V

"Who are you?"

"Who...Who is but the form following the function of what, and what I am is a man in a mask."

"Oh I can see that."

"Of course you can. I'm not questioning your powers of observation; I'm merely remarking upon the paradox of asking a masked man who he is."

"Oh, right."

"But on this most auspicious of nights, permit me then, in lieu of the more commonplace sobriquet, to suggest the character of this dramatist persona.

Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous visitation of a bygone vexation stands vivified, and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin vanguarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition. The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose, so let me simply add that it's my very good honor to meet you and you may call me V."

V for Vendetta

Anger, Assumptions and Androgyny

It was my second time to that salon.

Upon arrival, my eyes met with an astonishing character. Disturbingly astonishing. From vague recollection, I saw him around the last time I came, but never up this close. It was a permanent impression.

He immediately detected my presence and rose to receive my advent with a promotional offering of services.

Herein lies the dilemma. The stupidest thing is, I didn’t know how the hell to address him, or her in that sense. But I guess, for the sake of convenience and ethics here, let us just utilise the paradigm of "he".

On the other hand, my eyes were completely fixated at his elaborate…phenotype.

His face was pallid with thick layers of mascara, with a tinge of reddish-beige sprinkled at the top of his cheeks. A glistening crystal rested blissfully upon his right earlobe. His eyelashes seemed to reach towards mine, and his lips were two distinct creases of bright red. His hair danced in curls from his head all the way to just below his shoulders, and the most formidable perfume penetrated my olfactory defenses like spear and rice-paper. I could have sworn he looked almost identical to Michael Jackson.

He spoke with the most bizarre Mandarin accent, and as such I couldn’t hear nuts. But that wasn’t the only reason. My reserve buckets of attention, all that were left from the busy day, were completely stolen by the pitch of his voice. I thought there were birds in the shop.

So I starting conversing in English, but as soon as I realized we weren’t getting anywhere, I approached another hairstylist near the counter, whom I contrived to be, erm, evidently more perpendicular to the ground. I soon found out that my previous hairstylist was on leave, so he proposed I come back on Wednesday if I had specifically wanted her to get the job done. But since I was already there, I might as well just get it done, so I said to him, “Anyone will do.”

That may have been the stupidest thing I’d ever have said in my entire life. Word of advice, don’t use ANYONE ANYHOW.

Mr. Happy then came over to guide me to a seat. And I was like “Oh @#$%.”

Well, what could I have done? So I put my bag down, got my ass on the chair, donned the prevent-hair-from-falling-onto-your-skin-and-clothes-rubber-cloth-cover-sheet thingy, told him how I wanted my hair to be done, and he started working on it.

We had an amazing conversation of four lines.

“你今年几岁？”

Cool, I understood him.

“十六。”

“哦，刚放学是吗？”

“Er, 对。”

Ok, so maybe it wasn’t going to be so bad after all. As soon as he finished snipping the back, I remembered something I forgot to tell him.

“Er, (long pause because I didn’t know whether to call him Uncle, Sir, or 小姐), 你可不可以把我旁边的头发剪得touch 不到耳朵吗？” I gestured. (Pardon my bilinguistic ineptitude)

There was a short pause.

“我还没有剪好！等一下你要我剪多短我就给你剪多短！” He lashed.

I couldn’t tell if my face was cringing, my glasses were on the table. There was a deafening silence. After 3 seconds, I retracted my right arm, he resumed cutting.

At the corner of my eye I could see his expression. He was DAMN PISSED. His lips continuously muttered vague whispers of “我还没有剪好”. Quite differing from what was repetitive in my mind at that moment. Two phrases. “Siao!! What the hell!?” and “My hair’s screwed.” My fears were met. His hand motion increased in speed, and so did the razor activity of his scissors. The deadly combination of flesh and steel circled the side of my head in a blur, even when it was right next to my ear, and I felt my hair growing thinner, and thinner, and thinner, and EVEN thinner. I was completely at his mercy.

That’s it; he was taking it out on my hair. At that moment a very random thought entered my mind. Hairstylists would make really efficient terrorists in future when nanobombs are invented. But I shoved that notion away; I had more important things to worry about.

He tilted my head with a crude stroke, snipped some more, another tilt, another snip. Even so, this didn’t seem to appease his wrath; his hysterical lip movements hadn’t ceased. I thought his perfume was going to crush my throat as he continued his athletic endeavour to scare the shit out of me.

When he was done, I didn’t dare look myself in the mirror. Then, the squall turned to a gentle breeze.

“来，把你的眼镜戴上。我帮你style你的hair.” What’s that supposed to mean to me, someone else has a similar level of linguistic incompetence? Absolutely not, it was the comfort of casual colloquy.

I put my specs on. First impression: Eh it’s not bad!

He continued to apply some gel, simultaneously telling me about the different kind of techniques I could use, the different hair products I could use, all with deepest affability. Or maybe it was because of the contrast I perceived. Then he lifted the covers, and two dark blue handprints on my pants greeted me with a cooling, deriding sensation. I almost laughed aloud. I wonder if I’ll go back there again.

And that’s anger, assumption and androgyny for you. Here’s what I look like now haha. Not bad right!?

Hey hey, my brows are asking,
"Look above us, what do you think?"

By the way, after paying the bill, he gave me his namecard. It said "Michael".

Golden

I think I'm getting lazier. This 3-month-old baby blog seems to be diminishing in posting frequency. And it'll continue to go down the hill as I phase into mug-mode for T2 Common Test, Mid-Years mildly put. I seem to be the only one is class who hasn't really hit the books yet, but who knows, sometimes inspiration can be so strong it pulls you away from everything.

Anyways, this song below is dedicated to everyone who lays eyes on this post, no matter who you are, and especially to Aiping, whose birthday happens to fall on today.

Happy Birthday to You!

Click there to play! --------------------->

Golden by Switchfoot

(Like freedom in spring)

She's alone tonight with a bitter cup and
She's undone tonight, she's all used up,
She's been staring down the demons
Who've been screaming
She's just another so and so,
Another so and so

You are golden,
You are golden, Child
You are golden,
(Don't let go)
(Don't let go tonight)

There's a fear that burns like trash inside
And your shame of the curse that burns your eyes
You've been hiding in your bedroom,
Hoping this isn't how the story has to go
It's not the way to go,
It's your book now,

You are golden,
You are golden, Child
You are golden,
(Don't let go)
(Don't let go tonight)

You're a lonely soul in a land of broken hearts
You're far from home, it's a perfect place to start

(Yeah!)
(Burn)
(Burn, Burn!)

So this final verse is a contradiction
And the more we learn the less we know

We've been talkin' about a feeling,
We both know inside but couldn't find the words
I couldn't write this verse,
I've seldom been so sure,
About anything before

Golden,
You are Golden, Child
You are Golden,
(Don't let go)
(Don't let go tonight)

This world is a dead man down (Golden, you are)
Every breath is a fading crown we wear (Golden, Child, you are)
Like some debilitated king (Golden, don't let go)
Don't let go tonight

The Earth spins and the moon goes round (Golden, you are)
The green comes from the frozen ground (Golden, Child, you are)
And everything will be made new again (Golden)
(Like freedom in spring) (Golden, Golden)

Hey, like freedom in spring, (Golden, you are, hey)
Like freedom in spring (Golden, Child, you are)
(Gold...)

Charade of the Chimera

Happy 16th birthday JGoh!

Fish and Co. was excellent. I'll never forget the Swordfish Collar. AND the box of condoms heh. Took miles for us to get it for you.

This one's dedicated to a special group of people.

p.s. you might want to check out what chimera actually means I assure you I don't suggest the existence of any mythical creature of the sort, not even in this context.

Charade of the Chimera

We are three demons and we burn our lives
trying to wreck your soul, to pull you apart
to pull you away, away..

My name is skin but they call me exterior
You dress me up and you polish my sheen
but I’m always looking so inferior
to you
What do you want from me?
Demons and men have nothing in common
but I just enjoy this imprudent disorder,
when life’s all about eyes and ears
and I just live off your ornate caricature.

My name is faded and jaded and faded
Why must you make it so complicated?
Why can’t you just show that I’m standing beside you
when you know someday
some light will come this way?
I’m so alone because you keep me far away
from other people with demons like me.
Since you think I’m so much bigger and scarier
won’t you open this cage to set me free,
so that I won’t have to be
a part of “me”?

My name is intrinsic and everyone knows it
I am the winds of the hurricanes and the seas
Yet you can give me a transparent casing
to give my eyes roads, keep my ethereal hands waving
at everyone, everyone, I am not over yet
everyone, everyone I am not over yet
This fool thinks I am.
This fool thinks I’m lost and away in the daylight parade
but the night returns with the wounds still bleeding
with the wounds still laughing at
this ornate caricature.
Oh boy, you can’t think, but at least you can still draw.
You draw well.
Just well.

~tc©

Salvation of the Amnesiac (White)

YEAH!!! 20th post.

Please read this s l o w l y.

Salvation of the Amnesiac (White)

Yesterday was a smudge in the sky
Now was all she had
left behind
And she smiled at the new stuffed toys
resting on her bed
She got new toys everyday
New dresses and a new way of tying her ponytail
She never kept the outside screams
nor the teases, nor even any incoming mail
She just had the one same dream
of smearing her own doodles
her very own doodles
into blotches that seemed to gleam
with a blinding white.

Yesterday was a cross on a hill.
She heard that someone paid the bill
for the meals her granddad had
a long long time ago
“Those are bad for your health, dear.”
“Yes sweetie, mummy’s right, so just run along now, ok?”
Her teeth were really white.

She skipped back to her toys
and she beamed with joy
when Bunny told her she’d be alright.
Oh, how she loved her toys.
And then, she found a new storybook
She promised Bunny she’d read it to everyone
She knew it’d be so much fun
because her audience was never the same.

And one day she was taken away
from her teddy bears
and lullaby days
Those people in white coats
were right
their silver cords and nerdy eyes
They were right
Sooner or later she’d have to go
someday, today
But Bunny was right too
“You’ll be alright.” (smiles)

“It’s over now, you’re by My side, you’ll be alright. You’re white inside.”

~tc©

Epiphany - Part 1

Everything makes sense now. It's a revelation.

Whatever His plans are for me, it goes even beyond the most inflated definitions and borders this world has for superiority.

Again this has arisen from a series of casual musings, late-night to be exact. Thursday was the last day of my attachment at the Biopolis. During our lunch break my friends and I ventured outside the food court after our lunch to explore the jewelery bazaar lined up neatly along the roads. My narcissistic nature controls the feminine side of me, and thus explains a few of my radical reservations for metrosexuality. Of course, this also shows why I have an eye for shiny things. We probed around for about 20 minutes, and I bought this ring which just happened to catch my attention. I didn't know to what about it I was attracted, but time was running out and I promised the she in me that I had to spend, so I gave him the cash.

Fast forward. Herein lies the narration of my act of stupidity. Back at Proteos building where and as the other group finished their presentation, I lazily slapped my right hand on the tables in a continuous motion -- an apathetic effort to applaud with one hand. Then I realized was wearing my ring. Then I realized what an idiot I was. Then I realized I'd scratched my barely 1 hour old object of vanity. Oh yeah, and I went "SHIT!" really loud too. Here's what it looks like now.



See that blot there right under the crystal? That's it. And then the next day, which was yesterday, Good Friday, it came. And it just HAD to be on yesterday. The ring was no coincidence. Now just take a look a that picture again. This is where it gets complicated.

As you can see, the ring is composed of two separate layers, the top possessing a polished, mirror like shine, and the bottom having a more metallic, chromed surface, duller and much less gleaming. The upper layer represents God and His divine being. His existence is glorious, bright, clear, palpable, arresting, and you cannot hide from it, because once you look into it, all that is visible is your wretched nature reflected off the mirror of such a sacred entity. There is a stark contrast between the two layers. You cannot hope to look Him in the eyes because all you get is your aberrant self thrown back to you repeatedly in the face of dazzling light.

The lower layer is composed of metal whose surface has been deliberately blurred, as if it wanted hide something, or hide from something. This is analogous to our falling short of the glory of God. We cannot shine as conspicuously and as radiantly as we once did when He first made us. And we’re constantly reminded of this fact because we bear an insignia of sin, just like the scar I gave my ring right below the crystal. The blemish was permanent; it was unsightly. We couldn’t erase it even if we wanted; it was embedded into our nature. Sin was embedded into our nature.

The two are separated just as we were divorced.

But along strode the diamond. Ok it’s not really a diamond it’s just some bogus piece of crystal. Let’s just take it as a real diamond for the sake of the analogy. The reason diamonds and crystals can boast of such a scintillating sparkle is because of a scientific phenomenon called total internal reflection. Total internal reflection is an optical phenomenon that occurs when light strikes a medium boundary at a steep angle. If the refractive index is lower on the other side of the boundary no light can pass through, so effectively all of the light is reflected.

Ok this is physics. Optics to be exact. Let me first assume you know what refraction is. Basically it happens like this. A light ray enters the diamond, is refracted by the surface by which it enters, hits the other surface by which it’s supposed to exit, but does so at or beyond an angle known as the critical angle (which is determined by the refractive index of the material), and so is consequently refracted, or in this case, reflected back into the diamond. This continues until the light ray hits an angle where it can finally escape from the diamond. Sometimes it never does until a few years later. Light that enters the diamond can get trapped in there for a very long time. This is what makes a diamond look so shiny when viewed from the outside, like a transparent particle with brightness frolicking within.

So why did I choose light to explain this? Is it because Jesus is the one to light our path? Is it because the Bible says we are the light of the world? No. It’s more physics again. Light has one very unique property that scientists have proved but are still struggling to explain. Light exists both as a particle and as a wave at the same time, just like Jesus, who parallels this attribute by descending on earth one hundred percent God and one hundred percent man. No theologian can tell you how it’s possible. And like the light in the diamond, flesh and spirit, He allowed himself to be trapped within the tortures of this world; He enforced humanistic limitations upon Himself, He embraced the limits of tolerable pain. But He also established victory over death; the light ray found an egress.

And in that God bestowed upon undeserving mankind the glorious hope of eternal salvation and reconciliation, just as the diamond bridges the gap between the two layers of conflicting metal, just like the magnificence and splendour of heavenly opulence the diamond exudes in its sparkle with which the beholder adores like a caressing to his heart. This is faith, hope and love.

Amazing?

God is.

The Shape Awaits, the Words Proceed

Greetings from the new man who has recently arose with spiritual rejuvenation and enlightenment from the attendance the pair of BGR talks held in fellowship the past fortnightly saturdays.

Ok forget that, it sounded too artificial lol. But sincerely, the series of "intimate" seminars have truly shed light on a few of my most shadowy of doubts pertaining to the matter. And because of these things, my Switchfoot obsession has again not failed to manifest, and it is with great pleasure for me that I share this wonderful song "Easier than Love", which has been newly uploaded RIGHT there -->

So please listen, and don't get put off by the first word of the song; this is one of those I can really identify with in this modern society :D.

Below - nothing that's gotta do with what I said on top.

The Shape Awaits, the Words Proceed

He’s been sleeping inside your head
from the time you first opened your eyes
He slowly wakes up in the cold dark night
his boundaries are always so grey
He pacifies your dreams
and haunts the lights
You can never ensure
that he turns out right.
He gives you wings of grace
but threatens to steal them
feather by feather
lest you lose your own race
You can’t really hold him in your hands
Sometimes he’s too slippery
Sometimes he’s the only oasis
in these washed out lands.
Sometimes there are others around,
but they're still part of him.
You know he’s there forever till death
but his last vestiges avoid your eyes
till final, final breath.

I know someone who knows him really well.

Do you?

~tc©

"The future is a question mark with kerosene and electric sparks."

Switchfoot

"Burn out Bright"