Little Women was absolutely amazing. I could just kick myself in the face when I think back on how I said classices were boring. Well, truth be told, classics can be a little draggy because of the type of language used, but as I read on, I came to realize how heart-warming and sweet the story is. Its amazing to see how close the 4 March sisters get, while my sister and I are perfectly content leading our own seperate lives. The trials and tribulations, and the culminating lessons they learn about love, friendship, gratitude and forgiveness touched a raw nerve in me and truly made me reflect on how ungrateful I've been, yet how lucky I am at the same time, as well as what should and shouldn't be worth living.

I read the children's version of Little Women when I was 6 years old. I distinctly remember lugging the big book everywhere I went, and reading it at the kitchen table and screaming when my father threatened to throw the book away because I had the habit of leaving it lying around, and subsequently accusing of destroying my book. The book combined Good Wives in it, so now I've got to get the complete and unabridged version of Good Wives now to fulfil that gap inside me.

So far, none of the male characters are interesting. Laurie is a toodie head who is immature and brattish, while John Brooke seems downright boring and doesn't sound as if he's got an inch of funny bone in him. He is so suited to be with Meg, who is exactly like him. Demure, shy and quiet.

I had intended to purchase Good Wives and Pride and Prejudice the other day, but I've seen none that look presentable or have decent font to make interesting reading. I say its the font that plays a major contributory role in whether or not one enjoys a book or not.

Nothing interesting happened at work today, only til I was clocking out and writing in my punch card, when this insanely good looking Caucasian teen came into the cafe and asked my manager for a part time job. I swear, I almost fainted on the spot, because number one, its not everyday that a Caucasian hottie comes into the cafe looking for part time job while I'm on duty, and second, if my manager lets him work, I could train him! How awesome would that be?!

I was all in a dither and exploded in girlish giggles with the barista and the pastry chef about how good looking he was, as he sat in the cafe and filled in the employment application form. Only the other chef wasn't amused. Of course he's a guy, so he can't get as ditzy as me and other barista and pastry chef, who happen to be females. What a piffle!

But it turns out my excitement was short lived, because my manager conducted an unusually short interview and informed me, much to her amusement when I demanded to know his name, that she couldn't hire him, because he was seeking part time work for 2 weeks! And obviously, company policy doesn't allow such incredibly short term employment! What a load of bummer! I'm NEVER be able to going to make friends with a Caucasian person my age am I? I think my manager must have gotten a good look at my moritified and scandalized expression because she let me peek at his employment form.

Turns out that Mr Good Looking is 18 years old and has just completed his A Levels at the French School, which is just 20 minutes walk from my place, studied in the States when he was a young boy, is of French descent, and has a place to study Civil Engineering in Sheffeld University in England (hence, the 2 week deal). And the cooolest thing is that he wrote under hobbies "interiors design and babysitting"! How cool is that?! I bet my savings that no regular Sinaporean man here can say he enjoys babysitting. Hell, I bet Singaporean men have never babysitted in their lives. Plus, I noticed that he listed another of his hobby as 'networking', which is so different from the variant version of "surfing the Internet" that most Singaporeans employ.

I'm such a trainwreck. I sound like some sort of a desperado. What is wrong with me seriously? Why do I go bonkers when see good looking Caucasian boys and lose my head completely and strip my lousy head of all good sense and judgment? I wonder if Google is able to diagnose this disorder or complex that I have.

I find the Caucasian customers at Bakerzin extremely fascinating. Its sort of obvious that they come from a rather classy and posh background because their etiquette. The locals at the cafe roughly wipe their mouths with the napkins, but the French fold their napkins neatly on their laps. The locals raise their hands when they wish to order. The French make eye contact with the waiter, then smile and nod. The locals drip food on the floor, the French daintly dip their utensils into their food and eat in small bites. The locals place their elbows on the tables, while the French keep their elbows off the table. The locals lift their hands and mime writing when they wish for the bill, the French make eye contact and nod and ask for the bill when you reach their table. Its so interesting to learn the art of Western dining from such a perspective.

Like I said, I wonder if there's some sort of a disorder database that I could browse through at Google that can help me identify what kind of a freakazoid I am.

Today's appointment has confirmed my long held suspicion, or rather, the nonabsurd belief that I've had of myself since 3 years ago: I am a freak.

Yes. I mean. I've known all along that I'm a freak. Looking into the mirror for years has somewhat colored that deformity that I've had and I've pretty much adapted to it, but to hear it coming from a professional's own words and have her discuss my options with me made me really so much more aware and conscious of how it has, and may affect me even more.

I've been asked to consider surgery. And it'll be considered major surgery. And I'll be somewhat slightly invalid for about 3 months, should I want to take it up. The mother was called in to discuss this option, and the more the doctor spoke, the more my eyes threatened to well up. She asked if I felt conscious about the fact that I have this condition. I shook my head, but my heart yearned to say yes, though I was afraid of what my mother would say.

Of course the surgery won't be necessary if I'm perfectly fine with it and am able to live life as per normal and not give a rat's fart about it. If I want it, I can have it, but she acknowledged that she discusses the option of surgery only to female patients.

My head was a complete blank slate when I walkd out the office with my mum and brother. So it shall be that I shall die a lonely spinster, because no man would ever think a girl with my facial deformity would be considered attractive.

Why was I born to be such a freak? I mean, did God have some sort of a shit mood the day I was born or something? A girl like me can handle only so much. And I've got a lot that's threatening the very beam of my self esteem. You'd think God would give me a break, but no. I am an ant, in God's ant farm. A farm with billions of other ants, so why should He give a hoot about one small measly ant? I know this all sounds so depressing, and you must be thinking that I'm such a spoilt and ungrateful person to keep whining. But you see, it's all these little insecurities that may not seem much, but has a very vast cumulative effect on my fragile soul. One or two little niggles, sure I can handle. But to keep on adding and adding it to the mix is just way out of control.

To be honest. I don't know what to think now. Going for this appointment has only made me feel so much worse than I ever did before. Why do good things seem to happening to all my friends but not me?

I wish I were in a room. A room with 4 navy blue walls and beige bookshelves lined with all of my favourite literay reads. And a nice comfortable red couch where I can curl up and get lost in a completely different world. Where all my problems seem to matter in the least.

If there is one thing in the world that I wish were zero calories, it'd be Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. And cheese fries. And pizza with extra cheese. And gelato.

Basically all the junk food. Oh God.

I've just discovered something completely and horribly disturbing that may very well put me into therapy for several years in my life.

On the way home from dinner, I was talking with the mother about my aunt's plans to come over with Uncle T and Grandma in 2013, and the conversation drifted to how my aunt is insistent on Grandma having her hair cut short because she's afraid she might neglect proper haircare when the Alzheimer's begin to take heavy effect on her. Soon, my mum started talking about how unruly my Grandma's hair is after she permed her hair and that she's going to bring her to the hair salon immediately when she flies in from London, when it suddenly hit me like an incoming truck.

I had just heard the words "permed her hair" and so I just had to go on to clarify the situation, rebutting my mother's statement that Grandma's hair isn't permed, but rather it's naturally wavy. The mother then looked at me through the rearview mirror with this heavily bemused expression on her face and burst out laughing, "Serene. My mum doesn't have naturally wavy hair. She's born with normal, straight hair. Not very straight, as if its rebonded, but just, you know, normal looking. No hint of curl whatsoever"

And then it hit me full in the face.

"Grandma doesn't have naturally wavy hair? Her hair is fake?"

"Yes."

"Then, then where did my wavy hair come from? Where did your curly hair come from?"

"From my dad. My dad's Caucasian. He's got curly hair. I got it from him, and you got it from me. But by marrying your father, I suspect your hair became wavy instead of curly, like I wanted it to be. So that's another mistake for marring you father. He flattened your hair to become wavy instead of curly like mine."

WHAT? Oh my GOD I have been going around town ever since my waves developed, telling people that I got my wavy hair from my grandmother because her hair is huge and wavy, and I have been so ever proud of that fact because she used to tell me in her bedtime stories to me when I was little "You're special, because you're a Chinese girl, with naturally wavy hair. No Chinese girl ever has naturally wavy hair. So that is why you'll meet a special man next time."

OH THANKS GRANDMA FOR LETTING ME BELIEVE THAT I INHERITED WAVY HAIR FROM YOU AND GOING AROUND SINGAPORE TELLING PEOPLE MY HAIR CAME FROM MY INDONESIAN GRANDMOTHER AND DISPELLING THE IDEA THAT THE MASS POPULATION HAVE ABOUT HOW I PERMED MY HAIR.

So I was all "My wavy hair came from your dad?! But I've been going around telling people that my wavy hair came from Grandma."

And my mum just burst into outrageous peals of laughter.

I've been living a sham, people! Excuse me, but why didn't anyone mention this sooner? Okay, I knew my Grandma permed her hair, but I thought she did so only because her hair grew thinner as got older, so she went to get it permed to give her already naturally waved hair more bounce and life so as to shield the public eye from her ageing hair.

But NO. The truth has been revealed.

But hey. If wavy/curly hair is recessive, and I got the recessive gene, surely I have the unexpressed recessive gene that I inherited from my mother, so surely that must mean that if I ever marry a Caucasian person with blue eyes, who already has the expressed recessive gene, I'll pass on my unexpressed recessive gene to my child and he or she will have the recessive gene for blue eyes! YEE HAH.

Oh wait. That's not a sure thing. Because there's a chance I may not pass on this hypothetical, yet-to-be-proven unexpressed recessive gene. Okay simple biology, people. Caucasian husband has the recessive gene for blue eyes, so that "bb" And seeing as how I've black eyes, I'm either "BB" or "Bb".

So if I want my future children to have blue eyes, I need to be a "Bb" so I can contribute the recessive "b" allele to my husband's "b" allele. If I pass on the 'B' allele, my child won't get blue eyes, but my black eyes. With that said, this whole theory is possible only if I'm tested to to be 'Bb'. If I'm 'BB', then there's not a single chance I'll hae blue-eyed babies because the only allel I can contribute is the 'B' allele, and my years of pining for a pink cheeked, blue eyed baby will come to nothing.

Is there like, a free online DNA test that I can Google? Surely such a thing must exist. Google can find anythig these days, I mean hello, people make cocktail bombs using information found on the Internet. And bombs are more expensive that DNA tests! So I'm sure such a free DNA test to determine the gene that I have for colored eyes would be possible.

^_^

I have such a free spirited imagination. Now I've got bigger thigs to worry out. I need a new haircut. Anyone has any ideas how to counter this pyramid effects going with my hair right now? Am wondering if layering works for my hair. I'm starting to detest that triangular shape that my hair is retaining right now. I resemble a mutated cotton ball at times.

Okay, so I have a question. How come the male doctors on these medical television dramas happen to be good looking and muscular? I mean, isn't that some sort of law against media physics or something? It totally exudes this false sense of reality.

Its interestig how certain medical drama shows on television actually are beneficial. Even though it isn't applicable to me at present, but I'm sure in the future I'll come to appreciate the tips. I was watching I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant on TLC a while ago - because Cake Boss didn't start til an hour later - a tv series that chronicles real life women in the States and how got pregnant and didn't even realize it until the baby comes andh they end up having the baby in the toilet bowl. I wouldn't say its completely graphic, but its realistic enough to make you take it seriously and acknowledge that such things do happen.

Oh, as I was saying, you can learn a lot from such shows. For instance, babies born in the toilet are at higher risk for head and facial trauams because they could sustain cranial injuries when they fall into and hit the sides of the toilet bowl. You should never cut an umbillical cord straight away, and instead, you should tie two dead knots about a few inches apart from each other, right in the centre of the cord, then use a large sharp scissors or knife and cut the small bit of the cord that is centred between the two knots. If you cut the cord without making the knots, blood will spurt out from the cord and it'll be dangerous to both mother and baby. And pregnancy tests are best taken in the morning immediately when you wake up, and least accurate when you take in the afternoon and evening and toward the ed of the day, because minerals from food intake end up in one's urine which may elicit a false positive or negative in the pregnancy test.

Now who says television is unhealthy. The right shows are educational. Your argument is irrelevant.

Oooh Cake Boss has starting. Buddy's going to make a giant robot cake!

Today, I have:

1. Finished (or rather, finally), watching one of the most sweetest animation movies to have ever been created - Up! I cried when Ellie died after she and Mr Frederickson lived such a long and fulfilling life together. I think the best part of the entire movie is actually creating a character that is an elderly old man.

2. Created a calender (using the back of an old Physics/Chemistry test paper dating back to March 2007) to countdown the days til the 1st of August. Lke dear old Mr Potter, I cannot wait for school to start. The dregs of 6 months of boredom are catching up. Or rather, it's startig to sink it. Depression might be setting in. I've lost the motivatio to go for dance classes right now. Or rather, this week, I didn't feel like going. Somehow, things are beginning to seem very routine.

I think the mother might have been a tad concerned, because I was sprawled on the floor readig a book and she started off by asking what I'd be doing tomorrow. And I gave a her a very unenthusiastic reply, about how I'd be headig to town with J. The rest of the conversatio might have been as follows:

M: "You're starting school soon, aren't you?"

S: "Hmmm"

M: "Fast, isn't it?"

S: "Hmmm"

M: "We'll go to Junction 8 later for dinner all right? (which I suspect she initiated out of guilt only because we were supposed to go to Universal Studios in the afternoon, but didn't in the end)

S: "Hmmm"

M: "Do you need to buy clothes?"

S: "Not really."

M: "Shoes?"

S: "No"

M: "Then what do you want? More books?"

S: "No" (though I secretly did want it, but you don't argue with a woman who keeps telling you that you can get it out the library for nothing.)

(silent pause )

M: "Don't you have dance anymore?"

S: "I do."

M: "But you didn't go this week? How come?"

S: "Dunno."

M: Didn't feel like it?"

S: "Yeah"

I can see how very intellectually stimulating our conversation actually can be. So in the end, she left after another depressing morbid silence. I swear to God, even if I'm not officially diagnosed, I definetly have depression. I mean, seriously, I'm losing enthusiams for living. Boredom-induced depression, of which I am a classic example. Sure I prefer the comforts of stability, but after a while, it gets boring. Think of it as exercise. A certain type of exercise will be beneficial for one's body, because it works the different muscle groups and elicits change in the body, but after a while, the body starts to adapt to the intensity of the exercise and won't reap the benefits anymore because, so a new exercise regimen is implemented. I'm pretty positive that the principle is the same for life. Or at least. My life.

One more month til my life finally gets interesting. Please please PLEASE come sooner!

3. Bought a new book! I know. I didn't even think my mother would let me buy a new book, considering how much I detest her lecture on the unnecessary extravagence I bring to my dad's income on my need for books. It turns out my brother has $50 worth of vouchers from Popular Bookstore which would be expiring in a couple of days, so she wants to use it before they are deemed invalid. She went "Go and pick a book. I'm picking one too."

I had seriously wanted to turn around and look for whichever alien had abducted my mother's brain, because that was the only logical conclusion I could come up with for her sudden benevolence. But I just sprinted to the beloved bookshelves and pondered on whether to get Eat, Pray, Love. Then my mother noticed another book called The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake, by Aimee Bender. She picked it up because she saw Jodi Picoult's name on it and thought Jodi had written a new book. But it turned out to be a comment made by Jodi that the publishers decided to print on the cover of the book.

Its nice to know that my mother knows that Jodi Picoult is one of my favourite authors. I simply ignore it when she pronounces it "piglet", instead of "picoult".

Somehow, the odd little quirks in life do little to stem the drudgery of my monotonous life, but I might say it comes as a nice little treat.

Okay so I was watching Legally Blonde online when my mum came screaming for me to come to the living room to watch this show. So I bustled out and found myself watching a scene in this TV series, called Trauma: Life in the E.R, where this brain surgeon was operating on a person's brain. The victim hadd gotten into some kind of accident and glass had pierced his brain, and his brain had swelled ferociously fast, and the surgeon couldn't stop it in time. So then it showed the doctor having to go the the quiet room to break the news to the family members.

Sure I've seen movies and TV episodes when the doctors relay bad news to the family members. But I know that they're fake. But the events in this series, are real. No editing or acting whatsoever. And you see real people grieve and cry, and it really really truly broke my heart and see these family members nodding vigorously in an effort to stop the tears from coming, because they already know that what they've anticipated has come true and that they just don't want to admit it. Their emotions are so raw. It touched me deeply and I ended up sobbing with them. No amount of acting and project that kind of raw emotion.

So I abandoned my laptop for like an hour and sat in the living room next to my mother in morbid silence, as we watched mothers cry for their unsconscious sons, weeping widows sobbing to their husbands before the doctor pulls the plug, that they love them so much, and that they've made them such happy and fulfiled women and then thumping their chests as they cry out to God to ask why this has happened to them, how children scream in pain as the nurses thread their wounds back together and feeling the blood gush out their cuts.

I swear, no words can describe this raw emotion. And all I could do was sit there and cry and silently grive with them 1000 miles away. The night has been full of tears for me. I just realized how precious life is, and that the worst place one can ever be, is to be in the emergency room, and to be in the quiet room and hear the news that a loved one has died.

I don't think I can ever watch another episode of that series again. I don't think my heart would be able to take such grief and horror. Tonight's been a night full of hot tears. Titanic, Life as We Know It, and now Trauma: Life in the E.R. This gives a whole new meaning to life appreciation.

Okay. Back to Legally Blonde. Elle's just spruced up and getting ready to show Warren and Vivien Kensington who's smarter. I LOVE ELLE. Even though she seems a bit ditzy at times, but who cant hate her?!?!