So it's Sunday morning, and I'm sitting here feeling all productive just because I've finished my morning run and started on Econs revision before 930 am.

I'm starting to take a cue from Junie's book, though; and learn to let loose and enjoy weekends a little. I mean- I know Enjoyment generally isn't a very Singaporean hobby; but I figure if I manage to make it through the week, I deserve some respite over the weekend.

I mean- I'm 18! There's lots of time left for me to feel 54.

Al Dente @ Holland V with WL, on Friday. He's the only person I know who buys an umbrella AFTER he's gotten drenched. So much for logical lawyerality... went to Al Dente; he made so much noise that eventually we had the whole restaurant to ourselves. I'm gonna miss that monkeybrain when he goes into the army; even though he annoys the hell outtuv me sometimes. Also, I gave him his Bitch Citation list and he was v happy with it.

Went to meet S, after. It was pretty amusing, really- and initially bordering on sitcom awkward.

"...It's okay, you can relax the Edward Cullen pose."

"...In case you can't tell, Cara, I have no great love for the guy. And I'm not talking about Cullen."

I spent most of the night with my arms crossed over my chest.

...Isn't it funny, though, how bodies gravitate? There will always be some people you will always spin in orbit with. But somehow the warm lips, warm words on my ear and the way the moonlight fell...I don't know. I will wait; and I think for now I prefer to be Artemis. With maybe a few distractions on the side.

Marc still insists I'm Persephone.

This week is going to be hectic. Tech run on Monday, fulldress rehearsal on Tuesday, another rehearsal on Wednesday, and Dramafest on Friday. (SYF the next week!!) Time for homework what where?

...And here I am, blogging. Oh the sense of urgency.

I should stop looking at the Parisian home collections site. It's not my fault everything there looks good enough to eat. Mum's ordered our bedframes and night-tables, the Union Jack chest of drawers is absolutely epic but will clash unbelievably with the decor + will earn me no brownie points with the 'rents; and I've found this Victorian armchair in an amaaazing zebra-print. Lady B would have an aneurysm.

I love that chair. In 3 months' time when we move in; I will LIVE in that chair.

On another note, I have never been more thankful for Lisa and Lyn.

Also- he is getting better, and I am glad, he deserves it, he is strong. We've been through the same things at the same time, and we're the kind of people who never really Get Over Things- but like vampires (because all writers, all poets, all singers-are all vampires, all of them) we will suck the very marrow from the various darknesses that at various times almost claimed us, and then spit truth like watermelon seeds.

Neutiquam erro.

I am not lost.

Lately the world has looked like smoke.

In the daytime the sunlight is too bright- Lisa has to sit on the left so my eyes don't hurt when I look at her face; there's white that swirls around the corners.

I was curled up annotating Duffy poems for Lit yesterday, and strange things happened. Reading Duffy is like being operated on- she touches on raw nerves, raw flesh; pulls out the tiny frazzled wires that link your thumbs and knees and darkest thoughts and pincers them/you like a marionette.

A few nights ago I was in bed, state of half-slumber; -- sudden, tight contraction in my chest and my eyes flew open. I realized it was because I'd forgotten to breathe.

...Who the hell forgets to breathe in their sleep?

But I look tanned and silent and strong and so it will be all right. This will be worthwhile, I know it will be.

Besides-- who needs oxygen when you've got friends like mine?

The constant 6ams, straining limbs, visions of litheness. black camisole by the bedside crumpled from a night I never had out. Rewind to last week when I kissed the boy slowly in the park; twilight, goodnight-- second chances? second guesses. no, don't think twice.

stick to your guns, girl; strip to your stockings.

Tender words, young mother.

Mum dug up all our old things today- locks of hair, incoherent toddler drawings, (my brother at 3 sketched "family portraits"- and I use the term loosely- of everyone, and we all look like something out of Where The Wild Things Are); ...and in my box, I found a little blue book.

Apparently, she'd kept a journal throughout my first few months, years.

And so I curled up somewhere and thumbed through the faded pages. Some of the entries made me tear up, and some made me laugh so much my sides hurt.

It's lightyears yet till I have a little girl/boy, and I don't know if I even want to have my own child. But if I do, I think I'd keep a journal for them as well; to look back on when they're eighteen, and smile a little, at an age where everything was simple and the only bad people were the ones who took away your grape juice.

----

"She's not afraid of dogs- and many times, has hugged Kimmi and even Bambi. Dave says it's because she has no concept of fear."

"She now knows how to identify herself as Cara by tapping her tummy to "who's Cara?"

"Whilst I was feeding her lunch, she kept covering her face with her hands. I wondered what she was doing, until Mum suggested perhaps she's playing 'Peekaboo'.

How correct! Then I remembered how Sara Ann was playing this game of Peekaboo with her yesterday.

A day later on, our friend picks it up, adapts it, and presents it! My girlie-girl is so intelligent."

"On 9 May, I brought her to ELC and she charmed everyone there with her coy smile and 'talk'."

"Every morning, we sit her on the pram and watch her 'communicate' with the dogs. She loves to watch them having their 'mum-mum' and sometimes, even calls out to them. It sounds like '...Dods!'

At times I feel she is seriously trying to communicate with us. And is probably wondering what is taking us so long to understand her."

"She is particularly interested in my jewellery box- often eyeing it until I have no choice but to give it to her."

"...She discovered her fingers today, and I caught her staring at her fingers till she was cross-eyed."

"Cara's Classics:

Cara: What-dees?

Mummy: Por Por (Poppy)'s bra.

Does Por Por wear a bra?

Cara: Yuss.

Mummy: Does Mummy wear a bra?

Cara: Yuss.

Mummy: Does Grandpa wear a bra?

Cara: Not yet.

Mummy: Be careful Cara, don't fall down. What happens if Cara falls?

Cara: No more Cara. Finished.

Cara: Isht okay, Mummy. Isht okay, Mummy. Don't cry, Mummy. "

----

...Young words, tender mother.

I'll be good, I promise I'll try.

Cyclone days are here.

Today was a high-low of everything. We shall begin in chronological order, starting from a little way past 3 am this morning, when I woke up, turned on my side, and realized it was waaay past 12 midnight; but you didn't mind, baby did you, you rarely do.

So in my state of half-slumber, half-resolution I made the call, said what I wanted to say, put it down, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

It used to be harder. I think, though, that after a while- our bodies build up some strange immunity to goodbyes? ...Oh, you still get a little angry sometimes, yes, and you don't forget the corners and the songs you used to listen to.

But there comes a point where you don't really mind any more, and you realize there is Still Life Out There. New depths of loneliness to plumb, to write poetry to, to be inspired by. New voices on the telephone. New ways of saying the word "love". New kinds of warmth at night, and new kinds of hope in the morning.

And it is good.

...School was a mix.

At the very start, I was pensive and a little grey (no pun intended), especially after the moment of silence they held for him. I spent the most of last night lying awake and staring at the ceiling.

Three years ago; they were our age, and their world revolved around the same things as ours do now. They were boys. I can still see all of us, bustling around MacRitchie- paddles in hand, kayaks weighty on shoulders; and I still remember the awe and respect that the then-little greenhorn me looked upon them with. I can still see them; paddles raised, slicing through water; sleek, sinuous-- deceptively, because I know how they bled for their sport.

And now I keep thinking if I had known, then-- oh, but how could anybody have known, how could anybody have guessed?

--- I should stop thinking so much about Life and Death, and start thinking more about Loci and Binomal Distribution.

Speech Day today was interesting. I was genuinely impressed by a select few candidates. But for some...ah, cripes. The student body isn't interested in voting for worker ants. We want to vote for LEADERS. Like, Inspiring People.

And I don't expect you to be Nelson Mandela or anything...but would it hurt anybody if you actually gave some thought to how you can concretely contribute to the school? This thinking should preferably be done BEFORE you apply for Council. Not when you're on the stage, pinned like a bug on a stick because somebody asked and you couldn't answer.

On the bright side- nobody could say it wasn't entertaining.

Candidate: "...Some of my friends say that I resemble a PENGUIN, but I think that I am more like a WHALE. Because like a WHALE..."

Cara: "Oh, somebody harpoon him please."

Candidate: "Expect nothing of me, short of that I will surprise you."

Lisa: "...Yes. I do expect nothing of you."

That being said, kudos to the candidates who genuinely said their piece today. Best of luck to y'all.

----

Drama today was a riot.

Definitely the highlight.

It was Whitby's Birthday yesterday; so we made sure we put on an extra-good rehearsal to "make an old man smile". (his words!)

...And it was AWESOME. We've put the fun back into Drama again.

Then after that run, we all launched into a rendition of the Birthday Song- slowly, so it would last longer.

Whitby: "Ah...yes. I know that I am ancient, and therefore possibly mentally decrepit. Thank you for reflecting your understanding of that in the pace at which you sang that song."

Whitby, as he's leaving: "...Well; I couldn't go without making a snide comment, could I. That wouldn't quite be in-character!"

After he left; we went through another run.

Only this time, we exaggerated everything full force.

And it was hilarious. We ransacked the bag of bits of costumes that I'd brought; decked the Author out in my black nightgown and geek spectacles, Maudie in black sunhat, (George wouldn't wear my red dress), Jerry in leopard preenz beret, floral scarf, and black sequinned vest (oohlar) and me in one black silk glove. ("...this glove makes me feel like a lesbian!")

Love Daphne's black gloves and killer stilettoes.

The Exaggerated Rehearsal was tres tres fun, too. We laughed so much, and so hard, and I love our cast like unhealthy lots, you bunch of drunken morons.

Dress rehearsal @ ACJC tomorrow!

Bring it.

truth of the matter #171

When I no longer have your heart

I will not request your body

your presence

or even your polite conversation

I will go away to a far country

separated from you by sea

- on which I cannot walk -

and refrain even from sending

letters

describing my pain.

-A. Walker

"i've heard of affairs that are strictly platonic;

but diamonds are a girl's best friend"

---

...HAS FOUND DAPHNE'S COSTUME.

Score.

I was ruffling around in my closet looking for something remotely mink-like, when I found bags upon bags upon bags of clothes from random places I'd forgotten I had.

Can you say costume party? Spent a happy hour rediscovering old pieces: mens-style cigarette pants, lipstick red floor length gown, corduroy blazers, fedoras, floppy black sunhats.

And I found the little cocktail dress I'm going to use for Daphne.

I have the gloves and faux pearls. Now I just need the stilettos- which I shall get when I pop "around the shops!" with Maudie tomorrow.

Today's Drama was bad-good.

Bad because rehearsal was...pretty crud. Battery flat say what? Also, on top of that, I've been down with the flu, so my voice was pretty much...not.

Never have I heard Daphne sound so masculine. :/ And during one of her monologues; my voice basically upped and died on me midsentence.

Which was repellent. I mean- this is a play. Not the silent screen. Greta Garbo I am not. Miss Daphne Wray, I must be.

Lozenges, ho.

It was good, though; because after rehearsals- Jerry, Maudie, Jacko, Sam Blacker and I headed out for brunch, and had an extremely productive backstory brainstorming session.

The independent woman feeds stray cats at her backstep, the washed out old actress sees every role (acting, marital, and otherwise) of hers usurped by younger, more nubile leading ladies, the tired man sleeps in the theatre in secret and acts out his stage fantasies by night, the starlet by the end of the night is wine-drenched and laughing and hollow, and the debonair insouciant hangs himself.

...For a comedy cast; we're pretty tragic characters.

Got back home, clocked in a rather painful run (lungs, throat still hurt from the infection), did some Math, wrote the Humanities Prospectus, and then curled up to my Marilyn Monroe film.

I wish we could all live like our characters for a day.

... though I imagine it wouldn't be very comfortable, living like Daphne. Clinking glasses and rubbing bronzed up shoulders with the underground elite until 4am, till broadway baby heads back home with tired eyes and smudged lipstick. pretty heels trudge up dirty steps to little dingy hole of an apartment.

silk chemise, stained. wineglass, stained. cheeks, stained.

one more round is all it takes to come round. beautiful people have ugly fears, and for those fears we learn to take pills.

dress off, guard down, lights off, goodnight.

"going it hans solo"

I have a sudden urge to rewatch the whole of the OC: Seasons 1 and 2. I miss the good old days.

Yesterday was pretty pretty. Pool, after school, and I got great and golden before getting Mum a bouquet of "cheer up you are loved" purple flowers, before heading back home and then sushi dinner out with the 'rents and g-'rents.

received the text message: "HI, I thought you looked beautiful today."

...aw. Love you, S.

and you forgive me for being an indomitable geek (and not even the good kind) back in primary school?

In the library today, we had our first remotely DWL conversation ("we have lost our Cause!!") in eons. Which- okay- basically involved us talking about the various people we've known who've just conked off and completely gone off school. Like the way you go off eclairs at a chocolate buffet. Which is scaaaary because- hello. Education.

... I am such a Singaporean.

And then we spent about fifteen minutes being immensely entertained by Amrit's intensely animated Dr Phil-meets- Oprah- meets- Gynaecologist soliliquy. I think she succeeded in putting us all off marriage. Thanks, girl.

Surprisingly; I've been feeling pretty okay. Maybe because I'm used to it by now. (and you'd think I would be, too.)

I spent a bad part of the first night curled up in the duvets, pillow damp, and whispering, "i thought you were stronger..."; and that night didn't pass well, nor fast.

But then the next day I woke up, wrote a pulsing dreamscape thunderstorm in miniature of a poem about it- ...and then this sense of catharsis. of peace, and graceful acceptance. and...release, almost? long breath hissing through relieved lungs.

And it was good.

Drama today was a riot.

We spent about ten minutes playing Zip Zap Zoing to hype up the energy levels, and then I led everyone through my favourite warmup (which basically involves us going absolutely Bacchus-loose...nj sanctioned maenad madness, anyway; and bounding every which way and pulling the most grotesque, most theatrical faces and flaying arms and legs and yawping the straaangest noises for about thirty seconds) while Mr Whitby looked on in interest/consternation/abject horror.

And then after our first run we had our informal photoshoot; which was tres tres fun.

And now I am sick. Of all the YEARS to fall sick. You had to choose the one which my entire future basically hinges on. By one chipped french manicured finger.

... thanks a lot, karma.

Okay, Self, here's a bunch of grapes and a card. GET WELL SOON.

Because this year, Life isn't waiting for anyone.

deireadh an tuath;

"O môr henion i dhú
Ely siriar, êl síla
Ai! Aníron Undómiel!"

~~~~~

Today I woke up and didn't feel like going to school.

Honestly. I just lay staring up at my ceiling and thinking, "...oh, God. And so it begins again."

But of course I pep talked myself, and rallied myself up a little bit, and I got up ready to survive the week even if I couldn't conquer it.

I walked into school, and the first thing that Junie said to me was, "...YOU LOOK TIRED."

...Tired? I do? But I got, like, six hours of sleep. Which is, like, six more than the average Singaporean student sleeps.

Junie; if you're reading this- I love you surprisingly much for someone I've only just gotten to know this year, + I am not Naomi from 90210, + if I had to be on a TV show at all it would totally be on Clash of the Gods/Battles BC/Xena: Warrior Princess and not some moneyed up Beverly Hills spin-off, + you make me smile and therefore are pretty awesome.

Speaking of ancient History, mythology etc; watched Clash of the Titans over the weekend with Di, Cephas, Wayne/Wade?, and Steve.

Cara: "I can't wait for Clash of the Titans!!!"

Steve: "Yeah, me too. I'm really into History. Imma nerd!"

...and I felt like spearing him through his toga because greek mythology NOT = history. Um, hello, MYTHology. Get your facts (or not facts, as it turns out) right.

Aanyway. CotT was incredibly incredible. 'Course I'm incredibly biased, because hello, Greek geek; ...but I was honestly smiling throughout the entire film. I truly wanted to step into the screen. Stupid 3D CGI.

Throughout the movie; Di, Cephas and I kept laughing at random intervals at certain wittily mythological references, which nobody else in the cinema seemed to get- presumably because while we were reading The Iliad and The Odyssey etc, they were off studying Vectors or Technology or Work Efficiency self-help books and other things infinitely more productive. Something.

Laughed over the Di And Cara language phenomenon.

She speaks to me in German, I speak to her in Elvish- and somehow we both understand each other perfectly, even though my entire German vocabulary consists of about 6 words, and she doesn't know her lembas from her mithril.

Gerich veleth nin, Di, ithilwen.

---

Today's Lit consol was nice.

We analyzed two poems- I took one look at them and broke into a huge smile because GOD living language.

"If We Must Die", and "An Irish Airman Foresees His Death".

I just sat there with pen half-poised, arrested in midair; and all I heard was battledrums and cries of old ghosts echoing over old fields, and the bugle on double duty--

first as a rallying call; defiant, dissonant, reckless like the unfurling of a rebel flag,

...and then later. banner fallen; dust settled. limbs of boys like red roots across a dirty battlefield; intertwined. flesh and flag and silence and stone.

-----

If We Must Die

If we must die, let it not be like hogs

Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot,

While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs,

Making their mock at our accursed lot.

If we must die, O let us nobly die,

So that our precious blood may not be shed

In vain, then even the monsters we defy

Shall be constrained to honor us though dead!

O kinsmen! we must meet the common foe!

Though far outnumbered let us show us brave,

And for their thousand blows deal one death-blow!

What though before us lies the open grave?

Like men we'll face the murderous, cowardly pack,

Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!