i hate cleaning up and doing everyone's fucking dirty shit.

am going to going to fucking ignore everyone right now because talking to anyone, i mean ANYONE makes me to punch their lights out.

I'm already starting to feel the effects of intense boredem riding down my throat. I've no idea how long I can handle the hours of monotony. I shall start looking for jobs online, or maybe go around town and see if any ice cream (or gelato, maybe?) stores need help. Although I would want to do something productive, like, I don't know, school related. Such jobs are hard to get, considering I barely have the necessary qualifications.

I spent the past 2 nights watching 2 old movies. One is called Carrie, set in what I believe to be the 80s or 90s and its about this high school girl, played by Sissy Spacek, whom everyone ostracizes and think she's a nerd and a nobody, with her uncool clothes and lack of socialization skills and coolness. But she then she gets asked to the high school prom by the cutest in school and all the popular kids think he went nuts - but the truth is he genuinely did like her and all - and thought he had crossed over to the dark side. So they decided to play a prank on her and when it came for the time to vote for prom king and queen, they rigged the votes and when she and her dat got onto the stage to get their crown, they poured pig blood on her. Only the whole school - except a teacher - didn't know she has super powers, so she used her superpowers to lock the school gym, so people are running around in tuxedoes and vintage prom dresses and screaming and running around like headless chickens, and set the whole place on fire and killed everyone in the school.

It was kinda freaky watching a skinny girl with big blue eyes and strawberry blonde her get drenched on blood, and suddenly enter this state of hypnotism, and her eyes get all even bigger than they already are and it looks as though she's possessed with blood dripping from her hair and face. She looked like the alien-woman from Species. And if I remember correctly, its about this alien taking the form of a sexy woman and wants to mate with every male se meets and so this bunch of scientists try to stop her.

Only Species is more scary, because there are aliens involved with blood spurting everywhere and spines being ripped out (ala Predator). I find it weird that I get freaked out by such freak movies, yet I still watch them.

Then I also watched the Baby Sitters Club, adapted from the series that I so loved as a kid, about a group of girls who form a baby-sitting club, starring Rachel Leigh Cook. Its funny how I thought the girls were GORGEOUS. Does nothing for my self esteem here.

Am currently watch The Matrix Reloaded as I'm typing this, and I still cannot understand why Keanu Reeves looks so good. He's probably the alien the Scientologists have been locating for their entire lives, along with other impossibly gorgeous people like Nicole Kidman and Amanda Seyfried.

KEANU REEVES IS HOT.

Oh and I went for Fredy's Street Jazz, though it didn't feel like jazz today. It felt like hip hop and the routine was insanely fast, though I managed to catch it but still. My movements aren't as extended as I want them to be. Train. Some. More. Ksh and I bought tea from Gong Cha after dance and I mistakenly bought some Plum Green Tea which tasted like CRAP. Maybe because I asked for 0% sugar.

Ewwness.

Watching the Matrix makes me realize how action movies are one of my vices. Like Speed, S.W.A.T, Black Hawk Down, The Matrix, Enemy of the State and Behind Enemy Lines (:

If a guy wants to take me on a date, action movies will do the trick thank you very much.

The mother is cranky tonight. I think her flu and cough have clouded her judgments and messed up the natural release of hormones.

Back to the Matrix Reloaded! I want to be Neo's Trinity! Though I think it'd be weird to make love to ba guy with holes up and down his back. Freaky.

I know that the only thing stopping me is myself, but right now I'm really REALLY afriad of going to Gin's classes.

The steps are hard and I KNOW I can catch it, but sometimes I need more time to catch it, but whatever. And I hate making a fool of myself in front of the camera, because whenever I see dance videos of any classes and I'm innit, I look bad, like real bad.

=/

I'd like to know if its physiologically possible to die from intense boredom.

I accidentally chanced upon a French gore film while flippping channels on she was downing a whole packet of blood.

And I felt the bile rise up into my throat and threw up right there and then.

I am in love.

And so it ends. After months of hagglingg and preparation, tears and tantrums and unexpected twists and turns, "we" have finally submitted our report. A lead-up of 10,000 words from 4 months worth of hard work. And being holed up in my room on Saturday and Sunday and leaving only for bathroom breaks, meals and to attend to Bobby, I'll be damned if I ever get a 9-5 desk job. Plus, the knowledege that we were barely receiving any help from others (if you know what I mean) almost sent me in a frenzied panic attack.

Thankfully SY was there to calm my near fractured nerves. I was just about to have a coronary, feeling a sense of adrenaline upon finishing one portion of the report, only to be hit by the realization that there are other portions to be done. Okay, we stayed up til nearly 2am to do this, instant messaging and calling and laughing and complaining. It HURTS to stay up til so late and staring at nothing but the laptop screen til your eyes bleed dry from morning til the next morning and having nothing to eat in the house, but porridge and fish. I didn't even EAT chocolate because I was so worked up.

So don't be telling me that we're getting anything less than an A for this report, because I sacrificed feel-good endorphins-releasing CHOCOLATE, okay.

All I can say is, if I were to experience this in college, I'd throw myself onto the train tracks, like Leonardo DiCaprio and Marion Cottilard's characaters in Inception and then I'll wake up, thankful that it was all just a dream and rejoice. Well, except Marion didn't because she's on crack and who'd want to live in a big-ass place with NO ONE to talk to, but yourself and your husband? You can't even repopulate the place, because your kids can't commit incest.

But you know what I mean.

But so yeah, if you want to get technical about it, SY and I finished the report. Thank God she was there because I would throw myself into the sea before you can say "Deadline". One report in 2 days is too much for anyone to handle.

So we went off for Pepper Lunch at Plaza Sing to celebrate our 2 day stunt yesterday, followed by Black Swan and yoghurt. Black Swan's awesome. I think it portrays the real side of human suffering and pain, as opposed to fairy tales where the only conundrum is whether the cute guy will ask you to the prom, or whether he even likes you to begin with, or what outfit will attract his attention, or getting attacked by lame vampires and choosing between a vampire and a werewolf (like hello why would I want mutant babies?! Half human half werewolf? What is this, Remus Lupin on crack? Or half human half vampire, ala Kate Beckinsale and Scott Speedman in Underworld - not that that would be a disappointment, because they're both sexy - but whatever)

So bitches? Please.

Anyway, Black Swan - for me - is about wanting and working toward your dream so much that you eventually lose yourself. Honestly Natalie Portman DESERVES this Oscar. Darren Aronofsky did an amazing job with this film.

Thank God I watched this with SY instead of my family, what with all the sexual scenes and all. I'll be so embarrasssed! Just last night, I was watching Speed again and my dad came in to watch the ending. That was when Keanu and Sandra were cuffed to the train's pole and the train goes crashing through the construction site and they made it out alive into the street so Keanu goes something like:

"I should warn you. I heard from someone that relationships based on intense experiences hardly work out."

Then Sandra goes:

"We'll have to base it on sex then."

Then I sucked in my breath and shot a gaze at my dad, who didn't even flinch. Who knows what he's thinking. Still, its highly embarrassing to talk about sex, let alone watch a movie with sexual references with your parents.

A few years ago, my brother asked my mum where we came from, and my mum just shoved him off to my dad, so my dad brought him to the study room and all I heard was "Okay, Bryan, people come from these two cells, called the egg and ths sperm". Then I was out of there.

I did not wish to hear my dad talk of anything about a penis or testicles, or ovaries or menstruation. Because I might just wet myself laughing. I mean, he can't even pronounce menstruation right! He pronounces it "menes-sure-ra-tion" Or maybe I should have listened, then I would know what not to say to my own child when he/she asks where babies come from.

Less than 2 weeks til ultimate boredom, I mean, freedom. I so can wait. I mean, cannot wait.

^_^

Why is everything not going the way its supposed to?

Mistakes and absence of punctuality drive me nuts.

To top it off, my flu is back, like seriously, didn't I just banish you few days ago? What gives? And the stupid migraine.

I'm ignoring them now. The migraine and flu I mean, because there is so much frickin work to do and I don't have the time to sit my ass on my bed and watch school work go sliding down the toilet.

Been having insomnia lately. Waking up at 2am, and tossing and turning til between 5-6am and managing to fall asleep, only to have to wake up in like 3 or 4 hours because of last minute experiments, thanks to some fangled software that neither of us can intepret.

This is why I don't trust tecchnology. Sooner or later, they just backfire in your ass.

Pfft. Am tired right now, but I'm not going to sleep, least it screws my circadian rhthym.

Honestly, its so hard to emphatize with others in the same situation as I am, when my brain is constantly clouded by flu medication, migraine pills, constant anxiety attacks and lack of deep sleep. Plus, I find it hard to express my feelings to others (thanks mum).

I think I may have bipolar disorder because of this.

I can't take this anymore.































I'm re-watching Speed. Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock never fail to disappoint me in this fantabulous movie.

Is it wrong, to want to be the only one?

List of Most Boring Movies I Have Watched (and switched off halfway throughout the movie)

1.The Last Song
2. Madagascar 2
3. Twilight: New Moon
4. Twilight: Eclipse
5. Queen of the Damned
6. 500 Days of Summer
7 . Mr Bean's Holiday
8. New York Minute
9. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
10. Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince
11. anything with Hayden Christensen (except Star Wars)
12. The Da Vinci Code




Awesomest Movies of All Time (most of which I have watched repeatedly)

- Speed
- Pirates of the Caribbean
- Lord of the Rings
- Practical Magic
- Bride Wars
- Enemy of the State
- Body of Lies
- She's the Man
- Sex & The City 2
- Mean Girls
- White Chicks
- Hot Chick
- Juno
- The Princess & The Frog
- Bad Boys II
- Shrek 2
- King Kong-
- G.I Joe: Rise of the Cobra
- Kung Fu Panda
- The Incredibles
- Spirited Away
- Transformers
- The Matrix
- Constantine
- Bruce & Evan Almighty
- Mr and Mrs. Smith
- Shark Tale
- Sky Captain & The World of Tomorrow
- Changeling

As you might have guessed, my boredom has escalated to a completly different level

spasmodicthoughts

I will never understand, why such outfits are accepted in high fashion. He looks like a clown on speed.

Now this is what I'm talking about baby. Nice tailored suits befitting a gentleman. Refined, polished and subtle yet delicate.

It took me a while to understand why I was seeing so many people carrying roses all over the place and why there were so many couples springing out of nowhere. I thought Valentine's Day was originally meant to mark the death of some French viscount?

I came back from walking Bobby and spotted this guy outside my neighbour's house holding this bunch of flowers. I'm guessing he's off to surprise his girlfriend, who happens to be a neighbour whom I barely know because they moved in only in January. But still, it looks kinda sweet.

But I'm not fussed about being single, unlike some girls bawling their eyes out, wondering why no men want them.

The brusie on my knee has morphed into an angry red patch. Its like one small beige concentric cirlce - marking the point where I got down onto my knee the most during yesterday's routine - slapped onto the middle of another red concentric circle. It looks fascinating to me. Plus, there is a corn-like blister at the side of my baby toe and it hurts whenever I wear my shoes, and an abrasion on the other side of the same foot. My guess is that I rubbed it too hard on the side of the elliptical machine's pedal and the skin just peeled off.

I re-watched S.W.A.T while on the elliptical machine a while ago and why is that both the good AND the bad guys can be hot at the same time, with tight arms and stradddling an AK and look hot at the same time? Except for some of the police officers here that patrol the MRT stations, dresing head to toe in blue, walking in pairs or groups of 4 and walking around the place with their combat boots and baton and looking all buff and cool-looking. But I don't find most of them cool, because many of those that I see look like they just graduated from puberty.

Why is that I'm jumping from one topic to another irrelevant topic all the time? From men's fashion, to Valentine's Day to bruises to men in uniform.

Spent most of the whole day alternating between re-watching old movies, interim report touch-ups, photocopying papers, browsing fashion blogs (whatever happened to tumblr?!) and reading Cleo Australia.

If I could invent whatever I wanted, I'd invent a magic bubble bath, so that when I step in the bath, I'd emerge a supermodel. Taller, thinner, smarter with nicer awesomer hair, longer legs and nails, bigger deeper set eyes and a fuller pout.

I don't even care about what Swifty Wifty says about being lucky about being different from others and appreciating what we have because if we keep dreaming then we run out of things to dream.

I'm only human. So bite me.

I hate holidays sometimes.

Allegra's class was different today. Instead of the traditional MTV-esque street jazz, she did a contemporary piece to Pink's "Fuckin Perfect"

And I was somewhat nervous because:

1. Some of my TPDE alumni are there and they are good. Like seriously good. And here I am competing with them, but whatever.

2. I've never done a full contemporary routine before in my life.

But I just went with the flow and I think overall I did pretty all right, though I messed up the timing toward the end of the routine. I realized that when M is there, I do badly, but when NC is there, I do all right. I think its the difference in the persona that they radiate. I expect that it's the pressure to want to do well in front of them both and for the instructor, as well as for the others to see.

I happened to chance upon one of the videos for one of the classes that I took, and i fucking SUCKED. It was a HH class, but the SJ one was a little better and its so depressing actually. But then again, I love SJ more than HH actually, but its not an excuse. A dancer has to be versatile and all rounded and be able to do as many different genres as she/he possibly can.

My right knee is covered with red marks from the routine's floorwork. But I don't care. It proves that I did the floorwork right and actually got onto the floor and did the routine properly. HUZZAH.

My mum just bought a huge ass bottle of Nutella. And oh my god, its the feedback E gave for Interim Report 2. WHY ARE THERE SO MANY RED BOXES?! Pffft.

I can't wait for August. Or more specifically April or May, because that's when I find out if NUS/NTU accepts me. I'm hoping to enter NUS because, well, its NUS and the Psych program is better than NTU. Plus, they have a Spanish extra-curricular programme that is pretty interesting. I've yet to submit my supporting documents though. Imma go grab envelopes tomorrow and send it off tomorrow.

I need a desktop calender. Why is there NO Criminal Minds Calender, someone please explain to me, being sold here in Singapore? And we're supposed to be a globalized nation. Pffft. I mean hello, how am I going mark important dates like assignment deadlines and dates and when my period comes and ends?!

I'm going to Borders on Monday. So much for going out tomorrow. The unintelligent sister said she'd bring Bobby down in the morning at 7am, seeing as how I dragged my ass out of bed at 7am to bring him down. But it seems she's gone to the enemy camp. So much for being mature. And the whole dinner affair at Auntie S' house, which, I have no idea whether is happening or not, because my mum has the car and won't be back til Monday, so how are we going to get to her house?

Movies that I Want to Watch:

1. Black Swan.
2. Pirates of the Caribbean 4
3. Transformers 3
4. Due Date
5. Sherlock Holmes 2 (Dr. Watson - Jude Law - is so charming. Hot with a British accent!)

The last movie that I watched at the cinema was The Princess & The Frog. Last December. Not that I'm complaining. I'm just stating a fact. There should be a CSI movie. Or another sequel to Sex and the City. I mean, its no surprise that Twilight got nominated for Razzie Awards, like hello, I fell asleep on the plane watching it. Tacky dialogue and poor development of the story. Not cool. But Sex & The City 2 got nominated for Razzie Awards? Its the best chick show since Mean Girls! And there's a Mean Girls 2 coming out sometime, probably not in Singapore, but in the States, but I have a feeling its going to....just fizzle. No Lindsay and Queen Bee Regina George? She MADE that movie.

Some sequels are just crap, and the producers should have just kept it at the first film and leave it to make monumental fame and success and history. For instance. Iron Man, Madagascar, Bring It On, Shrek (except for Shrek 2, but that was THE BEST), the Disney classics like Mulan and The Little Mermaid.

Others had awesome sequels, such as The Matrix, with The Matrix Reloaded and the Matrix Revolution, the Lord of the Rings trilogy, Pirates of the Caribbean sequels, some Harry Potter movies, Resident Evil, Aliens (the first 4) & Rush Hour.

Oh well.

Ooh just got a text from the mother. She has bought my ever favourite cake, New York Cheesecake. HUZZAH.

Oh crud, back to Interim Report 2.

That's Eden, a close friend of Kesh and though its only the first verse of the song, Eden really plays the piano really well.

EDEN, I KNOW THE LAST TIME I SAW YOU WAS AT YOUR CHURCH'S CHRISTMAS SERVICE, BUT YOU PLAY THE PIANO AS WELL AS YOU BREAK DANCE. AWESOME (:

I am so friggin tired.

Tired, in the sense that my body is aching. I can't turn my neck without that somewhat satisfying cracking sound, nor can I bend down without experiencing that tight pulling sensation in my upper back. Why is it that I find today's beginner Reggae much harder than Intermediate HH and SJ?

I think its the groove? Reggae groove doesn't exactly come naturally for me and today is like my second time I'm going for an open class so apparently there were some Reggae techniques which was completly new to me. According to Fredy, if you aren't comfortable with the moves, it'll show itself in the way you move and all. And that's so true. Reggae has so much groove that Ive never experienced with Gin, Fredy, Allegra or Zaihar before. But I didn't care because I'm there to learn. I'm just going to keep attending classes and learn. But still, this week's routine didn't come as smoothly for me as it did for me the previous lesson. Shoot.

Oh and despite my efforts to avoid meeting my unintelligent sister's boyfriend at all costs yesterday, it turns out i did not come home late enough. I arrived home at ten and I just looked down at the doormat and see these pair of black dress shoes and I was half bent on running away, but I was really tired and wanted to sit down and like, eat dinner because I class started at 7.30pm. So I just stepped into the house, and found my mama, said unintelligent sister and the Man, coming out of my room. MY ROOM, PEOPLE. He's entered my private area, my place of peace, my palace of sanctuary, my Zen palace and now I have to detoxify my entire room. So what I did was that I immediately turned the air-cleaner on after he left to purify the air and remove all nasally undetected fumes that might potentialy cancel out the feng shui in my room and bring disturbed peace upon my personal environment (not that I believe in feng shui, but whatever.)

So we locked eyes on each other and it was so awkward. He looked at me and gave me this quick glance from my head to my toe and not-so-discreetly turned to my unintelligent sister and whispered something in ear & started stroking her hair.

Bitch.

So in an act of defiance and self preservation if you may, I flipped my head to one side and pretended I was unloading my stuff onto the table so that my hair fell on one side of my head for all to see. To see the real curls unlike the fake ones that my sister had to obtain because she doesn't have curly hair I do.

Okay fine, wavy hair, but at least there are curls thank you very much. Curls that are pure in nature, pure as the driven snow, untouched by chemicals and fuzzy curlers. So I imagine the view he must have gotten when he just turned back to me again and instead of seeing a face, he was looking at a beautiful, flawless, angelic waterfall of black beautiful curls cascading down the side of my face and onto my shoulders. I picture him looking shell shocked, slack-jawed, looking at my waterfall of natural curls, then whipping his head back to see my sister's thin, slack hair and saying how fine he thought my hair was.

But he didn't. But still. I showed them.

So my mum was all "Oh, that's my second girl" and started looking at what I bought and so I gave her my bag of almonds and I decided I had to go introduce myself just to seem polite. So I was all "Hi, I'm Serene" and shook his clammy hand. And he mumbled something back, only I couldn't hear it, because either he didn't know how to respond, has Tourette's Syndrome, Irritable Mouth Syndrome, or that his response was drowned out by that thick heavy accent of his.

So I got to experience, first hand, the difficulty at having to comprehend the "elegance" of his accent. He saw the almonds that my mum was clutching and was all "You know, there is the difference between that almonds and the real almonds" And in my mind, I was thinking "Real almonds? Dude, what the hell are you saying? It says "Natural Almonds" on the friggin bag. How unreal can they be?!"

How dare he insult my almonds? Then we went on to say something like "Real ones, have those leaves" Then he started gesticulating with his fingers, attempting to draw leaves, only it came out like the was some conductor conducting a band or something. "Then the non-real ones, bad leaves. You should try"

Uh-huh.

You could totally tell my mother was trying to make sense of his words. Her face was slightly strained and there was this awkward pause after he ended, because I think she wasn't sure when he had ended his sentence, and just went "Oh, okay." And walked away with me to kitchen while I tripped myself laughing. But not before looking at the smug look on my sister's face. It is SO awkward to see my sister slinging her arms around his body. I mean. In my opinion, he's not good looking. He's not even Northern Indian, whom are Indians that are very fair and look more European than Indian. He's either Southern or East Indian because he has dark skin and I try, but fail, to stop myself from associating him with those nasty gross foreign workers who take the same bus as me home from Serangoon Station. Sleezy, cunning eyes and body odour. Dr Tan is wrong when he said I should try to empathize with them because they have starving families back home. And you know what, I totally understand their position, and its not their fault that they have cunning eyes or smell. Wait, that's not an excuse because body odour is a major turn off. Its that. I'm a girl. You place a guy with one of them foreign workers in a life and probably nothing bad will happen, but if you put a girl in a lift with one of them, chances of bad things happening automatically rise. And I'm so no theorizing. Its the truth. Who knows how sex-starved these people are and they might just suddenly crave for Southeast Asian meat and suddenly pounce on an unsuspecting female in a deserted environment?

Thank goodness I listen to my dad.

Okay, plus, he's not lean. He's round. And he has hair that's a little longer than the average guy's hair cut. And he slicked back his hair with gel. And he's slightly taller than my sister, which upon my guesstimation, makes him between 1.7m to 1.75m. Which really surprised me because I know that both my sister and I are attracted to the Northern Indian-European looking Indian men because they are definitely genetically beautiful. Like the ones we see in Bollywood music videos. Shirtless, tall, can dance, light brown hair, light eyes, tight abs. And she decides to bring one home who's the EXACT opposite?

I'll never understand my sister. But then again, we operate on different intelligence and wavelength, so its not that I'll never understand my sister even if I want to, its that I'll never understand her because we're programmed differently, and also because I don't even want to see the world in her perspective, thank you very much.

Then to my disgust, when my mum's back was turned - who, in my opinion lost her good sense to want to give him a red packet, I mean is it even legit that a mother gives her daughter's boyfriendMONEY on the first visit home? She's not even Chinese! - she slapped his butt.

And I saw it. With my own eyes. She slid her hand down his torso and gave his round behind a light slap. My sister. Slapped had slapped butt cheeks.

I am going to be in therapy for the rest of my life for this. Couldn't you ijust see me in my therapist's office:

"Hi Serene, so what brings you here?"

"Well, I saw my unintelligent sister slap a round man's butt and I was folding the laundry a few days before and discovered that my mother wears sexier underwear than I do. Oh and she wears tampons and I've never worn a tampon in my life even though I'm supposed to be the one experimenting with pads and tampons. And my mother goes clubbing, even though I'm the one who is supposed to have adolescent-induced raging hormones"

Surely this can create some vast psychological affects upon my fragile 20 year old psyche, of which is already being challenged by the lack of self esteem and self cutting, recently of which involved carving the word "fat" above her elbow with a rusty safety pin?

I'm so not ready for self actualization.

Plus, I almost dropped dead when my sister asked me "Will you come to my wedding in India?" And I was like "What...?"And she said something like how they had discussed marriage and that he's one and how she didn't want a Chinese wedding. So the realistic, dream-wrecker me went "But you guys have been together for less than a year. What if you break up?"

"I'm not going to break up with him."

"Yeah, but you'll never know, Miss I Can Tell the Friggin Future"

"We won't break up."

"Whatever, but aren't you too young to get married?"

"I've friends who got married at 20 and they're very mature. And I'm mature"

"Oh really? Well exsqueeze me while I go vomit."

My sister thinks she mature? I almost barfed down my shirt. She doesn't even know what contraceptives are. I bet she's never heard of the term self-actualization. She doesn't even take the iniitiative to clean up the house or go grocery shopping for the family, and always whines about how my mother supposedly "owes" her money when she has to use her own allowace to buy milk and bread for the household and tells my mum "You owe me 10 bucks." when I don't even do that because I'm grateful for even being given an allowance.

Amd she thinks she's mature? She's got a lotta nerve.

It's not that I'm mean. Its just that I don't like nor trust him one bit, because my sister sourced him from an online dating site, you know ones that go "Single and Lonely? You'll find your perfect match here, guaranteed." So you can see why my dad distrusts him. Plus, he's not really trustful of Indians, except our 2 of our Indian neighbours (one who's son is a medical student in NUS and is actually really polite, and the other is a married couple, one who is a lawyer and the other who is a law professor at NUS or something, and my dad loves having conversations with him)

My dad informed me "Serene. You can marry whoever you want to. It's okay if he's not Chinese, because I myself didn't marry a Chinese woman. You can marry whoever you want for all I care, as long as you promise me that he's not Indian, and he won't make you wear a headscarf. Otherwise, I'll disown you and cut you out of my will."

Wow Daddy have some cough syrup.

Love can make people do strange things, that's all I have to say right now.

Meet Rip, my new boy toy, of who lasted for a record 53 seconds until I found out he was married.

KISS ME TOO!

I swear, I would just BURST with happiness, and my life would be COMPLETE!

I'm going to say that America's Next Top Model has just hit the top of my list of my most fave reality television shows. Tyra may be a supermodel (correction: was, a supermodel), but she'll be this awesome chick in the fashion industry because she ain't got no diva attitude that turns people off.

It's amazing how incredibly unintelligent some of these girls can become. Bar fights, cat fights (which I come to enjoy watching) & diva drama acts (some of which are completely pussy, thank you very much) make me think that some of these American models are just full of crass. Like I totally get if you want to be yourself, but thinking you're the best and questioning the actions of the judges is just plain stuck-up.

The best is still Tyra because she's so real. She's such an inspiration and always gives these girls a one-on-one sharing session and just letting them talk to her about their problems, and how she motivates them and uses herself as an example of how to be the best of yourself.

Plus, she's got the T and the A totally down pat.

Ooh and the other judge is Janice Dickinson. Strict and fierce and no-nonsense. When you're bad, she'll tell you you're back instead of "You need to work harder". GO JANICE. She's the harshest critic on the judging panel but I'm loving it sister. Too bad Tyra removed from from the panel

AND HERE IS NIGEL BARKER.

Hot, sexy fashion photographer with a posh British accent.

He can have me pose in any way he wants any day.

I yearn for the day to get out of this town and be on my own somewhere and start anew. Just leave everything behind and go someplace where I can do something awesome and where I'm accepted for who and what I am, inside and out. A fresh start. Shedding my past and starting anew.

New life. New home. New friends. A new me. A different me and a happier me.

I wish for the day that all my wildest and most fantabulous dreams will come true. And not one of you will be in it.

Completed my online applications for NUS and NTU. Now I'm left with the application fee and application for residential dorms at NUS. Can't decided if I want to try and apply for the USP thing. If I get in (that is, IF i manage to get into NUS which might be a far cry, thank you very much), I could go overseas (STATES!) and study for a semester!

The USP brochure was showing pictures of the USP students and their testimonials about how they went to Yale and wherever they applied to and had a clangalanging time there and I want to be in their shoes too! (US size 8.5 thank you very much)

Or I could either apply for regular residential living and then go for the overseas internship thingy? Either way, I can only apply for USP or regular residential living @ Tembusu. According to YI, I would be extremely lucky if I get a dorm there @ NUS.

Imma look at the brochures again and make a decision tonight. Relatives coming over for lunch later and I'm still feeling sick. Why won't my cough go away? I feel stripped of my energy and need to get better by Wednesday. Fredy's SJ!

Once MP is done, Imma go get a PTJ to fill the long boring days at home.

Okay back to ANTM. How can Tyra ask Janice to quit her role as an ANTM judge?! I'm utterly moritified. She's fiesty and full of no-nonsense.

Okay so I lied. I regressed. I have taken my body art to a complete new level, such that I’ve got a word on the back of my forearm this time. It’s all my relatives' fault, and my stupid sister. At each house we went to, my relatives would comment on skinny my dumbass sister is “Wendy, you’re so skinny!” And I’m sitting there like: “Oh yeah. Awesome stuff.”

I wore a dress that I bought from Dorothy Perkins the year before but couldn't find an occasion to wear it. Plus, I thought my mum would say how weird it would be. The dress had slits at each sleeve so my shoulders are exposed. And the dress is knee length too because I’m too short to pull off a maxi dress right now. But I completely forgot about the fact that I have butt ugly large muscular calves. So when my aunt pictures of all her nieces taken, I looked like a freak. A pretty dress does not go with man calves. So I came out looking like a fat drag queen. It’s bad enough that I look like a man, considering I inherited my father’s cheena-looking facial features.

I have the small eyes, the bulbous nose, the misaligned jaw and the flat footedness. As if I’m not enough of a freak already, God had to come all down and make me obese. And to top it off, all the relatives were all “Wendy, you’re so slim!” And I just sat there thinking how I wish I had never come. So I hid in the kitchen of my grandfather’s house while everybody was mingling over the dining table. And I sat with my grandfather’s domestic helper and she said she thought I was much prettier than my sister and that made me feel better and I gave her a hug. But I still felt disgusted by how I lucked out in the looks department. No boy wants a girl with mannish facial features and shoulders and calves. I predict that I would perish a spinster.

So the two days of visiting were filled with comments about how skinny my sister looked and I feel mortified at myself. I’ve been fat all my life and been trying to lose weight since I was probably 17 and I’m still looking the same? Something has got to give!

So yesterday when I came back from visiting, my dad left for a company function and my stupid sister went for a “friend’s birthday party”, I decided to go and run. And I ran for twenty minutes and felt so uncomfortable. I felt as if my clothes were sticking to me and exposing my whole fat torso. That, or my shoes were too small, or my shirt was too small or my bra was too tight (Nike sport bras are a BITCH) or my arms were bouncing too much. Something was making me feel so bloody uncomfortable. I went home and just suddenly screamed at no one at particular, because no one was in the house and just screamed and screamed and screamed and ignored Bobby’s incessant barking the entire time and I started slapping at myself. My arms, my face, my stomach, my thighs and punched my calves real hard because that’s the body part I abhor the most. And I started hurting, but I didn’t want to stop right there. Nuh uh.

So I went to kitchen and started overturning the cabinet and unearthed a safety pin and I carved the word “fat” just above my elbow. When I was done, I just sat back and the sofa and closed my eyes and let the tears come all the way through, and just breathed in and out really deep. Like I was meditating or something and letting the physical pain course through my entire system.

I’m not psychotic. Nor am I crazy or have a mental disorder, classifiable or not. I’m just hurting. Deep inside. My desire for perfectionism has driven me to such extreme steps that its making me feel mentally exhausted. Even as I’m writing, or rather, typing this down, I’m crying, because I hurt so much, but people who don’t go through what I’m going through cannot understand, because they don’t know how much effort it takes to try to ignore all these mental taunts that you throw at yourself, and how much effort it requires to get back on your feet and get back at the game again, and time and time again, be thrown to the ground again and having to go through the same process.

It is just crap. Honestly, because I’m so tired. I am changing and trying and that’s so much better than constantly whining about it and sitting your ass on the chair all day and doing nothing. I know I’m not pretty and that can’t change, because I’m born looking like a man. And because I’m genetic

Okay so I lied. I regressed. I have taken my body art to a complete new level, such that I’ve got a word on the back of my forearm this time. It’s all my relative’s fault, and my stupid sister. At each house we went to, my relatives would comment on our skinny mu sister is “Wendy, you’re so skinny!” And I’m sitting there like: “Oh yeah. Awesome stuff.”

I wore a dress that I bought from Dorothy Perkins the year before but couldn’t find an occasion to wear it. Plus, I thought my mum would say how weird it would be. The dress had slits at each sleeve so my shoulders are exposed. And the dress is knee length too because I’m too short to pull off a maxi dress right now. But I completely forgot about the fact that I have butt ugly large muscular calves. So when my aunt pictures of all her nieces taken, I looked like a freak. A pretty dress does not go with man calves. So I came out looking like a fat drag queen. It’s bad enough that I look like a man, considering I inherited my father’s cheena-looking facial features.

I have the small eyes, the bulbous nose, the misaligned jaw and the flat footedness. As if I’m not enough of a freak already, God had to come all down and make me obese. And to top it off, all the relatives were all “Wendy, you’re so slim!” And I just sat there thinking how I wish I had never come. So I hid in the kitchen of my grandfather’s house while everybody was mingling over the dining table. And I sat with my grandfather’s domestic helper and she said she thought I was much prettier than my sister and that made me feel better and I gave her a hug. But I still felt disgusted by how I lucked out in the looks department. No boy wants a girl with mannish facial features and shoulders and calves. I predict that I would perish a spinster.

So the two days of visiting were filled with comments about how skinny my sister looked and I feel mortified at myself. I’ve been fat all my life and been trying to lose weight since I was probably 17 and I’m still looking the same? Something has got to give!

So yesterday when I came back from visiting, my dad left for a company function and my stupid sister went for a “friend’s birthday party”, I decided to go and run. And I ran for twenty minutes and felt so uncomfortable. I felt as if my clothes were sticking to me and exposing my whole fat torso. That, or my shoes were too small, or my shirt was too tight or my arms were bouncing too much. Something was making me feel so bloody uncomfortable. I went home and just suddenly screamed at no one at particular, because no one was in the house and just screamed and screamed and screamed and ignored Bobby’s incessant barking the entire time and I started slapping at myself. My arms, my face, my stomach, my thighs and punched my calves read lard because that’s the body part I hate the most. And I started hurting, but I didn’t want to stop.

So I went to kitchen and started overturning the cabinet and unearthed a safety pin and I carved the word “fat” just above my elbow. When I was done, I just sat back and the sofa and closed my eyes and let the tears come all the way through, and just breathed in and out really deep. Like I was meditating or something and letting the physical pain course through my entire system.

I’m not psychotic. Nor am I crazy or have a mental disorder, classifiable or not. I’m just hurting. Deep inside. My desire for perfectionism has driven me to such extreme steps that its making me feel mentally exhausted. Even as I’m writing, or rather, typing this down, I’m crying, because I hurt so much, but people who don’t go through what I’m going through cannot understand, because they don’t know how much effort it takes to try to ignore all these mental taunts that you throw at yourself, and how much effort it requires to get back on your feet and get back at the game again, and time and time again, be thrown to the ground again and having to go through the same process.

It is just crap. Honestly, because I’m so tired. I am changing and trying and that’s so much better than constantly whining about it and sitting your ass on the chair all day and doing nothing. I know I’m not pretty and that can’t change, because I’m born looking like a man. And because I’m genetically female, that makes me a freak.

No wonder I display over-compensatory behavior in my school work.
ally female, that makes me a freak.

No wonder I display over-compensatory behavior in my school work.

I fucking hate my fucking calves.

So it seems that I would start keeping a food diary tomorrow onwards. Here's to my goal of losing 5kg! Aaaargh.

I was fuming at the fact that so many food stores are closed on New Year's Eve. Was a little hungry for I was in the Lab for quite a long while and wanted to grab a bun and have it on the way home, but all the stores I walked past were closed! PEOPLE. It's ONLY New Year's Eve. Its not like its the actual New Year hello! Pffft.

I bet this is a sign of workaholism.

Am feeling sleepy from the heavy lunch I had just now. Aaaaargh. This is what happens when you're fat and have irregular eating hours. Okay. Reunion dinner - eat little. After dinner, run til I drop.

Mission. To be accomplished. So far, I've managed to keep the house under control without the mother. I'm so proud of myself. Except for the fact I refuse to hang the wet clothes (sis does that) or wash the toilets (dad does that) or mop the floor (I might just take a wet cloth and spray Dettol on the floor and wipe away, rather than using the actual mop)

Aaaargh. Reunion dinner. I get so bored there. My cousins are too...young to carry out intellectual conversations with me (haha yeah right), or rather, we don't click as much as when we were younger. And the adults just sit at the table and talk politics (boring). And my obsessive aunt will badger me to coming to church and I'll be thinking "I DON'T WANT TO GO TO CHURCH. WHAT PART OF THAT SENTENCE DID NOT GET DRILLED INSIDE THAT HEAD?" But that'd be disrespectful. Would it? And all the food. I shall NOT touch any goodies there. I will have a small portion of rice. And..whatever side dishes there are, but that's IT.

Shall write down what I have dinner later and see if I stuck to my goal. And I shall go running when I get home. I don't care if its late by the time I get back or if I'll miss C.M (I've seen all the episodes already anyway), Imma run away (from) everything I ate. Or at least. Half of what I ate.

Now that's a sign of an eating disorder right? But I can't have an eating disorder. Only skinny girls are anorexic and bulimic. If I told a doctor I might have an ED, I'm sure he'd take one look at my body and wet himself laughing.

I want gingham dresses.

Imma watch America's Next Top Model now.

It might just be that I'll be 50 years old by the time I achieve self actualization. I realize I've been lamenting on the same issue for the past 3 years, but at this point, I figured it'd beat cutting myself.

K suggested I switch to jogging or running when I admitted that brisk walking may not be as effective as it was when I started out. So it seems that my goal to lose 5kg before I graduate from TP has gone to dust. Maybe this might be achievable before my 21st birthday - losing the 5kg I mean. I heard about keeping food diaries, but the idea seems dodgy. According to weight management experts, keeping a food diary is a good way to keep track of what you eat and helps prevent yourself from consuming any unwanted junk food, yet on the other stupid hand, some experts claims (online) that keeping a food diary is a classic sign of an eating disorder. Ironic much.

Yes, I know that I should learn to love myself and accept myself for who I am, and that I should be thankful that I'm healthy and not grossly disfigured. But seriously speaking, being bigger than most girls I know does nothing for my self esteem. Its just my luck to have close friends who are as thin as sticks which seriously pressurizes me. It also doesn't help that I LOVE watching America's Next Top Model. Even though they do have one or two plus size models, they're slim. They don't look like Norbit in a bikini and they can pull it off without anything jiggling . Plus, seeing so many skinny girls in TP wearing awesome clothes makes me mad at myself. And disgusted. I want to be able to wear sleeveless tops without feeling like a pumpkin. I want to be able to wear a bikini without thinking I look like a pig in tights. Oh and did I mention I have man thighs and shoulders? I can barely wear a knee length skirt without looking like a freak who escaped the circus.

I want to be thin. I know I have to work at this, but its so hard. Maybe the process of weight loss is genetic. Like, whether one is able to lose weight easy and with setbacks. My mum said it took her years to lose weight, so I suppose I'm genetically predisposed to suffer the same fate. Oh and it might not also be a coincidence that my mother had disordered eating phases as well. Well blow me down sister, I will never underestimate the power of genetics ever. Though my mother was never one for cutting her arms and depressed.

I am a freak. With my man shoulders and calves. And my small eyes. And my undesirable skin tone, and my short stature. And my wobbly figure. No wonder I'm depressed. I'm enough of a freak already.