Monday, February 19, 2007
Sparkling DiamondsCause we are living in a material worldAnd I am a material girl.
And diamonds, diamonds are a girl’s best friend.Oh yeah… A material world that is where we all are living in, like it or not, this is the new civilisation. You know what, I kind of like it.
When I watch how Nicole Kidman does Satine in the Moulin Rouge, it somehow just makes me feel empowered as a woman. Ok, that sounds a little scandalous, I guess, only because she’s playing a courtesan in the show, using her feminine wiles to get what she wants—to be an actress.
But as I’ve said, it makes me feel empowered as a woman; it does NOT mean I am for the movement of anti-male prejudice. Never that, or at least not anymore! Though sometimes, still I do feel I’d be better off with fewer, certain men alive.
I am definitely for feminism, but when I say that, I want to be understood that all I am asking on behalf of all women is respect from everyone as an equal. There was once when I had gotten myself so worked-up over woman’s right because of the way men had treated women for centuries and more, I started hating guys—passionately. And because of that I became confuse over the term, feminism. I started thinking of it as the anti-men movement. Not anymore, what I want for everyone is just respect, simple as that.
I know there are many cases whereby, feminists are closely related to be lesbians. I just want to clarify right now, I love looking at beautiful people, men and women alike. But I would never, ever became a lesbian.
Lastly, like I’ve mentioned in my previous entry, I still feel strongly that a woman should always, always be self-reliant, even after 30 years of marriage. Growing reliant on someone, gives them the power to destroy you if you’re not careful. Besides, I doubt there’s any man life who likes a clingy weakling, unless he is a super duper chauvinistic loser.
One day I’ll fly away…
Why live life from dream to dream
And dread the day when dreaming endsI love this song so much. And the show, Moulin Rouge—it is great acting and fabulous songs, the combination of it really reaches deep into your heart and touches your soul.
And then again, what is life without dreams? I love thinking about things, or even dreaming about things I am going to do. One of these things I thought of was becoming an air stewardess (though I’m too short); another thing which I am seriously considering is becoming a jockey (I’m short enough). Yup, it was so inspired by the Osim’s i-gallop. Ha! Just kidding.
When I think about things I am going to do, it gives me a natural high. Sounds sick? I’ll cite a few examples, I feel happy
thinking about exercising, I feel happy
thinking about packing and organising, I feel happy
thinking about shopping, I feel happy
thinking about cooking (not that i know how to cook), I feel happy
thinking of when I get marry, I feel happy
thinking of what the future would bring. It is just all so exciting!!!
I know all that sound terribly girlie. But hey! I am a girl, do you doubt that?
Sunday, February 18, 2007
I don’t know why
Or perhaps I do.
First and foremost, Happy Chinese New Year! Generally, I am a person who enjoys having family-get-togethers. I like the idea of throwing parties, and having people I like (usually) come together and make merry. When I grow up and get married, I know it sounds funny but, I am going to enjoy hosting parties in my house and inviting people over.
Secondly, there is no way I can ever deny that family-get-togethers can also be a pain in the ass, especially relatives on my father’s side. Come on, I do like them (usually) because they can be nice and most importantly, they are family. Gosh, but do I hate it when they get critical and sarcastic. It is very hurtful and very unkind.
I have a habit to steer clear of people like that, because it is either that, or I get myself terribly upset and angry then later sink into a depression. I think I shouldn’t be ashamed to admit that sometimes what my relatives say do get me down, and I hate that since young. When I was younger it was worse because I never had an ally ( I wish I had siblings), my parents just weren’t the kind who would stand up for their child, it used to hurt me a lot but now I learned that its just the way they are— passive.
I know I have mentioned before that I like (usually) and respect people who are very in-your-face. I still do, but their criticism has to be something I agree upon. The one thing I resent above the rest is sarcasm. It is unconstructive, in fact very destructive and hurtful.
Sometimes, when I reflect upon my decision to not marry a Chinese, not just because Caucasian and fair Indian men are sexy, hot and able to carry themselves better (haha!), but perhaps it is because I fear marrying someone like my father or his brothers. A very disloyal thought I know, but just the thought of marrying some one chauvinistic is enough to make me shudder. Perhaps Caucasians and fair Indians are chauvinistic too, but I've been living on first hand experience how annoyingly proud and egocentric chinese men can be.
Imagine if I marry a Chinese guy, I’d probably live a life like my neighbour downstairs. She’s forever looking pissed as if the world owes her something. Today, she scolded her husband and both of them came in the lift, her looking like she’s about to explode and him looking really miserable. Though I must say they are a very pretty couple.
That about it, HAPPY LUNAR NEW YEAR!
P.s. I changed the contend a little...
Friday, February 09, 2007
AdaptationYesterday I submitted my short story for my creative writing class. Previously, I wrote about a serial killer and his killing, I thought it was pretty good but my teacher told me it was utterly ridiculous. Sigh.
It was disheartening. Just one week left and I really contemplated resorting to writing stories for children. But writing for children is tougher than it is for adults! Thankfully, just few days before inspiration strike. This time round I wrote a story of a man’s suicide and all that prompted him to it. I thought it was really personal because it was my father who inspired me to write it. But of course, most of it was just plain fiction with few elements of truth.
It was a very scary thing, trying to step into someone’s shoe learning to see everything from his point of view with his values in life. It is scary to think that after this whole thing, you might retain some of that person’s essence but it also made me understand my father so much better. I guess this is what they meant but empathizing. It is also a very sad thing when you understand where the person is coming from and knowing that he had been misunderstood. You just somehow realize the grievances the person go through but kept it on inside because his end had not justified his means.
Alright, let’s move on to something else. I have been listening to some really Emo songs. And guess what!!! I just saw V. thank god I’m over him… (Yeah… yeah…)
Anyway I watch a movie yesterday, yes you guessed it, it’s Adaptation! It was a fantastic show so complicated, yet it was easy to understand.
Alright I’m running out of things to say, tata… =)
Oh yah, I'm meeting SAM in awhile and it's been the longest while since. Sam, I love you, you know?
And, and, and Inez is sitting on my left and, and, and Shekha is sitting on my right. =)
My ridiculous Story of a serial killerA Great Artist – Draft One
He is ugly. That is what you would think, if you ever chance upon seeing him on a busy street. He is that kind of man, you would go out of your way just to avoid touching him, for fear of catching on to some of his ugliness, which was born from a childhood accident. But it does not bother him at all, the way he looks or the way people look at him. For his mind was always on his art. He is a great artist, and there was no denying it.
He has a normal family, but the way he was brought up, was anything but normal. From the day he was brought to the world, he brought along with him frustration everywhere he goes. He cried all the time. When he saw his mother, he cried. When he saw his father, he cried. When he saw his sister, he cried. Everyone tried to give his parents suggestions of what might be wrong, but no one knew for sure what was wrong, not even the doctors.
But as time goes by, his parents noticed when the day turned dark, that is when the little boy would stop crying. His parents then came up with a brilliant plan—to lock him up in the dark room, so they could continue a normal life with their little girl. Soon they all but forgot they had a son or a brother, except when it was time for meal.
It was in that small dark room where the boy learnt to move around on his own. It was in that room the boy ate, slept and shit. The only sort of smell the boy ever knew was that of his shit, his urine and his sweat laced with a subtle something else, which might have been the smell of food of his mother’s perfume when she sent in the food.
All manner of speech the little boy learnt he learned it through overhearing his family’s conversation. All his knowledge of what the world might be like, the people, the animals, the objects, he also learned it through overhearing his family’s conversation. He is a smart boy and he is very good at visualizing what the world might look like. He could tell the time, too. When he hears pans and pots cankering, he knew it was time for food again.
Then came one fateful night when he was fifteen. His house caught fire while his family was asleep. He was trapped in the dark room and he was burned, badly. Just when he thought he would be burned alive without a chance to see the world, he fainted.
When he next came to, he was told his family we burned down together with the house. It was precisely at that moment when he realized he could see something other than darkness.
He was fascinated by his vision, and he felt like he would burst with all that he has seen. There was so much to see, the colours in the ward and the shapes of all objects. A real vision he could place a name to, the sun, the bed, the door. Even the people, he realised in stunned silences, they came in all shapes, colours and sizes. Some were BIG like Mrs. Murphy, and some were small like Dr. Whyte. He was overwhelmed by his discovery of sight.
When Dr. Whyte next came to check on him, he brought with him a file and pen to record the boy’s condition. He placed the file and pen beside the boy’s bed, when he left. The boy reached over for the file and pen. Instinctively, he started drawing and drawing on the sheets in the file. He knew he had to create all that he has seen somewhere for fear that he would be locked back in the dark room.
But his fear was unfounded; he was soon allowed to leave the hospital on his own. In this rural side of the country, no one really cared much about anything except where their next meal will be coming from.
He never felt happier, to be able to go about freely from place to place, and to be able to see so much. Everywhere he went, he drew. Anyone who has seen his drawings were in awe by his acute drawing and he like that— to be appreciated by what he has created. Soon, he was seeking for other ways of creating not just what he seeing but what improvements his own mind’s eye had made on any object, even on people.
Despite his achievement, he always kept a low profile and today, he is man, no longer the boy that he was. He creates his art anytime and anywhere he wants and he would do anything to see the result of his creation.
Tonight, an inspiration strikes him, again. And now, he was on his way to the isolated cabin away from town, where he knew a single woman lived alone.
When he reached, the lights in the house were on and the drawling of the voice from the television was going on and on. He creped away, towards the back of the house where he knew he would be facing the television and the woman with her back facing him. He thought it was probably a good thing that the fire which had taken away his parents, had taken away his identity too. For now, though he has recovered, his skin produced no hair and his palm was as smooth and tight as the rest of him. Thus far, the police still had no lead on his few killings in the name of art.
He climbed through the opened window silently. He stood behind her for a long while waiting for her to perhaps acknowledge his existence, but she was oblivion. His patience ran out. He grabbed her face from behind, pinched her nose hard and clamped her mouth shut. He liked them clean, when they stop moving. They were all alike, he mused to himself. When they are in shock, they struggle a little, then die. They rarely put up a good fight for their life, not that he wanted one anyway. All he wanted was to create.
When he felt her go limp after a long while, he jumped over to the other side of the sofa and began to strip her down. Then he bends to scoop her up against his body and laid her down on an empty space beside a huge wall. He went out again to get his bag where all his equipment necessary for this creation are.
He placed the bag beside him near the dead lonely woman. He then took out a large needle; poke a thick thread through the needle’s eye. He pressed one side of the woman’s ear against her face with one hand and started meticulously sewing her ear to her face. He then move on to her next ear and did the same. Not too bad, he thought to himself, it reminded him of Vincent Van Gogh’s picture of himself after he chopped of his ears.
He moved on to sew her eyes shut, then her lips together. Then he pressed her nose together and began sewing them, too. Next he started sewing from the woman’s bottom all the way towards the front. Satisfied that he had sealed all humanly openings, he took out a small knife and slit the woman’s stomach. It was a small but deep cut. He ensured that it was small, so nothing will spill out overly much, but deep enough so he could dip his paint brush into her body.
Again, he mused, the woman’s body was lots of wonderful thing. Firstly, she was an art creation and now, a substitute for a tin of paint.
He dipped his brush into her body, lifted it up causing the flesh to protrude out and more blood to overflow. He brought the brush and painted a few simple words against the huge wall. Then he went back and started sewing back the gash on the woman’s stomach as neatly as he could. He did not like that little flaw, but it cannot be helped.
It was just too bad she could not witness his brilliant art creation, he thought. At least, he knew, she must feel proud to be chosen to represent his creation.
He wiped off the blood which has spilled over the cut, clean up the messy which would otherwise distract his art work and gather all his belongings, which was not much, just a needle, a bundle of thread, a paint brush and a knife, into his bag. He walked out through the front door with the intention of calling the police to inform them of his latest art creation, took one last look at his creation and smiled satisfyingly before he left.
Right upon the floor was his creation with all her openings sealed and painted on the wall were these words, “Nothing comes, nothing goes”.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
I’ll let you whip me, if I misbehave…I am deleting my previous 2 entries because I hate, absolutely hated, how bitchy I sounded, though bitchy— I am.
Things are finally looking good for me, in terms of studies and my life in general. I feel really fortunate to have people I love and care about always by my side when I needed them, but I think its time I learn to stand on my own. It seemed like, right now, I have somehow achieved a semblance of a balance in life, but I am still trying to have a firm hold on this stretch of sanity.
Right now, I am feeling infinitely more comfortable being around my friends and classmates. I guess its all in the attitude of having a good self-esteem and attitude is something that can be learned. And learning the art of balancing a healthy dose of self-confidence and sensitivity towards others is tough, but we all have to do it. =)
That aside, I think I do enjoy being coquettish and going on dates with people, both guys and girls. But I don’t think I would like being committed to a relationship, it’s a bit scary in a sense I guess.
The thing I am fearful of: Losing control.
The things I am going to get over: My fear of losing control, Vishal (this time it’s for real!!!) and Negativity in general.
The things I am going to do more of: Exercise, Flirting with you, Be Happy, Make friends and Smile. =)
PLEASE READ THESE TERMS:
JOANIE
I am pretty much like every other girl. Perhaps not that much. I like thinking for my own. One thing I can't tolerate is for people to tell me they know me. I find that terribly arrogant.
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