When I started this year off, I used to have a list of resolutions, some silly resolutions that don’t really contribute to anything.
Resolutions like, don’t let things get to you, go on runs every day, seize the day everyday.
Things get to me. I didn’t manage to go running every day. Some days are still forgettable.
But I’ve realised, that (it might be foolish to quote sitcoms but heck it) to do things for yourself is bad, and that helping others is good. There is no easier way to be proud and happy of yourself. (Community is great.)
With a flower, with the mustering of courage, with a few words; I get a slowly-formed smile, a word of thanks. Everything bad, wrong and in-between blurs out of focus. Muster the courage to get what you want, rather than waiting and hoping.
Seize it, seize every day, every chance that you can get. Chances are, you’ll come out smiling.
Thank you, roses. Thank you, stage curtains, for giving me a job to do. Thank you, name withheld, for giving that tiny push. Thank you, Dancenight, for being an event to remember. (Maybe it wasn’t.)
I don’t care if this happiness, this optimism, is fleeting or not.
I’m trapped, I realise, in this dimension where nothing ever makes sense any more.
So-called “friends” come up to me to argue, to argue that I’m wrong, so that they get to maintain whatever’s left of their ego.
I feel stranded. Alone at every junction. Distrusted because I couldn’t shut my damn gab. I find myself outside, alone, much more often than I used to be.
I used to not care about any of this… With each passing day, I grow ever-increasingly tired. I haven’t slept well in 2 weeks, and I fear I’ll be tired for even longer.
I’m just so tired. Tired of second-guessing what others’ characters. Tired of how people change. Tired of constantly being the one giving in…
I pass her the sunflower and she gives me a wide grin in return.
My words become lost to the noise of the crowd as she hurries off with a friend of hers.
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My ticket, fresh from her hands, glares at me with lifeless, uniformly arranged letters; black on white.
CENTRE-1, SEAT K17
I glance up at the sparsely populated concert hall. The seats are grand, the ceiling is pretty damn high and the stage looks magnificent. A smile forms from the thin line I made with my mouth, while my eyes scanned the seats for their numbers.
Then I realized.
These are front row seats.
I bought great, bloody front row seats.
Great, bloody, centred front row seats.
I’m 10 seats away from the closest aisle to my right. No student ever buys front row seats? Well, hi there.
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I’ve never really been the kind of person to say no with ease. Saying “what only S$25 seats are left? No way” is an incredibly pretentious thing to do in my book. So I pay, in the graciously generous form of $10 more, from my books. I also paid in the form of coming alone. If you’re going to nitpick, then I suppose being surrounded by old men and aunties can’t really be counted as being “alone”.
My nagging conscience told me to buy flowers for this performance. It’s only right to do so, it said. It’s gonna be cheap anyway, it said. The flowers on display seemed nice. They were chrysanthemums. Nah. I asked for a recommendation. The store owner said there was one sunflower left, at $5.50. Eventually, she persuaded me to purchase the wrapping for $2 and the ribbon for $0.50.
I’d say there was a pattern emerging, but patterns don’t usually look this ugly.
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The concert begins.
I happen to be sitting next to the only person in the entire concert hall that has phlegm in her throat. Fortunately (for her health, really), she manages to keep it under control.
Bows weave side to side, melding with harmony and emitting a distinctly ghostly and haunting tune. The conductor’s arm sweeps emphasize every note the musicians play. Heads bob and backs hunch in unison. Eyes dart from the sheets to the conductor. Drums pump adrenaline through my veins with every beat they make.
The concert ends.
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A queue is set up for an autograph session. I find myself shoved near the front, so I stand behind a kid who doesn’t know what awesomeness he’d been through and before an elderly gentleman. The various conductors and players smile and ask the kid his age, but let their faces fall as they see me, and happily greet the apparently-esteemed music teacher behind me.
Sigh.
Such is the way of life, I think to myself, and started brainstorming of ways to sell off this autographed booklet.
-
I trudge through the streets of Shenton Way, through a foreboding concrete complex, further and further away from Tanjong Pagar.
The road seems desolate enough, with cars littered along its side. Bright, empty, classy skyscrapers stare down at me, casting long shadows along the streets. Oddly, this brings about a sense of calm.
I walk past the bay. Hundreds of people are taking photos of the water’s surface, empty except for the lights reflected off the cityscape.
I start feeling uncomfortable, from all the people holding hands, DSLRs and beer mugs. I quicken my pace.
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I’ve friends who’ve headed conferences, who play instruments and get invited overseas or play for national orchestras, who play in bands…
When’ll it be my turn to mean something?
I’ve been so tired lately.
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I opened up Facebook today, and saw post-concert photos of her with the sunflower.
And suddenly everything feels right again.
No I am not hitting on her or anything it’s just that I was relieved she didn’t throw it away
Did you ever try to fit in with a bunch of people, but find yourself feeling even more left out?
Although it isn’t really the case?
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Did you ever feel like there was a problem and that it made you extremely uncomfortable, although there wasn’t one?
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And do you ever wonder “when’ll it be my turn”?
When you’re waiting at the doctor’s; when your friend gets a girlfriend; when your brother enters NS…
I’m still waiting for my turn, though. For a lot of things.
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Originally I wrote a tonne of stuff, but it didn’t make sense, so the above’s an abridged version.
Catch me when I’m slightly more depressed and I might come up with something,
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Dark of the Matinee – Franz Ferdinand
Take your white finger
Slide the nail under the top and bottom buttons of my blazer
Relax the fraying wool, slacken ties
And I’m not to look at you in the shoe, but the eyes, find the eyes
Find me and follow me through corridors, refectories and files
You must follow me, leave this pshycadelic factory
You will find me in the matinee
The dark of the matinee
It’s better in the matinee
The dark of the matinee is mine
Yes it’s mine
Time every journey to bump into you, accidentally
I charm you and tell you of the boys I hate
All the girls I hate
All the words I hate
All the clothes I hate
How I’ll never be anything I hate
You smile, mention something that you like
Oh how you’d have a happy life if you did the things you like
Find me and follow me through corridors, refectories and files
You must follow, leave this academic factory
You will find me in the matinee
The dark of the matinee
It’s better in the matinee
The dark of the matinee is mine
Yes it’s mine
So I’m on BBC2 now, telling Terry Wogan how I made it and
What I made is unclear now, but his deference is and his laughter is
My words and smile are so easy now
Yes, It’s easy now
Yes, It’s easy now
Find me and follow me through corridors, refectories and files
You must follow, leave this pshycadelic factory
You will find me in the matinee
The dark of the matinee
It’s better in the matinee
The dark of the matinee
Find me and follow me through corridors, refectories and files
You must follow, leave this psychadelic factory
You’ll find me in the matinee
The dark of the matinee
Better in the matinee
The dark of the matinee is mine
Yes it’s mine
I’m having major, and I mean MAJOR mood swings. Like, if you charted it on a graph it’d be like a tangent graph from negative half-pi to positive half-pi, only that positive means that I’m happy and negative means the world’s gonna blow.
One moment I’d be laughing and the next I’d be so depressed and down and like the world’s been cast upon my shoulders. It’s pathetic in the sense that because I’m a dude I’m not allowed to do that. One moment I’m pissed and the next I’m forgiving and smiling.
Blocks are in 2 days, I’m pretty much effed for blocks, and this isn’t helping at ALL. I need some fresh air and something to punch, but those will take my time off from studying which is a completely justifiable excuse for not exercising. (89.4 now, I’ve seen some improvement)
Also the fact that my self-esteem’s been in the dumps doesn’t help either.
Like “woah did I tell you that I mean I only told my closest friends” BAM RIGHT IN THE GUT. First, you told me “that thing” at the start of the year and second, I’ve known you rather closely for the past 5 years, and wait what is this I’m unimportant? Thanks.
Wow. Jeez. Damn.
I have to think carefully before I say anything because things like that have the potential to ram a guy’s ego into the gutter.
Not like I’ve done anything to offend him. But I’ve learnt something, so thanks, anon.
Goddamnit the only past I have to think of now is my PAST RESULTS and my PAST TOPICS FOR PHYSICS, COMPUTING, MATHS AND ECONS.
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This song makes me a bit happy, because it’s all groovy. Also the people dancing are wearing cool art stuff so I’m like artsy for watching it.
I suppose the video cams are there to represent the points of view for the different girls. At the start, their movements are robotic, somewhat “military” in the sense that they’re unfeeling and don’t really care how they make a boy feel. When the scene turns crimson and the video cams start panning across their legs, it’s depicting how men often only view women as sexual objects. When the colourful robes come on -this is somewhat tricky- their movements seem much more elegant which is trying to tell us that there’s more than one dimension to this matter, that girls do have a wide range of feelings and that boys never care how girls feel?
Wow…
When you’re analysing music videos at midnight… something tells me it’s time to sleep.
EDIT: Okay I just read that they played the percussion using human bones
what, why, paul, why
No You Girls – Franz Ferdinand
Oh, kiss me
Lick your cigarette then kiss me
Kiss me where your eye won’t meet me
Meet me where your mind won’t kiss me
Lick your eyes and mine and then hit me
Hit me with your eyes so sweetly
Oh, you know, you know, you know that, yes, I love
I mean I’d love to get to know you
Do you never wonder?
No, no, no, no
You girls never know, oh, no, you girls will never know
No, you girls never know how you make a boy feel
You girls never know, oh, no, you girls will never know
No, you girls never know how you make a boy feel
How you make a boy
Oh, kiss me
Lick your cigarette and then kiss me
Kiss me where your eye won’t meet me
Meet me where your eye won’t lick me
Lick your mind and mine so briefly
Oh, you know, you know you’re so sweetly
Oh, you know, you know, I know that I love you
I mean I, I mean I need to love
Do you never wonder?
No, no, no, no
You girls never know, oh, no, you girls will never know
No, you girls never know how you make a boy feel
You girls never know, oh, no, you girls will never know
No, you girls never know how you make a boy feel
How you make a boy feel, how you make a boy
Sometimes I say stupid things that I think
Well, I mean, I, sometimes I think the stupidest things
Because I never wonder how the girl feels
Oh, how the girl feels
No, you boys never care, oh, no, you boys will never care
No, you boys never care, how the girl feels
You boys never care, you dirty boys will never care
No, you boys never care, how the girl feels
Oh, how the girl feels, oh, how the girl feels
Today, I headed down to Queenstown Library. Studying was a secondary goal, of course.
When I first arrived at the MRT platform, I was confused. for the old buildings on the left had been demolished, leaving nothing behind but grass. Grass atop extremely bumpy soil, but still grass nonetheless.
Just a wide, open field.
I had this slight sense of loss, one that was comparable to the sense of loss I felt when Mr. Long, the elderly man I was in charge of looking after, passed away. I’m kind of a dick for comparing a bunch of old buildings to a real, live person, but you can’t force me to mourn for someone I’ve never been talking to. I kind of hate myself for not being depressed, but only because it’s morally right I hate myself so.
Change is pretty intriguing, isn’t it? One day, you could be walking through a hawker centre with the scents and smells of a thousand dishes, and the next day it’s just grass and soil and everything below.
One day, a friend of yours could be bustling and happy lark, and a nervous wreck the next. A hilarious joker one day, and a humourless statue the next.
Yet again, things stay the same. Nothing’s really changed, it’s just that one or two qualities. Queenstown is still bloody Queenstown, it’s still where your childhood was at. That friend’s still your friend, just needs a little more support or a little more time on his own, that’s all.
Sometimes I think I’m the only one who notices these changes. But I’m still here, attending to these changed things. In a way, nothing’s different.
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Today, I travelled to Dhoby Ghaut where I decided to walk to Esplanade. In my short journey through the city, many, many familiar places linked together at once; Orchard is next to Dhoby Ghaut, Dhoby Ghaut is beside SMU, SMU’s near the Art Museum, the Art Museum’s in Bugis, Bugis is around City Hall, and before you know it, you’re at Marina Square.
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Today, I ate at JustAcia.
When I arrived, finger poised while saying an unfamiliar phrase “Table for… one.” Aaand I was seated right between two couples. Nothing new here.
I rarely eat alone, but when I do, I get very self-conscious. I only got to finish 3 ice-creams!
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Tonight, I scampered to the roof of the Esplanade,.
I looked up towards the sky, and saw the stars for the first time. I’ve been looking at the skies for a long time now. And do you know why I haven’t ever seen the stars before?
The stars were always there, and my assumptions made me blind to the light they gave, the ever-twinkling sparks in the distance. My assumptions were that they could never be seen because of all the lights around. But they were always there to appreciate. Because I was dumb and foolish and egocentric and all I ever cared about was me.
Or maybe I’ve never really looked up before. There is this nightly light show at the Marina Bay Sands, and it’s mesmerising, the way a desk lamp seems to enrapture a moth. But I’ve never looked at the stars. Never really noticed the light they provided. Never really treasured what I had, maybe.
Also, there was a band which was really neat before they got into the really jazzy stuff. Then my ears died.
