Take a Deetour

"I write to find out what I think." - Joan Didion

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

Semiotics is a Big Word


Is it because I don't love you enough?

Is it because I don't love you enough that I stray?
Is it because I don't love you enough that I run?
Is it because I don't love you enough that doing becomes the excuse for not being?
Is it because I don't love you enough that I fear?
Is it because I don't love you enough that I cannot decide?
Is it because I don't love you enough that I cannot commit?
Is it because I don't love you enough that I will not stay put long enough to listen?
Is it because I don't love you enough that I'm afraid of what I will hear?

Is it because I don't love me enough to care?

.......

so you found a girl
who thinks really deep thoughts
what's so amazing
about really deep thoughts

~ tori/ silent all these years


Trying not to think really deep thoughts, feeling not very amazing.

Saturday, August 26, 2006

Hit By A Tai-taidal Wave


i feel preettee... oh so preetteeeee...

I remember 13 weeks into my life on the road, I had the freaky chance of having a hot shower at a posh hotel in the heart of Bangkok. After 2 weeks of cold bucket baths, it was too much.
Rows of L'occitane products beckoned, recalling for me a distant past of spa weekends, luxury toiletries and weekly mani-pedis. Standing under the powerful jet of hot water, I cried, bewildered at this sudden and shocking display of emotion. Part grateful elation, part abject shame, I cried. Because of a hot shower.

As the end of my third week home draws near, I feel like crying again. But the tears won't come.
I'm getting used to the clash of feelings - I can eat caviar one day and crusts the next. Sip champagne today, drink vinegar tomorrow. It's ok. It's ok to go from the lack of to the surfeit of luxury. IT'S OK.

Being home is a curious thing. Everything is so familiar, but I can hardly recognise it. And yet as easy as a desperate hooker, I put on the old life once again. Calls this to mind. Maybe I'm being melodramatic, but these 2 things make me struggle (even though they happened quite by accident):

1. 2 hours at the salon getting scalp expertly massaged, hair expertly washed and conditioned then coifed. And I only happened to be there to keep stunning bride S. company, whilst she got hers done. But it was soooo much fun!

2. 2 hours at Sage & Sole getting fingers & toes descaled, detoxed and expertly dipped in the divine Hazel (neon mango) & Stephanie (shimmery midnight blue) polishes by Christina Fitzgerald. And I also only happened to be there to keep the purty Ms P. company, whilst she got hers done. But it was, like, soooooo much fun! Soooooo muuuuuuccchhh Decadant fuuuunnnnnn!

Arrrggghhh... Was not planning on returning to the life of a pampered Miss with Taitai aspirations. Will I ever be ok with who I am?

Friday, August 25, 2006

And in the End, He Made Me Foot the Bill!


It was good to meet up with T. for Sushitei and a catchup tonight. We talked shop for several animated hours then I decided to fish for sympathy.

"Boo hoo, my foot very pain, leh! Did I tell you I think I fractured it?"

(Big sigh) "Yes, you already did. Didn't you fracture your foot once before?"

(Whining ever-so-slightly) "Yes! But it was the other foot!"

"Ah hah, must be the shock of defeat deFEET!"

Much snickering (from T's side of the table) & glaring (from my side) ensued.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

I Think It's Broken


I didn't want to say anything, but !@£$%^&*%!! my left foot hurts like !@£$%^&*&^%$£@! Pending an actual X-ray (and we all know my track record), I, in typical hypochondriac fashion, maintain that I may have fractured my left fifth distal metatarcel. And the reason I am so well-acquainted with said medical jargon is...

10 years (Lud!!!! TEN YEARS?!) ago, I fractured my RIGHT fifth distal metatarcel whilst pretending I was in Fame. Actually, I was taking my first dance class at the Northern School of Contemporary Dance, where the students REALLY danced through the hallways wearing tights and legwarmers! Feeling very impressed and very Fame indeed, I threw myself passionately into barefoot dancing to the beat of live African drums.

Halfway through corner-to-corner turns and leaps, Miss Twinkle-toes makes one ferociously enthusiastic jump and lands awkwardly, on the side of her twisted right foot. Sickening crack notwithstanding, she carried on leaping heroically till the pain threatened to eat her brain. "I think it's broken!" She wailed plaintively. Of course, none of her friends believed her. Of course, the rest is just fractured history.

A trip to the A&E next morning, when the foot in question had swelled up to twice its original size & developed a lovely deep purple hue, confirmed the Drama Queen's worst fears. She spent the next 6 weeks in a fibreglass cast, greatly inconvenienced, yet secretly revelling in all the attention the crutches and cast brought her.

Now I'm not saying I want attention now (though SOME WOULD BE NICE!), but my current foot woes smell like the the putrid past. Why won't anyone believe me? I'm in pain, dammit! And ponstan just doesn't cut it. I want an X-ray, and the tender ministrations of a hunky doctor, please.

Anyhow, this time, dancing was involved too. Occupational hazard, I guess. Allow me to set the scene:
  • 2 kancheong girls on stage bump into each other while rushing to put away props and get back onstage to do next scene.
  • In the ensuing debacle, one pointy stiletto heel of one girl comes crushing down on the top of other girl's left foot.
  • Showbiz protocol darling... Just grin and keep shimmying through the grinding pain.
  • Get home 9 hours later, limping like a gangsta rapper.
  • Go to sleep with foot elevated.
  • Wake up with swollen purple foot.
  • Call doctor dad.
  • Painkillers prescribed.
  • Spend all of yesterday in bed watching crappy cable.
  • Write miserable, sorry-for-self post on blog.


  • Tomorrow, I'll get out of bed. Tomorrow I'll go get an X-ray. Tomorrow I'll find someone who'll offer me tea and sympathy.

    Monday, August 21, 2006

    Homesick?

    “Homesickness is. . . absolutely nothing. Fifty percent of the people in the world are homesick all the time. You don't really long for another country. You long for something in yourself that you don't have, or haven't been able to find.” - John Cheever

    It's ironic I finally came home just as National Day celebrations were building to a fever pitch. As Singaporeans waved their little red-and-white flags and sang jubilant, nationalistic songs, I found myself familiarly indifferent. Detached. I haven't bubbled over with patriotic pride since I was a school kid singing, "One people, one nation, one Singapore...", so the indifference didn't surprise me much. But what did surprise me was how accutely homesick I felt, despite actually being, well, HOME.

    I deliberately shut down the head & heart so I could cope with jumping straight back into rehearsals/ work/ being bridesmaid. I deliberately chose not to allow myself to process being away for the last 5 months. And I deliberately conducted emo erasure to avoid having to deal with settling back here.

    Until now.

    The emotional switches are slowly coming back on, but I'm not capable of articulating what's going inside yet. I will make these observations though:

  • Nothing on the radio or TV has changed - same songs, same shows - it's like I never left.

  • I have, though. Changed, that is. And being stuck between these 2 worlds is weird & surreal. And cliched.

  • Plunging Straight into Work + Killer Jet Lag = Extremely Anti-Social Behaviour. I haven't spoken properly to good friends yet and some people still don't know I'm back. Am making half-hearted attempt to feel remorseful.

  • Relief is going at least 3 times a day after 5 months of constipated travelling!

  • I ate a block of cheddar cheese and 4 tofu puffs today.

  • My 3-year-old niece speaks at least 3 times more than she did before I left and tells me she loves me everyday - yay!

  • I lost 5kgs whilst I was away - double yay!

  • I can still put on the glitter, false eyelashes and fishnets effortlessly.

  • MY. BODY. HAS. BEEN. REJECTING. BEER. Whaaaaat?!!! Expected, I guess, after being a teetotaller for the last 5 months.

  • I like Tim Tams and espresso (the parental units have purchased a spanking new machine that serves eye-poppingly good Illy coffee. Am telling everyone I know how to enjoy Tim Tam Slams.

  • Am trying to rid self of verbal habits. Especially using the word "awesome!" every 2 seconds.

  • Please don't ask me how I am. The answer is, for now, "I REALLY DON'T KNOW."
  • Sunday, August 20, 2006

    Absolutely


    It's a subjective world we live in.

    We're so used to doing what feels good to us/ accepting what's good to others/ constructing our own versions of truth, that talking about absolutes doesn't exactly win you conversational brownie points.

    I guess I can say one thing for sure. I absolutely believe in God. But I didn't expect to be discussing what I believe so soon after returning home. Over red wine (1 for me, 3 for him) tonight, P. challenged me:

    "What makes you think that there is only one true God? How can you say that for sure?"

    Uh-oh, out of nowhere, the proverbial can of religiopolitIcal worms sprang open... P. didn't exactly let me interrupt his stream of consciousness - he was on a roll... I guess he was trying to argue that everything in life is relative. Tipsily, I might add. Which always leads to an entertaining exchange.

    Amidst bungled attempts at explaining my conviction, P. edged in the last word:

    "Aiyah, D, the only absolute in life is vodka, lah!"



    His humour remains as disarming as ever. But am I the only one who finds it ironic that the disarmer was getting absolutely legless in the process?