Bohemia Bunny

The Funnerology Principle

Monthly Archives: May 2010

She’s Not Thinking (Of You)

Watch how she flicks her hair, carelessly

Out of her flat brown eyes

Like some farm animal, unthinkingly

Reacting to the buzzing of a fly

It looks like there’s nothing upstairs

It seems like she’s not really there

She’s plugged in and tuned out

Her mind’s swimming in the clouds

A simple sheep ambling along

And that’s where you’re wrong

She’s got too many things on her mind

Racing like speedcars on a one-track mind

She’s thinking of the way you used to hold her hand

She’s thinking of the time you were her one-man band

She’s thinking of the smile that used to pull her through,

But no, she’s not thinking of you.

She stares out the window of the bus

And again, her hand goes up to fuss

With the hair in her eyes

But that’s just a disguise

You didn’t notice her wrist

You didn’t notice the dampness

She’s bursting inside

But she’ll smile and she’ll lie

That she’s thinking of the ice-cream you used to eat in pints

She’s thinking of the t-shirt you sometimes left behind

She’s thinking of your speeding car which gave her such a thrill

But no, she’s not thinking of you.

And how long will this carry on

How long before her soul starts dying

How long can she soldier on

How long will she keep denying

That she’s thinking of the way you used to hold her tight

She’s thinking of the way you used to kiss goodnight

She’ll cry until her pillow’s wet through

But no, she’s not thinking of you.

Addiction

Don’t lie. I’m a psychology student, I know what addiction looks like.

The waiting, the high, the comedown.

The self-harming behaviours that you know, rationally, are bad for you.

Google, Facebook, blog-stalking. These are the weapons of your destruction.

A picture of you and her when she is not me, detonates with the force of one broken heart.

These are the weapons of our destruction.

Because the bliss of ignorance is worse than the pain of information.

Information cuts in gashes, sharply defined edges of who I am and who you are not.

These cuts will heal.

Ignorance, on the other hand, is a piano dropping in slow motion.

When realization hits, it will crush me.

Information is knowledge. Knowledge is power.

And I guess you always knew I would choose power over you.

Fingers

Fingers

with a little note attached

to your heart.

Fingers

trying to capture in words

something larger than words can hold.

Fingers

on strings

that sing

And your voice

lingers

and caresses me, the way your

fingers

cannot.

Fingers

now a fist

containing the frustration

expressible only in a yawp.

I hope your

fingers

have not done anything they will regret.

Because the feeling of

fingers

reaching out for a

hand

that isn’t there

has enough power to break hearts.

If I could travel back in time…

… I would tell my 1-year-old self that she is a very lucky baby.

… I would tell my 3-year-old self that she is about to meet the only other person on earth who knows what it’s like to grow up in my family.

… I would tell my 6-year-old self not to swing round the pole in the backyard, because I might fall and split my head.

… I would tell my 9-year-old self that teachers are human too, and are not above taking me down a notch or two.

… I would tell my 12-year-old self to stand up straight.

… I would tell my 15-year-old self that boys are also, sometimes, scared of girls.

… I would tell my 16-year-old self that “hey you, I mean me, I mean… ah, fuggedit, go take up the bass. Now. Even if you have to beg Mummy and Daddy for it.”

… I would tell my 17-year-old self that most boys aren’t worth the effort you put into impressing them.

… I would tell my 18-year-old self to believe in love.

… I would tell my 19-year-old self to remember this moment of triumph as she held her results slip.

… I would tell my 20-year-old self that decent boys will tell you how they feel, even if they feel nothing for you.

… I would tell my 21-year-old self that leaving someone is being cruel to be kind.

… I would tell my 22-year-old self that music will return the love you give it, so love it.

… I would tell my 23-year-old self to buy health insurance.

… I would tell my 24-year-old self that one day not too far away, I’ll look back and have a great story to tell.

… I would tell my 25-year-old self that you never forget how to love.

I have a happy mouth

After a lapse of like 2 years, I finally made an appointment to see a dentist. I am a lazy person who lives in one of the most convenient neighbourhoods in Singapore, so my dentist is just down the hill, next to my GP clinic. I thought appointment slots would be full but they weren’t, so I was able to get a good slot right before lunchtime.

I was a bit late because I wanted to eat and brush my teeth first. I showed up at 11.40am for my 11.30am appointment, but the dentist was very quick and everything was done very efficiently – I left half an hour later. And I was totally happy and not in any pain or discomfort! Old friends will tell you that I’ve had a fear of getting my teeth cleaned, ever since a very traumatic and bloody experience with the school dental nurse in Form 1 when I was 13. But today’s experience was perfectly pleasant and even though I kept checking for traces of blood when I rinsed out my mouth, I didn’t see anything! Except a remnant of wholemeal bread from breakfast (ew). I always used to think that scaling meant a lot of pain and blood, but apparently that’s not the case.

All in all, the session cost me $82 including GST and a bottle of mouthwash. Cleaning and polishing cost $65 and there wasn’t a consultation fee. The dentist did tell me that my lower right wisdom tooth was half out, but it’s not causing me any pain and I hope it stays right where it is. I am now the owner of a very clean and happy plaque-free mouth. More people should have experiences like mine, so that they can break their phobia of dentists.

Jawdrop.

Sunday morning as I’m heading out to work, I see this parked by the roadside near the kopitiam.

I was rendered speechless by the sight of such a fine specimen, right here in my neighbourhood. I’m not a car enthusiast. I’m just a car pervert. There are only 2 things that matter to me when it comes to cars, and these are colour and design. Engine capacity, top speed, wheelbase, yadda-yadda… not my thing. I’m purely visual. And this was as close to perfection as I’ve ever been.

Glossy, red, and just sitting right there. And I didn’t take a picture then. But later as I was at the bus stop, it showed up at the Shell station for a refuel. When lightning strikes twice, you’d better take it as a sign. So here it is. The picture doesn’t do it justice. It doesn’t adequately capture the awe I felt, standing face-to-face in front of something as beautiful as this. It’s like meeting a celebrity at the kopitiam.

And it’s really just the aesthetics, not power, not cost, not prestige. I don’t really like Lamborghinis all that much – the shape doesn’t appeal to me, even if it is more aerodynamic or whatever (that comes under yadda-yadda anyway). Pure unmitigated car perving. Great way to start the week.

Partner Preferences, revisited

Take a look back at this old post from 3 years ago. Funny how most things haven’t changed at all, but then they’re all in the past anyway. I think, 3 years and another relationship on, it’s time to build another list. And it’s going to be terribly different – instead of focusing on the dude’s circumstances (which can be highly variable and subject to change anyway), it makes more sense to look at his personality.

  1. I have still only ever dated Chinese guys. I just like the way they look, even if they have single eyelids and flat noses.
  2. I have still only ever dated eldest children. That’s not a statistical surprise – think about it, the proportion of eldest/only children in the population for my generation must be close to 50%. Hypothetical example: Let’s say 50% of kids in a population are eldest or only children, 40% are second children (whose elder sibling is in the previous 50%), 7% are third children (with elder siblings in the preceding 90%) and the remaining 3% are fourth or subsequent children. Okay so my numbers may be a bit exaggerated, but you see how it goes? I don’t filter prospects by birth order, so this eldest kid streak of mine is probably just serendipity, and due to the fact that as an eldest child myself, there are parallels in personality that contribute to compatibility.
  3. Still have an overwhelming preference for younger guys, although it’s not on purpose. I’m not a cougar in the making, I swear! Age just isn’t an issue to me, and I don’t seek out older guys to take care of me or compensate for nonexistent daddy issues. I’m not looking to be someone’s replacement mum either. I’ve had enough of nagging and picking up after guys. I want to act my age for once.
  4. Nonreligious guys preferred. And I would actually prefer a lapsed/fallen/backslider/recovering/ex-Christian to someone who was a free thinker all along. Reason being, for them to have left their faith, there was thinking involved. A conscious choice was made. They’re not likely to go back, not without a really good reason. Also, it implies the presence of a somewhat logical brain.
  5. Nonsmokers. Without exception. I went on a date with a smoker once. That was the first and last time. Look, I know smokers aren’t evil. I’d be okay with them as friends. But constantly being around someone who carried lingering smoke on their clothes, and the accompanying fetid breath… no thanks.
  6. Good English, which also implies being literate. My litmus test – Neil Gaiman. They don’t necessarily have to have read him, but as long as they are capable of reading, understanding and APPRECIATING The Sandman and American Gods, they pass. I am a Gaiman fangirl and I make no apologies. The alternative is to use the Harry Potter series as my litmus test, but I think that would let in slightly more immature minds instead. They have to know the difference between “its” and “it’s”, even if they slip up sometimes. Gahd knows that while my written English is nearly perfect, my spoken English causes mirth and merriment.
  7. Animal lover. Fish are not pets. Dog, cat, rabbit, heck, even a parrot, yes. Hamsters… I’m tempted to say no, since I don’t really have much of a relationship with AdvoHam. But having to clean up after something, dealing with it making noise and pestering you for attention, paying enormous vet bills… that’s all good practice for the future.
  8. Dangerous. Not the criminally dangerous sort. But a risk-taker is always welcome in my sedate life. I’m not one for risks myself, but I’ll happily join in on the fun. Fast cars, extreme sports, taking tables that have already been reserved with tissue packets – you lead, I’ll follow.
  9. Must have a glamorous job! Hahahaha. Something that’s more interesting than “I work in an office and push papers around”. I don’t care if the papers you push around are worth millions. Tell me if your work excites you, makes you feel alive, motivates you to get up in the morning.
  10. Passionate about his dreams. Because I am, and I need someone who understands why. If you can’t share your passion with the one you love – then what good is the relationship? They don’t have to be directly involved in it, as long as they really, truly understand the high that I get from a good day at work. And they have to demonstrate that burning passion for something they really enjoy, because I will not settle for someone who settles.
  11. Neat, tidy, clean, capable of cleaning up after himself. Without being nagged. Trust me, the fulfilment of this criterion will save us both an enormous amount of emotional wear and tear.
  12. Decisive. I like being the girl in a relationship and delegating decision-making, but if you pass up the chance to decide, I WILL make a decision. Fast. With little consideration for your feelings, because you said you were fine with anything. So, either be a man and step up, or shut your whining when I take over.
  13. Must have seen and appreciated Monty Python. Because it’s clever and funny and humour is the mark of a sophisticate.

NS25/EW13

grey and dark denim sweeps past you

with a muttered hello.

you propose ingenious plans of hyperbole

while we pretend to have been friends for ages,

masking the provenance of our acquaintance.

in the dark, under stars hidden by clouds

that leak intermittently above us

we tell each other stories.

we tell each other truths,

because the night is honest

and we are strangers.

hiding in the space between

heavy traffic above

and foot traffic below,

time slips away from us

leaving behind a new day.

And when we return to where we started

we no longer have to pretend.

Snail

Do you remember the snail?

Oozing his/her/its way across the gravel, snails are hermaphroditic after all so I don’t think he/she/it’ll have gender issues, while we watched.

Perhaps it was watching us too, but pretended to be nonchalantly sliming along the path.

I wonder if the snail knows what it was witness to, or maybe it was in too great a hurry to see.