The Greatest Insult

I've just been given the greatest insult ever.
By my own dad.
No this is not a grumbling session. I just found it so amusing.

Dad walked in this morning and greeted me as I got out of bed with
"I just took your clothes out of the wash. Your jeans has this peculiar... [searches for a word] scent. Its like... [struggling to find adjective] a smelly angmoh* that hasn't bathed for days"

Ok. So my jeans were smelly. But who could blame me... I was wearing that for 3/4 days. I was packing and moving out of halls, and didn't have time to do the laundry. =P Also I might have probably lost my sense of smell, as a survival selectivity evolution, in order to cope with the smelly piggies I went travelling with, one of whom wore the same pair of jeans for the entire 2 weeks, and the other survived on 4 pairs of underwear (without washing mind you!) for 3 weeks.

Its no wonder I've lost my sense of smell (boohoo...)

So if I meet any of you guys now, and I still smell like a smelly angmoh*, I apologise. I've changed my jeans, but dad says my whole luggage smells like that. =(\

Though I am curious. Do I smell? [insecurities resurfacing]

* really sorry to my british mates. angmoh is a word singaporeans use to describe non-chinese people. basically it means red-haired. but i dont see how all non-chinese are red haired. its slightly derogatory. but i was quoting from dad verbatim.

Uniquely Singaporean

For all those who have been studying or travelling overseas for a substantially long period of time.

Most people know that they are home when they hear the familiar singaporean accent greeting them. For others, its the humidity and heat that hits them the minute they step out of the comfy air conditioned airport.

Here's how I realised I was home. On opening the newspapers, I was faced with details of celebrities losing weight by religiously visiting slimming salons, a write-up on using mobile phones in toilets, and a rather intriguing debate on whether guys should carry their girlies' handbags. I can't place a finger on it, but it felt so distinctly singaporean. Not in a bad way entirely, but I'd never find such discussions gracing the pages of the metro or the sun. [such mild social expositions would bore the british audience]

Yet as much as I denounced such articles, I found myself drawn to them as well, in a peculiar sort of way. Maybe thats what makes me singaporean. And inexplicable obsession with such (meaningless) oddities of life. But to be honest. It is embarrassing. Does that equate me being slightly uncomfortable being singaporean? Or is it a justified concern about the standard of our press (or its reflection about the concerns of our citizens) ?

Yes I'm home, or am I?

[correct me if i'm wrong about this particular sort of discussions being uniquely singaporean -- oooh... anyone remember that slogan =P]

Changing Seasons

Thats it. One year down. 4 more to go. It didn't end with as big a bang as i expected. But I reckon its a trade-off after having had too much fun and too little studying. Hadn't blogged for a while coz I was rushing to prep for an exam, zoomed off to scotland and spain subsequently, had a blast, came back to pack my life in boxes, and now heading home. -phew- What a mouthfull.

Also managed to squeeze a ritual solo show. This time round it was Death Of A Salesman. Arthur Miller. Brilliant show, superb acting. Pity no one had the honour of enjoying it with me. I think it was an apt show to catch just before heading home. Sometimes I feel like Biff Loman.

Have a millions of thoughts, but no time to write them down as of now. I'd probably do a writeup on the trip. Soon.

I've realised that I don't go back home to life as it once was. Had that wrong impression when I went back last summer. Somehow I had hoped that I'd go BACK (like back in time) to things as they were when I left it. But now I realised its one change after another. At least this year I'll be more prepared. Time machines don't exist yet.

For now its homeward bound, for yet a new season of life.

A-stray

Caught a rare sight today. Whilst shuffling along the deserted street, heading back to halls, at an unearthly hour I might add. [I seem to do this often, unwittingly] Seems like the strangest of thoughts and the simplest of sights drive me to deep (well almost) introspection, whenever I am in that situation.

Rare sight: A straggly little ole dog running through the cars, off into the shadows. My eyes couldn't keep up with where he was heading. And after a couple of seconds, the street was empty again.
And for a minute there, I almost felt abit like that little stray.

Wandering into the stillness of the night, casting furtive backward glances, taking in the smells of the night air that one never really notices in the day. Yeah, if mom knew I'd walked back alone she'd have me skinned. Again. But theres a strange sort of liberation, yet a sad sort of discontentment. As mom used to say, we have no choice but to stay strong, and be strong. I didn't ask to be that way, but I reckon thats what being here does to you. Sort of a drawback?

I'd never really describe myself as an independent kid. To be honest, I'm more a dependent than anything, (ah so heres to the wool I've pulled over all your eyes). Bits of stubborness and 'spoiltness' as being the only child does rear its ugly head at times, though its subtlety may only be obvious to me and a rare few that pay attention.

Its times like these when I struggle to reconcile such strange discontentment. Or more like battling to reconcile the billions of thoughts that are still churning. Times like these when that little stray dog just seemed to echo what I was feeling. A stray. Straying away almost from where I'm meant to be (which I am still figuring out), straying away form contentment in Christ alone, straying away like a sheep forgetting where the shepherd is. The only true shepherd who gave his like for this stray.

Its not easy being the stray, I want my owner.

Running Dry

Before people start complaining of this place growing rather old and mouldy, I ought to plop a little something on, just to assure everyone that I'm alive. Still kicking unfortunately to some people's discontent.

Haven't got any startling thoughts that I'd want to share with the world though. My brain has still been on hibernate mode. Or rather I might be turning into a recluse. Lets just see how much rambling I can keep up with, and how much people can stand following.

In one week...

• I've felt as if my life were broken into tiny bits of broken glass, scattered all around me, cutting me as I bent down to pick the pieces up.
• I've landed back on square one.
• I've set down resolutions that I knew I'd never keep.
• I've sought for attention that could never be held.
• I've tried to mind-read but failed miserably.
• I've actually ran out of things to say.
• I've wished that life wasn't this hard.
• I've given thanks that I'm alive.

How different has that been from yours?