Confession
I was looking around my room and suddenly discovered my weakness. I’m ashamed, but oh yes, it’s true.
Then, self-denial kicked in – I refused to believe my bitter revelation. I never thought of it as a weakness, it was just there all along and I never realised it was wrong. Oh man that rhymes, I can be a song writer when I grow up nyaha.
Anyhoo, I’ve decided to come face to face with my problem. I realised that there probably isn’t any tangible way of resolving it, but acknowledging it is the first step. This is it man.
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I’m a sucker for Plushies.
Plushies probably the most useless things ever created on the face of the Earth since Friendster. They’re just balls of cheap cloth filled with styrofoam and 2 black buttons stabbed into it as eyes. They’re sold at at least 10 or 20 bucks each, the price of 5 bunches of bananas, or the price of 8 chicken rices, or half a CD. kAwAii-nEhX girls buy them. They are bought then thrown in a corner to collect dust. It is one accesory every ah lian needs to live up to their title.
But who gives a shit lah, they’re cute. Aren’t they? Aw.
My bedsheets look girly too. Maybe I’m actually a girl after all. Hmm.
If you noticed, I don’t own any pig plushies.
I gave all of them to Dee, I think I’ll go buy another one for her.
The teddy on the far right has been my faithful companion for 15 years. It used to belong to my sister, so it’s been around for approximately 19 or 20 years. It has all my drool from childhood and the rubbish bell necklace I made for it when I was 7, and it reeks faintly of baby powder which I god-knows-why applied on it. I love it!
Yeah all of that was just irrelevent.
Today Eunice, her friend and I visited Cineleisure after school, it’s been a while since I’d been there.
You can meet all sorts of people in that lone building, I swear.
Turn to your right, there’s that girl wearing spongebob decorated leg warmers, turn to your left, there’s that bunch of dudes appearing as though they’re checking out jewellary/neoprints but in fact they’re just checking their hair in the reflection of the glass, lift your head, there’s that bunch of girls poking each other with voodoo dolls on the escalator, look down, there’s that dude who’s staring oddly at you from the level below.
On one of the higher levels, there’s this huge advertisement for Singapore Idol plastered against the wall. They allowed people to write on it, and there right smack in the middle is a Panasonic TV replaying every commercial about Singapore Idol.
One of the commercials made it sound as if Rahima has died or something. Just because she didn’t stick around long enough to sing the Rock genre for the week, Singapore Idol had to cook up some big hoohaa about it. I swear. They filmed the commercial in a brown & white tinge, and they featured the dates when Rahima got into the competition and left it – which made it look as if she died – with dramatic music playing in the background.
Rubbish. They couldn’t even be subtle about wanting us to vote for talent, not there’s any. Lousy persuasion skills. Everyone’s whining about how Joaqim [don't care about the spelling] should just die but the ah lians are overpopulating this seemingly unanimous protest. They lurk in the corners and burst out when you’re not on guard.
Well anyway, we decided to do our bit for society – criticising. Or more like just criticising emo-kid-ly.
It’s a chance to vandalise legally! Who could pass that up?
Indeed it does.
Sorry to the other 100 Calvins out there, it’s most probably not referring to you. We were itching to write something, but didn’t know what. So we just decided to do our old thing. We used to do this quote quite often, but it wore off. But it’s resurrected again!
On the bus ride home, the bus was too crowded, so I settled down on a seat beside a sleeping monk.
He was slumped in the corner, and dressed in long robes of maroon and carried a cloth sack as a bag.
I couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable. There I was, sitting pretentiously with an iPod in one hand and my handphone in the other, Converse shoes pulled onto my feet, wearing clothes which probably cost more than 20 plushies. And there was the monk – dressed simply with sandals strapped to his feet, his ez-link card in his hand and catching a nap.
It’s probably wrong to stereotype all monks as peaceful and kindly beings, but let’s assume that this monk was. I found myself wishing that I didn’t need all these dumb things stickered to my body. How I wished I didn’t care. I don’t need Bruce Springsteen singing to my ears, I don’t need to send smses to people or call them, I don’t need fancy shoes, don’t need don’t need don’t need.
But I’m far gone. These things have been etched deep into my skin, and it’ll be frustrating and annoying to have it being peeled off the pores. It’s frightening to realise that these monstrous wants and needs have been injected into my veins for years, a poison slowly seeping into the heart which kills you but gives you the impression that adrenaline is pumping through your veins instead of venom. I see the people on the bus and realise that they’ve all been infected as well. Except that monk.
At that point in time, I just really wished that I was that monk instead.
It’s kind of stupid to be chasing after things just because they’re there and seemingly permanent, but in the end, what we’re really looking for is intangible.
There were some teenagers nearby, pointing and sniggering at the monk.
As usual, my heart was once again filled with disgust, and thoughts about stuffing bananas into their grotesque mouths ran through my head.
Sneering at things that are different, emersed in thinking about which pair of underwear to wear tomorrow, drowning in a pool swimming with well, just crap..
I felt sorry for them for their superficiality, shallowness and phony antics. The sad thing is that to a certain extent, I’m identical to them…
Sitting next to the monk, it was as if we were 2 extreme ends of the spectrum.
And I don’t want to be on this side of the fence.
Don’t worry people.. I’m not going to become a monk when I grow up..
Or maybe I was just going hysterical on the bus. Long bus rides do that to you.
I probably need more stuff to occupy my time with, like… Plushies.
4 Responses to “Confession”
Oh damnit, RICES. HAHA.
Ah heck, just leave it like that.
More piggies? Nooo problem =]
I love this post. You belong to a rare species of people who have conscience. Don’t lose it. Keep the great writing going.
=) Thanks.
plates of chicken rice
not chicken rices.
HAHHAHA
XDXD
btw i dont mind more piggo hahahha