a gin and tonic, please
this happened last week when i was in the shower.
amos: what are you doing?
me: bathing.
amos: can i look?
me: no, go watch tv.
amos: orh.
i came out to see him watching doraemon and i thought the whole thing was hilarious, as if he was just being quite innocently curious.
or it could be the residual alcohol from the night before, because for once i managed to laugh all of his sister’s hostile questions and remarks off when usually i would be feeling hurt and offended. i then thought that perhaps i should always have a pint first before heading to his place. i think being high and feeling invincible beats being hurt.
the memory palace
came across the memory palace by christie dickason while rearranging my book cabinet, and i paused to read again the most memorable, and poignant scene in the work. philip wentworth, an aging sojourner, married a pregnant zeal to save her from condemnation. zeal was still very much in love with the exiled man, the father of the unborn child, but philip took her in. the love between them grew as they began to know each other more. the night that zeal could tell philip that she loved him, and say it truthfully, was the night that philip died.
the story itself was not impressive, but that particular scene is tender and touching. i think particularly of amos. our age difference is not as vast as the fictional philip and zeal, but amos is a fair bit older, with white hair, with a lot of medical conditions i wish he didn’t have. i live in the morbid fear that i will have to outlive him, and consequently i have rather hoped that we could perhaps die together in a freak accident of some sort, else i’d be selfish and hope to leave him behind. or perhaps if he leaves me then i will waste away and die of grief within the week. (thinking about it i think the dr might put the cause of death as overeating).
will need to stop being morbid.
i think i have got an infected eye. it is red, itchy and irritating, and i keep tearing. i’ve been tearing since sunday. it is not pleasant at all, i think i shall have to go to a doctor. gah!
belly for the goods
after tomorrow i’d have met most of my friends…with the exception of rose, which im rather sad about because out of all my friends she’s the one i talked to the most when i was in the uk. strange that she’s also the one whom i least hang out with haha. rosemary if you read this i demand to skype you even if you’re too busy to meet up hahaha.
i had a very satisfying dinner with amos just now. zichar! and chilli crab. for some reason i kept thinking about crab, and voila the zichar stall sold crab. i never enjoyed crab much in the past because the method of slaughter was a nightmare and i usually boycott the dish, but today i had an urge. (i succeeded being vegetarian in the uk for some weeks..then for some reason i leapt to the other extreme and became carnivorous. perhaps another trip to the zoo would remind me about not being cruel to animals…) and the eggplant! i want to go back to eat eggplants:)
the best of suicides
‘Roman writer Petronius Arbiter…fell out of the emperor [Nero's] favour. To forestall arrest and execution, he took his own life in an appropriately tasteful fashion, slitting his veins and then having them bound up again to ensure a slow and easeful death. As his life gradually drained away, he pecked at dainty dishes, listened to music, and chatted with friends on untroubling subjects. He finally lay down as if to sleep, and so met his end.’
-from Ian Crofton’s History Without The Boring Bits
what a way to die! it is an inspiration beyond no other. how poetic and laudable.
reading pg wodehouse
i used to laugh out loud at the antics of bertie wooster, but this time around i feel only mildly entertained. have i, along the years, lost my ability to laugh? not even very long years, at that, how pathetic. i feel like reading a murder mystery…if it doesn’t rain later i should probably nip by the library for a poirot.
turn down these voices inside my head
it happened after dinner. we were walking home when he told me that i was high-maintenance. i refused to speak to him, and when i reached the privacy of my room, i started crying. he was exasperated at me, he was only joking, he said. i told him he could find someone else; i am using wallets which cost an average of $3 while an increasing number of my friends are using wallets which cost upwards of $200, i haven’t been scrimping on myself all this while to deserve such an insult from him. i haven’t gone dutch with him those past years to endure this ‘joke’. i told him that if he thought i was high maintenance then perhaps we shouldn’t be together anymore, since im supposedly too financially demanding for him. the tears were also shed out of self-pity – whenever people found out his age, they mostly assume that he is my sugar-daddy and tease me about it. i want to explain that it’s not what they think it is but then i know people are never interested in what i have to say. the gifts from him are modest and well-received, but not what anybody would call extravagant. a hair-dryer, a quilt, baby pooh bear. i liked them, i used them, but if you wish to label me high-maintenance then you would have to try a lot harder in the gift-arena to make true your callous statement. i feel as if i lost out, if i had demanded for more (and more expensive) in the past then perhaps such an insult would not be so hard to bear; but i haven’t, and i feel that you have been most unfair towards me.
you have since apologised and cajoled me into a faux contentment, but as you leave i remain resentful still.
i would throw all caution to the wind and follow yenn weii’s advice to leave you, but i am selfish. in all honesty i stay with you because i am afraid that i will never find someone else who will be patient with me despite all my faults and love me as you do. it seems then that i love myself more than i do you, but then you know that i think my life wretched. i can’t write this anymore, i am filled with too much bitterness and resentment.
swine flu
i’ve been sniffling and sniffling a lot and i have a runny nose. omg i have the symptons of swine flu sans fever and cough. omg. im going to impose self quarantine.
wanna be hugged so badly
in the midst of packing…a ton of mess lying on my floor. i came with one luggage. somehow or another my worldly possessions have increased exponentially to fill another luggage and a rucksack. met up with hyunji and caroline today, it’s difficult to think that we may never see each other again – but caroline says, any way or another, we’ll meet in heaven.
gonna have dinner now, at 2342..what am i thinking?! i’ve been having a bit of gastric problems since i came here. i suppose it has to do with starting to cook only when you feel hungry, and by the time your food’s ready, the gastric pains have already taken hold.
and so i whine
i don’t want to leave st john newland! i did not expect myself to cry at the end of my stay in hull, but for st john newland, i shed my tears. i keep tearing even as i study, i don’t know how to deal with this parting. when i left singapore, there was always the certain knowledge that i will see my family and friends again, and so parting was sweet sorrow. but who knows whether i will ever return to hull again, and when? will my friends at the church still be around, worshipping at the same church? i can’t deal with this, and i can’t stop crying. i don’t want to leave st john newland.
a private place for you and me
it just came to mind that i would really like to book a hotel room to spend the night with amos. i feel so deprived of amos that i want one selfish night, away from anyone we know, away from our family and friends, to hide in a cosy room. to spend a private evening with him without having his sister knocking on the room door at 10pm with the most welcoming phrase – ‘isn’t it time for angeline to go home?’ to spend a night with both our phones switched off so that we wouldn’t be disturbed by anyone at all. a night where hopefully sex wouldn’t be introduced, but with a lot of cuddling nonetheless, to make up for four and a half months of not touching each other.a night lying comfortably side by side soaking in each other’s presence away from everything else.
he’s not going to agree. there goes my daydream – back to reality and exams.
