at home but out of place

at home but out of place

Truth be told, I find myself desperately missing my own place back in Singapore.

Not liking change and not wanting change it was a very difficult transition to first move from my home, family and friends in Malaysia to a completely new and kiasu environment of Singapore.

Three and a half years have gone and I now find myself uprooted when I come back for the holidays.

With boxes half unpacked, and the home completely depleted of a personal essence that once made me part of the house, I am but a temporary guest.

My sister has taken over my room and had to clear space on the shelves for me and sleep meanwhile in the other room. Mum has to now cook "Phing's favourite dishes and more vegetables as she can't get them back in Sg". She's so busied despite my declaration of going on a diet. Thank goodness good ol' dad stays the same.

I miss too my daily routine, from cleaning my floors to my old evening walks and the freedom from being under the watchful eye and dictates from over-protective parents.

Daily exercise has been a bare minimal with so much pollution going on just outside my doors and crazy construction work going on at the roads. Population seems as if it has increased tenfold in my cozy little township since I've left as road jams are common and construction-in-progress highways and freeways are the only possible solution. In the house, there's barely space now-a-days for me to do my yoga as granny, mum or sis would be watching telly so I can't pop my disc for CD yoga. *Sigh, I miss my visuals of the yummy-cute-ooooh-ah-ah! yoga instructor. *Grin.

What's more, I'm really no longer used to the place I once called home. It's so uncomfortable here that even in my queen sized soft, springy bed I long for the hard one I had in PGP. I toss and turn at night and I'm so *agitated that I don't even feel like reading.

I sleep, watch telly and eat. So this is what the couch potato feels like. No wonder the body is now lethargic and I am sick. Initially it was a fever but now I am certain I am craving for a familiar space I call my own.

Days are really long. I might need to cut this *holiday short. Or get a job. Something. Anything.

It's two days till my five day trip to Bangkok and time is passing snail paced. After that, ten days till I go back to Sg and I really fear tearing my hair out before the time has passed.

Funny, considering that I've been looking forward to this since the exams.

dedication for *gallant

for *gallant

Thank you darling, for reaching over to hold my hand from across the study table (and for rubbing them warm too when the digits are most frosty).

I appreciate your constant glances across the table too, at almost every sneeze, cough, sigh, frown or rub of my tummy that elicits your most caring gaze and inquiry of my wellbeing.

The wonderful pre-post exam message, goodnight wishes, hugs and kisses and being there to shoulder what's left of me quivering, sobbing and in my utmost despair.

Silly me for ever doubting your affections. Despite me being at my weakest and most stupid, with all ugly temperaments, eye bags, sallow skin and pimple scarred skin that I bothered not even the slightest to hide, I've never been more convinced of your love.

And selfish, selfish me. I didn't even have to worry about you. It was all about me.

That makes me one very lucky girl.

Darling, you're still perfect to me (version 1.1, that is).

I love you, always.

quotes, by me!

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quoth the *damsel:The hours at night seem longer... Studying late at night, possibly because there's nothing else good on the telly, I've read all your blogs, newsletters, emails, online newspapers and done my chores. What's left is to study... and suddenly, I feel tired.

I'd go *ewh, *ewh. Sneeze. And then laugh... My reply to *Philo Chic on having to live alone and clean my ceiling fan.

I sure hope he doesn't mean me... Thinking aloud when I read *Kenn's post on people who [seem] to have gotten their act together. Then again, that couldn't be me (note to self: world does not revolve around you). But he's sure got the organised/boring/predictable part right. =(

[scribbles] 8.00am: library for Baylis and Christoper readings, 11.00am for doctor's appointment and the secretariat, followed by a nap until 2.30pm, dean's office at 3.00pm and the rest of the readings until the evening... *organizing* my task for tomorrow.

I'm scared... To *Fongky, seeking comfort and assurance that I'd be fine for the coming exams.

bad! bad! wall

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when I accidentally bang my head against the wall please do not treat me like a five year old child. I had no idea why *Gallant had to actually *coo me words of comfort and offer to bang his head in return on that "nasty surface". I think he was short of hitting the said surface and scolding it bad! bad!.

*chuckles*

It all happened when we were to have our quick goodbye hug after lunch yesterday (and I'm too free right now, just reminiscing what happened yesterday when the essay is barely finished) and I accidentally banged by head against the wall. The bang was sharp and painful that tears smirked out of my eyes (Niagara falls). Yet I was laughing for being silly and careless (and the pain!) and even harder because of his serious yet childish antics to make me feel better.

I'm so relieved I managed an *aye minus on my guerrilla war paper. You know, the 5000 word long one on the subject of international relations (a foreign area to me)? The lecturer commented that it was an impressive essay for its originality and essay organisation (being a neat/organized freak pays off, somehow). More impressive, I must say is how I managed to write a paper on guerrilla war, without a single mention of any physical, actual guerrilla wars. I just went on and on about the philosophy and strategy of guerrilla wars, being the girl that I am. Otherwise, he would have given me the *aye.

I really wished I was able to provide empirical cases. I was just unsure about the examples and if anything contrary happened in that case that would prove my philosophical arguments contrary. *Sigh.

Well, more lucky than impressive, then. I better not try to take chances like this again.

women thought (not taught) wrong

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women thought/taught wrong:Having breakfast and doing my frivolous morning blog/website reading had me choking on my black coffee, toast and boiled egg breakfast when I came across the accusation that Barbie (doll) is a slut and little girls express their forming sexual desires with their 'perfect figure' dolls.

"According to Sharon Lamb'’s The Secret Lives of Girls, Barbie'’s been dry humping Ken and even dabbled in some soft-core S&M for years now: "Barbie dolls help girls express what they don'’t have words for yet, chiefly their sexual interest, which helps them to distance themselves from it at the same time. They can remain good girls while Barbie is the slut."”

Not only was Barbie the slut in my childhood world, but she was a full-on stripper, making her living in a thriving sex trade. Those carefully chosen outfits were soon cast aside as she kicked her long legs skyward. Where was Ken in all of this? In absentia. Ken was relatively tame, with his decidedly boring, non-brushable hair and limited wardrobe choices."

I've played with 13 (yes, I had this many dolls and kept asking for more during birthdays) and I can not attest to any truth to the article. In fact, the boyfriend is positive that I am a "sexually repressed woman at 23" (private joke... don't speculate too much).

Slanderous article, this is. I wonder if Mattel would have anything to say to it. Quite possibly a case of another feminist gone wrong in the head. What's so wrong with girls and women wanting to celebrate feminity and be stereotypical, if that's what we really want to be and in no case feel ourselves to be "pathetic, helpless and weak"? In fact, some call these feminine charms (ie tools) and being naturally God's gift (as are high heels) be used to our advantage? Of course, excessive weeping and clinging and high pitch sugary voices are a tad over-using these 'charms', I'll admit.

Imagine, a woman most attractive in features and figure, immaculate makeup and healthy, shiny hair and clothes that speak of high style and class put together with so much attention and fashion know-how. From her walk, to the way she stands and speaks to you, a tiny glimpse of her personality inside will tell you that she is headstrong, intelligent, hardworking and worldly; at the same time sweet, gentle and respectful. She cooks, bakes and sews (her interest as a hobby rather than a social demand of her) and you know she'd be the perfect mother to her children.

Feminine charms are necessary for the successful woman... if she desires to use it. Be she by choice like or unlike others by sexual preferences, occupation, choices, religion, dressing and manners. It's up to her. That's the power of (my brand of) feminism.

Which brings me to another personal matter: I've gained weight!

Now, that's no cause for celebration. I'm going to start edi-blogging again. *Gallant is *waiting to see me in the silk cheongsam he got for me but I begged for time due to my assignment/exam stress waistline. "You've seen me, and you've seen the dress. Put the two together-lah!" Silk is so unflattering to the yet perfect body.

*Ah, what a light headed me on a cooling Wednesday morning.

making up is fun

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making up is fun: Yesterday was our sixth anniversary, and I was devastated that he forgotten the day again!

AGAIN!

The third month he forgot and that got me upset because it was to be our first month celebrating it together, being both in Malaysia and China.

Then the sixth month, well, that's our half year mark. Of course it is to be an important date.

As the hour grew near to the stroke of midnight marking six months, tears started to stream down my cheeks again and I was broken hearted that he could imagine us so unimportant (and after having made this mistake once already) for not circling every 29th on his calendar with a huge red marker.

The next morning, I decided that it wasn't worth moping around so I decided to remind him with a sticky (post-it) note.



The message was definitely (hopefully) *subtle, and enough to get my intention across. It was just perfect for my *ego-centric* boyfriend who didn't even mention that he forgot the anniversary or apologized...

... but rushed out to get me the cutest, huggable, biggest green dragon he could find.


Meet mighty *Mr Puff
(the magic dragon who mystically made my *sadness disappear)


Mr Puff, trying to look ferocious

He then took me for dinner at Chjimes' Esmirada for some Mediterranean cuisine then heading to watch Zorro (it wasn't a good show... bad plot really).

Before the movie, we spent some time at the arcade where I won the car racing game but he beat me at the shooting and aeroplane something game.

*Sigh. Guilty pleasures amidst pending assignments and coming exams.

decapitated teddy bears

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decapitated teddy bears and bleeding watermelons: I bought a huge packet of chocolate chip teddy bear cookies on the grounds of wanting comfort food (it's dangerous to be simply buying cookies, snacks, chips, etc) around this stressful I-need-to-just-eat time of year where assignments and last minute studying for exams come piling in.

But the cookies were far from comfort as you reach in and pull out either heads or bodies of the cute teddy cookie cut outs. It must be a tribal genocide of the chocolate teddy bears by the vanilla teddy bears.

The teddy bear cookies were not the only suffering food source identified today.

Over lunch, I made a huge fuss over the way *Winky kept stabbing his pieces of watermelon with his long, menacing fruit toothpick (how else would you call those bamboo sticks? Oh, bamboo sticks! but anyway *shrug*). The poor pieces bled trails of vermilion into the melted ice water where the sharp spears tear into the juicy flesh.

The carnivor. We then discussed the ethics of fruit killing where I argued that especially for watermelons, it was most immoral. After all, they were round and hard on the outside, and red and soft on the inside much like a person's head. It is human sickness for those who would spear a watermelon or watch it burst open with red, spilling all over like the cases of crash test dummies (watermelons are sometimes used as heads).

disclaimer: it is perfectly fine to sprout nonsense once in a while, especially when one is stressed with academic bullocks.

Welcome to the new *Damsel blog. It's far from ready I know they're broken links and layout problems here and there. I wanted to get it all ready, pretty and perfect upon your visit, but well, do enjoy the slow renovation.

I wanted to start with a wonderful, happy, how-much-I-love-thee post... but this will have to do.