Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Stories about non-romantic love always touch me.
I saw this on facebook, Karen (Yeo)'s post.

When i saw a cashier hand this little boy his money back, the boy couldn't have been more than 5 or 6 years old. The Cashier said, 'I'm sorry, but you don't have enough money to buy this doll.'' The little boy turned to the old woman next to him, ''Granny, are you sure I don't have enough money?'' She replied, ''You know that you don't have enough money to buy this doll, my dear.'' Then she asked him to stay there for just 5 minutes while she went to look around. She left quickly. The little boy was still holding the doll in his hand. Finally, I walked toward him and I asked him who he wished to give this doll to. 'It's the doll that my sister loved most and wanted so much for Christmas. She was sure that Santa Claus would bring it to her.' I replied to him that maybe Santa Claus would bring it to her after all, and not to worry. But he replied to me sadly. 'No, Santa Claus can't bring it to her where she is now. I have to give the doll to my mommy so that she can give it to my sister when she goes there.'

His eyes were so sad while saying this, 'My Sister has gone to be with God. Daddy says that Mommy is going to see God very soon too, so I thought that she could take the doll with her to give it to my sister.'' My heart nearly stopped. The little boy looked up at me and said, 'I told daddy to tell mommy not to go yet. I need her to wait until I come back from the mall.' Then he showed me a very nice photo of himself. He was laughing. He then told me 'I want mommy to take my picture with her so she won't forget me.' 'I love my mommy and I wish she didn't have to leave me, but daddy says that she has to go to be with my little sister.' Then he looked again at the doll with sad eyes, very quietly. I quickly reached for my wallet and said to the boy. 'Suppose we check again, just in case you do have enough money for the doll!'' OK' he said, 'I hope I do have enough.' I added some of my money to his without him seeing and we started to count it. There was enough for the doll and even some spare money. The little boy said, 'Thank you God for giving me enough money!' Then he looked at me and added, 'I asked last night before I went to sleep for God to make sure I had enough money to buy this doll, so that mommy could give it to my sister. He heard me!'' 'I also wanted to have enough money to buy a white rose for my mommy, but I didn't dare to ask God for too much. But He gave me enough to buy the doll and a white rose.'' 'My mommy loves white roses.'

There was a subsequent part to this, but i felt that it ruined the narration because it had brought the focus to the author. Its about how the author went to the funeral and saw the doll, rose and photo in the coffin, as well as how she had read about the road accident that had caused the death of the boy's family. It concluded with how the drunk truck driver had taken the boy's family away in just one instance.

out of focus.

but the first part of the story is, albeit cliche, really touching because i believe we all yearn to tell our family that we love them, yet circumstances may make it awkward for us to do so. Maybe our sadness does not go fully to the boy's loss, but to ours, as we remain silent and hope that our loved ones can miraculously understand that we appreciate them.

Even typing this is an awkward task.
It may be ironic, but i hope my parents dont see this.

Monday, September 26, 2011
if i die, somebody should read all the posts that i draft but do not publish.
I really want to write a book under a pen name, just to find out if people can relate to me.

but im too caught up with living a mainstream life, so excuse me while i put off my interests for the sake of securing an income in the future.


Saturday, September 24, 2011
i thought my life could go back to normal after art.
I'd be able to study really hard and finally see more of my non-art friends.

But life after Art is kind of bland.
no more 11pms in school, no more additions to my paint-stained skirts, no more...less stress.
(the stress thing is as indicated by amount of hair-fall which decreased by 60% just one day after coursework submission, as well as the ceasure of spotting, which is a girl thing that some might not want to google about-.-)

i havent seen many non-art friends because they all mug without me, and i havent been studying, as i had previously imagined. Seems that my entire academic-conditioning has been eroded.

but despite having compromised on the academic content that i could have gathered had i spent less time on my coursework, ive still learnt alot.

ive come to realise that support can make alot of difference.
my parents were understanding and theyve helped me alot.
My mum'd fetch me from the nearby mrt with her bicycle when i carried large art baggages, and my dad helped me with my pipe connectors, consequently hurting his hand.
my brother. hm. he says stuff like "jie, jiayou for ni de art ah" sometimes, and i answer grudgingly with an animal sound though its nice of him.

esther made me dinner when i stayed late in school once, and even made ginger soup, though i hadnt drunk it because i dont like ginger. loved the pineapple rice.
linda bought me 2 sets of paintbrushes when i lamented that my paintbrushes werent the right size once, and i was really touched cos i could only bear to buy one but she went to the trouble of getting 2 sets to make sure i had the right range of sizes and brush types.
wanying always asked me to take her dad's ride home when public transport became too much of a trouble because the late nights in school could stretch to 1130pm, and she'd insist on sending me back. we also visit each other's homes very often, and her dad is really funny! She's one whom i can talk to about the distressing life of artists, and i adore her final work and prep boards.
chua'd ask her mum to fetch me when i dont go back with wan, and there was a period of time when she'd urge BTW or the latest revised version, BTWN whenever i get distracted, which was great help. (BTW is back to work, and BTWN is BACK TO WORK NOW!!!!) she's also loud, and the art room has more human life...or perhaps not human, around when she's there.
hanxi'd always ask about my progress, and when i start to feel lousy and want to give up, she'd be encouraging and give suggestions to help me continue. I even stayed over at her house once so that we could pull an all-nighter and do art all night (though i crashed the next morning). her parents were also very kind to me and i had alot to eat at her house:D i cant possibly mention all the help she's given, but its been incredible.
pearlyn sends me texts sometimes asking me to be careful when i go home late, or reminding me that i spend too much time on art so that i dont neglect other subjects:) she also asks me along to lunch and stuff even though i cant join them on most occasions. Most people would have forgotten or decided i wasnt worth the effort after a while.
amanda saved us all. simple as that:)
samantha struggled with me so we didnt feel too alone.
Ms Teh made me feel more hopeful about art, and she's really funny, as well as is a wonderful teacher.
Ms Gao gave me some good advice, like not throwing my drawings and stuff away even though i may be really tempted to do so, as well as documenting my work with backups so that if my computer crashes, i wont lose everything.

Along the way, other friends have helped by texting and asking me how its been going, and ive also heard that heather asked a junior not to do her silkscreen on my coursework space because cleaning it is quite hard work. It was really kind of her to keep a lookout for me(:
Weiqing's spontaneous hugs have also been very much welcomed.

so what i had truly wanted to say is,
thank you:)

btw (by the way, not back to work)
i woke at 5pm today, having slept since 12 or 1am last night.
i never got to see the light.
finally, on my bed since weeks of staying up or falling asleep on the couch.

pearlyn, the matcha sweet that you recommended is nice:D
and stop talking about me with weian behind my back! Yall keep describing my hedonic lifestyle as art, sleep, art, sleep.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011
it is only 11.27pm.
16 minutes after i had met 11.11pm.

but i am really tired already.
why liddat.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011
If my blog were an art piece, it'd be a draw between Realism and Pop Art.
Perhaps somewhat Impressionistic too.
Yet i'm using New Media representation, so it'd be more fittingly called Contemporary art?
[editor's note: sorry, having known more about contemporary art, i now realise that concept makes contemporary art, not so much of the medium. the medium is just a recurring trait.]

Realism because the posts reflect how i feel when i blog--my thoughts, my lack of thoughts, and the what-nots..perhaps a large portion of it dedicated to rants and complaints.

Pop Art because there's quite abit of popular culture in it. Plus its not very meaningful and most things are presented in its most superficial form. Very Andy Worhol.

It is frivolous (oh my, anyone thinking Rococco?), and my thoughts are not fluent. They jump from sentence to sentence, drawing a parallel to Impressionist Paintings where brushstrokes are done in a painterly way, and the colours are unblended. But yet it is able to convey an image, an overall picture. Hm, my favourite Art movement thus far. Favourite piece is called Woman With A Parasol, Claude Monet.

Sometimes i have the urge to blog meaningful, positive things. Things that are more universal, more Miss Universe/Goody-two-shoes..but i feel weird doing it cos im not a very comforting person by nature.

It is at those moments, that i feel ashamed of all the immature things that i have posted, all the insignificant rants and stuff, which do not actually reflect who i am as a person, because as any fellow blogger'd understand, people post things that are driven by strong emotions. As such, posts are often very angry, melancholic, overly optimistic, and rarely neutral or ordinary.

Yet i am not always at my most emotional extremes.

If i were diagnosed through my blog, i'd probably be bipolar. or tri. oct.

It is at these moments, that i want to delete the blog, hide it, destroy it, forget about it. But thanks to something called the digital footprint as well as our memories, i cant. Someday, all these nonsense will be dug out again, so it's impossible to deny the existence of all these grammatical errors, heh.

I want to end this post already although i have not actually come to a very proper conclusion. Awkward ending, as though my post has been cropped to suggest more things going on beyond the post(canvas). haha, sounds familiar?
Yeah Impressionstic paintings' trademark once again.
Cropping at awkward places.



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