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Sick. Like. Inferno.

Puffy face. Swollen nose. Throbbing head and throat and stomach and just about every part of the body. Running for tissues every five seconds, till the teachers are shooting you laser rays with their eyes. Dry-gulping Advils due to lack of water.

Physics Test tomorrow, three feet of Chemistry notes + homework……English homework for the first time in almost a month.

In other news, finally scored full marks on Chem. in-class, X]. Pats self on back.

Now keep it going.

Push it through.

No, that’s not what she said.


    *Am working hard on crucial and climatic scene in book. Will post after……some time?

In Mandarin; may be a version out there with English Subtitles. But it’s not about the language.

This is the first movie to make me cry for more than five minutes straight. Incredible how it hasn’t swept the Oscars. Slumdog, move yo ass over.

秋雨 (Autumn Rain)


Interesting to note how the actor is Chinese, the actress is Japanese, and of course, the story’s about love. Historically……these two countries haven’t been exactly arm in arm……have they?

Anyways……went to five of those dinghy corner video stores before I found it. Worth it!!!!!!!

突然……特别想学唱京剧 ^^


That’s what it is.

Externally, internally, infernally, eternally.

I won’t be just another Constantinople.

Watch out.


She keeps looking up from her paper, craning her neck, blinking pensively at the doorway, as if he’d appear at any given moment.

She would not believe it, would keep pinching her arms and shaking her head like some drug-induced fiend at a rock concert until she could see the whites of his eyes. Otherwise it’ll simply remain smoke and mirrors.

Each morning she fixes herself up, nice and fresh, twisting her dirty blonde hair into a neat ponytail and bobby-pinning the stubborn wisps to the side. Slick on a little hairspray to keep them in line. Line her eyelids with jet-black kohl; occasionally sapphire blue, fan at them furiously with her fingers to dry. Wiggle a mascara comb under her nearly-transparent lashes. You never know, never know when he’s gonna jump out at you. When you’ve got no makeup on and droopy hair and panda eyes and angry red patches all over your face. Then you’ll spot him. And then you’ll scold yourself a thousand times over. A dot of cherry-colored gloss at the centre of her lips; butter on toast. Yes, that’s it. You’re done. A self-reassuring pat to the head. And she’s off.

Someone once told her. You’re sending off the wrong signals, missy.

It’s thrift-store affections. It’s second-hand love.

It seemed as though he’d brewed an essence of himself and doused it all over her. Eau de Karenin Ko.

She was still her, but tiny trickles of him spilled out from the cracks between the lid and the geometrically-shaped crystal bottle with every miniscule action she took.

She ought to feel lucky. Blessed.

She doesn’t. She feels like a watermelon with the succulent pink insides scooped out. Just the shell, the outer layer. When you slice it open, you’d see nothing.

Empty. Empty. Empty.

She ought to call the police.

Ma’am, what happened? Indifferent, South-Western American drawl. Probably with his feet propped up on his office desk, the sunset glancing off the dusty shades behind him, a glass of brandy in one hand and cigarette in another, the fumes rising, spiraling and melting into nothingness, evanescing into thin air. Are you physically injured in any manner? Should we call an ambulance?

Oh no, sir, I‘m fine, absolutely dandy. An ambulance would not be necessary. Wastage of public tax dollars, really. I’m calling to report a robbery. It might be a bit late, but I think you could still catch him.

Well, speak it, ma‘am, we’ll do our job.

Ah…a certain young man made off with my heart. Along with two-thirds of my soul, I estimate. That’s all I had in my bank account. What about my children? Small but audible sobs. What about me?


She feels guilty. It paws at her chest, purrs contentedly as she smiles, throws her head back and laughs; not too loud, not too soft, just enough to show that she’s into what he’s saying. He must be all smug inside. A small sparkle will shoot up his spine. She can see it in his eyes, the way the light pirouette off the irises.

The little things. The way he squinted one eye closed and smiled lopsidedly, talking out of one side of his mouth and staring off into the distance as he spoke to her. The way his jaws tightened every time something threatened to throw his perfect record into imbalance. The way his nostrils flared, with a soft, exasperated sigh every time she made a stupid comment or knocked something over. It drove her mad. Especially now. It drove her mad to reminiscence, to recall these details to life once more. It drove her mad to see them on ink and paper.

He’d take everything so seriously. A joke tossed casually into his direction, he’d cock his head to one side thoughtfully and smile a tight-lipped smile, utter a terse response topped off with another barely-there smile. More like a leer, really. A predator of some kind out of the African savanna, ready to pounce at anytime.

His eyes; the way they twinkled as he fixiated his light-brown stare on her lake-blue ones. He wasn’t shy in that manner of speaking, not really. Not like some of the other boys, who’d flinch and look away as soon as she met their eyes. He’d gaze, a bit more, a bit more, then slowly, slowly tilt his head away nonchalantly until the connection was broken. A small, secretive smile would be playing about his lips. She’d like to run after him. Watcha smiling about……me? She liked that; she made someone happy. Usually it’s flipped the other way around.

March 2009
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