I'm feeling very low now.

Two of my best friends made me tear on two separate occasions today. In a way that I totally did not expect.

And you know what? I can't even blog about it because I can't let it out of the bag yet.

This sucks. Big-time.

I hate it that I'm such a good-for-nothing, and let these things get to me so easily. I just hate it that I'm so freaking emotional, sentimental and all that emo crap. Enough! Stop it! You're not a kid anymore! Grow up!

I'm supposed to stick to my grand masterplan of self-detachment, to master the ultimate skill of emotional self-control and practise just one and one emotion only - indifference.

I'm supposed to have locked my heart and not let *anyone* get to me again. Ever. Whatever happened to that?

If there's ever anything that I really learnt about life and growing up, it's that at the end of the day, it's just so hard to find one person who will be there and stick by your side no matter what.

Because life is all about separation. Only when.

I will be alright tomorrow.

I got promoted.

Clap clap hooray hooray clap clap.

I guess it's supposed to be a joyous event but the truth is, I wasn't the least bit exhilarated when it happened. It was more like, yah thanks *looks around not knowing what to do*, hum hum dum-di-dum.

And then I felt the need to tell everybody who has been more or less concerned about how I've been getting along at work, and that includes the jc clan, the ahs gals, the ex, the uni bunch, my parents, and then before long, it seemed like too many people to tell, too much trouble.

Congrats, congrats.

Treat, treat, treat.

Too.much.trouble.

These days, I'm trying to put on my best behaviour at work.

It's like the lull before a storm, the calm before the fall. If the ending is what I expected it to be, I want to leave on a good note. No bad behaviour.

So I may just be that extra bit helpful at work these days. Make full use of it. It won't last long.


***


And for the first time, I'm gonna lodge a formal complaint against a cab driver. Hell, against anyone, for that matter.

He caught me at a bad time, when I'm dying to get home after a long day, I've had enough of travelling and it's that time of the month so my back is hurting me, which means I have back pain + PMS = dangerous woman please stay clear

And the most important thing is, I really do think he was in the wrong.

And because I have had enough of inequity in a world that is seriously on its way to eternal damnation (me included), I just have to make that complaint, ugly Singaporean or not, we'll all burn in hell together, allelujah.

'Cos you know what? I'm sick of all this shit. I really am.

It was just crazy, I caught 3 movies in 2 days. Capote, Walk The Line and The Constant Gardener, the last 2 of which I'm very glad to have caught before their run in the cinemas ended.

Capote was slow and draggy, I seriously advise against you watching it unless you're OK with slow, draggy arty-farty films and if you're a pretty big fan of Philip Seymour Hoffman.

By the way, on a sidenote, he will also be starring in the upcoming Mission Impossible 3.

I truly enjoyed Walk The Line. Maybe because I find dark, brooding characters like Joaquin Phoenix's attractive. I like it that someone has had a past, and maybe because deep down, I can relate to the messed-up character that is Johnny Cash. I like it that he is so perfectly imperfect. And I can't think of a better character to portray this than Joaquin Phoenix (even Johnny Depp would not have cut such a fine figure for this role), him with his slurred speech and crooked smile. And they both sing so damn fine, him and Reese Witherspoon.

I thought The Constant Gardener a mild disappointment. It was so signaturely Fernando Meirelles in the colour and cinematography, as well as the social themes involved (bordering on poverty and/or morality issues), but yet, it did not strike me as strongly nor as beautifully as his previous film, City of God. The colours seem that bit weaker, the cuts more hurried, less involvement on the part of the native African actors in the picture, less engaging a storyline, and less impressive a lead actor in Ralph Fiennes. In short, the impact of the movie was lost on me. That is not to say that it is not a film worth watching though. On its own, minus whatever pre-conceived notions and expectations that you may have, it is still a rather commendable effort to explore the theme of corporate corruption on disadvantaged third-world nations. But it just didn't really do it for me (maybe I was too tired to focus on the film, I do not know).

I still have 3 more films to catch - V for Vendetta, Transamerica and Crash.

I am hoping something will blow me away. None of it has yet.

I finally caught Munich.

Honestly, I wasn't impressed. Although I do think that Eric Bana gave a commendable performance. But I'm not particularly impressed with Steven Spielberg's direction, just like in War of the Worlds. I think his movies always turn out extremely watchable because he has great material to work with in the first place, an opportunity that does not come easily to other lesser known directors. But he always fails to give me that extra oopmh, that extra kick that tells me this film is great because the director's vision is perfectly executed. Oh well.

And I'm happy now because I've got someone to watch Capote with. On Tuesday.

I know what I'm going to say next sounds crazy but it's just so hard to find someone suitable to catch a movie with these days,especially when it comes to obscure, alternative films like Capote, for instance. Everyone may be dying to catch Mission Impossible 3 and X-Men 3, but ask the same people to watch Crash or V for Vendetta and it's like hitting your head against a brickwall.

I've found out that not everyone likes to watch intense, heavy-duty films, those that require a fair amount of brainwork (read: concentration) and are far from being labelled as "entertaining". I never used to have this problem because my ex watched every single movie I wanted to watch with me for years, even when we were no longer together. He may not share the same insights as me but at least, I'm not dragging a bull by its horns to go watch these movies with me.

And then I thought I had found the perfect partner when it comes to sharing personal insights on movies with - someone who knows even more than I do about the technicalities behind each scene in Tim Burton's Corpse Bride, who is as eager as me to catch The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and who will never say something along the lines of "Lord of the Rings was way better", but instead "I'm glad that it does not look like it's gonna be another LOTR", someone who understands my point of view when I say that Star Wars Episode 2 didn't do it for me because it was "neither here nor there", and how we both relished the last episode so much more.

I thought I had found that perfect someone. Guess maybe I never did, because you were never mine to begin with.

And now I think I have finally woken up from this reverie.

The urge to simply leave is stronger than ever.

I'm hoping to clinch a new job which requires me to work overseas, I'll pack my bags and leave in a flash so long as the place in question isn't a shithole like Hong Kong.

Now, I've half a mind to wait for my bonus, do the ultimatum and just escape from it all here. I'll go somewhere where there're friends, maybe somewhere like Sydney, and just hole up with them, leeching off their apartment for as long as I can. Who knows how long I can do this for, a month, maybe two?

I can't say why, but there's just this incredible urge to get out of wherever I am, and that includes my job, my home, even the people I know and have always known my whole life. I want out of everything.

Now, if only money isn't such an issue.

I hate rich kids sometimes, I really do.

One day I'll fly away
Leave all this to yesterday
Why live life from dream to dream?
And dread the day when dreaming ends

-- Satine, Moulin Rouge


One day I'll be able to say this.

Thank you for curing me of my ridiculous obsession with love.

In the real world, there is none like Christian. And I am no Satine.

I have the weirdest conversations with my mum over the phone sometimes.

This time, she thinks I puked in the lift last night, am suffering from gastric, and I dunno what else. I am thinking she secretly suspects I'm suffering from bulimia, but am just too polite to say it.

There must be something wrong with a relationship that takes place more over the phone than in person, when both people are living under the same roof.

I do feel bad. However nonchalant I appear at times.

I feel bad for not talking to her enough sometimes. Women need alot of attention, especially mothers. And being a woman, I do know that.


***


And I've decided that I really really do not like MOS. Even though it's being greatly raved about and the numbers keep heading there.

It's always so overcrowded (especially in Smoove), the people look funny and the music's not exactly exciting. And I don't get what's the craze over Pure. So what if the room's totally white? People who go there simply look like they're in bed at their own homes, all zonked out and washed out. Go home and sleep if you want to, stop hogging the sofas and cushions.

And we met quite alot of strange people there last night. It was hilarious, but I felt so sorry for my male colleague who had to endure the girl who could stare us down with her dagger look. Well, what to do, it's like this, the perils of being a good-looking dude (I can so sympathize). Hiak hiak.

Speaking of good-lookers, there were ALOT of those in Phuture on Wed nite. Both guys and girls. For once, I was seriously impressed. We ended up clubbing till the lights were out, and even made some new friends.

But, despite all this, I know I'm never going to fall in love with clubbing. Sure, it's a great diversion, and a great way to meet new people (especially if you're a girl 'cos the guys do all the work), and occasionally, it's a great way to relax after a shit-week of work, but at the end of the day, it's just that - clubbing.

Once the lights are up and the alcohol's done it's work, it's back to reality.

We give up many times because letting go seems the right thing to do

--- Atomic Symphony


If you were me, would you let go or would you hold on?

They say love is patient, love is kind. Love perseveres.

So if it's true love, I wouldn't let go. I'll wait, even if it makes no sense for me to wait, even if he doesn't want me to wait, even if he doesn't know I'm waiting. Simply because I have this conviction within me, because I need to know for myself what I'm capable of doing with this love; simply because this was what I wanted most out of this life - to experience love for what it truly is. And maybe, love means waiting. And patience. Holding out and holding on.

Or is it letting go that truly defines love? Some say that if you love someone, you'll let the person go, as long as he's happy. Yes, maybe that means I'll let him go physically, but this love, it'll stay with me, we'll be entwined within each other and I'll never let it go. Because by letting go, am I belittling this powerful thing that I have within me? Am I belittling this love, and what it's capable of giving?

Jesus taught me that love means sacrifice. That's the only lesson I choose to believe up till today.

I still have not decided.

He gave me a CD.

Although I know full well that he was broke, and had insisted that he burned me a copy instead.

But being the usual stubborn him, he conveniently bought a new piece and presented it to me on Monday, like he promised.

I didn't have the heart to tell him that I don't have additional speakers attached to my PC, so the volume's really soft and I have to strain my ears each time I listen to any audio CD that he gives me. I also could not bring myself to tell him that I have never owned a discman, nor a CD player.

And after all that he has done, deep inside of me, I know that it's really not a big deal, he's merely trying his best to be a good friend, and doing what he thinks may help me.

And sometimes, sometimes, during the rare times when I'm lucid and my head rules over my heart, I get the nagging feeling at the back of my mind that it's better things were like this between us after all -- pseudo-close friends, nothing more.

Because if things were different, I know I would always be the caregiver in the relationship. Always. And maybe, that's just not the best thing for me.