We came. We saw. We conquered.

We, the Sluts, are the: 

Archons of Awesome  

Barons and Baronesses of Blinding Brilliance

Counts and Countesses of Caprice

Dukes and Duchesses of Dazzling Divinity

Emperors and Empresses of Efficacious Eccentricity

Feudal lords of Fabulous

Gods and Goddesses of Glamour

Heirs and Heiresses of Hellish Hysteria

Imperials of Idiosyncrasy

Jurors of Jaunty

Kaisers and Kaiserins of Kinkiness

Lords and Ladies of Lust

Marquises and Marchionesses of Mesmerizing Magnificence  

Knights of Notoriety

Omukama of Oblectation

Princes and Princesses of Prerogative Perfection

Queens of Quintessence

Rajah and Ranee of Resplendence

Saints of Spontaneity

Tyrants of Temptation

Underage rulers of Unerring Ubiquity  

Viceroys and Vicereines of Vivacity

Wizards and Witches of Wondrous Wisdom

Ex-conquerors of the X-Factor

Yamtuans of Youthfulness

Zacks of ZzzZZzzzzZzzz

I wanna get lost in your rock n' roll and drift away

“Band 6, it’s your turn! Take the stage! And your clock starts….NOW!”

My heart was eerily calm and my mind at peace; no pounding beats at my temples; no deafening gush of blood against my ears; no fluttering in my stomach. I didn’t understand it. Quiet confidence? But my fingers had another story to tell. Somehow there was a dark sheet of panic that blanketed the glow of assurance I was experiencing internally, which was wrong. It was supposed to be the other way around, either I hid the turmoil within me or equalize what little faith I had in myself so that my expression wouldn’t betray me and make me appear unprofessional.

But as it was, everyone could see I was freaking out. Heck, I think the whole band was freaking out. So much for the gazillion practices we had on the 3 accursed songs. What made the performance worst was, saved Black Orpheus, the tempo for the other 2 was off the roof. It was as if we were late trying to ‘catch’ the ‘A’ Train to Kashmir and we had to race along the tracks to hop back onto it. My planned solo went haywire, the impressive symmetrical-diminished scale-running notes I had memorized got meshed up into a desperate glide across the keys.  

And as our final assessment, not to mention last take to the stage for the semester, wore on, our expression got more strained, faces got paler, eyes got wilder and fingers became knotted up and tripped over each other like drunkies. I was THAT close to OH MY GOD-ing when I pressed a string of wrong notes during Kashmir. In the end, I just bit my tongue and did a high pitch scream in my head.

I think our relief was glaringly obvious when we completed Kashmir. All of a sudden, we had these HUGE grins on our faces, where it should have been present throughout the performance, and madness-induced giggles. WOOHOO. Modern Band Ensemble 5 was history!

The giddiness of tasting the teaser of freedom….till I saw Simon. What the. I nearly swore. Okay, I don’t mean it in a bad way. It was just that, I knew I played like SHIT on stage, especially the last song, halfway through which I had to switch patch coz the brass one sounded off. And I was practically reading off the score note by note coz at some point, my brains decided to die on me. AND I THINK I stuck my tongue out a little when I banged the wrong notes – a BIG NO-NO on stage. Plus, my forehead had SOMEONE PLEASE SHOOT ME NOW COZ I SUCK LIKE HELL written across it.

Screwing up performances during classes was one thing; doing so in front of your Major lecturer would be suicidal. At least I thought so. Aha.

But all he did was stretched 2 fingers across his mouth and smiled. LoL. He was referring to my stoned look on stage. And when I asked, he only commented on my not smiling. HAHA. Still, all I could remember was my misplaced notes and beats, messed up sections and the resonating ‘SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT’ in my head. Oh well. I could ask more during the upcoming lessons but I don’t think I would want to relive today’s finals anytime soon.

Anyway, back to my previous elation. WHEEEEEEE! The end of a grueling term (only MBE could officially mark it so) and health-deteriorating anemic nights. Hallelujah. And for the first time, we pray that we would NOT get selected for the concert. Imagine memorizing that entire Arabic part in Kashmir, and the unavoidable extra practices. Ugh. We had ‘fun’, in a twisted sense, and that was what mattered, wasn’t it?

I can’t wait to hang out with you guys after my, and Jia Wen’s, Jury, coz then our conversations would revolve around something other than band songs and arrangements and quizzes and all that depressing stuff.

Cheers, Thorn n Roses (:

I miss this band already =[

In the pain, there is healing

After so many weeks, I have gathered up the courage to let go of the resentment of not being able to leave the country with my cohorts.

I have finally found solace in the companionship of those around me

Thank you, Thorn 'n Roses and you not-quite-sane bunch of Christmas carolers (:

All the small things, true care, truth brings

I always marvel at life’s choices of gifts and its uncannily perfect delivery. Like my band this semester. It may not have come in sparkly ribbons and glossy wrapping papers, in other words, the star players around, but the present sure is priceless. Take Jia Wai for example, or more popularly known as Wai Ma for his tendency to be motherly, to put it gently. To quote him, which we seem to be doing more and more often ever since the start of the term:

“Oh my, oh my God.”

“ 好笑吗? 好. 笑. 吗??”

“你没有开电, 椹么样开keyboard?!  椹. 么. 样. 开. Keyboard?! “

His infamous habit to be repetitive made him sound as if he were nagging, hence the infectious feminine nickname. Not to mention his pissing us off asserting his presence in an annoying-slash-amusing manner by causing a helluva noise throughout band practice, which means our discussions were always being serenaded to the mocking tune of My Heart Will Go On or driven by the amateur random roll of drums.

Let’s not go into his distasteful comments regarding his ‘disposition’ of saliva from his trumpet. Ugh.

Yes. 世上只有Wai Ma好.

Of course, the other band members are closer to norm, though I can’t say much for their state of mind during practices. Jia Wen and Kah Mun say the craziest things sometimes, but I’ll put the blame on Wai Ma. Influence could be a dangerous element in the equation of quizzes/performances, stress, expectations and relationship between band mates.

Ah, the absurdity of it; of depending on their delirium to keep my head attached to my body and stay focus. In the darken corner where I have been hibernating since most of my Sluts left, hanging out with Jia Wen, Kah Mun, Jia Wai and Minji is almost therapeutic. Not that I have been moping 24/7, it’s just that it’s hard to find people who emits the same frequency. Or maybe I’m being an ass and too stubborn to let go, or let people in.

God, I’m going to miss this band.   

Here’s a toast to Thorn and Roses, for our one and a half month journey together; for the ‘sweat’ and ‘saliva’ we’d dripped in the madness of completing 10 songs in 7 weeks; for the epic failures we’d encountered short cuts we’d taken; and for everything in between.

Thank you for helping me get through the semester, even though you may not know it (:

 Jia Wai and Minji

 Me and Kah Mun

Jia Wen (the one with the yellow tambourine)

And along with the feathers, we'll toss our second assessment away

10 Sept' 10

Cover of Toss the Feathers (the Corrs)

Starring:

Tin whistle - Yap Jia Wai

Violin - Soh Kah Mun

Guitar - Ju Minji

Piano - Tham Ying Hui

Bass - Lee Jia Wen

Drums (guest) - Rebecca Cheah

We had quite a bit of fun that day, didn't we? (:

This could be the very minute I'm aware I'm alive

27th Sept '10

“Holy crap. Where the *insert explicit word* are we?!” Not that I was at all frantic. The more off-track we were, the more exciting the adventure would be.

“Wait. Let me check that map on my Facebook again,” Eu Chern’s index finger began scrolling the pages on the screen.

“Puh-lease. As if you could read it.”

“I can!”

“Without getting us lost?”

Eu Chern just handed his phone over to Jo.

We eventually found our way there, after hitting a dead end and U-turned when we tried to charge toward some trademark yellow colored building. Other than being slightly pissed at the sun for bleaching my sister’s pretty dress, the destination was worth the risk of skin cancer sun tan and sweat and unnecessary exercise. We practically melted into our seats, from the heat and the magnificence of the café.

Think English-style cottage. Think wooden furniture in matching white and leafy green, in sizes more fitting for high tea than heavy meals. Think homey, spacey and warm ambience. Think…us. Whether it was the deco and arrangement of things, or the countryside setting, we just felt so comfortable, so at peace, like we belonged there.

And the best part was, the entire place was deserted, save us and another table of popsicle and gang. Wicked. They must have sensed the Sluttatiousness would be coming their way, thus kept the café void of hoi polloi and served only us. We rule, baby!

We loitered for about 2 hours, letting the minions there bask in our awesomeness soaking in the calming aura the café seemed to be radiating. Then we were off to satisfy our other cravings, namely indulging in our 5-star caffeine intake at a 5-star location. Guess a name starting with the letter ‘P’.

And yes, we walked ourselves to Pavilion from that little wild spot off Ampang Park station, though we got sidetracked on the way, no surprise. Like how we were holy for a moment when we dropped by Guan Yin Ting temple, then decided to be naughty as we crashed a hotel, acting like a bunch of loaded socialites.

You won’t want to know what we said in an attempt to shine that kind of light on ourselves.

Anyway, we finally got our asses to Coffee Bean and slumped there while watching the ominous dark clouds gathered. It felt like I was just waking up to the beginning of the end of a beautiful period of strong bonds and perfect friendship.

Depressing.

Miss you already =[

Run, baby, run. Don't ever look back.

It's depressing the way I keep flipping through our photos while tuning in to cheesy pop songs we used to screech in the car.

It's even depressing how I spend half my time online googling exotic/scenic/thrilling places to visit in Europe and the States. So much that I've begun researching for universities to further my studies. Dad would be proud. But I'm doing it for the wrong reasons. I just need want to get out of this place. And fast.

Supermassive blackholes do exist. And they aren't as sexy as we sang them to be.