10 years ago
Sunday, 27 September 2009
Sunday, 13 September 2009
Stare
I stand at my window counting raindrops. One, two, thr - no, only two and a half, for this one by my right finger is ostensibly smaller. So is that one, that one that struck my pane at an angle leaving its mark as a nasty diagonal slash. And there, that one there exceeds one, but shorts shy of two. Its perfect curvature is interrupted right at its bottom, where the boundary line takes a shortcutting arc through the circle that should be, giving it the outline of a flatspotted tyre. I hear its voice scream, scream "Let me be free!", free from the surface tension that holds part- but only part - of its molecular blob still, free to continue its descent down the length of the windowpane, free to do what it was ordained to do, free, free, free.
I continued watching the raindrops. I continued being perturbed by the one sitting three inches off centre just on the left of the windowpane. I would have liked to have known its shape, but there it stood no more than a tiny speck. It could have been nicely round, or it could have been elongated, or sharp at one end, or not. But there it crouched, there it stayed huddled, there it hoped to avoid my probing gaze, for it must have been afraid. Afraid that it might be known the contours of its imperfect form, the story of its unillustrious past, the secrets of its very being.
Thirty-one, thirty-one-and-a-half, thirty-tw - what happened there? I watched, half taken aback and half madly intrigued, as my eyes having retraced their steps back to the origin of their arduous count failed to find the scatter pattern whose permanence for granted had been taken, and saw instead an unfamiliar new arrangement. Flustered, I searched for those drops whose profiles I had carefully studied and learnt. But I found nothing I could recognise. Recognise for the location which it had to call its own, recognise for the words it had once uttered to me, recognise for the gait and appearance and countenance and expression I thought I would always know.
Instead I settled to watch as, gradually, the droplets zigzagged towards the foot of the pane, leaving behind discernible traces of their passage. I knew that little drop there, that one that appeared pointed at its head, to have traversed the distance from X to Y with a minute change in course as it skirted around a large cluster of other jousting droplets. My gaze made the reverse trip from Y to X, but never made it that far. I saw a second round blob whose trail had formed a junction with that of the first, and which was just leaving that junction in the direction the first droplet had gone. This demarcated route it stuck to with immaculate precision, and it seemed to gain in momentum so as to close in on the back of the pioneer of that very route. I felt my heart pounding away, begging in its fury for a stay of execution, begging for fortitude against submission, begging, in vain, "No, dont..."
Staring at the mundane in the depths of the night is all I can do to stay awake.
I continued watching the raindrops. I continued being perturbed by the one sitting three inches off centre just on the left of the windowpane. I would have liked to have known its shape, but there it stood no more than a tiny speck. It could have been nicely round, or it could have been elongated, or sharp at one end, or not. But there it crouched, there it stayed huddled, there it hoped to avoid my probing gaze, for it must have been afraid. Afraid that it might be known the contours of its imperfect form, the story of its unillustrious past, the secrets of its very being.
Thirty-one, thirty-one-and-a-half, thirty-tw - what happened there? I watched, half taken aback and half madly intrigued, as my eyes having retraced their steps back to the origin of their arduous count failed to find the scatter pattern whose permanence for granted had been taken, and saw instead an unfamiliar new arrangement. Flustered, I searched for those drops whose profiles I had carefully studied and learnt. But I found nothing I could recognise. Recognise for the location which it had to call its own, recognise for the words it had once uttered to me, recognise for the gait and appearance and countenance and expression I thought I would always know.
Instead I settled to watch as, gradually, the droplets zigzagged towards the foot of the pane, leaving behind discernible traces of their passage. I knew that little drop there, that one that appeared pointed at its head, to have traversed the distance from X to Y with a minute change in course as it skirted around a large cluster of other jousting droplets. My gaze made the reverse trip from Y to X, but never made it that far. I saw a second round blob whose trail had formed a junction with that of the first, and which was just leaving that junction in the direction the first droplet had gone. This demarcated route it stuck to with immaculate precision, and it seemed to gain in momentum so as to close in on the back of the pioneer of that very route. I felt my heart pounding away, begging in its fury for a stay of execution, begging for fortitude against submission, begging, in vain, "No, dont..."
Staring at the mundane in the depths of the night is all I can do to stay awake.
Friday, 11 September 2009
新马歌曲10佳选
对不起哦，我真的好无聊。
1。《有你多好》 - 蔡淳佳
2。《遇见》 - 孙燕姿
3。《孤单北半球》 - 欧得洋
4。《童话》 - 光良
5。《无条件为你》 - 梁静如
6。《放了爱》 - 郭美美
7。《日日夜夜》 - 张栋梁
8。《一千年以后》 - 林俊杰
9。《入戏》 - 曹格
10。《小小幸福》 - 张玉华
慢慢享受吧！人家累得不断地打哈欠了……
1。《有你多好》 - 蔡淳佳
2。《遇见》 - 孙燕姿
3。《孤单北半球》 - 欧得洋
4。《童话》 - 光良
5。《无条件为你》 - 梁静如
6。《放了爱》 - 郭美美
7。《日日夜夜》 - 张栋梁
8。《一千年以后》 - 林俊杰
9。《入戏》 - 曹格
10。《小小幸福》 - 张玉华
慢慢享受吧！人家累得不断地打哈欠了……
Monday, 7 September 2009
Hands up, who thinks this is hot?
And shut up, those who think it is not. Atypical indecision dictated that I should have uploaded both of the pictures I took of this SGD149 Fred Perry manbag, rather than astutely select one from a paltry two. (The camera-savvy will point out that this is an issue of flash [mis]management.) Okay folks, meet the latest resident in my wardrobe.
Pangs of honesty impel me to reveal that opinions on the wisdom and sensibility of such a purchase have been well and truly split. The conservative are cringing at the striking hue of the red trim (and more ostensibly, red side panels). The pragmatic are scratching their heads wondering how I am to integrate something unabashedly metrosexual with the more classic styles that my wardrobe is known to conjure up. The chic and trendy have given me the thumbs-up. The courteous make excuses and avert my questions. Go, taste my scorn.
The prospect of lugging copious numbers of voluminous volumes around my university town was the driving force behind my decision to grab a carrier with size on its side. Undoing the zipper that runs along its upper face reveals cubic acres of storage space which seems to accommodate any permutation of bulky objects from my working demands. Impressively, the main compartment is spaciously built to allow two 'XL' History texts to sit abreast. (XL = A4-sized pages) In addition to this, there is a hard base that was conspicuously absent in the SGD199 Ted Baker model which gave this beauty the impression of sturdiness. There is also a pocket in which a notebook can comfortably sit, and an exterior compartment for the more trivial bring-alongs.
It does take a historian to pick the point up that I haven't answered the REAL question that instigated the furore. (Like, who else cares about what is ABSENT from the narrative!) Question being: Why this audacious colour? Any suggestions? I'm out of ideas.
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