and enjoyed myself. And now it’s two days later and I haven’t stopped baking. I can barely crawl across the room without wanting to curl up and hibernate for a day. I don’t know if it’s the baking and the many glasses of bailey’s, or the high-pitched screams of my sister as she rips into our letters and christmas cards. Or both! Probably both.

And the silent night will shatter from the sounds inside my mind, for I'm one too many mornings and a thousand miles behind.

So I have made a rough draft of my New Year’s Resolutions in my head. And I have finally taken it upon myself to learn to drive properly. The last time I tried driving was on the CTE, and I started to hyperventilate. The magnitude of my panic was so great that it caused all the cars to lift into the air. So we were all in the air with no control over the direction or speed of our vehicles and we hurtled skyward and began smashing into each other repeatedly. As we left the Earth’s atmosphere, I heard the faint screams of “Why, Rachel, Why! Why couldn’t you have taken the bus?!” The Straits Times interviewed my parents, and declared a grueling condemnation on the worst daughter the world has ever known. In the meantime, the hole in the atmosphere expanded uncontrollably and threw the world into chaos. God gave up on us and decided to create a better universe, one without bad drivers. He offered me one last chance to apologize and make things right, but before I could say anything, my teeth turned to liquid and dripped to the back of my throat because I had forgotten to floss the night before. We were all destroyed. All because I could not drive properly.

I tricked you! What! That didn’t actually happen! Yuletide Fools’!! (That’s right, Jesus loved a good prank.) I can’t actually drive yet, but hopefully I would have time to take the test in Aussie where it’s cheaper and more lenient. I've been thinking about it for sometime now and I guess I miss it there. Quite a bit. Do you ever wonder if you'll just be an average person who will never have a chance to witness something extraordinary.

Now I’m off to wrap the two billion presents while getting drunk on Bailey’s. I predict my gifts will get more sloppy as the night wears on. Finally, I would just tape my sister to a box and lurch up to bed.



P.S. Merry Christmas, guys. It's been a long year.

Finding all my previous motives growing increasingly unclear, I travelled far and I burnt all the bridges I believed as soon as I hit land.

My mom is freaking insane. She has developed this delusional notion that my dad and I like water chestnut drinks. Which is fine, because they taste okay. But under the half-baked idea that we are madly in love with that drink, she buys it for us in bulk. Like a carton of it every week. So just now, when I was marketing with her, I suggested that maybe it’s time we moved on to a new drink, not that water chestnut isn’t great, but it’s too much of the same thing. She seemed to understand what I was talking about, and then, with my back turned, she goes and buys a box of grass jelly drink. It’s sweet when you think about it, but it’s actually worrying, when you really think about it.

Posting is positively tiring, my friends. Which is why I’ve been putting it off the last month. Every time I feel the mild inclination to blog, a voice from the tiny guy who works in a dark, understaffed cubby hole in my mind says “I’m sure noone wants to hear about your complaints about the weather, how much you miss doing laundry or how great it feels to wear shorts again.” But I’m feeling ebullient today, hence the posting. Ebullient. It’s a fun word. Reminds me of pudding. I’m hungry.

I love how uncharacterically clean my room here is. When I was by myself, my room was so messy, that it actually crossed my mind, that sooner or later, I may be the cause of the earth spinning off its axis. It was like living in squalor, only worse. And I had this irrational fear that my neighbours are secretly undercover reporters, who are looking in through the crack in the curtains. Maybe I should have wondered about their impeccable suits and the hidden cameras in their leather briefcases earlier. Then, one day, the doorbell rings. And the authorities come to take me away because of endangering the earth. Along with some girls from secondary school , who wanted to see what a dirty loser I had become. Anyway.

Grace is now demanding cartoons that are “yellow”. Like the Simpsons or Spongebob. “I want yellow,” she tells me. All the time. I enjoy cartoons as much as the next person, but how about letting me watch something in another colour for once. Are you imagining me sitting on the couch with the baby, with a can of grass jelly and watching the Simpsons, with the colour of yellow burned into my eyes? Because that’s the way it is. But I digress. The kid wants the yellow, and it involves unrelenting repetition of the aforementioned phrase till her voice is burned into my ears. But it’s gotten better lately, mostly because I will yell LALALALA I CAN’T HEAR YOU LAAA when she asks. That’s right, I know what I’m doing.

But seriously. My Grandpa had an operation in Johor last week. It was only for his cataract, but it was a few days after his birthday (he’s 88). The horrid part was when my dad told me it would probably be his last birthday. I don’t know why he had to say that. I don’t know why I’m saying this.
Anyhoo, I just thought I would share it. It had to come out. And now that it’s here, I feel a little better. In conclusion, I'm now off to watch Pushing Daisies (it's splendiferous!) So: Happy Week Before Christmas! Do you get the urge to shop for school supplies right around this time too?

Yesterday's gone but the past lives on, tomorrow's just one step beyond.

Firstly, I’m really sorry for writing a post with such an inappropriate title, which captured my feelings at that exact moment, feelings which changed less than an hour later and why don’t I ever learn? The voice of reason is one I left so far behind. One moment I was shrieking in my head Oh FOR THE LOVE OF GOD get me away from here, and the next I am brewing a cup of coffee after a refreshing nap. It’s lovely, the way I vomit over this blog, and you few come rushing to clean me up. That said, thanks.

When I first came here, I was working hard. Now, I’m hardly working. Hawhaw. Right. That was a joke. But since the exams ended two days ago, I have been trying to conjure up some dishes that can at least appear edible. So far, the undercooked chicken, salty veggies and dilute curry that I cooked look passably appetizing. (“They’re just experiments. You don’t have to eat them if they taste bad,” I declared to the table.) But my eating buddies ate them anyway with nary a peep. I think they saw the determined glint in my eye and the large chopping knife in my hand (What was it for? I’m not saying.)
I have also been trying to take a couple of photos of the campus to show the folks back home. There are hundreds of photos so far, of trees and buildings, some more trees, and a lot more buildings. I seriously doubt anyone other than my nice parents would have the patience to look over them, so I’ll mercifully spare you all. But if you do want to see them, feel free to pop by my house for a two-hour long slideshow. I’ll even supply the gauze and ice for when your eyes inevitably start bleeding!

Hmm dee do, what else. Oh, have you watched Laverne and Shirley before? I swear, it’s the silliest little thing to ever be. A way back I caught part of an episode in the breakfast bar, and it was painfully amusing. There was this part where they needed to talk about a naughty act, so being the cute old ladies that they are, they called it “Vo-dee-oh-do”. And I just couldn’t stop laughing. I may do something scandalous everyday now, just to give someone the opportunity to use this glorious word. Along with “Conniptions”, “Groovy” and “Cool beans”. So: fit them into your daily vocabulary. You will roll your eyes and be amazed at the reactions you get. You will gasp, and maybe sob, and then throw up a little. And then together, you will both giggle, and then throw up again. A lot. How can you resist?

Today, I will find a way to get all my packing and rearranging done. Frankly all these boxes and clothes and papers strewn about is DRIVING ME NUTS.
(What was that joke about the steering wheel and the crotch, and the punch line was “driving me nuts?” Wow, what an intelligent post this is turning out to be. Anyway.)

If you’re reading this from Singapore, I probably haven’t spoken to you in a while. So how have you been? I honestly can’t wait to see everyone and everything again. Three days isn’t very long, I tell myself. But the sheer anticipation is mind-blowing. My hands are clammy. My pulse is weak and erratic. My blood pressure is plummeting. I doubt I can to make it three days.
But in the meantime, have a great week, folks.

Evenings’ empire has returned into sand, vanished from my hand, left me blindly here to stand but still not sleeping.

Leaving Singapore had been something I wanted to do for a very long time. But certain things still remain hard to admit, even to myself. Like how much I do not actually know. I realize now that the world offers many things, with or without strings attached. It has been too easy for me to get caught up and just drift through life like a dream in my head. I wanted to experience everything immediately, and I still do. These distractions will always be around, no matter where I go. But I understand myself better now. What my weaknesses and shortcomings are. All things said, hopefully by focusing on what’s important, my family and friends, studies and people, the answer will come.

Running over the same old ground, and how we found the same old fears, wish you were here.

What? Oh, hi. I knew there was something I forgot. Its this strange little blog which has been casually tossed aside. And for what, really? My sheets are unwashed, my tumbleweed of hair is uncombed, and my clothes are lying in an abandoned pile on the floor. What's with me lately? I have no excuse. Well, actually I have prepared a whole rucksack full of them, but I will spare you. Now watch as I swiftly change the subject... aaaaannd go!

But honestly, the reason why there has not been any posts is because Canberra is boring the shit out of me. I should be studying, but instead, I am carvorting about town, skipping and singing gaily while twirling my hair, and making an ass of myself. Drinks here are obscenely cheap, and I would like to introduce you all to something called the hour-long bar tab. This is not really related, but even my next IR tute is going to be held in a bar. Also, cooking is fun now. I can cook chicken, beef or mutton soup, mee goreng, stir-fried vegetables. Argh. I have never felt more domesticated in my life. It's a little unnerving, I've got to say. Exams are in 3 weeks, and I need to get my fat butt off the bed and get something done. It'll all be better soon. Right? Right. Right!

Oh lord, the last few weeks of my life here has just been summed up into a small neat paragraph. I know what you're going to say. I can hear you saying it. "Huh." you say. To which I will take as a sign of interest and continue my incessant rambling. Anyway, did you know that everyone smokes here? The last couple of weeks have been quite shocking really, when you get up in the morning, draw the curtains, take an innocent look outside, and there is your neighbour lighting up. "Huh." you say to yourself. On another occasion, you walk back from dinner and you see another acquaintance loitering at the entrance taking a drag (its amazing how many metaphors there are for smoking). "Uh-huh." you nod to yourself, after an awkward conversation with the said person on how cold it is. Anyways, I had always harboured a small wish as a kid to quit smoking. That and to have a nervous breakdown, be brainwashed, be a pirate, get a Scottish accent and drink cocktails at 5pm. I wanted to attend rehab, paste nicotine patches on my arm and all that. Of course, it might actually require me to start smoking first in order to quit it. I have thus been robbed of that triumphant feeling of conquering the nicotine monkey. Another one of life's achievements down the toilet.

The biggest excitement I have had all afternoon is from walking around with this pair of mismatched socks, and I'm feeling like a daredevil. I already feel about 30% braver. Everything is in a jinglejangle of incoherence but I'm heading out for a nice dinner in civic with some friends later and I think I need to be, you know, presentable! Which means I need to find some clothes and comb my hair, right? That's what I think it means. Since that would prolly take a few hours, I should get cracking soon.

Have a great weekend, you.

I'm trying to feed my soul with thought, gonna sleep off the rest of the day.

(Or: How can you tell when a place isn’t right for you?)

Monday:
I’m not sure if Psych is working out so great. Everything seems so groundless, and none of it seems to have anything tangible to go on. I can just see it now. “Holy smokes, commissioner! Saddam has escaped and stolen a nuclear arsenal!! But wait, before we warn the people, let’s try and psycho-analyze him, based on theoretical hypotheses and unfounded facts that may or may not ever be “proven” in the future…”
Right, so my imagination is into overdrive nowadays. But seriously, there is so much I don’t understand about people. I don’t know. Just maybe, studying Psychology isn’t the way. It doesn’t help to have all my classes at 9am, including a 3 hour lab on Mondays, and a 2 hour lecture on Fridays. They’re practically on their knees begging me to hate them.
8:58am on every Monday and Friday: “AAARGGGGHHHHH! **** Psych ****, **** *********! ****!!” [EXPLETIVES CENSORED BY BLOGSPOT MANAGEMENT. Ah it’s you again. We’re not running a cussing factory here, you know. Although those really were quite extraordinary. What’s wrong with you woman? You would think no one else ever had to get up so early.]

Tuesday:
Me so tired. Me not enjoying this. Me not like this place. Me wants compose poem, but me not remember how. Me will try anyhow.

The little bee is a busy soul
He has no time for birth control
And that is why
in times like these
there are so many sons of bees.
Me sad. So sad, me.
So what’s with the bees?

Wednesday:
I read this article about sexual imagery in the language of defense intellectuals. This lady, Carol Cohn, attended a summer workshop on nuclear weapons, which incidentally is dominated by men, and wrote this brilliant piece on it. It was really strange, stuff like “vertical erector launchers, thrust-to-weight ratio, soft lay-downs, deep penetration, and the comparative advantage of protracted versus spasm attacks” can be taken seriously. Those officials also have a habit of "patting" the missile (which is vaguely disturbing, why would you want to “pat” something which is going to destroy thousands of people?) and abbreviating most of their programs. Which makes me think that when you’re in an environment like theirs, with the lives of so many others at stake, maybe it’s rational to dehumanize your work. Like she mentioned this guy who said that they “don’t bomb people, (they) bomb shoe factories.” Honestly, that world doesn’t seem very rational to me, which is quite worrisome.

I have finished reading Kissinger’s Diplomacy. Talk about pro-american sentiment. Also, in other Rachel-related news, I have finally decided to start on my Cold War essay. (Cue dramatic orchestral music, which heightens to a climax and then ebbs out into sad tired pokes at a toy piano. Plink plink. Plink?) Maybe later. After a nap.

Thursday:
I was so sad all I wanted to do is curl up under my blankets and cry. I can’t go on like this. I miss home and I miss my friends. I miss the baby. I miss not feeling lonely; I miss my life. I want it all to get better now but it can’t. I don’t know how to make anything better. I just want to feel better.

Anyways, I finally started reading Gaddis’ We Now Know! Rethinking Cold War History. About a year too late huh.

Friday:
Yao, Jackson and I went to Pancake Parlour for dinner (where I learnt more about black holes and what would happen if you drill a hole through the Earth to the other side). It was so fun, we just sat there talking about a lot of nonsense for about 3 hours. After which we went to watch the Simpsons, Homer: “Why would you pay for something you can watch on TV for free?” Hmm I don’t know. (Cause I'm a sucker for cartoons on the big-screen that's why.) Today was probably one of the best times I had in awhile though. I realize this is sad, at least I know it right?

Saturday:
You know, I really should get started on my essay. But I’m in the throes of probably the most insidious writing block to ever be. Bleh. I guess it’s cause my head is still filled with popcorn and pancakes from yesterday. And what little grey matter I have left in my brain is slowly but surely being burned off by the gamma rays of those aliens hiding in the black holes. Aaiiiigh. I will just go do some free laundry.

Sunday:
I wake up at 8. (and… cue laugh track. Roll credits. Thank you.)

Take me disappearing through the smoke rings of my mind... far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.

I woke up with a crappy headache this morning. So I’m just gonna start my blog posts as if we’re already in a middle of a conversation, if it’s alright with you. Yea, so just imagine we’ve been talking for a couple of minutes, and I grow sulkier and sulkier, until you finally blurt out “What’s the matter with you, fool?”, and I’ll reply that no, I’m actually not a fool, but I have a throbbing headache. Well, at least I have a good excuse to laze around in bed.

Things have been kinda dead lately. Not in a zombie way, but like a “monotonous craving for a monotonous response.” See? Finally these Lit quotes come in handy. I knew there was a good reason my brain chooses to retain these instead of my PIN and other important facts. But really, I’m bored. Come on, Canberra. Entertain me.

How is the workload, I hear you ask? It’s pretty okay so far, especially in my IR. It definitely helps to have a cute tutor. Not only is he a rationalist and supports the All Blacks like me, he’s frighteningly funny. A few times already over several tutorials he had me laughing so hard I got a little scared that I might not be able to stop. Yup, that dangerous mix of giddiness and terror—you can't beat that with a Wallaby supporter. IR never lets me down, I tell you.

Speaking of which, my psych course is starting to bother me. Not that I’m behind, but I don’t think I like it very much. Say on a scale of 1 to 100, I would be about 49ish. I realized that I care more about what people think than why they think a certain way. But it’s not exactly stabbing me with annoyance yet. It was quite fun last week, when they took my EQ. The test is based on five factors of Motivation, Self-regulation, Self-awareness, Social Skill and Empathy. I got a perfect score on four of the five factors except, of course, self-regulation. I would have punched someone in anger, but with my strong sense of self-control, I didn’t, and they still didn’t give me extra marks, those stingy psychos.

Good friends are really hard to come by. I swear, this will be the only part where I’m melancholic. I have friends here, and they’re incredibly nice to me, but I still feel quite detached. The jokes aren’t particularly funny, but I laugh anyway. I’m a horrible person. ACK. I guess I know things won’t be as fun if everything slides into place immediately. To be honest, my weariness amazes me.

Why are my posts always so darn long. (Quick, Rachel, post it before you return to your senses!)

The place I love best is a sweet memory, it's a new path that we trod.

Hello! How was your weekend? Was it good? Mine was good too!
Some friends and I visited Sydney on Saturday and it was fun. We went to Darling Harbour (where there was a boat show), Paddy’s (which felt like a pasa malam), the DFO (which I believe is just a grand conspiracy), Yum Cha (where we replenished on Dim Sum) and walked around looking for accommodation. The girls were hilarious, talking about strange Fenner Hall people and guys in general. I didn’t really talk a lot, much as I wanted to though. I was like Maggie from the Simpsons, except for the countless ways I am nothing like her. But really, I couldn’t have asked for better company.

Anyways, at the rate I’m going, I’ll be falling behind in my courses soon. And it’s not like I don’t have plenty of time to study (I do), but I spend my hours cooking, reading, sleeping, on the phone and online. And I still need to find some time to make myself a sandwich later. Right now the answer seems to be “live simultaneously in multiple dimensions.” Yea, I’m hoping I’ll think of a better one soon too.

I can't believe I missed my sister's second birthday. My dad sent me this picture, and I'm starting to doubt whether I made the right choice by coming here. I suppose it is, but it's still hard. I'm so emo nowadays. It doesn't feel like me. I now punctuate my conversations with sudden sobs and loud gasps of "BUT I MISS MY FAMILY!" Okay, I'm exaggerating, but not by much.


I need some way to wrap this up, so let’s just make believe there’s a neat concluding paragraph here instead of this. I have a sandwich to make and a time machine to invent.

And if you listen very hard, the tune will come to you at last; to be a rock and not to roll.

I am a grump. I am grumpy. I am feeling grumpery. Nothing is right, everything is wrong. If I had a dollar for every time I felt grouchy today, I would now have… a dollar. But if I could stomp around muttering, “grump grump grump,” it would feel delightfully correct. I suppose I could. Nothing’s really stopping me. Except maybe my extraordinary sense of propriety. Hah I couldn’t even say that without smirking a little.
(Pause to eat a jellybean.)

I cooked some soup just now. It was fun, with Jackson instructing me to put stuff in. In the end, it turned out too bland. So they put soy sauce in, then it was too black. But it’s nice to finally have a routine. I’m quite happy to be spending every evening cooking with them.

So I’m going to Sydney tomorrow for the weekend, and it’ll be fun. I’m not entirely convinced it won’t be awkward, since I’m already the odd duck from another hall. But it should be fun. If I’m extra nice maybe they won’t leave me in Sydney.

I had a strange thought this afternoon. I’m not sure why it’s such a big deal, but I don’t like the person I am becoming here. Being independent is also harder than I thought, since I apparently have no working sense of direction or an existent cooking sense. People here are different, and changing myself to fit in seems so hypocritical. I wish I could say that I would never change myself for anyone or anything, but that’s neither true nor realistic. What is wrong with me.

(Pause to boil some water for tea)

I need a real drink. No, not mineral water, you charming scamp! I mean a nice cold bottle of Heineken. I’ve been having a headache that shrieks “you need a drink, friend”, but there isn’t anyone here I know well enough to drink with. I’m not even sure why I’m mentioning the headache. It’s probably from trying to decipher what my lecturer is saying. “This ahl hahppened burforr Wahld Hwor Hwone.” Jubilee, my head aches. (By the way, feel free to use Jubilee as an exclamation. Try it. It’ll make you happy. Jubilee!) I’ve always wanted headaches to be a sign of a growing brain (who doesn’t), but at this price, dear god, leave it alone.

I was about to write about something else, but it’s 1am and my tea is cooling. So I’ll just say that Canberra is turning out nicely, thanks. This is a good place to be.

I'll let you be in my dreams if I can be in yours.

Hola. Well, hi there! Hey! Let me take some time to properly explain what is going on. Things aren’t actually as bad as the previous posts made it seem. Really. It’s probably because the only time I can be motivated to reflect and blog, is when I’m in a serious state of emo, which has definitely been getting less and less frequent. Maybe it’s because I found this great friend who LIKES cooking. His name is Jackson (LOL it’s like he has two surnames). He cooks really well so things are picking up. I haven’t eaten instant noodles in a week. Heh.

Oh gosh, and how haven’t we talked about this yet, I can cook! I can fry omelettes and…umm. Actually, that was it. My nice friends have tried it and it wasn’t bad, except maybe for the people who made a gurgling noise and slowly slid off the chairs. I’m sure they loved it, but I didn’t ask because they were too busy cursing under their breath. Maybe I should try making some for dinner now? Except all I can cook is that ONE BLARDY THING and I will be eating that one thing for the rest of my entire life, I KNOW IT—

Apparently I’m talking about food, despite my best efforts not to. Anyhow: I went swimming yesterday, and it was definitely the best day so far. I’m not sure why, maybe it was the endorphins. A friend and I walked around a lake, and it was nice. Then we came back to a big dinner (cooked by good ol’ Jackson of course). I don’t know, it was a good day.

The condition of my room is just embarrassing, especially when people come over. I swear, it’s fit for hobos. Maybe that’s what making my hair static. As I was telling Van, my hair is beyond control. Literally like violent, bizarre hair-wings. Isn't hair weird? When you really think about it? Weird follicles sprouting from your scalp? Why do we put up with it?

Internet time here is so expensive. I mean, they have free wireless, but it’s so slow that by the time the page loads, the dust has settled around me. So I have since decided to lay off the computer, even though it has been my only friend, and I was online for about 35 hours a day.
That lasted a full 52 minutes, all of which I spent curled up into a ball gasping on my floor.

On a more serious note, I have been avoiding someone lately. And it’s not because either of us has done anything wrong, but because everything is so great. It’s really selfish of me, but things are just perfect the way they are now. This is sounding mentally blown, I know. But if things can’t get more perfect, then it can only get worse right?

Anyhoo, the workload is still okay compared to the A levels. Aiiiigh. Time for a haircut.

With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves, let me forget about today until tomorrow.

I’m so tired thinking about home again tonight. Probably the only thing keeping me from breaking down is the hot mug of chamomile tea with honey on my desk. Surely feelings like this can’t last forever. Auntie Josephine is leaving for real. I won’t stop her, but she has been with me for almost 10 years. I’m too tired to articulate coherently how I feel right now, but suffice to say I feel like shit.

So this post is for Auntie Josephine, the person who has been there with me even when my parents weren’t. Whose awesome cooking I never took the chance to learn. And the one who kept me sane all these years. I’m sorry I can’t come back to see you off, but I hope you know how much I wanted to be. I hope you’ll be happy.

Anyhow: Mila is coming to help out. I don’t know what the hell is going on anymore. I want to go home. Australia is wearing me down. I know I can go on, and I will, but these days have been on the verge of my control. I have a group of okay friends here but it’s not enough for me to go on. I need to know I’m still remembered back home. I need someone to tell me that I can handle this place. Listen to how weak and spoilt you sound. Bluuugh.

I’m going to take a long sleep now. Things will be better when I wake up.

Freedom's just another word for nothing to lose, nothing is worth nothing but it's free.

Is it the future already? My friends are jerks for being busy and so uncontactable but then it's probably because my attention has been so divided so who's the jerk here I think it's me. I have made friends here, but it doesn’t mean I miss the ones back home any less. It’s still hard for me to get a sense of reality, especially when I still feel surprised every morning to be waking up somewhere not in my room. Food is the main occupying thought of my mind, and I fall in love a little bit every time someone cooks for me. I miss swimming, but even bathing has become a chore. Psyching yourself to love the cold only works when you’re huddled next to the heater. For some weird reason I drink a lot of tea here. People here are psychotically smart, but then so am I so there hah who am I kidding. My skin is dry as if I have been sitting under the sun the last two and a half days when I haven’t even seen the damn sun. And a constant diet of jelly beans does not make you happy, it makes you want to cry. Everything here is like in Bizarro.

Anyways: now here I am. In Canberra, the city that sleeps at 5. This future is not how I pictured it, but I’m tired, so it’ll do.

It takes alot to laugh, it takes a train to cry.

Yep so it’s been a pretty cool time in Singapore. And I finally left last week. I honestly didn’t think I was strong enough not to cry in front of all my friends, but I managed to hold it in till the plane. I was really touched by all my friends who came to see me off you have no idea. Who would’ve thought I would be so reluctant to leave. But seriously, I never knew how painful it was to be letting go of so many things at once. I miss all my friends, the family, the baby, my room, my books, the sun, and the swimming pool. Don’t forget me too soon.

It’s cold here, and I don’t really know anyone yet, so things have been a little unsettled. People are insanely conversational here, and it’s puzzling to the point of being a little disturbing. My room is cozy, with a tiny walk-in closet and all the usual things in a dorm. The kitchen is friggin’ huge, and there’s a large plasma TV in the lounge. I shall steal it on the way back. Canberra is really puny, and it’s really quiet. But lordy, things ain’t cheap. Some Chinese guy in the city center ripped me off a simple meal of mixed rice for 9aud. The place is called Dai Ho. Don’t go there. Also, I have stocked up on food to last me for the next week. Literally. If a tornado comes, I’ll be able to survive on my supply of instant noodles, cookies, chocolate, pasta, coke, orange juice and soup for at least a week.

Everything is so confusing now. But at least distance has a way of making love understandable.

I need something strong to distract my mind, I'm going to look at you till my eyes go blind.

Today was a shitty day. Quick ask me why. Well, it's my second last day in Singapore. And as uneasy as I'm feeling about leaving now, I do realize how lucky I am, to be able to go somewhere with the feeble grades I got. I'm genuinely moved, to have a family who is willing to sacrifice a lavish lifestyle for me, and friends who would take the trouble to meet me to say goodbye. And I was really quite happy this morning, sitting in the tang yuan shop with a bunch of my close friends. And then came the realization that that was the last time. I wish we could have sat there just a little while longer.

About 8 of us ate dinner at clarke quay, including my teacher Mr Yoong. It was really exciting and comforting at the same time, to see someone you trust and respect tell you about his life, his mistakes and the rock bands he likes (although Travis' latest album was indeed disappointing, despite what he says). But when he commented on the International Relations course, I realized why I was feeling so uneasy lately. Because Arts/Psych is not really what I want to do. Is it? I have no clue. I do get to major in International Relations in the Arts course though, which actually makes it even more pathetic, trying to pursue a shadow of what you really want to do. And Mr Yoong also said something else that life is all downhill after Uni and I vaguely believe him. Will this be the peak of my life? It bothers me that there's nothing better to look forward to. Which makes me want to prove him wrong all the more.

I was a shitload of problems in my two years in JC and the poster girl for passive-aggressive rebellion. I guess I have more or less come to terms with all that rubbish, but I just wish I had a chance to explain it all to certain people what happened. And to thank them for getting me through all the rubbish. Especially to the person who said to me "It's time to stop hurting the people around us." There's not much I can do to apologize or thank him, but hopefully he knows that he has made an impact in my life, and how sincerely glad I am to have known him.

I know I need to get stronger, and I will. I'm too reliant on the people around me to stand up for me and to be there for me. I'm gonna rock Australia, so the next time you see me, I'd probably have joined a biker gang and hiding a tattoo somewhere.

Because I'm easy come, easy go; little high, little low, any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to me.

Wow. I reread a couple of my previous entries, and my first impulse was trying to recall what I was smoking to write such insane rubbish. Besides an obscenely excessive use of commas and the word "but", I think I lack the genetic predisposition to tell myself when to shut up. Then again... No. Just shuuutttttt it.
In any case, I'm leaving Singapore in exactly two weeks. It's been quite nerve-wrecking. I have wanted to leave this place since I was 15. That's been a painfully long 4 years. I regret alot of things, and have hurt the people around me more often than not. But it's about time I grew up. Things are not great the way they are now, and I won't be here to make amends, but I'll do my best wherever I am.
I confess, I miss my friends already. I'm trying to prepare myself for the loneliness that would inevitably descend when I reach Aussie. Being the social chameleon that I am, I guess that is my biggest worry right now. I do realize that at 30,000 a year, that I'm not there to make friends. And it's not the same thing as that half a month trip to the States. Urgh, enough wallowing in your pool of self-pity, Rachel. Worst comes to worst, there's always crying and manic depression to fall back on, right?

All you touch and all you see, is all your life will ever be.

I’m really tired thinking of the future. It’s all the same worries anyway, whether I’ll be accepted, whether I have made the right choices. Who the fuck cares. Seriously. Sitting here in front of my bloody laptop trying to give a shit about my life is just plain taxing and nauseating. Vomiting my thoughts onto a blog does make me feel a little better though. It’s like sending those jarring thoughts into a void. Speaking of which, where do things in a black hole go to anyway? I read somewhere that it works like a teleport and so there must be a “white” hole which spews all that nonsense out. (Wow what intellectual depth you’re showing, Rach. Good work. At this rate, you’ll be hurling conspiracy theories about life on other planets to your poor unfortunate readers in no time.)

A friend disappointed me recently. Right until then, I had honestly did my best trying to like her, but it was still a little like trying to control a gag reflex. My awkwardness around her must have shown through. We liked each other genuinely in the past, at least for a little while. That’s why I’m oddly emotional and confused. It's a disaster of a friendship waiting to happen. Despite the obvious repel, I still find myself admiring her. For her drive mostly. But I don't want to be her. It's beacuse of this stubborn smidgeon of self-respect I have left of myself regarding the way I think and judge things. It's definitely not a good thing, but it's not all that bad.

Most of my close friends have been busy this past week, so loneliness coupled with this onslaught of emo and fear has neither been normal nor healthy. I’ve been feeling like throwing up these couple of days. It doesn't help that I feel the need to cry till I lose consciousness. It’s that bad. But being as emotionally dead as I am, it’s not possible. Everything I say is so contradictory. Want to hear what’s funny? I can fake cry, but I can’t really cry. Even when I feel as tangled as I do now. Actually meaning what I feel is hard. It’s suffocating keeping all this trashy emotions inside but I CAN’T GET THEM OUT.

Okay honestly? I’m hurt. There I said it. I’m intensely afraid of rejection and all the isolation it entails. I want people to want to be with me even if the pretense is so uncredible that I should be more alone than I once was. I’m vain to the point that self-preservation is my objective in every relationship. I want freedom, but not the constraints it holds. I want it all even at the expense of what I have now. I could resort to the most evil, underhand methods for the values that are not right to begin with.

I feel maligned and a little humiliated by her response. By how she thinks she knows all of who I am and has already judged my worth. Terrified by this side of weakness I never knew. Is this how Peter Keating felt when he killed that man? Crushing regret and overwhelming nausea. I want to cry so badly. Like the time I drank too much vodka and couldn’t throw up. Except much worse. You know you’ll make it through a bad hangover, but it gets messy when the end is nowhere in sight.
Listen to yourself. The melodrama becomes you.

There's less and less to say, I've got new eyes and everything looks far away.

Occasionally I think about this group of people I had come across. I do still try to simplify and relate to them like I once did but whenever I think about them, my first instinct is not anger, but more like a guilt-based pity. It's a very mild kind of judgemental superiority complex which I know is as bad as anger and a desire for revenge.
This book by a philosopher I read once wondered if humans were born innately good but with bad tendencies or vice versa. I would like to think it's the former, even if they are people who have done me wrong. Maybe people are born selfish, with strong defenses for self-preservation, which would inevitably come into conflict with another person. The truth is, I have yet to forgive them for what they have done, but I know I will in time to come. Just, not yet.

I think alot about the future, and I find myself thinking about how similar my life would be to my parents'. They make a great partnership, but their relationship is like "two lost souls swimming in a fishbowl, year after year". Marriage seems doomed to be a failed constitution. Why do people get married in the first place? To declare their love to the world? For the security of tying down their partner? I can just forsee myself growing tired of another person in a few months of neverending obligations. Even the teacher I admire very much admitted to having commitment phobia.
This... is not an angry tirade. It's just, I have never seen a marriage work before. My grandma seriously hates my grandpa, and not in a loving way. She is literally able to anticipate his reactions and you can tell how tired she is of his mannerisms. But then again, they had only met on the day before their wedding. Sometimes I think I would like to be the opposite. To fall in love when I truly and completely understand another person. To be able to predict which tie he would choose to wear to work that day, or what he could be thinking of on his way back from work. But it's a romantic illusion, and reality is never as such. My good friend remarked a few times before how fickle I am. And I know how true it is.

Yesterday's just a memory, and tomorrow is never what it's supposed to be.

I went out to meet an old friend a few days back and watched a movie I didn't really want to watch. It was definitely fun, if you consider a conversation filled with uncomfortable silences and alcohol fun. Actually it wasn't all silence. I was desperately trying to fill in the gaps, and the reaction was more of a stunned silence. Yes, I do so make the good conversationalist. I think I broke my brain straining to think of conversation topics. Things were just... peachy. All of a sudden, we just lost everything and we just couldn't be bothered to try and get it back. Okay, that sounded straighter in my head and less like marriage counselling advice. It's is a little sad, becuse we used to be pretty close. We both struggled in our studies (we copied each other's homework every morning), with religion (she was a fluctuating christian and I was a fluctuating atheist), with relationships (you can only imagine the messes we made), and with chronic truancy (we claimed to have gotten food poisoning each time we skipped class together). I even once went so far as to entertain the thought that she might be my long lost sister. But in all honesty, I should be mature enough to know that things will inevitably change. Then why do I still feel so sad.

There are a lot of great things I know I will not be able to accomplish in this lifetime. But that doesn't stop me from wanting to be a rock star and teaching Bono a thing or two about clearing his throat before singing. But more likely I would be doing drugs and collapsing into myself like a dying cosmic star. Or to be a pirate, which would require the decapitation of specific limbs, which on hindsight would not be such a good idea. Or to be a writer, and write the sequel to the Da Vinci Code (the first book was actually all an elaborate conspiracy of one man's hysterical delusion oh wait, that's real life.) Ahh but life has yet to close these doors. There might be hope for me after all.

The future for me is already a thing of the past.

Then he said, "This fall I think you're riding for--it's a special kind of fall, a horrible kind. The man falling isn't permitted to feel or hear himself hit bottom. He just keeps falling and falling. The whole arrangement's designed for men who, at some time or other in their lives, were looking for something their own environment couldn't supply them with. Or they thought their own environment couldn't supply them with. So they gave up looking. They gave it up before they ever really even got started. You follow me?"

My burden is heavy and my dreams are beyond control.

I love Bob Dylan. Each of his songs is like meeting a new person. And slipping into their lives for a few minutes. His people are flawed and have made grave mistakes, but there's always a chance for redemption. It's honestly less poetic than it sounds, but it would be nice to think that everyone has their own Bob Dylan to get them through the day.
Maybe we all live to love and be loved a little more. According to Mr Dylan above, we don't live and die, but we just float through life. But it annoys me a little to be so inconsequential. I don't need to change the world or even save one person's life. But I do want to at least impact the people around me, maybe make them a little happier. Yes I know it's silly, but the idea that you have some tangible worth is something you can't help but cling to, especially when your life doesn't seem to serve any particular purpose. As if all you seem to do is wait for something better to come around the corner. I hate such weakness. Especially in myself.

Feel like my soul is beginning to expand, look into my heart and you will sort of understand.

Here's a non-hypothetical. Lately I've been feeling angry for no reason. It's a little troubling, the way I would be doing something unrelated and recognize the heavyness as anger. It's not full-blown anger per se, but I guess anger is the closest I can identify a prolonged mixture of anxiety and impatience.
I've been dreaming occasionally. It probably stems from how much I want my freedom. Its optimistic and unrealistic, but there's a voice inside that keeps saying that being away and missing home is better than being home and wishing you were somewhere else. It's a quiet sort of desperation for something. Independence? I have no clue. But I do wish I could be somewhere not here.
I realize that my closest friends, the ones I can speak to about anything and I sort of understand, are atheists. Religion is a big deal to me, because I want to believe and I know how it will put me at peace with myself and my environment. No, it's not really the peace of mind, but I guess it's more of an emotional support I need. But I need more than just words to convince myself that I have not put my faith into a mystical god, like Zeus. This is not the first time I have used these words. And probably will not be the last.

Jai guru deva om?

Fear is a friend who is misunderstood.

It's always nice to meet up with the friends you have been missing for a long time. None of them have changed much, which is probably what I loved most about them. So much had happened in JC, that their friendship has come to mean so much to me. I guess what I had previously identified as dislike is maybe jealousy? That they were leaving my life, going on to bigger and brighter things. That I am now just a side character in their life story? It doesn't even make sense to me.
I ran into an old crush too, and there was the same familiar feeling of fleeting euphoria when we made eye contact. It's was a nice way to say goodbye, and put closure on silly feelings I had invested in this non-relationship.
V and I headed to the airport soon after, talking about friends and the life ahead. Briefly I wondered why I liked the airport so much. I kinda hoped its because everyone there is either leaving to a better place or coming back to a familiar home.
My life so far has not been what I have chosen it to be. I am very much appreciative of my family and friends, but I often wonder what if? What if I had been a little braver then? I know it's a dangerous question to be constantly repeating to yourself, but I'm at a stage where there's a chance to start a new chapter elsewhere. Isn't this what you always wanted? Sweet giddying freedom. Make up your mind, kiddo.

Man's ego is the fountainhead of human progress.

So I spent a large part of today reading Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead. I really liked it but it left a somewhat odd aftertaste. Roark was the first character I admired in a long time. I guess what I respected most was how he knew what he wanted to be when he was only ten and had never deviated since. I just cannot imagine myself ever being to committed to a dream or a need. It was then I realized something about myself, which I didn't like. Roark chose to avoid the painless path and his stubborn refusal to compromise or to be judged by anything but his own standards, got me thinking about what I had lost. Its a strange epiphany, that feeling, or that realization rather, that you have actually left so much behind, in pursuit of a perceived happiness but can only be described as the painless path. I'm lucky to be where I am, and I appreciate it nonetheless, but not as much as the desire to have been something more.

To be honest, The Fountainhead lost me soon after the first volume. Its not that I didn't understand it, but its like a conversation with someone you haven't seen in a long while - things you could relate to just aren't there anymore. Roark was an anti-hero to me, and he represented all that was wrong with society. But like life, Roark became more human, more flawed as it progressed and I found my frustration growing.
Rand commented how she developed Roark to be a reason unto himself and the joy of living personified. On some level I guess I do understand, although living a life by my own reason somehow just seems inadequate. Anyway, I still love how books can change your set perspective on life. Maybe its because I'm egotistical, but not many books can do that. Even if its toward the smallest thing, like modernistic architecture. I have never been a fan of modernism, but this book has changed that.

"A building is alive, like a man. Its integrity is to follow its own truth, its one single theme, and to serve its own single purpose. A man doesn't borrow pieces of his body. A building doesn't borrow hunks of its soul. Its maker gives it soul and every wall, window and stairway to express it. "