The Showcase

So it was a fun weekend. A lot of laughter, a lot of sweat (literally!) and to top it all off, a ceramic koru (fern) trophy and a pack of hair products for 3rd place at Advanced Open Showcase. Don’t ask me why hair products because I think that’s completely random as well but hey, at least I don’t have to buy shampoo for the next two months or so.

The trophy isn’t quite presented properly in the above picture so below is a clearer picture of what the trophy looks like.

Mind you, this picture was taken at 2ish in the morning and I had shaky hands and light was dim. Yes, it does look like a really dehydrated ice cream cone turned upside down with a bit of a growth on the end so shut up.

EDIT: I’ve come up with a slightly better description. If you can kindly recall to the scene in Shrek where he pulls a tube of earwax out of his ear and uses it as a candle? Imagine that with a curled tip. And you get the trophy. Indeed.

And to prove I got what I got and that I actually did win 3rd place, here’s the trophy tag nice and clear for the entire world to see.

To be perfectly honest, I thought we deserved first place. But I can’t be too greedy. The other teams were good. And perhaps, the judges thought they were better. Oh well. Heh.

We had good timing, we smiled and we told a lovely love story. Or so I heard from comments around me. So yay. At least I got that part done.

Tomorrow, I have a dance workshop to attend and then its back to Wangy and work. Man, life will seem so drab after the glamour of a dance competition.

Hm.

This might be my last post in a while. I’ve been terribly uninspired to write. But I won’t delete the blog. I’ll let it sit here and rot away.

To the few and faithful, thank you. But Life is put on pause. Off the record.

Happy endings are for stories that haven’t finished yet – Jane Smith, Mr and Mrs Smith.

Bye bye.

The morning before.

Funny, I wrote a post with the opposite title last year. Huh.

Oh. Obligatory picture here.

Taken at the Square in Palmy of three fountains surrounded by heaps of ducks that are non visible in here. Plump, fat, juicy…*drool* ducks. I honestly think no one would give a damn if I made off with one or two. I just have to deal with the squeamishness of plucking feathers, breaking a neck and gutting it. Enough to empty out my already empty stomach.

Today is the day before the competition. And to tell the truth, I’m honestly a bit excited. I can’t wait. The glamour of it all. And my first dance performance too!

I’m blogging this from Microsoft Live Writer, by the way. All these little things to add to my computer is most surely clogging up its system. Poor thing. But I’m going to reboot you and soon. *pat pat*

Well.

I can’t seem to take a shower this morning as someone is hogging the BATHROOM. Ugh. I have to deal with less than flattering hair and a slightly sore back. Dear lord. Its going to be a long time until the icebreaker dance party.

Final Countdown

*cue interesting synthetic sounding music for Final Countdown track*

 

Starting from this very moment, I have roughly 72 hours before the comps and I'm getting that slight trembly feeling. All good, though.

 

My nose is feeling completely fine at the current moment and I think I'm back on my feet again.

 

They keyboard shines up at me, daring me to put some words in one way or another.

But I find my mind blank and my fingers word dehydrated.

 

Its like squeezing drops of water out of a dying sponge.

 

This might be my last post. Ahem.

 

But let's see where my fingers take me.

 

 

How many roads...

Must a man walk down
Before they call him a man?

 

This comes to mind today as I sit here, pondering the vast emptiness of Gmail and its demanding textbox.

 

I'm sitting at work on a Wednesday morning. It is 8.48a.m. I want you to think of what you were doing at this exact time. 8.48a.m. Were you logging into work? Were you eating a muffin on the way to work? Were you fielding phone calls? Were you pushing papers and getting stressed? What were you doing at 8.48a.m.?

 

Me? I'm blogging.

Its virtually amazing how many blog posts I end up having to click on after one day away from the Internet. Google Reader is awesome that way and its always annoying in a way that it makes you HAVE to read to get rid of the highlighted blog.

 

I'm also currently recovering from a flu scare. Its probably a 24 hour cold bug that hit me and hit me hard. I'm trying not to sneeze and infect everyone. Not a good look, really. We try and make people less sick instead of making them sick.

 

I spent a restless day yesterday wondering what I would be doing at work when I was cycling around town, looking for something to do.

Oh, I bought a new hat.

 

Funny, really. I didn't like the fact that I had a blocked nose and I couldn't really do very much but yet, I wished I was at work. Being sick from work is equal to 1 day less wages. See the Chinese side of me coming out already? And to completely stamp down Chinese innuendo....WALIUEH!

 

In recent times, I'm having less and less inspiration to blog. Was chatting to the Sociologist and mentioned that I only get itchy fingers wanting to type when I don't have a blog. Bad bad thing to have, really.

 

Maybe I will take you up on that offer of not blogging and keeping a typing journal instead. And then I'll send massive Word files to people. Won't that be so much cooler?

 

La dee da dee da.

 

You know what I want right now?

 

Hot chicken soup with bits of creamed corn floating and slivers of tender poached chicken with spring onions, shallots, a hint of ginseng, and some egg stirred in. Oh, and a nice movie and you to hug and give me the shoulder massage that I've not had for AGES.

 

Free/Nobody life

Do you hear the people sing?
Singing the songs of angry men
It is the singing of a people who will not be slaves again
Let the beating of your hearts
Echo the beating of the drums
It is the starting of a life when tomorrow comes

Somehow, this comes to mind today as I log in. I'm not too sure why.

You know how when you've slept for a little too long and you get that slight dizzy heavy-headed feel as though your head was made out of a bowling ball? That's what today feels like. Dizzy and heavy headed.

Work today is mediocre, really.

Read an excerpt off Jim's blog and he was talking about the "nobody" life and being at perfect peace because it didn't really matter what he had in his life. He just had to be happy and contented with it.

So let's look at it from my life.

It doesn't really matter if I don't quite have Hugh Jackman's physique just yet and neither does it matter that I'm dancing every weekend. This is life and I need to be happy with it. Funny, isn't it?

It all comes down to happiness.

So technically, I can be a hobo and still be happy with life. What's that story about contentment with the fisherman and the businessman again? I need to think about this. Really. Really really think about this.

Black smoke

This is what I see when I watch you dance.

Black wisps of smoke. Curling in the dark of night. As they flutter and curve in the transient breeze of your spins, they paint a picture against your ankles as they settle down.

Like the ashes of a dying campfire, black tendrils of near nonexistent smoke whisper, caresses your skin as you spin and spin and spin into your oblivion.

And when the music fades away, the smoke ebbs and I remember its just a skirt.

You know when..

...you run out of topics of conversation when you bring up Michael Jackson's upcoming comeback tour as a potential discussion topic.

Palmy/Chicken

It was a dance filled weekend. A little frustrated at the imbalance with the ballerina girl, the lifts getting easier and easier, the 1 hour bus wait.

Tiring. But in the end, kinda worth it.

And there's only so much heckling I will take at a bar before I launch a first punch.

And now, ingredients for my dinner last night.

Drizzle with lemon juice to taste.

Dear lord, I think I'm becoming Martha Stewart.

Listen to the Radio

The world's most deity-awful song in the universe is playing on the radio right now.

One that does not make sense, has no sense of purpose, no sense of anything to it.

Welcome, everyone, to the beauty of Kings of Leon's S3x on Fire.

Dear lord, look at the lyrics.

Your, your s3x is on fire
Consumed with what's to transpire

Do explain? Friction burn anyone? Or does it involve a fetish of sorts involving a ciggie lighter? Bonfire anyone?

If there was s3x on fire, I hardly doubt people would be singing about it. More like jumping around trying to put it out, really.

Coldplay's Viva la Vida is currently playing, a more amicable song to my tastes. Honestly, I hated it when I first heard it. Thought it was rubbish and hype. But I've picked it up after a bit. Its catchy enough and the lyrics mean something at least.

Oh, and Taylor Swift's song Love Story does no justice to the oldie Love Story. It sounds more like a bunch of little girls singing Chinese New Year songs. 4 Little Princesses-esque. Dear lord, we have enough of this kind of music going on during CNY and we need no more songs like that for the rest of the year, thanks.

Today is Black Friday. Again, apparently. We've had one black Friday already this year and this is the second. Gosh. We're racking up our bad luck, aren't we?

I'm writing rubbish. I've got notes to write. I need motivation. I need to go back to work.

I've got lunch packed.

I'm yawning as I write this.

I'm prepping myself for a hard dance session tomorrow. We need to get it perfect or near perfect, for that matter.

I want to take the day off. Seriously. Bluergh.

When a friend ain't that cool.

The title speaks one thing. This post is meant to mean something completely differently related. Or maybe not.

I've been friends with you for a while. In fact, more than a while. A long while then.

And we've both shared our ups and downs and all arounds and we had our little secret crushes that we'd tell each other about and our gripes and moans and groans. And stuff.

We worked well.

But then...I don't know. I changed. I'm sorry. I know, perhaps, you want that same ole Poet that was kind and understanding and all that jazz when he was 17 and still naive and still a lovesick fool.

But sorry, you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I took some tough hits to the emotional gut and I've grown up a little bit. I'm still gripe-ing and still complaining about things but in a different way now. I'm not sure how. I'm sorry that you've stated that I can take this friendship anyway I want it. It is my fault. My procrastinating self delays things too often and leaves things behind and I never try and make contact more often and I know you want me to come back but I can't.

I'm grown up now.

I've got bills to pay and dances to dance and patients to see and a life to consider. I've been so busy, I've pushed you aside. And shame on me. I have told myself I would never do that to a friend.

I hope you still consider our friendship possible. I'm coming home. Does that count?

I'm sorry, I can't be perfect.

Watching V for Vendetta, more and more truths seem to emerge and become even more of a reality.

I only told them the truth, was that so selfish? Our integrity sells for so little...

How many times has the truth been regarded as selfishness? How often has our good been interpreted as bad? How frequently has one good turn been given a good hard slap across the face instead?

More than you know, my dear. More than you know.

***

Honestly, life is sometimes so much of a struggle I don't even know where to begin. I'm not sure what's right or wrong or good or bad and all I want to do is huddle under the covers where its warm and I know you are there.

Watch this space. A disappearance might happen sooner than you think.

Its my life

I think Bon Jovi had the right idea.

It's my life
It's now or never
I ain't gonna live forever
I just wanna live while I'm alive
Its my life
My heart is like an open highway
Like Frankie said
I did it my way
I just wanna live while I'm alive
Its my life

Funny. Doing it your way is always the thing, isn't it? Doing it someone else's way doesn't quite have the same kick, doesn't quite have the same oooh-la-la about it.

And like he said, "This ain't a song for the broken hearted, no silent prayer for the faith departed", you feel a little stirring inside you. Suddenly, there's an urgent need for leather jackets, a badass motorcycle (preferably a Harley), and an open highway. And your life ahead of you.

Life begins when you want it to. Does it not?

But mine's still a prologue. I'm still waiting for the main course. Come out, come out, wherever you are...

Parts.

I sit here at this computer and I wonder what to write. What kind of wonders shall I spout this time and what enlightenment have I received.

But sad to say, there is none. And its just another normal day at work for me. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Had a relatively tiring weekend in Palmy. The Redhead and I managed to finish off the routine and we're fine-tuning it now rather than doing anything else. We've got...oh, 19 days to polish it. Now, if only I lived in Palmy and we were able to dance every night for 19 days...

The ceroc competition is coming up and that's definitely something to look forward to.

I get my flashy new ballroom leather shoes this evening when I drop into ballroom class. Awesome.

Hm.

Part of me wants to die just a little today.

Part of me would rather huddle under the covers with you and whisper sweet nothings in your ear.

Part of me want to spin around and around in a field of grass and fall, content and satisfied and wanting nothing more.

Part of me wants to close my eyes and go to sleep and head into Lala land where nothing really matters and dreams do not bother me and I sleep a dreamless sleep.

Part of me longs for dinner.

Part of me wants to try ordering from Domino's and just shelling out whatever they ask for.

Part of me wants to try and lift some more weights especially if I'm going to be doing the IceCream Scoop with the Redhead.

Part of me thinks I'm a little bit crazy. But you knew that.

Part of me really wants a coffee. Badly. But we're out of milk and the orderlies have not brought up any more just yet.

Part of me wants to go for a run. The tiredness after a run is unbeatable. And the shower after that is the most soothing thing. Evar. Still can't quite beat huddling under covers and sweet nothings though.

Part of me knows my fridge is a bit on the empty side and thus, needs to do groceries. But I really can't be arsed.

Parts and parts and parts.

I feel like a mechanic had gone into me and ripped my guts out and strewn them all over the floor from the physio department all the way to home.

Day 3

Every single weekend, I have dusted off my dance shoes and dance.

Every single weekend, I have put on my dance shoes, scrapped the suede with a wire brush until dust comes flying in my face, and then I get on the dance floor and get jiggy with it.

Every single weekend, I have been dancing for at least 3 days in a row.

Every single weekend, I have been trying to put words into actions, lyrics into movement, a bit of emotion into love.

Every single weekend, I'm getting a bit tired when I get back to my room and I sit down on my bed and sigh.

Because every single weekend, whenever I come home, the dance moments end. And I feel a little bit sad because it has ended.

But every single weekend, I am also glad that it has ended. Back to the monotony of work and dealing with patients and rushing off my feet trying to make sure everyone is okay.

Yes. Back to it.

Photo post No.2

Another picture post. I've found all these pictures...gosh!

This is the Sociologist bench, as I call it. No points for guessing why. Although she did ask me not to put it up because she doesn't want half the world trying to find where it is.

Dinner on Monday night consisted of onions, precooked sausage, salt, pepper, and eggs. Effectively an omelette because that was all I had left in the fridge.

Onions and sausage being stirfried.

Eggs beaten and seasoned to taste, pour in.

After 4 minutes under the grill. Awesome, no?

Green beans and eggs. Dr Seuss will probably sue me for trademarking his line.

Went for a motivational talk and was supposed to circle the words that I felt described me.

Had an influenza jab. This year's epidemic is supposedly a killer strain from our Oz cousins.

Lolly. The only thing good about a jab.

A sticker for self-promotion purposes.

This justifies me not blogging for yesterday.

Some things.

I'm not too sure I can read anymore.

 

Over the weekend, the mention of the demise of my previous la-la romantic self was brought up. I was said to have become a lot more...realist.

 

Believe it or not. The guy who has "I swear", "Everything", "Fly Me to the Moon", "Until the Time is Through" and "It Might be You" has become a realist.

 

No doubt, I still enjoy these songs. But to think of them in an everyday event...its different. Harder.

 

I think to myself that if I fall once again head over heels in love, perhaps I will be like that again. The silliness and the pervading happiness would take over and I would just smile and smile and smile and tap dance on the streets like Gene Kelly and swing around traffic lights.

Like what I used to do so long ago.

 

But there is a place, perhaps. And a time. And a reality to live in.

 

Perhaps the lessons hammered into me that Love does not put food on the table, is not the one eternal substance that you can subsist on and that Love does not make up for the rest of Life finally sank in after all this time?

 

In a way, I'm glad I'm not really like that anymore. It perhaps is puke inducing. It perhaps, is not real and not relevant and not quite the way things should be, not the way Life and Love should be.

 

But in a way, I'm wondering if I have missed out on something more.

 

One immortal line from Moulin Rouge spoken by Christian (Ewan McGregor) was when he sang, "All you need is love", rebutted by Satine's (Nicole Kidman) "A girl has got to eat!"

 

All we need is love, then, perhaps?

 

Would it have been so bad to live in the world where you know, you floated half the time on love?

 

Maybe not. But practicality wise?

 

Maybe I speak on the wrong angle. Love is more than just infatuation. Love is about everything else in between. And that's just the way it is.

 

Doesn't hurt to burst out into song once in a while, now, does it?

 

But we get a bit lost sometimes. I do.

 

***

On other news. Its hard to fall in love. Even just a little.