The fathers of two friends passed away in the past two months due to cancer. Visited one of them today with my mum, and they said “still can’t believe that he’s no more”. Uncle passed away just before Hari Raya, so they aren’t celebrating.

It’s depressing, but I guess it’s a good reminder of life’s impermanence and we should treasure everyone around us as if we’re spending the last moments together. It’s horribly difficult, but let’s all try.

牙不痛了! 应该是肝火旺吧。

。。。嗯。。我算是得偿所愿了吧, 可是却没想象中那么情绪沸腾。


其实,我那种根本不能算是爱情,只能说是寂寞想找人解闷, 所以为自己找了个冠冕堂皇的借口罢了。

可闷总是解了。   🙂

Yesterday I very nearly cried. But I’m fine. My life, humdrum as it is, will not revolve around enigmatic idiots. The passion has fizzled out and I don’t exactly miss it. I don’t wish to spend my (insert name of glorious fruit)-eating minutes feeling forlorn and wistful. I will eat the last box tomorrow with all my past fervour. 有就有,没有就没有, 地球照常运转,太阳依旧升起!

Accompanied papa to eye centre for his cataract op. Cataract leh! Although they still have a healthy sense of humour, I must admit my parents’ health is giving in to age. My mum sprained her left knee in Bangkok (on the first night!) and I brought her to the Bumrungrad International Hospital, which turned out to really international, with a translator for every language in the world. I felt really grown-up to handle the crisis without “adult intervention”, save for some very useful advice given by the good people from the NTUC INCOME SOS hotline. My mum had a jab and we found ourselves navigating the winding alleys of Jatujak an hour later. She couldn’t walk without aid before that! Nothing can separate a woman and her shopping.

I slowly feel the switching of roles between my parents and me: very often, they are now the cared-for while I am the caregiver. I am comfortable with my newfound role thus far, but am uncertain about the future. I guess I will learn along the way. Bringing papa to his follow-up tomorrow! 8.30 am- that’s chickentikkamasala early. Wonder if I’ll see Brabra!

Somebody stole my rose-coloured glasses.

I am always thinking the worst of everything. Before I returned the rented VCDs to VideoEzy days ago, I imagined with great indignation how the staff would refuse to exchange my faulty Forrest Gump (it played like a mime) for a working one. Would they believe my story? Would they put the blame on my player? I mentally formulated my replies, edited them ten times over so they would be foolproof, and carefully measured out the tone and expression I would use in order to look formidable.

I stomped into the shop, produced the fateful box, and said curtly with a sideways frown: “I am not able to play this.” I was almost trembling with excitement to recite my well-rehearsed lines in a voice loud enough for other customers to hear. I would give a long-overdue lecture on how unfair it was to consumers who can’t exchange a faulty VCD. Were they supposed to resign to their miserable fates? Were they expected to suffer in silence? I know my rights! Standing tall with hands akimbo, I would uphold justice for all the long-suffering consumers in Singapore.

The bespectacled man cast a cursory glance at the box I clutched oh so tightly in my hands and muttered his well-rehearsed lines quietly, “I’m sorry we don’t have another copy of this title. You can exchange it for another title, though.” I could go weak in my knees in shame. Weren’t they supposed to ask me 20 questions before saying no? Stumped for words, I snooped around the shelves; brows furrowed in mock urgency, and finally scurried away with Pan’s Labyrinth.

Today I got a missed call and text message from someone I interviewed for an article. He asked me to call him once I return to Singapore.  I read the message while shopping in the behemoth Platinum Fashion Mall, and I started to feel queasy. The mad array of clothes screaming at me from all directions already made me giddy, and this was the last straw.

He was going to interrogate me on why I paraded that controversial sentence he said at the very first paragraph of my story. He’d ask if I knew my journalistic ethics, and if I knew the grave repercussions that portentous sentence might bring. I must brace myself to receive his lawyer’s letter. My palms went cold and my stomach churned. I was in no mood to shop and floated around the mall like a weightless ghost. Not wanting my mother to worry, I blamed the strong air-conditioning for my icy palms.

I get home. With unprecedented dread and trepidation I telephone him, deliberately closing my room door so nobody could overhear the scandalous conversation.

It transpired that he wanted the contact details of the magazine so he could send in publicity material. My eyes nearly watered with relief.

I wonder where the problem lies. Is it me, or is it the world? How do I stop suspecting the motives of others? I think I have sufficient grounds to suspect that my rose-coloured glasses were stolen by shady characters out to ruin my life.

There, my last ounce of faith wasted on pretentiousness

I am as desensitized as a two-toed sloth and as incurious as a domestic cat now.

I’m hanging from a thread with one eyebrow raised.

Goodbye my dear readers; I am unable to churn out intelligible and/or intelligent content for this blog.

For now. I don’t know when I’ll return, but I hope you’ll miss me.