Tuesday, October 11, 2005

Losing Interest.

I hate it. I hate learning dutch. It's so darn silly to read aloud along with the stupid player. What’s is it of use if I can speak the language? It's useless. Nobody speaks Dutch here. I want to leave to get away to disappear again. To be alone. In solitary. Leave me alone. I wish to plunge down into the deep abyss, never to be seen again.

Thursday, October 06, 2005

Shanghai in the 1930s

I'm crazy over the looks of 1930s Shanghainese women in cheongsams. It must be the influence of Stanley Kwan's movies like White Rose and Red Rose, Rouge and Ruan Lingyu. Of course, nobody dresses like this in modern day Shanghai with the exception on service employees in hotels or restaurants. I can imagine myself slip into a wonderfully tailored cheongsam.

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

Come On Baby Light My Fire!

A shot of adrenaline ran through my veins when I saw my dinner caught fire in the microwave. I hate kitchen gadgets. Gadgets are supposed to be used for entertainment purposes like tv, amplifiers, ipods or for work purposes like digital cameras, computers stuff, not in the kitchen. Cooking should be done in the old fashion way.
Nowadays, we have lots of excuses not to cook but to resort to frozen meals. No time. Too tired. Grab a dinner from the freezer and wham the coolerater door. Plonk the food in the microwave. Slam the door. Press a few buttons and let your dinner do a ballerina dance in the ultra high-frequency electromagnetic waves theatre.
What happened this time round? I never get used to the stupid microwave or rather I didn't want myself to. I preheated the oven to 175C and throw in my cheese soufflés on a steel rack and set to 20 minutes on the Crisp function. Minutes later, white smoke billowed through kitchen, into my dining room and into the living room. I ran towards the overheated white box and popped the oven door. My cheese soufflés looks like charcoal blocks. Suddenly, vroom! They caught on fire. It's like magic. I would be in ecstasy if I'm a castaway who has created fire in a deserted island. But I'm not. The fresh surge of oxygen coupled with high temperature causes my poor cheese soufflés to combust in flames. I'm on hot coals. I don't know what to do. Water, extinguisher or sand? What? I've got no sand. Damn! I realised that I cannot operate the mini extinguisher that I've purchased months ago. Water! Yes, water. Splash. Sizzle. More smoke. Splash again. Psss... The flames were gone. Oh no! Water and electricity = High chances short circuit. Quick, pull of the plug! For a moment I thought everything has ended. It didn't. The smoke was choking me. My eyes twitch. The entire house was blanketed with a fog of smoke. What will the neighbours think? I can't have them knocking at my door. Quick, air the house! Get rid of the smoke. I turned on the ceiling fans. It's not working fast enough to get the smoke out. I have to grab an extra fan. My nimble limbs brought up the stairs to fetch the standing fan. I ran down with this extra burden. Shit! I've grabbed the vacuum cleaner instead. I ran upstairs again, grabbed the fan, came down quickly eject the plug and turn it on.
This ordeal lasted from less then 5 minutes. Part of my dinner is gone. Burnt and wasted into the trash can. The burnt out scent lingers on my hair. I've to get the oven fixed. How nice! :-/

Thursday, September 22, 2005

Procrastination

From the movie, Collateral

Vincent. A coldblooded hired hitman. He hires a taxi for a night to make a few stops to do his killing business.
Max. A taxi driver who has been driving for 12 years and he claims the job to be a temporary one. He's working a business plan for his Islands Limos which offers its passenger a ride with a club experience.

Vincent to Max

"Someday my dream willl come...?" And one night you'll wake up and discover it all flipped on you. Suddenly you're old. And it didn'thappen. And it never will. 'Cause you were never going to do it, anyway. The dream on the horizon became yesterday and got lost. Then you'll bullshit yourself, it could never have been, anyway. And you'll recede it into memory...and zone out in a Barcalounger with daytime TV on for the rest of your life... Don't talk to me about killing. You're do-in' yourself. In this yellow-and-orange prison. Bit by bit.

I find this part of the conversation to be quite philosophical. Most of us have have a least one point or one part in our lives which resembles Max's. We often procrastinate, or just felt to complacent to do the things we really one. We'll wait. ....after I get a higher salary...till my kids gets older...perhaps next year....after retirement... When will the day comes? What if it never comes? It's a drag, a person in its self-imposed invisible prison as described by Vincent. I've to admit that their still some pieces of me like Max. Sometimes when you are stuck on procrastination for too long, it glues on to you like sticker and its much harder to get it off in a single rip.

Friday, September 09, 2005

Blank

I'm feeling lost. I do not know what to do. I do not know where I should go to or where to start from. Staying at home drives me mad. Tears are flowing down my checks. What am I supposed to do? My mind is totally blank. I don't seem to care for anything else in the world. To just not think of anything. To disappear, to vanish from the face from the world. I've lost my sense of belonging. No one knows. So empty...so painful yet I've to endure. Are these suicidal thoughts? I will not do that. Just disappear. Gone.

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

Findings from Yesterday's Search

I've discovered that my fustrations are due to the lack of purpose or goals in my life. Perhaps I do have them but not working hard enough fufill them. I give up too easily. When time pass by, I will feel guilty for my own sluggishness. Right now, I should stop searching aimlessly and stay focus instead. Words are cheap. It means putting words into actions.

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

The Search for Something

Life in a densely populated island of no more than 700 sq km is comparable to the life of chickens in the pen. Sometimes being at home is like enclosing myself in a pen within a pen. This kind of feeling occasionally haunts me, reminding me to leave the house to take a walk, do some shopping, run some errands, just to go somewhere else rather than to stay at home. Alright, I've been outdoors now and done with my activities. What's next? Return home, of course. I returned home feeling slightly much better than before but still having a feeling of emptiness.
I wonder if the coop up feeling is due to my mental state of mind or due to the physical environment? I think I know the answer to my own question. It's my mental state of mind. I often lament about the lack of resources, opportunities, excitement and so on even. The fact is I am blinding myself, stripping off everything that's good and casting a first-world as third world. Perhaps I'm spoilt but I don't think so. I'm just searching in vain for something that is there all the while but I can't see.
Now I know. It is not a physical place, its near. It's within myself and only I can overcome this feeling.

The Opening

La Chambre Rouge D'écriture is a piece of me written in words.