Just uploaded the pictures taken at Senior Camp. Enjoy. NBS Camp awaits. Yay!

Ha. Ha. Haaaaaaa. Pump it. Pump it. Pump it. Heh. This is the dance track for the main comm dance next Wed for NBS camp. 'Pump It' by Black Eye Peas. The music is fast, which pissed me off as my body coordinations couldn't adjust as effectively as I had wished. Sigh. Had been very busy the past few days. So busy that I couldn't spare the time to consider the double specialization offer seriously. NTC, IIC, FOC. Shucks. Damn tired from all the travelling. Looking forward to lotsa things though. Pre-camp, NBS camp, my new Hall 5 single room. Whoo. Has got no mood to blog actually. A lot of things on my mind. Let's hope the next week will ease my mood a little. So long.

Everyday is an exciting day for me. Today, my left hand was in a stranger's mouth for a cool 30 seconds. It was Subject Registration Day. Me, Tim, Kenny, Fai and Anto were in CITS before it was even 1030. FYI, subject registration was supposed to start at 1230. Seriously, the registration system helps cultivate the kiasu culture in us Singaporeans. Anyway, we were there discussing possible tactics and strategies. Fai taught us to click submit and then press enter continously to increase our hit rate. Kenny suggested raising false alarms around CITS to distract the competitors. Lame tactics were emerging to ease our tense nerves as 1230 crept nearer. And whoosh! The page loaded slowly, but surely. Fai got his at the first attempt, while me, Tim, Kenny and Anto were left devastated by our 50% hit rate. We shouted out the next indexes in line, and viola! we were done. Even the fact that we would have 8 hours of tutorials straight on Tuesday couldn't take away our satisfactions. 2 minutes was all it took for all of us to get the same timetable. High 5s were five-d, laughters all around. Everyone was happy... ..till the guy in front of us self-destructed. He was banging his head against the table, raising his hands uphigh, as if challenging the computer to give him a better timetable. The gal beside him was worried. The guy would then stand up and tremble and growl with eyes rolled up, before collapsing onto the floor eventually. We rushed forward to catch his fall. The gal was frantic. "Don't let him bite his tongue off!" The next second saw my left hand stuffed on top of his foamy tongue. What a mistake, I thought, for I had place my fingers in, instead of the more fleshy palm. My mind was filled with "What if he bite? Another surgery for me?" Luckily for me, a wallet would come to replace my precious fingers. He soon went into unconscious state, snoring deeply and strangely. We rested him down, my salivery left hand subconsciously wiping itself against the poor guy's shirt. We took a look at the poor guy's screen. His timetable was a hectic 5-day week including 4 830am slots. I supposed anyone would have fainted upon seeing it. Sigh. On a sidenote, we concluded that we were partially at fault for his fit. High 5s and victory pats should never be exchanged in an environment that had so much stake put onto it.

Suffering from Senior Camp hangover at the moment. It's a long time since we gathered in huge groups like this. It was pure fun and joy. We played and got merry from start till end. It was like a group made in heaven. No losers who won't cheer loudly or yawn annoyingly at wee hours. We played and cheered with gusto. We wore our hearts on our sleeves. Teh Ping (Merlot and Chablis combined) rocks. At first, the nightmare of getting a complete duplicate of the Trial Camp was immense. It got to the point where me and JS decided that no matter what the consequences were going to be, we had to initate a kinda spirit into our own Teh Ping, and thereafter, the Milos, Kopis and Horlicks. Boo jeers were recollected. Perm markers and nail polishers were stocked. We wanted to rub the excitment into a rapidly depleting NBS spirit. It was uncalled for, as the Milos, Kopis and Horlicks came well prepared. Neverthesless, we strived to build a fortress-strong bonding within Teh Ping. Name games were played at incredible high pace, we cliqued at bullet-train speeds. Within half an hour, we looked like bosom friends. The field games proceeded on without much of a scratch. Dodgeball's flaws were repaired by spontanteous MB, Dirty Canvas went on without too much complaints. Abit of glitches here and there, but we proved ourselves able to patch them without fuss. It was not bad after all. Rooms for improvement though. Pool games was relaxing. No more jokers who tried to undermine the CPs' efforts by refusing to enter the pool. Everyone was enjoying the lavishing waters under the scorching sun. We were cool. Finale game was next. S4 was the playground as we scurried into classrooms with enthusiasm. Adding the betting element into it would be the perfect enhancer to relight the dying flames for the freshies on Day 5. We were damn cool. Night games were abit of a rush. Felt apologetic for LM because her rush to meet the coach's timing was intensified by us bloodsuckers, who dilly-dally through our morning and afternoon games. In the end, everything was cut short, with LM looking absolutely dejected. She was easily cheered up though, so we were cool again very quickly. The next morning saw us packed like sardines as Jeff stacked us CPs into his truck. We were locked like war criminals for a freaking good 30 minutes before we alighted at Sentosa, getting ready for beach games. Serene and Chriss' games were interrupted with occasional rain, but even that couldn't dampen our spirits. As the OGs carried on with their individual bondings, we got ourselves geared and psyched up for the main event - the Fright Night. The 'ghosts' were ferried to the entrance of Dragon Trail where we got ourselves dressed up to scare the living hell of the remaining peeps. Mel, Jol and HS were busily dolling up us 'ghosts' with face paint and eyeliners. Soon, we were almost unrecognized 'cept for our voices. Blemished with scars and blood stains, I must admit we looked seriously frightening in the photo which we took afterwards. The GLs and maincommers entered the sacred ground upon sunset, taking every step with extreme caution. Shrieks and shrills could be heard from even faraway. I was in charge of the holding area as a friendly ghost, but I simply couldn't resist giving those 'humans' a go. After the last group had left Dragon Trail, we did a quick washup as the Aranda coach await us. The face paint on my forehead was so thick and wasteful that it took me a fucking long time to rub off. Coupled with the the sunburn that I inherited during the day, Mel had delivered the ultimate sucker punch on me. Ouch! Prata house was next, as we had our second supper together as Teh Ping. We were a siao-on and happening bunch, as I have mentioned earlier. So much that I couldn't contemplate getting another sister other than Bloodstone for our Topaz. Perhaps it shouldn't have come as a surprise. Seriously speaking, those who came are 'onz' people. Good bonding would have come naturally too, I supposed. I figured that if it was Merlot, maybe, just maybe, the effects could be very much different. And in that, I meant less fun. Perhaps Merlot has become a yesterday. Teh Ping is the craziest gang at the moment. Exciting times ahead for Topaz. Hurray!

It's been a long time since I did something quite like this. In fact, the decision I took was quite a gamble. It could succeed and propel me to heavenly status. It could also fail, dumping me into eternal shame. I did what no man has tried - I brought a cake with a solitary burning candle into the cinema. It was one of those ideas that got into me as I try to sleep. It was great, I thought. Coupled with the right ambience and the suspense element, it could become one of the best birthday surprises for years to come. Me, the pioneer. I fell asleep, convincing myself that I am the maestro architect of great ideas. In the end, I would falter. I was so un-myself. I wanted to scrap the plan but the voice in me told me not to waste the cake, as if it's not wasted already. It was heavily indented on one side by the time I was ready to perform the stun. The embarrassment in me advised against singing the birthday song. So, poor gal made the wish and blew out the candle, with the ushers looking on, giggling at my simplicity. I felt like gunning myself but I reckoned my skin has enough armor to pull me through. It would be perfected over time, I consoled myself as the both of us left Mr & Mrs Smith behind.

After a long working day, the most coveted prize you crave for would be a seat in the crowded train on your way home. Not when an Indian would eventually sit beside you though. A sweating one, to make things worse. It's like deja vu, plummeting myself down into the toilets of Kanchanaburi Camp two years ago. They were no ordinaries toilets. Flooded ones, they were. Flooded with shit, that is. Now, I do not mean that Indians are shit or smell like one, but frankly speaking, the dreadful feeling I got on the train today was exactly the same one I experienced at the forbidden grounds of Kanchanaburi. Coincidence or not, it's highly debatable, considering that shit had become an integral part of today's racist jokes. I'm being no racist here though. I'm just like the people who couldn't stand the smell of durians and chou-tou-fus. I'm allergic to the essence of Farrer Park and Little India,that's all. To be fair, we would probably smell as rotten to the Indians and the Westerns. Let's just take it that we couldn't tahan the smell of one another. To put my point across, I happen to be just as allergic to the PRCs and Norwegians of my hostel. Perhaps my nose was more sensitive than usual today, the Indian next to me somehow managed to bring back memories of my ill-fated trip to the Kanchanaburi toilets. Sewage systems in the rurals were never promising, but 300 soldiers with 5 non-shitting days behind them was always going to be a handful for 2 bowls, no matter how well-maintained they were. The painful flashbacks came back strongly at me. It was my 5th non-shitting day. The irresistable urge to excrete asap was somehow successfully countered by the gooey sight that will scar me psychologically forever. It was disgusting, gross and appalling. That must have been 20 individual shits piled on one another, I thought. Different colours, forms, length, textures. Entirely different. It's like saying no two fingerprints are alike. Add urine and flies (of all colours as well) to that lump and you would have the ultimate Fear Factor tool. Urgh. My shit was stopped in their tracks. I simply couldn't do it. Anyway, the Indian alighted after a few stations. A relief, as I couldn't hold on any much longer. The puke feeling was on its way. Phew... If I have made any part of you nauseous during the course of reading this entry, my apologies.

From TODAY, quotes from Prof Tan Chin Tiong, SMU:

'NUS had always been the benchmark in the past. At NTU, apart from a few disciplines, the quality of students is still a notch lower than NUS. Even after being around for 25 years, NTU was not able to get the quality of students to compete with NUS.'

'SMU did that in just four years. It's going to be hard for the other two universities to replicate what we've done here. We are way ahead of them, infrastructurre-wise. They will have to catch up on other fronts. But this is what competition is all about.'

'Any way, worst things have been said about SMU by our friendly competitors, and we just laughed over them. If I offended you in anyway, my apology.'

[the publish of this entry was delayed momentarily, due to health concerns] IIC meeting was productive and fun, as it has always been. At least for me, it is. There were 2 new members (3 actually, but Audrey's still in Aussie), both whom I happen to know from past associations. Chriss was at her usual best, sprouting ideas at such breakneck speed that I could hardly string any 2 sentences together. She would then return to her stoning pose before the hyper clock within her prompted for more mayhem to be created among us. Dickson, on the other hand, was quiet. He is the chief artist behind this year's nicely done NBS booklet. A wicked thought broke loose within my tired brain for a moment, as I schemed on using his Photoshop talents for my own glory. *evil grin*

Iron Ladies was fun to watch. Not exactly funny, as I had anticipated. But the stroyline made me stay glued till the very end, although I swore I could write out the rest of the script at the halfway stage of the show. Problems in the dressing room, losing 2-0 before triumphing 3-2, injuries here and there, getting cheers and jeers, member skipping the all-important final, before coming back miraculously, etc, etc, etc. Wonderful ability I've mastered after 22 years of TV - the art of predicting what's going to happen next. Nevertheless, I finished the entire show, despite the absolutely horrendous voice dubbing. Thanks god it's a dual sound movie, so that I could actually switch the language and listen to the thais speak. Although I couldn't make out what the drag queens were talking about, it certainly sounded better than the chinese dubbers, who must have thought they were doing the voice-over for some eunuches. But then again, the constant blankos on the subtitles simply contradict the purpose of the dual sound. We switched to thai because the chinese sucked. But then Mediacorp smartly blanko every word that would look offensive. No spaces for shit or fuck or bitch or [fill in whatever expletives you can], thus leaving a helpless me trying to comprehend what the Thais were trying to communicate across to me most of the time. It's like watching wrestling with all the beeping - a constant and needless struggle. And there was those super-uper short blankos that I concluded 'it's so short it must have meant cb'. Anyway, don't we just love the underdogs? It doesn't matter who are playing the underdogs. We would support them anyway. Why? Partly because the non-underdogs are usually the baddies who would be portrayed so evilly that even Saddam would have condemned them. Away from the reel life, aren't we the evil people in real life? We stay clear from mentally ill people, AIDs victims, people who look unusually human, not to mention the gays and lesbians. Our tongues start wagging as soon as butches walk by. We start racists jokes and end up winning as the champion race. How is life different from the screen? We know who is right and wrong in the movies. But we just couldn't reenact what we learnt. We clapped for the Iron Ladies. We wept for the black victims in Hotel Rwanda. Show end, we make a discriminatory remark somewhere else. What does that make us? Let's put it this way: We simply can't think normally. As what coach Bee said, the Iron Ladies have more humanity than any of us, myself included.

Now you read my blog as Five For Fighting sings Superman to you. How appropriate. The idea of having a midi originates from PS, as I commented to her on MSN, how eerie her blog had sound. Apparently she had just downloaded a new template, not realising the gloomy music that came with it. She had not switched on her speakers back then, she explained. How cute. And then she recommended me this nice website which has some nice midi that you can apply to your blog. My blog has always been simple, because I just don't possess the patience to explore deep into this HTML thingy. PS went on and promised me that getting a midi is real easy, in a conversation that gave me the feeling of bewilderment, delirium and suspicion, rolled into one.

PS: You should try changing your skin, and add a midi to it. It's fun. Me: Nah. It's too much of a hassle. With or without a skin/midi, I'm still cool. :P PS: Yeah. True. Me: HUH? PS: Yeah. I mean, you are cool already.

Me: PS, hear this out. PS: Hmn. Coolness level 65. The music's quite short. Kept repeating. Me: 65? It would probably sound like a 30/100 to other readers. PS: 30? I so lenient meh? Me: You are!!

PS: Yeah man. We are all cool. Me: Puke. PS: ....

WinXP has crippled me yet again. So has Acer. So has the weather. And my sister. Yesterday's night was one of those nights. Late nights. Me telling dear ol' me that I should shut down the laptop and go to bed. But I would not. And how I regret it now. Perhaps I've been overworking my laptop ever since I got my home wired (or should I say wireless-ed? I'm not quite sure which word to use), that caused my laptop to go haywire and hang, forcing me to curse, hit the favourite 'ctrl+alt+del' combination continously (but to no avail) and finally punch the main switch to end my misery (and the laptop). Upon restarting the laptop, the fact, 'you should not punch the main switch needlessly' finally got into me. Patience has never been my one of my virtues. But as I recalled the actions that led to my downfall, I concluded that no amount of patience would lead to me not hitting that main switch eventually. I've been acquitted of all charges. Let's fuck Acer now, shall we? Now I'm in a complete mess. Should I be impatient again, reinstall WinXP using the pirated CD which I happen to possess, and risk losing everything else? Or should I wait till Monday, get the damned laptop to 8 Flags, so that the staff would diagnose it chim-ly and conclude that I do need to reinstall WinXP with my pirated CD. I chose the former. As my pirated CD works itself magically on my 'cannot-make-it' laptop, I shall perform my daily online SOP on the home PC now. My sister waits by the side, cursing under her breath why she did not make her move earlier. She practically spends more time at the computer than anywhere else in the house. She's becoming more like me. I wonder if it's in the blood. She must be the luckiest person in this family. Half of this new PC was bought using my own money, when I had a laptop to begin with. The speakers, the keyboard and the mouse, contributed unselfishly by me. Not to mention the $168 ADSL modem which I bought to accomodate 2 surfing computers under one roof. And the frequent shopping trips that got my poor mum poorer, thanks to the 'oh, so successful' Great Singapore Sale gimmick. Movies trips with her cousins were proudly(??) sponsored by my mum as well. My mum seemed to be running an underground money printing factory, which I could only imagine. If not, why doesn't she feel the pinch as HER money get dished out on never ending clothes that would never be donned on her? My dear sister hardly knows how difficult it is to earn money these days. She's turning 19 soon, and yet never has she worked a single hour before in her life. (I'm exaggerating. Of course she worked before. But not long.) Nobody in the family has got the nerves to question her. Fiery temper she has. She only talks to me nicely when she needs my shoe bag. Or my camera. Or when the home PC got cranky. Or when I'm useful! Her rude responses to my mum only irritate me more. Although I am just as guilty for the occasional rants that I unleashed on my poor mum, I am utterly disgusted by the way my sister treats her, especially after the hundreds my mum had just spent willingly (or not, I do not know) on their shopping trips. And for the record, that's the only time my mum would go shopping these days. Could my dear sister be more of a human, shows some gratitude to a parent who has showered unconditional love in the form of money (I strongly disagree with that), and be more responsive (at least on the surface, if you are so unwilling) to our 'no-longer-young' parents? We, ourselves are not young anymore. Think sensible. My laptop is calling out for me to give it attention. I believe I am soon becoming a 'format and reinstall' pro.

6 weeks into the holidays. My daily activities has evolved into a SOP. Read blogs. Write blogs. Email. FFVII. Trading Up. Occasional club meetings. Boring. Work? I've stopped working since I encountered SJ at my last job. Not gotten a single cent for my sweat on the sai-kangs. Better step up my pursuit for my hard earned cash. Photoshop and tennis. Think they would brighten up my holidays a little. Senior camp. NBS camp. They just can't come sooner, can they? Business Plan Competition. Hanging in the air. I've got to give it a go. Antonio and Kenny had just onz me. I need a business girl to complete the jigsaw. Audrey is my no.1 draft pick. And not to mention the hand surgery that I'm trying to postpone. It clashes with NBS Camp, you see. It only takes a phonecall to push back the date, but I'm putting it off for weeks. I'm damn lazy. So far, the holiday's one that I rather forget. I wished for an overseas trip. I wanted an intern. None of them materialise. Sigh. Hang on, dude. You're half way there.

The talk of NBS has been the double specialization programme that the school is offering to students with good grades. How they select the list of applicable students is somewhat controversial, because I've been somehow left out. The thing with NBS students is that they get so excited over invitations such as these, that they could lose sleep if they ever get missed out. Or they get it but they realise everyone's getting it. So before I knew about this programme, everyone's asking me whether I did receive it. Which I didn't. I've been left out. The thing about me (i'm not sure about others) is that I don't bow to failure easily. I don't quite condemn myself easily upon failure, telling myself that I don't deserve to be invited, that I've screwed myself once again, that I'm a one-off, that I probably won't survive in the double major thingy even if I've been invited. Fortunately (or is it so?) I'm not. I'm the sort of person who would appeal my arse off if I get a C for my grades. I just couldn't make myself to believe that I'm mediocre. So I emailed Jenny of the undergraduate office.

To Person-In-Charge, This is regarding the invitation for the double specialization programme. As a matter of fact, I did not receive the invitation email for a reason which I could not figure out. It arouses my curiousity as the exclusion can't be possibly due to poor grades. As a matter of fact, I scored 4As and 4Bs in my 1st year of study in the accountancy course, and I've heard friends, who fared worse, receiving the email. As such, I would like to clarify the situation with anyone who could possibly address my concerns. Kindly advice. With regards

You have done really well for your first year. However, I am afraid you have not met the entry criteria for the programme. As such, you have not been invited to apply. The selection procedure was careful and stringent. As such, students who have fared less well then yourself would not have received the invitation if you have not received it either. I know you will find this disappointing, but do note that you can still make use of GE AUs to take a minor and also electives offered within NBS. Hope this clarifies. Let us know if you require further clarifications. Best regards

Dear Jenny, Thanks for your reply. I appreciate your KIND and HELPFUL advice. Best regards

People (actually only Roy) ask why I write things that aren't even there. Superheroes. Strange encounters. They aren't even sure if the actual did happen. Alright, I write superheroes because I wanted to be one, obviously. In this complicated society, where villians are most likely to triumph over the 'nvm-lar-let-him-win-lor' people, we need a household superhero. One who is not afraid of the dark forces. One who has the capability to make villians bow. One who couldn't be bother with the consequences that his actions bring about. You know what I mean. Obviously I have never meant the policemen. Oh fuck, patrolling the streets with bullet-less pistols. Who are they freaking? Drunk ah-peks? Sad to say, but superheroes are mere myths. Maybe we see the occasional heroics from the brave ones once in a while. But when things get sticky, it's always better to mind OUR own business, yah? This superheroes fetish of mine began a long way back. My childhood dream was to become a Premiership player. I often imagined that I'll come back one day as national hero to save Singapore, bring them to the World Cup, and then sign for Real Madrid. More importantly, I wanted to save my primary school class. My primary school class sucked at soccer. Before the school tournament even began, I imagined I'd scored a hattrick, netting the winner in the very last minute of play, before dedicating the goal to my onlooking crush. It didn't materialise, of course. My crush couldn't be bothered with the match - she was playing zero-point somewhere else, I supposed. I didn't score. We got thrashed 4-0 or 5-0. We, being the losers, went back to our books and prepared for PSLE, while the winners (mostly Malays) went on and imagined they would win the World Cup and sign for Real Madrid. This unrealized fetish of being the hero-of-the-moment snowballed its way to the present day. I still see the typical big-bully-small situations these days, wishing that I could do something about it. If only I have super powers. If only I fight small crimes for a living. If only I could make a difference! Perhaps its the unfinished business with these part-time villians that presented my previous blog in a superhero light. Personally, I feel that its not a bad thing to have such lopsided imaginations afterall, although I admit that I think too much crap at times. Nevertheless, these thoughts might just convince myself that, yes, I can be the hero-of-the-moment one day. You never know.

Fret not, I still blog. The reason for ending dPx is because firstly, I have grown tired of writing imaginative superheroes and encounters. Secondly, to change the theme of the blog suddenly and write something serious would be a complete waste and shame, as dPx has evolved its way into a fun blog. Nevertheless, I will still blog. It just occurs to me that, once you get the hang of writing, you'll never stop. Yea, I love writing. dPx is a funny blog, and I am determined to make sure it remains funny. For those who read my blog religiously, you either find dPx funny or trying too hard to be funny. Either way, I still love you. If you feel like puking, its only natural. 'Cos I'm the renowned dua-pao-xian. Yeah, that's what dPx stands for, if you are still wondering. I imagine I write for a global audience. Bear with me. HA. Anyway, to those who are seriously interested in reading my thoughts, I've got my new blog set up. Its seriously more serious. No superheroes or ah-beng encounters. It bores me even.

Voice of the Streets

You know the stupid advertisement board that SMRT puts up for themselves? The one where they have a kuku bird sitting on a couch, asking us, "Why did the Dodo become extinct?" and giving us an answer in, "Because it didn't GET OUT enough." What's my point? My point is that you can put my picture to replace the Dodo very soon. ME. The perfect spokeman for people not getting out enough. "What? We're going NYDC? And where the hell is that?" "Oh, you mean you never go NYDC before? What a joke? (laughter all around) Have you been to Suntec before? (laughter all around) Have you stepped out of Hougang before? (laughter all around)" Seriously, I know very little hotspots in Singapore. Going out with me can be quite a bore. Standing beside with Jason, the know-it-all-kia, makes me look stupid. I seriously need to go out more often. Full stop. Anyway that was the mini conversation I had with Sharon just now. It was one of the million topics WE talked about during the foursome date. Not exactly we, as Sharon was the person who was doing the most talking, although a huge portion of the topics she started were left un-entertained in the air. Evil us, but then seriously, I was quite taken aback at her ability to chat. Sharon was well, well-mannered and kind, as I had expected. Not her chatterbox nature though. HA. But in a way, I was glad that she was so hyper throughout the date. For one, I am the shy type who would rather leave the talking to others in a first outing. So naturally, I was grateful the date didn't turn sour because of my lack of enthusiasm. Frm NYDC to Secret Recipe, she was talking. The chances of me having something to comment on, among all the various topics she thrashed out, was significantly raised. I don't know what's wrong with me, but it just so happens everytime with somebody I just know. For the record, I am not forever quiet and boring though. Long-time friends can testify that I am quite a blabbermouth myself and could say the lamest of things in the most inappropriate of situations. Just wait and see.

Today's chu yi, which means that our family is off to Bugis' Guangying temple to offer our appreciation. The bus we took was a single-decker 147. Strangely, my mum decided to occupy the green seats which were obviously intended for needys. In any case, I sat down with her, with my sister and cousin in front of us. Being the only bus from Hougang and Serangoon that goes to Bugis. Being chu yi. Being a single decker. The bus got crowded pretty fast naturally. And because most of the devotees were in their late ages, and that most of them couldn't get a seat, and that we happened to occupy the green seats, heads started to turn, with eyes staring at us as if hinting that it's about time we give up our seats. Which we didn't, of course. For a reason, as well. It is so plainfully weird that we, occupants of the green seats should be among the firsts to give up seats. For one, we were not nearer to any of these needys than the occupants of the pink seats in front of us. Could these dumb Singaporeans spare us the blushes by offering their seats instead? It's simply illogical that we give up our green seats so that the standing needy, 3 pink seats away from us, squeezes his way through the standing crowd and get his deserved green seat. Ridiculous. This was also the very same needy who would then find renewed strength in him later on to push his way to the front of the Guangying queue, making me wonder if he had seriously needed the seat moments ago on the bus. As a matter of fact, I had always refused to accept grey-hair peeps as needys. In any case, I would not condemn myself to become a needy when I reach that age. You see, my description of a needy is 'disabled peeps, heavily pregnant women, kids who couldn't stand on their own'. No, not bitches with loads of shopping bags. No, not elderies who could stand for hours queuing for the Chinese New Year Toto but not on crowded buses. In the end, my sister prompted my cousin to give up their seats to a pair of needys near them. The needys smiled back kindly, thinking in their mind how well-taught these gals are. If only my sister can stretch her kindness to the family, I say. In the family, she is as dao as you can imagine. But she smiles kindly to people like needys and salesgals. What is this world coming to?

Dinner with the same old pals. Except that it's not boring Can 2 now. Wong called surprisingly this morning to jio the 5 of us (Peck's excluded, busy I supposed) for dinner. A relief, as I had wanted to arrange dinner with them one of these days. And since Wong had volunteered for the sai-kang, hurray. Makansutra @ Esplanade was the location. Man, the food was good. Prawn mee, char kuay tiao, chicken wings, stingray, oyster omelette, sugar cane juices. Feast. Next up was Gelare. Hot fudge sundae, chocolate mudpie, waffle, mango ice-cream cake. Fantastic way to end the evening. My wallet was crying though. Everything's the same with the guys. Wong's still working at Cheers, Jason still rich and very much active with dates. Dav still very much without a target. Dan still pretty much without a clue. What about me? I thought for a moment. Sigh. I hardly have a clue too. Sometimes I wake up and search for my identity. Aimless and without a purpose in life, I gotta really start planning somewhere, somehow. I hope I get my path sorted out before I start regretting on the wrong turns I took.

Life's like a train. It can't run anywhere except where its rails take it.

dPx no more. Superhero yesterday. I wanted to escape from realism in the other blog. Life's back to norm now. Hurray. What I really want? I want to be able to scribble whatever hard feelings as soon as they are sent from my brain to my fingers as I type. I hate to structure stories painstakingly in an effort to please, although the end-results please me as well. But bottomline - it's a fucking waste of time. I've got nothing now. Not thinking though. So long.

The truth always hurts. Reality too. Thinking and writing about entries the very minute I'm awake. Do I want this all my life? Especially writing crap that doesn't make sense the second time I read it. Pretty amusing, I know. If my blog ever amuses you, it probably amuses me 10 times as much. I had fun writing it. But at the end of the day, it's still pretty much crap. Seriously, I have lost my original plot for starting a blog. I wanted a hassle-free diary. An online diary, on my daily reflections. I lost the plot somewhere, somehow. And I started to crap more and more. Mostly because of an audience, which I appreciated of course. For they praise and encourage me, to write more crap that is. But that's not I want, do I? I detest myself worrying that my next entry won't be as fun as the previous one. Hey, come on, I've got more important stuff to worry about. At the very least, that would certainly not end my world. Again, it's the audience that makes me push myself to write things that are fun. Not that I'm bhb, which I am for some reason, but then I imagined I write for a global audience. And then I want to avoid personal matters. "I had bread and kaya for breakfast and went swimming with so-and-so, and I came back with a nice tan." Kaya?? That's not what I want to read if I'm a reader. It bores the shit out of me. But it was a struggle to exclude them, I must say. I am especially thankful for the few comments my friends did give. "Nice writing style you have, the flow is very much approachable." I say thanks. "You have a queer sense of humor. Amusing blog." I say thanks. "I didn't know you write good English. I thought you were the cheena kinda person. Not bad ar, didn't know you can write." I say thanks. Sarcastically. I'm an undergraduate, for god sake. I know what's good English. And yea, I know how to write good English. And yea, I use the spell check. Don't question me!! HA. Probably I'll still post as dPx once in a while. Probably I'll end it with something ambitious. I've yet to think about it. Probably I'll start a new blog somewhere, but you guys might not want to read it anyway. Probably I'll get back to my original plan, that is to scribble daily collections in my yet-to-come-true blog. Probably it would bore the hell out of you. Probably it won't. I guess I bring my loser-kinda-humour everywhere I go. Probably. Speaking about my humour, I had painstakingly written these favourites. They stirred an awesome amount of laughter in me, and hopefully in you too. For my readers. My favourites.

A Snail Post Captain Christian dPx: A Crimefighter's Life And So The Story Goes On Eye For A Guy (version 2.5) If I Could Be Somebody For One Day And my favourite - Will The Real CD Pirate Please Stand Up

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In the 1990s, a group of impressionable young peeps watched way too much violence on television. Today they survived as defenders of their forgotten era. If something or someone is in jeopardy, and if you can find them, maybe u can hire the Chain Gang.

Yea, me. The Chain Gang. We are a group of problem solvers. We solve problems. We are as powerful as superheroes, but we ain't exactly superheroes because we commit crimes as well. You can call us mercenaries. We serve for a price, a price too steep at times. But nevertheless, we solve your problem, as clean as possible. The Ringleader. My Mercenaries. And of course, our Manservant. Come June 20th, the group of villians that threaten to pin us down forever, will get the taste of the...

The most evident change to HDB flats these days must be the improvement in lifts. Lifts moving up and down faster, lifts serving all storeys. The odd one still exists though. Sadly, mine moves like it has all the time in the world. So on this not-so-fateful day, I found myself in this lift. The last thing you need in this lift is to feel the urge to pee. Just imagine. Lift moving slowly, but the enticement to leak becomes increasingly tempting. Argh. As the door was about to close, a young nerd rushed in to share the lift with damn-desperate me. The scenario was embarrassing to say the least. Here I am holding my damned crotch, with my knees cramped together to tighten the grip on my balls. This young nerd looked on shockingly, as if I had juat appeared on the papers as a serial rapist. "You really shouldn't have done this," he said in a reprimanding tone. "I know sometimes they get kinda itchy, but you really shouldn't have behaved this way in front of me." As if I were having itchy balls then. But he just reminded me. I started to feel the itch. Curse you, I thought. "You know, what's itchy need to be scratch. Real men scratch them where they matter. So yah, if it itches, it will be scratched. You ought to try that someday." Young nerd looked at me with more shock. So much that I thought I had just nailed his Jesus. "What's with you guys? Rude and disgusting. Read the Bible for God's sake and learn the way to behave. You have sinned greatly, and although it's not too late to turn back, I'm rather reluctant to welcome you in. But then, I am taught to forgive. Sigh." What's with me? What's with you, I say. Some Christians would just go and on about their faith in their Lord, desperately convincing everyone around them that being a Christian is the way to go. They pitched their beliefs so vigorously that you thought they get commission for every newcomer. I was of course pretty pissed by then. Pissed with the lift, pissed with the urge, pissed with being stuck inside with Captain Christian. "HA. If you guys were anything near perfect, nobody would have to be nailed," I said defiantly, as if my only known-fact of Jesus is everything. Captain Christian couldn't believe what he was hearing. He was shocked in awe. I looked up, clearly ignoring his cock face. The lift had only got past the 2nd storey. There's no way I could hold the urge till I reached home. "And anyway, I need a pee, not a scratch. So if you don't mind, I need to release right here, right now." I unzipped and walked to the corner where all the lift buttons are, as if that should be the place to urinate when we must. And now that I wrote about it, yah, its kinda true. People all urine there, don't they? HA. "No no no. As long as I am alive and kicking, you shan't get your way and sin further. Turn back my friend. It's never too late. You..." I couldn't take Captain Christian anymore. I had to shut his mouth somehow, I thought. I did the inevitable. I turned and pee-ed onto him.

I could now say confidently that yea, my stint as a niner has ended. Sadly so, but it has left me with a memorable first-time hall experience. Now, before I forgot I had even taken these photos, I present to you, erm, my hall chronicles. The Enchanted Corridor, I would called it. This is the route that I took everytime I needed a leak or a washup. This is also the route that carries the authentic Indian stench. The view from my 'balcony'. This place has a windy feel, and it is often the place where I would be when I need to mug real hard. Wonderful, except for the mosquitoes. My room. And also the reason why I would choose to study at the balcony most of the time. But then, it has everything that you ever need in a room. And for those who said they will visit my room and help tidy up, you guys failed terribly at lying. Zooming in onto the workplace, where I spent most of the time on the laptop. FM 93.3 is in the air then as I prepared to mug hard for the exams. Peifen coaxed me to sleep everynight. Spot the difference. HA. I wonder how Peck managed to tolerate my untidiness. But then I'm a great entertainer, so I guess that makes it up for him a bit? The yandao kias. Nothing more to say. And yea, that's about all. My hall life. Guys, mess, guys again. Damn boring, largely because I got myself a screwed up location from the very beginning. Shan't complain though because I have great neighbours which most people don't have. Shan't complain because the peace which came with this isolated package got me the results most people would crave for. Shan't complain... And oh yah, how could I forget this gal. My block head. In case you are wondering, I was a screwed-up block rep. Anyway, this gal is a great hall mate. And most importantly, she appreciate MY jokes. HA. We are lamers. The song-kia from 46 was our toy. :) Oh my gawd!!!! What's that face for? Pardon her, peeps.

Finally got my wireless ADSL router up and running. And this gives me the opportunity to use my laptop at home, which has been left to dust in the corner of my bedroom ever since I moved back. And it also gives me the opportunity to clean up my fucking messy bedroom. My bedroom is in such a mess, partly because it's the most unused part of my home. Other than sleeping, I seriously found little use for the bedroom, except to dump my stuff. But now, I have to make space for the renewed vigour in my laptop. And so, I tidied diligently and somehow accidentally opened the drawer that is used to contain my ex-gf's gifts. Everything came back to me so strongly that I almost choked. For a few minutes, I thought about her good points, thought about her cute surprises, thought about the good old days, thought about recounciling. But then I couldn't, could I? How I miss talking to her. Soulmate, best friend, gf. I realised I couldn't just dump everything aside. The clay figuring, the stars she folded, the movie ticket stubs, the sweet notes she scribbled with the tiny hands of hers, damn, I feel like turning back the clock. I felt I have changed so much. Have I been escaping all the while?

...seen a pram mobile? Was taking the NEL when I caught this ridiculously strange scene. A family of 5 was sitting opposite me. The husband is the typical Singaporean beer drinker while his wife looks like a maid from Sri Lanka. But anyway, they were legally married and were bringing their 3 kids along. These 3 kids were cramped inside this ridiculously modified pram that makes the bat mobile looks like a piece of shit. This pram was locked to one of the railings by a LOCK. What's more, the kids were so heavily strapped inside with padlocks and stuff, that you thought this family was going skydiving. Or performing some David Copperfield's escape tricks. Yea, I said padlocks, for I SAW padlocks!! How do you stuff 3 babies in one pram? Amazingly, 2 babies were stacked on top of one another in the main pram, while the third was nicely tucked away in a side pocket. When it's fucking time to leave the train, Mr. Beer Drinker stood up, unlocked the ultimate pram, detached the side pocket and viola, the side pocket had become his backpack. The passengers looked on alarmingly, eyes wide, mouths open, at the transition. "What the.." all of us thought simultaneously. Strange family. Surprisingly the babies didn't cry one bit with all the strappings and padlocks on them. HA.