yeah.
written: 5:16 p.m. on Sunday, Jul. 03, 2005

Tell me: Did Ms. L totally get me or did she totally get me? Normally I don't like hearing/reading/listening to negative comments about me because I am vain and self-absorbed like that, but that review basically encapsulates all that I think are wrong with my life right now.

Because, let's face it: This stupid piece of shit diary is a genuine piece of shit. I can't put it in less crude terms because this diary does not deserve anything less than that. I can't write anymore and I'm not sure if I ever could to begin with.

Again, let's face it: It doesn't take much to impress your teachers in secondary school, especially when you're surrounded by people who couldn't really write. I read the stuff I wrote back then and it's good for someone of that age, and that's precisely it: I was never astound, outstanding, mind-blowing. I was just Good For Someone That Age.

I think I finally understand why I chose to go to Law. It's about Get Rich Quick and not Get Rich Never which is what I'd get if I'd chosen the Suffer For My Non-Art route, a fact more glaring when we consider the fact that I'm in Singapore, a country that doesn't pay its writers. Do I need a change of scenery or do I need to completely forget it altogether 'cause it's never going to happen?

I think I'd opt for the latter, thank you. Unless the world suddenly develops a strange fascination for the mundane life that goes on in this tiny country, whatever I try to do, writing-wise, in the future will only lead to disappoint when nothing comes out of it.

(Okay, so I'm overly-cynical but I prefer to think that I'm being realistic. It's also about filial piety: gotta support the folks, you know. You need to fork out all your internal organs in order to pay for medical care in Singapore; or at least, we do, because we live in a condominium, nevermind that it's a cheap one with like two facilities, namely a square pool and a tiny gym. Whatever.)

Still, the review had some good tips I could use on some other day that's not today because I am still trapped in my slump and I don't know how to get out of it. We'll see how things go.

**

So there's this thing called 'style' and I think I have a style but the thing about my 'style' is that it's really not my style at all. See, there's a difference between writing fiction and writing about your day. On the rare occasions when I do write fiction (which is Almost Never, by the way), I don't write like how I do in this diary. Instead, I have a drawer of a few styles to choose from, depending on the seriousness of the piece and the kind of things I want to attempt to convey. And fiction makes the variation of style a lot easier - it's an entirely blank canvas and I'm free to move around, because what I'm writing is made-up and hence it can take any shape I want it to.

But writing about your day is another ballgame altogether. You're writing about your interaction with other people; the things that really took place in a day of your life; facts to be presented as they are; and such restrictions stifle my writing, somehow. I can't romanticise things if I don't feel it, and I write best when I'm romanticising (because I am such a sucker) - that's when I go all pretentious and start using descriptive language and stop writing as if I'm talking to the computer screen. I can't do that when writing a typical diary entry because I'm not a hundred percent in charge of the things that I put into it. The canvas has already been painted on by the people in my life, and I have to give them due respect by painting around it.

Does this make sense? It's a realisation that came to me when I was in the toilet just now. I find that I conceive the best thoughts when I'm in the loo, which is a serious waste because by the time I get out of there, all the words in my head have already disappeared.

But you know, I should write more fiction-esque things. Doesn't matter if I'm giving it up; it's the only way that I'd feel more content about this thing called life.

**

Yesterday: Kbox and Initial D with Jielun fans from jay-chou.net. I said in the previous entry that I wasn't going to sing but I ended up hogging the mic.

God, I sounded bad. Could've been my throat or simply the absence of talent on my part. Whatever it is, I had great fun doing Yi Fu Zhi Ming. That song is one of two Jielun rap songs that I can do (the other one is Long Quan - duh! I love that song to bits and pieces because it makes me feel so proud to be Chinese, silly as it sounds) until I got to the last bit where Jielun does another rap over the chorus. I forgot that I couldn't read some of the words in the CD in-lay when I listened to the song at home; hence, when that bit came on, I just mumbled through the whole thing.

Well, Jielun mumbles through his songs anyway and he makes it sound so sexy so you can't exactly fault me for it.

Jielun is such a genius. Apparently he listens to Eminem, Destiny's Child, Jay-Z and Usher, but thankfully, he also listens to Franz Liszt (who, by the way, was totally gorgeous) and Chopin. He likes Jet Li and wants to break into the Western market and I hope he does because he's going to bring this culture overseas and I'd be even more proud of him for that. I was eating dango today and thinking about how the Japanese export their culture through anime and I think that Jielun can do the same. He does R&B/hip-hop/whatever you wanna call it which is almost universal, thanks to the Americanisation of the world. Unlike the original American R&Bhiphopwhatever though, which I absolutely detest, his brand of it is distinctively Chinese and hence unique. Even if you listen to his music without the lyrics, it'd still sound Chinese because that's exactly what it is.

But screw this pseudo-analysis of his music. I like him the way I do because his music is so damn good and that's basically it. I can go on about how Chinese he is but if it didn't sound as fantastic as it does, none of it would matter. He's a freaking good singer as well: I love how he always sounds so tortured on love songs, and it helps majorly that 99% of his love songs are break-up songs (awesome! I hate listening to saccharine I Love You You Love Me stupid ballads). His voice has this tragic quality to it that works super well on high notes (and boy, he hits those high notes perfectly), like he's got a fist pressed against his eye to stop the tears from streaming down his face.

Of course, it could me just me: My mom says that his love songs lack feeling and that he's emotionless when he sings. But still, I don't think so. When we were KBox-ing An Jing (classic Jielun song) yesterday I was listening to the melody for once and it almost broke my heart. When I came home and listened to it again and his voice sounds so tragic and depressed that you wonder how anyone could doubt his authenticity and sincerity when listening to him mourning the way he does about love gone bad.

He's simply amazing and that's all anyone needs to know.

Okay, back to the KBox thing. It was great fun and I think it could get addictive. Someone should do it with me. Who wants to go KBoxing with me? It'd be fun and you'd get to hear me butcher perfectly good songs. Sugoi, ne?

Watching Initial D for the fourth time was a bit of a drag though. I was almost falling asleep towards the end, during that last race between the characters of Jielun, Edison and Jordan Chan. But then, Jielun cries after finding out the truth about Anne Suzuki, his song plays fantastically and melancholically in the background and I'm wide awake and thinking, "My god, would we ever get to see him cry again?"

I think he has the potential to become a good actor.

Whatever happens though, I'll always love him for his music.

**

My birthday is coming. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

I was reminded again yesterday after the Initial D thingy at my grandma's house. We had a celebration for all the July kids. There are four in my mom's side of the family: myself (duh) and three other cousins, all females. One of them was born July 4, which is America's national day. I'm July 14 which is Bastille Day and France's national day.

Ha ha ha. How nice.

But the point is, I love Lana cake and all but I just don't want to celebrate birthdays. I'm still cynical about it and I don't think I'd ever become less cynical about it. It's funny how we celebrate the fact that we're one year closer to being buried six feet under, because that's what birthdays are about, aren't they? Maybe we do the celebration to make it easier for the birthday person, but to me, it's just a huge slap in the face, a cruel reminder that I'm not getting any younger and that the only way to go now is down.

I am such a Holden Caufield. I don't want to grow up because I don't want things to change. I want to be young and reckless, to have the prerogative to snigger at adults and say, they don't understand as they are so way past their expiry dates. How can I do that when I'm 20-something?

It's crazy. It's almost impossible to believe that in a few years' time, my parents will start pestering me about getting married and having kids, that I'd be working full-time, that I won't have the "I'm still a student" excuse to dish out for not knowing what the hell to do with my life. It's too much to take and I don't understand this fear.

Thinking about it is making me freak out. I better move on to more pleasant matters.

**

Right, I can't think of any.

Uh, I love myself very much.

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