Fangirl Pic Spam

Shit. Has it really been 3 months since I last posted? O______O

Guess everyone will just have to get used to it then, because I'm so busy nowadays with school, work and fangirling that I'll probably only update sporadically - usually when I'm really pissed about something and I need to bitch, or when I'm really happy about something and I want to share.

The good news is that, I'm actually HAPPY today, and therefore that means I have good things to share!

Why am I so happy? Well, think about it. Nothing makes me happier than fangirling. And since I've already used this blog to fangirl about Jay Chou and Shinhwa, let me introduce:

SUPER JUNIOR.

(Note 1: So I'm a crazy rabid fangirl. So fucking what? No judgement, ok. It makes me happy, keeps me sane, destresses me, and allows me to perve on hot men. Which is more than most of YOU can say about your hobbies. *flips hair snootily*)

(Note 2: I'm at work, which means my pictures are limited. Forgive me for now, I will spread more SuJu love to you guys/girls when I get home and have access to more - much, MUCH more - pics.)

(Note 3: Goddammit, YES, SuJu is short for Super Junior. *rolls eyes*)




And here we have... yes, all THIRTEEN of them! Why does a boy band need so bloody many members, you ask? I don't know, but seriously, does it matter when they all can sing/look hot/dance/look hot/act/look hot/DJ/look hot/host/look hot/write songs/look hot?

From left: Kibum, Eunhyuk, Shindong, Yesung, Donghae, Siwon, Hankyung, Heechul, Leeteuk, Sungmin, Kangin, Ryeowook, Kyuhyun


And WARNING: Severe pic spam coming up, because I'm going to show off my faves.


Please, meet Sungmin, my absolute SuJu fave, who can kick your ass with both his goodness-knows-what-level-wushu-skills and his guitar. Not to mention his unmatchable cuteness. This man is the God of Cute.













Please forgive the creepy guy on the right, you'll learn more about him later (yes, he's one of my faves too).


And also, say hi to Ryeowook, my 2nd favourite, the musical genius of the group. Did I mention that he's really innocent, and for some warped reason it really turns me on?







Donghae (who happens to be YH's fave; Donghae's on the left, Ryeowook on right) pokes his nose in and says hi along with Ryeowook...



And Kyuhyun ninjas his way in to say hi too (Ryeowook on the left, Kyuhyun on the right).




And here Leeteuk, the leader of the group who comes complete with the cutest dimple ever, is pleased to meet everyone! And no, he's not creepy at all, as the below pics illustrate. After all, I wouldn't pick a creeper as my 3rd fave, would I?








And last but not least, meet Yesung, before you all hear his voice and die from the overwhelming perfection. (Even Mike says he has a great voice!) This man has a WONDERFUL voice. I'm not kidding. His voice is good as hell, and it oozes sex. It has this husky, slightly hoarse quality to it that makes it sound like roughened velvet. Yes, I am in love/lust with his voice (and him, of course, because he's hot too). When I hear him sing I can either drift off to sleep, or think dirty thoughts. His voice just... works that way.







Leeteuk tries not to look creepy on the top left, while Siwon forces a smile on the bottom left.




And as an added bonus, I will give you guys a clip of Yesung singing a song solo on the radio show that he used to host.



Drown in that voice, darlings.


These are my top 4 SuJu faves, YAY! I'm basically lazy to rank the rest, so... I'm stopping here. *cues sighs of relief from everyone* But I might post again, this time to introduce YH's faves (all of which are totally different from mine, by the way, which is good because it means we have completely different tastes in men and will never end up fighting over the same guy). *cues shrieks of horror from everyone*

Come on, just humour me, guys. *pouts*

An Open Letter

To the bankers of the world:

I don't pretend to know anything at all about economics, or banking and finance. But I do know that the start of the current recession ravaging the world can be traced squarely back to September last year when Wall Street collapsed after years of irresponsible gambling on toxic hedge funds by investment bankers that ran into hundreds of billions of pounds. That was shortly followed by the downfall of Lehmann Brothers, which plunged the financial industry into further meltdown.

Signs that the investment bubble might burst the way the dotcom and properties industry did actually began from the start of 2008. The Royal Bank of Scotland decided to take over flailing Dutch bank ABN Amro, and consequently found that with plunging stocks and overwhelming public debt, they could not afford to service ABN Amro. The result is that RBS is now 70% owned by the government of Britain and interest rates have been cut to such an extent (to bring down public debt) that some savings accounts now pay close to zero per cent. Effectively, they have wiped out the savings of millions of people, many of them old and unemployed.

French bank Societe Generale (which my friend, who's working there, informs me is pronounced Soh-see-eh-teh Gen-nee-hall in a snooty French accent) was embroiled in a scandal the same year when it emerged that one of their traders had lost over 50 billion pounds gambling on the bank's investments. Keep in mind that this amount of money comes from the bank's customer deposits and customer investment funds.

In an effort to rescue their banks, the US and UK governments have announced bailout packages running into trillions of dollars aimed at resurrecting the financial sector. The majority of global banks, who posted tremendous losses last year, accepted government aid. They included Citigroup, RBS, Barclays, Swiss bank UBS, and Standard Chartered Group.

The speed and scale of the recession has been alarming. Everyday we hear more and more stories about people getting laid off, about employers freezing wages, or forcing staff to take unpaid leave and wage cuts, about families who have been living on credit for too long suddenly asked to pay their mortgages and loans and declared bankrupt when they can't.

So in such a climate, when people are sturggling to put food on their tables, you still hear of bankers getting huge cash bonuses, it's an obscenity.

RBS is planning to pay out 1 billion pounds in bonuses to its bankers despite just accepting a government bailout package financed by taxpayers' money. The fact that they are using the money paid in tax by the very people who are suffering rampant unemployment and financial woes, and THEN rewarding the men who helped to bring the world to its knees and caused the rampant unemployment and financial woes to so many, is an outrage.

Pardon me, but I honestly thought a bonus was a reward given for excellent performance. In which warped twisted world do you get a bonus - total amounting to no less than a billion pounds - for doing your job so badly that you have caused untold suffering worldwide?

Not all bankers are unscrupulous and fraudulent, but there is no doubt that every single major financial institution in the world contributed to the recession. The least these banks could do is to lie low and be contrite. Instead, they are proudly proclaming the huge pay packets they give to their staff. What's there to be proud of? Of not noticing that your staff lost your bank 50 billion pounds (as in the case of Societe Generale where top management insist they never noticed their rogue trader was gambling so much)? Of sitting back in your comfortable leather chairs while other people who have done nothing to deserve it lose their jobs and incomes?

I'm still relatively unaffected, but I have been affected nonetheless, and all around me I see people whose livelihoods are killed. And what for? All because of the unparelleled greed of a handful of fat cats in suits who gamble with other people's money.

To you, I say:



(Goodness it's been a long time since I've used this photo, I feel so much better now.)

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To my boss:

Dude, you're generally a good boss and I like working for you, but carry on with the pay cut any longer than your promised 3 months and I won't be able to work for you anymore. Not because I'm quitting, but because I'll have starved to death.

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To my family:

There comes a point when one has to say enough is enough. I have shown you everything I could, including my results slips, my course offer letter, my letter of income, and yet you still insist that I must be bullshitting about something. Like what? If you guys think I'm lying to you, why are you all not able to spell out exactly what it is? What do you think I am bullshitting about? The fact that my GPA is currently 4.23 out of 5 (when I already showed you my results slip)? The fact that I'm STILL schooling (when i've showed you my student pass and am going to gleefully wave in your stupid faces the letter of certification from the school when I get it)?

Seriously, I have enough problems to handle without your stupid unfounded suspicions. If you guys think I'm lying about still being in school, you've got to have shit for brains. how long can such a lie hold out? Eventually one day I will graduate, and if I still don't 5 years later you'll know for certain that I'm not in school, right? But now that I am and I'm getting good grades and I am struggling to support myself through school and living alone, you choose to give me these problems? Why didn't you give me any problems when I was still in NUS and living off my mother then? A lot of the points you raise to me now are a lot more pertinent then than they are now.

And anyway why the fuck would I lie about something like this? Where does it get me? What benefits do I get? Exactly nothing. Whereas now I'm putting myself through hell and high water because I'm determined to correct what I did wrong in the past and make something worthy out of myself. And you're not giving me the chance to. If you don't want to help me, I don't care; you're not obligated to. But the very least you could do is, shut the fuck up and leave me alone.

I have things to do. And all of you, with your narrow-mindedness, your arrogance, your stubborn insistence that something must be wrong with ME, have no part in it.

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To my friend G:

Dude, take care of yourself. Talking about regretting what you did and promising to start life afresh when you come back out is all well and good, but it's still all talk. I know that this will be a lesson that you will never forget, but whether you take its meaning to heart, that's another matter altogether.

Having said that, I know what you're capable of and what you can do if you really put your mind to it. You've fallen into a real deep shit-laden hole but that doesn't mean you can't pull yourself out of it. If, after your release, you've truly learned your lesson, you turn over a new leaf and stay away from the negative influences that have been blighting you and which landed you in your current situation, then I'd say it was all worth it. And in time, you'll come to think so too.

Stay strong, G.

"She's the love of my life... oh, so is she, and she, and she!"

First of all, happy Lunar New Year everyone!

I meant to blog about this a few days ago when I was thinking really deeply about this topic but then, what with several things popping up one after another, it's only now that I have the time to get over my crises, take a deep breath, and sit down in front of my computer and relax.

Before I go on further, let me just rant about something.

I HATE CHINESE NEW YEAR SHOWS AND SONGS.

Seriously. I have the TV on as I'm typing but I'm sorely irritated by it. Mediacorp artistes are dancing around with big grins, singing horrible CNY songs off-key, and the hosts are enthusiastic and screaming and cooing over every single unimpressive performance.

And I think CNY songs, far from being cheery and upbeat and injecting the CNY mood into me, in fact does the exact opposite - I just get incredibly irritated and grumpy and the cymbals clashing and techno beats give me a headache.

So guys, if you ever see me, don't greet me with a loud "Gong xi gong xi!" or whatever to that effect. I'll tell you "Gong xi your lan pa."

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Anyway, my inspiration for this post was a friend of mine, let's call him T. T and his girlfriend broke up a few months ago.

In these few months, T has been incredibly depressed and understandably so. I remember how he always used to say that his ex-girlfriend was the love of his life, how he misses her terribly, and how he will never have another relationship (or at least not so soon) because no girl can ever match up to her, and because he loves her more than anything in this world.

All I can say to this is, he's probably a very changeable and adaptable person because he found someone new in about 2 months.

There's nothing wrong in finding someone new. You're single and available, you think you're ready for it, go ahead by all means. But the issue is, don't declare to the world that the ex was "the love of your life" one month and the next month declare to the world that New Girl is "the love of your life". Isn't that a little, erm, quick? Dude, the loves of your life must travel at the speed of light.

I think sometimes, people just don't know the difference between love and like. Or even love and lust. Case in point: Myself. I loved my ex-boyfriend very very much, there was no doubt about it. When he left me for someone else, I rebounded pretty quickly too. But I always knew for certain that the rebound was NOT The One, and indeed not the love of my life. I liked Mr. Rebound a lot, I really did. I was utterly in lust with him too and spent my days scheming how I would get him into bed.

But I always knew: If there was someone destined to be the love of my life, it wasn't him.

Anyway, isn't it oxymoronic telling people you have one love of your life one moment and another one the next? Doesn't the phrase "love of my life" in itself mean that in your whole life, there can only be this one person whom you will love and cherish with an all-consuming, all-encompassing love?

Of course, T's life is his to lead and I definitely have no right to tell him what to do. But from what I know of New Girl, she seems to be manipulative, cunning, has no direction in life other than to get as drunk as possible on as many days as possible, and hops easily from bed to bed. I may be way too judgemental here, considering that I haven't seen New Girl that many times, but I saw enough to know that she had T wrapped around her little finger and made him spend recklessly on her.

And even if I can't judge her on her character because I don't know her well enough to, I can say this about her face and figure: If T's ex-girlfriend was a Lexus, New Girl is a rusty bicycle with only one tyre and no bell.

Frankly, T is reminding me strongly of my ex-boyfriend. The ex was even worse than T, actually, considering how he decided that The Slut was the love of his life (there, the same phrase is used too!) one week after knowing her, even though she was married with 2 kids and screwing 3 or 4 different men at the same time. That was like a downgrade from a Jaguar to walking. In torn slippers.

What really boggles my mind is, how can someone claim to love someone so much that he's willing to give up the world for her, but then say the same thing really quickly about someone new?

And if you decide you want to move on to someone new, all power to you, but choose wisely! Don't latch on to the first available thing you see crossing your path! Chances are, that first available thing not only isn't going to last the stretch with you, but is probably shittier than your last relationship. And this is exactly what is happening to my friend T. He is putting himself through torture, and there really is no need to.

Love isn't a game. It isn't something to be exchanged, shifted, moved, bartered, or switched at whim. It's a long road to walk, and there are potholes along the road that you may fall into. But you know what? You don't walk that road alone. You walk it with someone; that person that you truly love. You help each other to look out for potholes and avoid them. And after every pothole, before you hit the next one, the road is smooth, beautiful, and you can enjoy being with each other.

Do you really think a rusty bicycle with only one tyre and no bell will stick around to drag you out when you fall into a pothole on that road? It wouldn't have the ability or the inclination. And so you're left alone trying to claw yourself out, but it's too late to mend your broken heart, or recoup your money, or clean up the mess.

It'll be too late for you to learn, what is the real meaning of the love of your life.

A Post! A Post! Oh, Rejoice!

Pumpkin Flower has been bugging me to post something, and frankly I've been too lazy to so I decided to not give a damn about her whining and turn a deaf ear to her pleas, but then I just visited her blog and saw that she has posted like... 10 times in 2 weeks?

If Miss I'm-An-Ultra-Busy-Glam-Editor-Zooming-Around- Town-Indulging-In-Mooncake-Feasts can post that many times... well, suffice to say I felt ashamed. Just a little.

But first, a quick recap of my past month or two (or, as Kev would say, REWIND!).

The last time I blogged, I was tripping around Shenton Way in 3-inch heels trying my hand at banking sales. To make a short story even shorter, I hated it. I hate anything to do with banking and finance. I hate sales. Contrary to popular belief, I don't make a good salesperson despite my uber-awe-inspiring command of English. I don't gain the same sort of satisfaction from closing a sale as other people would (other people i.e. ex-colleague C, who, in his 'lean mean calling machine' mode, can easily close more than 300 sales a day). I don't like to interact with people I don't know, and I'd much rather be tucked away in a little corner of the office alone. Swamp me with paperwork all you want dudes, just don't make me talk to strangers!

I guess in a way, it's because I talk nonstop the rest of the time so I refuse to do it during work. I'm verbose enough under ordinary circumstances, I do not need - or want - to exercise my overly articulate tongue otherwise.

So I went, I saw, and I left. Case closed. Banking/sales? Never again.

Then again, after that I started teaching English Literature and GP to a few private O' and A' Level classes, so... there goes me overusing my exceedingly active tongue again.

The first time I walked into my first class of hyperactive 16-year-olds and introduced myself, one of the boys asked, "Cher, how old are you?" (Note the 'Cher'. Not 'Teacher' wor... it's CHER).

I told them I'm 25.

"Cher, you're teaching when you're still so young? Wow..." Cue gasps of admiration and disbelief from the kids. I felt utterly vindicated and decided this was going to be my favourite class from now on.

A few classes later, when the kids got more familiar with me and decided to be bolder, they asked, "Cher, do you have a boyfriend?"

"Yes, I do," I smiled sweetly at them.

"Wah Cher! Tell us how you met! Are you getting married?" Cue gasps of excitement again.

"My boyfriend is Shakespeare. Quit with the questions, and take out A Midsummer Night's Dream now," I ordered. "Where are your essays? Hand them in to me."

Groans from my kids. But they still obediently took out their books and handed in their hastily-scribbled essays to me. That's the thing about Singapore. All the kids are conditioned to follow orders.

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Besides the boring job shit, I went for Pumpkin Flower's older brother's wedding 2 weeks ago.

I've known her brother and the rest of her family almost as long as I've known her, so it was almost like watching a member of my own family get married. As the bride and groom strolled down the aisle of the Grand Copthorne ballroom, amidst a blanket of dry ice and sword-bearing Navy officers forming an arch above the happy couple with their ceremonial swords, a question nagged at me: What about me?

I realise this makes me sound a little selfish, not to mention desperate, but let me clear things up a little. First of all, I love weddings. I enjoy these joyous occasions and am genuinely happy for all the friends of mine who have found their partners and join together in happy matrimony. But there is always a little bit of melancholy tinged with my joy as I reflect on my previous relationships.

First relationship, 2.5 years, an amicable breakup, and now we're very good friends but our lives are no longer parallel; we have veered off on our own courses.

Second relationship, lasted 7 years, hurt the shit out of me, caused some pretty long-term psychological damage, still causing me occasional irritation, and a lot of regret over the wrong choices I'd made with regards to him.

No more relationships after that, a few dates that petered off, and now a 10-month-long crush on ex-colleague DB that so far has borne several seedless grapes instead of a glorious, sweet, plump immortal peach.

I am 25 going on 26, and every month that passes I feel a follicle in my ovary erupt and my finite supply of eggs dwindle. Sorry to put it in such graphic terms, but this is exactly what's happening! Like I told Pumpkin, "Men can sow their wild oats till they're frigging 70. Women have until 35 to give birth."

Chew on that! We have half the time allotted to men to reproduce and pass our genes on and give our innate mothering natures free rein! The unfairness of it all galls me. Men always have it best.

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Talking about DB and my innate mothering instincts, I start getting the feeling that I'm being treated as some sort of 'nai ma' or nanny. And not just by DB too, by another ex-colleague J as well. Perhaps some deep caveman instinct in these men, descended from millennia of ancestors who hunted and grunted and tore into raw meat while their women stayed in their caves breastfeeding, can sense the maternal part of me and thus are drawn to it?

Seriously, I have no idea. But I admit that I'm maternal. I love kids and animals and all manner of small furry things. I coo over them and look after them. And somehow, in the process, I have become a rallying emblem for men whose mothers left them when they were young (namely the ex and DB).

Case in point: DB sprained his ankle on Sunday playing football and he went to the Chinese sinseh today to get it looked at. Guess who he asked along? Me, of course.

Frankly, when we were at the sinseh and he pulled off his shoe, his sock and then his ankle guard, I was horrified. Utterly, completely horrified. I could not even imagine how he could have walked for 3 days on that foot. It was swollen to the size of his calf, I kid you not. The bruising was so bad, there were thick, deep purple streaks running across his ankle. His toes were almost black from bruising. I was flabbergasted.

"DB! How could you walk around on that ankle? Why didn't you tell me it was so bad? Why have you been walking on it?!" I hissed at him.

"It's ok, it feels better now than on Sunday, I've been icing it," he whispered back.

I wanted to hit him for not taking better care of himself.

So I sat near the sinseh's table while he went to lie on the bed at the other end. (May I also mention that I took his watch from him and tucked it into my bag for safekeeping. I also unbuttoned his wrist cuff for him because the sinseh said he would need to put a needle into his arm later. Jesus, I just pushed the feminist movement back about 40 years.)

As the sinseh folded his trouser leg up, DB turned to look at where I was sitting and said suddenly, "Come and stay near me please, I'm afraid it's going to hurt."

Now before I go on, let me elaborate a little. DB is a very egoistic man. In fact, he has one of the most explosively enormous egos I've ever seen on a man. He will grit his teeth through every pain, brush away any hurt, strike back at any slight, and put on a strong, can't-care-less facade in front of everyone. For him to say something like that shocked me almost as much as the sight of his horrible ankle did.

Well, what could I do? I trotted over to him and stood next to his bed, at his head, while the sinseh busied himself sticking needles into various regions of DB's ankle, and finally the last one on his arm. Occasionally DB would look up at me as if seeking reassurance, and grin at me. Once or twice he winced, and man... did that hurt. I meant it hurt me, not him.

Plus, he's going for a minor operation on Friday, and again he asked me to go with him because he's "nervous". So while he's in the operating room for one hour, I will have to wait for him, and then while he's sleeping off the anaesthetic for the next one or two hours, I will be sitting next to his bed waiting for him to wake up. And then I have to make sure he has some food and gets safely home.

Sometimes I wonder to myself why I do all this for him. But then again, I'm rather certain he wonders to himself why he lets his guard down and allows himself to be vulnerable around me.

It must be my inner 'nai ma' he senses. Jesus!

Things I've Learnt

Lessons on Love

That giving someone your all doesn't help if the person shuts himself away from you and doesn't want to take it.

That no matter how much you tell yourself that it's his loss and his fault, it still hurts.

That lying to yourself that he doesn't deserve you doesn't work, because the truth is that you don't deserve him.

That emotional pain can actually feel like a physical kick in your guts.

That no matter how hard you try to shut him out of your mind, everywhere you turn, you see something that reminds you of him - a whiff of his cologne, his sharp nose on someone else's face, his same bag carried by another man, the same confident swagger on a passerby, the office where he works, the make of car you know he drives.

That any man that enters your circle somehow never measures up to him.

That you can be checking out a good looking man for a maximum of merely 4 seconds before you conclude that he isn't as handsome as your guy and immediately lose interest.

That something can actually be over before it even begins.

That he means more to you than you care to admit.

That you can carry on for months in a state of blissful ignorance, only to be woken up by, of all things, a single brusque sentence.

That manipulation isn't an art confined to the fairer sex.

That he can be your motivation and simultaneously your demoralisation.

That you can help him fold up his sleeves, pat down his trousers, rub his neck and back when he's tired, pluck threads off his shirt, bring him hot water and herbal tea when his sinus strikes, cook him his favourite foods, do anything and everything to make sure he is comfortable, happy and healthy 100% of the time, even though you're close to exhaustion yourself.

That you can actually be happy doing things for him without asking for anything in return.

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Lessons on Work

That you can be made redundant anytime, for the stupidest of reasons.

That money turns out to be the main motivating factor in your job, despite how you've never thought of yourself as a materialistic person.

That when you move on, you miss your old colleagues - who have become friends - terribly.

That working in the CBD means that food is expensive, transport is expensive, and the daily fashion parade on show, modelled by impossibly slender girls with fair perfect skin and long, lean limbs, is utterly demoralising.

That things aren't as bad as you feared they would be when you see all your new colleagues hitting their sales targets effortlessly.

That CBD people are damn unfriendly - smile at them and they don't even acknowledge you with so much as a flicker of their mascara-ed and curled eyelashes.

That you actually miss the food court in your old workplace, compared to CBD food.

That you're getting hell of a lot more money, but you'd be willing to take (a little bit) less in exchange for a friendly smile and chattier colleagues.

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Lessons on Fashion

That it is a horrible mistake to explore Shenton Way and Tanjong Pagar in high heels.

That, despite the above statement, high heels go well with practically everything and vamp up the frumpiest outfit, therefore you should keep wearing them.

That empire-waisted tops are fabulous for (ahem) fuller figures.

That the right bag attracts more admiration than even the most gorgeous clothes.

That you shouldn't wear buttoned shirts if you have a large bust, because buttons are annoying and tend to spring open in the most crowded places possible.

That a blazer is the best investment ever because you can be wearing a plain spaghetti strap top, but throw a blazer on and it instantly turns you into a high-powered career woman.

That maternity clothes can look even more hip than normal clothes.

That any man looks great as long as he is in a shirt and tie.

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Lessons on Makeup

That if you have perfect skin, you can get away with just about anything.

That mascara is the only item you need to make you look glowingly refreshed and wide awake.

That blusher on the apples of your cheeks instantly makes you look happy even if you're not.

That you'll eat any lipsticks or lip glosses on your lips anyway, so no point touching up on them.

That you just can't understand why some girls can pile on sunscreen, moisturiser, foundation, eyeshadow, eyeliner, mascara, concealer, blusher, shimmer, lip liner, lipstick, lip gloss, and loose powder, and still manage to move their faces without it cracking into a million pieces.

That if you were to do the same as the abovementioned girls, you would faint from lack of oxygen within 10 minutes and your pores would be clogged for life.

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Lessons on Life in General

That babies are little mini-miracles of life.

That good-looking men come equipped with unmanageable egos.

That by the age of 25, most of your friends are attached/engaged/married/pregnant/mothers and you start to worry about yourself, who is not attached/not engaged/not married/not pregnant/not a mother.

That praying together with your friends tends to bring you more satisfaction and amazingly, yield better results.

That you should never, never, never, never, never drink on an empty stomach. NEVER. I cannot emphasise this enough.

That you have resigned yourself to the fact that if, at 25, you haven't outgrown the PlayStation, you probably never will.

That football is best watched in large groups of friends, but watch out for the obscenities.

A Tragic Fairy Tale

I was supposed to blog about my Bangkok trip and put up photos, which I will (eventually) when I have more time. Right now, my schedule is kind of packed but I feel somewhat guilty about not blogging, since my friends have been bugging me to post something and complaining that my blog is purely ornamental nowadays.

So, I'm just going to post a quick little story that Jess and I made up when we had way too much time on our hands one day. It is far-fetched and doesn't make any sense but seriously, I don't care. It's just a space filler.

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This tale of lust, forbidden love, betrayals, lies and deceit is set in 189 AD, in the Han Dynasty. Emperor Zhong, a powerful but (unusually, for that era) benevolent ruler, reigned over an enormous empire stretching from Persia to India. His people were well-fed and satisfied, he had won peace after years of bloody battles and long-drawn negotiations with the barbarians of the north, and he himself had a harem of 3,000 beautiful concubines, personally handpicked by the Empress Dowager herself.

Despite Emperor Zhong having 3,000 concubines for his pleasure, he favoured only a handful. Of these, 8 concubines eventually gave him 9 children - 8 sons and a daughter.

Even in that day and age, when boys were universally favoured and girls were regarded as mere vessels to produce sons, Emperor Zhong's favourite child was his only daughter, Princess Jun. For starters, she was born to his favourite concubine, Lady Xiang, widely acknowledged to be the most beautiful lady in the land with a face to rival the famous beauty Xi Shi. Also, unfortunately, Lady Xiang died of an illness at the tender age of 21, leaving her 5-year-old daughter motherless. Emperor Zhong, out of fealty to his beloved concubine, took Princess Jun under his wing and showered her with love, instead of leaving her to the care of the palace attendants and nursemaids.

Princess Jun grew up to be the spitting image of her mother. Everyone who saw her was struck by her sublime beauty and enchanted by her vivaciousness and many talents. She was superb at painting, calligraphy and music, highly educated for a girl, and often spent her days reading the classics or playing the qin in the sheltered pavillion in the grounds of her palace in the Forbidden City.

Besides Princess Jun, Emperor Zhong had 8 sons, among them the Crown Prince, born to him and Empress Wei. Despite the Crown Prince's status, he was weak and perpetually ill from childhood; many wags whispered that, if Emperor Zhong had his way, he would give the title of Crown Prince to his fourth son, Fourth Prince Yi, instead.

Prince Yi was born to another of the emperor's favourites, Lady Yun, and was a year older than Princess Jun. Bright, forthcoming and handsome, he was singled out by the emperor and his ministers as a talent to groom for the future. Prince Yi excelled in both the martial arts and academic learning, and was so brilliant that from the tender age of 14 Sun Zhao-Ren, the famed scholar who was personally asked by Emperor Zhong to tutor the young prince, gave up and told the emperor that he had nothing left to teach the boy; he had surpassed his tutor. At the age of 20, Prince Yi was made Commander-General of the Imperial Guards. In essence, he controlled the entire military force of China.

Because they were close in age, and their mothers had been close as well, Prince Yi and Princess Jun grew up together. Prince Yi watched over the delicate, beautiful Princess Jun and kept her from harm, while Princess Jun adored her older and intelligent half-brother. They remained close even as they grew older and began assuming adult responsibilities. Prince Yi personally handpicked 7 of his best guards to guard his sister, while Princess Jun, on her part, provided much-needed moral support and a listening ear to her battle-hardened brother.

However, they say that an idle mind stirs up mischief. So it was for Princess Jun, who, cooped up day after day in her palace, began to be restless. She was extremely intelligent, and for a girl with her sharp mind there was only so much embroidering and reading she could do. She needed an outlet for her pent-up boredom, and she found it in the shape of a man named Jie.

Jie was a subordinate of Prince Yi and one of his trusted lieutenants. At that point, the prince was away, leading a war upon a barbarian tribe who had been raiding and killing freely in the southern provinces. Because Jie was highly capable and looked upon favourably by the prince, who was grooming him for a high position in the military, he was left behind in charge of the Imperial guard in the palace - the personal army protecting Emperor Zhong, his ministers, concubines, and children. Among them was Princess Jun.

It didn't take long for Jie and Princess Jun to begin an illicit affair. Princess Jun had a trusted lady-in-waiting named Ming, who was their middleman and messenger and helped her mistress cover up the affair. Of course, at that time, consorting with a princess was a crime punishable by death. If they were found out, Jie would be executed and quartered on the spot, while Princess Jun would face exile to remote Siberia. Accomplices like Ming would be executed, while Prince Yi would face demotion from his post and stripped of his titles for failing to watch over his sister and safeguard her virginity.

Worst of all, Princess Jun was already betrothed to King Cao, a powerful warlord who ruled over vast tracts of land in the east. This marriage was meant to seal the empire's alliance with the kingdom. But if King Cao should discover that Princess Jun had betrayed him with another man before their marriage, it could not only sunder the alliance, the insult could mean war between the two lands.

Princess Jun knew she was putting a lot of people's lives at risk, but she was so caught up in the adrenaline and excitement of what she was doing that she could not stop. She held no particular feelings for Jie; he was just a rather good-looking toy to her, something to alleviate her boredom. She found it palpitations-inducingly exciting when Jie was smuggled into her bedchamber in the nights by Ming, who would dress him up in one of her own maid's robes to disguise him, or when her father or brother came to visit while Jie was still ensconced in her room with her.

Jie, on the other hand, was merely honoured in the beginning to be chosen as the beautiful princess's lover, but as the days went by he fell deeply in love with her. It hurt him to the core that he could never have her, and he knew that she was not in love with him, yet she melted his heart effortlessly. He was racked with guilt at his betrayal to his superior, Prince Yi, and afraid of the consequences. But he could not help himself when it came to her; he loved her too deeply.

After a month, when Prince Yi won the war and returned with plunder from the barbarians, he had no inkling that his beloved sister was having an affair with his trusted protege. Handsome and young he may be, but the prince had no interest in women, marriage, or anything of that sort. To him, his life was the battlefield, and his only duty was to his father and his country.

Because of that, he did not see the events unfolding before him. He did not see how, when his sister stepped out of her palace to greet his triumphant return, her eyes flickered first to where Jie was standing behind him. He did not see how she allowed a small smile to touch her lips at the sight of Jie. He did not see how Jie looked down with his hands trembling at the sight of her. He did not see how, as she threw her arms around him in exuberant greeting, she let her silk handkerchief slip out of her hands and fall to the ground in front of Jie. And he did not see how Jie, on the pretext on leaving the siblings alone in private, turned away and stooped quickly to pick up the handkerchief before slipping it into his armour and marching away.

If he did not notice the heated signals between Princess Jun and Jie, Prince Yi certainly did not notice the longing looks of the princess's faithful lady-in-waiting Ming. Their acquaintance had begun years ago, when the prince had ridden into Princess Jun's palace courtyard on a magnificent black stallion and nearly ran over Ming, who was running across the courtyard on an errand for her mistress. Ming crumpled to the ground and remained there head bowed, but much to her astonishment, unlike the other high-and-mighty court officials, Prince Yi got off his stallion and lifted her up. He then gave her a white silk handkerchief and told her to keep it to clean her hands, which were slightly scuffed by her fall. Then, cool as ever, he swung back up on his horse and rode off, but not before he had captured Ming's heart with his dashing good looks and kindness to a mere servant girl.

Years later, Ming was almost as miserable as Jie in her unrequited love for Prince Yi, as she knew the Prince would likely never marry. And even if he did, he would marry a lady of noble blood, and not a lady-in-waiting. But each time he came to visit Princess Jun, she hovered around him, a picture of quiet and demure solicitude, hoping and wishing for a glance, a smile, anything, but the prince never seemed to notice her. Ming was very beautiful herself, loyal and sweet, but she just could not attract Prince Yi's notice because the prince was too caught up in court and military affairs to ever notice women. She had plucked up the courage once and gone to the prince's palace on a made-up pretext, deliberately bumped into him, and shyly held out a present she had made for him - a white silk handkerchief which she had embroidered herself. She hoped that it would jog his memory of the day when he had helped her up and given her his handkerchief. The prince, however, hopelessly dense when it came to affairs of the heart, merely frowned and asked, "What's this? Who asked you to give this to me?", whereupon the poor girl's courage faltered and she fled, present still in hand.

These convoluted love affairs might have carried on forever if not for the fact when one day, Jie's good friend Rong, who was also one of the Imperial Guards, began getting suspicious of Jie's long absences from his post, especially at night. He started questioning Jie, who was already facing immense pressure from the need to hide his affair with Princess Jun from the many watchful eyes in the court, as well as having his heart broken by Princess Jun's flippant attitude towards him. Jie eventually broke down and confessed all to Rong.

Hearing this, Rong broke out in a cold sweat. Now that he knew about the affair, he was officially an accomplice and would be put to death along with Jie if they were found out. He was close friends with Jie, but he knew his friend was playing with fire and would end up getting everyone around him killed. To forestall this scenario, Rong went to the Empress Dowager and poured out everything that Jie had told him.

The Empress Dowager was furious with good reason, and demanded that the suitable punishments be meted out. Prince Yi was devastated at the double whammy of the betrayal by his sister and his lieutenant, and immediately offered to resign his post and exile himself to a distant land for failing in his duty. Princess Jun was appalled at the consequences of her affair, clearly spelt out now, and tried to hang herself, only to be saved by Ming, who herself faced execution and was placed under lock and key together with the princess.

However, Emperor Zhong could not bear to order his precious daughter exiled, much less strip his favourite son of his titles when he knew Prince Yi never knew about the affair. Furthermore, he had already made up his mind to confer the title of Crown Prince on Prince Yi, and to promote Jie, who was highly recommended by the prince, to Commander-General once Prince Yi became Emperor. Also, there was the matter of the princess's betrothal to consider.

Benevolent though he was, he could not so easily spare the other perpetrators of this monstrous crime. Jie was duly executed and Rong, despite him telling the Empress Dowager what happened, was exiled quickly and without announcements so as to prevent him spreading the news anywhere else in the court and tainting the princess's upcoming marriage. Princess Jun was married off to King Cao quickly, and despite her pleading for the life of her maidservant to be spared, Ming was executed as well. On the night of her marriage, Princess Jun, having lost her brother, her family, her lover, and her good friend and servant, killed herself by jumping into a well.

Upon receiving the news of his sister's death, Prince Yi broke down completely. He went to the lifeless and empty palace of Princess Jun where they had spent so many happy days, and looked through his beloved sister's possessions, remembering her and her sharp wit, outstanding beauty, and loveable sweetness.

Among her possessions, however, he discovered something: A letter written by Ming, in the days when she was imprisoned along with Princess Jun to await a sentence. The letter was addressed to him, but apparently she had never dreamt that it would be found and read by anyone, much less him. When he read it, he realised how that quiet young maidservant had been in love with him for years, and how blind and foolish he had been to devote himself to the military and never notice her.

Prince Yi had lost everything, and so, he pulled his sword out of its scabbard and slit his own throat.

So ends this tragic tale...

Busybodies at Work

All right, I do realize that my blog has started to spawn flies after lying unused for almost two months.

The truth is, ever since school started again, I have been so busy that all my days and nights just seem to blend into one phantasmagorical landscape. It’s a lot worse this semester because I have more assignments than ever before – 11 in total. And they are all 2,500-word essay-type assignments that are incredibly research-heavy and require the usage of maybe 8 different books and journals. That’s a conservative estimate, by the way.

In consequence, the bibliography is enough to kill me. I can literally spend 4 hours just doing the bibliographies for my assignments.

The good thing (or bad, depending which way you look at it) is that time really flies. It seems like only yesterday when I was staggering around half-drunk in Butter Factory celebrating my birthday and before I really noticed it, 3 months have gone by.

The speed at which my days are flashing past me is so incredible, it scares me at times. But at the same time, it exhilarates me because my days are packed full and every day brings something new and interesting to do.

I thought life was going to get dull after my favourite colleague C left for another job that is paying him frigging twice the amount he was getting in our company. C is my favourite because he is a real clown and constantly makes me laugh. I’ve lost count of the amount of times we have lunch or dinner together where he tells us funny stories that make us laugh so hard we have to clutch our aching stomachs.

We had a farewell dinner for C at Brazil 2 weeks ago, where C and I gorged our way through chunks of fresh lamb, beef, chicken and the to-die-for buttered salmon. As you can probably tell by now, the both of us are the best people to bring along to buffets because we’d make sure we get our money’s worth and more besides. Jess and our other colleague J were there as well, but J has always had a small appetite because he is a scrawny bamboo pole of a guy and Jessie was rather off-colour that day appetite-wise.

As usual, C kept all of us entertained throughout the night with his stories. That dude is one of the most crazy and colourful characters I’ve ever met. He’s my little ray of sunshine indeed (that’s what I used to call him). Which is why I thought work was going to get boring without him.

But far from being boring, everything exploded in a scandal of Hiroshima proportions that kept us and the bosses talking for weeks. What happened was probably the biggest scandal ever in the history of our rather stodgy company.

Two days after C left, I got called into our big boss’s office by my supervisor, who is my sort of “small” boss. I didn’t think it was anything out of the ordinary at first because it’s normal in my office to have these little meetings between the big and small bosses regarding one account or another. I just assumed we were going to talk about some upcoming contract renewals.

But when I entered the office, I saw Mr. Incompetent, who is also C’s small boss, sitting there looking grim. And I knew immediately it was not going to be good because Mr. Incompetent deals with a totally different aspect in the company; he is not involved with our end at all.

So they sat me down, and with all 3 bosses facing me, they informed me (rather gleefully, I might add) that after C left, they had accessed his email inbox and found all the emails between him and the rest of our group of colleagues. AND they had found all the personal emails between me and him only – all 400-plus of them. AND they had gone to the trouble of retrieving the emails he deleted.

Needless to say, they now had a birds’ eye view of what was going on in our personal lives, our gripes about our professional lives, and perhaps worst of all, they’d found all the insults hurled at Mr. Incompetent.

Try “gold-digging bald gorilla”, for a start. But in all fairness, Mr. Incompetent IS bald, and he digs his nose all the time. AND then flicks his nice ripe boogers onto the carpeted floor.

So the inquisition began.

“What was C so unhappy about? Are you unhappy about anything? Why did C say this in this email? Why did you say that in that email?”

I crossed my legs languidly and leaned back in my chair with my arms folded across my chest, looking to all the world like the perfect picture of innocence and insouciance – but in fact I’d folded my arms because I wanted to hide the trembling of my hands. I don’t believe my mind has ever worked so fast before, as it whizzed and whirled and twisted, all my synapses firing at full throttle and my neurons flying from axon to axon, while I spoke calmly, clearly, coolly, and concocted plausible and nice-sounding explanations for C’s conduct and the contents of our emails.

The bosses seemed satisfied by that, though I’m not certain that I did pull the wool completely over their eyes. But nevertheless, they said they accepted my explanations and they would leave it at that since “C has already left us”. But they would be “monitoring” all of us from now on – meaning our entire gang who was involved in this email shit (though none of them got called up but me because C and I had the most email conversations going).

So I thought that was that, when the bosses changed tack and started telling me how they look upon me as a “little sister” that they “care about”, and so because of that they are concerned with the company I am keeping.

Small Boss went so far as to tell me that if I “hang out with negative people, all my relationships will be negative” and I won’t get a “good guy”. This was followed by Mr. Incompetent telling me that they only “want the best for me” and that I need to be careful when choosing a guy for myself. Then Small Boss chipped in again saying that they think I need to get a good Christian boy who will share the same values as me since I’m Catholic.

I was a little confused. What did my personal choices in men have to do with this email stuff?

Then I figured – they thought I was in some sort of relationship with C, based on the emails we’d sent each other. Which could not be further from the damn truth! But what was worse was the fact that these people went through and read my highly personal emails and then attempted to give me advice on something they know nuts about and which they got all wrong anyway!

I didn’t tell them they were wrong though. I smiled, nodded and asked them bluntly if they were saying such stuff because they were worried I’d be negatively influenced by C.

They looked shocked that I was so quick on the uptake (like, duh) and began protesting vigorously. “No of course not!” “We’re only advising you because you’re like a younger sister to us!” “No that’s not what we mean at all!”

“Well, good,” I told them. “Because if I was so easily influenced I’d have left along with C.”

The bosses had the grace to look a little uncomfortable as they exchanged shifty looks with each other. But then again, that was that and I didn’t really care what they thought. I got the feeling they were being kaypoh and trying to dig information about what was really going on between C and me but I refused to give them anything to feed on.

Let them keep guessing. That’s what livens up their mundane working days anyway.