I think I've been doing too many letters lately. What is my fixation with them? The last time, it was an angry monologue, the time before that, I think it was poetry?

OH NOES don't you see the poems, ripping forth in all their conglomerate glory of unwanted words and randomly pasted imagery? Sounds like a recipe for BAD POETRY! (Which isn't that hard to do, contrary to popular belief)

YES CHIN YEE Flowers for Almergon (Not referring to book now so not sure of spelling) is awesome! Just like the novella I am now reading, The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka! Next, maybe I shall read Amerika by the same author.

So let me continue my puerile, pointless online way with 'wtf?', because I can do so and I have nothing better to do at 1 am in the morning because I am procrastinating on my poem, which has to be submitted next year for the Eye on the World publication. Hopefully I can rush it out last minute and STILL get published. My fingers are crossed, and so are my toes, and my dendrites and my legs.

Dearest wtf?,

It seems as though you are unable to refrain from putting in a swear word in every single sentence ejected from your brain. Honestly, vilification isn't absolutely necessary. You may notice I am insulting you in perfectly polite terms. (A feat probably impossible for you, but I shall be munificent enough to ignore that, because I am kindly and compassionate and Santa is watching. Oh yeah, santa, while you're at it, I would very much like a laptop, a car and a diamond-encrusted cellphone. It's not much, right?

The syntax...do you even know what syntax is? Oh well, I claim artistic licence as a developing writer under the MOE's CAP programme, so whatever. It's meant to be there, tripping you up like words trying to escape in bubbles from your cerebrum. Like how some ancient culture, the women made sure to make mistakes in their weaving so that their Goddess would not be offended by them trying to attain perfection, like she is. It's human, it reflects humanity, just like how any good piece of Literature should. (e.g. 1984, Wuthering Heights, Metamorphosis, Mockingbird...the list goes on and on)

...And what the heck, may I enquire, would I do with a sparkling boyfriend? Perfectly useless unless there happened to be a blackout, and we are trying to locate each other, upon which, at that very moment, light somehow streaks in and reflects off him, making him look like a disco ball. Or maybe some sort of emergency signal, like flashing police lights? What would I do with a boyfriend that looks like cheap lipsticks that taste of plastics?

However, you seem to be perfectly insistent that your boyfriend sparkles, so I would recommend that, for the sake of your health, you see a
a)therapist
b) the eye specialist
c) Ask a very good friend to slap you out of your delusion/illusion. Yes, the sweet fantasies of naive young love.

Drools? That's a good sign. He's drooling at my impeccable taste in fashion, my style and my beauty. Of course. *sneers arrogantly* Or maybe it's a Pavlov dog reaction... AWESOME! MY VERY OWN TEST SUBJECT! I've always wanted to try out the Chinese Water Torture...

P.S. Your syntax is worse. You need to improve your spelling. I recommend those Primary 5 close passage books where they make errors and ask you to correct them in the boxes.



Okay I apologise because I have to end this letter and resume my much more entertaining MSN conversation with a fellow poet about transvesite Greek Gods, PMSing Poseidons and Gods and their alter egoes. Tata!

I have decided to stop being a lazy bum and start reading stories published the old-fashioned way, thus ensuring that whatever I read is of decent quality. Of course, not all published books are good, some are downright terrible.

I think my new favourite story from A sense of Belonging anthology is 'Flowers for Algernon'. Certainly, writing from the perspective of an intellectually inferior man is difficult, because it creates very little room for self-expression and description. Being a descriptive writer, I have never considered writing from this perspective before. I prefer to allude to things and hint at them, instead of writing straight on and giving the facts.

To be honest, I never quite liked 'dumb' people -- I am a cynical bitch, and don't take too kindly towards glorified, simplistic delineations of the fucked up world around us. It is extremely frustrating to talk to them, much less read their stuff.

But the author managed to pull it off. I find that the interaction between Charlie and the other characters, as well as his diary, is very introspective and allows for a lot of emotional detail and characterisation to allow the reader to sympathise with Charlie. Structurally speaking, the sentences themselves are very simple, even if the content is difficult, abstruse, almost. I had to slow down and re-read some sentences a few times to get it (which is why I take virtually all of forever to finish reading my thin, paperback classics. All the thee's and thy's and archaic vocabulary and imagery makes my head spin).

Diary entries are not new or 'fresh' ideas to tell the story, but I felt that the author really made the most use out of that particular medium and twisted it to form something fresh and original. I know, I'm still trying to wrap my head around the whole 'make something old and boring new and exciting' concept. The fact that I take eons to think and then arduously type out, letter by letter that infamous merlion poem just shows that my creativity meter is reaching the pits of hell right now. It can't go any lower, I think. Even if Dante's nine levels of Hell exists (but I think it's more of a circular hell).

Why am I discussing hells and venues of eternal damnation all of a sudden?
I have no idea.

I need to get writing, pronto. It's not healthy to keep poetry floating around in your head late at night when you are trying to sleep. I get all these random sentences suddenly popping up in my head, and they are good pieces of poetry, but if I forget to write them down they just dissipate into morning dust.

A pity.

Anyway, it's really amazing how much we have progressed since our first words as an infant, right? Right now we can compose letters and use punctuation and grammar naturally when it took us many painful hours sitting on the hard plastic chairs until our bums were sore in primary school. I think I have forgotten most of the grammatical terms -- what the heck is a 'predicate'?

Maybe I should get one of those primary school assessment books for grammar and start doing them. The ones with cartoon characters and speech bubbles, and awkward, bulbous noses. I think the publisher is Casco or something like that. It couldn't be Cisco -- that's a security company with ugly navy blue uniforms, I think.

It's be such a long time since I have ranted, because nowadays I don't get pissed off that much. Except yesterday, when I finally capitulated to Inner Bimbo Self (Oh shut up you, stop giggling you insane, inane animal!) and purchased a copy of Seventeen. What can I say? Mindless frivolity is veeeeerry relaxing.

It wasn't until I've gotten home and got a good look at the cover page did I recognise the mousy features and the open-mouthed smile of our favourite Twilight star. Then I noticed, across the top, emblazoned in neon blue, something about New Moon posters and bookmarks.

Shit. Just my luck.

The magazine was chock-full of advertorials that bored my ass off and a lovely, 4-page interview with Kristen Stewart and Prat. Oh, did I mistype that? It was completely intentional, I assure you. I suppose the head office of Seventeen is indeed going to have a very merry Christmas with their stockings full of cash, considering how many companies are paying them to insert page after page after page of laborious adverts.

Wonderful. A magazine with all the stars and products I hate. Kristen Stewart, Prats and Felicia Chin all in one day. No wonder I ate very little last night -- just one serving of turkey. Against my wishes, curiosity trapped the bloody feline that is my curious mind and I found myself reading the interview. At least it provided fodder for some internal, shrewish laughter.

When asked what attracted he to the script and Bella, Kristen answered that Bella was 'honest' and 'self-assured'. Psh. I think Prats also mentioned something along the lines of Edward being the guy 'everybody loves' and having an attractive personality.

Psh. I wonder what their addresses are? Those poor, deprived dears need a real book!

1) Twilight characters are two-dimensional, and their personality, or lack thereof, is perfectly evident through humdrum dialogue and long, draggy introductions.
2) The plot? What plot? Oh, you mean the whole I-see-the-emo-guy-OMIGOSH-he's-so-hot-I-want-to-jump-him and MMMM-she-smells-delish-I-am-in-love-with-her thing, and the little, hurriedly-inserted pathetic semblance of a plot with our idiotic protagonist skipping to James (who just died, and the climax was just nada cos she fainted?)
3)This goes against every single thing I was taught in CAP about prose (though it might be a little bit of a stretch to call Twilight prose
4)New Moon wasn't any better, because Bella spent 300+ pages moaning and angsting and god that was a waste of my cash though very good for my ego
5) The characters regressed, and their personality became invisibility cloaks.
6) Bella is not self-assured. She is flighty, insecure (needing Edward to do this and do that, needing Edward's validation of what she wants to do in her life), arrogant (the whole bit on calling her father Charlie and the snotty attitude she takes towards her human friends, abandoning them only to come crawling back when Eddikins left her, and looking down at the education system), aimless, clingy, whiny, deceitful, immature...the list can go on and on.
7) The characters aren't portrayed as having a flaw. They are, in Stephenie's world, perfect characters. They don't grow up at the end of the story, or learn anything, or progress physically or mentally through the whole experience. Through interactions with other characters and the plot, a character is supposed to learn something, come out wiser, different, changed. Something is supposed to propel these characters and enable them to change. Throughout the novel, the characters don't develop at all. It's like reading a fangirl's wet dream, where the characters are there to express the hormonal teenager's sexual fantasies.
8) I don't love Edward. Enough said.
9) Okay, maybe the series is supposed to have some moral value (like not having sex before marriage, etc.) But it's expressed in the wrong way or not adequately enough. While I admire and understand Stephenie's belief in her stories and her determination to find a publisher and get published despite numerous rejections, I still feel that the series leaves something to be desired.
10) Last note: I think once I had a nightmare about going into the future and examining the literature of the past. To my horror I saw Twilight sitting in one of the piles of the post-modernism era lit. I think I screamed the place down and tried to burn the book, I don't remember but I do remember waking up crying. My pillow was wet, and I hope it was from the tears and not drool.

Oh yes I have checked my tagboard (lying dormant for centuries, gathering faerie dust) and saw one very angry anon who had the misfortune of being named 'wtf?'. I had the feeling that maybe momm and daddy dearest didn't really expect his/her birth into the world and tried to get rid of it, but it's not nice to attack someone personally *clears throat pointedly* so I shall stop making conjectures on the birth circumstances and upbringing of said person.

Dear wtf?,

No, contrary to what you believe, I am most certainly not six. However, if I happen to be six, I surmise that I must have superior intelligence compared to the average six-year-old's intelligence worldwide, which may or may not include yours. I think this is perfectly evident through the syntax and diction of my entries, because a six-year-old may just be grasping the concept of grammar and proper punctuation. Besides, I highly doubt a six-year old could make angry elucidation on channel 8 dramas and how they portray women in society.

I do take perverse and childish pleasure in coding the right click and watching people try to click through them one by one. Yes it is jejune, but utterly delightful, especially when people with nothing better to do tag angrily on my tagboard. Thank you for your comment though, it made me all the more determined NOT to remove the right click code.

Besides, what were you trying to do with the right click, may I ask?

If it hinders your viewing pleasure, I deeply apologise, but I believe you know the keyboard shortcuts? No? Well, too bad.

Thank you for your comment and have a very pleasant day. I hope it snows over there whereever you are. Enjoy it, because global warming will soon take it away, as surely as that ambrosial scowl will corrugate itself permenantly on your face if you keep up the grouchiness.

With utmost sincerity and affability,

the authoress.

Friggin' hell, I am pissed off again.

1) The channel 8 drama that shows at 7 pisses me off, to the point where the theme song is a psychological trigger for murderous intent. I would have preferred more libreal programmes that are informative / of the sociopolitical satire, unfortunately the producers decide to cater to the tastebuds of Singapoire's aging population, what with the lack of babies and abandoned grandparents. Yes, 'home' is indeed a very versatile theme, and I am disappointed that scriptwriters always choose to interpret it in a very narrowminded way (same old same old wife vs. husband and blah blah blah). Well, this is a Singaporean drama, and I am afraid but not at all surprised to find that it sucks.

The more you dwell on how important home is and other asian values are, the more these asian values repel. Try going for the mystique and the glam, a la hollywood.

Anyway, in the drama, it appears as if a woman's lifelong ambition and goal is to gave as many babies as her tired c*nt will allow (sorry for foul language there I think this is worse than 'fuck'), because 'a woman's place is in her house and home, and that is fulfillment'. Or so every episode proclaims.

I am a feminist, and I campaign for FEMALE RIGHTS. What sort of backward thinking is this? Family, family, family. Yes, family is important, but do you seriously want to have no life other than catering and laundering and washing and drying for generation after generation of brats? What are women, relegated to the duty of childrearing, no more than conquests and nurturer of children? Honestly, everytime I pay even the slightest attention to the show (because m parents absolutely REFUSE to watch channel U instead) I get pissed off. The implicit message of the television series seem to be geared towards greek or america in the 1950's thinking.

(And we all know how greek women have no place in society, and that they are unimportant because their bodies don't manufacture sperm which supplies the 'soul' of children while mother provide 'matter' and they are dirty because of menstrual blood and they are not allowed of the house throughout their lives, simply passed on from father to husband)

AND WHAT THE FUCK IS THE FIXATION WITH MARRIAGE AND KIDS?

It is as if there is no other interests women want to discuss. No hobbies, no politics, no jobs. Oh no, they are only interested in cat fighting and one-upping one another, and vapid subjects like shopping and children while the big, macho men discuss business and how to control their wives.

WTFWTFWTFWTFWTF

Whoever wrote this script and forced me to watch episode after agonising episode (partly my parent's faults because I couldn't get them to change channels) I hope that is you are male, you will be kicked by a raging harpy in the balls with a stiletto at least 6 inches high. Multiple times, until you bleed.

If you are a woman, god, you need to get a life or GET CREATIVE. PLEASE, BECAUSE MY EYES ARE BLEEDING WORSE THAN WHEN I READ THE SEC ONE'S WORK. At least they are creative (garystus who survive bomb explosions and summon rain are entertaining and exasperating at the same time.) Even Shakespeare who is a misogynistic pig could entertain and discuss several other issues central to society and hman nature.

2)
I am again forced to look forward to the pleasure of my Chinese tutor's company tomorrow morning.

Yes, I know I am an ungrateful bitch, but you can't blame me when the chinese tutor (from china, can't speak a word of English) treats me like a retard who is convinced her own shit is edible.

At this rate, if all people from China treat me like an idiot (all the people from china that I know, anyway) I shall develop a sort of hatred to China citizens. What was that intolerance called again?

Ah, yes. Xenophobia. Such a prejudice is distressingly unhealthy, especially to be because I generally don't like to dislike a person or culture, and I hate prejudices and bias.

But honestly. There is so much I can handle before I attribute these people (who coincidentally happen to be citizens of china) a negative trait and associate them with something fetid like some vaginal disease. But I don't hate people from China now, because I know it is wrong and there are some genuinely nice and humble people there, like my deskmate. I'm saying that I might develop some sort of xenophobia and start cursing China. I'm afraid that might happen to me.

Anyway, due to my inability to adequately express myself in Chinese, I am often frustrated in my effort to communicate with her. The problem is that I know what she is saying and the answer to the question, it's jsut that I don't know how to phrase it in Chinese. To be honest, what might be genuinely helpful is someone well versed in both Chinese and English so she knows what I am trying to say and corrects my errors, explaining them in English so I understand better. The more she forces me to speak Chinese, and the more I can't express myself in it, the more I abhor the language, and couldn't wait till the cursed language is dead like Latin.

To be honest I think Latin would be easier to master as compared to Chinese.

Fuck those personal response questions! I am sure I would get full marks if I answer everything in English and not Chinese. The way my tuition sessions are set, is like trying to teach a student Latin in Latin when the student does not understand even a single particle of Latin.

So I would be all, 'I know what you are saying, but I don't know how the fuck to say it' and she'll be frustrated with my moroseness and in the end we'll end up pissing each other off. Hardly productive if you ask me.

I hate how she degrades my literary skills. I understand my Literature and can identify various devices in a Chinese passage, but the problem is that my Chinese is too weak to defend my choice. Take the example of the previous lesson. The passage was about some sort of willow tree forest and the author was exhalting its gracefulness and strength, and when I wrote my answer down, it disagreed with the answer key. The question was, What positive traits does the willow tree possess that is admirable? She says my answer is not petinent because I answered that "The willow tree....". She said that this type of question will require us to see things from a person's view, how human qualities are bestowed upon a non- homo sapiens objects, and we are to answer that "The human qualities are...." not talk about the effin willow tree.

My answer was structured so that it encompasses the human qualities the willow tree REPRESENTS. It should be correct right?

I couldn't defend myself, so I had to listen to her tirade, livid with fury because goddamnit, I AM A FUCKEN LITERATURE STUDENT AND I GET A1 FOR EVERY SINGLE FRIGGING LIT EXAMINATION AND THE LITERARY DEVICE USED IS PERSONIFICATION. BUT I CAN'T EXPRESS MYSELF IN CHINESE. CURSE YOU, YOU DAMNABLE LANGUAGE! TO HEURES YOU GO! CURSE YOU!

Unfortunately I wear my emotions on my sleeve and she must have caught my dissatisfied expression because she lectured me on how I kept quiet. I had to calm myself down so as not to abuse her verbally in English, because I like to play fair.

(Victory tastes sweeter when your opponent knows he is beaten and is smart enough to appreciate your superiority.)

I was irate, I simmered through every single Chinese lesson. Writing a letter to her in English just to spite her would be a waste of my efforts because she cannot understand my genius. Honestly, I just want to slap her sometimes with my copy of A Midsummer Night's Dream. Or prefarably, purposely-on-accidentally leave all my English prose and poetry lying about when she visits. Maybe my lit examination papers.

Which brings me to my next point.

3) Outsiders who beat you in every single subject including your niche subject.

Yes, I am still very sore over it, and if I do not get to express this in writing I might just go commit a felony or something. I am pretty sure murder is a felony. But I'm a minor, so technically I should be forgiven and my criminal record erased when I'm an adult right?

The temptation is too great.

Please, people who know what -or to be more specific, who- I am talking about. If you know anyone who fits the description, please make sure all harmful objects are kept out of my hands because I don't know what I may do in a fit of passion.

A fitting ending would involve him/her being cut open along the arteries, and me dipping a stick in the blood to write a nice, long suicide poem. I can already see the scarlet of blood...the metallic smell and the cries of agony...

*jerks out of violent fantasy*

I can emphatise with how the Americans feel when migrants 'steal' their jobs in the workforce. I can TOTALLY emphatise. The frustration of not being good enough, booted out in your own country by these filth who steal your rice bowl and live high lives (hold shit I am thinking like Draco Malfoy...all I need is to refer to them as 'mudbloods' and the elite Singaporeans as 'purebloods' before turning truly prat-tish).

Let us drown our sorrows in NEWater, because this is Singapore and I am underaged.

Ah. I feel so damn tired today, despite doing nothing but having to read publicly my poem.

I see a few arched eyebrows...in my imagination, because I know now one reads this defunct blog anyway save Chin Yee, so HI CHIN YEE! *Waves madly*

Yes, people, Chanel is proud to announce that she was taken back into the reading list at Singapore Writer's Festival! They decided to give me another chance cos their first email went into the 'Junk' folder!

I never thought I would say this, considering how many times it screwed up on me and refused to let me open my attachments, but I LOVE YOU, WINDOWS HOTMAIL, even if I end up utilizing my non-exhaustive expletive vocabulary on you when you screw up (:

It was super exciting and fun. I was a little apprehensive at first, mainly because a) the poem was a complete accident b) I still think it is terrible c) I'm a bad public speaker, and I tend to be too soft, even with a microphone and finally d) I had no idea what to wear to this type of occasion? Smart casual? Well, pyjamas and my finest Victoria Secret (not that I have any) are definitely ruled out.

Anyway, I settled on a one-piece hoodie thing with a miniskirt and black Japanese thigh-high socks and my loyal boots. Chanel is going to kick some ass! Just to be safe, I made sure to print out my poem in EXTRA LARGE FONT, because I tend to skip over words when nervous. Happens in Chinese oral examinations too.

It was frigging awesome because the Arts House (where the festival was located), and the Chamber (where my reading and the Merlion debate was to be held) is actually the old parliament house. I got to sit on the seat of the then-authority for Nation Development, right beside Lee Kuan Yew? Is that not awesome? I'm sitting right beside the exact place Lee Kuan Yew sat in ancient Parliament debates and goodness knows what they do inside that old but magnificent room...

They had two chalendiers, for prudence's sake! A FRIGGING HUGE CHALENDIER SUSPENDED FROM THE HIGH CEILING!

I, being a lover of elizabethean-era furniture and other rococo-era stuff, eyed at it avariciously for a while. Anyway, the seats on my side (where I sat together with 8 other readers, I was the youngest there) all had these weird dial thingies on them. I suppose it must've been some sort of translation device, because there were pointers, each labelled 'English', 'Malay' and 'Chinese'. Of course, my overactive imagination charitably conjectured that these might be electric chairs. I indulged in this fantasy for a moment, imagining several bloody scenes with aqua blue static and certain teachers' faces twiste in pain, before I dismissed it.

Because I was a contributor, I received two copies of the anthology for my trouble. Being young and hopelessly naive, I must say I felt a huge sense of accomplishment because this was my first time getting published. To see my name and my work in the book gave me satisfaction.

Those who doubted me, EAT YOUR HEART OUT. I am officially a poet!

*prances around in lalaland*

I was nervous when it came to my turn to read, but the people sitting beside me were real nice about it, complimenting my poem. Still I doubt it is an actual compliment to my writing ability and my skill, as opposed to a white lie to get me to work harder and be spurred on to improve. Well, nevertheless, it did work.

Xinyi (not the one from CCHMS 3RP, but my best friend) came over to support me (well, okay, I did ask her to come over after all). For once, someone finally agreed that the retarded merlion poem I did was substandard. Except that these were the exact words she said. She merely said that "Yes, I agree, this is not your best work so far."

I knew I was best friends with her for a reason.

The debate that ensued after the readings were done was hilarious, and not like the seriousness and boring legal jargon that I had expected. The motion for the debate already provokes much potential for humour: The merlion is maligned. Somehow the proposition deemed it fit to call themselves the 'Government'. Anyway, my point is, the clash between the two houses were comical. What struck me as most memorable were discussions on certain anatomical parts of the Merlion ("It has pores and hair...just invisible to the human eye" and "The merlion is an accurate symbol for Singaporeans. Big hair, big mouth and no balls.") Then somehow it has lead to spectaculations about what actually gave birth to such a freak of nature -- that a lion and a mermaid, caught in a situation with no condoms and nowhere visible to put them on, ended up in a merlion.

Darn. I wasn't so intellectually stimulated or entertained in such a while. I came away with better pronunciation. Sadly this lasted until I took my shower after dinner, and I am relegated to a Singaporean accent right now.

By the way, the book was absolutely hideous. I heard one of the poets there comment that it looked like some sort of street directory, with the plain photograph and white words. Me thinks that it is more suitable as a postcard. No wonder Singaporean literature is not very popular with mainstream culture: I think that the boring, dull and sometimes bad-till-your-eyes-bleed designing of cover pages just don't appeal to anyone save nerds with nothing better to do. Sure, it's meaningful and all, but it's not pretty, and if it's not pretty, it won't attract audiences. The thing with Singaporean publishers is that their book covers tend to be extremely unattractive (from the viewpoint of a easily distracted teen with a short attention span, A.K.A. me), and thus I would be disinclined to pick them up. Heck, I've never heard of Singaporean writers till last year, where I consente dto read a book by Catherine Lim, but didn't really like her writing style.

Perhaps, instead of pop art and photographs that would look better in an issue of Forbes, Business Times or even Reader's Digest, maybe a plainer close up of an object with a plain, one-colour background is suitable. Look at the Shopaholic series and (dare I say it?) Twilight series. Even if the writing is deplorable, at least one thing they've gotten right is the advertising. Too much detail on a photo is unappealing, period.

I am really exhausted now. Been hooked to 'Fireflies' by Owl City lately, even if I do abhor flies. I am still scarred from my experience at Kota Tinggi, the huge mass of winged, buzzing objects who made it their sole mission in life to bug the hell out of us (notice the pun?).