Sold and spun again.
written: 4:08 p.m. on Sunday, Jan. 11, 2009

My arse hurts too, if anyone's interested to know.

Anyway, I've decided that I've had it with the out-of-this-world vibration that my racquet generates when the ball comes into contact with the strings. I hit one ball with my ex-coach's racquet once and the difference was really quite amazing. Whereas the ball-strings contact on mine was jarring, it was practically feather-like on his. Beyond the comfort issue, the vibration is apparently hurtful to the arm.

Thus, I got this:

It was between this dampener and the US Open ball-shaped one. But the W came in a pack of two while the other only one and they both cost the same, so the decision was pretty obvious. The pack has a nice picture of Roger on it!

I couldn't figure out how to put it on at first until I saw some pictures online. I suspect it'd fall off quite easily though; it already detached itself from the top horizontal string when I moved my racquet from my bed to my table. WTF, right? Sigh. At least it was mildly cheap. ($6.90 for two. And the pack has Roger's face on it. Always a bonus.)

I also wanted to buy an overgrip so that I don't have to change my racquet's grip 'cause I'm damn lazy, but I couldn't decide what colour to get so I didn't in the end. Some Googling online, though, has convinced me to forgo the fancy colours and just get either black or white. White sounds just about right, strictly because Roger's grip is white. HAHAHA.

Also, I realised: I'm obsessive and get super emotionally invested. But I don't see the point of watching tennis, or sports, or being interested in anything, without the emotional investment. I don't see the point of following Roger Federer, for example, if the outcome of his matches doesn't affect me. If I didn't care, watching would just be a waste of time. Of course, maybe I shouldn't care to such an extent - i.e., my day is ruined when he loses spectacularly to a player I desperately want him to demolish such that everyone in my real life gets on my nerves.

But then, if I didn't, it'd just be a waste of my time.

This made perfect sense to me at the point of realisation, but not so much now, and I can't really explain it. Maybe I'd figure it out in due time.

***

I haven't written about Wednesday night yet. The initial plan was to club at Zouk, but some of Baoyue's friends pulled out last minute. In the end we went club-hopping in Clarke Quay.

First stop: Some cheenapiang club called Lunar. I was pleasantly shocked when I found myself actually liking the place, if I didn't pay too much attention to the people in it. It's a live music place, a classier version of a typical Chinese KTV. Two female singers and a band, and one of the singers is easily hotter, more charismatic and more talented than Jolin Tsai. It made me wonder why she's stuck singing in a club, but I guess that's life.

We went upstairs where the pole-dancing, bar top-dancing action was going on. It was positively lame. I'm still disturbed by the sight of a group men sitting around a table, their eyes fixed on the scantily-clad girls a few feet away from them, trying to act seductive and sexy but, to me, failing miserably. (They looked more like they were doing para para dancing than bar top dancing, but I'm a girl. What do I understand? Lately it appears I understand nothing at all when it comes to men.) Is this my feminist tendency rearing its head? Because I feel personally insulted when I'm in contact with such things even though I'm not, and will never be, one of the girls up there.

Then again, I doubt I'd feel better about it if the tables were turned and it was a group of guys up there and a group of women sitting around a table, gawking up at them. I'd feel rather grossed out, to be honest, and I'm not sure why. Maybe I'm a prude.

After that, we went to Zirca, the ex-Ministry of Sound. The music was absolutely terrible and we sat too close to the speakers so my left ear felt terribly fucked after a while. I went out for some air and Baoyue followed. We stood outside the club and had this meaningful conversation about men, relationships, our expectations, and how fucking difficult it is for us to comfortably get into a relationship - or, in the first place, find someone with whom we're willing to take that step. She and I are similar in terms of being quite unwilling to open up to another person, just in case he's not worth it, just in case we get hurt. Maybe 2009 would be better.

Maybe not. I was uncharacteristically optimistic at the start of the year, thinking that the "new year" would magically make all the problems in my life disappear. But it's not a do-over switch, no matter how much we wish it'd be. December 31 2008 and January 1 2009 is only a mere second apart from each other. Nothing gets erased, it is not a clean slate, and things, simply, go on. Life still goes on. What you had a second ago doesn't disappear just because the clock struck 12, and I now question the wisdom of giving a symbolic significance to something so mechanical, routine, cold. False hopes, high expectations, and for what?

For fuck, that's what.

Quite clearly I'm still in a bit of a bad mood. But let's not pursue this.

Anyway, the talk was great. What wasn't great was how I suddenly - and I mean, suddenly - felt really sick when Baoyue was telling me about our Great Leader and his wife. I felt like puking all of a sudden, so I made a beeline for the nearest drain and squatted over it, preparing for the contents of my stomach to find their way down the drain. I retched a bit but nothing came out. Then all of a sudden I was sweating cold sweat, my vision went dark, I felt my head spinning and the heat evaporating from my body.

It was fucking horrible, and I know exactly why it happened. At Double O I drank a screw driver. At Lunar I drank a lychee martini (it sucked. I'm not very fond of martinis). Inside Zirca, I drank a grand total of four sips of Tiger beer.

The last time something similar happened, I went drinking with Simon and had some whiskey mixer followed by a Hoegaarden. The only difference? I drank at least half a bottle of that Hoegaarden (I can't remember if I shared it with Simon) while on Wednesday, I drank at most four really tiny sips of Tiger.

Oh seriously. Alcohol and I will always be sworn enemies. Forget it. Whoever thought it was a good idea to get me started on drinking was just deluded anyway.

I felt better after sitting down (on the fucking curb) and drinking a glass of water. I have this whacked theory about how, at the point in which I sweat cold sweat and felt the heat evaporating from my body, the alcohol was getting itself out of my system. Funny right? I know. Whatever it is, it only further reminded me of why I proclaim not to like drinking - because it feels awful when it goes all wrong.

Last stop (for me): Bellini Grande. It was practically empty and therefore freezing cold. I drank a horrible dunno-what juice, cranberry or something. I left soon afterwards. The cab ride home cost $16.80.

I need a boyfriend with a car and a driver's licence.

***

I don't know how to express this annoyance that's been with me since Saturday morning, much less understand where it came from or where it's going. PMS, maybe?

Biology always lets me take the easy way out.

But mostly, I just don't think I'm disposed to forgiving and forgetting, letting go of anger, and putting the past behind me. I tried being that person...but I'm not her. I'm bitter and I hold a grudge and I will never forget all the wrongs you did to me, the way you hurt me, even if it is long, long, dead and buried history. I will never forget, and as long as I remember, I will never, ever truly forgive.

See? That is why I can't be bothered staying friends with ex-boyfriends or guys with whom I used to have a "thing". It's too forced, and after the passion is gone, you just don't mean a thing to me anymore. Sorry.

But honestly? I'm not. Sorry, that is. I used to think I'm a relativist, but the past couple of years of law electives and my experience is general have made me realise that I see things in black and white more than shades of grey. My secondary 2 form teacher made me believe that taking rather extreme positions is not a desirable thing, but I'm not sure if I still believe that. I am an extreme person. When I'm good at something, I'm fucking good at it; when I'm bad at something, I'm fucking miserable at it. A's for Literature, History and Economics, but a C for Mathematics even though I worked harder for Maths than the subjects that I scored A's in. Says a lot, right?

Some things to me are never justifiable. The taking of a life, for instance, which is why I'm staunchly against the death penalty. I used to think there wasn't any right or wrong, just a gradation of severity, depending on the angle from which you're viewing the issue; but not anymore. I think there are absolutes in this world, except there is exponentially more relativity. But there are still absolutes.

What has this got to do with what I was talking about two paragraphs ago? Simply this: I draw my boundaries clearly and deeply. Very, very often, there is no line connecting Point A to B, and there sure as hell isn't an A'. Once Point A is erased, that's it. A blank spot remains, and a blank spot it will remain.

It leaves me cold sometimes. Today is one of those days.

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