Forbidden

One does not want things that can be easily acquired, but instead craves for the forbidden. One associates the word 'forbidden' with love, lust, and desire - a reminder of Adam and Eve days.

I'm allergic to chlorine, and yet I long to touch the waters. I love to feel its coldness each time I run my fingers through the surface; to know what it feels like to dance with danger (in its mildest form).

I spent an hour or so feeling blissful, having my feet soaked in water, chatting with friends by the pool. Today, I'm paying the price - for my feet are starting to itch.

At least I know that I will cherish those precious moments, and am intrigued by the way 'verboten' sounds more appealing than ever.

Friends

A random birthday dinner went on for way longer than initially planned, because of good company. When conversation flows easily; people gossip, talk and rant without a care in the world - especially not having met face-to-face for years, you know that these are friends for keeps.

I just realised that celebrations should be kept small-scale because mingling amongst guests in large crowds tends to be impersonal, exceptionally polite and sometimes, even stifling.

I've always believed that friendship exists because of the connection between people, and these connections never truly get terminated. Disconnection is temporal, while termination is permanent. Somehow, the occasional periods of disconnection doesn't make these relationships lose its spark. Such is the magical wonder of true friendship.

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I happened to scan D's photo earlier, and realised how much he has changed over the years. Years have passed, people have changed gradually. These minuscule changes often go undetected by the naked eye, for we seldom truly pay attention to changes.

I've changed - without realising it until I saw an old picture of myself on H's wall. But somehow, the eyes remain unchanged. Gazes, glances and the occasional stare remain. I've always been that the eyes say much more, for I've always believed in people with assuring gazes, and been wary of people with shifty eyes.

Side note: Happy Birthday, NYC.

July 1st...

marks the start of a brand new month. I know of some who have lost their jobs, as well as others who have just embarked on a new career. 'Recession' has now become a word that instills fear in the typical middle-aged, family minded man who has children and a wife to support; mortgage to pay off; and numerous other expenses associated with his former lifestyle.

I used to love the word 'recess' as a child, for it promised delicious tidbits, nice friends to chat with, and a temporal break from mind-numbing mathematical sums.

It might also be the last month where I am referred to as a young girl, for I will not be as young next month. I may be a twenty going on twenty-one fool who is worrying too much, but I will be a twenty-one year old depressed soon.

I've never felt young, because I do not know how being young feels. Perhaps what I'm feeling now is young, but I'll never know until I no longer feel that way. My knees popped, and my ankles cracked when the nurse was conducting a random check.

As a result, I'm now subjected to frequent physiotherapy sessions where I might look slightly out of place - for I am a forty year old caught in a twenty year old body (and not the other way round).

Moment of Realisation

The passion has gone, and nothingness fills my soul. I feel no joy, emotion or thrill - there is no point in my staying. I am not one who believes in staying, merely for the sake of adding to the numbers. I'm one who is willing to pull my weight, but these days, all I feel is an additional burden on my chest.

Something that I need to get rid on, just that I am uncertain of how to put it across in a manner that will infuriate none. I'm bound to be criticised for leaving matters unsettled, but I think I'll try to live with it. No one likes quitters, but I think it's one label I can live with - comfortably.

I might be happier, I might whine less. Who knows.

Ill Health

After much deliberation, I've finally mustered sufficient courage to surrender myself to health care professionals and undergo a test for Diabetes. It was more an act of convenience, rather than courage, to be honest - since I was also at the clinic for my cold, sore throat and cough.

The sweet-looking girl/ youthful Laboratory Assistant apologised repeatedly for subjecting me to unnecessary pain as blood refused to flow from my veins. The experience was especially worrying for someone who has always assumed that blood circulates quickly in healthy individuals. I've been experiencing poor blood circulation for quite awhile, including numbness in the feet while running!

Seven days, till the results will be released. I've never been one to lose sleep prior to the release of academic results, but this test is proving to be of greater significance (and possibly life-changing). I can see my parents grimacing in pain, almost sorry for conceiving a bundle of allergies some twenty years back. I've always been allergic to numerous allergens, but the series of blood tests that I've been put through these few years for suspected ailments have been worse.

And in response to C's random question awhile back as to whether I'll ever like to have children of my own one day, the answer's no. Do not mistake me for a cold-hearted spinster wannabe, but after witnessing how two healthy individuals can end up conceiving a medical liability, I think that there will be a high possibility of my unfortunate child ending up to be some perpetually wheezing, scratching organism.

On a slightly cheery note, the doctor provided me with a medical certificate without my requesting for one; the pretty Laboratory Assistant had been extremely nice; and the waiter at my lunch hangout brought me a glass of plain water even after I had arranged for my drink to be take-away and further refused his offer to bring me a glass of water.

The world is turning out to be a much better place, with nice people after all. :)

Poetry

I'm down with the monthly bout of flu, throat infection and cough. My immune system is hardly immune to foreign invaders of any form, and shall now be referred to as non-immune system instead.

However, I am feeling as jolly as ever - feasting on things that I fancy. Some of them real food, others a combination of pulp, ink, some thread and occasionally plastic. Charles Baudelaire is interesting (though I'm thinking that the essence of his works might have been lost in translation, somehow).

To a Passer-By (or À une passante)

The street about me roared with a deafening sound.
Tall, slender, in heavy mourning, majestic grief,
A woman passed, with a glittering hand
Raising, swinging the hem and flounces of her skirt;

Agile and graceful, her leg was like a statue's.
Tense as in a delirium, I drank
From her eyes, pale sky where tempests germinate,
The sweetness that enthralls and the pleasure that kills.

A lightning flash... then night! Fleeting beauty
By whose glance I was suddenly reborn,
Will I see you no more before eternity?

Elsewhere, far, far from here! too late! never perhaps!
For I know not where you fled, you know not where I go,
O you whom I would have loved, O you who knew it!

— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)

It all sounds awfully romantic, especially that last line but I faintly remember coming across other versions which read 'you whom I might have loved' instead.

Side note: I think its time I start to read love poems instead of the usual depressing ones because the drowsiness effect of medicine might take a while more to kick in - who knows.

Random

A random sift through old files on my computer made me discover random chunks of words strung together - most probably when I was in a stupor.

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Almost three years have passed, since the tossing away of those slightly faded sets of uniform. The last glimpse of the maroon skirt, replaced with that of spanking new non-uniform outfits that brought about an optimistic intent to commence the next chapter of my ‘Academic life’ well. Somehow, that start will soon too, come to an end.

Life in Singapore Polytechnic has been hectic, enriching, eye-opening and empowering. I have braved project deadlines along with everyone else, grasped certain financial concepts which I never thought I could (so it is all thanks to the kind assistance of capable lecturers), participated in club activities and created more than my fair share of noise during dialogue sessions.

I shall miss those classmates, course mates, schoolmates, acquaintances, lecturers and other staff who have become my friends. The relationships cultivated on the foundations of kindness, sincerity and trust that will hopefully withstand the test of time. I shall miss the panoramic view of the neighbourhood of Clementi from atop the Red Bridge; the aromatic whiffs of affordable canteen food; and even those half-spirited Great Singapore workouts from the MRT station to class when the watch indicates ‘ten-past-ten’.

Here’s to more great years at the School of Business, where past graduands and current students alike can work towards preserving the SB Legacy.

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How youthful I must have been back then, all this a faint reminiscence of the past - a hint of who I used to be. I've now become a lifeless old fart, the glimmer in my eyes long gone.

Lousy Conversationalist

Some days I wake up wondering about the possibility of my missing a significant phase of life while sleeping. Last I remembered, I was a child holding on to my trusty old pal (Snoopy was his name) and now, I seem to be acting like an old woman suffering from Dementia.

Farewell dinner with a friend turned out to be two dinners and a lunch over the course of several weeks because the gossip sessions never seemed to end. He has left for a foreign land in pursuit of further education, at last. I've noticed the way my thoughts seem to be repetitions of my former thoughts, on numerous occasions.

That aside, it appears that sociology books have messed my mind. I'm no longer certain about sexual orientations of people around me, and my Gaydar appears to be messed up. A random individual seated next to me had been eyeing me for more than a couple of hours, and yet, I assumed that he was gay and never found his company intimidating.

The fear only started creeping in when I saw the reflection of a pink-shirted figure standing behind me at the train station, and I tried to appear as engrossed as ever in the dog-eared book in my hand.

'The book that you're reading appears interesting', was what he said.

A very old conversation initiator, for I've heard it more than a few times before - by a Korean- American navy and his Caucasian friend. Still, I was so startled that my pronunciation was flawed. Depressing, for I often care too much about others' opinions of me; and how I'm often too quick to judge others from the way they speak.

Imogen came out as emo-gen, and how I'm on the verge of slapping myself silly. That said, perhaps I might see what's his name (I think it might have been Jason) around my favourite bookstore. Who knows, I might be more conversant when adrenaline isn't pumping through my bloodstream.