Blubber.

I want to sew my own mouth shut, so I won’t have to eat anymore. With assessment rolling in, all I find myself doing (amidst the chiong-ing of projects and collating contextual nonsense) is shoving food down my throat.

I can’t explain it. It’s just that when I eat good food, I feel so full of boundless joy and relief, and its such a comforting feeling to be filled with a nutritious hearty meal.

However, I haven’t had time to go jogging like I used to, so all the hearty meals of every late night in school is starting to show around my waist, and it’s bumming me out. I don’t fit in so many of my clothes, and I hate how unfit I have become.

I want to break every mirror in my house, right after I cut my own skin off and slice off my excess junk from my waist and legs. Seriously, what is the deal with me and food? I look at other people who don’t exercise and eat every damn thing they want, and they can’t put on a single gram. Me? I have to replace sweet drinks with water, 2 litres of it, I have to have cups of fruits and vegetables every day, I don’t eat chilli, mustard, mayo, ketchup with ANYTHING just so I can cut the extra calories, and I usually have to give half my meal to Dzaki. What kind of a life is that?

I know its so ignorant of me to complain about having too much to eat, but seriously, it brings me to tears when i think about how badly my eating has become. Yes, starving millions in third world countries, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, because I have too much to eat. Believe me, if I could sew my mouth shut, I would. But I can’t.

I just can’t.

The letter of the day.

So and so is brought to you today by the letter ‘Q’, and the number 29834571093485710394.

As in a ‘queue’ of 29834571093485710394 people at the Popular closed-door member sale at the Bras Basah outlet.

Seriously, is 25% off post its, pens, staple bullets, rulers, glue and other stuff that worth the queues and seas of people?

I don’t understand those people who rush through the aisles and grab all the small cheap stuff they can think of (and probably will never use) rather than check out the costly non-fiction books, or that expensive comic book, or that coveted novel. Or a nice printer, paper cuter ( Lord knows if I had more hands I would have plucked one for myself) laminator, etc. Why post-its?! I don’t understand Singaporeans.

We’ll queue for the simplest, cheapest stuff if we think it’s a great deal. I mean, why pay $1.60 when you can pay $1.20 right?

People in Africa queue for fresh drinking water, 10 miles away from their village.

We buy baskets of stationery, and drive into town just to get closer to these ‘don’t miss’ sales. Why?

Anyways, I’m not complaining. I got the 2 novels I’ve been waiting ages to get (by Kazuo Ishiguro), and I’ve got two handy books, one on lighting, one on soft furnishings (sewing, mending, framing), both really handy for soft sculpture and future installations. Plus I’ve got two plastic paper-shelving units that look exactly like the Muji ones, but are half the price! Tee-hee!

A big thanks to Rina for being there in my final lap of the Queue/Race =]

Good night, and may this evening’s air inspire you.

24 days?

1 alternative daily work
5 final sketches
3 concept drawings
1 final drawing

1 landscape daily work
10 concept sketches
1 final drawing

1 min 30 sec  video to draw, edit, animate.

1 photo/video installation to prepare

1 (wood-based) installation

4 subjects left, 5 main projects across the board. I still don’t understand why this semester seems the most disturbing. Probably because I haven’t been sleeping well, eating well, exercising (at all), or did anything that I truly wanted to do. I’ve had to share my room with my mum, then my sister, then my mum again, because of relatives bunking at my place. I’ve had big arguments, I’ve had brushes with madness, near-madness, and yet I’ve had moments of extreme ecstasy.

This past semester, I’ve been reminded of how fragile life is. Cliché as it may sound, it’s ineffably true. The fragile things are the most dangerous and precious at the same time.

19 stops.

Over the sea and far away
She’s waiting like an iceberg
Waiting to change
But she’s cold inside
She wants to be like the water

All the muscles tighten in her face
Buries her soul in one embrace
They’re one and the same
Just like water

The fire fades away
Most of everyday
Is full of tired excuses
But it’s to hard to say
I wish it were simple
But we give up easily
You’re close enough to see that
You’re on the other side of the world to me

On comes the panic light
Holding on with fingers and feelings alike
But the time has come
To move along

Can you help me
Can you let me go
And can you still love me
When you can’t see me anymore

She’s running out.

And yet,
I don’t care if it hurts,
I wanna have control.
I want a perfect body,
I want a perfect soul.

one grand passion.

Thank you, Jenny Holzer.

–

The fact that I can find the time to blog a tiny post almost every day must mean something. Am I not doing enough homework, or am I purposely putting it off till the last minute? Has a part of me fallen into the trap of “Oh, you’ve done well enough so far. Time to take it easy”

Remember the story about the Tortoise and the Hare? I don’t want to be the hare.

I cannot become the hare. I will not fall asleep under the tree near the finishing line. I refuse to. This blogging thing is to release stuff (equivalent to talking to yourself) (but I don’t talk to myself) (much) to get things off my chest.

1 history essay
3 landscape drawings
1 portfolio thingie (for PP)
143059834 digital art daily assignments
1 sculpture final

By monday. Really?

The Wrong Alice.

I never used to be this anti-school and anti-homework. I never used to care what people thought. I used to be braver, stronger. I used to write more often, and sketch more often. I’ve lost my drive. I’ve lost my muchness, haven’t I?

For all I know, I could be the wrong Julie.

8 days.

Why do I behave like there is time, when there is in fact no time at all?

I like History.
I love Western Art History.
I hate SEA History.
Why?

Second week of school.

As you might be able to tell, from the most boring post title in the universe, I am feeling extremely uninspired.

Well, I wouldn’t say uninspired is the word, because I sort of feel ready to work again. But I don’t know how to start. I feel stuck, and afraid. Afraid of making mistakes, afraid of offending, and worst of all, afraid of opening up doors that have been nailed shut for so many years.

And lately, I haven’t been able to control my temper well. It hurts me to know I hurt the ones around me, and I try so hard to keep it inside, and to calm myself down. But whenever someone remotely resembles him, I lose it. I get mad and offended, even disgusted sometimes. I feel angry, and I feel anger towards a person who is not there. A person I can only feel, following me around, inside me.

This is a person I cannot talk to. This person does not care about me, and does not think about me. This person is the stranger I had to grow up with, and yet know too well. It disgusts me to think of him, and yet, in recent weeks,  is all I can think about.

I guess I never really had the kind of closure I wanted. To be able to stand in front of him, slap him, kick him, tell him. Tell him how much I hate him, and how much I wanted to love him. Tell him that I never want to see him again, after I see him one last time. And yet, with every bit of me hoping I’ll get to confront him one last time, I wonder: If he really were to stand before me, what would I say to this person?

It angers me, and it breaks me inside. Because nobody has seen him, nobody knows him the way I know him. And I see him everywhere others don’t. I don’t remember what he looks like, and yet I am reminded of it in every man’s silent stare. I don’t remember what he sounds like, and yet I hear it in every angry voice, every frustration, even my own (above all, my own) and I wish to silent myself so that I may never hear his voice again. So I can forget him, once and for all.

But does anyone understand, or do I still sound like I made everything up?

Feels right, feels wrong.

Am I over-sensitive? I sometimes feel ashamed of myself when I get jealous, when I get protective, when I get concerned. Perhaps I am over reacting, but it does seem like good reason to worry. In a million ways, I feel disrespected, and taken for granted. For the simple fact that he didn’t even ask if it would offend. It was a statement. Not a suggestion, not a request. Nothing remotely resembling ‘asking’. It was a statement. But fine, I’m just overreacting, like I do most of the time. It’s not like you’re mine, exclusively. 

 

I am daring
I am expressive
I am confident

I will restrain
I will release
I will repossess myself

I have faith
I have trust
I have purpose

I have You. Thank you for blessing me, again.