Moving House

I’ve moved back to Tumblr. Yes, again. I find that Tumblr inspires me with all the colors within it.

Also, I haven’t had much time to myself, hence not having the time to blog much anymore. After all, me being all loyal to WordPress was due to my interest in writing, but now that it’s been restricted by time I think I’ll put this on hold for a while. I’ll definitely come back and choose WP any day if I had my own domain and all that.

‘Till then, I’ll be kept busy reposting all those whimsical, joyous colors on Tumblr! See you there!

Golden Heart

I’m listening to : He Heals Me by India Arie

Hi all! It’s been… What on earth, a whole 2 months!?

It’s about 1:30a.m., listening to this piece that gently sings tranquility reminds me so much about my final days living in the hole called Heritage, and the first time I realized and came to accept that I had finally fallen in love. Not in a head-over-heels fashion, but instead I wanted to give this guy a future, a vision that he had to work hard for because no one else deserves it better than he does.

We’ve come a distance so great I occasionally find it hard to believe that the one I go to bed with and wake up next to today, was once living without an ambition, a dream, a vision and without a heart. Through helping him find his light and his aspirations, I found and learnt even more about myself. I am so happy, just sincerely, irrevocably happy to be able to say that at this day he is most of the time equally strong – if not stronger – than I am. He picks me up and finds even more strength, determination and wisdom within himself every time — Just as I picked him up and shared the weight of his pain on my own shoulders one night, eighteen months ago. I’ve learnt a great deal about myself through this guy, including how to fry an egg(Yes, it’s true! I just hadn’t had time to write about it here.)

November ’11

He’s so beautiful.

***

I told him my biggest secret, and he told me four
He smiled  at me and said, “That makes me love you more”
And then he made me laugh, and I knew it was a sign
That he was a man that I wanted in my life
And with every passing day, I feel more and more of that way

I can play him songs all through the night
And he would listen to every line
And even when I’m wrong, he is still kind
He chooses his words wisely when he tells me I’m not right
And yes he’s a beautiful man, but he’s also a beautiful friend

The moment that we met, he made me smile
He had so much compassion in his eyes
I have no idea how long he’ll be here
A season of a lifetime, forever or a year

But for the first time in my life I’m not worried about the future
‘Cause we have such a wonderful time when we’re together
However things turn out it’s alright
‘Cause he’s already changed my life 

He heals me, he knows the real me
And he accepts me, he never hurts me
He heals me, he knows the real me
And he accepts me, he never hurts me
He heals me

- India Arie

This is me…

…cracking under pressureprofessing my love for Papi D, life and the final quarter of the year.

…in the room I spent my teenager years living, crying and mostly rebelling in.

*******

Alrighty, back to my Arranging for Horns assignment that is due in 3.5 days and is no more than 30% done. Can someone remind me again why I did not start working on it earlier? I’m nineteen and I’m your typical Malaysian teenager in that sense — I’m a Queen Procrastinator.

Also I’ve been so broke and strapped for time I’ve not had a run/swim/game of badminton over the last two weeks, hence the shrunken biceps. I’m gonna put an end to this retarded project and (hopefully) get my life back. ‘Till then, enjoy my (fairly) recent theme update(Read: Newly-customized background and header) for me! x

Dear blog #P7 : Waiting

Dear blog,

As we speak I am seated in yet another fast food joint, waiting. Waiting for a time that is lost, the attention that is missing and the mind that is absent.

I don’t quite know what to make of the fact that his time and mind is constantly occupied by the likes of work, rehearsals, internship, gigs and even more rehearsals. I should be happy for him and I am, really, that life has finally picked up its pace for him. That he can now afford to eat more than one pathetic bread/instant noodle meal a day. That he can now occasionally buy himself a little reward.

But I spend so much time waiting and waiting. Wait for his rehearsals to end so we can go home, because he hadn’t had any time to send me home prior to that. Wait for him to finish rehearsals and come home to me. Wait for him to finish working (from home) so we can go to bed. Wait for him to stop thinking about sequencing and learning songs and arranging and gigs and rehearsal times and clashing events, so he can spare a little time to stop stressing and frowning and just be happy for me that mom finally said ‘Yes’ to getting me a keyboard.

I have been waiting for months now.

He tries, he tries with the little stamina he is left with by the end of every day, to spend half an hour lazing around with me. Though he is most the time worn-out and too tired to even talk to me, answer me, or to just listen to me talk, I appreciate those thirty minutes we spend just in the company of each other’s silence. It lets me know that no matter where he’s been, what he’s done and how good/bad the day went, he chose to come home to me.

I’ve been spending so much time of my own waiting for him, and waiting on him, and people have started to take notice. Just in case you’re wondering, yes, I do feel like I sometimes don’t have a life of my own, constantly living my life waiting for someone or something to end. I do have a life of my own, mind you. I’m not just a follower and I will never be just “Dean’s girlfriend”. I find that an insult. Suppose you could say I should be thankful that I have found my other half. But I’m just rambling. Don’t mind me.

You’ve been a good companion and a great friend, WordPress. ‘Till we speak again.

Much love,
Sam.

Slave

I would tell you that it’s just one of those nights, but it isn’t.

It’s 5:40a.m. and I don’t quite know what to tell you really. It’s not like I’ve been all that busy with anything, yet I’ve been feeling so lost I don’t know where to begin. I can’t even begin to count how many times I arrived here at this page, this column, filled with optimism and eagerness to write you something. Only to have it all diminish.

Suppose it’s about time I get out of this college that is doing me no good. I’m not being ungrateful, but for the large sum of money my folks are forking out every semester, I strongly believe that we deserve so much more than what is being given to us. In simpler terms, my progress in being a vocalist has been stagnant for way too long. After all, where do I go from here when all they can tell me is that “that was a good performance” by the college’s standards?

Hearing from Feri that auditioning from ICOM can never land you the Presidential Scholarship from Berklee was beyond depressing. My favorite meatballs with fries on the side lost its appeal as I fought my overwhelming emotions over dinner last Saturday. I don’t quite know what to make of it really, for no Presidential Scholarship = No Berklee = No getting out of the mediocrity that is ICOM.

Dad, however, mentioned that if I want it bad enough I will find my way. And I suppose he is right. I’ll just have to keep trying and meanwhile, keep my emotions at bay. You only find what you truly want when you can’t have it.

I really need that Presidential Scholarship.

Stain

I’m listening to : Slaves by Poova (on YouTube)

I have it all. And I doubt it all and more.

I am nearing three years of my silent, implicit recovery. Things have been going great – in fact, it’s been going brilliant – but I keep getting recurring thoughts and dreams of it. I was so sure to have put it all behind, but the truth is it never left. Somewhere in my subconscious mind it has been tailing me everywhere I go, every other second of the day. Just waiting.

The damp, musty odor.
The metallic taste of blood in my mouth.
Its skin hanging on bones.                     Keeping me from another escape.

If I believed in god, angels and demons I would self-assuringly tell you I have met one of the latter. But I don’t and you wouldn’t believe me.

But it is not that which saddens me. Or frustrates me. Or angers me. It is you, the one who believes me. Because I don’t know if all this drowning in my own sea is fair for the rescuer among us. Because I don’t know if I should be loved at all. And because. Just because.

*******

Because the filth that stains my skin will never wear off.

Test Test

Blogging from my HTC, on WordPress for Android. This app is a joy!

Photo taken last night, after our 4-hour mini reunion with Vinay. ICOM really is losing its best lecturers.

My Moleskine

I finally conformed to society and got myself a Moleskine about a month ago, because I gave up on searching for the notebook with beyond-perfect paper I had prior to this. Got it while on a 1.5-day trip to Singapore, though I doubt it makes any significant difference if I got one locally instead.

//P.S. This is for you, Mei Yen :] Sorry it took so long, I just discovered it sitting in my drafts -_-

I don’t quite remember how much a classic hard cover Moleskine is priced here, but I got it for….Okay I forgot. It was probably slightly under $40(Sing dollar). I would’ve imagined it to be cheaper if I’d gotten it locally but I bought nothing in SG so I decided to pick a few extra bucks out my pocket to get it there and then.

So I got the Squared notebook instead of the usual single-line ’cause I figured it’d make doodling more fun, and since I have classes like Live Sound Reinforcement this semester it could come useful.

Alright you got me, so I got the Squared notebook simply because I was looking for a change and this was a little less….conventional. And to further make it more ‘unconventional’ I “personalized’ it by putting a huge-ass sticker that Dean got from buying his guitar, on the front cover.

Heeeeee. Period.

One of the first things I noticed upon flipping open the notebook was that the intensity of the color/printing was really, really inconsistent. Some pages were dark and solid, some were patheticly light it almost seemed err, vague. But I looked past that and on to greener pastures I went!

Inconsistent printing

The next thing I noticed were these (obviously) unintentional folds between pages, probably caused by what I’d assume as poor binding. I wasn’t very happy but it didn’t bother me – After all, as long as it doesn’t diminish the pleasure of writing on it, I’d happily look past it.

So I began writing on it.

Folds caused by poor binding

I wrote using my usual pens, most of them who’ve kept me a happy consumer since school days. My faithful Pilot Hi-Tech 0.5 glided on pretty smoothly – Smooth enough to keep me happy, but nowhere close to what it did with my previous notebook. The M&G Expert Gel (Broad) I stole from mom was a gem, then again it’s a signature pen after all. Ball-point pens did not go too smooth on the Moleskine pages, however.

In comparison with a page from my previous notebook

I would overall call it a hundred bucks well spent, then again it would be the complete opposite had I been on a budget. The Moleskine hype – no offense to Moleskine junkies – is pretty overrated(IMHO anyway). Everything (except their marketing strategy) sits on the line of mediocrity. But having said all that, it has kept me rather contented thus far.

Dreary

I’m listening to : Hurt by Christina Aguilera

I really should be sleeping. But I’m not.

My second week into my fifth semester in this college is already proving to be wearisome. It’s all to dreary and all too familiar now – So much that I really just want to stay out of the circle. Then again, WHAT circle? I suppose the bitching, the unnecessary hatred, the high-school-esque ‘cliques’ and trying each their level best to fit in with the crowd – has just become too tiresome to keep up with.

Nothing has been the same for a while now. The U2 semester with the U2 Team was the last semester I actually enjoyed my time in college. It felt productive, and I felt useful albeit being used by others. But we all end up hungering for more and at the end of the day, none of it is ever enough to make you feel like an actual substantial person in the lives of anyone or in my case, in my field of profession. I’m always wanting more, but most of the time unwilling to give to obtain or rather, fulfill my desires.

I’m being such a pessimist. But like the rest of the inhabitants of Planet Earth, I just want to be accepted too sometimes – In my field, that is. They say you ought to take a step back to smell the roses. Well where the heck are these roses anyway?

I’m sorry for blaming you
For everything I just couldn’t do
And I hurt myself
By hurting youe

- Christina Aguilera

Six more semesters including the current. Chances of me leaving for the States in less than three (semesters) = 50%. This song speaks to me.

I should go to bed.

I can’t be arsed

I’m listening to : Golden by Chrisette Michele

I’ve been meaning to write. But all that I can think of in the last two hours is this :

I can’t be arsed.

It’s true and frankly, it is not writing that I can’t be arsed to do. I can’t be arsed to go to college and begin a whole new semester. Wooo exciting! (NOT). I think the excitement package only lasts the first two semesters, and then as a senior you are only entitled to dragging your ass around trying to complete the damn degree(and not drop out). And tribute concerts if you are easily manipulated or an extreme optimist.

Or maybe it’s just me. Not feeling excited about new kids coming in. About Paul Simon tribute(that prior to the semester beginning, I’ve already been asked to do -__-. NO.) About seeing people and actually having a (or what’s left of a) social life again. It’s not a people issue. I just feel…old.

Having said that, I’m actually quite looking forward to classes(that fortunately for me, does not start on Monday *cue victory dance). And beginning work with a new accompanist I’ve never played with – I loved playing with Edwin but he has too many commitments and I didn’t want to be hogging him to myself when we can both try new things and grow, but I’ll still try to play with him once in a while when he has time to spare. Bud is a great pianist too, from what I watched one who plays from within and theoretically almost never knows what the heck he just played – in some way scarily like me – and I’m really hoping we click.

Mm I feel…old. Ironically I sound more like an angsty teenager with identity issues on this weblog.