I love how Roald Dahl makes me think of ditzy quirks and dotty situations. It makes me feel like I'm completely living in another world. I love how books keep me company on the long train rides home and how they make me feel like I'm not as lonely as I think I might be. I think my absolute favourite work of Roald Dahl might have to be Charlie and The Chocolate Factory. I love the names of all of Mr Wonka's chocolates. Its unfortunate that the movie didn't live up to my expectations.

I walked with D to her bus stop after class today and was telling her all about Singapore's night markets and where she should go shopping on a tight budget, and she was telling me about her family back home in Australia. Its so fascinating to hear about a different culture from different perspectives. I imagine myself to be a big cylindrical tube, and hearing and knowing all this fascinating facts fills the tube up to the brim all the time.

One of the interesting things about going for BC is that the class is full of adults, and so when we interact, conversations are more...intelligent? We don't talk crap like which boys are cute or whatever. Its interesting to know what adults actually talk about, or rather, these working adults talk about. They're definetely more mature, and when I talk to them, sometimes I feel as though I'm monitoring myself to make sure I don't say something silly and be left with an egg on my face. Especially with D, because she's Australian, and some of the other Caucasian ladies there, because sometimes I afraid I introduce some weird Singapore-ish joke and she'll not understand it and I'll feel as dumb as a spoon.

I can't believe BC is ending this Saturday. What would I do next week?! I'll be so frickin' bored at home! I've got to get out more often, and find something else to distract me from boredom-induced death. Oh why oh why couldn't school start NOW?

Just found out that my superwoman Grandma has been diagnosed with Alzheimer's. The brain scan results came back on Tuesday apparently, and my aunt's in a right state. She's afraid that when my grandma because completely immobile, Grandma will have to be committed to a nursing home, since Aunt C and Uncle T both have full time jobs, and nursing homes in London are bank-breakers.

Grandma's in a state of shock, according to my aunt's text. She's shut herself up in her room at home and refuses to talk to anyone. She hasn't fully absorbed the significance of her diagnosis. Mum's tried ringing her, but Aunt C told her to bugger off, because Grandma's still upset and can't talk to anyone just yet. I'm in a right state myself. I absolutely love my Grandma, even though I see her once every 3 or 4 years. I remember her as the grandma who, when she was visiting Singapore, reads me nighttime stories about how Granddad looks like (now I know whwre my fascination for Caucasian men originated from, but whatever), and how dashing he was when she first met him when we was in the British Armed Forces. She's the one who sends boxes of chocolates and sweets and magazines and tuna fish from Marks and Spencers and Woolsworth. Goodies like Milk Bottles and Mint Twixes and other chocolates that can't be found in Singapore (now I know who's responsible for my childhood obesity, but whatever). And she sends annual birthday cards that are always huge and pink and glittery with 20 pounds attached to it, which is a tad touching, because 20 pounds is roughly equivalent to about $50, and that's quite a lot for my Grandma, considering that she gets a small monthly allowance from the government.

Basically, she was another maternal figure for me. She marveled at how I'm the only grandchild of her's to inherit her wavy hair. And now she's never going to remember all that. The plan now is that she'll make her final trip here to Singapore in August, but Mum's worried that she might not make it. Her memory's failing and we're worried that she might board the wrong gate, or forget her own name, or get confused by all the different terminals, because Heathrow Airport is enormous and she's only a small fry of a woman with a failing memory. I always thought my Grandma was undefeatable, because she's been through so much. Poverty, World War II, failed marriage, 2 jobs and 2 kids on her own. And now all her hard work will be lost to Alzheimer's? I mean what the fuck? Honestly I'm in a state of shock. My lovely grandma get buggered down by a degenerative disease.

I wish I could go to London now and have her read me a bedtime story, and make me feel like I'm 8 years old again. With nothing to worry about and dream about how handsome my Grandad must have looked like.

Even Disney can't make me feel better now.