quite incoherent.
written: 8:44 p.m. on Sunday, Sept. 04, 2005

Yes, I do, very much. Even though she was an hour late, it was fun shooting the shit at Starbucks Suntec today. Fucking awesome, in fact. Just amazing stuff. I see a lot of myself in her and you wonder how anyone can possibly get you like that, understand things about you that nobody else even tries to comprehend. It's just...amazing. In the grander scheme of things everything is diminished, I just want to live, sucking the marrow out of life. Maybe we were separated at birth. That would explain why she looks more Chinese than most Chinese.

I'm sleepy right now and I can't write and I've suddenly lost all urge to study. It's the mood swing thing again; I'm getting attacked really badly these days, I get these horrendous mood swings that sap the life right out of me and I don't feel like doing anything at all when I'm having one of those inexplicable mood swings that strange people get because they have nothing better to do. Did that even make sense? Obviously not, self, if you have to ask the question.

Khai inspires me. When I got on Bus 171 heading for home my mind was bombarded with all these nicely-phrased thoughts and I just had to get out a pen from my black Mango bag and scribble down those thoughts all over my Kidner Torts casebook, getting extremely carsick in the process. Major joy and laughter but it was worth it all the same.

A few snippets:

"It's not really love but you call it love to romanticise it. When you romanticise things it makes you feel better about what you don't have, makes it seem more important than it really is, and you need that pseudo-importance so that your life wouldn't seem that trivial and pointless."

"You open up to him but he tells you that he's only staying for a cup of tea, and even though he says that your tea is very delicious, it still hurts because you're offering him so much more and all he wants is a cup of tea. Just a mere cup of tea. That's all you're good for."

The problem with thinking is that you structure your thoughts nicely but it's all in vain when you lose the words ten seconds after thinking them. No matter how hard you try to get them all down on paper, the minute you attempt to recall those words you're already embarking on the process of erasing them permanently from your memory. So you try harder to emulate what you'd originally conceived; but the words you end up recording are mere facsimiles of what they could've been.

People should invent a machine of sorts, or a chip or whatever, that can directly transcribe your thoughts from your brains to a computer or a piece of paper, something to record them exactly the way they were willed into existence (however temporary their existence). You know, something useful for once, but no, all Science is capable of doing is to come up with retarded nonsense like cloning (which then spawns pretentious movies like The Island) and SMS (which makes a mockery out of human communication) and other delectable crap that only serve to throw humanity into a state of chaos over what is right and wrong, what is moral and immoral, what is real heart-to-heart connection and mere phone-to-phone seeming connection. Ugh, whatever. I am quite sick of existing sometimes.

I am dissatisfied. Crucify me for bitching and whining and complaining when it seems like I have everything going on for me, call me ungrateful, call me selfish - and I will admit to all of your charges. I know the wealth of what I have, and simultaneously I know the value of what I don't have, the things that are missing, the things that I want and crave for but yet have always managed to elude my grasp. And I'm not talking about fluffy material things like a pair of Guess jeans or that nice Mango skirt; I'm talking about things that make you feel alive, passion and love and gorgeous romance and beautiful words and poetry and beauty, things that make you feel, things that help you live. I'm sleepwalking through everything, I'm only half-awake and I'm not sure if I'm truly living. I fantasise all day long about being swept off my feet by a charming stranger with whom I'd have a love affair that'd open my eyes up to the pointlessness of my life and the things that I do and finally help me to feel and live as a result, you read about such life-altering moments in books and watch them unfold before your eyes frame-by-frame in films, and you just want to escape because your life is so mundane and meaningless, you think, why can't that ever happen to me?, and the one time when it kind of came close was not real at all and when you take off your rose-tinted glasses you end up staring at all the mistakes that you made, fending off their jeering glares and mocking laughter.

And then you grow up and the prospect of meeting someone with whom you'd fall absolutely in love diminishes day by day, you cease to believe in the perfect person, you end up believing that you'd be happy settling for less. But I don't want to settle for less, I don't want to be resigned to my fate (and the word 'resigned' carries such tragically sad connotations that I feel sorry for all the people who feel that way about their lives), I don't want to be 40 one day and not have experienced anything. My biggest fear is dying in Singapore without having lived abroad and experienced another sort of life, because this place is so small that it's completely claustrophobic. You've seen how things can potentially be on the other side and you want to get there, to fall in love and not scoff at the notion, to meet someone who'd worship you not because he's cowered by your intelligence, but because it equals his, to find someone who'd be good enough for you to say, "There is no point to anything that we do because we're insignificant in the grander scheme of things, but it doesn't really matter because you make me feel alive and that's all that matters" and understand completely.

I get so jaded by the 'thinness of life' (quoting Julian Barnes), how transparently and unapologetically trivial and ultimately pointless it is. And all of a sudden I get the urge to re-read "England, England" for the nth time.

Why do I love Literature and Julian Barnes's literature?

Because I'm at a point in my life when I'm looking for the meaning in life, and he enthralls me so because I find meaning in his words.

I totally would not mind being his mistress.

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