I'll Crush You Like A Cockroach! (If only I wasn't afraid of things that have wings, have six legs and are a few thousand times smaller than me)

I want to write about something… but what? I have run out of events that are bloggable and inspiration for distorted accounts of my life/thoughts… and against the backdrop of my no-trivia, controlled-whining blog policy too (basically, I don’t write what I wouldn’t want to be reading on other people’s blog)… Arghh.. whatever! *Wei Wei does the blondie’s “whatever” and roll eyes thang*

I’m angry, and I need to shit. (I found out I can’t shit late at night. It’s as if my bowel muscles get just as tired as the rest of my physical and mental state.)

I’ve so little patience for immaturity and irresponsibility in anyone old enough to be in secondary school. That’s quite ironic, given the fact that I’m working with children most of the time now: Tuition kids between ages 8 and 14 through Mondays to Saturdays, and then my own one-to-one follow-up 10-year-old girl in church on Sundays. Evenings are the time I take off from children, yet that’s the time when my 14-year-old sister fills the gaps.

14-year-olds are so irritating. I hate seeing those Sec 2-3 characters roaming about Tampines Mall, eating at MacDonalds, being in my space… Argh!
Sec 1s are not so bad: fresh into a new system of secondary school and teenhood, they are still testing out the waters and proceeding cautiously; hardly any airs and all out to let new experiences soak in.
The Sec 4s and JC1s are comfortable in their teenage years and past that teen-insecurity phase of the frightful-fourteen-year-olds.
Sec 2-3s are the “Well, hey! We’re second-years in teenhood, so that gives us the right to start trying to set trends and making our presence loud and clear to you. We’re individuals with a mind of our own, so par-leease show us some R.E.S.P.E.C.T. And to our elder siblings, yes, we think you’re so passé, but we’ll still copy some of the things you do but of course disguise them a little so that they look original. And in the event that our behaviour becomes strikingly similar to yours, blame it on nurture and spending too much time with you. No no, we don’t like the way you talk, but we took after it, most unfortunately may we add, by the cruel fact that we live together. Oooh, and lookie at the front seat of the car, and the place at the dining table Jie Jie always sits at,… they must be the best… let’s try it out!”

And if you have not guessed it right, it’s my sister I have the least patience for. I suppose you could say familiarity breeds contempt and the fact that living together is usually never the best way to bring out the positive essence of anyone’s character.

I hate it when she uses my toilet. In fact, I hate it when anyone uses my toilet. It’s not officially my toilet of course, but the habits of this home have been such that the common toilet that is also an attached bathroom to my room, has become more or less, mine. Totally personalised with my favourite combination of toiletries and hygiene/cleanliness/neatness idiosyncrasies (e.g. The toilet is always wet because I shower the toilet bowl almost after every time I use it. Yes, psychotic as it sounds, I do that.), that’s my second favourite abode, after my room.

At least now, she makes the attempt to use it so secretly well that I can’t spot her presence (Previously, my highly-sensitive intruder alert was often activated by the fact that my facial wash tubes were messy with soap in the caps). But alas, she forgot to open the door into my room today after her shower this morning in my toilet. That’s the problem – the longer she does something in secret, the more careless she gets.

I have to admit I’m not the nicest person to live with either. I’m meticulous, a perfectionist and can’t stand the slightest sight of dirt, untidiness and evidences of irresponsibility.

Darn, now I find me justifying myself through my rambling and complaining again. That’s partly why I try not to whine through my blogs. The b*tch in me comes out.

The RaRa of My Life Now (the rara that's eating away my nights at home or with Ly)

Here's the Necessary Stage production that most of us Theatre For Youth Ensemble (TFYE) members have been looking forward to. We're currently in the devising stage still, but things are taking shape.
This is the close-to-year-long theatre programme I've been involved in on Saturday afternoons (now 3 times a week... and later hitting 5 times a week).

The advertisement was taken off the M1 Youth Connection brochure which also features "Mixed Blessings" and "Such Sweet Sorrow", now available in all good places...

(Sorry ah Yan, I'm living off your scanning work. And thanks ;> )

10 Things That Would Make A Girl Like Weiling Happy

1. Agreeing with her other half (not a cutsie term for ‘boyfriend’, but the other psychological half of Weiling bound by the inertia of her massive bottom) to go for a morning jog (the only time she would jog because the jogging path outside my window is shielded from the fire-breathing sun then)

2. Returning drenched in perspiration hence feeling lighter and justified to have another binging session should Ly invite her to dinner at his place(no more lunches because Ly resumed lessons at NIE today)

3. Taking a shower cum washing her toilet while her hair soaks in mint Shampoo/Conditioner

4. Using Biore’s Men’s Facial Wash (mint too)

5. Using The Original Mint Showergel mixed 1:3 with newly-bought Dettol soap (I bought a small bottle of the foul-smelling bodywash over the weekend in the hypochondriac expectation that it will kill all the white-patches-and-wart-producing germs that I bring up from the swimming pool and while doing any other health-benefiting exercise in public areas)

6. Hanging about her room clad in my underwear doing all sorts of healthy and clean things that decent girls do in the privacy of their rooms

7. Finally completing her Quiet Time in the morning, and not just before she sleeps (a result of the day’s activities and procrastination) when she usually dozes off while praying

8. Skipping breakfast by virtue of all these happy distractions and having an early lunch instead – simply the delusion of having had 2 meals in one, and hence saving herself some calories while not having officially missed a meal

9. Updating her blog while having a Sunday-cooked-but-today-microwaved-to-reheat brunch, which removes some guilt of making her faithful blog-readers visit my page regularly and finding nothing new

10. Enjoying the prospect of having some more time between lunch and her first tuition session today at 3pm to complete some other household chores which she absolutely loves to get done, not to do: cleaning windows, ironing clothes (To my future husband, I don’t enjoy ironing, so get wrinkle free shirts in the future or be a PE teacher) and changing her bedsheet

Tuitioning Is Fattening

While my busy schedule leaves little time for me to have good nutritious afternoon meals (except when I get invited to Ly’s place for a minimum 5- course lunch – his daily fare), my tuition students’ Mum’s make up for this poor diet.
Two of the Mums gave me a box of home-baked pineapple tarts and chocolate crispies – fabulously made with lots of that motherly touch too. The latter came at my first lesson with the Mum’s 2 boys. I found the box of edibles a nice welcome gift to begin my new responsibilities with – the Primary 2 and 6 boys placed under my charge.

Nevertheless, better than getting a new student by recommendation/request or being showered with Chinese New Year treats, was my Mum’s comment that she was proud of me. She was proud and pleased with the way I launched my tuition career and how I am managing with 6 students (one more on the way). At the risk of sounding like my Primary 2 boy (as lovable as the amount of puppy fat he is endowed with) who requested that I told his nanny that he got full marks for his spelling and dictation test, my Mum’s pride in me has and probably will always be very dear to me.

The Much Delayed (now much condensed due to the loss of memory with the passage of time) Account of My Malaysian Trip (26-28 December)

Another shopping spree in ringgit. The fact that I can buy everything while giving my Mum the impression that they are twice as expensive in Singapore (even if it isn’t) is the secret behind the 2:1 ringgit appeal to Singaporeans.

On a graver note, I observed to some horror, my Mum, along with my relatives (grandma & aunties), aging. The manner in which they are aging is rather frightful actually: the older they get, the louder they speak, the more instances they talk simultaneously. And worse yet – in the claustrophobia-inducing enclosure of the car (made this way due to the dominant presence of 4 loud women talking in a raucous high-pitched chorus at the top of their voices).

My 12-year-old cousin Zachary, 14-year-old sister Cui, and I kept silent in apathy, bewilderment and survival instincts respectively. While Zach made several futile attempts to turn up the volume of his noise-making FM channel and my sister sat in the gait of a motion-sick creature, I mused on the thought of my semi-deaf second Aunt’s husband being the most blessed man against the backdrop of aging wives.