The Post-Constipation Post Wednesday, Feb 11 2009

It’s really uncanny how much constipation has loomed large over my life. Both literally and metaphorically. I’ve had struggles with my rectum ever since I was born, and yet constipation has become more than just a health woe for me. Constipation (not of the literal kind) has now become a word in my dictionary of emotions. It means to have a pent-up of feelings, a sense of quiet despair and discomfort, when too much crap has been building up inside of you and you can’t seem to let it out. I “feel” constipated whenever I feel lousy, bloated with feelings but I can’t help but keep it all inside simply cos I’m too lazy busy to release them.

Thus I’ve called this the “Post-Constipation” post, cos it’s like this huge release for me, as I’ve not blogged in a while. So bear with me as I dislodge all the hardened contents of my mental bowels, in this long, crappy post.

Every once in a while, even the most brilliant of writers become lazy unbothered  so busy that they fail to come up with anything. I am no exception. For the past few weeks I was lazy unbothered quite caught up with my new money-making hobby: work. Since it had been some time since both my muscle and brain cells had been decently utilised, my first work week was, simply put, hell. For once in my life, I felt completely stupid as I fumbled about awkwardly, struggling to remember recipes (I worked in a cafe) and cooking up a disaster in the kitchen. I spent my nights after work studiously revising things like How many minutes I should deep-fry onion rings and How many scoops of vanilla powder went into making different smoothies. Hell, I even my usual dreams were replaced with work-related nightmares (such as when I burned the roast chicken).

Many interesting things happened at work, and I was itching to get it all down in my typical cynical fashion, but sheer lethargy bogged me down. when I was not working, all I wanted to do was to switch off my brain and rot with Ellen DeGeneres. I was utterly numbed. As a result I truly became lazy and unbothered to blog.

And then divine intervention came. In the form of a book.

I was floundering through the library one day after a particularly nasty day at work (TWO  elderly customers complained that they couldn’t chew my Roasted Chicken. Get some dentures, ya hags!) when I picked up a random autobiography in the Music section. It had a nice picture of U2 in the front together with a not-so-nice picture of some man, presumably the author Neil McCormick. It was called I Was Bono’s Doppelganger. The blurb promised lots of racy scandal (“Bad sex, weird drugs, bizarre haircuts” it read) and since it promised some relation to everybody’s favourite rock-superhero Bono, I borrowed it. Eagerly, I attacked the novel, hoping to unwind with page after page of brainless, rock-star misadventures.

Instead what I read caught me by surprise. The book was essentially about McCormick’s quest for rock stardom, together with his schoolmate at Mount Temple Comprehensive, Paul Hewson (that’s Bono to you and me). Both Hewson and McCormick were in bands and harboured dreams of making it big, but only Hewson’s band succeeded eventually. While McCormick tried and tried relentlessly for more than twenty years to be heard, his former schoolmate soared higher and higher into the stratosphere of rock stardom. Thus unravels this sorry saga of a truly talented musician who lives in Bono’s shadow.

Sure, there are plenty of “sex, drugs and not-so-rocking rock&roll” bites for tabloid junkies like me to chew on, but underneath it all, I saw myself in McCormick. A strangely distorted reflection, at least. Previously, I too wanted a slice of such a lifestyle. I started out somewhat like McCormick, playing in amateur bands when I was 14, even when I could barely grasp the neck of the bass guitar. You may not believe this, but actually I was bitten by the Bug. The Bug to be famous. As a child of the TV generation (I had been watching MTV together with Sesame Street), it seemed to me the pinnacle of success, the achievement of my life if only I could appear inside that metal box. Being on TV seemed like the ultimate goal.

In the early days of my confused adolescence I was convinced that it was my destiny playing in stadium in front of a screaming audience. I worked hard at learning the guitar. I threw myself in the whole punk culture (listening to nothing else other that the screaming squalls of Sid Vicious and other punk gods) and was so sure that life was about rock&roll.

Unlike McCormick, who took twenty years of wrong turnings to finally get himself together, I was fortunate enough to be slapped on the face and shaken hard, pulling myself out of that silly dream. I realised that making music was about passion and expression, not making money and rolling around in Cadillacs. Today, I’m a very different person. I’m no longer a punk, or a whatever; I don’t subscribe to any particular music genre. I’m ready to embrace anything that moves me within.

I Was Bono’s Doppelganger is an airy, extremely funny and strangely poignant tale. As Bono remarked, McCormick has an ability to make “extremely heavy things feel weightless”. As if a reminder from above, a book I had picked to enjoy a temporary diversion into racy trash, instead had eye-opening passages on God. Bono has great faith in his maker, while McCormick is a committed, cynical atheist. The conversations between the two on God’s existence are extremely entertaining, but strike a chord with readers as well. The final, bittersweet twist emerges at the end when McCormick, ever the devout atheist, writes a very beautiful song about God. the song came to him in a dream, and proved to be elusive piece that finally clinches him a record deal, at the not-so-rock&roll age of 40.

So here we are, people. For those who have managed to stay with me till this far, you’ve officially ploughed through 1072 words!

Just to let you know, McCormick’s defining song, entitled I Found God, is neither preachy nor proselytsing. It’s extremely simple and yet carries alot of depth. some think of it as an atheist anthem. some view it as an affirmation. I tend to think it’s the latter. Here, read the lyrics and decide for yourself.

I found God
In the first place that I looked
I found God
In the crannies and the nooks
I found God
Underneath a stone
I found God
Didnt even have to leave my home
I found God
I found God

I found the Buddha
Sitting cross legged by the door
I found Jesus
Nailed and bleeding on the floor
I found the Prophet
Up to his neck in sand
I found God
Wherever I found man
I found God
In a hundred different places
With a thousand different voices
And a million different faces
I found God
I found God

I found God
Down the smoking barrel of a gun
I found God
In bones bleached white beneath the sun
I found God
Amongst the killers and the rapists
I found God
Between the proddies and the papists
I found God
In temples turned to rubble
I found God
On the pulpit stirring up more trouble
I found God
On both sides of the war
With the bigots and the fascists
Kicking down my door
I found God
I found God

And I said My God, my God
What have You done?
Why is this life so hard
For everyone?

And God said

I found you
Before it all began
I found you
When the universe went bang
I found you
In the cooling of the stars
I watched worlds collide
I wondered how we got this far?
I found you
Crawling from the sea
I found you
Hanging with the monkeys in the trees
I found you
Before you found me
I found you
And I set you free
Free to stand on your own feet
Free to watch the sunrise
Free to be what you can be
Free to be what you despise
Free to glory in the truth
Free to swallow your own lies
Cause I’m coursing through your bloodstream
I’m staring through your eyes
I found you
I found you.

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Jenny Spoke… And The Crowd Went Wild! Friday, Oct 17 2008

Or rather: Jenny Spoke… And The Crowd Politely Applauded.

so last friday, i hauled my near-frozen carcass up on the rostrum, for the very last time, to deliver my *ahem* valediction of sorts.

i was hopping around backstage prior to my turn, in an attempt to get some circulation going, and to thaw my numb vocal chords. you see, i had just done the unthinkable: i had gone for six hours without food, and two hours in miserable air-conditioning. that, coupled with my growling stomach that emitted rather loud crunching noises, as well as my stage fright, was the perfect recipe for one thing: ON-STAGE FAUX PAS. as expected, when i went to the rostrum to give the goddamned speech, i was like a parrot on steroids: hopping, nervy and vibrating.

truth to be told, i can’t recall what happened next. words started coming out of my mouth like vomit, and i was preoccupied at looking at this boy, sitting in the front row, who looked like he had petrol for lunch. strangely enough, the sight of him comforted me. There, at least I’m not the only one who feels like crap, I told myself. And i rattled on, with my gastric activity providing background music.

the most poignant thing, though, that I do remember, and will probably remember for a long time, was the applause. at the end of it all, it was that sound, the sound of hand slapping hand, that really mattered. i didn’t give a hoot about whether i had moved my audience, or if they remembered any word i uttered. it was the applause, the sound that shook the stage a little (no kidding), that really rang deep in my heart. it was worth it. the hours of mulling over material, the endless censorships thanks to my teachers, and getting the stuff into my head.

perhaps it was just polite applause, from a sedated audience. but in my mind, the crowd really did go wild. and to every single soul who clapped: THANK YOU. i didn’t wait for the speech; i waited for the moment. and thank you, The Crowd That Went Wild, for making that moment happen for me.

for all you dear honeybuns, here is my original, uncut, uncensored valediction speech. this is not for the faint-hearted. this is for the souls who have time to kill.

Good evening, distinguished Guest of Honour, Mr Chua Hun Cheong, Mr Ong, our Principal, Mr Toh, our Vice Principal, Parents and Teachers.

And, a very special ‘Good evening!’ to the stars of the show tonight, the Ladies and Gentlemen of the Class of 2008.

It is with great honour and privilege that I stand before you as the valedictorian. Yes, I know how long and scary that word sounds. But let me assure you that my speech is neither long nor scary, and I’ll be off this stage in a few minutes. You can relax now.

Today the 10th of October 2008, has been a very nostalgic day for me. As I was ironing my school uniform this morning, I recalled how long my skirt was when I was in sec 1. When I first wore my new school uniform and stood in front of the mirror that morning, I thought to myself: “Am I going to school, or am I getting married?” You see, besides being all-white, my school uniform resembled a wedding gown: My skirt overlapped my socks, my legs were hidden, and I actually fell down many times because I stepped on my skirt.

How many of you remember bus 962 at the Sembawang Campus? I do. I remember packing myself like a sardine on board the bus daily. And thanks to my 1.54m height, I had the dubious honour of standing face-to-face with many different armpits.

That was back in the year 2005, when we were all just excited 13 year-olds fresh from primary school. Some of us still remain that way. But now, sitting in this lovely MPH of ours, with ICs in our wallets instead of Pokemon cards, we Sec Fours are about to sit for a crucial exam: the O levels.

We can take heart though, that our teachers will be there for us. In fact, they’ve been there for us for 4 years, whether it’s been telling us to tuck in our “brouses”, to “commemorate” students for returning lost items, or simply giving us friendly reminders like “Junfei, can you take out your YEE-maths textbook?” Thanks, Mr Vijay. Our teachers have had sleepless nights marking our illegible scripts, coaching us after school, or simply picking us up when life brings us down. They have ultimately taught us something, whether it’s a subject or our inner selves. So on behalf of all graduating students, I THANK YOU, teachers.

If there’s one word to describe the class of 2008, the word is: ROJAK. Like a plate of Rojak, we are one giant assortment of different personalities. Some of us can’t live without basketball. Some of us, however, run away screaming when any kind of ball is thrown at us. We are all gifted with different abilities. However, like good authentic Rojak, the sauce that binds all of us together is thick and strong. CCHY, as much as we joke about it, has been good to us. We hate to admit it, but some of the best moments of our lives were spent here, be it during CCA, camps or even during lessons itself. In our 4 year Chung Cheng journey, we’ve discovered the joys of friendship, the pain of analysing SBQs, and the opportunities life has to offer. Best of all, we’ve discovered ourselves.

This evening, as we walk out of the MPH, with graduation certificates in hand, some of us may think: “Phew! At last! CCHY is all over and done with!” But I can assure you, my dear friends, that although we may leave Chung Cheng, Chung Cheng will never really leave us. The friendships formed here, the experiences we’ve had, are more valuable than the O level Certificate we’ll be getting next year. When we face a crisis in our lives, neither SBQ nor Pythagoras’ theorem is going to come and save us. What will save us, though, are the values, principles and life lessons we’ve learnt here in Chung Cheng.

This evening, as we walk out of the school gates with big dreams for the future, let us remember that life isn’t just about answering the questions. It’s about questioning the answers. And that includes your own.
To all the ‘brides’ and ‘grooms’ of Chung Cheng, C’mon. Let’s throw off our veils and kiss life in the face. I hereby pronounce you the class of 2008!

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and i could take some advice… Wednesday, Sep 3 2008

dear all.

two nights ago, i sat down with some pen and paper. i asked myself: what was i going to do after my year end O levels, after high school graduation in two month’s time? and more importantly, what was i going to do with my life in general? i thought about it, and wrote it down.

today, i’ve added two pages, Things to Do, and The Bigger Picture. both cover what i’ll do in the near future, and the distant future respectively.

but no man is an island. it always helps to get other’s view of things. now, i’d like some advice from you. do you have a good laptop which had served you well? what do i look out for when i get a laptop? i’m looking for one and i’ll need all the help i can get. it’s gonna be the first major purchase of my life, with my own money, and maybe you can help me out here.

or maybe you’ve got something to say about The Hives’ latest album? You’ve read Scar Tissue and you don’t like it? You think you’ve got a good book to share? bring it on.

i’m 16 and i still don’t know how to swim/cycle. if you’re like me, let me know! then we’ll be in the same boat.

i’m also considering humanitarian work in the future when i’m an adult. if you can give me some links to blogs which have accounts by such volunteers, or if you have some words of advice to give, i’m willing to listen.

i know it’s mundane to read about someone’s plans for the future. but i’ll truly appreciate it if you can take some time to comment about it. i’m serious about everything i’ve written.

once again, thanks in advance.

jennyspeaks.

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he joked his way into my heart. Sunday, Jul 20 2008

let’s face it. practically 99.9% of movie buffs who watch The Dark Knight are not particularly crazy about Batman, no matter how smoulderingly suave Christian Bale is. Nor is everyone drooling over the 500-in-one Batmobile, nor his skin-tight Batsuit, nor his Batpowers. the film might as well be re-titled The Joker, cos that’s what i paid eleven bucks for. when i heard that this was Heath Ledger’s swansong, i knew i had to watch it. and my eleven bucks were a great investment.

throughout the movie, i lay reclined with my eyes half-closed, only sitting straight alert and attentive when the Joker, the villian, took the screen. he was the villain’s villain. he was cold, ruthless and funny. i also picked up some make-up tips for Halloween from him. at the end, i was rooting for him to win. standing beside the Joker, Batman’s ridiculous, crotch-gripping suit seemed very worthless. batman may emerged victorious in the script, but in the minds and hearts of all who’ve watched it, batman was left in the cold, whimpering, gripping his black plasticised cock. the Joker was magnificent. He was the true winner.

“you complete me,” Joker tells Batman, sadistically borrowing a sappy line from Jerry Maguire. oh yes, the Joker completes all of us. and heath’s life wouldn’t be fittingly completed if he didn’t at least get an Oscar nomination.

i’ve watched a few of Heath’s films, including Brokeback Mountain, Candy, Casanova, Four Feathers and Ned Kelly. i can tell you that going from golden gay cowboy, to promiscuous womanising hottie to insane psychotic is not easy. now, months after his death, staring at his ghostly face filling the entire screen in the cinema, i knew what Hollywood had lost. a true actor, the last of its kind. here’s to you, heath.

The Joker

 

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casanovaheath ledger

 

random wise quote, part one. Wednesday, Jun 25 2008

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

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where did the vulgarities go? Wednesday, Jun 4 2008

i’m tired.

yesterday i had the most interesting experience with Singapore’s public transport system. drunk with heady themes seeping from the pages of my O’level literature text, To Kill A Mockingbird, i boarded the bus 853 in the evening to my church. so the youth group meeting was to start at 7.30pm. i was early, so i decided to hop down at the AMK Library to read some tabloids. then at 7.15pm, i left the library to re-board the bus 853 to church.

it was 6 stops away. planting my arse firmly down beside woman with a supermarket on her lap, i closed my eyes. six stops, later, i’d open my eyes and i’ll see my church.

six stops later, i opened my eyes. I saw a stadium.

time: 7.40pm.

Calmly, i alighted. I was so calm as noted the number of the bus: 852. I was so calm as i messaged to leader and told her i’d be at least 45minutes late.

I made a mental note that i hadn’t started unleashing all my colourful vocabulary and all the indecent references to one’s Mother in Hokkien. Usually, ‘shit’ is the first word to be verbalised, and ‘fuck it’ is the first thought that surfaces in my head. For the first time in my life, i was actually not letting off steam.

I had no idea where i was. There was a stadium and a few blocks of flats separated by a highway, but at night, Singapore looks the same, whether you’re in Kallang or Woodlands. To my surprise, i began humming R.E.M’s Imitation of Life as I crossed the overhead bridge to take the bus back to square one.

And like an idiot, i waited for 15 minutes and took the bus back to the library (and i had to climb another overhead bridge), where i waited for 853 and reached church at 8.15pm.

And i left my house at 6.15pm.

Then i realised why i was so sedated. I was simply tired. Not the kind of tired that happens after a game of badminton, nor the kind of tired after a long day at school. It was a kind of a vacuum, an immense plastic bag full of nothing that was stuck somewhere between my windpipe and my brain. A choke. Blood wasn’t flowing. The buzz had gone the only thing that got me interested was food, sleep, and the occasional sighting of a hot guy.

I told my friend about it. “hey, you’re finally BECOMING LIKE A NORMAL PERSON!” she laughed.

If normal is being sedated, then i’d rather be a howling lunatic anytime. I want to cry, scream, laugh and screech when i’m not supposed to. I want feel every single emotion. I want to blast off like a rocket with colors spilling from all sides.

I don’t want to be tired. Please, let me cuss normally again.

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