I'm yours, faithfully

My parents will never understand what it is like being with you guys, why I love you so much.

I am not saying I do not enjoy being with my college friends but with the 6 of you, I am whole. With you, I am both yin and yang, I am an adult as much as a child, I am me and part of you, I am the Queen of everything I believe in. It does not matter I am nobody to everyone else, as long as I am somebody to you, and vice versa.

It is relieving being a child again with a certain bunch of friends, striving to be childishly irresponsible and reliving all that I have thrown away in the process of growing up. It is refreshing being a matured individual among another group of friends, learning to be who I should be now and reaching for the ropes that will swing me to the role I should be ascending into soon. But the thing is, as much as I have equal dosage of both each day, the mixture does not provide the exhilaration as ours do. We frequent between the extremities of childishness and maturity with the spasticity of a seismic monitor graphing an impending 9.0 earthquake.

It is assuring to be guided and groomed into the musician that I should be, to be surrounded by really amazing people who practically are walking manuals of how-to-be-a-great-musician. All I have to do is ask, and the same goes to anyone who turns to me for help (though I do not know why they would ask me, considering my lack of mastery in musicianship skills). But what if I do not want to be a musician for a while? What if I want to be the writer that I truly am, the science student I used to be, a book critique, the food lover when my gluttony calls or an imaginary character in many of our role-playing stints? Sometimes, I am just so tired of being caged up as a musician because I cannot be anybody else in college.

Everyone around me seems to be so comfortable in being who they are that they thought that I am being too stubborn and naïve to move on with my life, that I refuse to let new people in because I cling on to the past and all the friends I made then. I AM living in the present, I LOVE my college friends and people I have met since 2008, I DO appreciate what I have now. But some things can never change, will never.

And sometimes, I spend all my available time during the weekend of my Sluts not just because I want to be free of all the music shit and be truly happy for a moment, but also because I want to show my parents that we, Les Sluts, can be forever.

Stop right there, thank you very much

Like everything else, childishness has a limit point. I have reached mine. Can I be an adult for now?

You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one.

I have impossible dreams. But right now, they don't seem that far fetched anymore. And the most beautiful thing is, I am not alone, because the people I love are sharing it with me. We will keep it as a secret for the moment, partially due to my belief of jinxing a spoken dream, other half due to the fact that we have got a long climb to the top. But we will get there. Then, only then, we will be a dream.

Music may be my reality, but this amazing idea, is my dream. Our dream. And God knows I need something to live for right now.

"If you don't have something to live for, you'll have nothing to die for."
Here's a toast to our imagination and the awesome adventures we will have!

Toxic

Yet another visit to the Emergency Ward.

Apparently there was liquid in that little reddish bubble of swelling on my new scar, like an accursed blister.

So the doctor did what I had always imagined myself doing to blisters on my feet: he stuck a needle into the infected area and sucked out the liquid with a syringe. Amazing. I had always wanted to attempt that with blisters but thought it was just some morbid desire of mine to get rid of them in a fast way, not, you know, an actual procedure. I sound like I have doctor instincts or something. Yay?

Anyway, I hated it when he was done with clearing the bump (thank God it was not pus or it might have spelt another surgery) and he started pressing a gauze against the scar to drain it of excessive blood that was probably tainted. While I sort of giggled hysterically as the liquid was being extracted, I began eeek-ing and whimpering in pain throughout the process of un-bloodying the wound. The doctor’s conversation with me about my music course to distract me did not really help either. It still hurt, damn it.

But fire always turns to ashes and the pain faded as soon as the pressure of the gauze lifted. And the nurses began the methodical process of dressing the wound. I had seen it done so many times that I actually knew the steps. Ugh. Not the type of information I really cherish having, despite it coming helpful when I need it.

I am just praying that this Emergency-Ward-visiting ordeal will end this week. Hopefully this tomorrow’s appointment there will be the last.

I'm frozen with this fear that you may disappear

O Great Force of Ink and Paper, do inspire me to write!

I now willingly open myself up to embrace your all-consuming therapeutic powers!

Transcend me into your Heaven of Words!

Let me be entranced! 

In simpler words, DAMN THIS WRITER'S BLOCK. Again.  

I'm walking on sunshine

Maybe it was because I did not kill any defenseless beasts for my dinner last night, but Karma rewarded me by getting my article published on Star today. Wheeeee (:

http://thestar.com.my/lifestyle/story.asp?file=/2011/5/15/lifefocus/8648611&sec=lifefocus

Tonight, tonight, we're dancing on the edge of the Hollywood sign

Seven days prior to my turning 21 and I was already feeling brave. So I declared I was driving Jing Hua and Joanna to dinner. I was not even asking for permission; I simply demanded for the keys. It must have been the flood of courage churned up from the morning’s unstitching process that filled the empty glass of confidence I had. Not that it made any difference.

The entire family objected. They obviously thought it was some suicide mission of mine. Whoa. I live in such supportive environment. I am overwhelmed.

Thus I resorted to sulking, pouting and appearing as offended as possible. The effect was immediate. I got my keys and the car welcomed me with open doors. Hallelujah.

The mass times acceleration must have been with me because the journey to the organic food café was relatively unperturbed and I did not freak out as I thought I might have. Compared to my previous attempts under the withering looks of my family, the drive was Heineken smooth. Thou shalt part before me, sea of metal boxes on wheels, for Moses seeks a path to a healthy dinner! There was even a parking spot cleared just for me. Praise the force!

And nothing could have made the evening better than awesome conscience-relieving vegetarian and organic food, topped with indulging deserts. At times like these, gluttony is a forgivable sin. Not to mention the ambience of the place; I love white wooden furnishings, so English cottage-like <3

Plus, it was Candy's first night out! I hadn't had much practice since bringing her home but the pictures came out amazing. What an angel! Made me miss what Les Sluts love doing even more: our need to cam-whore was akin to physical gnawing hunger. Cheers to Candy for keeping us satiated.

We left the Boulevard bloated, in both aspects, and the three of us spent what was left of 14th of May in comfortable silence with spurts of conversation, just how I like it (:

Needles and scars won't break my bones

I was in the hospital for a week last month, to fix a superficial problem that had marred an insect bite-size hole on my old scar, like a mild leakage puncturing through layers of patch-ups on an old pipe line. Which means I now sport a double tiered scar upon the multi-operated area. While I am not comfortable to publicly point out which organ of mine is congenitally impaired, I will, however, state that I had major operations done on it before. So, compared to those, this recent minor surgery is a heavy rainfall to the previous hurricanes I had weathered.

But I have learnt something significant as I retched my way through the recovery phase upon escaping the grasp of general anesthesia. There is a thing about having a serious medical intervention, one that involves the hospital: the patients are so caught up in all the negativity and anxiety that they forget that in Mother Nature’s principle of give and take, they have received a gift in return. Though I cannot say I blame them. Lying bed-ridden in a white-washed room that is perfumed with the sterile scent of antiseptic does not leave much for imagination, even without beeping monitors and the call button for help that add to the sense of vulnerability. Not to mention the check-up rounds the doctors do, which always caused a mini heart attack every time they so much as frown at your report, though they may just be squinting at the horrible handwriting. Solero Shots are nothing against the single line from a medical staff, “Hey, this does not seem right…”

Hence, I relish fully in the relief of being discharged, not just because I am finally free of tubes and tasteless food. No, it is more than that: I have now been given a chance to continue living my life as a whole again; I have gained the freedom from the mental stress that built atop the ground of health condition, its height parallel to the time spent in the hospital; and I am reassured, that for the moment, everything is going to be okay. But we tend to forget that, above all this, the biggest blessing we are bestowed upon is the strength.

Having a surgery gives us just that; pure, mental and spiritual strength. From observing the nurses pricked the skin again and again, trying to find the vein, to the moment of being wheeled into the operation theatre, to the undoing of the bandage, we need that, and many of us forget that we have that in us. We do not realize that we are enduring everything solely, despite our loved ones around us, despite all the aid provided, because it is only us who will bear the physical pain and feel the fear broiling beneath the brave façade, alone; so when we leave the hospital, we leave with more strength packed into us than we ever will know.

And it is this form of strength that will get us through the craziest of life. So whenever I think I have gotten the worst of something, I just need to chant to myself my personal mantra: If I am strong enough to face a surgery on my own, then I am strong enough for anything the new semester throws at me. 

Long live all the rainbows we painted and the unicorns we rode

Every writer has his personal golden masterpiece; a self-acclaimed crowning glory, so to speak. Well, I have a few. Posts and essays that always make me smile; that stop time to let me revel in precious memories locked away; that remind me of how beautiful I had felt then and drive me to capture that feeling again. And these written photographs are always about the same six people. Amanda. Eu Chern. Joanna. Jing Hua. Chee Kin. Lucinda.

I know I am not always confident about my writing skills (if you think I am good, go read Eu Chern’s, Jo’s, Jing Hua’s, Amanda’s, Jyh Ling’s and a hell lot more) and tend to do double takes at my own pieces, but the ones on Les Sluts…there must be some sort of divine intervention, albeit twisted. They say we write best from our hearts; I say Amen to that.

When I write about our rendezvous, our frivolity, our derangement, I write as me. You can see from my blog that sometimes I would try in the angle of a journalist, of a sociologist-in-making, of a music student, of a narrator of the day’s event, but never with posts on you guys. I am me when I am with you, so I do not see the need of being anyone else when I recount it later on.

Granted, I have not mentioned you for a while now, but that does not mean I do not miss what we had, and hopefully, still have. Just like not talking about my grandmother does not signify I am not grieving; I do not plan on letting her go anytime soon. Yet.

Yes, I live with my friends. Yes, I see them 24/7. Yes, I travel the country with them on spontaneous spurts. Yes, I do practically everything with them, considering the proximity and circumstances.

But they are NOT you people; they can never be. I love my college friends, I appreciate and am grateful for their companionship, but it is different from the way I love the six of you.

Only WE would smile when stepping into a book store

Only WE could comprehend the intensity of fervor for the release of our favorite books.

Only WE would celebrate the existence of Lady Gaga, Britney Spears, Fergie, Rihanna and other disastrous music misfits.  

Only WE could make a picnic possible.

Only WE could spend every grain of our hour glass taking photos and still feel we do not have enough.

And I cannot share any of these with anyone now. I am tired of feeling stuck and awkward on what to say in a conversation I have no connection to; I am exhausted from hiding my enthusiasm for subjects beyond my field of study; and sometimes, I am just tired of being mature, like how I have to respect people’s choices by sitting through Hong Kong movies with them should the majority favored it, despite my not able to stand that genre of film.

I want to be me. I want to be with you guys. I miss us, a lot. I am just not good at showing it (and I hate this Asian-ness about me).

Screw life for not giving me that. Then again, who hasn’t?

So yeah, just so you know. 

I know Chee Kin is not in here but this is the only almost-complete photo of us that I have not put up a gazillion times.