"It is not inertia alone...

that is responsible for human relationships repeating themselves... 

from case to case,

indescribably monotonous and unrenewed.

It is shyness before any sort of new, unforeseeable experience...

with which one does not think oneself able to cope.

But only someone who is ready for everything,

who excludes nothing,

not even the most unenigmatical, will live the relation to another as something alive."

God, this is great. This is great. 

Being kind and polite, while maintaining your poise and rationality is what it takes to be ascertained in no roundabout approach as a real lady, in any kowtowing or curtseying culture. It is seemingly strange, or rather not clever to be writing about a thought using such flamboyant vogue phases yet tending to end up throwing questions back. I shudder upon this idea actually, but as distressed as I’m right now it is absolutely tempting to do so. For so long that I have been on my own, it is only rightful to at least have some faith in myself. To act on them is another matter altogether, although testified by giants from those days, I dare to risk a holocaust for a fruit.

I think you should too, because running in circles in my head will tire you out soon, honey.

Why do we talk in circles? Those long and pretentious verbal exchanges goes on for eternity, all just because of the underlying reservations we harbored within one’s self. Is this not an epitome whereby both parties decided unanimously by an unwritten rule to abide strictly by the ritual of courtesy when conversing? If so then is it again an attempt to mask our own fear and loathing, insowhich perhaps our true self is so abominable and despicable that we permit ourselves to undertake such cruel and excruciating cognitive dissonance, to evolve into such highly motivated state so as to generate this weak excuse to convince us that being patient will carry us safely through the Tsunami? How many times have you felt that there are no more areas left for sublimation to take place anymore? When are the days where you have had enough of oscillating between the lapses of regressions and recuperations that despite being exhausted you are still condemned as neurotic? Why did you have to dream about living as a musical box instead, where it is easier to take the cue to speak only when being pry opened, but only to your own dismay to find that all in all you are not allowed to speak about anything else albeit the fact that we all have a theory of mind rather than merely a fixed program in the heart of larynx that is only capable of replaying in a verbal loop?

Is it too much to demand, to request, to plead, to cry, to ask for- a Singaporean to perfect his/her mother tongue before even allowing the slightest thought of acquiring a foreign language to seep into their not-so-patriotic head?

And I’m not even in my bitching mode yet; remember changelings payback is a bitch.

School was crazy; needless to say living in a hostel didn’t help alleviate the fact so. At times I wished I could just glue shut my door, switch off my phone and unplug the lan cable, so I can recuperate and let my alter egos loose, let them come out and have fun, before I kick the crap out of them and shoving them back into my wooden box again. Then perhaps, I will be able to function and maintain a more constructive theory of mind.

A month back, there was a bunch of rugged and sleeve tattooed guys employed by the management to clean the exterior windows by hanging themselves down the rooftop and kicking their way down with super-hose, soap and one of those big, bushy yellow scrubbers you thought you will only see in Ally Mcbeal. Whatever happened to that “being polite” attitude sadly did put me into some difficult situations I wish I could (but couldn’t of course) grovel my way out, but to cut the story short my decision to not befriend one of the spider man didn’t attenuate his persistence. Rather, in a very tacky manner he left a note under my door with a little pickup line and cell number.

On another note, I decided not to freak out because naturally if I don’t display any signs of reciprocation he should be able to get the hint. Just when I thought the reaffirming narcissistic event was over, the shadow tried to open my latched door. I made a then rational decision to report it, and of course an irresponsible link between the spider man and the shadow.

Hey, you can’t blame me for that, it is an innate instinct to do so, after all aversions could take up to days to develop, and the first episode was still fresh in my head. It turns out that my detective skills weren’t that fantastic after all, it was a bad man whom was trying to pry and steal from dorms whilst Mr. Spidey was innocent. Pensiveness brought me all the way to pit bottom when the management told me that his entire team was revoked from the cleaning sessions and they had to rope in another group of guys instead.

Sigh, how I wish I had jotted down his number before they took away the note, so there is a chance to apologize. Clearly this incident demonstrated and reminded me once again how people never fail to make the fundamental attribution errors when it comes to labeling and judging strangers. That look of prejudice in their eyes when the word “heavily tattooed” flowed out of their mouth, and that discriminative decision to remove the entire team from the set not only made me squirm and fidget in my seat, even the cold air diffusing from the pale white ceiling seemed extra chilling as they sliced through my skin.

Such is life. Whatever they have taught you in school about not to be judge a book by it’s cover is sheer thrash, because often we are erroneously too quick to attach a label with a ribbon onto strangers we meet, and that’s the somber fact no matter who tries to repudiate. This brings me to another point, to keep a mental note to be extra normal (or as a matter of fact the good’ole girl next door) when meeting new people, so as to set a sturdier stage for future interactions. And speaking of that, perhaps I should register myself in the rude-mode sometimes when the situation seems apt, say another of those weird-dude-pickups, or simply putting a period to an awkward conversation that leads to nothingness.

Boy, what a rant. This is barely half of the steam escaping from my cooped up head. Next on, I should figure out what to do with my life, not that it is disorientated in any way, but when it comes to personal feelings there is a tendency for me to jumble them up in a jigsaw mess impossible to unravel. This is probably one more thing I can’t stand about myself, why dabble my poor soul into such complexity? I don’t wish to dwell in self-deprecation, but sometimes my alter ego does get sucked into this black hole of Cacutta and I then have to use maximum energy to drag this fragmented piece out. Good for calories burning I guess.

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