Saturday, December 31, 2005
What's true
Your color is black. The color of night. Serene and mysterious, black conjures up images of elegant evening gowns, dashing tuxedos, and gleaming limousines. Traditionally a symbol of success, black also represents power and an uncompromising demand for perfection. Not surprisingly, you tend to set challenging goals for yourself and do whatever it takes to achieve them — your strength of character is second to none. This unfaltering determination, along with your natural elegance, impresses people. But keep in mind that your personality might be intimidating to some. Try to temper your demanding side with a little softness — trust us, it won't kill you. Overall, though, black is the color of professionalism and achievement, which means it's clearly the color for you. --Tickle.com
Monday, December 26, 2005
To the lovely lady
Gazed into your wonderous eyes,
Under the starlit cloudless sky.
A breeze from your heart that blew across to mine,
Oh, won't I believe in love at first sight.
I took your hand that held on to mine,
Benediction swallowed my line.
Wished so that I could manipulate time,
For everlasting love will between us bind.
Under the starlit cloudless sky.
A breeze from your heart that blew across to mine,
Oh, won't I believe in love at first sight.
I took your hand that held on to mine,
Benediction swallowed my line.
Wished so that I could manipulate time,
For everlasting love will between us bind.
Sunday, December 25, 2005
Pimply pimpy
Wenta Union Bar for the Christmas countdown last night. Was amazed at the countless fine-dining restaurants and chill-out nightspots at Club Street. Perhaps that'd the beginning of an exploration into more mature hang-outs for that's quite another experience.
Anyways almost everyone got drunk towards the end. Nicole and her friends promptly leaving the bar to a secluded elsewhere perhaps; Bernard and the tipsy dudes starting to dance like chimps on the floor after a quite a few bottles of vodka, champagne and beer. Haha. Hafta thank Flo Productions for the good music and ambience. Well, what a party.
Oh, and something else happened, lighting up a little, of my petty life. :)
Anyways almost everyone got drunk towards the end. Nicole and her friends promptly leaving the bar to a secluded elsewhere perhaps; Bernard and the tipsy dudes starting to dance like chimps on the floor after a quite a few bottles of vodka, champagne and beer. Haha. Hafta thank Flo Productions for the good music and ambience. Well, what a party.
Oh, and something else happened, lighting up a little, of my petty life. :)
Friday, December 23, 2005
The season to be jolly
Every festival lies a hint of reminiscence. Received several Christmas cards this week, two of which are especially momentous.
Full of thanks to Nick with his peaceful Marks and Spencer card. Hafta confess on my iciness towards schoolmates back in RJC. That's also why 'tis so treasurable a card when one actually remembers his fellow classmate despite his stubbornly silent presence and childishly indifferent attitude then. :)
A cheery card from good pal Hocks too touched my heart deeply. Just as the chilly weather sets in in temperate countries where many good friends have gone to study, the man in London thought of his mate back home and mailed a warm little greeting over the freezing Indian Ocean. Imagine the feeling of being in the cold, alone thousand miles from home. Reckon it must be snowing over there. Thanks bro. Merry Christmas.
Jolly it is the season to be.
Full of thanks to Nick with his peaceful Marks and Spencer card. Hafta confess on my iciness towards schoolmates back in RJC. That's also why 'tis so treasurable a card when one actually remembers his fellow classmate despite his stubbornly silent presence and childishly indifferent attitude then. :)
A cheery card from good pal Hocks too touched my heart deeply. Just as the chilly weather sets in in temperate countries where many good friends have gone to study, the man in London thought of his mate back home and mailed a warm little greeting over the freezing Indian Ocean. Imagine the feeling of being in the cold, alone thousand miles from home. Reckon it must be snowing over there. Thanks bro. Merry Christmas.
Jolly it is the season to be.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Diary of a soldier
Sunday:
Being the end and the beginning of another week, melancholia turns into apathy as the man drags his feet (and the duffel bag) like a zombie with its delicacy to the graveyard.
Monday:
Deeply bluish. He does work with the weekend ladies still lingering in his head, hopefully not making mistakes that will cost him a weekend or two stuck in the coffin.
Tuesday:
Rather bluish. He counts the days left which feels like decades. It's a night-off day but he can't be bothered to book out for a few hours and return feeling armageddon. Stays in and watches EPL highlights to recap his weekend football.
Wednesday:
Slightly bluish. It's the "midweek crisis" he calls it. Halfway through but he searches for the meaning of life (NS life), scratching his hollow skull.
Thursday:
Let there be light. The soldier smiles with chest out belly in. Shakes off four decades of angst finally and enjoys the night-off with his comrades around a nearby well. It's the mini-weekend already!
Friday:
Such benediction to the soldier when the morning sun blesses him in totality. A week's slavery with countless unsounded grudges fills his sockets with tears. The man's going home (or perhaps somewhere else). 'Tis the most wonderful day in his life he thinks.
Saturday:
All work no play make him a dull boy. Dullness sets in as Sunday is approaching like a bullet train. He parties like never before and hopes that his heart fails him with over adrenaline so that he could escape from hell and float into heaven. Bubble bursts and he can't but slacks in the couch with strangers called friends and puts on a wan smile.
C'est tout. C'est la vie du soldat.
Being the end and the beginning of another week, melancholia turns into apathy as the man drags his feet (and the duffel bag) like a zombie with its delicacy to the graveyard.
Monday:
Deeply bluish. He does work with the weekend ladies still lingering in his head, hopefully not making mistakes that will cost him a weekend or two stuck in the coffin.
Tuesday:
Rather bluish. He counts the days left which feels like decades. It's a night-off day but he can't be bothered to book out for a few hours and return feeling armageddon. Stays in and watches EPL highlights to recap his weekend football.
Wednesday:
Slightly bluish. It's the "midweek crisis" he calls it. Halfway through but he searches for the meaning of life (NS life), scratching his hollow skull.
Thursday:
Let there be light. The soldier smiles with chest out belly in. Shakes off four decades of angst finally and enjoys the night-off with his comrades around a nearby well. It's the mini-weekend already!
Friday:
Such benediction to the soldier when the morning sun blesses him in totality. A week's slavery with countless unsounded grudges fills his sockets with tears. The man's going home (or perhaps somewhere else). 'Tis the most wonderful day in his life he thinks.
Saturday:
All work no play make him a dull boy. Dullness sets in as Sunday is approaching like a bullet train. He parties like never before and hopes that his heart fails him with over adrenaline so that he could escape from hell and float into heaven. Bubble bursts and he can't but slacks in the couch with strangers called friends and puts on a wan smile.
C'est tout. C'est la vie du soldat.
Sunday, December 18, 2005
In the festive season
She's delightful like a baby,
He's willowed like a cow.
She looks more than sweet and tasty,
But he just don't know for sure how.
Age is nothing but a number, she said,
And height is not a roadblock laid.
She's a baby with a mind so hazy,
He's a satan, set on the prowl.
He's willowed like a cow.
She looks more than sweet and tasty,
But he just don't know for sure how.
Age is nothing but a number, she said,
And height is not a roadblock laid.
She's a baby with a mind so hazy,
He's a satan, set on the prowl.
Saturday, December 17, 2005
Something stupid not
It's going to be something big but it would need something magical to be faithfully materialised. With its founding, perhaps life will become variantly different though melancholia looms occasionally still. Met Bert and his friend Jem at Safra Town Club yesterday for a casual discussion, and 'pessimism' according to Bert is consuming my confidence in us. Gimmicks is the word. Sincerity is another. I don't know. Hafta know, not everyone loves money.
Anyways, happy for Clara and Gek that they've returned home this christmas. Reckon they're the only ones back in town for a cuppa tea with the lonely one. Perhaps everyone should come back often (with financial stability that is), before it becomes not too strange to call each other strangers.
Anyways, happy for Clara and Gek that they've returned home this christmas. Reckon they're the only ones back in town for a cuppa tea with the lonely one. Perhaps everyone should come back often (with financial stability that is), before it becomes not too strange to call each other strangers.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Red eye
Congratulations to the 369 newly commissioned officers in OCS. Can't really imagine myself being in the ceremony if my ankle wasn't badly injured. It's gonna be so weird to be friends when friends have turned into officers in the same unit. Hope not to see Nicholas, Keat Loon, Terrence, Josiah, Chee Cheong, Amogh, Emerson, Weeping, William and et cetera posted to mine. Saluting and paying complements to one of them may wipe out years of friendship in minutes. It's an awkward 11 months left for all of us.
Anyways, when you see three black strips on my sleeves in the future, try not to pay complements in that torturously rigid way. Friendship is kinda a communist thing.
Anyways, when you see three black strips on my sleeves in the future, try not to pay complements in that torturously rigid way. Friendship is kinda a communist thing.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
Lego toy-boys
Dad's a got a new Big Boyz Toyz. A new family-friendly digital camera turned out to be a Olympus E-500. 8.0 megapixels and maybe a kilogram of professionalism leaves his son without a new digicam still. The very first one I had was a humongous 1.0 megapixel Sony antique which support only diskettes. :) Perhaps technology is the only competitor flying beside time nowadays just like Skywalker and monsters in the Star Wars racing game. Haha. Oh, this so reminds me of someone saying, "ya always see me walking on the track." Reckon she's simply sick of winning gold medals.
Friday, December 02, 2005
Innocuous, baby
Surprise after surprise. Eka's getting delightfully engaged. Not a huge fan of early marriages can't say much really. Don't know the main man though. Congratulations y'all. Stay young, stay youthful.
And, just realised something rather humorous when a friend asked for the definition of "mainstream art". Isn't that actually kinda an oxymoron to be used in Singapore as much as "microsoft works" in American minds? Likewise, what a "big SAM" we've got in Bras Basah. Ha.
And, just realised something rather humorous when a friend asked for the definition of "mainstream art". Isn't that actually kinda an oxymoron to be used in Singapore as much as "microsoft works" in American minds? Likewise, what a "big SAM" we've got in Bras Basah. Ha.
