The NEL Way - The Autistic-Staring Game

I can't resolve why taking the NEL route home has the uncanny effect of producing in me, a melancholic feeling. All I am concerned about upon boarding the East-bound train from the Outram Interchange is getting a seat. Once God gives me a seat, I’ll spend the rest of the half-hour journey to Bedok sleeping with mouth unglamorously agape and/or head pivoting loosely on my neck (its movements subjected to the journey’s jerks as well as the entertaining conflict between gravity and the natural position of a head attached to a living body). This is if I’m lucky. More often, I’ll waste my life away on the train making futile attempts to achieve something academic. Alternatively, I’ll play the Autistic-Staring game. I’ll gaze at the eyes of some unfortunate unsuspecting victim opposite me. I don’t seem conscious of my staring because I appear to be staring “through” my victim in such a way that I don’t feel awkward when my victim catches my eye. However, while I gleefully and ‘autistically’ do so, my poor victim is cruelly made to feel uneasy. I go on doing this to a few more preys (often chosen indiscriminately, or if by a deliberate selection, because he/she is conveniently and strategically located diagonally from where I am – my favourite staring position).

For today’s trip home, I wasn’t doing so, because I decided I should pencil this down on a scrap piece of paper. It appears that blogging kept a few people from feeling uncomfortable on the train today.

Mum

I’ve missed my mother.

Work has taken her away from weekday dinners more often than before, but work is just one of them.
I have taken her away from me too. My impatience has taken some of her – our relationship – away.

I’m afraid we’re losing that special, unconventional yet every-mother-and-child-would-love-to-have relationship. Recently, most of our conversations are so un-interactive. For me, it’s a monologue when I try talking to her. When she talks to me, suddenly she sounds more like the mother everyone else seems to have – repetitive, mundane and irrelevant. Irrelevance and repetition scares me the most; these are what will chase me away, make me shut off from all that she says.

I’m scared, close to tears because she’s all I have on earth. I have God, yes, but He’s up there. I know He’s supposed to be everywhere and I should never need anyone else when I have Him, but still… my faith isn’t that strong enough. Ly: he’s a good boyfriend, steady and I’m happy, but our relationship still isn’t sealed; it isn’t permanent like a mother-daughter relationship.

I’m praying about this. Ly said to entrust everything to God. What that means is that I acknowledge that nothing I own on earth, including the unique relationship with Mum, actually belongs to me, but to God. That way, I leave everything to him and I don’t worry about using my human strength to sustain the relationship. Of course it doesn’t mean I do nothing about it. Rather, it implies that the source of energy behind any of my actions comes not from within but from Him.

Waste-Of-Time Quizzes

What Would You Go to Jail For? (Many outcomes)

You're goin' down! FOR KIDNAPPING!

brought to you by Quizilla

I think it's because I put down children as my favourite thing...
I've told Ly before that I feel like stealing one of the kids from church and runaway to some kampong and bring up the kid as my own...


What Kind of Girlfriend Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

-Perfect- You're the perfect girlfriend. Which
means you're rare or that you cheated :P You're
the kind of chick that can hang out with your
boyfriend's friends and be silly. You don't
care about presents or about going to fancy
placed. Hell, just hang out. You're just happy
being around your boyfriend.



Well, that's for Ly to judge... So Ly, what do you think? Do I make it?

Who Appreciates My Happiness?

I'm exhausted now, but truly happy, for quite a simple and unlikely reason.
I had a wonderful afternoon discussing Divinity with Josh and Mengy. (I don't care if we sound like muggers, because I'm not denying that.)

We recently set up our little trio, using the basis that peer accountability would both motivate and stress the individual enough to study well. We have come up with a common study schedule. Every week, on pre-selected days of the week, we'll stay back after school to discuss essay outlines for History and exchange Divinity notes. Today has been our second day working with this plan. It has been fruitful -- and I thank God for this. The output was far too amazing for it to have been a result of our own efforts. To add a nice wafer to the banana split was to close this session with a lovely word of prayer (in English), courtesy of Mengy (a highly likely candidate for a Chinese swa-teng/Chinese kampung missionary post).

Mum picked me up and I eagerly (just as in my kindergarten day-care days) told her about what happened at school, making particular mention of this new found joy. She was either very tired, she couldn't empathise, or my voice was too high-pitched for her to digest what I was saying (Mum can't stand my voice. There was one period when I was around 12, where she would quieten me in the car because my shrill voice in the enclosed space got to her ears). A little disappointed, I was. I always like sharing my joys.

Do people understand why I get so happy over such matters and such small matters?

When I got back, I hoped that my mugging third-in-class Sec 2 sister (whose streaming exams are in a week's time) would appreciate this joy. I excitedly told her about it, like a child whose classmate just appeared in the papers (and that aptly happened to my classmate, Nicholas L., when his award-winning poem to his girlfriend earned him a spot in the papers this week), but she didn't even glance up from her sprawled default position on the floor.

Oh well.

I called Ly, but he was out cycling.

I took a shower. At least that made me feel much better... Took a good dump (a Ly term) too.
Hottish warm water (not body temperature warm, but the hot-warm Jacuzzi sort) and my favourite shampoo combination (Dove and an unknown-brand mint shampoo combined in perfect proportions), a triple facial wash (with Clean & Clear scrub, Hazeline mint, and Watson's tea-tree) and my darling Enchanteur Romantic pink body soap made me feel so much better. Defecating leaves a feel-good effect of a flatter tummy too...
Oh, and I brushed my teeth (just before dinner) too... More mint...

Perfect toilet experience...

Of Noses, Eyelids, Red Ants, Vulgarites & Other Unpleasant Things of Life

I'm feeling sick.
I've been sick since Friday. What annoys me most is the runny nose, but now, I've an added inconvenience: a sticky eyelid because of some unseen infection in my left eye.

I am at home now, after getting leave off school (the 2 periods of which consisted an Economics pep talk, a fire drill and getting my Divinity prelims papers back).

I feel so mung-zhang (grouchy in some dialect, probably Hokkien). I came home to find small red ants in the laundry basket (I hate ants) clumped on a towel. Did I mention I hate ants? It wasn't as if that wasn't awful enough to add to my leaky nose, half-shut eyes and an ambivalent fever (I have no idea whether I'm feeling hot or cold; I feel cold under my pull-over and yet perspire in this coldness). That towel was mine – and I didn't use it – someone who has no sense of what's hers used my towel – and got red ants all over it. I am so inclined to believe, to the extent I don't want to say "I'm inclined", but simply state knowingly, that that someone is my sister – the same 14-year-old sister who used to wear my underwear by mistake because she doesn't give two hoots about the ownership of personal belongings.

[I thought I promised myself never to grouse on my blog. I'm still trying to restrain the vulgarities and other uncouth nouns, verbs, adjectives, fillers and exclamations.]

Darn… I feel sick.
I’m going about the house cursing and swearing at any sight of red ants and any evidence of my sister’s irresponsibility and lack of consideration for the house.

I do swear; I’m human.
(Angel in Weiling says: Now, now, don't use the "I'm a fallen being afterall" logic as an excuse.)

I hate this. Even as I’m typing these grouses, I can barely forgive myself for saying all these. I’m justifying in my mind why my unpleasant remarks are not right. I have no freedom from myself (not that I really think complete freedom would do me any good – see, there I go again correcting myself).

Damn it.

Music & I

I don't usually go around with two things plugged in my ears. However, just a few days ago, my internet upgrade to a 512kbps Unlimited Broadband plan gained me a CD-MP3 player. As usual, I'm thrilled by new things (usually, new stationary such as highlighters and pens have the great ability to enthral me). I used the portable music machine on the way home just now. I played the Gosford Park Soundtrack Alexander burnt for me somewhere last year. I love the piano-and-vocal pieces.

It's really queer (good queer) how suddenly everything around me changed once I played the simple music loud with the plugs stuck in my ears. The songs on the Gosford Park OST are of a gentle, soothing and elegant lounge-like nature. Harshly ugly people and old women covered with loud make-up suddenly looked human. I don't know why 'human', but it's a funny feeling I had. With the manipulative music playing, and conquering seemingly all, though in reality just one, senses, everything looked gentler and more peaceful. The rough edges were smoothened out. The scene was so movie-ish (cinematic is the word I believe) -- the kind with background music playing as the world functions.

At the bus stop, waiting, attention-grabbing peoplets (young people) and cigarette smoke didn't bother me for the first time.

At the bus-stop, I felt light. I felt like doing a Waltz and a Tango (although I don't quite know how to) with the strong beats of the other songs Alexander adulterated the soundtrack with. It was a lovely feeling. I felt elated with a glow -- the distinctive-overstretched-skin-brought-about-by-pregnancy-glow glow.

Food Poisioning @ The Wedding Banquet

I received first class treatment in the Esplanade on Friday night. In the midst of watching ‘The Wedding Banquet’, I started suffering form stomach contractions, or something of the same pain-inducing kind. The nausea that accompanied it was a distinctive characteristic of food-poisoning (prawn-filled-chee-cheong-fan-from-the-Tiong-Bahru-foodcourt-poisoning).

My prayers kept me as far as the end of the show. While waiting for Mum to find that green car of hers in the huge car-park, I had a bad bout of intestinal contortions that sent me on the floor. Ly panicked in the most candid manner; even Cui (my sister) was of a lower anxiety level than him. Somehow, the efficient security and car-park marshals found me on the floor in the middle of the car-park and radioed (walkie-talkied) for help.

After Ly and a smiling security guard lifted me by my probably-sweaty-by-then armpits – most embarrassingly – to help me walk to the air-con interior, a wheelchair was brought down and I was comfortably placed on it. It was my first time on a chair with 2 wheels. I must admit the female usher did a better job of pushing me compared to the shaky Ly. The experience was quite exhilarating despite the pain and utmost fear of farting amidst the hoohaa, particularly when I was being lifted up. Throughout the entire affair, I instinctively knew I’d feel better once I let out a resounding flatulence.

Thankfully, the awkwardness diminished slightly when they Esplanade staff left the 4 of us alone in the First Aid room – with bathroom attached – after kindly passing us a glass of warm water (which I guiltily forgot to drink). I could finally fart in peace and without reservations – but that wasn’t quite the case with Ly in the enclosed room too. I couldn't be bothered anymore anyhow. I sat happily on the cool, clean toilet bowl (after struggling with the butterfly pants – a huge piece of cloth that requires tying at the front and back to ensure it stays on the hips – that Ly spontaneously bought me a couple of weeks back) and I pushed hard. And I farted: 3 rudely loud but contenting ones. I'm quite certain the sound of the semi-solid goo that was excreted with pure joy travelled through the unlocked toilet door into the room..

I guess that makes Ly family now, since he has now seen me in my full humanity. (Virgin guys think their girlfriends are saints/angels/goddesses until they marry the very same saint/angel/goddess.)