You know it's Christmas when...
there is a fever of madness in your local mall. And a steady flow of screaming shoppers ravaging at the discount counters not for the joy of giving but the joy of instant gratification.
You know it's Christmas when...
there's a smell of panic in the air when the last candy cane has been swooped up. Uh-oh... pull the emergency brake! We've got a emergency stench of materialism.
You know it's Christmas when...
suddenly the pots of the unfortunates are filled up just below the brim just so there is always space for more next year.
You know it's Christmas when...
squirrels are running in your backyard because they've lost their natural habitat from the annual demand of wrapping paper for fat spoilt brats who lost count of how many presents they have this year.
Yes... it's that time of the year again.
No wonder I've lost the spirit of Christmas. I lost it all to growing up.
Saturday, December 11, 2004
Friday, December 10, 2004
life's blah
There is so much mystery that revolves around death. And yet it is so simple. Our body expires when the last breath leaves our tired shell. Or sometimes it is robbed long before our shell is exhausted. Perhaps Life is more often a mystery than death.
Why are we here?
I don't know. I can barely rely on myself for an answer. Did God put us here so some of us would live to know the meaning of happiness, while the other half would live only to know the meaning of suffering? That's not a fair question. God isn't the blame for everything.
Who are we?
I don't know an answer to that question either. Put it on any examination paper, you'll probably get 10,000 different smartarse answers from 10,001 smartarses. That one smartarse i missed out would probably walk out of that examination hall and ask you the very same question in a different manner: "Who the hell do you think you are to grade us based on a question you can't even answer yourself?"
Ah bugger... what's the point of all this? Let's talk about Christmas...
Why are we here?
I don't know. I can barely rely on myself for an answer. Did God put us here so some of us would live to know the meaning of happiness, while the other half would live only to know the meaning of suffering? That's not a fair question. God isn't the blame for everything.
Who are we?
I don't know an answer to that question either. Put it on any examination paper, you'll probably get 10,000 different smartarse answers from 10,001 smartarses. That one smartarse i missed out would probably walk out of that examination hall and ask you the very same question in a different manner: "Who the hell do you think you are to grade us based on a question you can't even answer yourself?"
Ah bugger... what's the point of all this? Let's talk about Christmas...
Sunday, November 28, 2004
Saturday, November 27, 2004
chasing after rainbows
I read my monthly horoscope religiously at the first of every month. So come December 1st you can see me fidgetting like a constipated bunny waiting for my destiny to upload. It does goes to show that yes, I'm just as insecure, vulnerable, fickle-pickle and PMS-raging as the woman next door. Yes I am sad. But pray tell me which Laura, Mary and Jane out there do not suffer from pre-, post- and every-other-time depression? Why do you think we scream every time you pick your noses or forget to put the toilet sit down? Do you actually think we care? No, uh-uh, not really. If you wonder why we act like we have a constant tornado up our arses, erm well, it's really because we do have a constant tornado up our arses. It's called the 'want-it-all' syndrome.
We modern women can never be a contented race. We want a great career, tons of money, a hot body and equally hot sex, fantabulous clothes, and hair that will never be out of place. We may not want to look like Liz Hurley but hell yeah, we wouldn't mind waking up as Charlize Theron. Monstrosity sold separately.
We have grown to be so emotionally and mentally independant that we believe we can have it all. Maybe we can, maybe we can't. But Life retaliates. Like momma always say, if you don't chew what you've bitten, you're going to end up with loads of bad gas. And sometimes women even with great charm and ambition, who bite off more than they can chew, end up shaken like a fidgety constipated bunny.
My point being: more and more women are getting depress. Lack of sleep. Lack of money. Lack of respect. Lack of love. Lack of freedom. Lack of sex. We google for love. We beep for attention. We blog for excitement. Hell yeah, I've never been exactly happy with myself. One day I announce I'm queen of the world. The next, I'm a bloody pauper begging for a little joy. Then some days, in a reflective spirit, I sit down and wonder, what if I look at life a little more light-hearted. Let's not take 'me' so seriously. Let's just think more like a man. And by golly, I'm no longer chasing after rainbows.
Life's good when we enjoy it as it is. It goes to show that it's good to be a slacker some days.
We modern women can never be a contented race. We want a great career, tons of money, a hot body and equally hot sex, fantabulous clothes, and hair that will never be out of place. We may not want to look like Liz Hurley but hell yeah, we wouldn't mind waking up as Charlize Theron. Monstrosity sold separately.
We have grown to be so emotionally and mentally independant that we believe we can have it all. Maybe we can, maybe we can't. But Life retaliates. Like momma always say, if you don't chew what you've bitten, you're going to end up with loads of bad gas. And sometimes women even with great charm and ambition, who bite off more than they can chew, end up shaken like a fidgety constipated bunny.
My point being: more and more women are getting depress. Lack of sleep. Lack of money. Lack of respect. Lack of love. Lack of freedom. Lack of sex. We google for love. We beep for attention. We blog for excitement. Hell yeah, I've never been exactly happy with myself. One day I announce I'm queen of the world. The next, I'm a bloody pauper begging for a little joy. Then some days, in a reflective spirit, I sit down and wonder, what if I look at life a little more light-hearted. Let's not take 'me' so seriously. Let's just think more like a man. And by golly, I'm no longer chasing after rainbows.
Life's good when we enjoy it as it is. It goes to show that it's good to be a slacker some days.
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
the last curtain
I really hate goodbyes. I do. I've heard this line so many times, it's cliche. But really, how are goodbyes ever easy?
What had trigger this melancholic depressive state?
I sit by my table looking at my magazines. My magazines with my name and my teeny bopper wishy washy beauty views in it. [If anyone hasn't a flea care about my work, I would wholely recommend you to to stuff it where the sun don't shine for the next ten years. I'll like to see you strive in this industry and tell me it's a piece of cake (go on ... try... i dare you). I don't see you writing for an international teen bible for an audience of 60,000. Read again: We are a teen bible! And if you can't appreciate it, too damn bad.]
Right now, I'm in the most hateful earth shattering temper, I am in no mood to be tolerant.
Damn to attachment but God only knows how I loved this magazine. I worked so hard for it in so many ways I don't understand why myself.
How can you say goodbye to something you've spent countless hours on?
How can you say goodbye to something that has grown an arm and a leg in your heart?
How can you say goodbye to something that you've died and re-lived for every minute?
And how can you say goodbye to a team of people you've grown to love and admire?
I start by packing up my emotional baggage. Put it away nicely. And give it a good handshake.
I have to believe that Life doesn't end at leaving. It moves on enriched and enlightened with shitloads of gratitude and respect.
What had trigger this melancholic depressive state?
I sit by my table looking at my magazines. My magazines with my name and my teeny bopper wishy washy beauty views in it. [If anyone hasn't a flea care about my work, I would wholely recommend you to to stuff it where the sun don't shine for the next ten years. I'll like to see you strive in this industry and tell me it's a piece of cake (go on ... try... i dare you). I don't see you writing for an international teen bible for an audience of 60,000. Read again: We are a teen bible! And if you can't appreciate it, too damn bad.]
Right now, I'm in the most hateful earth shattering temper, I am in no mood to be tolerant.
Damn to attachment but God only knows how I loved this magazine. I worked so hard for it in so many ways I don't understand why myself.
How can you say goodbye to something you've spent countless hours on?
How can you say goodbye to something that has grown an arm and a leg in your heart?
How can you say goodbye to something that you've died and re-lived for every minute?
And how can you say goodbye to a team of people you've grown to love and admire?
I start by packing up my emotional baggage. Put it away nicely. And give it a good handshake.
I have to believe that Life doesn't end at leaving. It moves on enriched and enlightened with shitloads of gratitude and respect.
Thursday, November 18, 2004
Melbourne
I had a small crowd asking me in a week, "Why can't you have enough of Melbourne?"
For one, I'm a greedy glut.
I embrace the city in many many many ways. Though, I don't think it's love (I fall in and out of love so easily). If my relationship with Melbourne should be explained in a single word, it could possibly be lust. I'd rather be fond in lust than in love. That way, nothing bores me.
Do I digress?
If I was ever more in love with Melbourne, it may be because of a memory. A memory of treasured innocence, youth and simplicity. I had a Taste of Freedom. And like all things so dangerously beautiful, too much of freedom is too bad. Too little welcomes craving.
A taste is never enough. I'm getting hungry.
For one, I'm a greedy glut.
I embrace the city in many many many ways. Though, I don't think it's love (I fall in and out of love so easily). If my relationship with Melbourne should be explained in a single word, it could possibly be lust. I'd rather be fond in lust than in love. That way, nothing bores me.
Do I digress?
If I was ever more in love with Melbourne, it may be because of a memory. A memory of treasured innocence, youth and simplicity. I had a Taste of Freedom. And like all things so dangerously beautiful, too much of freedom is too bad. Too little welcomes craving.
A taste is never enough. I'm getting hungry.
China
My experience with China was an intriguing one. I can not decide if I like it or dislike it more. Whichever the case, it was truly a fascinating visit. Never in my life have I seen a greater disparity between the lean of poverty and the fats of prosperity.
As beautiful as China is, she is also a screwd and vicious queen. She is indeed an intimidation to those who cannot live up to her demands - and her expectations are not few.
Her people - the Chinese - the original of the origins - is almost unbeatable. I admire them for their strength. They are certainly not shy of that and determination. And if ever this world were to fall in the black hole of doom, Chinese would be one of the last remaining race to survive.
Not unlike the alligators and crocodiles.
As beautiful as China is, she is also a screwd and vicious queen. She is indeed an intimidation to those who cannot live up to her demands - and her expectations are not few.
Her people - the Chinese - the original of the origins - is almost unbeatable. I admire them for their strength. They are certainly not shy of that and determination. And if ever this world were to fall in the black hole of doom, Chinese would be one of the last remaining race to survive.
Not unlike the alligators and crocodiles.
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
now in colour
I'm anal. I like my blogs to be coordinated by colours. I've got my rose-tinted glasses on. That's how I like to view life.
Deluded.
Deluded.