Recently in Personal Category

I confess – I tend to judge songs by their titles. And Marit Larsen’s new single, If A Song Could Get Me You, was too cute-sounding to resist.

But then I caught her homemade video for the song, which she shot in a subway station.

It’s so cute my blood sugar levels rose.

Strangely appropriate though, because I have a massive crush on someone which is, of course, plainly ridiculous. Because I’m pretty sure it’s one-sided. It’s probably just a side-effect of too much mental chemistry.

But crushes can be mad fun so long as they don’t border on psychotic obsession. Instead, I’ve gotten plenty of ideas for songs and have figured out what I’m going to do in 2009 career-wise as well as my gameplan for 2010. So though my mad attraction is unrequited, I’m still inspired in good ways. (Yes, Sivin, that’s a good thing)

I could try with a waltz
I could try rock'n'roll
I could try with the blues
If a song would do

I could sing it high or low
When I let you go, you know
I thought it was for the best
Now it is so obvious

So here it is, here it goes
I could try it rock'n'roll
A change-your-life-forever-tune
If a song could get me you

I could make it high or low
Sing it on the radio
If that is what I need to do
If a song could get me you

I could run for miles and miles
I'd take off and I'd start flying
I could cross land and sea
If you'd just believe me

I should not have hurt you so
This old house is not a home
Without you here there's no use
I've got no time left to lose

So here it is, here it goes
I could try it rock'n'roll
A change-your-life-forever-tune
If a song could get me you

I could make it high or low
Sing it on the radio
If that is what I need to do
If a song could get me you
If a song could get me through
I'd sing my way right back to you

Tell me how to make it right
Tell me now, I'll start tonight
I know I could make it last
I swear to you that if I knew
What I was getting myself into
I wouldn't answer to my fears
I'd never leave you standing there

Just look at me

If you'd only see me
I would prove my love for you
I could swallow half the moon
Just tell me where, tell me when
I will have you back again

So here it is, here it goes
I could try it rock'n'roll
A change-your-life-forever-tune
If a song could get me you
I could make it high or low
Sing it on the radio
If that is what I need to do
If a song could get me you

So here it is, here it goes
I could try it rock'n'roll
A change-your-life-forever-tune
If a song could get me you
I could make it high or low
Sing it on the radio
If that is what I need to do
If a song could get me you

Ah, Singapore. How doth thou hath becometh increasingly pretty for Christmas. The shopping malls – they celebrate the decadence of the coming festive Eating of the Wallets, I mean, Christmas.

Was supposed to play tour guide, but, well, plans turn awry. Admired the lovely new nightspots, shiny new malls, picturesque waterfront.

Singapore food still sucks. Can’t stand cigarette smoke? Move to Singapore where you can’t even smoke inside a pub.

And I feel like hell. Kthksbai.

As it’s wont to do, November brings drama and heartache and illness.

Still with the boyfriend. His fault I’m ill though. Crying myself hoarse for two nights ended up with me losing my voice and amusing the downstairs eatery proprietor with my very loud whispers. Seems throat was very vulnerable after last week’s respiratory infection so I caught myself a mild case of the flu.

Cat is befuddled at my hacking and retching-like coughs. He probably wonders if I’m having a hairball issue.

Boyfriend was slightly amused at my losing my voice. “Singing too much?” Ha bloody ha. But rest assured he is suitably penitent and keeps asking if I am OK/have not bought weed killer/conspired with my cells to contract lymphoma.

Unlike most of the guys I’ve dated, I couldn’t possibly hurt him by calling him names or accusing him of mental/emotional/physical inadequacies. He hurts when I hurt and was more concerned that I was a trembling, emotional wreck than anything else I might have said and done during said process of emotional wreckedness. He is sweet, he does try, and our situation is trying but we’re doing our best.

So I’m staying in tomorrow because I’m tired, ill and the dust bunnies are plotting to suffocate me in the night. I’m sure of it.

In other news, I’m glad that I’m not a famous enough blogger to have people taking public potshots at me and join in hordes to speculate about my private life. The current activity in the blogosphere reminds me of a frenzy of sharks smelling blood, or flies around dung. What’s making me ill isn’t really the bloggers involved but the mean commenters who are having such fun viciously tearing people apart. Turns my blood cold.

So if you’re having a pity party because you’re not famous enough to get invited to parties, get advertorial requests or have people give you free stuff, don’t be envious. With all that come the hanger-ons, yes-men, backstabbers, parasites, gossipmongers and all sorts of shit that nobody really wants to deal with.

I think I’ll go count my blessings, drink my cough syrup and shut up now.

I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Maker of Heaven and Earth.

I believe that we still have cause to hope for a better country, that good can still find a place in this world, that we can make the world better.

I don’t believe that I will ever meet a man who won’t lie to me or cheat on me.

I don’t believe I’ll ever get married.

I don’t believe in true love, and if it does exist, maybe it just doesn’t exist for me.

I don’t believe that I’ll be miserable single. Better than being in a relationship that’s not working or where you hurt more than you’re happy.

I believe I’ll get over this in time, that I’ll stop crying eventually.

I believe that no matter how shitty life gets at times, and even when it’s never easy, that God still loves me.

I believe I’ll be OK.

…for everything I put you through.

I give up.

I’m tired.

Sick of it, weary of caring, just too damn strained.

I remember Karcy commenting that nothing seems to affect me as much as my relationships.

So it’s really no suprise that I crumpled into a sobbing wreck when the boyfriend said that after he’d made sure I was settled, taken care of, financially secure and safe from harm and persecution…we’d part ways.

And then he spent the next hour attempting to convince me he was just kidding.

Then after I’m somewhat composed, I call up a friend who I was supposed to see (until I got waylaid by stupid boyfriend’s joke) and friend is all concerned, even offers to bring chocolate.

Perfect. So I think some good might come out of this night…until it starts to rain and friend pleads for rain check because it’s a nice rainy night to sleep in, and I would have agreed if it wasn’t the fourth fucking time we rescheduled.

I just said, “OK, I’m not calling you anymore. Next time you want to hang out, it’s going to be you calling because I just can’t take being put aside anymore.”

I know it’s not supposed to be personal.
But how am I not supposed to take it personal when you say you’d rather sleep in than come over?

Don’t set me up to hope and then dash my tiny expectations to shreds.

I’m feeling whiny, emo and generally belligerent towards the Y-bearing members of humanity. Exceptions being my father, brothers, Wrimos. And one amoeba.

Image via Wikipedia

For the first time in my life, I’ve successfully (kinda) painted my nails. Yes, not much of an achievement but I’ve never done it before though I vaguely remember a sitter painting my toenails a bright red when I was a little girl.

I get it now, why women and even men are willing to spend precious minutes cleaning their hands, nails, pushing back cuticles, snipping away hangnails.

There is a sort of peace to be found in slowly, deliberately painting coat upon coat of bright paint on keratin.

Being a novice, I ended up starting over, botching a few jobs, laying on varnish too thick, missing a spot.

There is no way to hurry it. You have to do it one nail at a time, patiently waiting for one hand to dry so you can start on the other. As I wait, I carefully rest my hands waiting for the few seconds it will take for the nail polish to dry. My too short nails end up having nail polish splattered all over the surrounding skin, leaving me to carefully clean away the extra bits with a cotton bud and remover.

Short, short nails. Deep, dark aubergine-red nail polish.

I think about how my ex-fiance hated the thought of me painting my nails. How he only begrudgingly approved of one particular shade of deep brown. Of an old lover sitting behind a table and slowly painting his nails black.

I wonder how my boyfriend is doing and if his exam for today is over. And I think about an old friend, now stranger, and how I can’t even get away from him on Facebook because our friends, they’re still our friends, though we have nothing in common anymore except a past I’m learning to slowly leave where it is.

So quickly I was replaced by a prettier, taller girl who probably makes him laugh better than I did. Then there’s the smaller girl who I find hard not to like, makes everyone laugh too. I hope she’s happier than she was those years ago when she was unhappy, lonely and unsure of where she was going or what she wanted.

Am I bitter? No. I’m just taking the time to accept things change and the people you’ll always love won’t always stay.

I smile instead as my nails dry as I think of the people who laugh and talk to me in a Gmail thread that has not died, though a year has come and gone. Of old friends becoming ever dearer, of dear friends reminding me “We’re still here. Really.”

It’s 1.50 am and my damned nails are finally dry.

So I’m working from home and taking a break (one of many, hur hur) by reading the all-funny Dooce.

And Heather’s telling a story about her brother giving money to a homeless man. I get to thinking that, gee, sounds like something the boyfriend would do.

One of Heather’s commenters said it best about these people who have no qualms about giving to the needy:

“Your brother has gotten what very few of us have figured out...charity, compassion, giving isn't about caring what they do with it or asking for thanks. It's about doing it and knowing you did what you could.”

I do argue with the boyfriend about being a soft touch, very quick to opening his wallet.

I say, don’t give to Malaysian beggars because it’s all a syndicate. These people are smuggled in and are ‘professional’ beggars. We’re funding a ring of evil people.

“But what if they don’t take money back? What if they get beaten or something?”

And he gives money to the beggars anyway.

Because he’s so kind, he gets dozens of email requests from family, acquaintances, acquaintances of acquaintances.

My son, he needs money for school.

My father, he needs medicine.

My sister, she wants to take a course.

Watching him go through his inbox, I wonder how he manages not to get angry or saddened by all these emails from people who all want something from him.

But all he does is shrug. They ask because they must.

There are days though, that he gets frustrated not because of all the demands on his time or wallet but his ability to do well in his studies. It’s not easy trying to juggle his hectic life and I just say to him, Just do what you can. The best you can.

And he tries. He tries so hard and sometimes, he gets despondent feeling it’s not enough. But it never stops him from trying.

In some ways, he’s the silliest man I know. But he’s also the kindest, the least complicated and whenever he says, “I’ll do my best,” he means it.

Faith as simple as a child’s and an earnest desire to do good and be good. I guess I couldn’t ask for more.

…because once they step into grey, non-platonic areas, men give me headaches. And heartaches. And stomachaches.

Backstabbing women are fine. I already have the knife holes for them to insert the steel anyway.

And I know Cal is just itching to get me to act in one of his lesbian-themed plays.

No, Lains, this isn’t a request for you to set me up. Allow me my daydreams.

“Love is a plant with many flowers: generosity, forgiveness, peace, honesty or simply letting your feelings show”.

In some ways, it’s been an absolutely brilliant week. Now as another one starts I’m looking forward to working on my Nano novel, planning the TGIO party and getting things in gear for work.

Cal made me laugh the other day, asking me “On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate your current happiness level?”

If I were to rate it on my current feelings, I’d eschew the scale together and just say that right now, everything’s as close to perfect as it can get.

I’m happy.

Wonder of wonders – I won a prize for being Best Dressed.

I half expected pigs to be flying around the Parliament building at my win, but it was all due to Dell’s Colours party at Centro.

DJ Serena C was emceeing and as always, she delivered. The food was also pretty good and was lucky to be in the company of Suan, Kim and ST. Not to mention my other friendly tech reporter friends who also happened to be around.

There were 4 Best Dressed winners and they made us horse around before being allowed to choose what we wanted. I took home a funky orange Dell Studio Hybrid PC. Not sure if I’m going to keep it yet – stay tuned for tomorrow’s unboxing because it’ll be delivered to the office.

Wore a happy sunny halter tie dress to the party – as a rehearsal for Chooki’s wedding dinner. Cal thought the dress brilliant so I tried it on and it was pretty awesome. My lucky dress, LOL.

Unfortunately Suanie and friends had to witness me turning my Mamma Mia session into a group singalong. It was wacky fun. Tonight was also awesome for other reasons, that involve accepting that things change, people change but sometimes the best things are just as good as you remembered.