All fear eats the soul.

It has been, in all my 20-going-on-21 years, perhaps the first time ever since I've trodden on home soil that I've felt so genuinely... fearful, of mortality. A big statement to make, considering how flogging-land's supposed to be "safe" and generally quite "docile", so to speak, what with the strict govermental and judicial (not to mention disciplinary) sectors.

While walking out from P's house yesterday to the main road, we were... "accosted", for lack of a better word, by a freaky chinese male seeking money because he "worked for a whole day and only got $50" (or at least that was the understanding I got...). That's really not too bad if you think about it (50 x an average 5 day week x 4 = $1000+), but he was so aggressively insistent and... I don't know, desperate, that for a moment I felt a ripple of genuine fear ripple through me at what possibly could happen were he to lose his patience, or worse still, just snap. We were less than a metre away, and even though the 2 of us kept backpedalling... anything could have happened. A concealed weapon, a full-on lunge, a display of sheer brute force (which he would have definitely won with no contest whatsoever)... who could've known? Thankfully(?), he mistook me for a guy in my shirt and short hair (thank god for bad light...), and after several hesitant declinations, he finally retreated amidst a garble of mutterings and sighs.

It's difficult to accurately portray just how intense the entire episode was, or more importantly, the exact degree of fear surging through me at that very moment, but it was enough to make me, in all of 20 years, genuinely come to terms with, and contemplate mortality.

As if it weren't enough, the five-minute cab ride on the way back did nothing to help (I mean, being inside and away from the freaky guy was supposed to be comforting... -_-). Cabby drag racing?!?!?! In Singapore? Come ON. How fucking old are you guys?!!

You'd have to be there to understand just how genuinely disturbing the entire thing was. One after another, and within a 10 minute timespan. Wtf.

It's been a rough few days; for many, and in more ways than one.

***

If I'm not made for you
Then why does my heart
Tell me that I am?

"If You're Not The One" - Daniel Bedingfied O.o

Foolish games.

I guess I deserved it.

***

And you say go slow,
I fall behind
The drum beats out of time

"Time After Time" - Eva Cassidy

In my secret life.

"The acting is brilliant; Ben Kingsley, Oscar-nominated for Best Actor, as an Iranian immigrant who buys a foreclosed property, and Jennifer Connelly matching his intensity as the evicted owner who demands it back. For both characters the American Dream will spiral into Greek tragedy. Andre Dubus III's 1999 bestseller was a commentary on being, and becoming, American, and this adaptation is bleak, sorrowful and devastating."

It's only February, but the contest for the movie of 2004 has ceased. Or rather, been seized. For anyone who has yet to catch it (WHY?!!), House of Sand and Fog has got to be the most intense, most utterly tragic (read: bawl-worthy) film *OF ALL TIME*. A dozen crumpled wads of nacho serviettes speak for themselves, not to mention my dubious partner in crime. ;p And here I was, thinking I Am Sam was bad. Or... well, good, depending on which way you look at it. There is, absolutely no contest.

Ben Kingsley for this year's Best Actor Oscar, without a doubt. [Okay, maybe Sean Penn. But Mystic River... -_-]

***

Spent the day with the meanies at East Coast in what must have been the equivalent of a year's worth of exercise. Blading, and kayachting (;p). What a way to go.

Yachting on the phone. Tickled.

Anyhow, another day of shameless milking of the masses gone by; another seasonal boom for florists and restauranteers worldwide. More than valid reason to rejoice in my 'enlightened' cynicism this Valentine's, but somehow I only feel crippled inside.

***

I bite my lip, I buy what I�m told:
From the latest hit, to the wisdom of old.
But I�m always alone, and my heart is like ice
And it�s crowded and cold in my secret life.

"In My Secret Life" - Leonard Cohen

Is anybody home?

Looking forward to moving in a couple of years. In fact, we've already got the ad all thought out.

Located just 30 minutes from town, a (theoretically) short 10 minute walk from the nearest MRT station, and a mere 2 seconds away from the red-light district round the corner.



Prominently displayed, hard to miss.



Seasonal offer; in business for limited time only, best come end Jan - early Feb. While stocks last. Lights out 9pm.



Christmas promotion year end. Cum one cum all.

***

Disgressing, Landmarks was fantastic. Had to fight not to tear (at least) thrice (surprise, surprise...), and check out the bods! [K if you're listening... Meng!] California Dreaming a personal favourite, not because of the pseudo fluffy neon things and @#@$%!tiiight jocks, but for the issues touched upon.

It's true, but we have a long, long way to go til Independence.

***

Goodbye, the future's sold out
There's no use screaming
Who thought we'd ever get this far

"Is Anybody Home?" - Our Lady Peace

Sun Again.

Pretty ominous, if more than one person has pointed it out within the span of 2 days. I'm not sure why, but it killed me when dad said "20 more days" over dinner yesterday at Ponderosa (how long has it been since anyone last went there?). Almost 3 weeks, but why do I feel like I'm counting down? And not in an anticipatory way, either. It's almost routine by now.

The eagerness to get back, the moans of boredom and contempt for our fellow men... the subtle shift in sentiment, the grudging reluctance... the ache in the air.

On another note, currently obsessed with The L Word. Rawrrr. Please please please show it on SBS... -_-

I think I shall call. Soon. 19 more days.

***

I'm alright I'm alright
It only hurts when I breathe

"Breathe" - Melissa Etheridge

Les feuilles mortes.
[appropriate, in a really morbid way...]

If anyone wants to know what puking your lungs out feels like, take it from me -> N.O.T. G.O.O.D. Sick with indigestion the day of Nat's birthday celebrations, and it's amazing how you can feel so utterly shitty (and "near death") one moment, yet on the brink of recovery the next. The act itself was... omgsewfarkeendizguztingaidunwan2tokaboudeet (orange bits. spewing. nostrils. eew. -_-), but GOD do I feel better now. Yes, there IS a God.

So... meh, in limbo now. To go, or not to go, and more importantly, to what/where?

On a 4-5 day "break". I'm positive I need it.

***

It's all fun and games... until it happens to you.