Rich And Losing It

A total of eighty-five hours, I am so over with community involvement.

I witnessed a very ranching scene in town today while waiting for the traffic lights to flash in my favor so I can cross the road and get to Takashimaya. Glancing in between the traffic lights and the road condition, I saw this extremely posh looking silver Ferrari coming to a halt just before the junction. The red man is still very visible from across the other end. It’s just that there were simply too many vehicles queuing to make a similar left turn at the junction and silver Ferrari was one of them.

Not amazed that I am not the only one checking out the finely crafted automobile. The sports car with its peculiar yet distinctive shape is attracting major public interest. Perhaps suddenly remembering its habitual repute, the scrawny driver rammed its engine and produced this very powerful exhaust noise. Not once, not twice but too many “Rrrrrooommmm Rrrooommm…” to be considered un-natural. I doubt the innocently stunning car is malfunctioning, but the owner and his girlfriend who were loving it, the noise and great attention the reverberation is giving them.

I wish I could stifle the little girl who grabbed the hem of her mother’s skirt and squealed, “Mommy, 你看这辆车! 美 hor!” then pointed eagerly at the silver beauty. I tell you, by the curb, that sure is one smug looking (and very self-satisfied) driver.

I always think of natives who exhibit their wealth inexplicably (such as the totally needless sound effects), are nothing but awfully proud male peahens (I don’t use "peacocks" because I feel peacocks are attractive creatures with a beautiful nature, and peahens are basically the ones who are desirous and would parade with whatever they got). Like an aunty bragging about her biggest buy in the market. I am not the only one who has a problem with the extra ramblings, one guy beside me muttered “Show off,” to his partner. Which is true, I can still hear the “Rrrrrooommmm Rrrooommm…” slithering round the corner when I am on the other side, minutes after crossing that impossible road.

These flaunters should just get a life. Owning a Ferrari in Singapore is so totally under utilizing its speed and power. Call yourself an addict to classy automobiles when all you do is creep around town and hit highways under what, 120km/hr? You are like, only living on the tip of the substantial ice berg.

And they are satisfied with that?

The Dark Graduation Night

1805 was the exact moment I graced the red carpet towards Dr. Dave Chong, dean of EEE to be awarded my scroll. He said, “Congratulations, good work,” and returned my firm handshake. We froze a brief second for the photographers before he released my hand beckoning me to continue towards the end of the stage and off the spotlight.

Since it was an evening ceremony and everyone were in a frenzy worrying about missing their parents at the reception, I only caught up with my great friend Yanling and we took a nice picture with my camera. Most of my classmates had gone home while I was busying entertaining my own parents. I missed them, how disappointing (:[ sigh).

Oh, and I got a cute little bear from the school of EEE.

My Grad Bear ↓

Me and Yanling ↓

So I guess after the colossal ceremonial event, I am officially a Singapore Polytechnic graduate tonight.

Au Revoir Singapore Polytechnic!

Finally my graduation ceremony comes tomorrow. Drop by the tertiary institution at 1730 and you might see chicky me strutting down the sidewalks in my VERY NEW immaculate smart suit. It costs a bomb and I better hear at least one grandaunt appreciate it tomorrow. Three days of graduation ceremony, three sessions per day and mine had to commence on the last day, last session in the evening. Oh well. I will just think of it like some grand finale for the entire graduating batch of 2005.

Already I am feeling the jitters. What if I tripped and fall on stage while walking towards the guest of honor to claim my transcript? Worst still, what if my name was pronounced wrongly? I hate it when that happens (:[). Then I swear when I’m done with the formal proceedings, I am going to head straight for the announcer and strangle the hell out of him for ruining my night and perhaps if I feel better after that, I might offer him an English pronunciation crash class for ten minutes (he definately needs it :[). Then again, peace seekers will advice me to avoid any form of aggression on my big day and the better and wiser solution is to remind the broadcaster well before the start of the ceremony.

I can always proceed to kill him after that if he still makes a mistake.

It feels so good to meet up with old classmates again tomorrow. I should prepare my camera for these are some visual memories I would love not to lose (:D). Strangely, what used to be the day I yearn about during my three years suddenly seemed something I cannot bring myself to let go.


... ...


I can’t stand it when I get overly emotional and drown myself subconsciously into these annoying waves of nostalgia.

The Not So Very Big Secret

- The Shocker -

My cousin is getting married. She dropped this almost lethal bomb just minutes ago and delivered the massive and charismatic news to the cataleptic me. I was half flabbergasted, a quarter traumatized and the last bit still trying to persuade myself that this is not the usual Monday afternoon prank call and I am not hearing things. My cousin, just three years older than I am is getting married. And just like that, I snapped.

Of course I am happy for her, just not ecstatically happy to be very honest. Why last Friday? I don’t remember it being some significant or extraordinary day at all. It is just 22nd July and nobody remembers the 22nd of July for god’s sake! Even if you put it in numbers and slashes, 22/07/05 isn’t even remarkably neat looking. Maybe it’s a private affair, like the day they met six years ago, or was it five? Even so, is it politically correct to marry at such a young "adult" age? Then again, how long should we stay single before we are deemed too old to marry? And blurting out the secret only three days later to the girl you grow up with? I mean, I’m not getting it. I seriously don’t.

Though there is something I am definitely getting it, and that is I am seriously freaking out. I just cannot seem to absorb the fact that she’s getting engaged so early. Engaged at twenty-three! And some of her counterparts are still out there flipping through Classifieds circling in thick blue Zebra markers possible full-time jobs too busy calculating their yearly bonuses subtracting life expenses let alone accepting wedding proposals from long time boyfriends and planning guest lists and choosing wedding bands AND delegating your dearest cousin the exquisite role of a bridesmaid.

I am going to be a bridesmaid. I can’t even believe I’m saying that and I still cannot picture myself walking down the aisle behind her long flowing flawless white wedding dress making sure that no one steps on them and she falls and I be blamed for ruining the entire perfect wedding which, will take place some time mid of next year when I will be of course, boring and busy and packed with nothing but dreary assignments and evaluation papers AND still be waiting for my boyfriend to get out of army.

Seriously, am I the only one who sees the bad side out of a good prophecy?

Topics Private-Limited

On the train today, I had engaged myself inadvertently into another very prickly situation. Apparently, my comedian group mate and I were the last to be left standing awkwardly side by side in the cabin as we watched our friends alighting one station after the other. Suddenly he didn’t seem so entertaining anymore. I felt like that the comical front was blown away by my always solemn expression. There was nothing to laugh about without the others; we became strangers instantly (more like he did to me :P). We talked on universal topics like where we live and how our transportation goes about just to fill up the discomfited silence. Still, from the way I was asking him questions and the manner he replies in full and complete sentences (minus the previous informalities), we could almost be discussing politics.

Do we take on different personalities when we face someone unfamiliar and of a different genre? Or is it because we are of different sexes? Below is a simple illustration of my belief.

Elf Lady's Observational Chart

	Topics Available 1. Sex 2. Army Life 3. Ex-Girlfriends (aka Bitches :p) 4. Alcoholic concoctions
	Topics Available Boys vs. Girls
	Topics Available 1. Make Fun of only Girl 2. All About the only Girl
	Topics Available
	Familiar 1. I hate school 2. Give me a lift? 3. Real Life	Unfamilar 1. Hostel Rent 2. Bus or MRT? 3. Imaginery Life

I have been surveying for awhile, taking down all subjects believed to be appropriate in different company. In any case now I know what to expect, and I hope I will make my receiver less fidgety the next time we are trapped alone on the MRT, then we can really start talking (:p).

Amusingly NOT Funny

I had a very peculiar contemplation today. While my friend Sail (not his real name :p) is busy passing on his not so funny tale across the room, most of us were only smiling instead of bursting into laughter uncontrollably, like him. It was a very bad joke and I figured the others were trying to be polite, responding to it civilly. It gets worst when the group splits and he tags along and repeat the gag in my face. Being the very affable me, of course, I laugh once more good-naturally and arched an eyebrow as if to say, “Yeah what’s with that, totally hilarious.”

Whenever Sail tells me jokes that really make me laugh, he tells it to me like five or six more times, then it’s not funny anymore and I hate it. I disgust at people attempting multiple re-enactments of the same single account. I believe there is a certain limited timing to everything you hear and when the warranty period's up, sorry but let's move on to the next most riotous thing. Catching the ball too late and my very slight unnatural behavior, Sail quickly spun a new joke out of nothing and I could no longer contain my patience. This time instead of laughing, for once I’m thankful I had a bad throat and I coughed intermittently facing the other direction as if saying, “Sorry it is indeed very humorous but I’m clearing my throat now and I would feel very bad if I spread my germs to you,”

Back facing him, I retreated quickly and located my long lost group mates. Not long before I am seated on a sleek black couch preparing to partake in a Hokkien story telling session about some farm animals by one of our lame looking facilitators. He didn’t have a funny face, his Hokkien story was dull comprising of a very bad mixture of other dialects, and downright nonsense. I couldn’t even smile. While my friends were focusing hard to appreciate the content, I was desperately praying for any form of distraction just to save myself from pretending to be amused further. I coughed yet again like I suffered from a serious throat infection (touch wood now! :P).

I wonder; if people who like sharing jokes should have a comical looking face or features to have that special added "witty" advantage? Is there any officially agreed response to save oneself from a very bad pun in the future without embarrassing the speaker in the process? I guess I’ll be safe from now till the day I recover.

And I hate to imagine my life after that.

Watch What You Print

What an idiotic response. Apparently they cannot even remember their own declaration and dare request for another “documentary letter”. Look, if you cannot draft your notice well, don’t even dare suspect or trouble me. Why ask a parent to write an excuse letter when ultimately, you still make decisions based on solid ground proof? This is totally preposterous. They should all sign up for English classes (:[).

The Notice


Daddy's Letter


The Email (Reply)


Not that I don’t have any “documentary proof” but I just don’t see why I should comply with the lack of first hand instructions. I’m so mad I’m ready to scream at the ineffectual lousy department. School hasn’t even started and I already hate half the workforce there (:[).

Worship Me Right

Suppose you are a plumber, can you fix the bathroom lights? If your answer is yes, congratulations, you live in a quirky world. Else, welcome to the planet where old skills have new applied definitions. I get so infuriated explaining my exact scope of knowledge repeatedly to people who can neither understand nor absorb facts, and expect you (who else?) to resolve the I-don’t-know-what-happen-it-just-blanks-out phenomenon. For the thousandth time (and I am officially broadcasting now :O), I AM into software programming, I DEAL with network infrastructures and I MAJOR in broadband communications! Now how does that relate to monitors and keyboard? Yes truthfully, I did take up a couple of PC hardware modules during my three solid years but hey, I’m not planning to overtake the BIOS configuration anytime soon. And to rewrite the setup files? Hell no (:[).

It’s just that I got this rude awakening call from a remotely misplaced (barely existed in my perfectly defined family tree) male cousin (what was his name again?). Apparently, his DIY desktop decided to kill the operating system (Win 98 SE and oh my god people still use that?), and I am supposed to be the “Processor Angel” and bring it back to life naturally over the phone (:[). Of course both sons had to be clueless about “computer stuff” or so their Dad terms it and hails me the next mainframe guru ready to treat any bug. And he was like, “Look, I don’t know anything about computers and CPUs so you got to tell me how to solve it,”

Firstly, you got to give him credit for being totally oblivion to the fact that I cannot reply half a decent sentence in Teochew. But I reckon he’s a cab driver and I don’t speak to my cab driver in my dialect (:P), so I stuck to the number one international language. Secondly, I anticipated he would ditch my precise expertise clarification crap and bombard straight to the inevitable just-tell-me-what-should-I-do-now speech. I decided to save my breath and act the part, I don't want to tarnish my virtually awarded knowledge. So after being forced to call someone on his testy behalf, I contacted the man who sold him the CPU. Damn that guy on the other line seemed pretty freaked out when I introduced myself, he probably thought I'm some unsettled client’s lawyer or something and he was instantly relieved and overly polite when I reassured him I’m some family friend and I’m not calling to arrest you. In the end there was no conclusion, because I told my dear relatives I didn’t have Windows XP operating disk (for an upgrade) and they have to wait till Saturday when all my NS friends come back and I can borrow from them. So the jury will decide coming Saturday. I need a break, what a pathetic get-away.

Just when you thought the night would be forgiving, another distant uncle dropped a courtesy call and inquires about his faulty wireless mouse. I swear I’m going to implement my personal calling hours now, nine to five everyday except weekends and public holidays (totally helpful in my already undeveloped social life :P). It's amazing how the older generation can quickly classify the entire scope of IT into a couple of single unimpressive vocabs (that would drive Bill Gates crazy :]). As if my life isn’t packed enough. So what I’m like the mouse man, correction, woman now?

Cranky

I had the worst night last night. Despite waking up a few times and falling back asleep, I continued having the same persisting nightmare. It’s like the whole reverie is broken up into parts to haunt me and I cannot even think of something else even when I’m awake. The entire dream got so jumbled up I don’t even know where to begin. And it is so frustrating because my head felt so heavy this morning and I’m not surprised to feel feverish. At least I had awakened from that bloody dream, and I had broken out of the evil night spell.

What a lousy day following, my taste buds were sleeping and I had an unbearable sore throat. I should stop worshipping those unhealthy snacks. How many times have I been unwell this month? And then there was this stupid mosquito that bit my beautiful leg, which I killed it eventually and I couldn’t stop grinning wickedly as I continued to smash the dead insect with two fingers before washing its remains down the sink (:]).

The new week starts tomorrow which equals to lots more com service to slog for. They should really implement a payroll system whereby people get paid to serve the community. Even the chief of NKF gets a $600,000 annual paycheck for his tiny involvement in the organization. I should get my own chauffer to drive me down to Woodlands for the next few days. Damn I hate that man.

I should stop blogging (:[). What a crabby Sunday.

A Thousand Faces

I thought I should blog today to celebrate the wicked fact that I had successfully skipped my orientation camp (yippie :D!). Thankfully I had a last minute bullet proof excuse which gives me back my three precious resting days. Finally free time to myself (and more hours to stone in front of my notebook).

Finally I managed to get my IR port working and transferred some backdated pictures from my camera phone. In case you are wondering what I have been complaining about the past week, it’s a tile painting project to help raise funds for tight pocket families who couldn’t afford to send their kids to primary schools. It would sound so much more noble, minus the fact that I am only doing this to clock the necessary hours I need (:P). Of course there were entertaining moments, I still think it was laborious as there were hundreds of them (I suspect the organizers are trying to enter the Guinness World Record). So our jobs are to pack and label each tile accordingly into the different cartons before we realized they were ripped out three days later and we have to do it all over again (duh?!).

Amazing isn’t it? Can you imagine fitting them up onto your bathroom walls? There would be like, a million faces watching you pee (hehe :P).

The Bobsleigh Ride

It’s hard not to feel crabby when you have a throbbing headache. Plus that dreadful scorching afternoon sun, I almost melted on my way home from another day of com service. I don’t even want to elaborate about my morning. At least I’m home now perched in front of my notebook, listening to some random podcasts. Anyway I thought I should discuss about train rides. I’m more of a bus person actually and each time I decide to take the tube, I wonder if there are basic etiquettes that exist on the sly? Here are four ground breaking questions (for the time being).


Q1. Where are you supposed to look when you sit facing a row of unsmiling people?
For instance, I had this totally absurd encounter when I was gazing out the clear window above some kid punk’s head. He probably thought I was watching him and on his way out, he actually had the nerve to tell me, "Sorry hor, 我有女朋友 already." Give me a break man! Can you just imagine? You are doing your thing and out of the blue someone comes up to you and tells you he’s not interested, when you can’t even see his face under that hideous baseball cap. Talk about sheer madness.


Q2. Are you allowed to sleep/nap on trains?
I guess not because there was this unforgettable incident when a thirty something aunty actually woke me up and basically shrieked at me for being ignorant to the elderly man who was standing sideways of me whom she felt could use a seat. I gaped at her with half closed eyes and did a physical run through; she reminded me of a very territorial parrot and I have no idea why I envisage that.


Q3. How do you identify an elderly folk?
Then there was this other episode. My day had gone well and I was feeling exceptionally nice. When I saw the first old lady (she dresses well but I guess she’s probably in her sixties and I actually thought she looked a little like Julie Andrews in The Princess Diary), so being the occasionally-good being, I offered my seat. You think she would be thankful, and give a refined queenly hand wave. However, the second she opened her mouth, she was the wicked witch from Snow White, “You think I’m old? I’m not wearing clutches you know?” and she pointed to her outfit. Christ. Wherever did those nice grannies go? Were they taking the bus? I wanted so much to retort back, we had successfully draw quite a few commuters’ attention and I don’t want to be labeled ill-mannered in such an unfortunate situation. She’s the edgy one, (and for the sake of the real Julie Andrews), I’ll be nice and let the matter rest by hopping off that lousy cabin.


Q4. Is there a rule that uniformed NS men should always give up their seats?
Maybe. My dearest had to surrender his seat for almost every candidate of all shapes and sizes. It’s like an invisible order that you protect the public and the practice goes all the way into all forms of mass transport. So basically after a whole morning of training and finally the book out, you still have to submit your seat and slouch your way from Pasir Ris to Boon Lay. Of course I continued to guard my seat, I couldn’t care less, I’m civilian.


Taking the trains can sometimes be so perplexing. They should really get TV mobile up and running soon, even if they play advertisements the whole day, at least I will have something to focus on my journey and hopefully stay out of the drama.

Miss Lackluster .

What a sluggish Sunday afternoon. I feel so listless lately I don’t know what my problem is. Must be that I had tire myself subconsciously sacrificing 3 days of my life to the society, or the thought that I had forcefully enrolled myself into an orientation camp coming Tuesday and I have been trying too hard encouraging myself it will not be boring. Who said going into the next phase of your life is straightforward? Since midweek, I was forced to socialize and befriend new people after almost three months of serene sensation. It was so demanding that at some point, I almost doubt if I could possibly be intoxicated when I made the choice to pursue further. I am one terrible living example of a young burgeoning woman who couldn’t keep to her resolutions she made not so long ago. I can’t even remember why I make them in the first place. And it’s not like I am equipped with other excites; am I prepared to start working and dreadfully start classifying myself as an adult of nine to five? Surely not.

There were more packages addressed to me while I was partially comatose. Bills, graduation packages, post graduate packages, insurance policies and the typical junkies. Again there were heaps of new dates to remember. Seriously are they looking for a brainy child who lives to tear down expired dates from the conventional Chinese calendar? I hate memorizing, and I hate to live my life in a preplanned schedule. Life is free. Freedom is living life the way you want it.

I am a willful person who survives on my own set of existence rules :p.

I missed the days when I can lie down with absolutely nothing in mind and I don’t have to fret over what will happen tomorrow. I know that having analogous thoughts will not make me appear a responsible adult I should to be, but who cares? I reason things quickly, I like defying weak conventions. Why should I attend parties or swim across the waters to another island just to celebrate the birth of my new chapter?

This is preposterous. Just thinking about what lies in front of me makes me feel so restive. How can I look forward to something when I feel so drained just thinking about it?

Doctor, Are You Listening?

After almost a whole week of non stop illness, I think I’m recovering properly for the time being.

I should tell you about my experience with my lady doctor. Her name is Heather (how do you pronounce these things?) and she is one very fast consultant. Flimsy and possibly going into a mode of deep trance and still I had to wait for my turn to see her, along with the other patients each with their own dying symptoms. I manage to stay alive for an hour outside her door; I observed that the handle was slightly crooked unlike the orderly rest. Typically, you are supposed to wait for your number before you see the doctor. I am quite pissed with those middle aged aunties who walked in right after one comes out like she was back from an errand the doctor had assigned her earlier. Get a life hags, get your own number please! Finally the LEDs jumped, my long awaited jackpot! I shoot out of my very uncomfortable chair expectantly, raising a few stares from my sickly neighbors, and the girl who kept coughing beside me. HA, I’m next and you better keep staring at the panel for your turn!

So Dr. Heather greeted me quickly, “What’s your problem?”

Was I healthy for too long or is that the latest way in medical scene to greet a sick patient? I sensed where she was coming from and followed suit anyway.

Elf Lady, “I have a flu, a terrible flu, and I can’t breathe at night when I sleep because it totally blocks out my pathways… I really don't know how to describe the ordeal… ”

People are known to exaggerate medical conditions in front of doctors just to get a medical certificate (MC), though I don’t need one, I thought I had done a pretty good job creating my own mystery illness.

Dr. Heather, “Go on,”

Elf Lady, “Oh (she seemed unfazed). Ok so I can’t breathe, and I have a throat that kills me every morning when I wake up.”

Dr. Heather, “Are you coughing?”

Elf Lady, “No. I don’t think so. Well, maybe chocking coughs or you know those chokes you get with an irritating throat, those.. ”

Dr. Heather, “So are you coughing?”

Elf Lady, “No.”

Dr. Heather, “Turn around, I am going to hear your pulses just to check if you are breathing correctly.”

Elf Lady, “Ok.” (so now she questions my breathing technique)

After two position checks with her stethoscope which lasted 1 second each, she glides back with poise to her static spot behind her table and started scribbling. Unwilling to end my very short meeting with her (and to make her work a little more challenging :]), suddenly I remembered something.

Elf Lady, “Oh, I have a rising fever this morning, it was 38.7° the last time I checked.”

Then was an unexpected commotion. A plain clothe civilian was holding onto a supposedly important document for the doctor. He claims it was from the nurse next door (who I don’t see why couldn’t give her personally). Dr. Heather took the booklet from him and flips through the yellowed file.

Dr. Heather, “What’s this for?”

Man, “I don’t know, the nurse said it was for you,”

Great, this is such a commercial break. During my appointment time! Not only am I forced to listen to someone else’s disease, I have to wait for their vague reply. I coughed, or rather, I chocked cough.

Dr. Heather, “I’ll get back to this later ok?”

The man disappears.

Dr. Heather, “So you say you have a fever.”

Elf Lady, “Uh huh. Increasing fever.”

She takes the ear temperature measurement device and clicks in my ear, BEEP!

Dr. Heather, “37.4°, good you are going down.”

Elf Lady, “… Oh. That's.. good! Good good.. (and I had to smile like she had miraculously brought down the temperature with her incredible gadget)”

Dr. Heather, “Alright so here’s the prescription for you to collect at the pharmacy counter just outside the hallway, I gave you some flu medicine, and cough syrup just in case and do you need panadols?”

Elf Lady, “Do I need panadols? I mean, I still have those standard pills at home.. ”

Dr. Heather, “Good so you won’t need it, alright that’s it”

I don’t need to repeat her words twice. After thanking her, I saw myself out.

Maybe this is the new fashion when you visit your neighborhood polyclinic. You wait an hour with queue number hundreds apart and you witness uncanny people popping out from nowhere into your appointment. Your meeting with the doctor is basically QA sessions that honestly can take place over the internet. You just need a chat room titled, “The Doctor is In.” Needless to say it was a very dissatisfying experience. Should I ever fall sick again (pray never :[), I will appear sicklier to magnetize the doctor’s attention, and I’m going to scream if anyone who doesn’t wear a white uniform decides to barge in. And when I do, you bet not only the doctors will give me their undivided attention, others will too.