Imagine
Imagine an artist. Let's say Van Gogh and his (unappreciated during his lifetime) post-impressionist paintings. Let's say that during his time, somebody rich recognizes his genius and commissions him to paint a ginormous portrait of said rich person's mansion.
So Van Gogh sits down at his easel and one of his old canvases, and wondered if he should do it with pen and ink under-drawing or with just diluted oils. He finally decides on one, and sets the stage for something spectacular.
He brushes, he strokes. He paints over the half-finished smiling face of the foreign lady, Lady Gioconda or something. She looks oddly familiar. Hmmm. He had found the old canvas lying in some dusty old shed during one of his travels.
He hides a signature at the corner of the easel. He puts his style into his painting. He used all the tricks of the trade, and some more of his own. As with all artists, he is unable to produce a painting that is not perfect. He pours so much of his own soul into the painting that in a sense, this painting becomes him.
Hours pass by and his base is done. Then the background. Then the mansion.
Day turns to night and it is time to go home. As he lives a few miles away and travels by foot, he cannot carry the oil painting with him. No matter, I'll come back and fill in the features of the house tomorrow, he thinks as he gingerly puts the half finished painting in a spare room of the mansion.
***************************************************************
Dawn breaks and he happily skips (yes, skips) to finish his work on the painting. When he reaches the mansion, the door was open. I'll just pop in and get my easel, he thinks.
A gasp of horror reaches his remaining ear. He realizes that it's his own. He stares, horrified at his painting. Somebody had... had... changed the painting! Instead of his turquoise sky in the background, somebody had painted an ugly mucus-green over it! Instead of the original 3 storey mansion, somebody had added another wobbly looking floor in a distinctively amateurish style that was absolutely unlike any of Van Gogh's!
"I added in something of my own. It'd be much more impressive if the building looked foreboding, don't you think?"
The owner of the mansion proudly appeared in the corridor, as if proud of his accomplishments in ruining the painting.
Impressive? The roof looks like it's caving in! The sky literally looks like shit! The entire painting is ruined! All his hard work, all his heart and soul that went into the painting, ruined! His style was disrespected. His dignity was disrespected. His painting was disrespected. He was disrespected.
He stands there for a moment, opening and closing his mouth repeatedly, not knowing what to say or do. Then he starts seeing red. It was as if the world was suddenly covered in red. Boiling blood pounds in his temples.
With superhuman strength, Vincent Van Gogh lifts the ginormous canvas painting off the easel in rage, tears the entire thing apart, and throws the shreds at the man who disrespected him.
Then he stomps out of the building, never to be seen at the mansion again.
***************************************************************
I wish I could tear down the paintings too.
How would you feel if someone disrespects your work?
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Ouch
It seems harder for me to rebound emotionally now.
He said something unintentionally last night over dinner, and it actually hurt quite badly. He caught his mistake, and he tried to make up for it, but the damage was already done.
How can it hurt this much? How could it have stung so badly that I can still feel the ringing in my ears now, as if he's just slapped me across the face?
I could just pretend to have forgotten about it after awhile and latch right back on to his arm, and I did. Clinging on to his arm while we walked around, I found that I couldn't smile at him. Not that night.
Other painful stuff are starting to resurface now. I think I need to go get my life back.
It seems harder for me to rebound emotionally now.
He said something unintentionally last night over dinner, and it actually hurt quite badly. He caught his mistake, and he tried to make up for it, but the damage was already done.
How can it hurt this much? How could it have stung so badly that I can still feel the ringing in my ears now, as if he's just slapped me across the face?
I could just pretend to have forgotten about it after awhile and latch right back on to his arm, and I did. Clinging on to his arm while we walked around, I found that I couldn't smile at him. Not that night.
Other painful stuff are starting to resurface now. I think I need to go get my life back.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Friday, December 25, 2009
I Am...
... not your maid.
... not your secretary.
... not your mother.
... not your social escort.
I have feelings.
I am not a machine.
I understand that you need to work, but that is not an excuse to treat me like the above.
I have talked to you about this before. Many times.
Guess why I feel the need to blog about it again?
... not your maid.
... not your secretary.
... not your mother.
... not your social escort.
I have feelings.
I am not a machine.
I understand that you need to work, but that is not an excuse to treat me like the above.
I have talked to you about this before. Many times.
Guess why I feel the need to blog about it again?
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Fucking Irritating
I abhor the expression "harrrrrrrrr........" people give when you tell someone to do something.
You know, that whiney sound you make when someone tells you to eat a pound of shit.
If I can get super mad at primary 2 kids for "harrrrrrrr...."-ing when I tell them to do their work, I can get even madder when a full-grown adult does so. I mean, how childish are you?
It is not an expression or anger or sadness, it does not help you think better. All it does is buy you that 5 long-assed seconds you spent "harrrrrrrr..."-ing and tells the person that you don't want to do it. Then what do you want that person to do? Do every single little thing for you?
Well, fuck you.
Do you think by "harrrrrrrrr...."-ing the god-damned thing that you're so terrified of will go away by itself? That class work and homework will automatically disappear? That ingredients for a recipe we're supposed to prepare for today's mini-party will automatically fly to my house by themselves? That the food will cook itself?
Oh just GROW UP!
I abhor the expression "harrrrrrrrr........" people give when you tell someone to do something.
You know, that whiney sound you make when someone tells you to eat a pound of shit.
If I can get super mad at primary 2 kids for "harrrrrrrr...."-ing when I tell them to do their work, I can get even madder when a full-grown adult does so. I mean, how childish are you?
It is not an expression or anger or sadness, it does not help you think better. All it does is buy you that 5 long-assed seconds you spent "harrrrrrrr..."-ing and tells the person that you don't want to do it. Then what do you want that person to do? Do every single little thing for you?
Well, fuck you.
Do you think by "harrrrrrrrr...."-ing the god-damned thing that you're so terrified of will go away by itself? That class work and homework will automatically disappear? That ingredients for a recipe we're supposed to prepare for today's mini-party will automatically fly to my house by themselves? That the food will cook itself?
Oh just GROW UP!
Friday, December 18, 2009
All You Sons Of Bitches
I repeat - ALL you sons of bitches.
Go fuck yourselves.
I give, and give, and fucking give. I don't even know how to live for myself anymore, I've been living my life for all you sons of bitches all my life. And all you do is take, and take, and fucking take.
If I am dead inside, I wouldn't feel so. I wouldn't have the fiery pit within me envelop my whole being every time I am stepped upon.
I am angry. I am more than angry. I am murderous. I feel homicidal everytime you sons of bitches crush me under your feet for the sheer pleasure of it. I feel like holding a slugger in my hands and feeling the crack of your skull as I devour the pleasure it gives.
But I don't look so.
In the name of reason and normality I take it. I take it up the ass for you sons of bitches. I tolerate whatever shit you throw my way, simply for the fact that you might deserve another chance.
Might.
Listen up, all you sons of bitches. Listen good. Here's an example of why you shouldn't step on my tail too much.
There is only so much I can take. Not that it pleases me to tolerate. I boil over with anger and hurt every time someone steps on me, but for fucking peace's sake, I take it when you get up in my ass.
No seriously. Not anymore.
I'm not only going to stop being Little Miss Nice, I am going to be downright nasty when you step on my tail.
Don't say you've not been warned.
I repeat - ALL you sons of bitches.
Go fuck yourselves.
I give, and give, and fucking give. I don't even know how to live for myself anymore, I've been living my life for all you sons of bitches all my life. And all you do is take, and take, and fucking take.
If I am dead inside, I wouldn't feel so. I wouldn't have the fiery pit within me envelop my whole being every time I am stepped upon.
I am angry. I am more than angry. I am murderous. I feel homicidal everytime you sons of bitches crush me under your feet for the sheer pleasure of it. I feel like holding a slugger in my hands and feeling the crack of your skull as I devour the pleasure it gives.
But I don't look so.
In the name of reason and normality I take it. I take it up the ass for you sons of bitches. I tolerate whatever shit you throw my way, simply for the fact that you might deserve another chance.
Might.
Listen up, all you sons of bitches. Listen good. Here's an example of why you shouldn't step on my tail too much.
There is only so much I can take. Not that it pleases me to tolerate. I boil over with anger and hurt every time someone steps on me, but for fucking peace's sake, I take it when you get up in my ass.
No seriously. Not anymore.
I'm not only going to stop being Little Miss Nice, I am going to be downright nasty when you step on my tail.
Don't say you've not been warned.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Holy Shit Holy Shit Holy Shit
So I stayed up late one night watching TV after Lazy fell asleep playing with his PS3. At around 4am (yes, there is a 4am) some Korean show came on, about some tutor and some rebellious rich kid who stayed back 2 grades.
I don't usually watch Korean or Japanese films (unless its in the horror genre), but I was bored and too lazy to reach for the remote, so I ended up watching the whole show.
By the end of the show, I was swooning over the guy.
I.. kind of forgot what his name is. But HOLY SHIT is he HOT!
What the hell have I been missing?! How many more hunks speaking in different languages are there out there?
Hot damn, I want a piece of this! And his face is super cute too.
*drools*
So I stayed up late one night watching TV after Lazy fell asleep playing with his PS3. At around 4am (yes, there is a 4am) some Korean show came on, about some tutor and some rebellious rich kid who stayed back 2 grades.
I don't usually watch Korean or Japanese films (unless its in the horror genre), but I was bored and too lazy to reach for the remote, so I ended up watching the whole show.
By the end of the show, I was swooning over the guy.
I.. kind of forgot what his name is. But HOLY SHIT is he HOT!
What the hell have I been missing?! How many more hunks speaking in different languages are there out there?
Hot damn, I want a piece of this! And his face is super cute too.
*drools*
Monday, November 30, 2009
Recommended Movie Of The Month
Since it is my off day today, I spent the day lazing around in bed watching TV. Wasn't feeling well at all too, my head feels like it's about to explode.
Anyway, I caught this movie on HBO Signature just now. I rarely give rave reviews for movies in the drama genre, but this one takes the bat. It's somewhere along the line of Johnny Depp's Neverland, with all its sensational artistic glory, but better.
Robin William's What Dreams May Come.
It's about a pediatric neurologist who, on the night of his "DD" anniversary, got hit by a out-of-control car while stopping to help a car crash victim on his way home.
The story revolves his life after death, and how he went to lengths to get his wife back from "hell" after he found out that she committed suicide not long after his death.
The show portrays a heaven that he created with his wife in their art, where everything is made of paint, and things happen appear when you will them to. Their dream home, which he painted when he was alive for his wife, appears across the lake too. And best of all, Katy, their dalmation puppy who got sick and died years ago, comes bounding back at him when he wakes up in a field of painted poseys.
Everybody can choose to take on forms and faces other than their own. In a timeless place like "heaven", there is no rank or stature, nobody's older than the other. In the same line, both his kids who died years ago in a car accident, appeared to him at different intervals with their own revelations.
*Shall stop here or I'll spoil the show for you.*
This is the only movie so far, of all time, that got me sobbing like a child. I had literally soaked my pillow and blanket by the end of the show.
I guess it deals with my biggest fear - losing the people I love. I'm not afraid of death myself, but I'm terrified at the prospect of losing the people that I live for. I know that it's going to happen sooner or later, and I live in fear of when that day comes.
Watch this show if you have HBO signature, people. If not, rent it from your friendly neighbourhood rental shops (assuming they have this work of art), or dang! Buy it from HMV! Get the DVD if they have, this is too good to view in blur.
Since it is my off day today, I spent the day lazing around in bed watching TV. Wasn't feeling well at all too, my head feels like it's about to explode.
Anyway, I caught this movie on HBO Signature just now. I rarely give rave reviews for movies in the drama genre, but this one takes the bat. It's somewhere along the line of Johnny Depp's Neverland, with all its sensational artistic glory, but better.
Robin William's What Dreams May Come.
It's about a pediatric neurologist who, on the night of his "DD" anniversary, got hit by a out-of-control car while stopping to help a car crash victim on his way home.
The story revolves his life after death, and how he went to lengths to get his wife back from "hell" after he found out that she committed suicide not long after his death.
The show portrays a heaven that he created with his wife in their art, where everything is made of paint, and things happen appear when you will them to. Their dream home, which he painted when he was alive for his wife, appears across the lake too. And best of all, Katy, their dalmation puppy who got sick and died years ago, comes bounding back at him when he wakes up in a field of painted poseys.
Everybody can choose to take on forms and faces other than their own. In a timeless place like "heaven", there is no rank or stature, nobody's older than the other. In the same line, both his kids who died years ago in a car accident, appeared to him at different intervals with their own revelations.
*Shall stop here or I'll spoil the show for you.*
This is the only movie so far, of all time, that got me sobbing like a child. I had literally soaked my pillow and blanket by the end of the show.
I guess it deals with my biggest fear - losing the people I love. I'm not afraid of death myself, but I'm terrified at the prospect of losing the people that I live for. I know that it's going to happen sooner or later, and I live in fear of when that day comes.
Watch this show if you have HBO signature, people. If not, rent it from your friendly neighbourhood rental shops (assuming they have this work of art), or dang! Buy it from HMV! Get the DVD if they have, this is too good to view in blur.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
People Like Me Don't Run From People Like You
I just heard something that made my day.
TKN just told me that a little bird told her that at the height of our animosity, you read my blog posts fervently, all the time.
The little bird also divulged that it was you who left those nasty, nasty comments and blamed it on her.
So during that period of time when I felt most alone, I was never alone. You were there in spirit with me, devouring my every word with relish (laced with hatred, but still mostly relish). In a sense, you understood more about me than anyone else caught in that situation did. You paid more attention to me in that situation than anyone else did.
How ironic. And creepy.
I just heard something that made my day.
TKN just told me that a little bird told her that at the height of our animosity, you read my blog posts fervently, all the time.
The little bird also divulged that it was you who left those nasty, nasty comments and blamed it on her.
So during that period of time when I felt most alone, I was never alone. You were there in spirit with me, devouring my every word with relish (laced with hatred, but still mostly relish). In a sense, you understood more about me than anyone else caught in that situation did. You paid more attention to me in that situation than anyone else did.
How ironic. And creepy.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Sunday, November 08, 2009
Sucks To Be Me
... for the past few months.
I had a mini meltdown in front of the Lazy last night. Threw my bag on the floor and couldn't stop crying. Couldn't take it anymore.
Everything I do, everything I lay my hands on, turns to shit. Everything around me, associated with me, turns to shit. I thought it was just a rough patch that'd be over in a while, but I was wrong.
So wrong.
I'm blessed to have a wonderful family, but it serves to remind me of what a failure I've become. I've tried to grit my teeth and bear with it in a rational and reasonable way. I've tried to be mature and independant as much as I can.
I'm sick of doing all those and getting shit back.
I don't want to be the adult anymore who helps you to find solutions to problems all you sons of bitches are too lazy to use your brain to solve. I don't want to be the mediator anymore. I don't want to be responsible anymore for things that aren't under my jurisdiction. I don't want to be rational and understanding anymore.
I'm at the point where the tiniest bit of flame you cause inside me is enough ammo for me to slap you, or at least stop talking to you for a long, long time.
Don't tempt me.
... for the past few months.
I had a mini meltdown in front of the Lazy last night. Threw my bag on the floor and couldn't stop crying. Couldn't take it anymore.
Everything I do, everything I lay my hands on, turns to shit. Everything around me, associated with me, turns to shit. I thought it was just a rough patch that'd be over in a while, but I was wrong.
So wrong.
I'm blessed to have a wonderful family, but it serves to remind me of what a failure I've become. I've tried to grit my teeth and bear with it in a rational and reasonable way. I've tried to be mature and independant as much as I can.
I'm sick of doing all those and getting shit back.
I don't want to be the adult anymore who helps you to find solutions to problems all you sons of bitches are too lazy to use your brain to solve. I don't want to be the mediator anymore. I don't want to be responsible anymore for things that aren't under my jurisdiction. I don't want to be rational and understanding anymore.
I'm at the point where the tiniest bit of flame you cause inside me is enough ammo for me to slap you, or at least stop talking to you for a long, long time.
Don't tempt me.
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
So Sad...
She stopped walking. "Daddy, I won't let you do this."
Her father, walking two paces ahead, stopped his slow strides. His shoulders slumped, but his grip on the rifle grew tighter. William sighed and turned to face his daughter. "Becka, Tigger is sick. Very sick. We're helping him."
Becka felt her brother's hand on her shoulder. Billy was ten and didn't care about Tigger. He wasn't crying at all, Becka thought bitterly. But Tigger was his pet too.
"But...but why?" Becka trembled, clutching Tigger tighter. He mewed louder this time, his sound strangled slightly by the girl's arms.
William frowned. "Tigger is dying, angel. We're going to help him die."
Becka sobbed. "I don't want him to die! I love him!"
"He's hurting, Becka," Billy said. "That dog hurt him real bad."
"No. Why can't we take him to the vet? The vet can save him," Becka tried to take a step back, but Billy was still there.
Shaking his head, William knelt next to Becka, "No, he'd just do the same thing we're doing. He's hurt too bad. He's just a barn cat, sweetie. He's not worth the money we'd spend on him."
"He's important to me. He's worth it to me," Becka shook her head.
"Becka," William's voice firmed. "You have to say goodbye. We have to do this."
"No!" Becka shouted. "He's mine!"
"Becka, listen to daddy!" Billy snapped.
Becka's small face contorted with an anger she'd never felt before. She couldn't understand her feelings or what her father wanted to do. Tigger was still breathing. He was nuzzling her face right then and there, purring and trying to comfort her. But Becka could feel the differences in Tigger's body since the big, mean dog had grabbed him. He was bleeding from wounds all over his body. He felt softer. He would cry when she tried to touch him. Why was he hurting?
"What will happen to him when he dies?" Becka asked.
William stood and sighed. "God will send an angel to take him to heaven. He'll be with all the other pets. He won't hurt anymore, Becka."
Becka froze. What was she doing? Could she do this? She lifted up Tigger and gazed into his eyes. One was filled with blood and leaking large tears. The other was still clear and bright. The cat's eyes slowly met Becka's. With the look, Becka asked forgiveness.
She kissed the top of her pet's head and gently handed him to her father. She felt Billy take her hand and turn to lead her away.
They had walked ten paces when they heard the shot.
Then another.
And another.
They both turned to see what was wrong.
It turns out the cat was an alien. It bit off their faces and took off for it's hidden alien craft in the woods.
Fucking alien cats.
Found this gem at http://www.ubersite.com/m/61316
Learning About Goodbye
Becka held onto Tigger with all her seven-year-old might. She hugged her pet close to her chest and rested her cheek on her cat's head. The old cat mewed quietly and Becka felt another tear streak down her cheek.She stopped walking. "Daddy, I won't let you do this."
Her father, walking two paces ahead, stopped his slow strides. His shoulders slumped, but his grip on the rifle grew tighter. William sighed and turned to face his daughter. "Becka, Tigger is sick. Very sick. We're helping him."
Becka felt her brother's hand on her shoulder. Billy was ten and didn't care about Tigger. He wasn't crying at all, Becka thought bitterly. But Tigger was his pet too.
"But...but why?" Becka trembled, clutching Tigger tighter. He mewed louder this time, his sound strangled slightly by the girl's arms.
William frowned. "Tigger is dying, angel. We're going to help him die."
Becka sobbed. "I don't want him to die! I love him!"
"He's hurting, Becka," Billy said. "That dog hurt him real bad."
"No. Why can't we take him to the vet? The vet can save him," Becka tried to take a step back, but Billy was still there.
Shaking his head, William knelt next to Becka, "No, he'd just do the same thing we're doing. He's hurt too bad. He's just a barn cat, sweetie. He's not worth the money we'd spend on him."
"He's important to me. He's worth it to me," Becka shook her head.
"Becka," William's voice firmed. "You have to say goodbye. We have to do this."
"No!" Becka shouted. "He's mine!"
"Becka, listen to daddy!" Billy snapped.
Becka's small face contorted with an anger she'd never felt before. She couldn't understand her feelings or what her father wanted to do. Tigger was still breathing. He was nuzzling her face right then and there, purring and trying to comfort her. But Becka could feel the differences in Tigger's body since the big, mean dog had grabbed him. He was bleeding from wounds all over his body. He felt softer. He would cry when she tried to touch him. Why was he hurting?
"What will happen to him when he dies?" Becka asked.
William stood and sighed. "God will send an angel to take him to heaven. He'll be with all the other pets. He won't hurt anymore, Becka."
Becka froze. What was she doing? Could she do this? She lifted up Tigger and gazed into his eyes. One was filled with blood and leaking large tears. The other was still clear and bright. The cat's eyes slowly met Becka's. With the look, Becka asked forgiveness.
She kissed the top of her pet's head and gently handed him to her father. She felt Billy take her hand and turn to lead her away.
They had walked ten paces when they heard the shot.
Then another.
And another.
They both turned to see what was wrong.
It turns out the cat was an alien. It bit off their faces and took off for it's hidden alien craft in the woods.
Fucking alien cats.
Found this gem at http://www.ubersite.com/m/61316
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
Hiatus
I don't know what to write. I've got no motivation to write. I have no time to write.
And it's driving me crazy.
To the people who threw me into the lurch and left me there.. FUCK YOU. When you tire of your new toys or they get tired of you, you'll die alone and I won't be there because I've moved on :)
I don't know what to write. I've got no motivation to write. I have no time to write.
And it's driving me crazy.
To the people who threw me into the lurch and left me there.. FUCK YOU. When you tire of your new toys or they get tired of you, you'll die alone and I won't be there because I've moved on :)
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
What The Great Big Bloody F...?
This in reference to this post .
Guys, should I go to the police or send an article in to stomp?
This in reference to this post .
HOUSING & DEVELOPMENT BOARD
| Your Ref | : | |
| Our Ref | : | BIN-10-09-Y47 |
| Date | : | 21 Oct 2009 |
| Tel | : | 63985959 |
| Fax | : | 68543239 |
| : | tkw6@hdb.gov.sg |
Dear Ms Tan
REQUEST FOR WAIVER OF PARKING OFFENCE NOTICE NO: H0145744R & H0140963T - FN7418M
PARKING OFFENCE NOTICE NO: H0145744R & H0140963T DATE / TIME OF OFFENCE : 10 & 12 Sep 2009 / 12:10am & 01:41am VEHICLE NO : FN7418M REQUEST FOR WAIVER OF PARKING OFFENCE NOTICE I refer to your email of 13 Sep 2009. Car Park No.Y47 (Blk 360 - 367 Yishun Ring Road) where the offence was committed does not have the night parking facility. If such a facility is provided, it will be stated in the signboard installed at the entrance of the car park. Car Park No: Y47 is reserved for season ticket holders only after 10.30 pm. During the inspection by our service provider, United Premas International at Car Park No: Y47 on 10 and 12 Sep 2009 at 12:10am and 01:41am respectively, your vehicle was found parked at lot no: 27B without a valid season parking ticket. Therefore, the parking offence notices were issued. We have considered your case carefully but regret to inform you that we are unable to waive the offence notices. Please make payment at any HDB Branch Office with the next 10 days from the date of this letter. Payment by e-services and other modes of payment are listed overleaf of the offence notice. We have interviewed our service provider, United Premas International. They confirmed that the canvas cover of your motorcycle was already torn before they issued the offence notices. We would advise you to lodge a report with the Police. Should you wish to park your vehicle overnight, you may do so at car park Y45 (Blks 343-351 Yishun Ave 11) where there is night parking facility. Yours sincerely (Signed in Lotus Notes) TAN KWANG WEI SENIOR EXECUTIVE ESTATES OFFICER for HEAD, YISHUN BRANCH OFFICE HOUSING ADMINISTRATION DEPARTMENTMs Jasmine Tan
Email: (deleted due to privacy issues)
Singapore Dear Ms Tan REQUEST FOR WAIVER OF PARKING OFFENCE NOTICE NO: H0145744R & H0140963T - FN7418M
If you need further clarification, please contact the Yishun Branch Office's Car Parks Section at 63985949.
Guys, should I go to the police or send an article in to stomp?
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)