Tiny Dancer
Piano man he makes his stand
In the auditorium
Looking on she sings the songs
The words she knows, the tune she hums
But oh how it feels so real
Lying here with no one near
Only you and you can't hear me
When I say softly, slowly
Hold me closer tiny dancer
Count the headlights on the highway
Lay me down in sheets of linen
you had a busy day today
Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band
Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man
Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand
And now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand
- Elton John
(as performed by Jon Peter Lewis, aka the Pen Salesman, a tribute to his lamented and untimely exit)

I tried making one of those "I love..." lists. Now would that mean hobbies and favourites, or what I'm supposed to be grateful for? Seems that for once the assignment has no motive, it is not out of the Chicken Soup for the Soul Journal, and that confuses people. There's nothing to laugh at... no scoffing at government policies, just you and languidity.
Today we went to the Ulu Pandan CC to check out the acoustics, stage size, etc. The clean, cool smell of the lobby and leathery shiraz-fragrant seats even in the vacuum-ish auditorium were comforting, particularly after the varied TS odours (described by Benjamin as "the air-con farting") left sectionals morale extremely low. (And no, this is not an essay on smells.) I stood on the stage listening to platform debates and control room explorations, felt like lying flat on the ground and drawing the curtains over the spotlights.
Now I'm in mortal fear of treading on a millipede I saw making its slow patient way across the study-room floor. That and the frogs and spiders that somehow infiltrate our house and creep under the bathtub or leap across the stairs. It reminds me, quite unpleasantly, of the Come Undone music vid, with Robbie, scantily-clad ladies and leaf-litter folks. Okay, everything sounds insipid, and what poetry can I write when I revolve and revolve around the same stupid ideas and images anyway. When I want an aching good laugh I think Gloria and Valentine (hahahahahahaha and more), catching my Big Fish and the talk-story syndrome, stumping down the stairs to eat my dad's gooey birthday cake because I was in the middle of doing integration by parts.
When you have tuition, there is added pressure to do well. There was an earthquake in Morocco, the Prince chose the wrong casket, they went to the funeral in buses... and if you were affected by his death... I am so, so sorry. No one should ever be jaded if it never happened to them.
I am essentially irritated about something I read. Honestly, if you choose to only associate with 'hip and happening' people, they're likely gonna be major hypocrites, hyperly so, because they often assume, with confidence, that they are right, cool (as if the terms were interchangeable) and slouch in a smoulderingly scintillating existence. I am not in the habit of condemning people either, you know. I am not in the habit of calling everything evil Bush-style. And St. Augustine did speak about BOTH faith and reason, thus even if you WERE a GEPer and enjoyed putting lower-IQ peers down as a result, there is no need to assume you of the superior brain is able to understand everything, son-of-earth, or that you have met everyone in one category (even if you DO have a great deal of pals, you popular person you).
I have to say that was my first genuine rant on this blog, and MY, it does feel good.

3X5
--subconsciously--
I'm writing to you to catch you up on places I've been
You held this letter probably got excited,
But there's nothing else inside it
Didn't have a camera by my side this time
Hoping I would see the world with both my eyes
Maybe I will tell you all about it
When I'm in the mood
To lose my way
With words
Today skies are painted colours of a cowboy's cliche
And strange how clouds that look like mountains
In the sky are next to mountains anyway...
You should have seen that sunrise
With your own eyes
It brought me back to life
You'll be with me next time I go outside
No more 3X5's
- John Mayer

--consciously--
I was scared. I sat on the chair and my mind energetically rolled into pancake batter, started stretching in seven different directions at once. Do your essay! Can't do my essay! Don't want to do my essay! Blog! Do it NOW or you won't have another chance! Stay back on Monday! Stay back on Wednesday! (The essay is due on Wednesday!) Make a suggestion! Write it down! Write EVERYTHING down! There's a mistake there! And there! You're not trying! Did you know your skirt is extremely short? (YES, I KNEW, IT WAS FULLY MY INTENTION TO LOOK LIKE A MINISKIRTED GUILTY PERSON.) Answer this and this and YOU HAVEN'T STARTED STUDYING FOR YOUR COMMON TEST YET! DID YOU KNOW IT'S COMING VERY VERY VERY VERY VERY VERY VERY SOON???? Do you have any prayer requests?? I have to be creative by tomorrow and here I am pulling all my hair out...
Do I want to go for yoga therapy? What do you think? I just want to sit down. I am sitting down.

--I will--
Do my tasks. And enjoy them. I know I need to pull myself together. Mel, it was very timely.
There's a thick smokey wind inching in from the window, and makes me think darkness has a smell. Darkness is the absence of light and the abundance of smell. There are violent, stress-inducing sounds coming from the TV. It's Finding Nemo.

--Answers--
No.
Yes.

I wanted to blog yesterday night, only I was still on Cold Mountain, which means yakyakyak about Jude Law and beautiful North Carolina and murderous roosters and bad scripts, which of course would not be the point of the post. THEN I decided to blog this morning but the alarm didn't go off and I had to run to school frantically to be in school by 8 'o' clock (why the hell should anyone be in school at 8am on Saturdays). The bloody clarinet section had decided to have sectionals squarely outside the ITRR door. The ensemble is beginning to sound very good. Gaspar was there, and P was not, so of course everything went nice and smoothly.
"Essays make people hermits." Discuss. After the SEA history essay and outlines, sea of Tarling and Hall and SarDesai, I crawled out of my self-constructed concentration cave and blinked blindly. Is that all we are supposed to learn then, burying ourselves in printouts and readings, thinking hard and intellectually and ruining our eyes? Here I am thinking like a good Economist. ("In the long run, we're all dead.") Incidentally, I do them anyway.
I got my braces off. I don't think I look different. Oh, yes, here's what's different. I'm anxious I'll swallow my retainer. The pink plastic fills up half my mouth. I keep smiling at the mirror, as if expecting a new face to loom out a la facelift. Only it's still me, looking less like a rabbit. I think. My sister just told me about her friend who got asked out by a guy she only knew extremely briefly through CCA. She said, "No, I barely know you." Said he was weird. (And not good-looking. ) Where's the movie magic then? Not everyone can look like Jude Law.
Cold Mountain is
a) too long
b) awkwardly (but not badly) casted
c) an insult to said actor's acting abilities, but if anyone else played Inman the audience would be comatose, so therein lies the rub
d) a movie with an exceedingly sluggish beginning
e) extremely disorganized.
However,
e) It has heart and GASP a sparkle of originality in the love story thingie. Why didn't Ada run for medical help when she saw Inman was shot? Why did she collapse on the poor fellow and cry through her atrocious accent? Ruby managed to save her father because she was sensible.
f) the Natalie Portman story is beautiful.
g) Renee Zwelleger is a riot. However, I still see her mincing around in that silver dress Roxie-ish.
h) That blonde guy who shot Inman in the end. Shiver. Scary.
Happy V-day everyone, when I'm thinking about changing the world again, while doing my homework.

Suddenly, when my Econs tutor was using my Kooshball as an example of a good (since so many examples are needed), I remembered this horrible Biotechnology workshop I was forced by my mum to attend in mid-Sec. 3, and Clara tossing my green-and-purple Kooshball around the Physics lab resulting in the teacher-in-charge being all sniffy about our disrespect. I don't remember anything else, particularly not what we learnt, except colourful DNA diagrams. Because Clara was fiddling with my now orange-and-pink Koosh at the Mentorship Tea (which was lots more fun than I expected until the monologue started), when we realized we were both under Ms. Ho. But it required, I dunno, a whole string of repeat telecasts before the coincidences clicked. Secondary school life seems an embarrassingly long time ago, like it's necessary to distance myself from it when ohhhh so older and wiser. Perhaps that is the answer, Mr. Gaarder, to why adults bury themselves in the rabbit's fur, because they feel secure and superior.
Friday night was a riot, when I caroused around with Han and her friends, who are extremely fun and sweet girls (yay NJ! Down snotty stereotypes!). We played weird hand games, stormed through Botanic Gardens in the dark, me wielding an umbrella as the only weapon, made a prank call and apologized afterwards ("I've seen you in the canteen" *high-pitched giggle*) and discussed GP questions. ("If a girl goes jogging in skimpy clothes at 3am in the morning and gets raped, is it her fault?" "If a couple who are both deaf want to have a test-tube baby who is deaf as well, is that ethical?")
Sunday morning was another question of ethics, and we can all argue about Harry Potter and Ho Yeow Sun until they are, or are not, struck down by thunderbolts. And if you ask me about the latter, all I can say is, she's very stupid for a pastor (if she is one).