I was watching the re telecast of the MTV VMA last night, and I'd have to say that superstars and singers might just make up an entirely different species under the Darwanian classification system.

I wonder if God seriously makes them the way they are, because some of them dress and act and think in the most bizarre ways I can ever imagine for example.

Take Lady Gaga for example. When it was announced that she was to come on stage to present an award, I was expecting Lady Gaga. Or rather, more specifically, a woman. But then when the figure that started walking out from the wings appeared to be a man, I was like "Isn't Lady Gaga supposed to come on stage?" So this man walked on stage, much to the cheers of the audience and to my utter confusion and bewilderment. I thought it was Eminem, for an instant, he seriously resembled Eminem. That is, if Eminem ever grew his hair long with side burns and a stubble.

But much to my utter bemusement and disgust, the man opened his mouth to speak, and sounded liked a woman! A woman from New Jersey, or New York no less, and that was when it hit me. Lady Gaga's from New York.

Lady Gaga has become a man.

WHAT KIND OF A WOMAN WILLINGLY DRESSES DRAG?! Her New York accent totally gave her away, for me at least, and I had no idea whether to laugh or throw up in bemusement. It'd be such an adventure to explore the wondrous and complex mind of Lady Gaga. I'm sure it'll be full of twisted brain parts that give rise to her bizarre personality and dress sense. And okay, so she doesn't dress according to society's norms. Big deal. She wears ferris wheels and slabs of rotting meat and sports buildings for shoes, but seriously? Meat? Ferris wheels?

Plus, I don't think Lady Gaga is really that good looking. Judging from her Born This Way video, she looks really gaunt with a terribly hollow face. She reminds me of Amy Winehouse. Without the big hair and red lips and eyeliner.

Yes, so Lady Gaga dressed as a man.

And then, you have Lil' Wayne. Who always fascinates me because I've never actually seen him on TV without his sunglasses off. He always has his black shades on. For some apparent reason. Which I found out last night too.

There are tattoos around his eyes. Like seriously. Tattoos. And his eyes were all hollow and red. My mum was like "drug addict". And I went "totally" God, we're such judgmental evil witches. But honestly, if you saw his eyes, you'd think the same way. Plus, who has tatts done near their eyes anyway?! I can't imagine what happens once he's 60 years old and people looks at him and see these weird tattoos around his eyes. I won't be surprised if they think he's in some kind of a cult.

Plus, his dreadlocks look terrifying. It makes him look like a Predator. You know, the man-killing animal. Think Alien vs. Predator, or Predators, starring Adrien Brody, or the Predator trilogy with Arnold Schwarrzy and Mel Gibson's partner in Lethal Weapon. And the shades totally complete the Predator look.

THEN. Lil' Wayne goes on to perform, and he removes his shirt and starts walking around the stage and screaming something into the microphone and at that point, all I could think of was 'That's singing? That's screaming, you schmuck!"

AND MUCH LATER, to my absolute horror, he turns his back to the camera to reveal his pair of pants riding so dangerously low, that they're bent on falling, and revealing his boxer shorts to the whole wide world.

A Predator-like species, walking around a stage and screaming into the microphone, wearing shades and pants so low that his boxers show.

WHAT KIND OF A MAN DOES THAT KIND OF WEIRD EXHIBITION? Isn't he the least bit embarrassed or self conscious about showing his boxes to the world? Does he think that people are interested, in his stupid boxers?

I feel sorry for Lil Wayne's mother. She must be thinking what kind of a son she brought into this world who has the decency to walk around the stage with half his ass hanging out.

Oh, then there is Katy Perry. I think so far I've no qualms about Katy P. Except that she was wearing, a block, on a head when she went to accept the Video of the Yea award? Maybe she thought she was Queen of Legoland, or something? Wearing a giant Lego on her head? She was tethering ever so dearly as she walked up on stage, for fear of the Lego being dislodged from her headband.

Like I said, God must have his reasons for creating such bizarre people on Earth. Oh wait, they're superstars. They bring music and artistic creationism to the masses. Interesting how the world works sometimes.

Plus, there was this extremely fantastic dance segment that was part of the tribute to Britney Spears. It was so bloody amazing, I'm going to put the youtube video of the dance segment now. Later. Sometime. Eventually. Today.

That's it. Grandma's left.

We woke up bright and early this morning so we all could send her off at the airport. Her flight was scheduled to leave at 12.45pm and it'll be a 13 hour flight. According to Aunt C, she'll be landing at 7.10pm London time. She's on her way to Heathrow Airport to pick Grandma up soon.

Last night before we turned it, I took out these ancient photo albums from the study room and together with Grandma in the living room, we slowly flipped through the photographs that chronicled our lives together. The photos date 20 years back when we just babies, to when my parents got married. I was amazed at how Grandma could easily point out which baby is who, considering the events occured 20 years ago. I'd like to think that those were captured moments that she truly had cherished, moments that Alzheimer's won't take away so easily.

I think Grandma had a good time here. She seems content just by puttering around the house and watching Animal Planet, endlessly sweeping the floors and cleaning the windows and buying endless takeouts of coffee from the hawker centre near our flat.

I see that Alzheimer's hasn't taken away my Grandma's strong and resilient spirit and determination. She defied my mother's warnings and walked to the market, a 20 minute walk away, just to buy coffee. My mother gave my dad a head's up: if the police calls, then they've found Grandma wandering around and he better get his ass to whatever station she's at now.

Am still feeling slightly miffed about how I wasn't able to go out shopping with her because I was away in Hall.

It was terribly bittersweet and heartaching for me this morning. I had my sister take a photo of Grandma and I, so I'd have something to remember her by. I cried when it was time to say goodbye at the departure gate as she turned to embrace me. Even now, I still can't but feel this despondent emptiness in the pit of my stomach, and the thickening of my throat as I think of my Grandma and I started tearing up everytime I think of her, and how I'd have to come to terms with the fact that I might never see her again after today.

My eyes are hurting from the sporadic cries.

Spoke to Aunt C after lunch. She says Grandma's due to have her tests at the hospital later this week to determine at which stage of Alzheimer's she at and what can be done to make her feel as comfortable as possible. I cried bitterly when she said that she'd promise to bring Grandma over one more time if possible, though without any guarantees because who knows if Grandma might be lucid or not 3 or 4 years from now and would then not be able to recognize us anymore.

The thought of losing my Grandma forever tears me apart inside.

It sent shudders down my spine when Aunt C said "Hopefully (grand)mum lasts a few more years". It makes her sound like a machine. But then again, my Grandma is superwoman.

The only thing I can wish for right now is that Grandma still be of sound mind 3 or 4 years from now and be able to surive another harrowing 13 hour flight to Singapore again.

I think I've truly come to appreciate the old adage of how we should fully appreciate the people we have around us now, because we won't know what we had until we've lost them. I'm on the brink of losing my Grandma, and I seriously wished we had been living under different circumstances - us living in London instead of stoodgy ol' Singapore and we could spend time with each other and basically live in the same state as Aunt C and Uncle T.

God, if you're hearing me now, please do this one thing for me and stay by my Grandma's side for as long as You can, so that we can still see each other one more time, considering how I only get to see her once every 4 years which is a tad cruel and unfair.

Am missing Grandma already. The scent of her lingers on the bedsheets and it just makes me feel worse instead of nostalgic.

3 more hours til Grandma lands at Heathrow.

Reading Max Weber's original works is akin to reading glass. Clearly he needs to complete the blog posting assignment in our Critical Writing class.

All right. I get it. I'm supposed to be pressing my nose against my Sociology readings. Missed last week's lessons and subsequently, did not manage to read the 3 essays we were supposed to have done before coming for tutorials today. Still, Imma invest some time in you, Blogger, because let's face it. I need a break. I fell asleep after reading 1 essay just now because I was just so tired. BUT I promise I shal finish the rest before end of the week.

Grandma arrived Sunday night. Mum fetched her from the airportin the evening, since her flight was due to arrive at 6.30pm, and she'd ask us to head down to the void deck to help her upstairs. When I went down and saw her for the 1st time in 4 years, my heart swelled with emotion. It's the same old Grandma who used to read me stories about my Granddad, who sent us boxes of found-only-in-England goodies and cans of tuna fish. John West makes excellent tuna fish, by the way.

Its the same Grandma all right. But at the same time, she looked so different. Her hair had gone thinner. She moved more slowly and her hands were bonier than ever. When she stepped out of the car and got a look at my sister and I standing there, she started crying. And to be honest, I teared up too, not because I'm finally seeing her for the first time, but because I know that this might very well be the last time I'd see her.

So I led her to the apartment while the sister lugged her luggage into the living room. And then I helped her get settled in the study room so she could unpack. As per usual, she started unloading clothes for me siblings and I, and all these boxes of chocolates and sweets for us and I kept saying "Grandma, you didn't need to!" But she stubbornly waved me aside. Then she dug into her waller and extracted a ratty and incredibly tattered only envelop that I fully recognized as one that I had sent her a letter to many years ago when I was a young girl, asking her to come and "take Mummy away because she scolded me and I hate her now".

Then she handed me this 50 dollar note, and I absolutely refused to take it. But she stubbornly shoved it into my chest and went "Take it! I have more!" I felt bad for taking money from her. After all, she's elderly and $50 is probably 20 pounds in London, which is actually quite a lot. Then she proceeded to hand $50 to my sister and brother each, before coming back to me and surprising me with another $10 and said "This one is especially for you." And when I started to protest, she said with surprising force "Take!"

And so I did. Not to boast, but "WENDY, GRANDMA GAVE $10 MORE BECAUSE ITS A FACT THAT SHE LOVES ME MORE THAN YOU. SO SUCKS TO BE YOU."

Whatever. Aunt C told me that Grandma had confided in her that she felt my sister and my brother didn't like her, and that her favourite grandchild has been me all along. Well of course I love my Grandma. She's the only Grandma that I know, other than my paternal grandmother, but she's had Alzheimer's for as long as I can remember so I didn't really socialize with her much.

Plus, my Grandma used her awesome(debatable) psychic powers to say I'd marry a good looking Caucasian man! LAH DEE DAH. But yes, I'm a skeptic. I don't believe in pseudopsychology.

I think the most heart shattering moments I had with her while helping her unpack was bearing witness to she was succumbing to her brain-degenerating disease. She had 2 cards in her hand, one for my sister and one for my mother. She'd figure out which was for who one minute, but 5 minutes later, she'd retrive both cards and stare at them for such a long time, that when I asked her what was wrong, she went "I don't remember which card is for who." When I pointed out the names to her, she'd be satisfied and bustle off to do something else. Then 5 minutes later, she'd return to the cards and stare at them again, asking me if she had wrote down the recepients' names on the card.

When I told her she should write the names on the envelope as well so she could see who it was for without having to open it again, she happily obliged. My heart cracked when I saw her struggle to hold the pen steadily, and literally broke next, when she asked "How to spell Susan(mum's name)?"

She had forgotten how to spell her own daughter's name. The only name that she could remember how to spell as her own.

After I had recited the alphabets to her, I locked myself in the master bathroom and just cried. All my life, I had thought my grandmother was an indestructable woman. She's survived World War II in Singapore, poverty, a failed marriage brought on by my granddad having an affair with another woman, returned to Singapore and holding 2 jobs to educate my aunt and mother and returning to England to live the life of an old woman, and now, her brain is slowly wasting away and I'd have to face the reality that 5 years from now, she might either not recognize me anymore, or be dead.

I think its moments like these, where people whom you care receive the wrong end of the stick, that makes you want to turn to religion to seek, not only answer, but also peace and serenity.

Am going back home on Friday and going to spend quality time with her til Sunday night before she flies off on Monday morning.

Person and Society lecture started yesterday. There's this cute Caucasian student, probably on foreign exchange, in the lecture, and did I mention that he's cute? Too bad I was sitting in from of him. My id is so embarrassing sometimes, but thankfully he's not in my tutorial group or I'd be so distracted. Besides, the good thing about being in my tutoria group is that people in my class, are extremely knowledgeble about world affairs. They are very verbally-dominant people. In my defence, may I just point that I actually had similar ideas to them, its just that whenver I want to speak up, they do so before me. One guy would speak, and before anyone can respons, another would immediately jump in. Like word-vomit. And the worst part is I was the new girl there, so everyone else knew each other already. And the tutor rates participatation marks according to what students have contributed, and the only word I contributed was "ethnicity"

Fuck.

I paired with this Year 2 student and we had to discuss the racial riots in London with the sociological theories we were supposed to have read last week. I'm glad I actually knew enough, or rather, had my own opinions about the racial riots to comment about it. I definetely didn't want to sound like a bumbling idiot who knows nothing about going-ons in the world.

Anyhow, I really gotta step up in this P&S class. All the classes I'm in are filled with competitive people.

Speaking of cute Caucasian boys, I was in the library on Monday looking for a book, and eyed this Caucasian guy with those nerd/geek glasses, which made him looks so good, I kept turning back at his table for second glances. So after 5 minutes of dithering, I decided to pluck up courage and sit on the spare seat next to him. My heart was racing like crazy, because no way have I ever done such a thing before, which is so weird, because I asked a boy out once before, yet asking to sit next to a cute guy seems a hundred times more difficult.

Whatever. So I went up to him and said "Hi, can I sit here?"

And he looked up and smiled and said "Sure." So I dumped my books on the table and reached for the chair, but not before he reached for the chair and pulled it out for me.

Isn't that gorgeous?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!? I wanted to die right there. No Singaporean man would ever do that. And you know? Becuase Singaporean men have no sense of gentlemanliness. They think pulling chairs out for girls is dorky. Male chivalry in the Singaporean male species is non-existent.

Ugh. I want a Caucasian guy I can be with. One who's good looking and gentlemanly. Am I reaching for the stars here?

Oh God, I'm so stupid, asking a rhetorical question.

Of course I'm reaching for the stars. Ugh. I'm doomed to be a widow. But I'll be contented with a person who'll love me for who I am.

GOODBYE CRUEL WORLD.

Oh and this is friggin awesome. Did I mention how Kyle (in white) is so sexy?

Like I said, I feel like my life is completely lost its meaning.

I'm studying the same things over again, having to slug it out for the next 4 years and friends (or rather, people whom I've met before and never spoke to them again once the elective concluded) have flown off to England or Australia, and even Switzerland to study. Its official. I hate you now, ST.

And I'm in shit-hole Singapore.

They are doing exciting things, whereas I'm not experiencing any new things in life. I was to go to Switzerland. I want to see mountains. I want to see the Coliseum in Rome. I want to bake cakes with French pastry chefs. I want to climb the Eiffel Tower, not identify it during French lessons. I want to use my French and Spanish language skills on real French and Spanish people, not just learn it from book and youtube, because there's no one else I can practice it on. I want to run in a long and endless field of tulips in Denmark, I want to read the time off Big Ben, I want to sing "Empire State of Mind" on top of the Empire State Building in New York City, I want to play the duduk in Armenia, I want to belly dance in Egypt or Turkey or Lebanon, I want to tour the Walk of Fame in Hollywood, I want to see the great statues of Apollo and Zeus, I want to parachute off a plane in Australia, I want to swim with the dolphins in Astralia before Marina Bay Sands steals the lot of them, I want to attend a jazz festival in France, and have a cute guy sing and play the accordion for me, I want to travel by boat around Venice before it's swallowed by water. I want to perform at the Broadway Dance Theatre in New York, and take classes from Luam and Kyle Hanagami and Tony Czar (come to think of it, the last time I went to a dance class was 3 weeks ago).

I want to build shelters for homeless animals around the world. I want to join the women in Saudi Arabia in protest for lifting the ban on females driving. I want to march along the street and protest for the removal of the burqa that traps Middle Eastern women since the primal ages and help them transcend male dominion.

I want to LIVE.

What happened to my goal of going to the States to study?! Clearly that's not possible, because my parents will continue paying student fees even 10 years after they've passed away.

It's official. My life has become a standstill.

And one month ago, I was so excited about starting school. And now I'm not making friends and re-evaluating myself based on what I've gone, or will go through. And now that D has gotten this major heart surgery and Grandma having Alzheimer's, it's sort of like a wake-up call and I just go "oh my god, like anything, FUCKING anything can happen at any FUCKING time. I gotta do something else than study. I need to LIVE"

Maybe this is the new generation's mid-life crisis, where we question the extent of our fulfilment in life. I call this the quarter life crisis. Anyone else care to join me as we wallow in the miseries of the familiar?

When will it be my turn to live overseas? I swear, by the time I get the chance to do that, I'll be 50-fucking-9 years old.

Maybe there's quarter-life crisis expert I can talk to.

I hate Singapore. Too hot and humid and boring and full of people who speak Singlish that turns me off for nuts.

I have managed to distract myself from the fact that recital trainings have started this week, by drowning myself in youtube videos since 9pm. Found some awesome songs to add to my mp3 player and added to my never ending list, movies that I need to watch.

Somehow or another, there must have been some weird scewed telephone signal because I started getting like this mass of messages a few minutes ago, from my mum texting me at 9am in the morning, til J saying he'd "returned from hell" an hour ago. And I only received their messages a few minutes ago. Like what the hell?

Did my roomie insert some viral autobot in my iPhone while I was asleep that caused my phone to enter spastic mode?

Mum just came home from the hopsital. D's surgery lasted 9 hours in total, 4 hours more than the expected duration. Mum was unconvinved by the doctor. She says that how can a young smooth-faced doctor be so sure that D, at least 10 years older than him would die if he didn't have a surgery?

But whatever. Everything's okay, for now she says. She had to go back again this afternoon because there was a buildup of fluid in his lungs and he threw a fit when we woke up, demanding to be let go and attempted to yank the tubes out. The orderlies ended up typing ropes around his wrists to the bedstand to calm him down.

Its hard to imagine someone like Uncle D, whom is one of the most down to earth and funniest guys - and one of the good ones - end up in a sad and lonely place as the ICU. When Mum called to tell me about the emergency surgery, all I could think was how he listened to me yabber away about the problems I was facing just only a week ago. How he says he would always be there to listen to whatever problems I had and help me get through it by dispensing whatever advice he thinks would be helpful. The free salmon and prawns he gives to our family. The warmth and laughter he induces in my mother that certainly would not have been possible if my dad were to do it. Basically, if my dad weren't here, Uncle D would be the substitute dad that I never had.

It times like these, and with the fucking UE-PE saga that makes me so angry. Angry that things aren't in my control and angrier at the fact that I cannot do anything to mediate it. I can't repair the torn aorta near his heart, nor can I make people drop a PE instead of wasting away my unrestricted electives.

And the roommate issue. I'm not complaining about my roomie. She's rather considerate. And quiet. Plus, she comes back later than I do and she's not in most of the time, so I get the room to myself longer. I think its the fact that I'm sharing a room with someone who isn't a friend of mine, and how friends are rooming with their friends and establishing closer bonds than ever and this makes me feel somewhat left out and alienated. Honestly, Blogger, I'm not making friends right now in school. At least, for now. I think.

I'm not as close to the people whom I thought I was close to because we hardly see each other now, and I just binged today. On carbs. Maybe the stress of the unexpected events in my life is too much for me to handle and it defiant retaliation, it demands the consumption of serotonin-releasing sustenance.

I can't help but feel jealous people whom I know that are headed overseas to study, like Australia, Britain and the States. I know it sounds terribly selfish, but this bit of me inside my heart feel that I'm more deserving to go overseas than they are. That's how I feel for now. I'm not sure. My heart's a tangled mess right now.

Uncle D's in the hopsital, Grandma has just been diagnosed with Alzeheimer's and this might be her last visit to Singapore, I gave up my heart's desire to dance in Fredy's recital item, and I'm feeling alienated in school. I feel like I'm not as expressive and gregarious as I was in poly. I've lost the juice. The elixir to my life. And I've suddenly lost the interest to dance. I miss it, but I can't bring myself to do it. And I binged.

I wonder of depression runs unexpressed in the Juan and/or Clout family. It would explain so many things.

I wonder if Oprah can run a special on depressed tertiary students.

I'm going to watch Ellen Degeneres. And re-read The Fall of Baghdad.

Duet With Myself - EX GIRLFRIENDS SUCK

EPIC ENDING.

Did I mention how much I love him?

Mum just called just as I came back into the dorm.

D has to go for emergency major heart surgery immediately. Stress tests on his heart this afternoon revealed a large tear in his aorta and it is life threatening.

How could chest pains develop into a heart attack and arrest into a huge condition such as a life threatening torn aorta?

Mum's there at the KTP hospital now settling his paperwork and she called the sister to come home as soon as possible to hold the for down since I'm in school.

What a tumultuous period this is for me right now.

Writing an email to J has induced another crying jag in me a while ago. Was telling him all about how I'm feeling miserable and utterly lost in NTU and so afraid that the tears just started pouring. Even as I'm writing this, I can't help but think of how alone I feel right now. Alienated. Frightened. Lost in transition.

So my eyes have been slightly swollen from all the crying I've been doing over the rejection of Fredy's offer to dance in his recital item. Fredy just sent a mass text to the dancers in his items, announcing that his rehearsal schedule has shifted an hour ahead for the next few weeks. Its like someone stabbed me in the chest and twisted it. I wonder if he knows that I didn't sign the acknowledgement form, if not why would he send that text to me right?

German class was such a weird experience. I had so much trouble trying to pronounce the verbs, and kep forgetting how to say "What is your name" in German. You should hear the way I say the German phrases. Its like I'm vomitting something nasty.

The German tutor is incredibly sweet and funny. She really connects with her students. She made us walk around the classroom and introduce ourselves to each other, using the new German phrases that we learnt. So far, I've learnt these in German:

"Guten tag. Mein Name ist Serene"
"Ich buchstabiere S-E-R-E-N-E"

I can spell my name in German! HAHA LAH DEE DAH. Now I can go up to that cute German guys I see hanging around the Enginering school and go "Guten tag, Mein Name ist Seren. Wie est dein Name?", before fleeing in embarrassment. And only because I wouldn't understand a single word he's saying.

French class was simple. Not that I'm bragging, but I've taken French in TP, so I KNOW the stuff already, but I wasn't allowed to take the placement test because the co-ordinator said I didn't learn enough. Crud. Anyhow, my French tutor is Mr Benoit Di Menza. He's Vietnamese, by heritage, and has an Italian surname, but has a very strong French accent. I theorize that he was adopted by an Italian couple living in France. But then again, Vietnam was once colonized by France. My French tutor in TP was also Vietnamese. But Mr Benoit is incredibly funny. Plus, met some really cool people from HSS in my class.

But I'm still contemplating whether to drop German and/or French. Ugh. Life is hard.

Back to assignment.

So we were given an assignment last week: to think about animal experimentation before the next tutorial. Here's what I think:

Completely shagged out from the entire week and slept in during my free Saturday. Now I've new things to worry about now. Planning and anticipating and whatnot about different events that would definetely have a huge major impact in my life.

Honestly, why am I such a intense worrywart?

Why can't someone just drop the elective(s) I want so that I have one less thing to fret about? I looked through some basic German workbooks, as well as the course materials uploaded on EDVENTURE and I wasn't sure whether to laugh or sob.

Oh and I'm beginning to grow weary of blogging now. I think I'm beginning to understand why I ceased my ambitious diary-writing dreams a few years ago, when I planned this tall idea of keeping a diary a la Princes Mia and recording my innermost thoughts and feelings, and identifyfing sources of conflicts and whatnot and employing it to amend current problems a la Freud.

Grandma's coming in from London in exactly one week!!!!!!!!

Taylor Swift "Today was a Fairytale" Music Video HD

Okay, so maybe this isn't Swift's official video, but I found it to be rather sweet and angelic!

Okay okay okay I admit, I was looking for Swifty's Back to December video to sing to. There, I admit it. HAPPY NOW?

Anyway, I was watching her video for Mean, and I think she actually looks more gorgeous in this video as opposed to other videos. Not that she isn't pretty to begin with, but somehow she looks more mature and chiselled in her Mean video. I theorized that its a combination of growing up, arched eyebrows and earh-tone makeup. Sort of like the natural looks, using earthy colors to shade her eyes and nude lipstick that seems to highlight and accentuate her deep set eyes, rather than the red lipstick that can make her look so much older than she really is.

Plus, she completely reinvents the meaning of nerd boyfriends in "The Story of Us". Hot.

Hallelujah Canadian Tenors and Celine Dion

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Its official. Now I want a man who can sing.

Not shits who lack testosterone like the Biebs and The Jonas Brothers. I want a REAL man.

On a side note, Celine Dion is fantabulous, as always. If you haven't seen her World Tour on TV, I'll pester you for all eternity. Celine Dion just makes me wonder why people like Demi Lovato and Miley Cyrus even exist.

Like I've asked, why is it that school has barely started and I've already experienced full heads on with issues that threaten my self preservation in pursuit of heart's desires and wants?

For the past few days, I've been embroiled in a tangled twist of frustration, deep deliberation and endless and spontaneous floods of tears. The reason I've been experiencing such wild despondent moods is because I've had to make a decision as to whether I would take part in the O School Recital, scheduled to take place on the 26th and 27th of November.

The O School Recital is held annually, and brings together a group of dancers from mainly the young adult community who share a single passion and love for dance, entertainment and self expression. I've missed out participating in the last few recitals and I saw this year as a chance to finally be part of a huge dance bonanza and take my dance skills to another level.

I auditioned for Street Jazz and Reggae and to my utter disbelief, I got into Fredy's Street Jazz item. Now, among the dance circle, Fredy is known as one of the hottest dancers in O School. He has garnered thousands of follwers from around the world, begging him to do tutorials for his choreograph. Basically speaking, Fredy's is artistically desirable.

And I got into his item. Fredy picked me, out of the 80 people who auditioned for Street Jazz, to be part of his 30 people Street Jazz item. Fredy picked me.

Of course, the problem was that the recital falls in the middle of exam week. And that's a huge problem, because first, its exams. And second, for non-dancers, dance rehearsals can escalate into a crazy spectacle. It traditionally starts off once a week, slowly metamorphasizing into daily nights in the week leading up to the performace. And this recital would be no exception. Not only would an exam or two end in the evening during the recital week, travelling 2 hours and dancing for 3 hours for that week would physically shatter me. I know this, because I felt exactly the same for the past few performances that I was in whilst in polytechnic. I know the drill.

And the truth is, I didn't think I'd be able to adapt to the fatigue whilst revising for examinations. I won't go into further details, because the recollection is just too painful for me to go through, but I spent Thursday fretting and crying intermittently, because the deadline for acknowledging my acceptance was Thursday at 9.30pm. And I hadn't made my mind up.

I called Uncle D and K in fits of tears and tearfully poured my frstrations out and I ultimately decided not to join the recital. It was an incredibly tough decision, to turn down something that our heart truly desires. Its funny when I hear people saying how important it is to follow your heart and let yourself go. I think the truth right now is that I'm one who naturally weighs the pros and cons of situations before committing, and usually my heads beats the crap out of my heart.

I've still yet to figure out whether such decisions that I've made based on logical thinking turn out to be right for me, such as declining Fredy's and NUS' offer.

The truth is right now, my heart still aches whenever I think of how Kesh told me I was the only one who didn't sign the acknowledgement form, how I thought I'd suffocate when my throat suddenly closes and tears starts falling, and how my fingers starts trembling in torment.

The truth is, I don't have the courage to follow my heart, and the truth is, people like me may never know thw the true meaning of happiness, because we perceive situations to be mathematical equations, meant to be analyzed and distilled to its simplest form and deciding whether we should take it or leave it, rather than simply accepting it without any hesitation.

I don't exactly know who, but I know someone once said that one of the most despondent emotions to ever feel, is the realization of opportunities lost, and this is the moment when ignorance is bliss.

I don't know if this is an opportunity or not. But its something my heart wants.

I am feeling sick right now. Very sick. Is it possible to cry and regurgitate at the same time?

I think this shows that I lack the courage to follow my heart. I'm forever embroiled in a constant battle between self preservation and innate happiness, which might just take 10 years off my life.

Tony Czar's Project Guam

Bejesus. These kids are seriously good, especially from 3:37 minutes onward. The Little S.K.I.P are dancing Reggae, the Junior S.K.I.P are, according to my best guess, doing a combination of Street Jazz and Girl's Hip Hop, while the preteens and seniors are doing Hip Hop. I mean. Darn it. Their technique is good and their movements are sharp and fast. You need excellent core strength for this and the have the presence. Its amazing how talented they are, especially since they come from impoverished families.

I love how people come together for one common reason, and one common love, such as with dance.

one more lonely (not so) night for me

What better way to spend a long time in dorm, with that awkward silence between you and your roommate whom you barely know just yet, than watching a stream of professional dancers and choreographers dance to sick beats, with even more sick and gungho moves?

Tony Czar is joining Kyle Hanagami, Luam and Nika Kljun to my list of hottest professional choreographers.

White Boy Rappin!

HOT

Harry Potter in 99 Seconds

My life is meaningless.

He is a geeeeeeeeenius.

1st Day of School

I like first days of schools. I always feel that rush of adrenaline coursing through me whenever I walk into a new classroom or lecture theatre. I like the mingled emotional experience of excitement, anticipation and, funny enough, anxiety - not because I'm anxious about social interaction, but because whenver I look at my new coursemates, I can't help but think to myself "These are my fellow competitors"

I was besotted and overwhelmed by the swelling throng of students parading across the courtyards and corridors. It seems grossly overproportioned, as opposed to the number of students I see whilst in TP. As I walked along the courtyards, I couldn't help but think how far I've come. From a small ignorant twit to a matriculated university student. The days when I struggled with Mandarin in primary school and languishing about Social Studies seemed so far away now.

Lunch was Subway, because I didn't intend to eating oily hawker centred food, although I may have fully deserved a sweet treat because of all the walking I did around school today. I got off at the wrong shuttle bus point and ended up miles away from the location of the theatre. Campus maps are full of shit. The directory stated that the theatre fell on the map grid of E6, but it turned out to be at E7. I had actually walked around an entire Faculty looking for one little room under the stifling suffocating sun!

Nevertheless, I know how to head to the crucial landmarks in school, such as Subway and the food court, by walking from my dorm, thanks to my rooommate, whom I tagged along with during the Freshmen Welcome Ceremony the previous week. I'm still not happy about having to share a room with a roommate. It's no wonder all freshmen are guaranteed a place to stay on campus - the establishment forces us to share rooms.

Anyway, my roommate seems pretty all right for now, considering how I stayed only one night so far and have yet to test the waters. My roommate comes from Sichuan, China and is on a scholarship to read Mathematics at the School of Physics and Applied Mathematics. She offered to take me out to try her state's local Sichuan spicy food. It was a nice gesture, considering we had only met for 1 day. But I'm not letting my guard down so easy for the time being.

I reckon I'll get used to the monstrosity of this school. It's like a whole little island itself. It makes me miss Flinders so much more, what with its beautiful greenery, the huge lake, the ducks wandering on the courtyard and the down to earth nature of the South Australians.

I wonder if I'm fated to live overseas in the future. I suppose time will tell, but I cannot wait!

2011 has brought such distressing and wrenching situations that I am forced to confront and resolve. The types of events that I'm having to decide on make the little decisions I had to make so insiginificant, its like these events are of such paramount importance.

As I reflect back on the sacrifices I've made in terms of dance, it just evokes this odd sense of accomplishment and slight disappointment. It amazes me to see that some people can so effortlessly perform so well in their studies and juggle multiple non-academic related activities and enjoy life.

I love dance. I really do. If I were allowed to take a long break and dance and improve, I definetly would. But this is reality. My studies are equally important. Of course I know we should not focus on grades, but I suppose but in the midst of having to make these decisions and pick a front, its made me more aware of myself. Moreover, I've come to realize that I'm incapable of thinking independently for myself, despite being 20 years old. To be more precise, I think its that I need to hear the opinions of other people whom I respect before making a decision.

Follow your heart. Right.