Home is a concept.

My reluctance to leave my house will be my own downfall, but I can’t help but feel attached to the walls of my room. It’s like part of my soul wants to remain in this room, because it feels safe. When no one can see you, no one can touch you, and no one can hurt you. It is this fear that eats me from the inside. And I worry it will never leave me.

On a much brighter note (and to put it very plainly) I have received another scholarship. Same benefits, but they changed the name. They call it an ‘academic achievement scholarship’, but it is essentially the same tuition fees and allowance.

Academic achievement. What does that even mean? What have I ‘achieved academically’? And how does that compare to what I have achieved in life?

A lot, I say. It was the moment I came to terms with the end of my first scholarship that the second one happened, and I’m still at a loss for words. After the first semester of straight As,  I was beginning to worry that I was concentrating on the wrong things. The second semester was one of distress, of pain and suffering, and internal turmoil. I was so emotional, and fragile. But that’s the way life is, and I’ve had to learn how to let go the hard way. I had to lose things to learn how to live without them, in order for me to better hold onto the ones worth holding onto.

The second semester, my grades dropped, but not too far, but I feel a lot better about myself, because I have proven that grades don’t have to control you.

Success comes in different forms.

Personal success, academic success, and success in life are very different levels of expectations.

For the longest time, I depended on academic success to determine my personal success, but that is slowly changing, and I am eternally grateful to God, and the special people in my life who teach me (in subtle ways) how to let go of some things you have no control over in the first place.

For the first time in a while, I can genuinely say my life is beautiful, and I am happy. My life is not perfect, and I am not perfect, but I know things will improve, and I will improve. And for that, I am truly grateful, and genuinely happy.

Cheers.

Dig Deep.

‘Happiness’ is a concept. It is a idea, that promotes optimistic, positive thinking in negative-ish situations.

For example.

‘If only I had a _________, I would be happy’.

‘If I could _________, I would be happy’.

But doesn’t that leave a very big hole if the _____s don’t get done or don’t happen? When we mentally draw the line for us to cross in order for us to be happy, we set ourselves up for unnecessary disappointment when the line is not crossed.

I have been playing the wrong statements in my head my whole life. If I was thinner, I would be happy. If I was smarter, I would be happy. If I could draw better, or carve better, or weld better, I would be happy. If I maintained good grades in school, I would be happy. If I had a cat, I would be happy. If I had more money, I would be happy.

It’s time to change a few of these statements, and to everybody reading this (who actually give a rat’s ass) please bear with me through this period of mental and psychological renovation.

I’ve been thinking about it very carefully, and the truth is, I am happy. I am quite happy. I have a God who thought someone like me was worth saving. I have a family that drives me mad, but loves me very much. I have a boyfriend who doesn’t like women who look like ten-year-old boys. I have  few, but great friends to laugh through difficult times with, some I don’t see very often, but are no less of a friend in my eyes. I study at a school that may not have the best system, but works well enough (and is magically surrounded by the most delicious food places in the entire country). And, I may have a faulty jaw and faulty back and faulty eyes, but I have taste buds and a stomach in good condition. I am suddenly very thankful that I can walk normally, and run if I wanted to, and laugh and cry and see and hear and smell.

(you must think I’m mad by now. Like, what the hell has this girl been thinking about.)

You’re right. What have I been thinking about? I believe there is no such thing as ‘wasting time’ before an exam, and its taken me long enough to find out. I’ve been digging deep into my inner swirling thoughts and dreams to fish out what could possibly be my ‘artistic concept’. And it’s not easy.

When it gets too personal, people will say I am self-indulgent and egotistic.

When it gets too pro-female/anti-male, people will say I am a feminist artist.

When it gets too childhood-experience-y, people will say I have daddy issues, and need to just get over myself.

But the truth is, everything happens for a reason. As as arts student, and as a hopeful future practicing artist, I hope people will change the way they look at art in Singapore. We’re too cynical, skeptical and ignorant, all at the same time (you see, even the way I say that makes me all of the above). If only we could one day realize that art is not something pretty on your living room wall, or something realistically rendered, or something that the world doesn’t need. One day, Singaporeans have to realize that art is the best way to tell a story. And the good artists are the people with stories to tell: collective memories, societal issues, etc.

The other day, TBH was saying that because society’s not giving to artists, he thinks artists should say a big F you to society. I don’t agree. Societies and art go hand-in-hand, because every artist was from some kind of society, and under some kind of upbringing (or lack of upbringing). I’m just saying, that a fish that complains the ocean is too salty can’t decide to reject water, cause it’ll die. It has to be smart enough to grow its own wings or legs, to change its situation.

(reading through the whole post again, I realized I jumped to quite a few topics. But hey, what do they all have in common? They all had to pass through here first -points to forehead-)

Good night, everyone. May your dreams be sweet and inspiring.

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.

Someday I’ll soar.

It’s a gentle kind of depression. I’m so thankful for everything I’ve been given, and so angry about everything that has been taken away. I feel like I’m ready for the next stage of my life, when the truth is I’m not even close. I feel complete, and yet, I feel like half of me is trapped under the weight of a car in a traffic accident and I can’t escape because part of me is left behind. I feel torn into two, and yet, I feel a strange kind of resolve. I love being alone, but I absolutely hate being lonely. There is a difference, you know. Sometimes all people need is themselves. But not me. I need so many things, too many things. So much that it drives me absolutely MAD that I don’t have them all. I feel trapped in my own thoughts, and it takes a lot to pull me out of it (but it’s not happening. I’m being pulled in even more every day I’m alone).

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?

Days like these.

Days like these, when I feel more alone than ever. 

No, not lonely. Alone. 

3 days to assessment. Still too many things undone.

8:00 am.

She screamed helplessly, though nobody could hear her on that still Friday night. Nobody walked past that dark alley, and nobody saw her collapsed on the floor, over his bleeding, battered body. She frantically wiped the tears off her face, replacing them with his blood from her hands, with which she held him so tight. His eyes darted back and forth, and he breathed so heavily, she could feel the fear in every breath he drew. How was this even possible? They were just sitting in the evening air a few minutes ago, discussing their life, discussing their love. It wasn’t plausible. Like the divine writer of the universe hadn’t arranged his manuscript properly, and misplaced a few pages. 

He grabbed her wrist with his bloodied hand, and looked at her, and closed his eyes. She cried out,

and cried herself awake, to the sound of her alarm clock.

 

She stretched out her left arm and silenced it, before realizing what time it was.

Nerah.

I.I.I.A. lesson today was productive. Instead of reading/discussing long chupters (yes, chupters) on the denotation theory of representation, we went for an exhibition =D German artists viewing furniture from a contemporary art perspective, with 2 guest local artists, Ho Hui May and Min Chen. Min Chen’s work was beautiful, and he was there working on it, because he didn’t have time to secure it thoroughly. I had a nice, short chat with him, and found out that he’s the artist-in-residence at Nanyang Primary, and is into ceramics, sculptor, origami, basically 3D stuff. Like me =D Quite exciting to meet him in person. Its my first time hearing about him, and I’d hoped to find out more about his art. But oh well, I can’t find any relevant websites =/

And I have two paintings due on monday, but I’m super tired and I don’t know why. I know I don’t travel much, but school days are now so long, and the long days are starting to wear me out slowly. It’s getting harder to breathe, and I’m getting breathless alot easier. Like my lungs are shrinking. More sleepy and tired, and all I want to do is drink water and sleep (even that doesn’t help much). Please tell me I’m not getting a relapse, because that’ll will only rob my of my already-little time.

My blueberry nights.

If there was a better way to go then it would find me.
I can’t help it the road rolls out behind me.
Be kind to me, or treat me mean,
I’ll make the most of it, I’m an extraordinary machine.

Extraordinary Machine – Fiona Apple.

I know you don’t agree with her that I’m p___p, but it’s pretty obvious I’m not exactly bombshell material. And it’s probably cause you’re good-looking (there I’ve said it) that she had to go and comment about the way I look. But I’m 1000000 percent grateful that you take me the way I am =] I love you baby.

On a different note, 

 What is it, really, that stands between right and wrong, and deed and sin? What makes up a difference between two things, that is so intolerable that a line has to be drawn in its place, separating the two? What defines love, and hate, and the difference between these? Humans instinctively label everything in the universe, in the hopes that everything in the universe may be justified, and accounted for, and defined as one thing or another, because it is only natural for humans to feel insecure whenever presented with an unfamiliar object, or placed in a new situation, or environment. And with this insecurity controlling them, their minds are governed by fear, unfamiliarity, and inequity. Because of this, those who are ‘misunderstood’, are immediately different. 

So is ‘fear’ the answer to the birth of difference? I wonder. 

 

 

“In the end, nothing we say or do in this world will matter as much as the way we have loved one another.” -Daphne Rose Kingma

Yesterday.

was a pretty day. A pretty awesome day. Thank you =D

My room is disgusting. No matter how many times I walk around it with a dustpan and broom, no matter how many times I rearrange stuff, no matter how many times I plan, and categorize, and sort, and try. 

It. Is. Still. Oh. So. Very. Disgusting.

Like a rat’s nest. Or, a homeless man’s cardboard box of belongings. Disgusting. I really need to clean it. But how now brown cow! Roar. 

And, Jie and I have been eating loads of chocolate cake. My goodness. But at least we found some pretty good chocolate cake. 

Gosh, I’m really running out of things to talk about. Nvm, after tonight’s concert and tomorrow’s FA-day, I’ll have loads to talk about =D Toodles.