He was so romantic, I could not resist

Snow White sounds rather like a lunatic in an asylum, in her padded cell, singing her heart out to no one in particular (maybe the little scurrying animals). Scary, which is what i suppose love will be like.

And Pocahontas sings 'JUST around the riverbend!' quite madly aggressively.

Oh yes grandfather long legs did not die. The next morning, I brought him down in the dustbin (covered by my primary 5 science notebook) and released him into the garden. He crawled out and teetered on the edge, contemplating crawling back into the dirty dustbin but luckily decided the fresh carpet grass was better for the rest of his life.

In the suburban evening, in gravelly neighbourhoods all over, people are watching television in the descending darkness as their maids cook dinner. And my grandmother is obsessed with making my brother eat whenever he comes back from NS. She is so afraid that he will go out with his friends without a word, that he will not try what she has cooked specially for him. She shouts frantically and desperately for him to try this and that, and he replies rather monosyllabically and eats some while watching television as she sits hunched staring at the english show she cannot understand, and watching him eat.

In the end, it was the Sunday afternoons he couldn't cope with, and that terrible listlessness that starts to set in about 2:55, when you know you've taken all the baths that you can usefully take that day, that however hard you stare at any given paragraph in the newspaper you will never actually read it, or use the revolutionary new pruning technique it describes, and that as you stare at the clock the hands will move relentlessly on to four o'clock, and you will enter the long dark teatime of the soul.

--Douglas Adams, Life, the Universe and Everything

Watching Jamie At Home, the show about Jamie Oliver in his wonderful sunny home with his backyard of tomatoes, pumpkins, fresh vegetables, magical herbs (cinnamon sticks he grinds over food) old outdoors stone stove, mushrooms (but never pluck them, for they may very well kill you) and flowers, watching this show is sheer torment and bliss. It just tortures me madly with its insanely divine plucking of fruits from the backyard and then vigorous fresh zesty fizzy cooking (from him in colourful knitted winter hats). He made pumpkin fairy cakes (also called muffins). It was even worse when he had to go into the forest with the mushroom expert and they plucked fat mushrooms from the cold forest ground and then sat down with a portable stove and a pan and fried mushrooms with butter and herbs and then toasted their bread on the pan and scooped the juicy hot sticky concoction of fresh forest mushrooms onto the damn bread and crunched it right there in that lovely cold forest!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Sweet peaceful restful dreams to all the tired children who got their psle results today. (including my dear sai sai)

tom

Tom died. Tom the gangly swaying tree that I see from my huge window, in the next next door neighbour's house, a tall lean tree with fluttering leaves that are so high they are against the clouds from where I see it. One day I was just pottering around my room, I turned and saw that tom was sawed in half. It was a horrendous realisation, like finding out

OH MY GOD THERE IS A PRAYING MANTIS IN MY ROOM ON THE FLOOR, IT LOOKS LIKE THE ONE IN A BUG'S LIFE, IT IS WALKING LIKE A HUMAN BEING.

I half expect it to turn around and start giving me grandfatherly advice.

Back to tom. I will find pictures of him, before and after. Actually he isn't really dead. He's just...half gone, but what I liked most was his tallest branch. Actually tom was more that than the tree. Goodbye Tom. I didn't even see you when you left.

Praying mantis is crawling up old filthy ikea wooden kids chair. It has reached the top, it is praying to the lights. It is looking out for friends to talk to, because he will soon be lonely and has to pass the whole night by himself, in a strange room and not a garden. What shall I do?! He looks like he is preaching to a crowd, his legs seemingly gesturing, but there is no crowd on the seat under him! Sad, little mantis. I admit he scares me alot.

There is a concert this saturday at the vivocity amphitheatre. Old bands from the 60s and 70s from Singapore and around the area (including one nicknamed the beatles of malaysia) will be playing their songs, and BEATLES and rolling stones and other oldies. Even though its not really the beatles playing, watching someone sing the beatles is...very special. Like the beatles tribute band concert we went to, the wigs they wore, the fat fish-and-chips-sailor ringo, Hey Jude, the grass we sat on, That Feeling. Oh my, will there be many people who grew up on records and kampongs and old singapore there this saturday night? People who listen to GOLD 90fm (where I by luck found out about this concert). Lucy and I will put on our sixties clothes and have a psychedelic nostalgic sweet time. I can't wait. My heart flutters and melts at the thought of the music.

The praying mantis has scuttled off somewhere! What if I try to leave my room and he stops me, and starts speaking to me?



ARRRRRRRRRRRR the mantis just flew on me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
My heart is beating like mad.
And then it went into the dustbin and I covered the top of the dustbin (and as I did, it looked at me with two maroon-brown googly eyes).
I shall tell myself I am leaving it there, for a good night's rest snuggled among the mucus tissues and whatnot tonight.

Okay?


Night you silly grandfather praying mantis!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


but...will it die? I don't want to kill dear grandfather mantis :-( If i wake my grandmother up I don't think she will bother releasing him in the garden, she'll probably just slap him dead with her bare hands, saying 'Aiyah, like that also scared'. How? This is grave, a life is at stake. And the ethical decision rests with me. If only I could enclose him in a padded bubble and then throw the bubble into my house garden, upon which the bubble would dissolve and he would be free. Oh no grandpapa, what is going on in that germ-filled dustbin now? I think there are some crumbs of caramelised molasses biscuit inside, as long as you don't die of lack of oxygen. Golly no wolly. Damn my insecty room. Horrible notes: 1. there might still be ant nests in the pictures on my wall. 2. there might be many many ant/hopefully-not-other-insect eggs lining one of my bookcases. 3. there might really be, like my grandmother said, cockroaches under my bed. 4. i found a dead beetle carcass in my backpack in the food compartment.

Yikes.