In Honor of Spatial Silence
i stay up all night with the stars and sleep with sunlit clouds cascading down my back.




Monday, November 26, 2007
i cannot read the fiery letters

i'm supposed to have read Lord of the Rings for my contemporary literature class but considering that i barely read for my classics class (or any other class for that matter), i obviously therefore did not touch Gandalf and friends and thus babbled nonsense during recitation. but whatever, i may not have experienced the lure of Tolkien (and turn into a total tolkienite) nor did i journey with hobbit-what's-his-name in his search for the stupid ring, but i did take a picture with Ringwraith (according to my brother anyways. i frankly thought he was just some weird-shabby-handed-dude who didn't have enough money for a proper costume and thus threw on a dirty ol' cloth, grabbed the nearest sword he could find and tried to pass it off as a costume) and i think that should suffice.

(i was attempting to vogue but i'm afraid it came out wrong. i need tyra.)

so i've decided to title my collection of short-stories - which i hope to submit as my thesis - I am not a Plastic Bag and the thought of writing it excites me, but i'm trying real hard to repress my excitement because that sudden humongous outburst of energy generally fades as soon as i finish my little skippety-hoppety-dance, leaving me strangely bored and very much exhausted (my heart can no longer support all that dancing). this explains why i never get excited long enough to really go through with something - like cheerleading for example.

sure, doing crazy ass mid-air splits, standing on people's shoulders with a fake grin and arms set apart to a flying V, and cheering for one of the best squads in singapore had it's charms, but once the Prozac wore off, all that pep seemed, well, pointless; and after awhile, hearing the seniors cheer "we are proud of you, we-are proud of you" after every damn stunt you mastered does get annoying, causing you to repress your inner murderer - telling it that stabbing them in their throats will be way too messy. it's just not decent to get your cheer uniform all bloody. what would the cheer-stick say?

seriously, while it was exhilarating to be thrown up in the air and hoisted on the shoulders of male cheerleaders (i still don't understand why males willingly join a cheer squad), the excitement and supposed passion for the sport just didn't stick. i guess i'm just not cut out for all that pep. i should have trusted my instinct and skipped off the mat the moment i began to feel out of place. the concept of kicking my legs up in the air and shouting for the crowd to be equally peppy made me shiver in disgust. why must we kick our legs up? is it an act to welcome boys into our vagina? probably so because whenever the squad did that, the boys all screamed.

it's funny how i've turned out. i was everything that i dislike now. silly really. but since you can only justifiably have a forceful opinion on something once you've truly experienced it, i thus think it's credible when i say "cheerleading is pointless".


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