AAR Gives Me Heaven

Infiltrating the VIP area + Being encircled by sizzling hot dudes + Breaking our legs and blasting our larynx in a mad fervour to fawesome song after song + Basking in Tyson's all-consuming exuberant stage presence up close + Drinking in the energy emanating from the band like a thirsty beast for more than an hour + Giggling hysterically while bobbing and pointing at the band as they strode from their trailer to The Holy Tent for Meet and Greet + Having Tyson's hand on my back during the group photography session

= THE FUCKING BEST CONCERT IN MY ENTIRE LIFE

Oh. Just to stress a point.

When we were ushered into The Holy Tent, because I was the second in line, I half sprang half hopped and plonked myself right beside Tyson (:

Thus, as the cameras flashed away...

Tyson placed his hand on my back.

TYSON RITTER PLACED HIS RIGHT HAND ON MY BACK.

TYSON RITTER FROM ALL AMERICAN REJECTS PLACED HIS SWEATY RIGHT HAND ON THE SMALL OF MY SWEATY BACK FOR MORE THAN 15 SECONDS.

It was like stepping on a live wire, except I was grinning from temple to temple, humming tunelessly to myself in the most unimaginably high pitch and suppressing with much difficulty the urge to shriek in elation.

OOH OOH OOH.

After the Digi professional photographers (seriously, dudes, where's my bloody photograph?!) were done, I twisted to my right and gingerly shell out the string thingy to Chris, who was like, "Wow, gee, thanks!"

I flashed a smile at him, then quickly twirled back to my left and squeakily went, "Tyson, we made something for you," and dropped our (or more like, my sis') handmade gift into his open palm.

He squinted at it. And rotated it between his fingers for an immensely long time, while me and my sis struggled to remember how to breathe.

Before the 5th second, my sis couldn't take it anymore and angled the string thingy horizontally as he held it and exclaimed, "See, it spells your name, Tyson!"

"But I don't get...How does this...?" He wriggled his left index finger into the loop where you could attach a metal ring to turn it into a keychain.

SADLY, we were shooed out at that precise moment. Horrible pestering plague of Cantonese-speaking guards.

"Can you please help us give these to Nick and Mike?" and we pressed their souvenirs into Tyson's hand.

"Oh, sure..." He continued staring at the oblong gift in confusion.

The last thing we saw was Trecia Tan thrusting a pen and a magazine poster of them at Tyson. And the first thing we heard was her deafening screams of "OH MY GOD OH MY GOD TYSON SIGNED IT! SEE! IT'S TYSON'S AUTOGRAPH! HE SIGNED IT!"

But the 3 of us knew very well she wasn't shrilling to us, but to herself. At her own triumphant victory.

The rest of the night was a electrified blur (if it were possible). My skin felt like it was shrouded with a shimmering glow and alighted with spitting sparks, though I was only vaguely aware of my whereabouts. And the fact that my sis made tons of videos throughout the journey home, including the not-so-short supper at Devi's.

I remembered her taking a video of us shouting "Tyson touched me!" when this Caucasian dude turned to look at us and laughed. Oh. Also, a car that went pass us heard us yelling "We love you AAR!", joined us and together we screeched "AAAAHHHHHHH AAR! AAR'S THE BEST! AAAAAHHHHHHH!"

United we are (:

Of course, the first quarter of the concert wasn't this perfect. Don't feel like mentioning it, though. I mean, tell me, who freaking SMOKE in a sardine-pack concert?! Go grow a brain.

TYSON <3

Mike and Nick <3

Chris <3

Joanna, Eu Chern, me

Qian Xi, Jia Wei, bro

+ Sis

the THAMs

In the line for Meet and Greet session

AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! They were on their way from their trailer to The Holy Tent!

With Yee Teng and Hui Mei (cousin)

Prosperous yellow

Hmmm. Mom asked a good question. Why didn't we hug Tyson?

No. She doesn't believe in the possibility of contracting an epilepsy when placed in front of a celebrity. Nor does she in mind-freeze.

I Wanna

Lee Jia Wen, I know you've been waiting for this!

Sometimes, she felt as if she were waiting on a shooting star, never knowing when she would next see him. Most of the time, the black velvet sky would remain stubbornly clear, especially if she were wishing for it, but when she least expect it, the meteor would appear, and she would simply nest herself smugly into the soft bed of grass and be enraptured as it streaked across the night sky.

There was no need for her usual exuberance; no need for the never-ending flow of conversation; no need for anything save an appreciative silence.

She could not be bothered with the fact that her friends thought she was verbally incapacitated.

If anything, he left her breathless.

Being around him was different. It did not matter that the thought of him tempted her to dance in the rain; that the mention of his name made her giggle at every little thing; that he, just him, made her believe in fairy tales again.

But during those rare occasions when he would step out from the sea of people and the clutter of his work and sit facing her on an island of calm, she would just content herself with watching him, acutely aware of his nature of coming and going like neon.

There was the way his hair fall over his eyes, she was a sucker for that. There was the mysteriousness in him that she yearned to unravel, or perhaps it was just his quiet manner. There was also his contradicting character that she found so uncannily like her.

And oh, his smiles. They seemed to be saying something to her all the time; teasing her, encouraging her, paying her the attention that his dark eyes did not. Fleetingly, she wondered if she could save them in her piggybank and cash them in for a hug.

But all too soon, he stood up, flashing his beatific smile. Then, he took a step back and became just another face in the crowd.

P.S. So, Commander Lee, is this essay satisfactory to you? Or am I still being too vague? (You DO remember you requested for this particular short passage, right?)

Banned

Jia Wen was right. The song choices for this semester's MBE concert were definitely an improvement, minus that one particular song. Then again, it depended on what kind of songs the bands were covering and putting up for the 4 assessments.

The fate of the concert and of the audience's ears lie in our hands, so to speak.

Spent the whole concert serving as a bench-warmer. Was placed to help out in the controls room, but ended up lurking at the back of the hall and out of the way as a stand-by pair of hands, merely looking in from the sides, coz they had a full supply of assistance. Pfft. At least I got to watch the concert in peace.

Oh! The coolest thing was, the amplifiers blew up. Or the speakers, whichever. It was like upholding some sort of tradition. Some unwritten customary practice of the Contemporary Music students of blasting an unfortunate equipment by the end of the concert. 99.99% likely due to the hard rock/metal song of the night.

Anyway, my band wasn't picked this time (we would be mad to expect so) but all the same, thought that I should talk a little about them. Or drop my thanks here.

Band 9

Me, Jia Wai, Hooi Ching, Irene Sow

Hooi Ching: Thank you for being the jack-of-all-trades of Band 9 this semester just as Penny was for my band during the last. You were one heck of a multi-talented handyman: a keyboardist, a vocalist, a drummer, a bassist and not to mention all the paper work you'd covered on our behalf. Oh. And thank you for teaching me the preparation of a song submission form when I was forced to submit one for 'I Just Can't Wait To Be King' (: My future band leader would probably suffer a coronary attack if you hadn't coz I would only be gawking uselessly at the raw version of the song submission paper.

Irene Sow: Thank you for fishing me out when I was waist-deep in one of my many procrastination-inflicted crisis. You always seemed to be the one tying up the loose ends, like contacting our guests, sorting out the chords, and even taking on another instrument when needed. And it was never in the least bit hard working with you (:

Jia Wai: Thank you for helping me learn, coz through teaching you, I was also teaching myself. I'm not saying you were bad, but because of you, I could see the mistakes I must have made last semester when I just entered Degree and joined MBE for the first time (e.g. taking a loooooong time to set up). I could see you were kind of freaked out at first but I'm sure you'd learned a lot along the way and would be learning more in the semesters to come, from both seniors and juniors, as you guide them.

Eunice, Mr. Justin Lim (my band coach last semester), me, Hooi Ching, Irene Sow

+ Wen Dee

Top most: Kevin

Middle row: Mr. Juan Pablo, Emmanuel (aka Emma), Huay May, Eunice, Wen Dee, Carmen, me, Rachel

Squatting: Jia Wen, Andrew (aka Chicken Wah), Audrey

Here's a toast to our 5th semester together (save Audrey and Carmen)!

And Happy Holidays, peeps!

the Bewitchment of the Webcam

For some inexplicable reason,

I miss the teeny house of my grandparents, where I spent the first quarter of my life in.

I miss the over-sized mosquito-swarmed kitchen, the old-fashioned toilets, even the cracks and creases on its ancient walls.

I miss my shrunken lumpy bolster.

I miss feeling bloated all the time, having my grandma feeding me like stuffing Christmas turkeys, thinking I have a bottomless stomach just because I’m still young.

I miss seeing myself in my grandma in the way she goes all contradictory, like how she would nag me on the evil doings of seafood while scooping prawns and crabs ceaselessly into my bowl.

I miss watching little spurts of argument between my grandparents, like how due to her slight deafness, my grandma would lose half the sentence my grandpa said and give a random answer, and my grandpa would get all annoyed and correct her. Then, unintentionally (or intentionally, I can never guess) stubborn, she would continue talking on the ripped off sentence she heard.

I miss how every time they have their daily dosage of Hokkien drama series, my grandma would exclaim incredulously and direct passionately at the characters on the screen, and my grandpa would shush her.

I miss being over-pampered by grandma.

I miss having grandma’s voice as the soundtrack of my holidays.

I miss listening to their stories about how vivacious I used to be.

I just miss staying over at their place.

So I simply invited myself over as soon as I woke up this morning (yes, 11am is considered morning).

Drowned myself in the Golden Compass for a couple of hours before deciding to make my way into the virtual world. And stumbling upon...the WEBCAM.

Warning: self-absorbed cam-whoring ahead

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Hmm...what the hell IS this?

Took me a couple of blank moments before figuring out there was an easy way to take photos. And I finally found the shortcut to the application without having to sift through the icons using the search engine. Aha. Ha.

Right

Can't let the music stop

Can't let this feeling end

Had durian for supper (:

Jealous, Ying?

It's mine!

Don't blame me if you're puking all over yourself. I've warned you.

You're my rain in the summer heat (:

Flying Without Wings

I am a daredevil.

24 hours before my ominous annihilation, I had yet able to deliver 2 out of the 3 pieces without hesitating and fumbling and making them sound like clogged up river, yet to moil on Love Story for more than once with Rachel, yet to break down the arrangement that I finally managed to cough up just days ago to my other 2 accompanists, and yet, God forbid, to practically run through the song with the 3 of them together. It felt as if I was hoisting myself into position to launch into a full sprint without warming up the body. *Grimace*

But oh, I have not even got to the most audacious part:

I rearranged my song right before the exam.

I bloody altered the arrangement and instrumentation of Love Story a mere 180 minutes before I had to face the executioners.

Hell, I’m good at freaking myself out.

OK. So it was just a demand suggestion by Jia Wen that I could have chosen not to heed but I must say, it sounded somehow sweeter and fuller, minus the pitchy glitches. Plus, Rachel wanted backup on her cello part to amplify the supporting bass lines of the music and to blanket her mistakes

Thus, instead of thumping the bass drum, Quek ended up playing the violin, which was wicked, I tell you. She just sight-read and improvised on the spot. Like, whoa. Rachel too. She took barely a week to wrap it up and weave her part in with mine. Seriously, where do these people come from?! What do they eat?!

But anyhow, THANK YOU SO (X GAZILLION TIMES) MUCH RACHEL NG SOONG YAN, QUEK SHIO YEE AND PEE HUAY MAY! I couldn’t have done it without you girls (:

Hmmm. I realize the tone of this post is odd. Not the exuberance it was supposed to emanate. Probably because I’m still partially hollowed by the experience of striding right into the Jam Room half-prepared and threading the fine line between pass and fail.

DonotthinkaboutBlackOrpheus. DonotthinkaboutBlackOrpheus. DonotthinkaboutBlackOrpheus.

Tiny slips aside, I was considerably satisfied with my ‘All of Me’. The piano was detestable, though. My arms were already throbbing with the exertion and aching dully, and still the volume that left the piano was just enough to cover my squeak of incredulity. Boo. One of the most important exams in a semester and we were given an upright, malfunctioning piano. How preposterous.

Anyway, what’s past is past. No use crying over spilt milk. Not that I am.

IT’S TIME TO CELEBRATE, MATES!

Movies, Shogun, parties, shopping trip in Singapore, whatever, I’m all yours!

WheEEeEeEEeeeEeeeeeeEEeEEEEeee………!!!

Don't give me that look. Huay May started cam-whoring with my laptop first.

P.S. WHY DOESN’T IT RAIN?!

PropWall

Yes, peeps. PropWall is a Malaysian luxury property resources website, a localized one-stop blog that makes hunting for high-living developments a breeze.

A quick walk through the blog anchored my perspective on it as a neatly categorized blog, which, I think, is the magnet that will draw net surfers and potential buyers. The systematic shelving of the estates dispels the nightmare of having to look for a needle in a haystack, with search methods like in alphabetical order, listing based on popularity and demand, in ‘State’-ly manner, as well as the type of building a promising customer is eyeing out for, whether it is a condominium, house, office, shop or factory.

Also, the readers would no doubt appreciate the detailed description provided on each and every property. And I believe this helps boost the objective of this webpage, both in sales and renting of the properties. Imagine the fuss of calling to inquire, only to be put on hold or passed around like a dish at the dinner table, or worst, the agony of having to wait for a reply after e-mailing the people concerned.

Take these for examples:

One KL, KLCC http://www.propwall.my/klcc/one_kl

One Menerung, Bangsar http://www.propwall.my/bangsar/one_menerung

Bangsar Peak, Bangsar http://www.propwall.my/bangsar/bangsar_peak

I know it will be years before I’m burdened with the responsibility of house-purchasing, but, as an enthusiastic bloghopper, I will definitely be using this blog as a kickstart when the time comes. I mean, it even has a thorough analysis on the location. Another pat on the back for the blog administrator(s).

However, I feel the website is lacked of a foreword, a short warm message on the home page to welcome the readers and to make a terse statement or summary on the purport of the website. Of course, a little introduction on the bloggers themselves would be nice too.

For more info, you can visit http://www.propwall.my/

Scattered Thoughts.

I think my mind is screwed up. Or more like unscrewed.

For some abstruse and inscrutable reason, I had to struggle to finish playing 'All of Me', like 5 times consecutively. Every page or two, I actually had to pause, ogle unseeingly at the wall in front of me while clawing the back of my head, before my memory spat out the unfathomable missing bars of notes and I could continue to stagger through the rest of the song. Only to have my concentration cut off the next page.

UNUTTERABLE.

I had the piece rivet into my brains more than two weeks ago. My exhaustion wasn't even abutting the critical level when I was practising, since I barely did anything today save warming the seat in the examination hall during HAMM (Harmonic Analysis of Modern Music) paper. And the corridor seemed to be astoundingly deserted, so it couldn't be external disruption.

Hmm. Probably merely distracted.

GASP. I was MENTALLY DISTURBED.

Nah. I think my thoughts were just a little addled. My mind was like winnowing clots of thoughts, from Jury to MBE to internship to last night a gazillion others.

Psychopathic and exasperating, I tell you.

And apparently, there's an explanation for this disorder of mine.

No one could have done it better (:

Okay. So I'd lied. There was only one thing on my mind.

SSSHHHHH.

He's Just Not That Into You

Sometimes, I think my love life is jinxed.

Blah.

This is it. Her moment of glory yet again. She glided gracefully across the ice, bending her knees to keep balance while gaining momentum and rearing up for the flare jump, like a hawk swooping elegantly down on its unsuspecting prey.

The audience held its breath and time came to a standstill as their eyes trailed the last adroit swerve before her launch, the burst of energy as she defied gravity for a moment, the perfectly coordinated twist and twirl of her anatomy while being suspended in the air…...only to crash calamitously back to the hard icy ground.

The silence was loud.

A single second seemed like an eternity as she struggled to suppress her swelling horror and the warm, prickling sensation of her gathering tears, and hastily scrambled to her numb feet. She plastered on a smile as best as she could, circled the ice-rink once more, an automatic reflex to wrap up her performance professionally, and left what she now thought bitterly was a circus ring, in a rain of sympathetic applause.

Stupefied and confounded, she shoved her way pass the outstretched arms of her mother, pass the concerned gaze of her coach, pass the muffled cheers from her supportive fans, pass the thickening swarm of reporters, towards the exit, towards solitary.

She, a four-time champion in world figure skating, failed. Failed…failed…failed. The word echoed in her mind like a broken phono player.

She half-collapsed, half-plonked herself down feebly, as if her legs went out under the weight of her defeat, and set to wallow in self-hatred.

Then, she heard footsteps behind her.

“Well, I’m relieved.”

Who in the world…? Ah. It was the geek who came to the rink to watch her practice almost every day after classes, said it was for his study on the physics of ice-skating. Ugh.

“What? That I’ve managed to crack and make a complete fool of myself?”

“No. Just simply at the fact that you’re human.”

She snorted indelicately. “Glad to know I wasn’t perceived as a higher form of biped by some people.”

“Human makes mistakes. You never did.”

“But I do, now.” She retorted, turning away. He sat beside her, but she did not seem to notice. “This is a disgrace. I was taught to win. To always be the last one standing. To keep my head above water while everyone else drown. To gra...” She shook her head as if it did not matter anymore. “It was a good thing my father wasn’t here to witness that hideous embarrassment.”

“Look, I don't see how you can teach anybody to win everything every time. I mean look at you, you're still here right, you get knocked down you get back up. Maybe that's what he wanted you to learn.”

“Oh? So now you’re being all eggheaded and giving me advice?”

“Nah. I’m just quoting G. I. Joe.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled. Suddenly, she was aware he was really close to her, despite his attempt of leaning casually on the topmost stair. He was bathed in the light streaming from the crack between the double doors left slightly ajar when he came after her. It made him look older where his face was dipped in darkness, while the other side remained his haughty self. At the moment he was staring unseeingly into the distance, his lips curled at the corner, as if remembering something funny.

Sensing her gaze, he looked up at her. And his breath caught. From this angle, the lights within the building rimmed her frame, setting her aglow. But it wasn’t just that. She had somehow shed her cocoon, her defenses that had been keeping her alienated and unreachable. Her features had softened, hair tumbling in black curls around her bare-shoulders and framing her almond-shape face. She seemed so vulnerable, yet resplendent. Like a fallen angel.

He propped himself up on one elbow and, using his free hand, cupped her face. Her eyes was suddenly focused, the tips of her nerves tingling where he touched her, a thunderous roar sounded in her ears as blood rushed to her reddening cheeks.

He leaned in and gently kissed her. A feathery brush on her lips.

“Funny. I always imagined my first kiss would be more passionate. And not facing the dumpster. And certainly not with running mascara…”

He pressed his lips against hers again. This time harder. His arms twined around her and pulled her till she was on top of him, her fingers interlaced with his hair and her other hand drew him even closer to seal the gaps in between.

When they drew apart, his eyes were alight with a wicked brilliance, mirroring the sparks in hers.

“Now, how was that for a first kiss?”

“To be frank, it could have been better.”

He feigned a hurtful look.

“But what was the kiss before that about? The pre-first-kiss?”

“It wasn’t a kiss. It was a promise.”

She eyed him quizzically.

“A promise to catch you when you fall.”

“What a waste,” she mocked softly. “I’m not prone to falling.”

“Then all the more time for me to practice.”

P.S. Can someone please tell me to STOP writing this sort of crap?

Post Script

I'm counting on you to colour my grey world.

Could you do that?

Do you people know how damn hard is it to find photos of us? Especially recent ones?

That's it! Photo shoot after Jury!

the Missing Puzzle

Epiphany.

At most times, it’s a blessing, like when Archimedes first shouted ‘Eureka!’ from his bathtub. Poof. A missing puzzle in the Physics world uncovered. And instant fame for him. Cheers.

But at others, it’s a goddamn hole that does nothing but puncture your boat and attempt to drown you while you struggle to mend it in order to steer again.

I’ve been muddled enough, half stumbling half striding into this music course, thinking nothing could make me happier. Only to find out my true love remains writing. But I managed to console myself with the fact that my English is still locked in a pitifully low level, which would not allow me to survive in the field of journalism. Besides, I love writing fictional, hence the need of penning factual essays and pieces with formats, no doubt necessary throughout the years of study, would probably kill me. And I want writing to always stay as my sweet escapism, to always be the one to turn my frown upside down.

*Laughs bitterly* But you know what hurts the most? It’s finally realizing, finally seeing what you’ve been seeking all this while, only to have the key to that door snatched right out of your grasp, or slipping through your hesitating fingers.

Then again, since when life’s ever fair?

I wished Emmanuel never mentioned about the new syllabus. I wished I would never know about the new path laid out for the incoming Degree students till I graduated. I wished I could continue with my studies till the 7^th semester, knowing that every freshie enrolling into this college would trod the same steps as we, and seniors before us, did.

But, I don’t want to be blind anymore.

I can’t say I’m entirely sure of the exact subjects that would be offered, nor how the course would be conducted in due time, but the one thing that is clear, and all that it’s important, to me is that when these new batches of musicians graduate, it would not be Bachelor in Contemporary Music, like us. It would be either Bachelor in Performing Skills or Bachelor in Research of Music Technology, or whatever other shit they concocted.

Try and guess what shell-shocked me? Or more like, what collapsed my foggy world?

Come on. It ain’t that hard. It’s just one word.

RESEARCH.

It’s the magical bridge, Charlie (oops, wrong time to be funny), the invisible pair of hands that ties music and writing together. And perhaps the miraculous eraser to abate performing for the last couple of semesters in my final year?

I mean, honestly, do I ever come across like an outstanding, extraordinary performer to you? I barely contain enough talent to sustain throughout my foundation year. And what with my revulsion against jazz.

Plus, let’s be realistic here. What are the chances of me ending up with a full-blown career in performing? I’m not dumb, nor am I naïve enough to think that I could one day tour and perform in a world renowned band, or going solo with my Major instrument. Logical and personal reasons lessen my initial inclination towards those ideas.

So, yeah. I’m not saying my opportunity is totally cut off. But I guess I failed to mention one tiny point. A point that puts my decision on a delicate balance: If I were to pursue this research branch, I would have to take 2 steps back and start all over from the first semester of my Degree. Which means, the retaking of my current subjects and those from the past semester, as well as my impending Jury. Every strenuous effort I poured in would be flushed down the toilet just like that. A spanking clean stake.

That got you thinking, huh?

Pity. Mom understood perfectly my elation over the research part and (I’m guessing) supported what I longed for…till that bit of information wedged in. Busted. She said something about those 2 semesters could be better used to attain a short course overseas, though she could practically see how perfect research would suit me. She said maybe she and dad will pay Juan a visit tomorrow to talk things through.

I love my parents <3

On a side note, I'm still in denial.

Newsfeed

Hello there! Am currently blogging from the recital hall, no thanks to the treacherous recital attendances we’re acquiesced to fulfill. And, God forbid today should be a CLASSICAL recital. Yes. Say it as if you taste bile on the back of your tongue.

But, I must say, this is exciting, blogging live, not to mention, illegally. The overall lights are down, the stage is illuminated in its full glory (though quite dull next to a Comtemporary performance), but somehow they fail to flick off the ones above us, this particular area in which the few of us are seated in. Paranoid, much?

Anyway, it feels like I’m trailing and reporting on drug smugglers or something, my crouching and slouching over the laptop in the shadows of the seat in front, only typing when the music is considered loud enough to muffle the deafening clicks of my keypad…

*APPLAUSE* GOOD GOD, THE SONG IS FINALLY OVER. 5 more to go, I reckon. Or we’re cursed and there are actually 10 left. Touchwood.

Side tracked. Sorry. Let’s see, in the row behind me, sinking low in his seat is Kevin, his face dimly lit by his Mac. Games, no doubt. Beside him, Emmanuel and Andrew are retching disturbing noises, accompanied by equally eye-diverting movements. On my left, Huay May seems to be drifting away, her mind probably already a blissful raft on a sea of hot chocolate. Wait. Hot chocolate’s Jia Wen’s love. And mine. Hmm. Never mind. Moving on, Jia Wen and Audrey looks like life-size ice-sculpture of themselves, or immobile zombies. And Rachel…well, I’m not sure whether she’s still awake.

Argh. The agony of a numb back and butt from attempting to weld myself into the seat to avoid being caught with the laptop, the frustration of having a poor connection when the lure of blog-hopping is so strong and the merciless onslaught of the ceaseless classical music.

You know what? I’ll just log off and take a nap. Sufferings end swifter that way.

Wake me up when October ends

I’m scared.

I’m really scared.

I’ve never been this frightened before.

No, it’s not the physical fear of those unspeakable blood-lusting leeches or lifelong scars (ironic, huh, considering the pale rope-like one down my chest).

More like afraid of college, of not being able to fulfill what is expected of me.

Afraid of being seen still grappling on to something that should have been familiar to me by now, that I’m merely crawling while people were already running.

Afraid of plunging whole-heartedly and immersing into something I love best just because it isn’t a priority in the syllabus, because I should be embracing something of higher level, college standard, as they call it.

And no. I’m not regretting my choice in music. Nor is this a post on ‘the path not taken’. I’m just saying, sometimes, I’m tired. Tired of forcing myself to love jazz when all it ever did was make me yearn for someone to turn it off. Tired of being told over and over that I’ve got to learn other genres besides bossa nova.

I’m not a lamp, damn it. Nor am I a computer or other goddamn electric appliances where my skills and intelligence could be switched on or off with a flick of a finger.

I know more than a year has passed since I started my relationship with jazz. But haven’t people heard love takes time? So, give time, time.

Sigh. At times like these, I wish my dad's a jazz lover, not reggae and pop. Heck, I probably knew who Beatles and Bob Marley were way before that freak of a purple dinosaur Barney or those disfigured muppets in Sesame Street.

Then again, Manchester was not a famous breeding ground for jazz, was it? So who else did I expect my dad’s idols to be?

P.S. I promise I'll try (:

There's a zombie on your lawn

Honestly, the music students of UCSI seem to have this schizophrenic fetish for the undead. Some all-consuming passion for the rotting, lumbering creatures. Probably because of our mirroring resemblance to them when we are choked with assignments or as our schedule gets hectic, and the deprivation of sleep would make us all groggy and cranky and haggard-looking…

Anyway, the L4D mania has inevitably died down, or at least diluted to the state of remaining inert till our schedule and workload lighten, stripping the music students of their only route to escapism and pure elation. Poor, unfortunate souls. I remembered there was once when Wen Dee called me to ask, “Eh, you wanna practice your fingers?”

“Yeah…but there’s no piano room. They’re all full.”

“No. We’re going outside to practice.”

“Outside?”

“Ya. We’re going to the CC. Top Gear. L4D. Wanna join us?”

I guess our emotionally-inclined nature explains our craze, whatever the subject. We even obsess with a mad passion. So for the first period of our separation from L4D, a couple of them, namely Jia Wen, Rachel, Kevin and Andrew, had the game installed in their laptops and they would book (or more like sabotage) a piano room, lock themselves in and shoot away. Not to mention unplugging the piano heater, only to replace with an extension to provide for their laptop to ensure no breakdowns during the game. Shhh.

But we’ve moved along and found a new haven. One bombarded with our old love too! Plants vs Zombies! Instead of the brutal mass-murdering of the decomposing beings, we position a variety of plants to attack them. Well, they aren’t exactly mobile, them plants, but they have different abilities, so we have to strategize real good to avoid those stinking things stampeding into our houses. The animation’s not bad, for a game like this, and the characters in it are so adorable and brightly painted, including our decaying friends! And best of all, the music is educating too, for us, that is. There’s a short blues scale at the end of every level (:

Here’s a tiny portion on what YOU miss out on:

Awww…ain’t it cute? And no. The plants’ abilities do not extend to verbalization.

Ha. I’m really intending on sneaking in a camera to record what it’s like being in the MIDI lab during the little breathers between classes.

“Oh my God! Oh my God! HELP HELP HELP!”

“AAAHHHHHH!!! They’re attacking! They’re ATTACKING!”

“NoOoOOOOooo! I’m D.Y.I.N.G!

And all of these are coming from the mouths of Degree 1 up till Degree 5 students. Seriously. Passerby may have mistaken the shrieking for our despair over lost assignments. All the better. No need for our makeshift cyber café to be congested.

P.S. As I’m typing this, my sis is heatedly ‘SHIT!’-ing over the unjust death of her plants.

Carol of Bells

3 days of joy and celebration. 3 days of merry-making and toasting. 3 days of watching the canvas unfurled before my eyes as every family member, as well as the other attendees of the wedding dinners, stepped up and painted the occasion from a palette of emotions.

The pride of the parents of having raised their child well.

Their happiness for their child upon finding love.

Their anxiety on how their child's journey would be.

The cheers and friendship-toasts and wishes from friends.

And hidden beneath the folds of the lighter ardor, was the tinge of sadness or regret for the absence of loved ones who were no longer around to share the joy.

It was kind of like sunset, the colour in the skies became richer and more intense as the night slithered in. By the end of the lunch on Sunday, the wedding mural would have blinded any painter.

2nd October '09

Both cakes were baked and self-decorated by the groom's sister.

The middle one's the bride-to-be

The older aunt, aka Cook (try saying Gu Gu non-stop and in a very fast manner)

Obsession of the night: my aunts' precious Nicci horse stuff toy

3rd October '09Blah. I hate putting on make-up. Such a fuss and a waste of time. No one was going to look at me anyway. All eyes on the newly weds.

Before the groom and his army (literally) knocked the door down:

Wheeeee....

A.Ha.

I like my sis' dress. Yes. I have a thing for 2-layered non-satin dresses, preferably the gauzy material as the top layer .

Since someone conveniently had a memory shortage and left my red dress at home (I followed the troupe straight to Tampin after the ceremony in the morning), I was stuck with my bridesmaid dress all night. Not that I was complaining too much. I was just thankful I hung it up in the cupboard for safekeeping instead of stowing it away with the other dirty clothes (those we brought to change into while resting before the dinner).

Cupcake!

Hmm...it kept slipping of my chopsticks. I'll use my hands.

"Wait!"

"What did you say?"

"I'm a desert, not an appetizer, you idiot. You're supposed to eat me last or you'll lose your appetite!" squeaked the sugary indulgence.

"Don't bullshit me."

And I bit into it. Heaven.

All American Rejects is coming next week!

4th October '09

Bro and I did a duet on Ave Maria for my now-uncle and aunt to march in.

Dress looks familiar? Hell yeah it's my prom dress! I can't find any of the photos though. Might have to scan in those I've developed.

Oh God I'm short.

I may put up more photos on Muka Buku though I don't see why you would be interested in viewing them. Plus, most would be of my aunt and her friends that I helped take so she could tag them on the photos.

Meanwhile, Happy Mooncake Festival, people! Especially to the 2 sexies in Wisconsin and Durham!