My abused tear ducts.
written: 9:41 p.m. on Monday, May. 12, 2008

It's not so much the literal meaning of the lyrics that got to me (contrary to how I portray myself, I don't sit around harbouring serious thoughts of marrying him)...but I'm not sure what got to me either, just that it did. I don't know why David Cook keeps making me cry and I swear I've never, ever cried so much over one of my massive fangirl obsessions before. It's just that this guy is so precious and (there I go crying again - THIS IS RIDICULOUS) so amazing and I've resisted making proclamations about his personality and his heart and his soul and whatever because how would we really know, right? But I think we've - or rather, I've - seen enough over the past three months and read enough and found out enough to quite safely say that he has a wonderful heart and he is an amazing person, and everything about him just gets to me, especially how genuinely moved and overwhelmed he was during his David Cook Day homecoming, his entire life story, his humility, his generosity. This has gone far, far beyond being merely about the music and the voice; I'm enamoured with David Cook as a person and I say that without any qualifiers whatsoever. It's freaking insane, but he must be doing something right to make me cry so damn much because I simply don't cry.

When he wins Idol, I'm really going to bawl my eyes out. He deserves to get everything he wants.

In a way though, I do feel bad for him. I've watched a few videos of various David Cook Day events and there was at least one instance of a crazy female fan throwing herself at him, catching him off-guard. It must be damn scary to have random strangers hug you and get that close to you, randomly grab your hand, throw herself at you when you're trying to get off a stage. David has been really nice through it all; he signs as many autographs as he can, waves to as many cameras as he can, talks to as many fans as he can. I just hope that he won't get so jaded about all of this that one day he just doesn't bother anymore, and stops seeing the point. He has said that his loss of privacy is a big price to pay for this whole stardom thing...and it's only going to get worse.

I love who he is now, and so I can't help but fear that he won't be the same Cookie one year from now. It'd break my heart to see him jaded and spiteful, but if/when that happens, I wouldn't be surprised - at all.

Sometimes I wish he truly knew how profoundly and deeply he's affected me and touched me, but I've come to realise that I don't need to be another person out of the millions wanting him to acknowledge their existence, wanting him to acknowledge what he means to them. It'd be nice if he knew, but if he never does, I'm all right with that, too.

Anyway, first day of work. What to say, what to say.

For starters, I'm really tired right now and my brain isn't functioning. Waking up at 7 and cramming yourself along with half of Singapore's population on the rush hour MRT to Raffles Place was not fun at all, and I was suitably and predictably pissed off. If I hadn't had David singing to me, I would've been even more pissed off. Coming home was even worse, all thanks to this group of four Chinese teenaged girls who were crowding around the pole thing on which I clung for dear life, and because they were all damn short, they inadvertently breathed onto my hand. OH MY GOD, GROSS. At some MRT station this damn tall ang moh dude boarded the MRT, and for some reason that completely escapes me, two of the girls looked at him and started laughing. WTF? They kept talking about him and laughing and it made me realise how sad some people are. They live in Singapore, but obviously have never had any significant contact with Caucasians, hence the immature behaviour. Where do these people come from? Why do I feel nothing but disdain for them? I'm amazed that I endured their ridiculous presence for like, eight stops, but trust me when I say that those eight stops were the longest eight stops of my entire bloody life.

Thankfully tomorrow my mom has to go to Tanjong Pagar, so I'm hitching a ride from her to work. YESSSSS! I really really REALLY hate rush hour MRT rides.

Speaking of things I hate, I violently hate my hair and I have no idea WTF the hairdresser was doing. UGH. Even though I told myself that I can show my face in public with this ridiculous hair cut that looks like someone put a bowl over my head and used it as an outline to trim my fringe (like Nick Carter's hair during Backstreet's Back era - I'm ashamed that I actually remember this too) when David Cook appeared on national (and international) TV with his atrocious rebonded Happy Together hair, I still really, really, REALLY fucking hate my hair. Worst hair cut ever. Sorry, not going back to that hairdresser again, and I've decided to stop freaking shopping around and just go back to Esprit, even though my stylist is long gone. It's all her fault! Why did she leave? Why?

Anyway, I don't have much to say on the work front, at least not publicly. It is what it is, and today I'm quite convinced that the universe is really, really trying to tell me something. There is no other explanation for that...talk today, coming at this point of my life, than that. I still don't know, though.

In non-work news, I was waylaid by some Prudential dude who wanted me to do a survey on whatever. I was going to West Mall, and he stopped me and asked if I could fill out a survey, and I was like, "No, I'm in a hurry."

Nevertheless, I stopped walking when he proceeded to ask me if I was a student. At that time I was keeping my mp3 player and twirling the headphones - super long wires - around the player, so I was distracted enough to stop and answer his questions. The conversation went something like this:

Prudential Guy (PG): Are you a student?
Me: Yup.
PG: Are you in poly or...?
Me: (WTF do I look like a poly student) No I'm in NUS.
PG: Oh, which year are you in?
Me: Um, 4?
PG: Oh so you're graduating this year?
Me: No, I'm graduating next year. I just finished Year 3.
PG: Oh. What do you major in?
Me: Law.
PG: Oh, so are you doing any attachments with any law firms?
Me: Yeah I'm interning right now, which is why I'm dressed like this (gesture to black and white garb).
PG: Oh, so what firm are you interning in?
Me: [insert name of firm]
PG: (obviously has no clue what firm it is) Are you doing any conveyancing work, or...?
Me: No, definitely not.
PG: So what do you do?
Me: Um...you know, commercial stuff. (If anyone watches Idol at all, I kind of answered this question in the same way David answers Ryan's inane questions on results night, such as "Why were you so emotional last night" after he sang Always Be My Baby, and also "Why did you sing Music of the Night straight". David does this thing where he exhales as he thinks of an answer, and I think it's damn cute because I always got the sense that a part of him thinks that the question he's answering is utterly stupid.)
PG: Oh okay. (Nods) Thanks. Bye!
Me: Okay bye.

So after all that shit, he didn't even get to his point? What the fuck? What a waste of my time. I can't believe how polite I was to him. He said 'bye' around the same time I put my mp3 player away and yeah, I was obviously not very interested in the conversation at all.

I need to avoid that Bukit Batok MRT area; I keep getting waylaid by insurance guys/savings plans guys/all sorts of weird people. Do I have "PLEASE TALK TO ME!" stamped across my forehead? Knowing the impression that the average person has of me (i.e. that I'm unfriendly and cold and 'dao'), I'd think that my default expression - pissed off - would deter these people from talking to me...but no. Should I work on that default expression more and etch a permanent frown on my face? How annoying.

Been looking forward to Lost the whole day, and I can't wait to watch it in 30 minutes.

before sunrise // before sunset

Previously:
- - Tuesday, Aug. 29, 2017
I'm moving. - Sunday, Jul. 11, 2010
In all honesty - Tuesday, Jul. 06, 2010
What I want for my birthday... - Sunday, Jul. 04, 2010
On Roger's behalf. - Friday, Jul. 02, 2010