tiresome

after writing personal statement after personal statement, one gets pretty sick of typing out things. thus i do sincerely apologise for not updating more often.

at any rate, i hereby declare jon stewart as my idol and his daily show as the best 'talkshow' in the US. right on its heels would be david letterman of course.

so there you have it! the axiom has just endorsed its first show, and i rightly crown stewart as the funniest smart man on tv-

its your move

when we were young, we were taught the alphabets. then with the raw eagerness of youth, we strung them together and assigned them to everything around us to cushion and rationalize our existence. human constructs meant to fashion other constructs in our world, to blasphemeis fear and breed solace in our earthly grotto.

then like a sickly tune of a care- worn carousel; it is our turn to be fashioned with alphabets. the definers defined and assigned their worth, blurring the lines between construct and man.

it is a wicked a game, yet one that has to be played. like pawns too paralyzed to move having caught the scent of the bishop's hunger, we are forced upon our squares. a to c. 1 to 3.

good luck people.

mirror mirror, who is the black sheep?

a blog is hardly the place to exhibit emotions.

one always tries to do too much. change the world they say. the movie the hours set me off thinking quite a lot really; which reminds me, i would like to thank sulas because it really is a good a movie, very thought provoking. but how can one even hope to change the world when everything is so complex, so brutal, and so impossible?

there as so many things that i want to say, so many things that i want to do and so many things that i want to find out, but each seems as impossible as the next. we always have a mental image of what we intend to do or say, but it always turns out far less than what it was meant to be.

i am trapped by my words, restrained by their turn, their many faces and their melody, a delicately solemn dance that i helplessly succumb to. yet, my words fail me when i do try to wield them. the paradox of true cowardice they say.

maybe we shouldnt try too hard. life and her bleating masses scarcely reward blatant effort. to attempt to roar amongst the asphyxiation of wool, is merely fancy fatalism.

let the bleating begin...they say.

told you so

long entries can be such a tiresome read, hence i shall spare people further agony. as many would know by now, hady mirza won. as much as people clamour for the proverbial x- factor-- which by the way isn't something that a person has in my opinion or is able to cultivate, but an amorphous concept that emanates from the people who receive the individual; this perception-- i do think that an idol of a singing competition should at the least be able to sing. something that only one of them could do, again my own opinion. i was just hoping for a shot of dick, florence and jacintha once the results were announced. having prematurely crowned jonathan their 'idol', one would love to see how they reacted.

their hyperbole and jonathan's boot- licking with the constant stress on how he was proud to sing a local song; a choice that was supposed to breed sympathy maybe, was starting to get on my nerves.

anyway, the next time someone arranges two 's' papers on the same day, i will personally hunt the person down and stuff the whole stack of VJC paper down his/ her throat.

for now, i want to grow long hair and my 'x- factor'.

money or life? would you like fries with that?

well i'm in a desperate need for a break right about now, its been one hell of a rush-- much apppreciated no less-- but i've reached that point where i'm yearning for some rest- time. but then again, its not much of a rest time when you think about it, considering the bunch of us will only be getting the grace period of what? 3 days? barely enough to recharge our batteries.

there's something that has been festering at the back of my mind these past few days, haunting thoughts that i wish would leave me alone; but this embryonic dilemma that has housed itself in my own deep- seated insecurities would scarcely flutter away so suddenly and so graciously. not without justifying its parasitic nature.

in other news, i really dont understand the recent wave of discontent targeted at the teenybopper influence over idol voting patterns. true, the phenomena itself robbed certain 'more talented' contestants of extended airtime on the show, but it would be postponing the inevitable for a while more only anyway. these people either didnt have the appeal or the musical talent to warrant 'staying power', and if we're being brutally honest, talent would at the end of the day prevail no matter what-- safely assuming sylvester sim as an anomaly of course. moreover, these teenyboppers are the very people who will drive the careers of these 'idols' through album sales anyway.

the people complaining about the competition being the search for the 'idol for adolescent girls' are completely misguided in this respect. if one didnt bother to vote-- mind you, many people just watched without voting, me included-- enough to extend the idol's proverbial visa extension on the show, what are the chances of these very people buying their albums? highly unlikely. instead, i think file sharing programmes would see a flurry of singaporeans scrambling for the singles online.

i should seriously stop blogging about idol, but with so many of my classmates giving shows like rockstar supernova more than enough attention, i just thought that a local flavour to my entries would be the remedy any doctor would rightly approve.

back to pummeling my brain now.

an idol named larry

there's been word about the posssile cancellation of the singapore idol franchise, which as expected, garnered a few approving nods from some sectors of the public. but personally, i do think that it'd be the biggest mistake mediacorp would ever make since they let joakim pass through the audition round (this is purely my own personal opinion and may not neccessarily portray his actual musical abilities, which if god or divine equivalent that you may believe in has afforded you a decent pair of ears, would allow you to discern for yourself and cringe in sheer pain).

there's been talk about the mediocre quality of musical talent on show this year and ultimately the dip in viewership, which as we all know dictates the world of television-- though the presence of my sassy neighbour in a prime- time slot casts a high degree of doubt on this. not surprisingly, one of the more outspoken and illustrious proponents of such a cancellation is no other than maia lee, a singapore idol contestant herself, who without batting an eyelid slams the show that propelled her into her relative and obscure "stardom", and cites the lack of musical talent as an iron- clad justification to wrench the franchise off national television-- all the while oblivious to the screams of judas across the island. following up on her little 'comment', and to milk the limelight for all its worth, she reflects on her own 'raw' performances in season 1-- an over- statement no less-- and remarks how the current crop of contestants are 'worse'.

setting aside the shock of reading her comments that, without a doubt, reeked of sour- grapes and ungratefulness, its rather amusing how she rates herself as 'raw' and deems this year's contestants to be 'worse'. far as i can remember, she sounded like a cow who sucked in too much helium, which was as 'raw' as she ever got, and to be perfectly honest, its a virtual impossibility to be 'worse'. the way she went about in season 1, she would hardly even get to be featured on donny & marie. why the new paper would consider maia's thoughts as an 'expert opinion' on the matter still baffles me. the only reason i can think of is that the publisher had too much too drink the night before, but in all honesty, even being that tipsy would not let any man with common sense commit such a gross mistake. she was obviously trying to touch up on her 'bad- ass' image by 'putting it to the man' and blasting idol.

what these top honchos have to realise, is that the fate of the idol franchise shouldnt rest on factors like viewership or such 'expert opinions' alone. true, the quality of musical talents that was on show this year may have not been as stellar as was expected. true, there was no way in hell the idol contestants could match the vocals of the 'rockstars' of supernova fame that was featured on star world at the same time. true, joakim gomez needs more than a vocal coach-- he needs a team. true, gurmit is balding. but idol is more than just mere numbers and statistics.

its a platform for aspiring local musicians to exhibit their talents and show to the nation what theyre made of. the idol phehomena with the mass publicity that it generates is a crucial element that is sorely needed by these individuals. its the proverbial 'leg- up' that so many of them need. nowhere else, would they be afforded hundreds of thousands of spectators that would for that precious few moments listen intently to every word of theirs and witness their musical prowess. what would they have? a club full of 40 people? an outdoor venue with 200? not only that, it also rejuvenates the flagging local music industry by showing the people that there are people on this island that can sing, that there are hadys and jonathans and joakims hidden amongst us.

what more, nothing is more beautiful than seeing the average heartlander, truly connecting to the 'idol' on show, an idol that one is familiar with and one that gives form to the wildest aspirations of the average singaporean. more than just clamouring for a far- away musician on foreign shores, the raw appeal of idol is that it gives us singaporeans a source of pride that we can call our own, more than anything else. and to cancel out such hopes and dreams of a people who all this while has been treated to mindless fodder on our screens would be nothing short of treachery.

and hey, it shows that there is no 'climate of fear' once it comes to voting after all.

like licorice mice

i'm rather sorry about the dearth of posts on this blog, but trying to squeeze in time to blog between the mad mugging rush before the papers is starting to be as difficult as getting a 1 ton elephant into pink tights. there's a lot of stuff to talk about actually, with all the brouhaha that's been happening on our sunny little island, but i'll get to that once i'm over this daze and when i've retrieved my eyeballs that i've apparently lost in the mountain of notes.

i've also learnt what true pleasure is; it's being able to pee after a 3hr history paper.

pure bliss i tell you.

hohoho merry prelims

my brain has reached its saturation point. thank god prelims are here. i cant stuff anything else into my brain anymore. best if i just get over the damn thing, recharge and then go full steam for the A levels.

i'm just wondering what devilish machination awaits me at the turn of the week.

anyway, i just found out how refreshing a run can be to empty one's mind and relax. usually i would resort to my 'opium' (the xbox no less), but like any other addiction i now require a higher dosage of it to feel the same 'kick', and looking at how i have this little thing called 'prelims' in 2 days, i just cant afford a marathon. but a run fit the bill nicely, and i guess i killed 2 birds with one stone, i managed to jiggle off the extra kilos i may have added over the past week or so.

in other news, i like to break convention whenever i do certain things. and instead of wishing people good luck and in the same vein suggest that an individual requires divine intervention in order to do well, undermining all the effort she/ he has channeled to mugging, i shall instead urge my friends- in- arms to go into the exam hall and do themselves justice.

rock on my friends; for tonite we shall roll to the guitar bite.

ade- your- bayor

i'm starting to get really frustrated watching arsenal play nowadays. something's gone horribly wrong with the team that was feared throughout europe as "the invincibles", having gone through an entire season unbeaten. somehow, the incisiveness that was a natural complement of their crisp passing game has been nothing short of elusive, and not to mention, that slick passing game too is starting to slowly fade away. looking at the amount of backpasses that were being sprayed around in the middlesbrough game, i honestly thought that i was watching watford play instead. someone needs to rise to occasion, grab the game by its jockstraps and just go for goal. here's hoping that it's merely a temporary problem.

i'm also starting to think that my brother is slowly turning into a football hooligan. being an ardent liverpool fan, he was constantly saying how he would love to throw 'a boot with metal studs' at andrew johnson's 'shiny bald head' and see how he 'would like it'. well if such a tirade doesnt offer justification for my niggling suspicions, i dont know what will.

straying off the football talk for awhile, for the sake of my legion of adoring female fans that might not like football that much no less, i'm absolutely gobsmacked by how the days seem to be getting shorter and shorter and passing by so quickly. i'm amazed at how one moment it would be 10 am and the next, without feeling the hours that such a leap naturally demands, it'd be 6 pm. as i then turn my attention to the copy of the glass menagerie on my table, i'd see that i covered an almighty 4 pages! how's that for progress!

i would then proceed to try and roll back any ill consequences by rushing through my work in the next few hours, before realising-- at long last-- that my brain would flatly refuse to indulge in any intellectual activity after 10pm. after which, i would then indulge in what has apparently become my new favourite past time-- wall watching.

i was thinking of writing another poem actually, but if i did, it would subconciously illustrate the fact that i spend too much time on this little rag page, trying to entertain all 1 of my readers that actually visit this green abomination. thus in the pursuit of satisfying my deep seated insecurities on whether i manage my time well, i shall banish my poetic thirst to the back of my mind-- or significant equivalent-- till the end of prelims. pity though, i quite liked the poem that was bubbling in my head.

since i started off talking about football, i shall try to end with it as well.

i want cesc fabregas' hairstyle.

syn.tax. error

i honestly wish that i could write better. i look around me and i see so many people churning out delectable prose that one can do nothing but savour; one tantalising morsel at a time. in stark contrast, here i am belabouring over my staggered chunks, helplessly trying to string my words together for the sake of coherence.

what would really really really make my day, is if i could write a piece that can truly capture the essence of sorrow. that one piece, that would move people to tears as they gobble up each word as though it was the last and then clamour for more, and at the end of it, be completely stunned at how the last few minutes of their lives have been irrevocably shaken by an article or a story that was essentially mind- blowing.

anyway the econs ten year series book is a sham. some of the answers are horribly wrong! but that's not the worst bit. i mean, if it was just wrong, that's fine. no harm done. but thing is, they tend to repeat the questions and each and every time the answers would contradict! how confusing is that! i have half a mind to throw that book into my washing machine and laugh that evil laughter of mine as i watch it toss and tumble (this shows i've been home too long. hell my worst torture method involves a household appliance).

well what can i say; i'm your typical heartlander who thrives in the bowels of suburbia.

and this is how the cookie crumbles

i officially declare that chaucer is a bitch to mug. but then again, its not as though we all have much of a choice. i suppose chaucer's canterbury tales can be a joy to read, but we would have to first assume that there is nothing else in the world to do and that all other books have been burnt to a crisp. once you do that, let the fun begin i say.

i'm about as excited as a nun in an orgy about the upcoming prelims. but hey, besides the tiny little fact that i havent finished my revision, i'm all ready and raring to go! just wind me up and watch me pitter patter to the promised land.

anyway, i'm rather amused by how all these fan girls start to cry whenever their 'idols' land up in the bottom 2 or 3 or something. and thing is, theyre the SAME girls over the past few weeks. the way theyre crying, one would think that someone told these people that gurmit singh was balding or something. well he is if you think about it, but that's not the point. i mean hell, i can understand how they may like the particular 'idol', but its not as though the fella is going be sent to some random beach to be shot. there's really no need to cry a bucket- full of tears for the fella. even if they win, its not as though you're going to share to spoils of the victory. most likely, he's going to end up with a big fat juicy contract and his first album will go multi- platinum. after which, frequent downloading through kazaa, limewire and other file- sharing softwares will reduce the much loved 'idol' to doing guest appearances on my sassy neighbour.

and if you think real hard about it, these buggers are not so different from the rest of us. i mean hell, not too long ago they too were probably screaming for their own respective 'idols' belting out ballads on that very same stage.

i would love to do a long comprehensive piece on this whole singapore idol phenomenon, but its getting late and late nights dont do wonders to relieve eyebags!

oh for the record, i'm rooting for hady-

if i could twirl the moon between my fingers...

one just can't imagine how incredibly boring and taxing mugging can get, what more if stretched for hours at an end. but i guess its times like these, when we're putting our minds through the paces and cramming in information that would undoubtedly be enjoyable if not for the tight time constraints, that we truly enjoy the little things in life. like you know, space, wind, air and sunlight. especially if one has been cooped up in a small study for the past week or so. it wouldnt be so bad if i actually DID lots of work, thing is i just sit and stare at the musky green walls.

what i wouldnt give to just bum around outside and engage in inconsequential light- hearted conversations with other people. right about now, the most intellectual discussion i've had in 2 weeks would be the discussion that i had with my brother on how to make sure birds dont poop in our kitchen. coming in a close second would be the discussion on who deserved to use the xbox. how riveting.

in the hours i spend trying to will the inky words on the econs notes to form eye- catching shapes and patterns is when reality hits home the hardest. the reality, that we are all nothing but hushed pauses in the spiel of time.

how riveting.

fools

the school system can be rather debilitating at times. but the worst thing about it, is the symptomatic delusion that seems to infect every student that this concept of 'school' cocoons.

isolated from reality, save for the sporadic moments when words in books and notes paints its colourful likeness, the 'school' landscape would be the only environment that most students would be familiar with. the only 'rat- race' that they would know whilst entrapped in the indignity of school uniforms would be the race for grades. thus, its no wonder that so many students inevitably develop this 'ultra-ego' that incessantly overstates their true worth.

look around you and without a doubt you'll be able to spot such students, coming from the upper echelons of academia no less, weaving what they deem to be beautiful prose to clothe their psuedo- intellectual commentary on things beyond their grasp. driven by what they call 'teen- angst', an element that supposedly commands justification and credibility in itself, they lash out on everything under the sun, undeniably thinking all the while that their 'intellect' somehow elevates them above the hoi polloi. 'deep' thoughts, extensive vocabulary and 'wit' become the sine qua non of such characters. my personal favourite however, remains those who pen out quasi- poetic commentaries, thinking that such mysticism somehow adds to the significance of their respective claims. how cute.

what they fail to realise, these bumbling buffoons who think so highly of themselves, is that their little exclamations and 'school- reps' mean nothing. nada. zilch. no matter how big one may deem oneself to be in the confinements of 'school', once you step outside of those pearly white gates of learning, everyone begins at the most basic level. you're nothing. there's this whole huge system ahead of you that's constantly trying to drive you into the ground, and you have to slug your life away to find a nice snug place for you within in the system itself, before you join in the imbroglio and drive another poor sod into the ground yourself.

its laughable really how so many people think they're above the system. but i'm not saying that the exceptions don't exist. quite the contrary. the only difference is, these people don't think they're above the system; they know they're above the system. and once they know themselves truly, they would know how to work themselves up, and just enjoy the scene of fools driving other fools into the ground.

on a lighter note, i really want to catch the highly acclaimed local show "singapore dreaming". but damn, i'm really behind schedule with my mugging and i still haven't started on lit.

oh well, at least i'm not one of those poor sods who put on unneccesary airs.

p.s. i know the whole entry reeks of irony, but if you're smart enough, you'll get the point.

September.

i cant really help it if my posts have been a tad mundane, nothing interesting has been happening around here! well that's obviously discounting the little incident where my brother "accidentally" kneed my nose and it started bleeding profusely. i said "accidentally" because i'm pretty sure he was aiming for a part of my anatomy, though not with the intent to cause bodily harm of course. i think. anyway, my nose started bleeding again while i was on my way back home from the hair salon. all the aunties gave me that frightened look while i walked by them, possibly wondering who this handsome wounded warrior might be. well its either that, or they might've thought that i was one of those mat gangsters who got into a fight-- i shall go with the former though, sounds more possible. people have said that i resembled legolas from time to time *nods knowingly*.

anyway, prelims are about a week away. i think. its quite scary though, not just the fact that the second most important examinations of the year is just around the corner, but that my classmates have been so hard at work! hell, some are starting to draw econs graphs in the air while drinking coffee at starbucks and others, well they've resorted to climbing the school building just to get places to mug! such blasphemy! at this rate, i'm gonna sit snugly in last place for most of the subjects. well, that's if i'm lucky anyway.

at any rate, i havent started lit yet and well i've more or less resigned myself to the fact that i will be sitting for the papers without having re- read the books. that would be fun. i just hope i dont mix up the characters and have tom in the country wife or horner as some hughes' metaphor, or worse still, invent new characters. on second thoughts, throwing in characters called bertrand and denys might actually jazz up beloved a bit. the novel could use some more trees in the background.

for now, i shall track down fashion gurus like andrea, nicola & sulas to rid myself of dastardly eyebags!

woe is me

i am so confused. university and scholarship applications are so messy. god, i should have just applied for my universities before, then i wouldnt be in such a fix. i need to talk to people who know this shit man and not just poseur wannabes.

here's hoping that i havent screwed myself over too badly with my decisions-

humdums

there's nothing much to say is there? i merely exist, like a repugnant thought that sits snugly at the back of one's mind, refusing to exit with the grace and dignity that its nebulous form demands and blatantly ignoring the inevitability of demise that unfolds before its very eyes; life essence slipping through the cracks of its stubby fingers.

the susurrus of a fading existence.