I see maggots.

How would you know if the world was rotting?

I always believed that i would lead the sheltered life, the simple life. Safely cocooned in my sleepy little housing estate, tucked away in an idyllic corner of sterile Singapore, i watched the world change through the tinted glasses of television, the internet and the newspaper. I sympathized with the tsunami victims, for about 5 seconds, and then i switched channels. I watched Cops on TV, and as the men in blue safely nabbed some drug-fuelled burglar with trusty handcuffs, i thought to myself : ‘Man, I’m so glad in i’m living in Singapore. i don’t have to worry about burglars with heroin pumping in their veins, wielding a knife, breaking into homes.” Sure, the rest of the world, with all its crooks and disasters and what-have-you, made TV-time interesting and entertaining. But when the transmission had ended and it was time to switch the TV off, i thought nothing I’d seen would happen to me.

As things started to change around me, when my housing estate became frequented by police cars and thugs, when the first burglary struck the house two floors above mine, i continued to think that such stuff were unreal, it was only a little disturbance, that’s all. Such stuff only happened on TV. Things would go back to normal, and i could continue to watch the rest of the world get into all sorts of problems, like a spectator watching people getting eaten by lions at a Roman carnival.

How would I know if the world was really rotting? I found my answer in two ex-schoolmates and a lift lobby.

Enter: a couple. They look weary. The husband smokes vigorously, jabbing the lift button impatiently. In his hand is a bag containing diapers and milk powder. Milk powder’s getting expensive these days. The heavily-tattooed wife tries to coax her wailing infant by stuffing a milk bottle in her mouth, but the little one doesn’t fall for the trick. Another bundle of joy is on the way, showing up conspicuously under the wife’s tight tube top. They wait for the lift, pregnant silence between them. upon reaching home, the one that they share with his parents, they’d probably argue. But right now, he needs a smoke.

I am behind this couple. My face is oily after a day at school. In my hands is my Biology textbook. My exams are on the way, and it shows up conspicuously as dark eye circles. On reaching home, the one that i share with my mom and my junk, i’d probably take a bath. But right now I’m hungry.

There is nothing unusual about this entire situation. The one thing that stood out like a sore thumb was the fact that this couple would both turn 16 this year. Another thing that made it almost unreal was that they were both my ex-schoolmates. As i got into the lift with them, there was an awkward silence as they avoided eye contact with me. there i was, concerned about feeding my growling stomach, and there they were, concerned about feeding their child.

about three weeks ago, i was to witness the husband getting marched into a police car, handcuffed. My mother says that his drug habits came back.

And then i wondered about the sixteen-year old girl straddling two mouths to feed, buying diapers while her friends bought new clothes.

Enter: the lift lobby. Strewn with litter all the time. One day i decided to take a look at the litter, to find out what it comprised of. I knew that a group of gangsters congregated there around midnight, talking (and generating) trash and making noises like animals in love. What do gangsters eat? I decided to take a closer look.

Besides your usual suspects, like broken beer bottles, empty Ruffles packets, chewing gum, tissue paper and lumps of green viscous fluid, i noticed something strange.

There were several syringes and bits of aluminium foil.

Now, i’m sure these gangsters aren’t using the syringes to squirt water at each other, they’d get a water gun. And aluminium foil is useless for a barbeque if you cut it up into small squares.

I see the maggots now, turning blue and green into brown shit. in a world where getting pregnant is fashionable and where sex and drugs should be included in your list of things to do today, anything goes. I try to keep sane.

introducing jenny, the nerd.

when i put on the red nondescript spectacles at the optician’s a week ago, i sighed. I have to wear it full time, thanks to my deteriorating eyesight. looking at myself in the mirror, one word sprang to mind. Nerdddd.

i guess many people treat me as a nerd, because of the class i’m in as well as due to my grades. but i’ve never felt like a nerd, and i’ve never thought myself as one. if i’m a nerd, it makes Fulin beside me a freaking monk. when it comes to playing, i play harder and wilder than your average Sarong Party Girl (SPG). but when it comes to crunch time, when the exams hit, i study. i glue my ass to my chair and make love to my books. yep, minus the condoms and the bed.

as long as i can remember, i’ve always been part of the Back Of The Class Gang That Makes All The Noise, way back from my primary school days. usually i get chucked in the front, thanks to my dimunitive frame, but as the year progresses, i am “transferred”, or dumped, in other words, to the back of the class. teachers trust that i’ll positively influence those around me. i most certainly do. i have a proven track record for constantly churning out the best medicine for tired students: laughter. so the rest of my school year works out this way: i’ll talk cock and bull, laugh, talk cock and bull again, and then suddenly turn silent during Biology or English lessons because A. i’ll usually be unconscious, catching up on lost sleep, or B. i’ll be fantasising about food. and then the bell rings and i get the hell out of there.

so the nights before end of year exams are really, absolutely excruciating. i actually begin learning the years’ syllabus there and then. thus what i am actually doing is condensing a years’ worth of bull in one single night. do a blood test on me and you’ll find an unearthly amount of caffeine in my blood. if possible i’d fix an IV drip so i wouldn’t have to eat. i keep cramming till my eyes start spinning in their sockets and i start seeing strange women in my textbooks doing a tribal dance, and then only do i stop and drop dead. (please don’t try this at home, kids.)

which explains why i completely snap after each exam. i go nuts. and i love going nuts.

but alas, the red spectacles of mine are a daily reminder of my death sentence. i can no longer start studying on the night before the exam. i can no longer switch off during a lesson. i can no longer talk rubbish for 80% of the time in class (now it’s reduced to 30%).

i know i know i know i know. the bloody O’s.

thus, whether i like it or not, i am transforming into a nerd. i really am. my life is now centered around school work. even when i was watching The Happening last week (by the way, please don’t watch it unless you enjoy wasting money in a slow, cold and boring way), i suddenly thought of my mock exam papers, still undone at home. i thought of my bloody homework in the cinema. there and then, i knew i was screwed. this wasn’t normal. i had caught some severe disease.

so here i am, rushing to finish this post, because i have a pile of homework left as clean as a baby’s bottom, which has to be filled with ink and scribbles. and then i have to begin my revision for my prelims next week because my brain is as empty as my wallet on Fridays. and then i have to cut my toenails because i’ve been too busy to cut them for nearly a month now.

i know i know i know i know. the bloody O’s

random wise quote, part two.

this is one for all my single ladies out there.

“Men are like parking spaces, the good ones are taken and the free ones are handicapped. “

random wise quote, part one.

someone said these:

“Friendship is like peeing on yourself: everyone can see it, but only you get the warm feeling that it brings. “

oh yes, i’m getting peed on all the time

Picking Up (and dusting off) My Bible.

and so i’ve been telling myself to read the bible more often, because i’m a christian and being christian doesn’t mean going to church for an hour on sunday, and then throwing God in the safe-deposit box, retrieving him when neccesary.

thus last night i picked up my dusty ol’ bible and spent a few minutes removing the dust and lichen that have taken root. that made me a tad bit guilty, because i’ve been a Part-time Christian and Full-time Lazyarse. i saw Jesus in cheesecake and pasta, my church was my bedroom, and tabloids were my daily scripture.

then a couple of days prior to father’s day, i was digging through a pile of old papers in my room when i stumbled across an envelope. it was written in childish scrawl.

“dear daddy, what are you doing in… london, and why all the months you never come but i still love you very mach! i am big girl now! happy father day, my sweet heat! i miss you so mach! come back please? next time come erly. i am very sad you never come.”

the cold salt tears came. immediately i hated myself for crying, for being such a sentimental dumbass. through my tears i laughed as i noted my poor spelling (sweet heat, indeed). the concept of having a father was becoming very hazy, now. but wait: i always had a father. that was God. but i chose to lock him up and stash him away, forgotten like the old Father’s Day card i wrote to my dad when i was seven.

Back to last night. i flipped to Sirach, a deuterocanonical in the bible. the following verses were pretty memorable.

• don’t try to understand things that are too hard for you, or investigate matters that are beyond your power to know.
• (on friendship) Others will sit at your table as long as things are going well; they will stick to you like your shadow and give orders to your servants, but they will not stand by you in trouble.
• a loyal friend is like a good medicine that keeps you in good health.
• don’t keep company with female musicians; they will trick you.
• friendship is like wine, it gets better as it grows older.
• when a person dies, all he possesses is worms, flies and maggots.
• what are human beings? of what use are we? the good that we do-the evil that we do- what does it all mean? if we lived a hundred years, we have lived an unusually long time, but compared with all eternity, those years are like a drop of water in the ocean, like a single grain of sand. that is why the Lord is so patient with us, why he is so free with his mercy. He looks at us and knows we are doomed to die; that is why he is so willing to forgive us.
• don’t let a bad wife have her way, any more than you would allow water to leak from your cistern.
• nothing in creation is greedier than the eye; that’s why it sheds tears so often.
• when you sit down at a fancy banquet, don’t let your mouth hang open, and don’t say: “look at all the food!”
• people who eat too much get stomach aches and cannot sleep. if you don’t overeat, you can get a good night’s sleep and wake up the next morning feeling fine. but if you do, go off and vomit and you will feel much better.
• as long as you have breath in your body, don’t let anyone lead your life for you.

well said, really. Sirach makes more sense than Oprah.

16 years on: what?

sheesh.

when i was a little girl, i always dreamt of the day i’d turn 16. it was as if it was the magical date, the Open Sesame to all i ever wanted. the glamour of 16 lay elusive, far out in the dim horizon, something laced with black and gold and surrounded by shimmering diamonds. 16 was the bomb, or so i thought.

and thus, my progression from girlhood to adolescence was all about my 16th birthday, and how i was going to be this tall, pretty girl with lots of friends and i’d throw this giant birthday bash and get all sorts of presents. and how afterwards i’d roll around in bed with my boyfriend and he’d propose with a diamond ring and blah blah blah. (you see, i was 6 then. thanks to Mary-Kate and Ashley trash, as well as years of vegetating in front of Xena the Warrior Princess, i was quite the mini-slut.)

and now, that “bomb” is right here at my doorstep, fizzling out. i don’t think it’s even gonna explode.

so i look at myself in the mirror and i go: 

 I’M 16!!!

and then i drag my feet to the kitchen and eat potato chips. then i examine the blackheads on my face, brush my teeth and shit (if i’m lucky) and this and that and life goes on.

in terms of height, i’m not 16. i’m 6.

emotionally and mentally though, i’ve grown up. too fast. i’ve become so numb and cynical and jaded like a piece of agar-agar that’s been boiling for 60 years.

i’ve had an amazing life so far. i’m surprised that i’m still alive despite the threat of cancer ever-present.

you see, when i was 7, i was a girl with crew-cut hair (that was curly. imagine that) who hitched up her skirt, sweared in english-accented Hokkien and arm-wrestled with the boys. in short, i was a tomboy. so there was this showdown between me and this dude Li Yang. after we drew at the spitting competition (we could reach no farther than the teacher’s table), there was a tie-breaker. this girl came forward with this assorted array of pencil leads and suggested that we have an eating face-off. so imagine: the whole class crowded around the both of us, sitting face-to-face, each armed with 3 boxes of leads.

“GO!”

my supporters constantly fed me water as i hurriedly crushed thick leads between my teeth. i might as be eating granite. as i was finishing the 3rd box, my opponent threw up and i won hands-down. for a few weeks, i became a god and everyone whispered my sacred name in awe.

when i got home that day, my mom asked my why my teeth and lips were grey. i told her i fell on the classroom floor.

so since then, i’ve always been waiting for the day i’d be diagnosed with cancer, and so i can tell the doctor: “i know why, it’s cos i ate pencil leads when i was 8.”

fast-forward. yesterday i hauled out some tapes from my cupboard. yes, from age 9 to 13, i taped stuff off from the radio and i played them on my walkman. i remember the horrified look on my friend’s face when i changed tapes on the excursion bus. “is that your mother’s?”

some of them were mouldy and i ditched them. i picked the rest up and played them on the cassette player.

the songs sang about the past. memories of my first crush, our little love notes. my dad slapping my mom, my mom slapping my dad, both of them slapping me, me poking holes in my mom’s photo. playing with make-up, dismantling a sanitary pad, drenching my nails in polish. me finding my mom’s divorce papers. hating my first crush for talking to another girl, hating him after our break-up. watching the total disintegration of relations between my sister and mother. failing my mid-year maths paper and trying to forge the signature, only to end up in the principal’s office.

enter: age 14. the most chaotic, contradictory and absolutely exhilarating years of my life. when bad tasted oh so good.

age 15: becoming christian again.

and now: another year, another kilogram added.

happy 16th birthday to me. i’m going to Fairprice to buy some instant noodles.