happy birthday, dad. love-ness.

knowing there is no way in hell i could be in the presence of this man and not be secure in just simply being wrteched wretched me; nothing more, nothing less.

the comfort of the thought that there is zero possibility this man will ever leave me.

whatever he has done, i’d forgive him in advance. (but still, i cannot soothe that nagging, gnawing guilt that this unlimited get-out-of-jail-free card will not be reciprocated :x) i’d give anything just so he’d never feel down, alone, or grieve.

and such love-ness is perhaps the single greatest blessing in my life. and the one flicker of wide-eyed hope that there is another father who knows me by name, and provides this love-ness not just to silly lil me, but to everyone else.

i adore hope. hope is amazing. you know what i mean: that little voice fighting for all its weight’s worth. and sometimes, it just happens to win. like tonight – and you feed that little voice, turn down the lights, switch off temptations, push away guilt, welcome torrents of love-ness and start to…blog.

ive almost never stopped watching a House episode just to check out the lyrics/ title of the song playing in the background, but this new alanis morissette one simply grabbed me.

Not As We (Alanis Morissette)

Day one, day one
Start over again
Step one, step one
I’m barely making sense
For now I’m faking it
‘Til I’m psuedo-making it
From scratch, begin again

Sadly, money doesnt talk all the time; iTunes hasnt started carrying it :x but hey, my new favourite song in a long time; and its about time i had a new favourite song.

Its demoralizing, and ironically, meta-encouraging, to realize that every day is a Day One. In one sense, it’s another day one because the previous day had not worked out; in another sense, hey (!) it’s another day one because your spirit has survived all those previous blasted tries. You live on a ‘I try, therefore I am’ manifesto, and  try your damned hardest to convince yourself that the sheer attempts are enough proof that you are heading in the right direction.

But if your actions dont speak your desire, what will?

it feels painfully junvenile – almost like im singing an angsty avril lavigne anthem – to complain of complications and singing pubescent anthems of whydoyouhavetomakethingscomplicated.

but it becomes clear why i crave complications – why i’d want you to complicate things – when the alternative (the neat alternative) is this slogan: that we are what we repeatedly do – no more, no less.

is that all there is to it? it scares me to think that i am the sum of my actions, that passivity and inert thoughts reside merely in inconsequent parentheses. because (as of now at least- there you go, another parenthesis) so much of who i want to be resides in untranslated, unrecorded, persistent but formless thoughts.

when behaviour subsumes life, and habit becomes character, i start to worry. when im conscious that one aspect of the lifestyle has assumed such perilous importance – to the point where removing this aspect threatens me not knowing what to do with myself – it scares me. does it matter, then, that i want to change. the desires are, on hindsight, still inert.

—

when i got home tonight, i was almost disappointed that everyone was asleep. there was a ridiculous desire to relate the day’s events to; almost like a need for an accountability of sorts, to the persons who know the inner linings of my life. i wish there was no such need. life without the outer linings would be so much neater, wouldnt it? and neat – thats good – isnt it?

but it seems impossible to do this neat, living transparently thing. but on some nights (this one for instance), laughing over nothing, trotting home in heels, irritated tugs at my denim skirt repeatedly through the night, craving your attention like its the sap of life – it feels like too heavy a mask. its not your cross to bear that im so protective over this mask; no its really no one’s cross to bear.

its almost embarrassing to admit, but one of my favourite-st part of days? when im sitting with these glasses, wearing these drawstring cotton shorts from la senza, sitting in my new black leather high-backed study chair, make-up removed. i wonder if others feel this way – i just cant wait to kick off the heels, get the hell outta that skirt and tight tank top and just put on my lil miss naughty la senza shorts with my un-matching comfy tanks. and if im home early enough ie before 1130, give mom and dad a massage whilest we watch tv together (:

***

night, world!

you’re the reason i’d first believed there was a God who stood for everything that Love meant, and more. and you’re the reason i’d started thinking of Love as something larger than what I can comprehend. and as an emotion, no,  a state, that i could possibly be capable of.

pin it down to sentimentalism at its extreme, extrapolated by the melodramatic lyrics and melodies of tunes redolent of memories; pin it down to one too many drinks with friends who are simultaneously strangers and incidental acquaintances; if only a state of emotion could be pinned to any number of causes!

summer term has been awesome, and i dont see that changing anytime soon :) not everything is perfect; no, but heh as Laura inferred from the latest House episode we watched, an A-cup is synonymous with a C-cup, ahem. half-full. what i regret though, is that lack of communication with the people so dear back in sg. Or the people on various exchanges/internships/vacations/missionary trips :) overseas. im awful at communication; and wish that it could all be put down to a laziness, rather than an inability to converse with others :x

keep the anticipation; im starting to think that life really lies in anticipation that next year will be awesome.

[psst, because i cant shut up and exhibit symptoms of chronic verbal diarrhoea, blogging is a quick and easy release (:]

first day of lecture and one assessed essay handed in today! i am beyond relieved that the deadline is finally over – so that the brain can stop its incessant “eh, you’ve still got X more hours, revise it!” torment. exam is over too, and though both components are sorely lacking in quality (concocted footnotes and illegible handwriting, correspondingly), im not giving one-and-a-half hoots, for some reason. liberating; frightening, but liberating.

and so, on to cheerier and more frivolous matters, finally met up with sean today, and i ranted about the whole charade going on over the topshop kate moss collection. [footnote: the topshop collection designed by kate moss - who knows how much part she really had to play in it - is launched today, and went on sale in London, where people apparently queued up to lay their hands on the clothes-to-be-worshipped-on.] The topshop website had the following disclaimer: “Due to considerable demand for this collection, and to be fair to all our customers, you will only be able to buy 1 of each style and can buy no more than 5 items at a time. So choose wisely!”

I’ll admit – i’ve been watching that space for quite a while, and with quite abit of anticipation. I mean, no denying that Vogue, Glamour, Elle are constituitive - ahem, but in no way representative – of my leisure reading indulgences; and any fashion trash worth its weight in ounces would have at least half a page devoted to the kate moss collection. so yea, anticipation was there.

But it is sorely disappointing. “Choose wisely”? If wisdom were to play any role, you’d be tightening your purse strings; to put it mildly, and uncouth-ly, its just boring lah. can get the same designs at H&M or generic outlets, and if you really care for quality, Topshop isnt exactly the place you’d make a beeline for. So, that leaves the question, why the fuss?