Take your shirt off. ( nahhhh nah nah~~~)

I want some answers and I want them now. Flood my comment box people.

1) Tell me something that you do not like about me. ( if you are not honest I will know and I will put a curse on you on a pink voo doo doll. )

2) On a scale of 1- 10, with 10 being extremely superficial, give me a number.

3) Tell me one thing that you do like about me.

This is open to everyone who knows me and the existence of this blog. I know the answers to the above but I am kinda curious as to what you guys think. You know I love honesty so please, be brutal.

OSchool Recital 2009

Hi sweety. This is me. Talking to you again like some sort of  bipolar psycho.

Sunday was the end of many things. It was the end of Oschool recital, something that you have worked really really hard for, admist a short stint in IMH and a small but nonetheless dramatic suicidal episode. Little girl, I’m proud of you, and that would probably be the most eloquent sentence I can come up with right now as I am typing this around noon and my system still hasnt injest enough caffeine to come up with any je ne ce quoi-resque  quality into my writing. 

It was also the end of weekly trainings, the end of sleeping 3 hours every wednesday and the end of the many fun but sometimes awkward moments among new people because you are sometimes socially inept like that. You, or rather, me will try to remember all these wonderful memories for as long as I can until the next recital which I can hopefully join because you are going to do your part time degree next year and god knows if you would have any time to spare.

You kinda like, bagged 2 awards dude, and until now, it hasnt really hit you in the head ( or anywhere else for that matter). It feels fucking unreal and you and I both know that being the dramatic little shit that you are there was a high possibility that you would start brawling and crying or do something seriously anti-social like that.  The truth is, you didnt feel anything at all. No joy, no surprise no nothing. This is seriously bothering. I am not sure if its because the whole winning awards thing hasnt hit you in the head yet or you just kinda like refuse to believe that it happened to someone as infinitsimal in the dance world as you.

I think its the latter. ( and no, I dont know why you refuse to believe it either.)

You felt the high though.  That magic in the air on stage and the roaring of the crowd and that explosion of adrenaline. That is the absolute essence of life right there and even though you didnt manage to get back that joy you had on stage last year, it was still a blast. You love the stage now. ( or at least the RP Stage. holy shizzles but it was huge. Almost as big as my ass.)

What you really really love about the recital, however is how dancers support dancers- Even if they do not know each other. You love how everybody cheered like crazy for every single item that went up on stage where dancers laid their hearts out for that short 3 minutes or so. You love how dancers say “jia you!~” randomly to other dancers who are about to go on stage when they dont even know each other’s names. You love how everybody is fighting for the same dream together as one big ass family.

This isnt the end of a love story as you thought it was a few weeks ago. This is just the very beginning and my god its starting to look good.

Continue to work hard baby girl. We are approaching the third year of your dance life in a few months time and hopefully it would bring many more milestones to come.

Love,

me.

My Magic.

I like how dance can pierce through the many layers of us to reveal the true person that we are when on so many occasions in life we can barely scratch the surface of the many walking marbles that cross our paths. Its all that cynicism, the hurt, the sadness, the jadedness- some how dance manage to wash everything away and we are for that short choreography; that short moment in time perfect unspoiled people. We are soft, piercable and transparent. We are happy.

It doesnt matter if its jazz, contemporary or hip hop because everybody is different and I believe there is one genre of dance that is meant for our souls to fly out from our bodies and escape this tattered world we live in and just be magical.

…

I know I know. This is a case of SYTYCD post syndrome and an overdose of Mia Michaels and Billy Bell.

As a dancer this year, the learning of technique and catching of steps have slowly faded when I start to discover how dance is really more than just dance. I can’t take it.  It is too incredible a blessing to be given the chance to share my life with it; to have my life shape and become so, so much better because of its existence.

Thinking about how much dance has given me from time to time just makes me want to cry. Nothing in my life from now on would ever be the same again as it was 3 years back when I first found dance.  What on earth have I done to deserve this? To have this thing just bring everything from dark to light in an instant. It is too much to accept; too much to have.

I get it now when people say dance is life. Dance is more than just life to me- dance is simply everything of my being.

I Love Dance.

Little Miss Street Jazz

Halloween Workshop

Lady GaGa–Bad Romance

Rihanna–Russian Roulette

***

rubbish.

Many things have happened in the past week ranging from the unspeakably scary to learning a lesson or two about forgiveness and humility. It wasn’t like I had a choice- Having these type of things happening to you in your life would undoubtly make you grow up quickly- and it wasnt even like I could avoid them.

Lets just call it a series of unfortunate events.

In other thoughts, LAO NIANG HAVE A SUDDEN SUICIDAL URGE TO JOIN FLOOR THE LOVE 2010!!!. but LAO NIANG DOESNT NOE IF SHE SHOULD JOIN WAACKING CATEGORY OR HIP HOP CATEGORY BECAUSE WAACKING IS CLASSIFIED TGTH WITH HOUSE AND I CANT DO HOUSE BUT HIP HOP IS A 2VS2 BATTLE AND I DONT NOE ANYONE WHO WOULD WANT TO JOIN WITH MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. AND IM SORRY IM TYPING EVERYTHING IN CAPSLOCK BUT I IZ EGGCITED.

*breathes*

well. I guess its needless to point out that the passion is back after all. *grins*

Flicker.

The passion is burning out.

I never saw this coming and to finally realise that I might have potentially reach the final page of my love story, the only real love story in my life so far is really saddening.

Maybe its just a phase. maybe its been a bad month.  However if my love for dance is over, it is time to move on.

…

The scary thing is, that would leave me with nothing to define myself and my life will resume back to its emptiness.

Self Indulgence.

For Mr. If-You-Ever-Fucking-Turn-Up:

I would imagine you to be a little wierd. Nice kind of wierd mind, in the non boogey eating kind of way. Maybe you are the kind of guy who sometimes just forget everything that you are doing in the day and just stare at the sky smile because it looked extremely lovely and get distracted thus looking abit like a person who speaks to invisible people ( ie: certifiable) to the others who arent part of your world. You might have crazy insane hair or major fashion mistakes that would make Anna Wintour lose her shit, but I believe  that you would also be the owner of a smile that would make me feel like the world is a really good place filled with laughter and joy and loads of Ben & Jerry’s Ice Cream and thus forget about all your major fashion faux pas.

In my head, you are tall and gangly with a minor case of pimples which sounds like im describing Ron Weasley here when really you are more like Asian Joshua Gordon Levitt plus 10 more cm and broader shoulders with some unshaved bristles on your chin which you forgot to shave properly and not some sad attempt at being a SNAG. 

You are bilingual, kinda well read but not totally pretencious as some bananas do. You can switch from chinese to english and maybe to Irdu which would pleasantly shock me and wonder whats wrong with you. I see us conversing about many things from cute boys we see/know to mercy killing and then back to ANTM with me sometimes lying on your lap trying to pleasantly avoid your family jewels and you playing with my hair and smiling into my face telling me im such a little slut then maybe giving me a hug from the back to wipe out that nasty comment which is totally untrue.

I don’t know if you would be romantic or not, but I certainly hope that you would be. I am not all about the whole candles and champagne and bubble bath shit– Those only belong in 1990s romance movies and Grey’s Anatomy. However, seeing that I have already made things so much easier for you by not being that dumb starry eyed chick-lit obsessed girl, I would appreciate anyth stupid that you want to do for me to show me your love without my prompting.

Maybe baking me a raw cake, or dropping me a crumpled post-it of the world’s most important 7 letters into a notebook in such horrible hand writing I would need a whole hour to comprehend whether its english or celtic.

At the end of the day,  I want you to love me and be with me as I would want to be with you for the rest of our very gay lives.

If you ever decide to turn up, because being alone is kinda sucky.  Move it Brother.

The B Word

I am a bitch.

No point in denying the obvious. Everybody has a bitch in them and there really is nothing wrong with having a little bit of Blair in them. It makes life easier sometimes and why should I deny a little help to get through something as tough as life? Every little bit helps and if it means being a little difficult sometimes to get what I want in a tricky situation chances of me doing a Naomi Campbell would be high.

The difference, however between a run-of-the-mill bitch, and a supersized,  psycho bitch from hell would be that, the ROTMB chooses to keep a tight rein on her/his inner feline and has morals to speak of.  It is important to highlight here that other then Mother Theresa and the Dalai Lama, we are all ROTMB.

Thats right, even your mom.

The ROTMB has close friends, is generally well liked by grandmothers and more importantly, chooses to not be a bitch and is the kind of person who would probably stand a 75% chance of making it to the pearly gates of heaven. They unleash their claws only when necessary and by necessary I mean being- called-HoMo-out-of-the-blue- for-no-reason-and-needs-to-put-the-fucker-back-to-his-place kind of necessary. The ROTMB is kind to animals, stand up for friends if needed, sleeps an average of 7 hours a day and ingest an approximiate of 3.5 meals a day.

You know, like the most of us.

The PBFM on the other hand eats children for breakfast, do not understand the importance of morals and hail from the School of Back Stabbing and Lies. Naturally the PBFM lacks friends and have a natural tendency to thrive in groups of other PBFMs. Unfortunately, most PBFMs are also unnaturally gorgeous.

One more reason to never judge a book by its cover.

…

The only reason I am writing such thrash would be because I am bored. Ooooh Errr Baby.

 

 

“Close your eyes, its just chocolate bananas.”

How many people would still be standing by me when its crunch time? how many people would I be standing by when it comes to boiling point, when the veil of courtesy and civil friendliness has to be ripped apart to reveal how people really feel about each other when a person is stripped down to his most fragile and naked state and needs people the most? The people that he assume he has because he believes that they love him enough to stay and help him through the most vulnerable and scary thing that he has to go through.

How many exactly?

I am not refering to myself here. This is just a thought that has been swirling around my pink coloured hello kitty mind for the past year or so when maturity seemed to have found a loophole in my system and forced is its way through into my teenage head and overhauled its entire configuration to make think about crazy thoughts like that.

Everybody should have at least one person that will stand by them through the hard stuff that life often throws us when its having a bitchfit, besides their family. It is only normal to have friends- we meet many different people in different chapters and from a purely scientific POV, most humans are programmed to not be alone. The whole point of that totally pretencious sentence above is that yes having 1260 friends on your facebook account is really HOLY MUTHER F***ING S*** type of impressive but how many will stay when the going gets rough for you?

Humans are selfish. That’s a fact which is horrible but undeniable. When things get ugly, people become scared and self preservation kicks in to save their own well rounded asses. People leave, and you- the one stripped down naked with nothing to hold on to have to face the incoming hurl of fire alone. However, not everybody is like that and I am talking about the people, that small group of people whom you don’t share a blood type with but your souls wierdly interwine around each other;

The people who knows all your dirty little secrets, the skeletons in your closet and nasty stuff like that that makes you feel ashamed and dirty and 50 kinds of disgusting but still accept you  anyway and stand by you when the going gets tough. Thats the kind of people people should have and know who they are in Life, even if its just one person. That one person is probably worth more than the 1259 people and more.

I think this is why sometimes on days like today I feel anti-social and don’t want to put on my PR suit because I don’t see the point of making superficial “Hi-Bye”  friends just to fit in when I know that when shit comes raining down they definitely won’t be there holding my hand and covering me with an umbrella, lying to me in a comforting voice that its really chocolate shaped like bananas thats dropping all over( sorry for the poor analogy). Granted, its only on bad days when time passes extremely slowly and I have already finished all my food that I brought to the office and it still isn’t time to go home.

LHK, SLX, CME and Sany- I would hold pink coloured hello kitty umbrellas over your slutty heads when its raining piss for you guys. Thank you for having done the same for me.

Bubblegum & Pretty Parcels

The thing about having to go the office everyday from 7-5.30 and routinely do absolutely nothing but eat, seat on your arse and gossip for 5 days a week continuously for the next 2 years of your life is that, time suddenly acquires this strange bubblegum effect whereby it just exist in one long stretch- Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays conglomerate and become a 120 hour day until Saturday and Sunday welcome me into its warm embrace.

As far as I’m concerned, my week is now officially a 3 day week, namely Suicide Watch Day, Saturday and Sunday.

***

I have a tendency to just follow my heart when I am faced with a tough or confusing situation, which has made pretty much a lot of good and bad milestones in my life- Dancing wouldn’t have happened if I used my brain, but my relationships wouldn’t have been such epic tragedies either if I had used a little more of my brain and less with my heart ( & loins). Being logical has never exactly been a strong point of mine and seriously to live a life govern by logic may save you from a lot of shit, but it also promises boredom and a lack of surprise.

Give me the Shit and Surprise any time. I hate being logical. ( yes I see you scoffing square head slut)

However, when I use my heart to guide me, it breaks down all the walls and reveal Me in all its stark naked glory. I fear for myself during times like that because to present Me in such an unprotected state is basically like dropping a dog into a pool of sharks (sorry for the poor analogy) not knowing whether they might be hungry for a cute furry 4-legged Hotdog Delight or not.

Case in point: telling Ryan and Ben- people that I know for less than a month about H and being the way that I am only around the Sluts with the boys in camp. I have left so many windows wide open for people to take me down that when I think about it sometimes it scares me. The only good thing that I can use to bundle up my lack of logic here and wrap this whole thing up into a pretty parcel would be a clear and brave act of abandoning cynicism at the door .

…

I guess following your heart could also be defined as naiveness and stupidity. ah well.