Sometimes I Do Stuff. October 29, 2009
Posted by jennyspeaks in about jenny, bullshit, confusion, cultural, death, depression, epiphany, journal, life, little things, random, sadness, school, silliness, teenage issues, unpopular truth, whatever., wordlessness.Tags: life, little things, sadness, school, self-esteem
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In my 17685th essay here, I am going to talk about my deteriorating self-esteem. Brace yourselves.
Well I don’t exactly know how to beat around the bush for this one, so I’m going to spit out the sorry truth. And the sorry truth is that I feel so worthless sometimes. Not that I’m blaming God or anyone for that. Nor do I expect any heavenly assistance for this because this is my own stupid problem. But that’s the sorry truth right there.
And the sorry truth gets sorrier: I especially have a problem with good-looking or “cool” people.
You see, whenever I speak to good-looking people or “cool” people, I automatically feel that I don’t deserve to speak to them. I feel unworthy to occupy their time. Why should they waste their time talking to losers like me? What ensues physically is that I start to clam up and babble lame things like “The weather’s so shitty”. And that probably seals the deal for them because they clam up too and give me weird looks. They’re probably thinking, “No, you’re shitty. And boring. This is the end of our conversation.”
Which really doesn’t help my self-esteem at all.
And it hurts when people stereotype you and assume that there’s nothing more to you. That you’re just a nerdy-pants who looks nerdy and lives nerdily ever after. Which may be true to a certain extent. But every nerdy-pants, though he/she may be as flat and boring as a coin, does have two sides, no?
Take for example the schoolmate who only bothers to talk to you to:
- Find out about your grades
- Ask if you study every day (which, for clarification, is a NO)
- Find out about the day’s homework
- Copy your homework
and thereafter assume that you do not exist.
I’m starting to think that all this has a link with my slouch, which has more or less reduced my backbone shape to that of a prawn’s. I’m not a Hunchback of Notre Dame yet though. Might reach that level in a few year’s time.
To conclude this depressing essay, I’d just like to say that it’s only human nature to judge and stereotype. For example I’m judging those “cool” people myself and assuming that they’re dismissing me. And similarly others judge me and assume that my main goal in life is to finish my homework. So this is how karma works then. I’ll just swallow my pride, lower my head and walk along. And maybe secretly swallow some potato chips as well.
Time Of Your Life. October 28, 2009
Posted by jennyspeaks in celebrities, drugs, god, happiness, holiday, journal, life, little things, music, random, silliness, this rocks! that sucks!, unusual.Tags: 21st Century Breakdown, American Idiot, Billie Joe Armstrong, Concerts, Dookie, Dreams come ture, Green Day, Green Day Live In Singapore, Hallelujah!, happiness, life, Mike Dirnt, Nimrod, Pop-punk, Rock, rock music, Tre Cool, Warning
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As you can tell from my mundane ramblings, there is nothing spectacular about being Jennyspeaks. I’ve not had any unwanted pregnancies, wardrobe malfunctions, nipple piercings or anything that is remotely “cool” in the dictionary of Teenage-dom. And in teenage terms I’m probably best defined as “uncool”.
But maybe next year on the 14th of January, I might be an ounce less uncool than I was before. Just maybe.
That’s because the rock band that I’ve been obsessing over ever since I started producing oestrogen is finally coming to Singapore. And locked up in my drawer lies the golden (free standing) ticket to their concert. Which had me digging into my retirement account.

Green Day Live in Singapore.
14th January 2010.
Singapore Indoor Stadium.
*falls to the ground in reverence*
Full Circle September 16, 2009
Posted by jennyspeaks in about jenny, confusion, cultural, epiphany, happiness, holiday, humor, journal, life, little things, music, opinion, random, silliness, teenage issues, this rocks! that sucks!, writing.Tags: amy winehouse, blogging, constipation, epiphany, feelings, first post, Green Day, happiness, humour, life, music, writing
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I first posed myself that question some two years ago, on a greasy Wednesday night. As I sat in front of the computer, fingers hovering the keyboard, there was a tinge of nervous excitement gnawing me inside. After all, it was my maiden foray into this strange activity called “blogging”. Besides, I had inherited my mother’s anti-technology genes, which only made me wary of anything electronic.
But with that question, I was free to pave the way for who I was going to be. I could single-handedly sculpt this character through my posts. I was going to have this faceless, anonymous, virtual mouthpiece. And with it I could let loose the many ideas, emotions and thoughts that were writhing around in my head.
When I finished the “answer key“ in my first post, I was smugly satisfied. I was pleased that I had managed to condense my very self into 320 words. I was also pretty sure that this was the real me, the unchanging Jennyspeaks, the young and restless lass who would be like that forever and ever, amen.
Of course that was rubbish. That answer key quickly became obsolete.
Some two years and 99 posts later, a very different Jennyspeaks is here before you.
In the weeks leading up to my 2nd year Blogging Anniversary (a personal achievement, something to be celebrated, for someone who has never quite gotten over her fear over HTML), I was rootling around my Archives.
After looking through my old posts, I had only one conclusion: Jennyspeaks was f**king awesome. (This may not be a very reliable assessment considering that I am Jennyspeaks.)
But the point is. This blog has seen me evolve from a bipolar crow on amphetamines to a cynical depressive to a ??? now. In its posts I have confided terrible secrets and morbid emotions that I never had the courage to tell anyone about (including God). In typical no-holds barred fashion I have rattled off about everything from constipation to Amy Winehouse. I always prided myself as being a private person, but it is really ironic how this public space made me open up. These archives have now become precious and dear to me, because every single word I’ve uttered reminds me of what I was, and how far I’ve come.
And the thing that kept me going even on my lowest of days was the comments I received. Some of them made sense, some of them didn’t. But they all mattered anyway. It was affirming to get a comment from someone I didn’t know, because it reminded me that somewhere out there in our disconnected world, someone was listening to what I had to say.
Two years ago, I promised that I would continue the “answer key” as to who Jennyspeaks really was. I think it’s high time that I confront that question again.
Question: Who is Jennyspeaks?
Answer:
Jennyspeaks used to be a complex girl with complex wants and needs. Today she is still (if not more) complex, but has greatly simplified her wants and needs. Her bisexual tendencies have remained largely dormant since and she is happy about that.
She is still Eurasian and her parentage has not been altered. However while she used to not give a shit about her heritage, she now has a mild cultural/identity crisis.
Jennyspeaks’ faith in her maker has definitely become stronger since.
She has completely forgotten how to play the bass and the guitar, thanks to years of nerd-dom. She has not strummed a guitar ever since a steel string burst in her face while attempting to tune it. She is not in any musical group but has quietly penned several tunes since, on a voice recorder.
She believes that she isn’t racist. She hasn’t had a situation so far where she can test that belief.
She continues to hang out at the same old pigsty of an apartment block called her home. And it’s still cool.
Jennyspeaks has ceased having unhealthy obsessions over Green Day, much less any rock band. She just enjoys music and has a few favourites. Such as Green Day.
Jennyspeaks no longer aspires rock-stardom. In other words, she has become sensible and boring. Her sensible and boring career options journalism and broadcast media. She still hopes to brush up on her musical skills so that she can play music as a hobby. But secretly she hopes to be a writer.
(You are probably aware by now that this is a nerd speaking).
Jennyspeaks has reached the stage where she accepts that she cannot have a Gisele Bundchen figure and so she has stopped bothering about diets and calorie counting. She tries to exercise and maintain a figure that does not revolt people. She is content to be small, bite-sized and on the fleshy side.
She would still play catching, hide-and-seek and Old Maid… if only there was anyone who’d be willing to play with her.
Don’t bother totalling up your marks to see if you passed or failed the question. This answer key doesn’t prove anything because there’s no way you can compress an individual into a set amount of words. What’s written here today might be obsolete tomorrow… Who knows?
Dating 101, as told by my mother July 14, 2009
Posted by jennyspeaks in about jenny, confusion, cultural, dating, epiphany, god, happiness, humor, journal, life, little things, opinion, random, silliness, teenage issues, unpopular truth, whatever..Tags: 17, advice, Altar servers, boys, Catholic life, Catholicism, Christianity, god, happy, humour, life, little things, memories, mother, musings, reflections, relationships, sex, university, women, writing
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My mother and I hardly talk about boys, even though we’re pretty close. And so recently, it was a rare privilege for me to be able to engage in a few minutes of civil discourse with her over the subject of dating.
It has always fascinated me that my mother has extremely low libido, even through her teenage years (or so she claims). She has always insisted that she never had any problems with boys whatsoever during her school years, and that she never had crushes nor dated. How efficient. And she expects me to do the same. According to her, such complications only arose when she hit the ripe old age of 25. It makes me secretly wonder if my mother was a butch when she was younger (after all, she was a competitive netballer). Okay I’m just kidding. Of course she wasn’t a butch.
Respectfully bearing in mind my mother’s stand on boys, (“You are a Christian girl. God will keep you safe from such things”) I quietly kept all my messy hormonal adventures (or rather, misadventures) to myself. We remained as close as ever, but I just had to improve on my secret-hoarding skills. And improve they did.
I am very proud to say that as of 12 July 2009, my mother still thinks that I am “safe” from “such things”. I am also very pleased with myself for that. Just about a month ago, when I was marking the 17th year of my existence, the both of us were taking stock of my life and it slowly evolved to the subject of dating.
“See mum, I’ve been such a good daughter. I never gave you boy trouble,” I said teasingly.
Her expression changed. Somehow she clearly felt uncomfortable but had to say something anyway: “Of course, you’re baptized in Christ. He will keep you safe.”
“What if I get a boyfriend now?”
“It just shows that you have strayed. You have become distracted. Good girls don’t do such things.”
“So I can become a nun, then?”
“No I didn’t raise you to become a nun. I will not allow that.”
“So you want me to live like a nun without becoming a nun.”
“What I’m saying is, God will provide you with a companion when you are in university. He will be intelligent and holding a good job. Or else, you will find your future husband in Church. I hope you date that altar server, the one who won the “Altar Server of the Year” award. He looks so holy and righteous.”
“Mum, that altar server wants to become a priest.”
“Then find another altar server. Oh, and put your sons in servers too…”
And so there ended the longest conversation I ever had with her on dating. And her instructions were very clear.
The thing is, my dear mother does not understand that most (but not all, I hope) males in church are no better than males out-of-church when it comes to serial dating. As one friend put it: “Don’t ever date a server. They are players.”
I think it’s in times like these that my mother and I revolve in different solar systems. While my mother’s advice is very entertaining, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe in restricting a relationship to a specific time/place. Or in my case, to a specific altar server.
What I do believe in is letting God take control of what happens or doesn’t. I’m pretty sure God isn’t going to cast me into the pits of hell for lusting over a guy, or for dating a player. I can get a guy’s number and seek him out; but what happens after that is beyond my control. I can date all I want and get my heart trampled; but I know that at the end of the day He will be there listening to my rants.
So dear mum, thank you for your advice. However I don’t think the birds and the bees are about university guys or church guys or what-have-you.
I think it’s about living and learning. The practical way.
:”( June 19, 2009
Posted by jennyspeaks in about jenny, confusion, dating, depression, epiphany, journal, life, little things, sadness, sickness, silliness, teenage issues, unpopular truth, wordlessness.Tags: betrayal, breakup, dating, heartbreak, life, little things, love, sadness, teenage issues
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Ever since my estrogen has been able to control my feelings, I’ve been playing with fire and getting burnt again and again. It brings me to the top of the world when the rush comes on, the heady feeling when a guy looks you in the eye. And you know that it’s more than just a look.
But I have fallen again and again for people who toy with my emotions, and then discard me.
Like how I came to know about someone who has hooked up after hanging on to me for so long.
And how, upon reflection, I realise that it’s not the first time I’ve been so caught up in the moment that I forget there’s no ground beneath me at all.
Then the bubble bursts and I plummet and I pick myself up. Only to be swept away again by that smile, that touch, those words. Cycle repeats.
Heartbreak heartbreak heartbreak. There’s only so much I can take.
I guess this is where my cynicism comes in handy. Let me switch back to my asexual mode, take a step back, and laugh at the folly of hormone-induced “love”.
I’m just unlucky, I guess. Now where’s my tissue.









