the rather mad jac

musings on dreams, whimsy stuff and belljar-living

Eco-Friendly Bags

Whenever my ex-housemate and best friend Bryan and I shopped for groceries in good ol’ Churchill, we’d bring along our lime-green environmentally-friendly bags. We got into the habit simply because it was so easy to, in Australia where the people are already so open to the concept.

So I got really excited when the government and major retailers got down to doing something with the Use Less Plastic Bags Campaign. And now it’s so easy to go back into it again. The cashier aunties at supermarkets no longer give me strange looks when I flail my same old lime-green eco-friendly bag and say “Auntie, can help me put into this bag instead?”

The only problem is this: I started buying more eco-friendly bags!

I mean, why not? I’m helping to save the earth! And I get to shop by buying like the brown colour eco-friendly bag with the tree motif at NTUC Fairprice, the green one at Cold Storage (i think)…and erm, now where’s the blue one from huh? Hm.

And I’m seriously thinking of ordering the orange one from House Rabbit Society (Singapore), available at S$5 each, just so I can save the rabbits too! While saving the earth! Isn’t that wonderful, saving two, erm, things, at once?

Oh oh and now Dotted Line has to send me this mailer. They stock a whole range of “Fashion-Friendly Envirosax Bags” too! And this time, they’re actually pretty. I can so visualise myself using uglier ones for shopping trips at the neighbourhood supermarket and the Dotted Line ones for trips to town. Ugh. I feel like Becky Bloomwood.

dottedlinebags

Update: You can get them online from the Envirosax website too.

Filed under: all things frivolous, moo-moo land

Time Of Our Lives


shiholiving
Originally uploaded by jaclynl.

How I envy Shiho with her place in Melbourne! Comfy couches, ragged rags. Fridge full of magnets, warm stove.

Shiho’s experimentally-nice cooking – omelettes stuffed with diced carrots, refreshing somen in clear soup, fluffy pancakes with candles balancing precariously on top…

Don’t we all miss those lofty undergraduate days?

Filed under: moo-moo land

Breadtalk, Top That!

So it has been spotted in Sydney.

Like what Shianux said, Melbourne also got. I got proof.

Check out the Breadtop in Boxhill, near Melbourne City here.

If you look carefully, you can see the mirror-reflection of the word “Boxhill” above the Breadtop sign.

Filed under: moo-moo land

Bryan Said My Blog Is Boring

Bryan (of my Moo-moo Land Stories fame) said to me yesternight that I am running the risk of becoming boring on my blog. Heh. Of course I am! I run entries like Construction, which is almost entirely meaningless to anyone but myself. I ramble on solipsistically, wrapped in my own warped world. I don’t give you enough sexual details, or reveal my druggie addictions, or engage in anything that Johnnie Walker would engage in.

Then of course lah! Of course my blog bloody boring lah! Then how! You all not happy is it! You all want to fight is it! Come lah! We go toilet fight now lah! Bloody motherfucking hell.

And to bore you all even further….let me unveil my latest great idea (phrase loaned from ex-editorial-intern-now-shoe-seller-Korean-guys-fanatic): a series of short short stories about the invisible side of Singaporean life that no tourists know about, Fallen Through The Cracks.

Prrreeeppaaarreee toooo beee booorrreeeeddddddd.

Filed under: moo-moo land

The November You’ve Missed – In A Nutshell

Life’s been a whirlwind ever since I’ve been back.

Especially for Bryan it seems. He could hardly contain his excitement in the last hour before we landed at Changi Airport on November 6th. Of course I was excited too, and kept slapping Bryan aside so I could peer out and catch our city’s bright lights. But it was different was him, because that day… that day will forever be memorable for him.

After all, November 6th was Bryan’s Liberation Day. Eh, wait, Leebelation Day fer what huh, you ask. Liberation from his tormentor, yours truly, Jaclyn Lim lah!

Going back home to Singapore for Bryan means that he will not have to endure my slappings, pinchings, grumblings, naggings, and bullying ever again. NOT EVER AGAIN. So I guess he felt like he has just saw-a-car-accident-copied-down-the-car-plate-number-bought-4D-and-won.

But enough about Bryan.

Let’s talk about me, oh wonderful me.

Peering out of the plane window, and out, out at our city’s bright lights, I was overwhelmed by how much of it I recognized, and how much of it I recognized distinctively as home. Singapore is not about the Merlion or the Mandai Zoo. Singapore quite easily defies such limitations. What is Singapore really? A small red dot? A pee-sai?

I don’t know. In certain situations, if one can feel, why should one attempt to know?

After being away for some time, all I can say is that now Singapore feels like home to me once again. Home to all the familiars I recognize, and now hold dear.

But the worries mounted. I was not only broke, but deeply in debt. I would not be able to finish up the last semester as a full-time student. I desperately needed a job. But then I was happy to be back with all those people I love again. And back to my condo in the East. To my two doggies even though they can really smell sometimes. Back to my wooden bookshelf coloured by different sized bookspines.

So then I was out all day, and many nights, meeting up with people. I hung out with my dear old mum. I lazed in the Bear’s arms. I caught up with old friends. And because Shiho was also here, I ended up revisiting a few tourist spots as well. I also found time to fall seriously ill, unpacked my Jetta boxes, and marvelled at the changes in the country.

As I was settling down more or less in this way, the need for a regular day-job weighs more and more heavily on my mind. I sent out a flurry of resumes, but was hardly optimistic. But then must be Guanyin-bo-bi, good karma or something, I got a job within a month of my return, and this is the sort of job that might just turn into a career.

So I’m satisfied, for now.

Whee.

Filed under: moo-moo land

Home Soon

Returning home is a fresh assault on the senses
As I look on at the familiars through coloured lenses.

I still can’t really believe that I’ll be back in Singapore by Saturday night.

Every final moment here now seems so absolute. So absolute I actually find it hard to imagine myself in Changi Airport physically tomorrow night. I find it particularly surreal that I keep seeing myself in fragments these days, as if I am unreal somewhat. I see my hand waving ‘hellos’…I see my bent form reaching for the black Projectshop haversack…I see my arms wrapping round Mummy’s neck…

As if I am reduced to no more than a fragmented self. After all, is the ‘me’ in Melbourne the same ‘me’ in Singapore? I guess not entirely. I guess I have been happier in Melbourne than I ever was in Singapore. In Singapore, there was only a brooding, and perpetually stressed-out Jac. I was disillusioned by my lack of interest in Customer Service work, stressed-out by academic assignments, and depressed over my poor performances in driving lessons. It reached a point where I decided, quite melodramatically, that I must ‘escape the system’, or die.

Dear readers, you may now proceed to laugh for a minute at the melodramatic Jac.

To continue, of course I wouldn’t have died if I stayed behind in Singapore. I would have, at the very most, be dreadfully unhappy. I would not even write, simply because I would be too depressed to even rhyme and scan. But if I had stayed behind months ago, I would not realized that I do love Singapore – in my own warped way. I would not have realized that amidst all the concrete-hard unpleasantness of city-living, human warmth is what truly matters. I would not have realized that there are people who truly love me, even if most of the times I am a brooding, irritating piece of shit.

And it is only by coming here that I discovered a great bunch of people. Of them all, only Bryan endured me patiently, relentlessly. I owe him a great deal, both emotionally and financially. I will highly recommend this man to single domineering females. Then Shiho, who is just about the nicest person I have ever met. One can only compare my fussy, calculating disposition with her easy-going, generous nature. And the Retrovamp, Devilim, and Tginnee (nicknames to maintain a certain amount of anonymonity)…with their green bean soup and conversations full of crap. Plus Raymond of course, for adding a Hong Kong flavour to the group with his lyrical Cantonese.

I’ll miss popping by Bryan’s room to irritate the hell out of him. I’ll miss walking to school with the flowers in full bloom. I’ll miss kicking the sand as I stroll to Foodworks for groceries. I’ll miss the almost-daily ‘li-shang-wang-lai’ between West 4 and 10. I’ll miss the lectures and tutes.

Ah well, Jac, ‘Be grateful for little mercies’.

A couple of bad things happened, but they’re over now. Friends not worth keeping are lost, and I honestly don’t care now.

But yet what then, I think now. What then but home to the familiars I once swore I hated so much. It’ll be back to office work in the day and trudging through night school till ten. It’ll be corporate and academic stress combined, while I grumbled incessantly about my lack of worthy literary output. And there’ll be a million things in Singapore living that aggravate me. I’ll be irritated by the peak hour MRT-squeeze, the lunch hour rush, the gloomy faces on the street. I’ll be pissed at the inconsiderate shoving as I walked from Wisma to Taka, and be scoffing every morning at whatever the Straits Times is putting up on the front page.

And yet, I can’t help but be excited at the more favourable familiars. I have been thinking droolingly about hawker food, SCV Hong Kong drama serials and walking down Orchard Road again. If you ever think Orchard Road does not fulfill your shopping needs, come to Gippsland and count cows instead! How I miss those blatant displays of consumerism. I am utterly consumed, and in true blue Singaporean fashion, am hardly embarassed about it.

I’m a city girl at heart after all.

I’m going home. And I’m really glad that I am now returning to the people who worked their asses off just to keep me here for 8 months, to my Mum who misses me terribly at nights, to the patient and loving Bear, to all those people whom I now believe do miss me after all.

Which means this blog is dying.

Will move away from Typepad as soon as I get settled down again. Stay tuned though. Will update as soon as possible when I’m back in Singapore.

Suddenly, the world seems so bright.

Filed under: moo-moo land

The Praying Mantis Has Many Friends

My Jap friend Shiho has taken an interest in praying mantises lately.

Her interest was no doubt fuelled by her almost-daily contact with a human-sized praying mantis (ie yours truly).

She spent hours in the early morning yesterday googling “praying mantises” and giggling at their pics. After a long and exhaustive search, she complied the pics and emailed them to all our friends, with the attached message below:

“hi…

i found jaclyn’s uncle and friends..

jaclyn’s uncle is in Japan. finally, i found him…jaclyn, do you remember him? your uncle…he is a super HERO in my country..that’s why he cannot go back to Singapore…too busy…he fights in order to keep the peace in the world…nice guy.

i have also found similar praying mantises as jaclyn.
they are human sized…

i really respect them because it must be hard for them to live with human beings…there is discrimination against human sized praying mantises. people call them “a piece of green shit”.
please be nice to human sized praying mantises.

there are many praying mantises in this world.

thank you.

shiho”

Eesh. Why do I have friends like that?

So sorry for feeding you guys such crap. I have been feeling particularly crappy of late. :/

But oh oh…I know…oh I just know my readership is going to fall, and I will lost interest, and I will not blog anymore, and I will sink into the slough of despond, and I will cry a lot, and I will torture Bryan relentlessly, and I will feel like dying, and I will eat more, and I will think of blogging, and I will not blog because noone is reading anyway, and I will think that life is meaningless, and I will wander around in Orchard Road, and I will burst my credit limit, and I will get hounded by creditors, and I will fail my exams, and I will lose my boyfriend, my friends, my family, and I will end up in the streets, and I will try my best to sing even if passerbys don’t give a damn, and I will feel horrible, and I will… *gasp* DIE!

All because I started posting up more crap on this blog. :*(

Life is oh-so-hard.

Filed under: moo-moo land

Durffy Goes For A Walk

My sis brought her dog, Durffy out for a walk.

“Jus came back from a walk with durffy.. He’s so shagged out.. We walked from Simei Mrt to Tampines and back to Simei. Poor durffy was panting like an old man…

Throughout the journey, durffy managed to:

-kick a snail
-get discriminated by Starbucks staff at TM
-ride on a NTUC trolley
-ate BK’s fries and onion rings
-drank from Kiat’s nalgene
-peed on Kiat’s bag

Overall, he had an adventurous day… I guess its like a Hobbit travelling to Mount Doom and back. =)

*tIng pats Durffy on his head.*”


TING: WHY DIDN’T YOU BRING MY DOG KIMBEE OUT AS WELL?!

Filed under: moo-moo land, woof!

Beatrix Kiddo Emerges From The Cave

Since I started this blog, my hiatuses have never lasted a full week. Eesh.

These blog-free days I wandered about in West 4, bullying Bryan more than usual. My abuse towards him have grown particularly intensive of late. Not only that, the abuse is particularly comprehensive. I made sure I covered all areas well. Emotional, psychological, mental, physical…

I slapped him on his arms whenever he passed me. I threatened him that I’ll tie him to our TV-less TV stand with a mere dish of water, and prostituting him to other students while I keep the money (at Melissa A’s suggestion, Dogville-style). I gave him kicks as and when I like it. I made him brew coffee for me more than once everyday. I managed to pluck a strand of hair from his hairy legs. I taunt him relentlessly. I groaned ‘Bryan…Bryan ah…Bryan! Go die now…Go…Quick…I don’t want to see your face…’ I pinched him if I can. I kidnapped his schoolbag and stuck notes of ‘Your schoolbag has been kidnapped! Pay a ransom of A$500 at Room 4! Come alone! Do not call the police!’ I poked him in his waist whenever he stretched.

He asked me lately if I ever considered him a decent human being. I giggled and threw a box of coloured pencils onto the carpet and told him to ‘FETCH!’

Was bored in the afternoon today, and waited anxiously for Bryan to wake up. He did. I heard his door creaked open and his feet plodding down the corridor. So I asked happily, but rather loudly, ‘Is that BRYAN?’

There was *silence*. I was puzzled. Shiho laughed irresistably.

So I hopped out of my chair, peeked down the corridor, and was so happy to see him looking very sleepy and scared. That is how the abuse begun all over again today. :/

But don’t get me wrong. I’m also abused by him, though that abuse is usually verbal, and very vindictive.

Out of pure fun, I tried to, er, ‘flash’ him one night. So I pull open my jacket and shouted, ‘Boo!’ He almost died from laughing, and then he asked, ‘What are you flashing anyway? There’s absolutely nothing to see! Muahahahaha’. See how he hurts me emotionally?

Ah, the perils of living on-campus.

So I deduce that I should return to blogging (which fills up my time and keeps me well-balanced) before I degenerate into this sadistic, childish creature [and also before Bryan really breaks down and cries]. :/

Hey if any of you readers are unhappy with my treatment of Bryan, feel free to contact me and I’ll link you up with the Free Bryan campaign people.

This blog is dying though. I’m going to move once my exams are over. Typepad is too expensive.

On a completely separate note, daylight savings begun today.

Eeks! I just lost an hour! Examinations loom near. I must continue revising (and give exam-free Bryan a kick in his shin later in the day).

‘May I have a glass of water, please?’

Filed under: moo-moo land

Unfinished Business

Okay. I have unfinished business. I thought I’m finished (for a while at least). But then I read this on the ST Forum. How can a self-respecting Singaporean woman not comment on this? So one last post before I do a Paula Schultz to myself.

“Time for the Singaporean girl to play the ‘little woman’?” , ST

After reading this article, I feel compelled to, as Miss Wong Mei Xuan says, “make an impassioned defence of the hard-to-please Singaporean woman”.

In a nutshell, Miss Wong is commenting on how the evolution of the modern Singaporean women has come at an expense of their love lives, and subsequently affected the nation’s birth rate.
She argues, apparently enlightened, from the male point of view. I’m afraid most Singaporean women will differ. I beg to differ.

She starts by making comparisons between Singaporean women and Malaysian or Vietnamese girls. But there is no point in making such comparisons. We may be female all the same, but we are differentiated by cultures, by societies, by the climates we grew up in.

If you want Singaporean women to be like their Malaysian or Vietnamese counterparts, please transplant all female babies in KK Hospital to those countries now. You may laugh at how ludicrous this proposal is, but your laughter only goes to show how impossible the act is. Malaysian and Vietnamese women are what they are because they were moulded by conditions in certain environments. Singaporean women similarly, are the way they are because they were moulded by conditions in yet another environment. If so, then there is, I repeat, no point in making such comparisons.

Singaporean women have one of the highest education levels in the world. Since we are educated so, and we worked as hard as any other man to reach this level of education (with support from the government in providing a conducive environment of course), why should we be afraid to express our views, our opinions, our beliefs? We have as much right to a brain and intelligence as men. Intelligence, passion…are these qualities only to be exalted in a male form and not female?

So I ask Miss Wong, just what is wrong with being driven by ideals and emotions? Just what is wrong with debating and arguing impassionedly? Or does it seem wrong just because the form that is doing all these is female?

But I agree to a certain extent with Miss Wong, that the Singaporean woman is a challenge to love. What I want to add is that the Singaporean woman is a challenge to the traditional idea of love. If love is, as Miss Wong implies, the image of the submissive, soft-spoken woman pandering to the needs of the man, then I want no part of it. Why should I? Why should we?
I think the notion of love has already changed with time. A love relationship now should not encompass the domineering male and the submissive female as Miss Wong seems to advocate.
On how Miss Wong claims that Singaporean women are “twice as likely as her Malaysian or Vietnamese counterpart to stride away in a huff or throw water on the male’s face or hold a public screaming or crying fit”, I have three points to make.

First, that is yet another generalization that will not hold under proper scrutiny of the issue. Not all Singaporean women are like that. Certainly, not all women behave that like that. To use the phrase “twice as likely” is stretching things a bit. The striding away in a huff, or the public screaming and crying fit at most represents a side of the particular woman’s character. It has very little to do with nationality.

Secondly, Miss Wong seems to imply that those acts clearly put the women in the wrong. But we are too quick to judge by our eyes, and too slow to investigate the underlying reasons. There can easily be a variety of reasons why those women acted the way they do, and these reasons might not be unjustified.

Thirdly, let us suppose that the phrase “twice as likely” is accurate, and that Singaporean women do subject their men to these types of behaviour more than their Malaysian or Vietnamese counterparts. If so, then I say that Singaporean women do that simply because we can.

Take the case of a middle-aged Singaporean man who married a Vietnamese girl and provide her with not only emotional love and material support, but also a permit to remain in Singapore. Can the Vietnamese girl throw a tantrum even if she is displeased?

It is not Singaporean women who need to change. We are the best fusion of Western and Eastern values. It is the Singaporean men who should catch up instead with the new notions of love. Throw away those obsolete views of how a man will marry a sweet girl to support him in everything he does. Support in a relationship is mutual.

Miss Wong then tries to quote materialism as an example. I have to say, I love shopping. But I pay for my own things so what is wrong with that? I remember the day I bought my first diamond with my own paycheck. It was small. Nothing much, and definitely not a Tiffany. But I gleaned more satisfaction from that than if it came from a man. Materialism is a condition in all capitalist societies that not only affects the women, but the men too. You may say “That is, to a lesser degree.” But no. We just spend on different things. Generally, women buy clothes and cosmestics and men buy gadgets and cars. So what is the exact point she is trying to make?

She also comments that Singaporean women treat love as conquests. But I, for one, do not treat love relationships like conquests fought in the office arena. And I believe that any other mature Singaporean woman will not treat love relationships as such too. Miss Wong talks about women like that, but what about men? Don’t some of them treat love as sexual conquests too?
Then Miss Wong laments about the declining birth rate.

Marriage is not a no-no for most Singaporean women. Yet child-bearing is a serious issue. It is not as simple as popping a bun in the oven. The Singaporean woman is concerned with several factors, amongst which is the worry of having enough time or not to raise the child properly.

Other than these concerns, there are other aspects to the issue. Inhospitable environment for having children is one. Couples not having enough time for sex is another. What I am trying to say here is that Miss Wong should not blame the nation’s falling birthrate on Singaporean women alone.

Besides, we are not mere child-bearing vessels. We have brains, we have emotions, we are as human as the Singaporean man working his ass off in a cramped cubicle now. Generations of Singaporean women have contributed to the nation, and not only by giving birth. We are not adverse to giving birth, but there are certain concerns we hope to be resolved before we do so.

To quote the late poet Sylvia Plath, “After a while I suppose I’ll get used to the idea of marriage and children. If only it doesn’t swallow up my desires to express myself in a smug, sensuous haze. Sure, marriage is self-expression, but if only my art, my writing, isn’t just a mere sublimation of my sexual desires which will run dry once I get married. If only I can find him…the man who will be intelligent, yet physically magnetic and personable. If I can offer that combination, why shouldn’t I expect it in a man?”

Indeed, why shouldn’t we?

The other point I am trying to make, using Plath’s words as an illustration, is that educated Singaporean women have much more to hope for in life than mere marriage and children. I am not adverse to either of this, but I will not have my ideals, ambitions or emotions disappear “in a smug, sensuous haze” if I do decided to get married and have children.

In fact, if I am to meet an intelligent, physically magnetic man, I might just want to have children with him. To digress a little, I must clarify that I am not saying that I want to have his children (Language use does makes a difference). If Miss Wong wants to get the government on her side and use the situation of the falling birthrate as ammunition for this argument, then I can pander too to PAP’s quietly eugenist policies.

“Match smart Singaporean women with smart Singaporean men and we get …… (drum rolls) SMART CHILDREN TO BOOST OUR GDP!”

If so, then it is still not Singaporean women who should change, but Singaporean men who must.
I must say, not all male chauvinists are men.

And I say we women are a magnificent sex

Don’t ever let what Miss Wong says put us down.

Filed under: moo-moo land

I’ll Be Missing For A While

Somehow these few days I don’t feel very much like blogging anymore.

I don’t feel the urge to post whatever I feel, or did up here – in public. The harder times got, the more I feel that a private, hand-written journal is essential. After all I can ponder upon issues like Animal Liberation up here, but to dissect my emotional problems in front of so many eyes will be nothing more than verbal vomit and mental striptease.

And I’ve been remembering how hand-writing my journal during crying fits had been particularly cathartic. I miss seeing ink on paper. I miss my spidery handwriting when my eyes were blurred from tears. I miss charting how my handwriting changes with time. I miss being able to go on and on about my inner insecurities and glean just a wee bit of understanding during the re-reading of the entry. I feel that I need to return to writing on paper again. I really need both a blog and a private hand-written journal.

Sometimes I feel this blog is degenerating into some banal, solipsistic rants and I see no reason why I should submit my readers to such shit. I suppose a blog will never be a blog without readers, and I suggest that those who think so simplistically that a blog is just an “online diary” go wash their narrow brains with soap before clicking “Post”. It is not as simple as a diary in the typical definition of the word because it is after all, read. You want readers if you put stuff up on the internet. That is a definite, unarguable point – even if you remain anonymous.

That is why I think nothing about writing to please, so long as the writing is truthful to the self.

Writing to please is a stage every blogger will reach sooner or later. You start first with with “Hello world. I am me, and I hope that all of you will love me because I am me.” But being you will not be enough. You will have to be funnier, be more intelligent, be sexier… Even if this is not the case, you are at least required to maintain constantly that level of humour or intelligence or any other criteria which draws the readers to your blog in the first place. It does get tiring after a while. This is so for me, though I know that all that I put up here is really me (even if some sides of me gets more exposure than others), and is true (even if truth is subjected to my subjectivity).

I guess I’m just tired.

Every blogger needs a break every now and then.

I’m taking mine now. Be back when the mood lifts.

[Jac the praying mantis hops away...]

Filed under: moo-moo land

Poetry With Swear Words

The poem that came to my mind right after I read the the title of mrbrown’s TODAY article is Larkin’s “This Be The Verse”, which goes like this:

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have any kids yourself.

[Jac sighs appreciatively, mumbles "How true..." and proceeded to feel very "fucked up".]

Maybe all the “fucks” are why Larkin lost the Poet Laureate post to Ted Hughes in 1984.
I love Larkin by the way. If he is alive now, I will find it very hard not to rush down to Hull Library and sleep with him there and then. :/ Oops. Too much information there.

[Jac slaps herself on the arm repeatedly, "Don't! Always! Tell! People! Who! You! Want! To! Sleep! With!!!"]

Filed under: moo-moo land

The Perils Of West House Living

The stupid shower in West House 4 whines everytime someone is using it. It’s whining like a boiling kettle now and it’s irritating the hell out of me.

So now I’m blasting Travis at 9.33am to drown the whining shower out. But Travis in the player isn’t even considered blasting, no matter how loud! Oh I am such a kind soul. I am such a kind kind soul.

Staying in Room 4 really sucks.

These damn walls are so flimsy you can always hear
1) the whining shower
2) the vibrating washing machine
3) the drier churning clothes
4) the toilet flushing
5) the sink-taps running
6) even the kitchen sink-taps sometimes.

After months of staying in Room 4, I have trained my ears to know exactly what each of the housemate is doing in the living room area. I can snuggle in my bed and know that Bryan is showering in the left shower, and brushing his teeth at the same time. Or I can be writing at my desk and know that Housemate X is dumping his clothes in the drier. Or I can be looking out of the window and know that Housemate Z is cooking a heavy lunch in the kitchen.

Sigh. Why don’t they build thicker walls? Proper brick walls?! So that if any housemate ever decide to have sex in the afternoons, no one will ever hear them?

Oh! [A tear rolls down Jac's still-fat cheek. She stumbles a little and falls to the floor] I don’t want to hear people doing weird things!!! I nowan…nowan…. [Jac burst into tears]

But well, as Music Guru once commented (about the spider incident), “Ah, such are the perils of West House living!”

But I shouldn’t grumble so much. At least my housemates don’t let strangers into the house, wank to porn in the living room, and leave dildos all over the place.

Filed under: moo-moo land

I Scream (In Delight)

I was walking along the road with two friends.
The sun was setting.
I felt a breath of melancholy -
Suddenly the sky turned blood-red.
I stopped, and leaned against the railing, deathly tired -
looking out across the flaming clouds that hung like blood and a sword
over the blue-black fjord and town.
My friends walked on -
I stood there, trembling with fear.
And I sensed a great, infinite scream
pass through nature.”
- Munch, Nice, 22 January 1892

I was delighted with the Edvard Munch “The Frieze Of Life” exhibition in the NGV the same way I was delighted with “The Impressionists” exhibition. A real Munch! Just as I saw a genuine Monet in June!

“The Frieze Of Life” is of a much smaller scale than “The Impressionists”, which stretched one hall after another. There were only about 80 works, ranging from pencil drawings to lithographs, watercolours to oil on canvases. I loved the themes Munch concerned himself with: human anxiety in Anxiety, childish despair in The Dead Mother, romantic love in The Dance of Life, existential dread in The Scream…If Munch were less depressive, I would have loved him less.

Anyway, I went “hmm…” amidst blondes talking Expressionism, and fingered my chin in front of Separation and Attraction. I giggled with Shiho at how two Japs’ mistook Anxiety for The Scream, and tip-toed behind a crowd as a museum guide pointed to The Dance of Life, and regaled us with tales of Munch’s romantic liaisons.

But the exhibition would have been completed only if The Scream was there. Damn those robbers. At least, I consoled myself, there was a lithograph of The Scream. The reddish-melancholic skies of Anxiety, reminiscent of The Scream, soothed a little too.

Sigh. It is such a pity that such exhibitions never ever come to Singapore. We are too small in physical size, and too limited in appreciation of such beautiful things. If I wasn’t in Melbourne then, I would never have gotten a chance to see Munch, Monet and Manet. Or Van Gogh too for that matter. Real paintings, and not just reproductions. How can we ever be an art hub? Even with all the -polises, or the durianesque-Esplanade, we might never make it as an art hub…But more on that next time. I’m still tipsy from Munch

And yes, I am a sucker for all this arty-farty crap. Tell me you paint, and I will sigh appreciatively. Tell me you do sculptures, and I will gasp in feminine delight. Tell me you write poetry, and I…I…I might just sleep with you… :/ *shy*

Ok stop. I am just acting more demure than I really am. ;P

Filed under: moo-moo land

Exams Are Coming

I am scared.

Exam periods always make me lose sleep and some pounds,
But I know I can depend on Starbucks Verona coffee grounds!

Lucky I still have a full packet of the coffee grounds left. I just don’t understand why I can’t study in the day, and why I always need a mug of coffee by my side. It just doesn’t make sense. Mere psychological dependence I suppose.

Filed under: moo-moo land

Let’s not look back