Blank Doll swoons.

Shame on Marc Jacobs for his collection, so hastily put together he seems to coast merely on his fame alone. Granted this season has shown us a more sombre (and sober) Marc than last season but really.

Disappointingly, Jean Paul Gaultier does not do enough for Hermes this season though craftsmanship remains superb. John Galliano seems lost though his work for Dior was palatable and without a doubt, sellable.

To really appreciate the legacy of haute couture, look no further than Chado Ralph
Rucci and Alexander McQueen. Chado has done some very exquisite work based on the theme of quantum mechanics while in McQueen is the British Raj fantasy reborn.

I must confess for the tardiness of my entries. Trip to Macau was uninspiring though afternoon tea at the Peninsula in Hong Kong was rather nice. As of now, too many collections to digest in too short a period of time.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll hides his face.

This is a digression from the usual vapidities of my blog but here it is.

I love Singapore and (almost) everything our nation-state stands for. I doubt there are people my age who admire the government more than I do and I am resolutely pro-Establishment. Yet I cannot come to terms with the fact that we are the pre-eminent local power in the South-East Asian region by sheer dint of our economic clout and that we are a paragon of development and progress yet we stand silent in the face of such atrocities in our backyard.

I am referring to Burma's sordid farce of an elections and the ban on Aung San Suu Kyi. We have the power to change things, to influence decisions yet our Minister for Foreign Affairs can but wring his hands and declare it <>.

<>. Well, Vietnam and Cambodia weren't our business in the 70s but Singapore stood up for its belief in universal suffrage and the right for a country to resist oppression, within or without. Maybe we are an air-conditioned generation, grown too comfortable in our affluence to still cherish fiercely such ideals.

I never thought I'd say this but for the first time, I'm ashamed of my beloved country, Singapore.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll heads east.

I was told that certain cuisines cannot be replicated in Singapore due to its climes and as a result, we are only ever sampling an approximation of them. A sort of gastronomic precis, something to entice us to search for the real thing.

Korean food is apparently one of these cuisines where even kimchi cannot be replicated convincingly since the cabbage used should be harvested in winter and the Singaporean variety pales in comparison. Eating at Su Cuisine at Far East Plaza, hardly the glammest of places, the food was emphatically average. The seafood pancake was exceedingly greasy and the service sketchy at best. The marinated beef proved a saving grace and pickled lotus root was quite refreshing. Nothing to write back home about but which I dutifully report here.

Hong Kong style dimsum is something that can be done in Singapore and which is regularly done quite well. At the Cathay Restaurant, order the custard buns by the dozen and wolf them down like the glutton you are. Savoury and sweet, the molten custard oozes out of steaming buns faintly perfumed with milk and yeast. The crispy yam puffs are like clouds of greaseless fried dough and will blow you away. Equally good are the barbequed pork buns, delicate and without the slightest trace of fat, and rice rolls with shards of dough fritters. Ask for the sauteed scallops with egg white and truffle oil.

Locals adore the elusive food bargain and are masochists in their need for long queues in humid surroundings where food is served with lacklustre service. Let it not be said that I do not know a no-frills bargain when I see one. Sashimi at Sakuraya is one such place where fresh slivers of fish are selected from a daily range and cut to your preference. Without needing to be said, the toro was fresh and not overpriced like toro is wont to be here. Slices of tai, swordfish and hamachi were perfect for a hot night and thin sheathes of scallops ended the meal nicely. Ask for the fried yellowtail collar, eaten with chopped daikon and lemon. If only they served grated horseradish, ponzu to go with the hamachi and better service. The open space kitchen concept only works if your sashimi chefs are silent masters hard at work and not hollering across the restaurant. Definitely no-frills.

Sick of the skinny tie already (fashionable for all of two weeks last year), perhaps a pared down cravat style should come back in style. Meanwhile, for the New Year, eschew showy brands (Versace, etc) or the commonplace (Zara, etc) and instead, get yourself a tailor. Singapore abounds with les petits mains who will make you a good shirt and pants for a very good price. The trick is to pay attention to the fabric (silk, dress wool, two ply Egyptian cotton, no synthetics) and then work very closely with your tailor. You're going to wear it in the end but let his experience guide you on what's done and what's not.

A good rule is that whatever looks good in Tokyo does not translate well in Singapore.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll thinks - Food for Thought.

Two friends and someone else sent me to Food for Thought, opposite National Library, for lunch. After much searching, a bad sense of direction and faulty directions from friends can do that to you, the little cafe was located.

The service was untrained but good. Refreshing would be the word, the place staffed with young people. We ordered a platter for two which got us two soups, a salad and a selection of three fillings accompanied by bread.

I did not like the shitake soup, watery and lacking in body. It might have been virtuous (the entire place reeks of good intentions, actually) but some porcini or chanterelle might have upped the amp. The sage, carrot and pumpkin delights ladies who lunch and strangely, me. The sage could have been stronger though.

I did not quite like the Chinese Chicken Caesar, cute though it was with the little ikan bilis as anchovy surrogates a quirky touch. East-West fusions, heavy with irony, tend not to impress and the overcooked chicken did nothing for the salad. The use of sesame oil in the dressing was commendable, the dark soy sauce less so.

The sandwich fillings were quite promising. The bread was decent, chewy with the faint whiff of yeast, but lacked the robust flavour of artisan bread. Good though since they offer you as much bread as you want. You will not want for bread however since the dishes on offer were hardly overwhelming in proportions. The pulled pork, as recommended by friends, was a winner. The thyme steak would have been one were it not for the irrelevant canned corn and I did not like the grilled vegetables. Otherwise, get the cuban ham and pork sandwich which bursts with porcine character.

Desserts were quite gratifying. A weakness of mine but the chocolate maltesers banana cake struck a chord. The red velvet cake might have succeeded but the icing exceeded the cake.

A nice place to take lunch with some friends but hardly an experience. For something more uplifting, Tea Cafe nearby offers the right combination of solace and urban centrality. Right opposite Raffles Hotel on Seah Street, it is a cliche oasis that turns out to be rather nice.

Go ahead and order the cucumber iced tea which is a refreshing blend of cucumber, calamansi and soda. The tempo of the service, the personality of the proprietor and the serving of little pastries and cakes can really sooth the nerves. I took offense at the hastily reheated pineapple tarts, a reminder of the need for speed even when searching for time past.

Also, Prada gave us the boy-kini and hunks in tutus, launching a million budding fashionistos into esctastic fits. These people obviously missed the Gaultier boat. Maier gave a rather embarrassing take on workman's clothes at Botega and veered towards hypocrisy in concept. Watch out for more to come, the uber-luxe printed crocodile and gilt stamped calf of last season will soon be replaced by less in your face fabrics.

In the meantime, make yourself a skinny bitch. One part Grey Goose to one part soda, lots of lime. For a tough bitch, two parts Grey Goose to one part soda and lots of lime. Cheers.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll pours the vodka.

Singapore, for all its vaunted ambition to be a world class city, lacks a proper Jewish restaurant. We also do not have enough Greek eateries and we have, disturbingly, too many pseudo Hong Kong cafes selling pseudo Hong Kong pseudo original cuisine. Kimchi Girl at Urban even wrote about it if you will.

Apple Brandy Sorbet turned out to be quite a success in the end. As anticipated, the addition of alcohol impedes the formation of ice crystals and results in a far smoother sorbet. The addition of sugar does this as well but I prefer my ices to be less saccharine and more bursting with flavour so the alcohol method works better. I had initially added too much alcohol which then called for the draining of the mixture. This resulted in an applesauce byproduct that I promptly made into apple ravioli. I made the dough out of some random measures and was surprised to find that it worked rather well. Pastas and pizzas are almost certain to follow this latest experiment.

Nigella Lawson's Welsh Cakes are quite simply amazing and they shall be served tomorrow with sauteed strawberries in vodka. On a side note, I think the combination of balsamic vinegar and fruit is divine. Look out for moutard des fruits, rare but almost certainly sublime if served with pasta, hazelnuts, sauteed dates and spices.

In the interim, get ready for men's fashion spring. We can only hope the season does not disappoint as last season did. The skinny tie came (hah!) and went. The climate renders shawls slightly impractical but Singapore is the air-conditioned nation so there. Leave the bad hankerchief jokes to Urban, check out the Singapore Shawl for cool raw silk shawls and handpainted floral shawls on woven silk.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll tastes @ Bakerzin.

Well now, in recent months, friends have been raving about the macarons at Bakerzin with some going so far as to suggest that they were better than those at Cannele. Bemused by such a claim (Canele may be far from Gerard Mulot but it is one of the better purveyors of desserts around, even when you factor in the inevitable hype that goes with the Les Amis branding machine), I actually bothered to go to the Bakerzin at Paragon to try a few.

Firstly, I have to say that a restaurant, that until a few years ago dedicated to modern French food kept simple, which serves something as blatantly gimmicky as otah bruschetta has got to be kidding. So purists will level the accusation that Au Jardin dares to serve lemongrass souffle and nobody complains but really, otah? Bruschetta? Gee.

Anyway, I ordered a plate of four. Their flavours are rather limited I think and ripping Isaphan straight from Pierre Hermes tries too hard though the fanboy in me could not resist the urge to order one though it was unfortunately not on the menu. I took a chocolate raspberry, a foret noire, a hazelnut and a rose.

People who like the macarons at Bakerzin have not eaten a proper macaron before, at least, not the way they do it at Laduree where the shell is not overinflated with air to the point of brittleness. I found the flavours insipid though the hazelnut was quite promising. The rose, arguably, is better than the one at Cannele although the chocolate raspberry was confused and the foret noire lacked the taste of kirsch.

In general, I'm not sure I really liked the macarons at Bakerzin although this does not, in any way, endorse those at Cannele since they have, of late, disappointed far more often than they have delighted.

If you should like macarons, I think there are actually some online bakers in Singapore who make rather good stuff. Here's Mad Baker .

C'est tout.

Blank Doll asks but does not reply.

This blog is not dead.

Happy New Year. Will be back in 2008.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll sits by the Christmas Tree.

HELLO. All right, I know, I have been neglecting this blog. No grand sermons on the right of government, no tirade against the petty working class, no quarrel with Anon (Merry Christmas), no obsessing over every little thing and no food critque.

But I'm still alive in case you wanted to know and you can still contact me.

Besides, we're all on facebook now.

Oh, MERRY CHRISTMAS.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll arrives.

Hello hello! It's been terribly long since I last blogged here and it is entirely my fault. I know. I should have blogged more often, especially upon returning from Japan.

A week has passed since my trip to Japan but I suppose the obligatory post about my trip is, well, obligatory so there.

Kyoto, Osaka and Tokyo. I set out to Japan wanting to see the older, softer side of the country and I did in Kyoto and Osaka. Tokyo was not as pretty as I thought it would be and it was a veritable behemoth of a city. It reminded me of Heart of Darkness for it was truly an overheated (trust me, the Japanese make the best central heating systems in the world) catacomb. Who could fathom the existence of 12 endless floors of shops? Who could upend and fold an entire avenue into a building? They are not tall, mind you, these monuments of Tokyoite progress. Yet, next to them, Man seems so tiny, so much less than the things that he has made.

I think it is the service that I miss the most along with the fact that most people have a sense of fashion, no matter how strange.

Interestingly, I thought the food was rather cheap. We ate well enough I suppose. The required wagyu beef, toro, sashimi, all the little snacks along the way (fishcake on a stick!), ice cream, crepe cones, chilled udon and more (basically, what we did was to comb the entire restaurant floor of one of the departmental stores and then enter random restaurants). I got to eat my macarons from Pierre Herme which made me very happy.

Coming back was a little bit of a shock. You never realise how ugly your own country can be until you compare it with another. Or rather, how ugly we as a race can be. I've spoken about that before so I shan't talk about it again.

Returning, I found myself best soldier for the month of November. Who would have thought, a clerk!

Then there is the issue of cab fare hikes. This is a little absurd I think. It seems to me illogical for taxi rates to be regulated by the government even as it refuses to classify cabs as public transport and so subsidise it.

Christmas eve approaches. Gosh, a year gone.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll bites.

It has been a week since I last blogged so you can tell how distracted I have been from that. The event is officially ended what with the appreciation dinner over and done with. I am now on my way to a new place in camp and everything seems a lot better than they were just a month ago.

Nonetheless, I do seem to have lost a bit of my inspiration again. It's really annoying being stuck in a rut and you really panic when you think about the fact that you're going to have to come up with 60 outfits every 6 months. That seriously is scary.

On a side note, VALERIE IS BACK. Ok, she's going to hate me but I didn't even know she was back until XJ told me. Also, Bhavan, James and Akesh have been out clubbing without the rest of the class AND Akesh has been caught smoking in his uniform. God you have balls.

French class is still nice but increasingly, my classmates are finding the teacher wearisome. Also, on the topic of GEP and top scorers, I just found out that a classmate of mine is also a friend of a captain from camp. I have to say this, I love meeting ex-rafflesians especially when out in the open world. It's so reassuring, the instant bonding upon which something richer may be built.

Also, I really crave my chateau fayau cadillac from either 2001 or 2004 so if you do find a bottle, give me a ring and I'll buy it from you.

One more week to Tokyo, will be sure to take lots of pictures. In the meantime, sales have reached our shores (Blackjack 30%, Paul Smith 20-50%, where else?) and it can only be a matter of time before I can go stock up on clothes. The tailor shall be busy again I think.

And Daddy's getting me my tablet! Perfect.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll rests

The event that has been the cause of so much interest, experience, pain and work for the past 7 months has finally come to an end. This does not mean that my work is over but it does mean that it is nearly at its end. While I do enjoy working on such events, I am tired and want my rest. I have learnt a lot from my superiors, more than I thought I would. There were good moments and bad moments. I have discovered that I have a temper for one and that I really can't stand bosses weaker than me.

Also, the beginning of November signals the beginning of consumption. A period I have kicked off with the purchase of a raw silk shawl for my mother. It is black to go with her silver one. I am contemplating the virtues of a tablet as well as a pair of shoes. My mother's friend's trip to Paris seems too much of an opportunity to be missed and I really want to piggyback on his duty free. Alas, scarcity forces me to choose and I think I shall have to postpone my tablet to next year or perhaps as a gift from my parents.

You know, this idea of scarcity has got me thinking. I was thinking, while having one of my usual gastric attacks that so much of what is precious in life is defined by its scarcity. The perfect moments of life are delineated by limitations, by pain and I suppose that is why abundance dulls the soul's delight in the world.

In which case heaven must be a horrid place.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll blows the candle.

Whew, woke up at 11am today.

THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO CAME YESTERDAY AND/OR WISHED ME HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

Not that I'm pleased to be one year older and that my boss msged me on my birthday with work to do. Sigh.

This is sort of like a new year for me and I'm not too sure what I should be like on my 19th year. Maybe I'll be kinder as I mature though I doubt so.

Every birthday, I gather my secondary school friends for dinner at my place and this year was no different. There's something to be said about having a group of friends you can be comfortable with, a particular bunch that no amount of time will render the old bonds obsolete. Through the dismal travails of growing up in a neighbourhood school, I am glad to have found friends like them. As I blew the candles on my cake (a giant matcha from canele, it's the equivalent of presenting ten gs of premium coke and a silver tiffany straw to a druggie), it dawned on me that this could be the second last birthday I'll ever celebrate with them before I fly off to Paris. The tradition began when I was 14 and next year when I am 20, I think I shall line up all my birthday pictures with them together so that we can all see how we've all grown.

It is the rituals of life by which we mark the passing of time. We have faced the death of a friend together, we have faced school and exams together and now we commiserate over the evils of university and national service. I hope to one day be able to share the travails of work with them even if a lot of the cost of my work will have to be left unspoken.

I am after all, a clean cut boy with a clean cut face.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll gets a surprise.

The week thus far has been good and it should be considering that it is the week of my birthday and all. Work has been bearable and the workplace has been astonishingly quiet given how close we are to D Day.

Yesterday was spent at Menotti (again!) with Mummy, her friend and my sister. There was a pleasant surprise in the form of my sister who has got herself a very nice long bob. Now instead of looking dishevelled/snobbish/grumpy, she looks bright/light/shiny and slightly resembles a Stepford Wife when she gets too happy. Otherwise, dinner was as usual. Then because Mummy's friend's boyfriend was an arsehole, we had to wait with her at tcc until he arrived to pick her up by which time I'd arrived home at 12 plus and was all but ready to plonk myself into bed given my chronic lack of sleep.

This cannot become a pattern. I need my sleep. Also, it's dawned on me that my contacts make me feel sleepy since they make my eyes feel dry and this is the sort of mundane stuff all of us fill the Internet with. Imagine that, we generate so much information on a daily rate and all of this is actually going to be quite interesting when say our civilisation collapses tomorrow and is discovered five millenia from now.

Ah but I digress. Xuan nicely msged and asked if I wanted to watch stardust. Ok, so we didn't get to watch the show today because tickets were sold out everywhere we went so we ended up having tea at sun with moon, going around looking for my paper, browsing through art friend, playing with toys at the toy shop opp. art friend and browsing through kino. Dinner after that and the long ride home. While I didn't get to watch the movie, it's still nice to know people you care for are thinking of you.

Et ce jour-la, j'ai recu le plus plaisant surpris. Une certaine personne me telephonait du coeur inconnu et pour ce moment la, c'est comme si rien a change et nous toujours somme ensemble.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll calls to you.

The past week was annoying and gorgeous at the same time.

Annoying: My bosses have been extremely irritating. I feel that they're increasingly unappreciative of the work that I do, as if it's a given. Well, they may argue that it's an nsf's duty to render service but rendering efficient service that is the product of years of training by my mother and a rafflesian education is a privilege, NOT an entitlement. Also, I cannot stand the way they finalise things at the 11th hour and then expect you to deliver. I mean, look, if you're so intent on dragging things then I don't see why I should have to follow your time so there.

Annoying: Somebody's decided to troop off to the farthest reaches of nowhere to seek Kurtz amidst his Inner Station and I'm painfully aware of her absence. Damn.

Gorgeous: Friday was great with sarah, kaimin and a whole bunch of random people. One day I'd like to get seriously drunk but until then, getting high with a group of friends is, as always, fabulous. Not so fabulous was the fact that I got home at 5 plus and had to go to work at 7. Dragged my half mangled corpse to work in last night's clothes and then had dinner with cand who is as sweet as ever.

Gorgeous: My birthday's around the corner. AND THIS STUPID FIASCO IS ABOUT TO BE OVER THANK GOD.

Dinner with Mummy tonight and seriously, I go to Elephant/Coral and Canele too often for my own good.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll chews.

OMFG, one of my bosses is annoyingly incompetent. I cannot believe he just threw work at me and then the next moment, I find him reading up on the gospels at his work terminal. Like, dude, stop handing work down and do some for crying out loud. You should only be depending on your subordinates (and you really shouldn't be depending so extensively on an nsf) unless you have your hands full. HANDS FULL. There goes the last inch of respect I had. Sheesh.

Got into a little tiff with my mother last night. I can't stand it when people take it for granted that I'm going to be patient. My patience is legendary, I know, but you really don't have to try so hard to push it. I guess the problem I had yesterday was that people keep taking it as a given that I'm always going to be nice and patient and calm about things. Shocking, isn't it? That Sean actually has a nice side.

A friend of mine was complaining to me about what a snob some other guy was. The way he described the person, I found it incredibly amusing. I think little snobs like that annoy me the way ants annoy me. I mean, you're dissing McDonalds and telling people you only eat Carl's Junior and for crying out loud, you're wearing weird beetle bug shoes. Next you'll be telling me you don't eat cadbury because you only eat chocz and that you much prefer nydc to your run of the mill hawker centre. Gee.

It really does take effort to be a snob in any given area. I should know.

Anyway, do cheer me up if you can because I'm not in a very good mood. Thank god for dinner and zouk tomorrow and lunch on Sat. I really, really need to be happy and out and free for a while.

You know, if you were here, I'd just have hung it all up and gone to lunch with you. No doubt you'd say something bracing and I'll resent you for it but at least afterwards, I'll laugh.

I'm making panna cotta with cinnamon and nutmeg infused milk. Yay.

C'est tout.

BD

A certain somebody threatened to get a wospec to do something unimaginatively horrible to me. Words cannot describe the mirth I feel now. Pathetic.

Oh, I'm not really sure what to blog about besides announcing to the whole world that Blank Doll has a CRAVING FOR SHOES AGAIN. That's right, I want a pair of cap toes, preferably monkstraps and brown and patent leather or something buffed. I was thinking Tod's or Bally's but either way, I need shoes. Help. I can already feel it. I need shoes.

I should get rid of the gross black roses on my blog. Argh.

C'est tout.

BD

I am utterly and resolutely in love with Nigella Lawson and her boundless womanhood. How can you not love a woman who lets her hair trail into pots of sauce and who admits to using frozen peas. Alain Passard would have died of an ebolism were he to even countenance the use of frozen peas in his risotto aux petits pois but here she is, confessing that even the domestic goddess can be human and submit to the convenience of the frozen foods aisle.

The past week has been crazy and I really should blog more about it but there really isn't much to say beyond the fact that I am very tired of my bosses and I suspect the feeling is mutual. I cannot wait to be done with them and their little ways. I think it takes a seriously uninspired soul to actually join the army and then be actually proud of the fact. Patriotism would have been the perfect balm save for the fact that I find neither loyalty nor love for the country in the officer corps and I am beginning to believe that people tend to treat the army route as a means of last recourse.

Somebody mentioned to me that the Jews are the chosen people even though God had created humanity. I had asked what were they chosen for to which he had no reply. I asked the emptiness why would God send the very people he made to hell. Why, if God had made people conscious of their capacity for this specious concept called evil, did he then create a place of suffering for them? It makes you wonder, at a God who for all the infinite wealth of wisdom, will and power, cannot find it within its august body to accept its own wayward children.

I am not a christian, I cannot be one. The faith offends me too much and it stirs rebellion in me, it makes me want to turn my face on God were I to believe in the christian one. My heart cannot stand to struggle with this aspect of God that would condemn the fabric of my existence, that cannot partake of infinite love for even those who would seek to turn away from it. Yet recently, it is almost as if some vague whisper from the past has settled upon me and I cry at the idea of Judas. Judas the traitor, how I weep for him. Did his act of betrayal not mark the ascendance of christianity? The thing is, how could Jesus Christ, purported son of God, have chosen a flawed apostle were he not meant to play some obscure role in the greater myster of divinity? I do not wish to speak more on Judas because I do not have sufficient knowledge of the christian faith and its history. But then, I believe many are the believers who do not know of the seven ecumenial councils either. Suffice as it is to say that I empathise with Judas, the unwilling traitor.

Then there is Lucifer. I love Lucifer. With all my heart, I love him. I love him for his pride, for his reason, for his power, for his hatred, for his jealousy, for his light and his song. In Lucifer is Man's potential for greatness, in him we find our capacity for light and for darkness. I do not like the anti-christian faith and the devil worshippers, they are overwrought I think in their rituals. My love for Lucifer is not a celebration of evil - evil is in the end nothing but ignorance and chaos. My love for Lucifer is but a tribute to this celestial being of perfection who dared to question God and to claim for himself the sovereign identity that all of us acknowledge when we speak of identities and individualism. I love him for his courage when he raised a third of heaven and stormed against the despot of a deity, I love him for accepting defeat and I love him for his flawed perfection.

Enough of religion, I will never be a christian or a party to any faith. It is to God alone that I hold counsel with and that satisfies me quite.

Oh, and I'm finally getting contacts. Perfect.

C'est tout.

BD

Ce soir-la, c'etait vraiment special pour moi.

The meeting began at 0900hrs. God welcomed all to the meeting and thanked them all for taking the time to attend.

Archangel Michael, Organising Secretariat, referred the Organising Committee to the minutes of the previous meeting (please refer to Annex A: OC Meeting 03/2666). After noting that Rapture & Transport Working Group had not resolved the issue of empyrean transmigration vis a vis purgatory en route to inner sanctum AE-7, God, Organising Chairman, requested that Archangel Raphael, Dy Chairman R&T WG pursue the matter and deliver an update at 1400hrs.

Archangel Gabriel, Chairman Security, began the meeting by raising the issue of DSOs (Divine Security Officers) with regard to the twelve Apostles. Given his stature, it had been decided that Judas was not entitled to a DSO while Peter had requested not to have a DSO allocated to him. Yelual, Dy Organising Chairman, opined that the Betrayal (refer to after action review by Matthew 08/0007) was a Type A Divine Necessity and that the issue had already been settled during the last council correct as at A.D 1005. He further recommended that Archangel Uriel, Head Protocol Subcommittee, look into the matter.

That was a very lame attempt at replicating the sort of mind numbing minutes that I do during work.

I seriously need to check into rehab for my canele sweets addiction. I cannot believe I bought two entremets, one royal, one matcha and five canneles today.

Work is tiring. Will update again later.

HEY ANON! SAY SOMETHING :D

C'est tout.

Blank Doll

A word to you anon, you're always welcome to tag on my board. It's really there for you to air your frustration so go ahead. We all feel for you.

Anyway.

Yesterday and today have been busy busy busy. Went to the dentist yesterday to get my teeth cleaned again so that I'll be able to put on my retainers in two weeks' time so I can have perfect teeth. Lunch was at Canele's with Mummy where I bought the macarons. I'm telling you, truffle macarons will be the death of me and I've been into Canele so many times the staff there recognises me by now. Then it was a spot of shopping before going back home where I made a yoghurt cake with the help of my little sister whom I am utterly devoted to.

It's the little domestic joys of life that keeps you sane. I'm really just storing it up for my next forty years.

Anyway, today was packed not because I wanted to pack it. I really like my weekends free and easy which explains the long lunch we had at Sun with Moon. I know, I always eat there and it's a little tiring and all. Anyway, was late for french again. The topic was totally nil and I'm not in the mood to go all political. Serious shopping with June thereafter which was great fun not least because she can bitch about the civil service and I can absolutely empathise with it but also because she loves bags and clothes the way I do. Canele again. I am telling you, I NEED to stop going to Canele.

We shall have a nice family brunch tomorrow. I have ham, eggs, mushrooms, brioche, orange loaf, jam, lemon curd, cake, honey, grapes, apples, oranges, yoghurt, milk, tea- did I miss anything? I hope not.

ANYWAY. I must say that this season's showing was terribly disappointing. Even the parisian ones.

C'est tout.

BD

I await tomorrow with bated breath.

No, seriously. Tomorrow will determine if my recent streak of unbelievably bad luck is at its end. I hope it is, in fact, I don't see why it shouldn't have ended with Friday.

Anyway, it dawned on me today that the reason why the cookhouse cooks such shit food is that most people have shit taste buds. I suppose after a while, even the most spirited cook becomes disillusioned.

Other news, Aesops has sold out the scrub that I wanted to get. Mother has laid a wager that Aesops will go the way of Vincent Longo from so many years back but I refuse to believe it. Spoilt young things of Singapore unite! We need to ensure that such a lovely brand doesn't go with a whimper. (Hell, we let Galarie Lafayette die on us. Ok, admittedly, the French having invented the department store decided then that it was perfected in 1930s and even in Paris, departmental shopping is really quite awful.)

Also, I am beginning to see some nice things on the runway but in a season when even Prada has decided to go bazooka, I think I'll just throw in my towel and wait for the fall collection. Paris had better be good. No weird avant garde crap unless it's actually wearable stuff made to look like weird avant garde crap like what they do at John G and JPG.

Westwood was dead ten years ago. We really should bring back Schiaparelli and forget about trying to revive Halston. Heck, disco won't ever be back, but whimsy will.

Whatever, I'm just going to take a good shower and meditate on the virtues of bias cut.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll

Increasingly, work sucks. This cannot go on.

Hello Clare! God I thought you were dead or something.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll

I am going to say that you obviously have some manpower (not to mention a couple of other) issues when you need a clerk whose hips and back hurt half the time to do guard duty for the second time in two weeks.

I am very happy with my Shure earphones because they rock at keeping noise out and music in. Silence is at a premium and I love my new earphones for making silence possible at the most random places.

My ice cream maker is also a darling and my first creation, milk and honey gelato, is working it. It's perfect for a hot sunny day and I only wish I could take it to camp. In the mean time, I seriously need to get a lot of sleep tonight because the coming week will kill me.

Anyone with Raffles Hotel mooncakes, the champagne and ganaches ones, do take pity on me and sell me a box. I'm a little annoyed at how I have no mooncakes at all this year because I love mooncakes a lot and no, the tray of pan pac mooncakes do not count.

I'm going to report sick if they put me on guard duty next week or the week after that. This is ridiculous.

C'est tout.

Blank Dollhause

The past week has flown by really quickly. The break on friday was really much needed after all and I'm a lot fresher now. Yesterday was a fruitful night out and I wonder how often it is that we make friends we actually want to keep. I suppose it's my fault but most people whom I call friends, I don't feel a need to keep them. Damn.

Anyway, the lounge at the fullerton hotel is nice and quiet with very nice cushions. CRAP NUTS like everywhere else. Oh and my beloved mooncakes are SOLD OUT again.

Tomorrow's massage and tea will do the trick. I love my life.

Bon voyage, ma petite chere, tu sais que tu me vachement manqueras.

C'est tout.

BD shouts.

Wednesday evening was a pleasant surprise because Mummy decided to have dinner at Boat Quay en famille. We ate at al dente which was passing fine and anyway, I have a sudden craving for Italian food that needs to be exorcised before I can resume normal behaviour at the table.

Also, the 2008 spring/summer collection has been quite a disappointment thus far. I like what L'Wren Scott has done, some of it and Francisco Costa at Calvin Klein did a few good pieces but that's about it. I suppose we'll need to wait for the French and Italian players to up the ante a little because thus far, this hasn't been the most inspired showing.

I am suddenly the unlikely recipient of backroom bitching from somebody whose rank is higher than me by quite a bit but not quite my boss and it is rather amusing. It's also slightly annoying. When I go to camp, I try to be nice to everybody (NICE) because this is not fashion or RJ and I don't see the need to be bitchy or competitive. Anyway, at the level where I am, army politicking is so lame and obvious there's really no point.

By the way, was talking to an officer the other day and I realised that we have unknowingly added a deeper fissure to Singaporean society than mere race through our education system. This officer is a lot older than me and he comes from a different JC that has been the object of my contempt for quite a while and it's interesting because he told me he didn't like people from my school. You'd think a decade of no longer being in school would have wiped the slate clean. Then there is the myth that senior rafflesians help their juniors when they're working in the same corporate environment. Is it just me or does it sound laughable considering that we're all such an ambitious and competitive bunch?

I was talking to a senior and he was arguing, comme d'habitude, that the state has no reason to intervene to aid the poorest of society. I would have agreed with him in the past and to a great extent, I still do. Nonetheless, increasingly, I begin to question the strident arrogance (!) that such a stand entails. I think the social cost of living the poor to fester by themselves is significant enough to warrant some form of intervention from the government for the wealth of a polity cannot be based solely on its economic strength but must also be founded on a benign society free from the evils of extreme poverty and an absence of social mobility. Note that I don't think inequality is a bad thing as long as social mobility is present but I do think that some measure of social equity needs to be present. It's just, I feel that it would be irresponsible of any individual to say that the state should let the poor die because they deserve it. Well, most of them do of course and I'm not even appealing to anyone's benevolence but I feel that the poor exact too high a cost to society to not have us do something about them.

Having said that, my sister woke me up at this unearthly hour because she was panicking over being late and I really, really hate it when that happens. Like hello, if you're late, just take a cab.

My horoscope mentions that this month needs to be a month of rest lest I wear myself out and that has proven to be uncannily true. I have felt a little worn about the edges thanks to the combination of more work, huge amounts of domestic stress, the unfortunate occurrence of yet another bout of existential crisis, a creative rut and my intense desire to run to Paris. I also feel like checking into Fullerton for two months where I do nothing but visit Woffles for lipo, peels, shots and lifts while I eat at San Marco everyday.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll

It takes so little to make one realise how reliant we are on our technology. I was observing my mother using the computer yesterday and it dawned on me that the whole pc thing sort of left her generation bewildered and this whole Internet 2.0 thing is like, too counter-intuitive.

In one more generation, laptops will be so ridiculously cheap it doesn't make sense to use paper anymore and we'll all be carrying solar-powered disposable electronic pads and they'd have finally invented a prototype of the 3-d printer and for a price, we'd be able to print 3d.

Imagine! Printing a dress! Issey Miyake would be so proud.

Ok, nothing much to say because blogging has suddenly become dangerous and I'm a little torn on the issue of censorship and free speech.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll

Jessie has just figured out why my writing skids too closely to the excessively florid most of the time and I'm not telling you why save for the fact that it's got something to do with ultra trashy lit that I used to read as a child.

David Lebovitz replied to my mail! Haha, this is such a fanboy moment. Now if I can only get my hands on Tom Ford's email address..

Am inspired to prepare dinner next sunday for la famille. The following items have been thrown into the air and I shall somehow have to arrange a meal. I'm thinking of a long dinner with many courses all of which are tres tres petits.

Smoked salmon rolled with cream cheese and wolfberries.

Reverse smoked salmon roll with crepe and cream cheese inside.

Minced meat and tofu molded into a little cube served with a thick teriyaki sauce.

Tea soup with fish broth.

Salad of bok choy, cherry tomatoes and lemon rind with a mirin and shoyu dressing.

Mushroom risotto.

Savoury fromage brulee with minced shrimps.

Salad of chopped scallops, raw fish and watercress with a plum vinegar dressing.

Pan seared chicken with a ginger caramel glaze.

Mint jelly infused with vodka.

Fresh melon juice with longans.

Mango souffle.

Comments?

C'est tout.

Blank Doll

For a non-science geek like me, Charles Stross' Accelerado is one smashing hard science fiction hit. I love the idea of Economics 2.0, the Rapture of Nerds where everyone is uploaded into space and the Matroishka Brain where the solar system is reduced to a pulsating cloud of nanocomputers. It's breathtaking and scary but so exciting at the same time since about everyone who know me for more than 4 minutes know that I love the idea of one day having a high bandwidth interface implanted right into our brains so we can do away with the clumsy artifice of computers.

That's a lot of technological gushing from a non-science geek but it only goes to prove how much of a geek I still am.

Drinks with Jessie after dinner. She's hallucinating about seeing a certain somebody. I hate to say this but I think I'm going through the whole I'm losing a friend shit which I thought I'd been thankfully saved from during my JC years. Sucker!

My orange cheesecake tarts look mighty swell and I've, on a whim, emailed David Lebovitz about pastry dough but I doubt he'll reply. Meanwhile I'm still grappling with the thin red line that separates 20s soignee from 60s sleek and it's just not happening. Obviously one is vulgar and the other isn't but that's seeing it from the perspective of a 21st century kid. I can't see the shock factor in the marcel wave, I can't see the vulgarity inherent in a tortoiseshell smoking pipe. I can't see anything but the slow death of Victorian superiority in the Quantian parade of miniskirts, Zoot suits and plastic dresses. I want to connect Chanel with St Laurent, I want to jet the whole thing into the future without it coming out overimaged and repackaged for our jaded eye. I want the hearts to still trill when the model walks out in her gamine dress of bias cut tea green silk with the conched koi in thread of gold and scarlet bakelite. I want the slinky black cardigan of cashmere and the layered top with embossed python skin to melt the frigid hippocampuses of the front row mavens. I want luxury to explode from every pore, from every tent in Bryant Park, from every pulpit in Milan, from every chateaux in Paris and I want luxury to replace the monolith of accessible designer chic.

I want to weave threads of suede into a gown and cut it on the bias so it clings to your skin the way silk does except it isn't silk. I want-

too much.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll

Oh gosh, the kid's got exam tomorrow and I'm sadly too drained to give her tuition today. I'm responsible enough to feel guilt but not actually responsible enough to do it. God I hate myself.

Actually, I don't. Not when I have my trusty anons in the tagboard to do the hating for me. (HELLO TO YOU!)

Lunch with Jessie is always very very good, interesting and wholly insightful. We had lunch at Iggy's which I tell you, is a very very good restaurant. I don't care if half the world thinks it's overhyped, it's good. I love the decor and the atmosphere. I love the lisping JJ whom I swear I will charm into submission with subsequent visits until he remembers my name. I love the gorgeous gorgeous olive bread they served and the way they put fleur de sel in front of you when you ask for salt. I love the freshness of the buffalo mozarrella and the cute baby tomatoes they served as an amuse bouche. I love the beautifully arranged and composed soba with parmesan and ham which was just bursting with so much flavour from the inspired sauce of aspic and pesto. I love the kurobuto with the onion confit that just melts in your mouth and the mash potato which is to die for. Finally, I love the maple syrup ice cream (no foam!) and the so wittily unpretentious (not to mention oxymoronic) milk chocolate parfait served in a cone and french toast. Oh, one peeve, the chopsticks were disgusting.

And that's just the food. Sweet Jessie is bracing, talks sense where sense is asked for, exudes lightness when I'm brooding about my own emotional retardation and generally makes me laugh. I swear I crack more lame jokes with her than with anyone else. The days pass too fast and soon she will be gone. Sigh. Meanwhile, I swear I shall find something suitably profound yet typically shallow to give to her.

A diy Chanel tattoo maybe.

Anyway, another equally good lunch at Jaan on saturday. Jaan has a very good and very cheap lunch on most weekdays which is one of those steals you can find in Singapore. Firstly, there is the view. So breathtaking! Then there is the food which is generous and good. The braised wagyu cheeks were so so good as was the tagliatelle with parmesan and prawns. I loved their spicy salmon sashimi and their chicken ballotin too. The desserts won't too spectacular though I did enjoy my yuzu parfait with raspberry coulis. Piggy kept switching plates with me so I had to eat her food too but who's complaining. The place is quiet and I was really quite impressed with the plating. Nothing too fancy but so so beautiful. What I also love is the Feed at Raffles card which makes every meal at raffles a STEAL.

I need to stop eating like this because I just realised that my food bills for August ran up to nearly a thousand which is what I could have spent on say a pair of beautiful Gucci booties. They should totally give me a loyalty card at Canele's as I eat there at least once a week if not twice.

Then there was the jarring experience of being a slave to the army whilst preparing for the army half marathon which yes, somebody died at. I was serving drinks and didn't sleep at all for an entire day and now I'm completely tired and exhausted and my weekend felt like nothing. I'm also very annoyed with the fucking irresponsibility of certain people in the army. Master sargeants should all be thrown into a dust bin somewhere labelled "DO NOT REUSE OR RECYCLE".

Hopefully my schedule pulls through and amidst all the chaos, I shall be earning a little bit more cash, tightening the old purse strings, going out for another dinner with Jessie darling and meeting dear Kai Mind (for the first time) for dinner and if Sarah doesn't die from the loan sharks I shall very soon send after her, go out with Sarah to get rid of the jitterbugs.

Banana and nutelle crepe cake coming right up along with orange chocolate cupcakes, pear tarts and a ham and onion quiche.

I need a sewing machine so I can MAKE A DRESS. It's driving me crazy, I need to figure out how Galliano got chiffon silk to make the beautiful butterfly dresses from ten years ago.

I'm writing too quickly because time is so so so limited and my life is just bursting with light and darkness. Always there is darkness even if there's light.

I need to go to Paris now. Not next year, not the year after but now. I don't even really want to go to Tokyo or New York even though either one will be in this year's schedule.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll!

Hier etait fab. J'echappais du bureau a dix sept heures et reviendrais chez moi pour me preparer avant d'aller a Clarke Quai pour rencontrer mes ami(e)s. C'a ete tres longtemp lorsque nous nous sommes rencontrons et sauf pour Kris, tout est arrive! Et Sarah etait tot!

Nous nous sommes parle beaucoup de choses. Les etudes, les travaux, la cuisine, LE MILITAIRE (!!), les collegue tres degoutant, les affaires au jus etc. Dee est si branche, je te dis, et elle peut faire les 'moves mambo' tres drole parce qu'elle les a appris d'une personne qui s'appelle le 'Mambo King'. En anglais, so rubbish!

Ok, enough French for a day. I wrote so much only because Dee inspired me too. Anyway, XJ was a little pissed that we went to...MACARON for dinner since she doesn't really like desserts (although I must congratulate myself on having piqued her interest in meringues and macarons).

Jessie dear wasn't in today so didn't get to see her which is a pity seeing that she's flying off soon and I really really want to hang out with her as much as possible until she flies off.

Back to the food. This is going to be a cuisine-centric post but I promise it'll follow with more. While we were talking, I was making notes of the food we ate so here:

Service and Decor. Getting a table at Macaron is relatively easy although they don't open on Mondays. The service is generally good but naturally expected of such an establishment though given the fact that this is a Les Amis restaurant we are talking about, this should be something of a miracle. Waiters clad in black, strange accent, rather informative about their food but not too polite. They are quite efficient though since glasses are always filled and plates always cleared. I only have two bones to pick, one of which was the abrupt break in the meal halfway through but I think that was more the fault of the chefs (more on this later) than them, the other was the fact that they tried to clear my plate before I'd finished my food but that was probably because I was the only one who ordered six courses so they had to syncrhonise the meal. Decor wise, the place is rather small, enough for 30 people I would think. It's an open kitchen concept but the kitchen is receded into the background so it doesn't really do much except if you confidence that the food IS on its way. The black on black theme was nice and not too pretentious but what really stood out were the plates. The dinner service were something to look at with porcelain plates patterned on a sine curve and square aluminium platters with but a side slit to form a handle. The utensils were adequate, the spoon very nice and of the right weight.

First course. Before I go on, let me give the restaurant ten points for providing fleur de sel with their bread but then let me take those points away because they provided unsalted butter with their bread. I had a pan con tomate. It was rather good and one of the more successful executions. Deceptively simple and fresh, the bread had a piquant note that never failed to surprise. The olive oil was sound and the omnipresent fleur de sel made the overall experience so very intense. The tomatoes were very fresh and made for a nice end note counterpart to the bread.

Second course. The foie gras parfait I had was good but not astounding. Firstly, I must say that the orange brioche they served the foie gras with was really good. While I liked the fact that the foie gras taste more like foie gras than foie gras, the absence of the caramelized fat experience made me quite ambivalent to the whole thing. Evidently, molecular gastronomy is not for everybody and while it was interesting to savour the deconstructed foie gras, it did not enrapture me the way it should since I am an ardent admirer of foie gras.

Third course. I tasted both the virgin mary sorbet and the poached vanilla pear. The virgin mary sorbet should be applauded for it was rather competent. I liked the slight bite the tomato sorbet had in it although the rosemary foam was altogether too sweet. The candied rosemary garnish was quite delightful nevertheless. Compared to this, the poached vanilla pear fared much better. The combination of milk chocolate ganache and vanilla chiboust made for pure comfort food although the pears could have been poached a tad longer. Again, this never made it to the spectacular because the pear had lost its own note yet took on nothing of the vanilla or the chocolate. The dessicated pear slice was amusing however.

Dessert. The highlight of the meal. Cream cheese sorbet and pain perdu. The cream cheese sorbet was very good given that it was light yet substantial enough and retained a consistency somewhere between beaten cream cheese and a full blown ice cream. It kept its integrity well enough and was enriched by the almond nougatine. The apricot confit was however, irrelevant and did nothing to the flavour for it was too sweet. The pain perdu, now, that was something to write home about. While the cinnamon ice cream it was served with was mediocre, the vanilla cream was outstanding. It was thick, bursting with vanilla and melted in the mouth without leaving an aftertaste. It went very well with the pain perdu which was flavourful, made of very fresh brioche and worthy of its reputation.

Petit four. The vanilla jelly was very bad, insipid and not at all tasting of vanilla. The chocolate raspberry was interesting but what saved the ending of the meal was the white truffle macaron although in trying to avoid being an imitation of Pierre Herme' white truffle macaron with hazelnut, the absence of hazelnuts made it but a shadow of what it could have been.

To wit, Macaron shows promise as a dessert restaurant and is an admirable example of what a chef can do when he marries the principles of Adria and Herme. Yet this is the brainchild of the same man who made Cannele a success and who is certainly no newcomer to the restaurant scene. His absence at the point of service was noted and probably explains why the food was good but never really took off. Furthermore, in trying to make his food conceptually sublimal, Macaron risks sabotaging its mains on which its justification as a dessert restaurant and not just another salon de the hinges on.

On a similar note, Cannele will be having a Macaron Festival next month and that is certainly something to look forward to. I personally promise to buy a dozen white truffle macarons and wolf them down on the spot if M. Pang would oblige all of us by putting it on the menu at Cannele.

Next stop, Au Petit Salut.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll.

My little trip to Genting can be summed up with but a line.

It was shit and I'm never going back there again.

Ok, I appreciated the opportunity we got to spend time together as a family because I love spending time with the family and all. I do not however appreciate the annoying violation of principles.

Look, given that labour, rent and capital input along with ingredients cost less than it does in Singapore, it makes no sense for Starbucks to charge the same amount (you got it, 14 malaysian dollars for a frap) in Malaysia as they do in Singapore. Do you perchance expect Singapore to charge ten bucks for filet-o-fishes in that disgusting dump we call Mcdonalds just because a burger costs about 4 euros in Mcdo in Paris?

So I did look kind of silly ranting about purchasing power and nominal exchange rates at the counter when all I really wanted was to find out if the deformed danish at the counter really did contain cream cheese.

I did enjoy today a lot more. Spent the morning stocking up on food for ops room duty tomorrow. As everyone knows, Sean has an aversion to camp food and this has been aggravated after my unfortunate encounter with the SFI gestapo dude who first spied on me as I clicked the "not ok" button on the food survey, thus violating the sanctity of my privacy, and then had the cheek to interrogate me on why I did so. Hello, the fact that I only eat camp food like once a month answers that. Hell, "not ok" is a perfect understatement.

Oh anyway, I prepared a cream cheese and sundried tomato spread along with smoked salmon and wholemeal bread so I'll have a really nice dinner tomorrow. I also packed dried apricots and granola for dessert. So healthy am I.

Spent the afternoon at the library browsing. There are a few hefty tomes about the world economy in the 15th century, Chinese foreign policy, sartorial directions for men, the politics of spices, ASEAN and the world, the science of chocolate and the lot. As usual, I experienced another bout of existentialist crisis, schizoprenia and neurosis because of this:

Navel-gazing moment: My pscyhe is composed of two distinct, almost inimical parts. The one delves into politics, public administration, history, business, economics and knowledge; the other wants to explore fashion, gastronomy, architecture, style, molecular mixology, textiles, design and luxury. Everytime I experience doubt, it is because these two different aspects of me clash. I can see myself either as a very competent civil servant or as a kick-ass designer. But I can't be either and sooner or later, I fear I have to drop one of them lest I never be whole. It appears I can no longer tread both paths as I used to do in school and sooner or later, I have to choose. Do I give up this frippery of an ambition and commit my energies to the politics of beauracracy or do I surrender my (!!) intellectual credentials and let the dior homme take over?

Anyway, dinner broke the spell. Fosters is one of those places that serves English comfort food. It's authentic enough I suppose if not for the weird pasta offerings. I had the roast beef though come to think of it, I wished I'd taken the fillet instead. Solid apple pie, would have been better served with a pitcher of cold cold cream instead of ice cream.

Speaking of which, I bought a copy of Wine and Dine on a whim and discovered that I hated it. Journalism nul, information nul, editorial nul, total nul. I have read better food blogs that were more elegant, more informative and with more elan. Thank you very much, I can now add you to Urban and Vogue Singapore.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll

I am suddenly fixated with the whole idea that were I to buy a vintage Dior Homme suit (yes, they are vintage now since Slimane no longer works at Dior, get them quick), I'd probably not be able to squeeze into them. I swear they have a maximum girth of like 25 inch or something. They look so good! And skinny!

There is no excuse for people NOT to aspire to and then get a liposuction as soon as possible. It's the same with botox facials and facelifts. Wisdom is wonderful and all but I'd rather die at the age of 85 with minimal wrinkles. We live in an age of plastic.

Was talking to a friend about economics and was rather affronted by his strident claim that econometrics was the only relevant strain of economics. I'm no subscriber to welfare economics nor am I somebody who's very well versed in economics but I hate to think that the dismal science could be so bastardized by mathematicians. Great, I can't even spell them. I mean sure, they bring statistical rigor and open up lots of interesting vistas for economists to explore but always there is the risk of diluting the intellectual vigor and elegance for which the field is known. If the whole point of mathematics is to simplify and rationalize, I doubt reducing Fischer's Theory of Interest into a litany of functions and summations would be in the interest of the inquisitive layman.

I need to read Veblen and his leisure class. I suspect it'd appeal to me.

National day is coming and I'm getting the patriotic tingle again. Sometimes, I have no idea why I won't just give up my ambition and join the damn civil service since every inch of my moral and intellectual fibre yearns to contribute (!!) to society.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll

I AM LIKE TOTALLY UNSTOPPABLE.

And Urban is so depressing. Seriously, I've only begun reading the Straits Times this year because there is nothing else to do in the office when you're so efficient you finish all your work before lunch time. Nonetheless, it took all of like 1/2 an issue before Urban annoyed me. What IS up with the outdated fashion news, the really bad styling, the "this is so IT" trend that is actually two seasons late, the ugly reintepretation of runway styles, the HEYGOODLOOKING(!!) section and of course, the Pocky Woman and her weird tidbits. Dried seaweed with crispy sesame seeds is so not glam food.

Moving on. After my catastrophic attempts at re-enacting my apple dumplings and then the time when I almost melted the oven with my incandescent egg tarts, GOD took pity and gave me success. HELLO, perfect little cream puffs filled with honey pastry cream and then brown sugar langues des chats. If I make these and sell at my Dad's shop, I could increase my income again! Haha, life is sweet.

In other words, my family is going to, oh the irony, Malaysia on National Day. I cannot believe it. I hate that place, no wait, I despise the place. Nevertheless, I expect lots of cheap hawker fare and weird inexpensive little things to buy along with bird's nest. Oh wait, bird's nest is in Indonesia.

Anyway, meetings meetings MORE meetings and then Malaysia and then yet MORE MEETINGS, a trip to the *ahem* Docteur, meetings, dinner at macaron, a peek at somebody's drawer, signing up for driving lessons, for sewing lessons and so much more.

Life is suddenly too short.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll.

My doomed apple dumplings are leaking molten butter in the oven because I inverted the sugar:butter ratio. ARGH.

Ille me parlait hier et pour ce moment-la, tout etait calm. Je ne peux pas mettre en mots les emotions qu'ille m'evoque, je ne peux pas choisir entre la realite et la reve qui est eui. Nous avons traverse le mur indefine, traverse la mer infinite et a la fin, nous nous sommes trouve.

Today has been quite a horrid day. Nonetheless, I'm not going to let something so pathetic as a day beat me down. There's things to do, a dozen ensemble rushing around in my head waiting for me to put them on paper. Seriously, I've been toying with the 20s meet japonisme idea for so long that they've shown it for this season. Like, what the fuck!?

On another note, I think I try too hard. Your words are too poisonous. I want to protect you, I want to be strong enough to take care of you. But you burn. Sometimes it's too much. In shielding you from the world, I hurt. Maybe I leave because of you, because you will break me if I don't.

Il me faut sortir, voyager et en fin, te trouver.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll

I love my rainy days, so restful and all. Evenings like this, makes me want to paint everything in saturated shades of blue.

Oh and I wish hardcore fantasy geeks would all stand up and rise against the Harry Potter Craze. It's absurd this is, all the fanfare over a plot that has been used, and used, and re-used by countless other fantasy writers who write very well indeed. There are many up and coming fantasy writers with skill, finesse, more than a little sophistication and it's just plain sad that none of them will ever get the sort of acclaim that Ms. Rowling has received. This is just as bad as the time when everyone suddenly went crazy over LOTR even though the book was pedantic, boring, strangely unepic given its scale and was probably the only fantasy book to have an ANNEX. All because they made it into a movie and Orlanda Bloom had pointy ears.

Here are some fantasy writers who read very well though. Terry Pratchett for his irreverence, his humour and his quirky way of making his world seems so much more real than reality. Jacqueline Carey for writing so beautifully it's almost prose. Anne Bishop who needs a bit more polish but does a neat job. Judith Tarr who's an old hand who wrote a very good chronicle series. Tad William's War of Flowers is inspired. Ursula Le Guin is very very good at what she does. Terry Goodkind makes the Cold War sound boring. Terry Brooks write an action-packed Tolkien lite which is quite entertaining. Mercedes Lackey for the uninitiated is good. L E Modesitt is versatile and there is always E Feist who does wars incredibly well. Oh and for those of us, all of us, who like fantasy light, there is always David Eddings who can be relied on to supply easy books of delicious length with very likeable characters.

And here I give myself away as a fantasy geek. Crap. Haha, anyway, was talking to a fellow closet fantasy geek and she kindly pointed out that I like my fantasy politically inspired. This means I'm not too acquainted with the fireball and dragonfight persuasion so I can't be relied on to supply titles.

There, I have forever banished the stupid assumption that all I read is Tarling. I happen to spend most of my time reading fantasy novels, books on food, fashion periodicals and coffee books and articles on the state of the economy. I do like to dabble in the occasional philosophy text and the rare Klassiks but well, it's rare.

Plato's Republic is proving to be quite fascinating nevertheless. The whole Socrates and the Idiot argument model is a little washed out though.

Goodbye weekend.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll

Oh gosh, I'm suddenly so desperate for a liposuction I think I'll rob the bank.

Hectic hectic week. I love my office with all my nice superiors, especially G4 who despite being demanding and dreaded by most of his colleagues, is actually a very nice guy and the sort of man who could qualify for Father Figure status. Not easy considering my dim view of men old enough to be my dad.

Meeting on Wednesday lasted till 10 30pm but it was ok because there was the surreal after experience of watching Wenli and Shungs play dota in the ops room.

Oh and I made a honey souffle. Wait, I meant to say I screwed up a honey souffle all because I was too impatient and took it out of the oven half cooked. There is nothing more disgusting than an uncooked souffle. Ok, there are a lot of things AS disgusting but certainly not many things more disgusting than it.

My hip still hurts although it's much better now. NO THANKS TO EVERYBODY ELSE WHO MAKES ME WALK UP AND DOWN THE STAIRS.

Oh god, I feel so fat now. I really reall really want a liposuction. Mummy thought I was crazy when I told her I wanted one and that I was going to save up so I could get one before I leave for Parsons.

Anyway, just listened to Tom's Diner by Suzanne Vega and I think she really is first and foremost a poet. I like the frisson she creates by putting in juxtaposition the casual familiarity as well as the comfortable anonymity of a round-the-corner diner. She employs ambiguity a lot in her lyrics. I don't know if this is due to carelessness or if she's deliberately making you think even as you sing along.

No, I don't sing aloud.

Anyway, Sun at Chijmes has a 1 for 1 sushi lunch/dinner and I want somebody to go for it with me. Anyone up for sushi? Wait, don't say. I know the right person.

I just read yet another article on El Bulli and I am suddenly obsessed with how they make their olive oil candies. You can't get alignate in Singapore I swear.

Also, Hermes for men this season kicks ass. Molton Brown has a deliciously spicy perfume with major black pepper notes. I need to get a sandwich at Hediard just to see how good it really is. I need an easel, wonder if I can steal one from Ahmad Ibrahim. Xuan's going to have to help me on that one :p

C'est tout.

BD in the house :D

Il y a un/e personne qui m'aime, vraiment. Ille m'aime si beaucoup nous-meme sommes blesses. C'est trop triste pour moi. Je ne peux pas supporter l'idee que je lea ferai mal un jour si nous sommes de la chance pour se rencontrer. J'ai trop de l'ambition et ille est trop bonne.

Oh gosh, now my back hurts too. I need need need to rolf.

I cannot get Rachael Yamagata's Quiet out of my head. That one line, it just breaks my heart.

You may hate me, but I'll remember to love you.

Et non Jessie, t'as pas de raison. C'est pas la meme personne que je me trouve en tombant pour. C'est pas la meme personne du tout.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll.

I did it. Et c'est un bon coupe aussi! I bought my beautiful marc jacob jeans from blackspade AND it was after a 50% reduction instead of 30% like the other day!

Gosh, beautiful.

Lunch at Victor's Kitchen today. Haha, the dimsum is cheap and good. Really happy although the weather was atrocious. I love love love the custard buns with the salted egg yolk. Genius.

Spent the rest of the day sleeping off the pain from a very annoying groin strain that is recovering after the visit to the tui na shi yesterday night.

I am not looking forward to a very hectic week. Gargh.

C'est tout,

Blank Doll sits still.

Ouch, I really really need physio or some kick ass tuina because my left leg is a mess. The shin splint is still there, my butt hurts and some weird ligament/tendon/string/muscle thing near my groin area is off tangent. At this rate, I'm never going to be able to run 21 km without looking like Terry Fox.

Oh, and my kneecap hurts too. ARGH. I don't want to grow fat :(

Anyway, I am obsessed with pastry shops. Shops like Gerard Mulot or Pierre Herme. We haven't got anything like those in Singapore and even the Chocolate Factory isn't that good. Canele is reliable but not particularly inspired. Sigh.

Anything for real pain de mie with foie gras, mesclun and a reduction of sauternes.

OH. Tomorrow, I shall go get my pair of white cords from blackjack, assuming they have it in my size. It just occurred to me that size 30 is too big for me now and I have to wear a belt with everything which must means that I've slimmed down.

Parfait.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll eats up.

I once had a pair of red Calvins that were absolutely beautiful, the sort that follows the line of your leg and makes them look five feet long. Unfortunately, I once possessed a somewhat staid approach to clothes and colour so I threw it away. Now when I want to wear a frayed long sleeved shirt, red jeans and boots- well, I can't. The problem with owning so many pairs of Calvins, Levis, Diesels and Trussardis is that you really can't wear them all. I've cut up two pairs of Calvins, a pair of Rykiels and a pair of Versaces but my I still have too many pairs. There's a pair I've been wearing since primary five and it still fits! (fat boy alert) Then again, three years ago, my dad bought me a pair from Thailand, some generic pair, and it was really good.

Yes, I hate people who wear jeans everywhere, who thinks a pair of jeans and long sleeved shirt makes smart casual. Impossible, je vous dit. Nonetheless, there are times to wear jeans. Or at least until I work and have enough income to tailor all my pants from cashmere or something.

Work has been, erm, heavy. Most of which I am not at the liberty to discuss but suffice to say, it's been rather interesting. A friend of mine once said I was pathologically fixated with rank (ok, he didn't say it that nicely, it was more like a scream). Well, he would be proud of me because right now, I could hardly care. Apparently, I'm only a proponent of the Establishment when it suits me and the current one where I am but a tiny minutes writing, slide converting, report vetting and all round expert on all things luxurious cog definitely does not suit me. Still, je suis content.

I have attained a new level of culinary achievement. Yesterday night, I made salted caramel macarons and they taste JUST like macarons! Perfect, now I won't have to go all the way to Canele to get a macaron fix. I'm still annoyed by the fact that I can't find rosewater to flavour my foodstuff though. Nevertheless, I'm over roses. Currently, I love the idea of salted caramel and chili. Salted caramel is such a wonderfully, adult, take on a childhood preoccupation with sweetness. It adds a subtle smokiness, an intense tinge, the salt. Chilis! Ah I am a late bloomer. Me, an Asian, and I only learnt to love chilis like, four months ago. I want to make a fruits rouges coulis and then mince red chili into it. I want to infuse chocolate with chili and then bake a warm chocolate cake with it so that the molten chocolate that oozes out of the crackly core is not only hot and rich but also intensely spicy. I'm also thinking of a way to incorporate pepper into desserts.

With regards to furniture, there is this old technique of decorating walls which I think is so hot. It's essentially leaving the borders of the wall plain and then framing wallpaper in the centre. It's beautiful and you can see an example of this at the Versailles. Now I wonder, how much more beautiful if you had frames of lacquered bamboo framing up antique Chinese silks? I saw this sample of white Chinese patterned silk embroidered with Venetian style embroidery in red. Beautiful.

So much of life to savour, so much of the world to taste, even without you by my side, my time here won't go to waste.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll

The past two days (three if you count today) have been rather at once incredibly fulfilling and tiring. I don't even want to talk about the emotional highs and lows but suffice to say, my family devours me.

Anyway, I digress. Massage at Red, White & Pure was delicious. The service was impeccable and I bought a peony perfume for my mother because it suited her so. Lunch there was even better. I had a pumpkin gnocchi which was beautiful and very healthy since it was seasoned with celery foam. Mummy had a really inspired sesame cod with pea soup. The pea soup was really fresh and did I mention that they serve a mean roast pumpkin? Dessert was nothing special though, should have taken the lavender infused pear.

Shopped with Mummy at Vivo for a while longer. Mummy and I found Tom Ford aviators, still deciding if I should get them since she has kindly offered to buy them for me. Mummy prefers the Dior shades though.

We had dinner at Sun with Moon thereafter. We had the usual sashimi and sushi. The dessert was delightful though! I really love the spiced candied tomatoes. You lick it and it tastes like a lolly and then you bite through the brittle caramel and the burst of tomato juice does wonders in bringing out the spice of the caramel.

After dinner, Mummy and I walked around and we saw this little shop that sold beautiful tiny desserts. Apparently, dessert shops are getting more and more common in Singapore and you can now have a macaroon wherever you are. We had a lot to talk about before finally going back home. I love spending days out with Mummy.

Friday was spent with Jessie. Lunch at the Royal Copenhagen Lounge where we shared a foie gras salad and a really huge platter of cold cuts, pate, smoked salmon, mushroom ragout and pickled herrings. I love talking with Jessie because we can talk about everything and she never takes anything too seriously. The world has too many melancholic people.

This was followed by more shopping before going down to a parent-teacher meeting. I'm the perfect brother, the "surrogate parent" as Jessie calls it. Dinner at Basil Alcove, a secluded little restaurant at Middle Road that's really cheap and good. Had the duck with balsamic vingar and mussels. Fabulous.

New classmates in French lesson today. Bought a few cds including a Bartok and a Pink Martini.

My family's mad but I love my life.

C'est tout.

Blank Dolls.

The idiot who said home-cooked food tastes the best must have had Bocuse or Robuchon in his kitchen.

I did make a beautiful dessert platter for ma petite soeur. Flambeed bananas with kahlua-infused caramel, fresh pear slices enrobed in soft meringues and pumpkin custard. I love coming up with desserts. Almost as much as I do coming up with frocks, lacquerware, interior designs, furniture and textiles.

Tomorrow's going to be great, as will the day after. I do deserve a break after all and nothing could be better than a massage and spa cuisine.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll.

With all the gravity of a soon to be nineteen year old, I think I've grown fatter. Somebody in my office commented that I looked as if I'd put on some weight and I have been eating a little bit more than usually recently.

You know, this wouldn't be so difficult if I could eat more protein and less carbs. My shin splint hurts like hell as usual and I haven't been working out for three days already. GARH.

Rant enough. I have a little something up my sleeves for next month. Shall see if it works out.

Oh oh, and I have rediscovered my love for Nigella Lawson. God she's beautiful.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll.

Damn the Straits Times. This is deliberate baiting, I tell you.

Look, obviously, I'm going to roll my eyes at the pathetically desperate letter written by some girl's mother who was so deluded as to think her daughter's absymal grades were "above average". Sweetheart, average is 2 As and even then, just merely. I wouldn't even dare tell people my grades since it's only 3As.

Besides, it's simply absurd that anyone could be so contradictory in their lament. You argue that NUS isn't being meritocratic because it's not accepting your daughter based on her grades then argue also that NUS should accept your daughter because she's a sportswoman. Somebody else then chimes in that PW shouldn't be used as you can't possibly hope that something so subjective as PW (check out the arts curriculum darling) should be assessed and adults 18 years of age wouldn't take PW seriously enough anyway. Sweetling, if you couldn't be arsed to do well for something as easy as PW then you probably aren't good enough for the working world, are you? You have a teacher and bloody friends to do a project, not a slimy boss and backstabbing colleagues for crying out loud.

Anyway, for an institution that so unabashedly claims itself to be one of the top centres of academic learning, NUS shouldn't have to settle on the merely good. Be like France, be like Japan or China, be unashamedly meritocratic and elitist. The real problem, the one we Singaporeans do not see, is that the A levels no longer function as a reliable basis of academic worth. It's too easy. You get As too easily. People in Britain are worried. We aren't. We ought to be.

End of rant. Feel free to flame my tagboard now. I practically dare you to.

Sometimes when I think of you, I wish I was stronger, older, somehow more of the man you need, if only so I could protect this innocence that you fight so hard to cling onto. Instead, I keep silent, laugh and play the clown for you.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll enjoyed himself.

Today has been utterly charming. It has been a long time since our family last spent a Sunday together having fun without the phone(s) ringing, tempers flaring and some long annoying to-do list at the back of our heads.

Morning was spent at the Four Seasons having brunch which is such a cheerfully familial thing to do. All the food you can eat. Fresh oysters, wonderful seafood salad, warm mussels in butter, peking duck, foie gras, grilled duck, truffled risotto, leg of lamb, salads, croissants with lavender honey, floating islands, souffles, cakes, pralines, sorbets...I could go on. Oh, then martinis and juices to wash it all down. Simply divine and definitely a convival way to spend a morning/afternoon together en famille.

This being a really unusual family day out, we went to the ACM! Haha, Mummy was really surprised that such a place existed in Singapore and we enjoyed ourselves thoroughly going through the various galleries with me as an impromptu tour guide. It was fun but tiring and Pa amused himself with the handicap door-opening buttong mechanism.

Thereafter, we decided to watch Shrek 3 at Plaza Singapura. Had tea and cake before watching the movie and saw Jo en route. Cheer up! Oh oh, the movie was hilarious. The "frantic cultural name-dropping" as the Time called it was very good as usual and I thought the involvement of all the princesses was inspired. Didn't like the ending though, just goes to show you can't really take the didactic out of a fairy tale.

Gosh, it's been a splendid day and now I can rest my tired feet at home. Tomorrow's going to be great too and Tuesday, oh gosh, and I can't wait for Thursday.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll says so.

Hellohello!

It's been a long time since I blogged. While, it's been a long time since I blogged about happy things so yes.

I have my life back finally. Isn't that great?

Oh oh, before I continue, I must tell you, Red, White and Pure is a wonderful experience. Lunch there was pretty healthy and wholesome and that chef is such a genius with vegetables. Seriously, I love their tomatoes and they make a beautiful poached pear in lavender and chocolate. If you make a special trip down to vivocity to check out Red, White and Pure, do remember to buy their delicious chocolates and their tomato vinegar. Also, also, also, do indulge in a couple of their skincare products which are just inspired. Will talk more about this little jewel of a healthy lifestyle boutique once I have tried their massage.

You know how much hype there is over that donut place at Raffles City? I think I like pop dough more and recently, I simply cannot get enough of their frosted cruellers. Yeasty and sweet, the way donuts ought to be.

Ok, as it turns out, the dear bag I was looking at in Louis Vuitton costs too much for me to just buy it for the fun of it. It's funny because I didn't expect the bag to cost 2300 so there, it probably wasn't worth it then. This being the Great Singapore Sale however, I am looking at a pair of Gucci laceups which are beautiful, utterly beautiful.

Did I mention that I got Mummy a woolen shawl with a swan embroidered in swarovski crystals and a silk scarf for her birthday? These works of art are mostly one-offs, especially for the handpainted and hand embroidered shawls and you can buy them at Tangs. They're really affordable! Oh and I got sister this gorgeous book called The Alchemist and a book on the Singaporean Dream.

The coming month will be packed. Dinner with Mummy, Sunday brunch at Four Seasons, visit to the ACM, dinner at Indochine, tea at Hediard (Kai Min Kai Min! Caviar alert!), flute recital with Xuan and Sister, dinner with my beloved classmates and to top it all off, I intend to have ice cream at the Raffles Creamery and get a shirt from that shirt shop whose name reminds me of Cycle & Carriage.

Oh oh, and I really need people to watch Dimsum Dollies and Doll House with me. Sarah, you're the first person I thought of and anyway, we said we'd watch Doll House together.

Look at me, drunk on consumerism. Perfect.

C'est tout.

BD yells.

In the event that my beloved Padre happens to be reading my blog, here goes. I resent it when you tell Mummy that I'm spoiled and when you accuse your son of being hopelessly materialistic. People can be so forgetful sometimes, I do not forget that I never had the sort of simple childhood where I could look forward to walks in the park or fishing trips. Furthermore, I am very annoyed that none of you have ever defended me against your pathetic acquaintances who only see your son as hopelessly spoilt. Is it such an affliction on your consciences that you cannot bear tell them the pains I suffered when the both of you decided that marriage was a little too tiresome?

No, I do not appreciate it when you allow your friends to think of me that way. I hate it even more when you think of me that way too.

Pointless, to list the things that I have done. I am who I am, love me or don't.

Having said all that, I am a little miffed with Gucci because they still have not gotten around to carrying a particular model of shoes that I must have. Breadtalk at Paragon has a nice pear bread. I stupidly thought that Jurlique would sell me edible rosewater. Oh, and I saw this beautiful pair of white jeans at Ted Baker which I am going to buy.

By the way, did you know that there's a store in Toa Payoh that sells macaroons? They're paltry seconds next to Canele's but they were rather good, even if they only came in kaya and peanut butter. I thought the green ones were pistachios, haha.

Also, I am very happy because I shall soon own a bottle of calvados after much searching.

I need Paris.

C'est tout.

BD talks.

I choke on your fatalism and storied pain.

I ought to be calm, composed and relaxed. This, however, promises to be too much. It hurts when somebody older than you pour their troubles on you and expect you, with the barest measure of wisdom, to be able to imbibe all of it without bursting.

Right now, all I really want to do is bite into something.

Our maid left us yesterday. It's funny how I can get sentimental about things like this. The new maid is slow, timid and...slow.

This had better work out.

I need solace.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll

Somebody ought to revive Project Alabama.

The past week has been crazy, well not really, last saturday was crazy. Sister and I were eating crepes at the basement of Raffles City when I realised I had neither cash nor credit card on me. Special thanks go to XJ for saving the day! Haha, I love my friends.

I am now also a believer in the power of credit.

There is a pair of suede loafers that I crave from Zegna not to mention this calfskin pair with the most ingenious side eyelets from John Lobbs. I find aviators a bit of a tired idea. I mean, everyone's wearing them.

I am planning a beautiful surprise for my sister's birthday dinner. She will not know it until the very day itself. How sweet.

I am also in love with antique Japanese textiles and this method of embroidery called couching which makes for really magnificent pieces.

Jurlique sells rosewater so thanks Xuan, now I've got to find out if it's edible.

Christian Lauboutin makes some really hot black patent leather peeptoes. I really covet the impossibly expensive striped wool-silk jacket in light blue from Zegna.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll wails.

Every obliging, I am writing this post at the behest of Jessie who would fain be glad that what was writ upon my blog be erased.

R Project was not quite a failure althought it looked to be organised by people who loved fashion but who weren't people of fashion. Look darling, no bands before the defile and no intermission. No weird slides and for the last time, real human beauty reeks of the sort of unwitting irony that well-meaning people always end up with.

I did like the music though so kudos on that and the craftsmanship has improved by leaps and bounds which raises the suspicion that a professional was called in this time round.

Sarah, Val, XJ and me went off the Indochine afterwards where we had drinks and talk. It's fun to catch up with old friends especially after a hard day of work. It rained but heck, we were sheltered.

Afterwards, Sarah and I went down to Double O to join Mummy who very graciously got us in without queuing up thereby reinforcing the point that it is highly important to know people who can evade queues, say, the manager of bars and such. Mummy's friend treated us to drinks and I had a lot more rum than Mummy would allow otherwise. The crowd at Double O is alot older than MOS but it was also alot more fun. I know Sarah had fun watching the mad people dance and then that one angmoh that sort of wandered into the middle of the dancefloor.

Mummy after 12 also means I don't have to pay cab fare so yay.

Oh, and I can't wait for Candice to organise her class gathering.

Saturday was the pits though. Having slept at 4 am the night before, I had to get up at 7 am to go to work. The meeting went on and on and on but it was ok. Lunch with Mummy and sister afterwards at Spizza where I partook of comfort foods. Parmigiana is like, the, comfort food.

Met sister's fencing coach who struck me as kind of cool. Barely made it through French with my eyes open and thereafter, gave tuition at home.

Sunday has been kind. Bagels in the morning, salad in the afternoon. I made a honey cheesecake and that was another comfort food.

Let the week begin.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll sits down.

Sweet Jessie, leave anon be. There are certain people among us who are too frustrated in their impotent anger and can only do the irrational. You know the sort, that korean chap who gunned down those unfortunate people in Virginia.

My dear anon, it has come to my attention that you have probably been reading my blog for quite a while. In which case, I must thank you for your loyalty. Not a quality I usually inspire in people, that.

Nonetheless, just as you find my pretentious middle-class manners infuriating, I find your vulgarity, incoherence and repetitive malignant statements tiresome. You have neither the intelligence, the wit nor the courage to reveal yourself. If you are well-educated and wealthy then I may construe this as an attack on somebody you do not like. This is not, after all, the first time that I have incurred the ire of another. If you are on the other hand, poor, illiterate and of that particular class of people I detest, then your venom reeks too much of what I can only surmise to be envy, laughable as you may profess that to be.

Finally, if you happen to be somebody that I know then you have just validated my prejudice against the working class. All the people whom I have been acquainted with and have come to detest have either been poor, stupid or of that particularly petty character I find quite disgusting. Should you however be somebody I have not as yet have the fortune to make acquaintances with, then I believe you need a far more fulfilling hobby than foaming at the mouth night after night reading the transcript of a person's thoughts. Otherwise, we could always meet up over a proper luncheon (I have a fair mind to try Les Saisons if you please) and discuss your particular deficiencies since you seem to enjoy pointing mine out.

I'd really love to meet you, dear anon, if only to tell you that much as I love the idea, Hermes unfortunately does not make the sort of hemp required to fashion a noose.

To my friends, I'm sorry you have to witness this sad spectacle. The tagboard remains where it is if only as a goad for such imbeciles.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll.

crudefug is quite right in describing me as insecure, miserable and pretentious (he is unbelievably stupid nonetheless for lumping me with all the assorted religionists and the poisoned sanctimonous christians of the world). This is because I am resolutedly, solidly and unabashedly bourgeois.

My grandfather owned capital and land in joint ownership with my grandmother, she a Straits Chinese whose family wedded their fortunes to colonial and then Japanese rule. My father once owned a factory, now owns two hair salons and a cafe (a third hair salon seems to be under wraps, the tentative location being somewhere in australia) while his wife is a paralegal. My mother is one of the best financial planners you can find around with 17 years of experience and more accolades then she can pin onto the walls of her office while her husband is a drummer-teacher. Parents are owners of capital and for my mother, liquidity she knows not where to put. We go on vacation at least once a year and always our compass points far away, Japan and Europe where we may assiduously efface our bourgeois nature and eventually climb higher up. No Vietnamese bargains unless it be a stay at the Angsana or Banyan although I am increasingly intrigued by the little boutique hotels of Cambodia. Not quite enough panache to be part of the industrialist/capitalist class but enough to edge our family into the haut-bourgeois.

Uncle studied at ACS, another at RI, myself repudiating the working class environs of my secondary school to go on to RJ, sister did the same and is now in RGS doing much better than the average of her school and decidedly far better than her primary school scums. Even my grandmother got an education from Nanyang. So you are absolutely right. I am a grasping bourgeois insecure in my social standing who seeks greener pasture- a dyed-in-the-wool quasi-arrivist who sticks himself right into the mainstream.

Even my tastes reflect my bourgeois streak. I like Old Masters, Degas, Vermeer, Durer, Michelangelo and Chinese three-colour sculptures. I despise the radical elements of art, be it dead Paris Hiltons or Pollock. I like the belle lettres of French literature, the diaries of Mme. de la Pin and Saint-Simons, blank verses and royalist histories. I hate with utter vehemence the avant-garde clothes of the Antwerp Five or for that matter, the Japanese Three, and covet Hermes, Kiton, Brioni, Zegna and Prada. Marc Jacobs appeals to me only because I harbour a love-hate relationship with Louis Vuitton (the monogram so declasse, the epi leather so seductive). I like nouvelle cuisine and solid French fare, hawker fare delights me occasionally but usually turns me off so yes, I am unpretentiously ostentatious. Hell, I even like Vacherons (Rolex trying too hard after all, there is a limit to my raging middle-classness). So yes, shallow and pretentious.

Let's move on to miserable and tortured. I am miserable because I do not have quite enough money to satisfy my material desires, because I am trapped by this parochial society, because I am not in Paris, because Urban is Singapore's sad sad answer to Page Six, because we have Aurum instead of El Bulli, because Prada's white cords were last season, because I am not in Paris and because my dreams remain far away as long as I am not in Paris. So spot on crudefug, I am unconsolably miserable although Canele offers me some form of consolation in the form of macaroons (even if they aren't from Laduree) and I can look forward to ice cream at Raffles Creamery (even if it isn't Berthemiers). Look, there's even Teuschers so it's not too bad after all. For now.

Oh don't be silly, I'm hardly going to lash out at crudefug for revealing his own jealousy and I am certainly not going to revel at having provoked another calm, minimum wage earner, barely white collared, averagely educated person who would probably be a great person to hang out with if I loved shopping at Far East, smoke and ate fast food into such a paroxysm of envious, toxic rage.

Anon, I love you for praying for me. Maybe one day I really will be able to walk into a church without the irresistable urge to throttle someone. Until then, I'll avail myself of the odd temple and continue to talk with GOD without the whinging squeal of the operator (a fifth of your daily wage thank you, God-thru-Us always at your service).

ANYWAY.

Lunch at Equinox was quite disappointing yesterday and I am certain Jessie will agree. I actually listened to crudefug and went to seek therapy yesterday. Didn't buy anything in the end which goes to show that I need repeated treatments but lecher des vitrines of Prada, Bally and Marc Jacobs was deeply comforting. Louis Vuitton had a queue so I continue my inner struggle over the Laguito. Talking with Jessie also happens to be very soothing not to mention amusing.

Been a lazy pig today. Woke up at 11 so didn't have time to go run the customary 6 km. Apparently, I was really tired and today's Mother's Day after all so Pa and I are whipping up a feast.

Pa: Pureed mushroom soup with cured back bacon and spring onions (no Campbell soup tins since about the only canned food we are allowed at home now are foie gras and anchovies), mixed fruit salad with smoked salmon (this time with ripe avocados after Xuan's mother's advice), grilled chicken chops (a ritual) and roast beef accompanied by roast pumpkins (another ritual).

Me: Caramelized oranges set in a terrine of orange juice, dark chocolate tart with a lemon shortbread crust and tiramisu.

Sister: A card of origami, cut-outs and paper stitched together. Her genius knows no bounds as usual.

Fetons ma vie, mes cheries. Un moment rare, ce jour-la, quand je suis, simplement, content.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll.

I had a friend who used to give the women she admired blue roses. I like the gentle irony the very act embodies. That most elusive of botanical specimen, a blue rose, is after all a symbol of wishfulness and artifice.

Borrowed a number of interesting books. There is a history of France during the Enlightenment, a history of the world during the nineteenth century and a historical fiction about a catamite in ancient Egypt. I do not read enough I think, it rather annoys me.

It occurred to be the other day that I cannot be successful without experiencing physical excess, moral ruin and spiritual collapse by the age of thirty. The skin deathly cold and pale, the senses seared by alcohol, the eyes grown too sensitive to sunlight, lips and nostrils frosted with cocaine and a general awareness of one's own mortality.

So you see, I do have a plan. I plan to live my life to the fullest, to take it to the brink of destruction and then to let myself be redeemed by the all-salvaging light of a benign deity unfettered by the deadly mortal chains of religion.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll sits tight.

hello hello, haven't been blogging for a few days now. Sometimes I get so tired wondering if I should bother writing down the actual thoughts in my head or cough up some vapid trash (never far behind at the back of my mind) about the latest thing I've fallen in love with that I just forget about blogging altogether. The whole internal struggle exceeding my own capacity for narcissism and existential crises.

I am slightly distressed by recent events in the office because I believe I am being Marginalized by My Superiors seeing as they have been patently unwilling to give me any task of significance even though I was attached to them with the explicit expectation that I be given tasks that require both skill and creativity. This besides, I am rather annoyed with the general culture of waste, inefficiency and an unwillingness to question the dictates of authority.

The army has thought me that should I be happy next time, I shall need a commitment in the future that will take up all my time. Setting up a design firm should suffice.

Also, while browsing through clothes and stuff on the Internet, I have come to a couple of conclusions. 1) Tom Ford aviators are gorgeous but dreadfully priced beyond my means. 2) The spirit of thrift that prevents me from shelling out 500 on a pair of Tom Fords does not prevent me from coveting either the Laguiole in black Epi Leather or the Poche Document Voyage in cannele Epi Leather from Louis Vuitton. This is a source of considerable embarrassment since I have always professed scorn for the marque although candour will have me admit that the Epi range of leathers is simply beautiful and far classier than the bloody monogram, not to mention far cheaper than an Hermes.

My fingers are numbed. I wonder why.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll.

I am officially on a high. I mean seriously, even the Internet can't stop me. I have managed to retrieve my blog against the annonymous forces of Web 2.0 and that is certainly a feat to be celebrated.

There were so many things I wanted to blog about none of which bears much relevance now. I was going to talk about the exasperating degree of bloody obtuseness that our Malaysian counterparts display on a routine basis with regards to comments made by our leaders. I was going to comment on how hopelessly blind the youth of today are to the achievements of our leaders and that they have a sad take on our President. He apparently is not as useless as we all think he is and to say that he is useless merely highlights our own ignorance. I was going to talk about my fatal attraction to power. I was going to comment on the fantastic allure, and the elusive nature of its physical manifestation, of white cords as well as the fact that I'm totally crazy over Tom Ford's aviators.

But most of all, I just want to thank the people who were by my side through this period of down. No need to name names and all. I'm so happy to be back.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll eats.

Just finished Gentlemen and Players that Xuan has very kindly lent to me and am currently basking in the strange glow of nostalgia for the recent past that is my jc life. I had no idea how much I really loved my jc until I finally had to leave it.

Am now trying to think of a way to modify the recipe Xuan's mother gave to me. Middle Eastern pastries have captured my attention for the moment and I am seriously considering ordering rosewater over the net since I have as yet found any in Singapore. Do Indian desserts require it? I should ask around.

My inspiration is back, my ibook has been fixed with much alacrity and M. le roi me parle encore.

My life is more or less back on track and with luck, will stay this way until I get my ass to Paris.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll.

My sister has ruined my ibook :(

C'est tout.

Blank Doll.

Only a world caught in the throes of the latest wave of globalisation would there exist such culinary extremes as a return to local-centric organic fare and molecular gastronomy. The one is an embrace of the earth, a celebration of our storied past and the fruits of a spirited sojourn back to the bosom of nature, the other the inspired madcap apotheosis of industry that brings to the forth the very midas touch of science and technology. On one hand we have El Bulli, on the other, Chez Panisse. If I were any more melodramatic, I'd proclaim the existence of a new Iron Curtain, the modern day Cold War fought in every restaurant and places of nourishment.

Anyway, I was just brooding. It seems to me that there are always people whom I inevitably let go off/ who inevitably let go of me. You for one. I remember the initial excitement of acquaintance. I remember your amusement at my clumsy pretentions, your mirth at my wounded childishness, my delight at having pleased you so, my admiration for your talents and our very mutual amity. How deliciously cliche, the way we got so familiar with one another so quickly, our fingertips pressed against one another and a world engendered. Perhaps too quickly in retrospect. I am wont to wreck friendships that way, I am too quick with my words, too callous with my denounciations, too intemperate with my emotions. I think I exasperated you, disappointed you then gradually, lost you. Perhaps in my anger I thought it little to have let you go but then when I turned around, I found I was the one who had been let go off. My pride will not have me ask for forgiveness and I do not think you care anymore.

Yet another wound to add to the countless others. This will be different because I had a chance and I ruined it. It shall not happen like this the next time, I promise.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll retires.

Encapsulated in a Warhol campbell soup can is a man's indignation at the pretension of art. It is a man's assertion that the line between art and functionality is moot, that something so mundane as an aluminium soup can may be raised to art. Yet therein lies the irony or perhaps the sort of cynicism that made pop art so famous: by playing to the hype, plying on the shock factor, Warhol transformed the soup can to art. It is only art by association, a parody of the mastery that art entails.

Although in all due candour, Warhol made some superb silkscreens. Think about it, I'd love to have silkscreens for curtains.

Anyway, have I wished you happy birthday? I think I did. Ah well, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Even if it's really late.

Skipped French yesterday to go for the really weird Ravenscroft that was showing at DBS Arts Centre in aid of Habitat for Humanity. Plot crawled at the beginning and the atmosphere was more ennui than tension only to totter and stumble later like the drunk inspector. Comic relief punctuated the somewhat clumsy attempts to layer half-truth upon half-truth. Accents needed tweaking. A weak character. Jo would have made a better Marcy, I thought.

Chocolate cake and walnut cheesecake at Canele thereafter with Val because the Chocolate Factory refused to make souffle for her. The French chef there is daunting, to say the least, how strange.

Dinner with XJ later at Marmalade. Crab Caesar was adequate if not too fresh, tomato linguini tasted better and the salmon was done well but the chilled soba limpid and too dry.

Drinks later at Indochine which makes this the umpteenth time we've been there. Val wanted to snitch a drink from the bartender but to no avail. I've given up on cocktails because the quality is so inconsistent from place to place, time to time, bartender to bartender, that I've just gone on to drinking neats.

I like rum.

Oh and we went into the cold room which was really cold. Haha, and then proceeded to drink shot after shot of vodka. The next time somebody wants to get high, tell me and we'll open a bottle. Tis too tedious to try with shots and cocktails.

Val was really cold but her camwhore instincts were stronger. XJ's skin blanched palpably and you know me, I like the cold.

In time to take the mrt back home! I've made a pact with myself, as long as I make it in time to take the mrt back, I can drink the equivalent of my otherwise exorbitant midnight transportation fees.

I refuse to run 6km with a headache.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll types.

The past weeks have been relatively interesting. Drinks at Max Brenner's (gross, don't go) with Geri, Cand, Kris and Steve. Steve is going back to Indonesia! Let's hope he comes back. Breakfast, erm, lunch, erm, something with Tong, Victor, Jo and Cheryl which was quite interesting. These are people I haven't seen for quite some time and whose amity I sorely miss. Sometimes, you've got to hate the army.

Sun with Moon has a new branch at Central! Mummy and I never get tired of Sun with Moon for some strange reason. Just thinking about their goma pudding makes me feel nice and warm inside. Anyway, talking about food, I wonder if I can get Mummy to give me an advance on my birthday present and take me to the Cordon Bleu dinner held under the World Gourmet Summit banner. You just know Sean's going to die if he doesn't go.

Ah well, fat hope. Mummy's going off to Taiwan next week. Who the hell even goes Taiwan for fun anyway?

I have this weird obsession with bread which is starting to unsettle me.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll

One would think it obligatory for you to support me yet it's almost claustrophobically difficult to ask anything of you. Take some responsibility dear heart, you make a stronger case for your love when you do.

Anytime now I will emerge from this untimely funk and be revived once more. Everybody's falling ill around me, I just hope I don't. Sometimes all I really want is to go away.

Paris me manque- C'est la raison seulement.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll fumes.

We live at the heart of a new darkness that is the enslavery of the world at large to the appetites of a privileged few. What and how we eat have spawned a faceless industrial empire unanswerable to none save those who would gain from it. This is the age of the industrialists and the gastrocracy. It is a travesty, a perversion of ecological rationale from which none of us are free.

We force-feed our animals food they were never meant to ingest, we subject them to cannibalism, we huddle and oppress them like so many objects devoid of life. Eerily similar to the first ages of capitalism, we have mechanized, harnessed and exploited life in the name of profit. It is a vast monstrosity of a food industry gorged on corn and petroleum aided by the chicanery of marketing and food processing. We think that corn-fed beef is virtuous, that margarine is better than butter, that fast food is edible. We have washed our hands off the daily brutality of obtaining food, we have turned our backs on the cattle which we kill for food, the victimised farmer, the streams of filth and corruption that flow outwards from the heart of this profound darkness.

Transfat, HFCS, xantham gum, the hydrolysis of corn into a million different things, the degeneration of nature's bounty to nothing but the chemical building blocks of the next great food fad, the subjugation of the land's resources for the satiation of our unholy gluttony and now, we add the corruption of organic food. Imagine the shock, the indignation, the revulsion, the resignation and then the seething cynicism of the people who thought to revolutionize the food industry. People who thought they could give back to this industry its soul, could reconnect our fundamental need for food to the telluric wisdom of life itself. Yet Whole Foods begin to resemble Walmart and McDonald's adopt the rhetoric of the green.

Therein lies the bitterest irony, none of us can be free from the tyranny of this system. Our working poor are ravaged by cheap unhealthy calories, farmers all over the whole continue to suffer from low prices while we at large must eventually bear the cost of our unwholesome practices. Short of growing your own food, none of us are exempt from guilt. It is from this hopeless morass that comes our abject failure as stewards of a benign deity on earth. We have sought to sustain life by producing ever more food but at the expense of other forms of life and even now, the less privileged among us pay for it. The farmers, the starving children in the global South who must go hungry because of the perverse economics that guide the food industry and above all, our future generations. We are a civilisation whose consumption patterns may only be sustained by the destruction of the land's regenerative mechanisms.

You cannot put something into your mouth, be it organic, fast food, free range chicken, beef patties, GM-free vegetables, pasteurised milk, breakfast cereal, Twiggies, gummy bears, salt or apple juice without playing accomplice to this inspired evil that now lies at the heart of the modern, globalised monoculture.

Bon Appetit.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll

Maman a retourne et ma vie est complet encore.

Chanced upon some ex-mohawk company recruit's blog. Interesting how so little has changed. The senseless pain, the breaking down of your corporeal integrity, the masochistic pride, the languid bliss I suspect the flagellated must feel and the feeling that something has been taken away from you.

My body nearly disintegrated from boredom in the office today.

There were so many things I wanted to talk about, none of which I can remember now. They were probably little thoughts I had in the odd moments of melodrama that is bound to afflict teenagers once in a while.

Speaking of which, this is my last year as a teenager. How terrifying.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll sits down and sleeps.

There is something curious about the texture of mushrooms and eggplants in general. Accordingly, Careme treated mushrooms like meat in his gastronomic revolution and one bite into a portobello steak sandwich will tell you why. Getting my little sister to eat her vegetables is never easy so I was pleasantly surprised when she actually took a fancy to my ham and eggplant sandwich at the Coffee Club yesterday. I like that place for a light lunch, so affordable yet so delicious.

Little children these days do not read enough. I bought her Machiavelli's The Prince and am now trying to secure Marx's Das Kapital for her. The latter has proved to be a tad difficult to accomplish and I suspect it's been banned in Singapore or something of that nature.

Had a strange nightmare last night. Woke up to the taste of salted dew on my cheeks again.

Je veux pas vos sentiments amicales, ni votre passion, ni votre voix. Ne pas proteger moi parce que je peux me proteger moi-meme. Vous n'etiez jamais d'ici et maintenant, je vous ai pas besoin.

Ce soir, je me couche en seul.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll asks nicely.

To draw a sword on your opponent is as much an act of love as it is an act of death. So reminiscent of the act of love, the clash of swords, yet so frustrated also. How intense the emotion stirred, how the passion brims. Compared to a sword duel, the modern day fracas involving the revolver is limpid. The one is rapine in motion, the other is bland ejaculation.

Oh, and I love aviators. I can't wait for Tom Ford to arrive in Singapore. I don't see how we can have Van Cleef and Arpels and not have Tom Ford.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll talks.

Darling, I win.

Well, maybe not yet.

My first two days as a clerk have been pretty fine. Met a very hilarious person called Leon and as luck would have it, Kai Ming! Oh and there's this guy called Taufik who reminds me of Shafiq. Especially when he said how sia.

I like the fact that I'm using my brains now even though I do sort of regret the inability to work out now. Since it's not in my job scope, the military no longer sees the need to provide me with time to exercise.

Mummy's gone to Hawaii and the house is mine. It's almost ritual by now, how she always goes abroad and leaves the house in my care.

I have so many things to do!

C'est tout.

Blank Doll

Dim sum at the only good restaurant in the Raffles Town Club on Thursday where we not only ordered quite a bit of dim sum but mummy and I decided to order a Peking duck as well. Suffice to say, we managed to finish it and I didn't have to eat dinner at all.

But of course I did. Bbq at Downtown East (surprise!) with my platoon mates. I was late but didn't miss much since everyone was either mashing the xbox or playing cards. Things got better when the rain stopped and we could start the barbeque.

PS is rather good at barbequing chicken wings while Amas disappointingly did not show us his famed roasting skills. We ate a bit, drank a bit and sir paid us a visit later into the night. Leonard brought out his port wine which was delightfully sweet, Marcus made a nice fizzy screwdriver from vodka and FnN.

Talked with Marcus and Zu Wei at Macs until 3 am. Played DoA until 5 am. Lots of burnt chicken and otah in between. Ming Hao, Cedric and a whole bunch went off to lan till 6 plus.

Walked back with Cedric, Inderpal and Zu Wei. The ride home was spent sleeping.

Gala dinner with mummy. I'm so proud of her!

Mummy won Top Cases in the year 2006 in Manulife Singapore. Yay!

C'est tout.

Blank Doll barfs.

Dinner at wild rocket yesterday was quite nice. It wasn't awe-inspiring but it was good. Sarah, XJ and Candice for company because Kris has migrated to Chiangmai, Dee is too busy, Clare is dead, Geri is always sick and poor Val knocked her head on the glass door.

Candice ordered the baked cod, Sarah the salmon, XJ the soft shell crab and I ordered the duck leg confit. The cod was sufficiently fresh and herbed, the salmon gamey enough and the soft shell crab was adequate. I really liked my duck leg though the side dish of yam cake was weird and didn't go too well with it. All in all, the fushion streak was tolerable and the ambience was generally nice.

Desserts were a mix though. The Affagato was uninspiring, the brandied brownie not much good. I liked the tiramisu though I've tasted better and the molten chocolate cake was safe.

Drinks afterwards at Mezzbar. The singer was so-so and the drinks were so cute! Sarah ordered this miniscule chocolate liquor thingie which was like tiny next to my frozen strawberry dacquiri.

It's amazing how you miss people you don't usually talk to and how much you can still talk about with people you haven't seen for ages.

Ok, must get on with preparing dinner.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll eats.

Oh my goodness. I just made my own aioli and then I baked this very fabulous cramique which is huge. Lunch consists of homemade pain au lait (albeit a day old) drizzles with warm aioli and a cheese omelette. Dinner will be parmesan and cheddar souffle with grilled mushrooms.

And you wonder why I think cookhouse food is unfit for the table.

On a different note, I am eating so much carbohydrates by the grace of homemade breads. I think I shall soon begin experimentation with green tea breads and olive ciabattas.

I dream of slowly basting lamb in the electric inferno of clashing electrons and the sizzle of eggs done to perfection in the furnance of liquid nitrogen.

Manuka honey on homemade apple and cinnamon brioche. Buttermilk pancakes with real maple syrup and fig preserve. Chargrilled veal sausages and smoked potato cakes. Fresh bagels with lox and creme fraiche. Iced strawberries and clotted cream. Hot chocolate laced with nutmeg. Warm salad of feta, sundried tomatoes and rocket.

A restaurant that sells breakfast all day.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll sleeps.

I am, perhaps unnecessarily, proud of myself for having baked bread in my own oven without the aid of a bread machine. They were simple milk loaves with a slightly sweet crust and a soft interior. It's really quite easy. You begin with good bread flour and butter, rub the butter in, then add sugar and salt. Now this was where I made a little mistake: you ought to add dry yeast to the flour and then pour the milk in instead of adding the yeast to the milk as if it were fresh.

Suffice to say, the bread was delicious and I wonder at the good fortune of having fresh bread everyday. Today, I shall try to make a cramique which is basically a Belgian brioche with sultanas inside. I first had it when I was in Paris where I bought it fresh off the shelf at a bakery and it was so good!

Anyway, today shall be spent being domestic at home while doing strength training. Tomorrow shall be my 6km run.

I lead a healthy and fruitful life. Amen.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll says it all.

Beauty is but perfect symmetry marred. Noble women from the Heian period in Japan blackened their teeth. Those from the English Edwardian period whitened theirs with white lead. 17th century Roman courtesans tinted their eyes with belladonna to make them more appealing. Angelina Jolie's pillow lips. Cindy Crawford's mole. Marie-Antoinette's round eyes. Cleopatra's nose.

What is this dream of mine that threatens to consume me even as it delivers me from the monotone death of everyday life?

Quotidian perambulations. What a pretty, archaic term excessive in syllables and letters, irrelevant in meaning.

To unearth the phantom connection between the kimono and the flapper dress, the Heian period and the Roaring Twenties. My dream persuades, no, compels me to carry on.

On another note, I'm certainly healthier than before. Running 5-6 km on wednesday, strength training yesterday and 7 reps of 30-60 today.

I need botox at 28, liposuction at 30 and a Woffles lift at 35. Yes, I can feel age creeping on me. I cannot afford the wanton recklessness of youth.

I crave perfection, not beauty.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll sits down.

Where do I begin with my words? All these thoughts incoherent, streams of consciousness spliced and spliced again. Where do the symbols end and the matter begin?

I am more than passing glad that BMT has ended. Some of the darkest days in my life were spent in the duration of the past three months. Yet as we, a species blessed with the ignorant bliss of imperfect memory, are wont to do- I miss the happy moments that I have shared in Tekong with my fellow platoon mates.

I have so many people to thank, so many people whom I hope never to see again. I want to keep the friends I have come to love but I am cursed. Blighted. Doomed. Ill-fated.

I may never keep my friends. My life is but a meandering thread of searing gold in the vast eternal tapestry of people. I like to think of myself as a soul ascendant, casting away the shackles of earthly concerns like love for the purity of my ambition. Yet, and yet. There is Icarus who flew too high and fell from grace for more than the Sun's rays on his waxed wings, it was the intensity of his desire to fly that ultimately consumed him.

Having said what I have said, I am grateful for the gift of simplicity that has been granted to me in the past three months. I am a person unaccustomed to simple pleasures although that is not to say that I cannot appreciate them. The taste of cold water, a bath, the laughter of friends, the queue to lunch, the banter, the shared pain, a game of cards.

Sometimes I want with all my heart to be able to feel youth which is that desperate attempt to grasp every single moment of your life as if each fleeting minute were the last- almost like the deep breath a drowning man takes in full possession of the knowledge that it could be his last. I want to know how it feels like to steal a kiss under the stars as the music plays behind and there's nothing in the world but the both of us.

Each time I am reminded of what I have sacrificed, each time I remember my vow, each time I-

C'est tout.

Blank Doll eats it up.

Yesterday was a most productive day although I was extremely tired in the end.

Managed to flip through most of the significant fashion collections from the people who matter online at both style.com and men.style.com. Followed by chin-ups and then afterwards, the making of a batch of cinnamon biscuits and a vodka-green apple sorbet.

Lunch at Marmalade Pantry with Jessie. Scrambled eggs something of a disappointment, shall stick with the foie gras next time or maybe try the snapper pie. Dessert was good as usual. Raining, took a cab down to school.

Got my results. As expected. All As and and A1 for GP. Merit for Hist S was disappointing but Ungraded for Econs S was somehow expected considering how ill I was for that paper. I'm actually quite proud of myself considering the fact that I went off to Paris and London right before the As.

Dinner at Billy Bomber's with Mummy before which we had facial. Oh, reading Umberto Eco's On Literature which is so damn good. I love a good scholar.

Dreamt of Paris and Coco Chanel last night. My dreams increasingly consume me.

This madness is not over.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll eats his foot.

There is a painting by M. George de la Tour called Le Tricheur which is quite brilliant. Quite simply, it is a portraiture that captures a game of cards between two aristocrats and a bourgeois. The middle class gambler quite explicity cheats at the game while the noblewoman has her maid as a spy and one can only surmise that the nobleman is also an adept cheat from his pile of piece d'or. It is a beautiful satire of society in pre-Revolutionary France and one really has to study it to take in all its meaning.

I have survived. His name a grave whisper in my head, echoing and resonating, resonating and echoing- an immense jabbering from which there can be no respite, nor solace, nor escape. I have survived.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll.

I love Singapore's Annual Budget Speeches. They remind me that our nation's past has not been lost to the romanticism of history. The anguish and toil of our forefathers have not been hidden by the veil of time and we are a nation ascendant.

The first thing I ate out of camp yesterday was an almond roll from swissbake then Mummy was very nice and made me a bowl of abalone noodles at home. Managed to surprise Mummy. Off to French now.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll wonders aloud.

Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall

All the King's Horses

And all the King's Men

Couldn't put Humpty Dumpty back again

How succinctly captured in this nursery rhyme, the folly of political vacillation. For some strange reason, I always thought Humpty Dumpty was the king which upon scrutiny now, does not seem likely. Presently, when I read it aloud again, there appears to be an underlying tone of lazy menace that unsettles.

Afternoon tea at the Shangri-La today. The teas were rather good though not particularly fine. Bread was pallid and uninspired while some of the cakes seemed newly come from an assembly line. I did like the champagne and strawberry-infused pate, the cured duck, the roast beef with horseradish and the cheeseboard which included a chewy cow milk's cheese with peppery undertones and this really good goat's cheese with sharp notes of garlic. The salads were rather good too- I really enjoyed the sauteed mushrooms and sun-dried tomatoes. Scones were adequate and were redeemed by the delightful clotted cream.

Facial thereafter where the dermatologist conducted rescue care on my face. Oddly therapeutic though intensely painful.

M&S to buy their bargain chocolate digestives, a large pack of butter sultana cookies and a little treat for myself.

Oh and I bought clothes for Chinese New Year! Unfortunately, the Army has messed up my life as usual and my tailor was unable to meet the deadline by Chinese New Year so I couldn't get my clothes tailored like I intended. Black drawstring slacks, an olive round-collared button-up and a grey ribbed crew neck- all from Muji. A double-ply Egyptian cotton barrel cuff broad pinstripe (embroidered) with mother-of-pearl buttons from Raoul on the way though Mummy will probably have to collect it for me. No shoes this year, especially since I am intent on keeping a promise to myself that I wouldn't buy shoes with my parents' money. Guess the pair of Aldo white leather loafers will have to wait till next month. Oh oh, and I forgot, I need a pair of white cords. Does anyone know where I might get a pair? I know Prada has them but I disapprove of designer jeans. Hell, I disapprove of jeans but I'll make an exception of white cords.

T'es rien a cote de mon but.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll wakes up.

Mummy's going crazy trying to study for her coming test but it's all ok because all the madness at home cannot amount to the madness in the army.

Finally caught up with XJ, Candice, Val and Sarah yesterday. Dinner at Menotti where I had crab cakes and cheese fritata along with chocolate and amaretto gelato for dessert. Sarah's friend Gab came along and she's great. Haha, Sarah's got her jaw moved! Oh mon dieu, quel changement! Candice got her molars removed, ew. Val's working at Pines and it suits her because she's at least pre-occupied. XJ is just being XJ, fulfilling the life of a workaholic at Morgan Stanley. Implicit espionage can be really enriching.

It's funny how we can catch up like school's only yesterday, talking about the same things. Stalkers, dirt beneath the boot, more dirt beneath the boot, famous scumbag investors, clothes, people and more. The common consensus being, of course, that we all miss school. RJ has been such a fun experience after all.

Anyway, drinks later at Fbar which was gross because the drinks were diluted but it was ok because I had to catch up with what's happening in fashion. All I can say is, Missoni is whacked and DVF needs a youth-boost.

Indochine later on for another round of drinks. I kept to the two glasses I promises Mummy who thinks I have an alcohol problem which I don't. Talked more, took a lot of shots. Les mots de la nuit: Sarah is an open and accepting girl.

Went home afterwards, enjoyed the silence of being the only one awake. I'm going to really savour the nights alone when I'm in Paris, coming back from work/clubbing/entertaining and being greeted by the dusky embrace of solitude.

Let this be over soon.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll sits still.

Field camp is finally over. Shall I speak of the madness? The utter desolation from which there is no reprive? The sheer disengagement from civilisation and sanity? It is a broken chalice of memories that I cannot piece together, not before I gather all the shards of a shattered mind.

I was very fortunate nonetheless, to have found such great friends and superiors. Sgt Zasir and 2lt Dzul were practically my lifeline without whom I really would have died back in field camp. Dear Marcus, Zu Wei, Amas, Yong Shan and my other section mates. People from other sections like John and Leonard.

The heaven over my head seems made of molten brass, the earth of flaming sulphur, yet I am not mad.

I would rather speak of lighter things. Yesterday when I stepped out of the military, the first thing I did was to change into civilian clothes. Nevermind that I had to do it in Daddy's car, it was a cathartic process I was desperately in need of. I think Daddy felt the unprecedented fragility in me too because that was the first time I hugged him for a very long time. All my loved ones like burning embers in that long dark night when my cries echoed for naught.

We went to La Strada for a good lunch. Began with a mimosa which, along with the bellini, has become my favourite cocktail. The consumption of warm artisan bread with olive oil after combat rations is an experience like divine ecstasy. First course was a slice of toasted brioche with warm zucchinis and real anchovies- the combination of both making this simple dish almost sublime.

Then there was the minestrone. Unpretentious in its generosity and the provenance of the produce used, a remembrance of its peasant origins yet in its simplicity, the broth nearly brought tears to my eyes.

Since we all know that Sean has a particular weakness for foie gras, the next dish which was foie gras ravioli in a truffled cabonara sauce simply blew me away. How do I convey it across? That sudden burst of flavour, that richness after the long drought of atrocious comestibles.

No Italian meal is without pasta and we had linguine with prawns. The taste was rather pedestrian although I did like the texture of the pasta. I think my predilection for French food has made my palate a little too heavy.

The main course though not a work of genius was certainly good. A flattened morsel of veal coated in breading and spices cooked to near perfection and garnished with fleur de sel. Wonderful.

The dessert. What can I say? I am who I am. Coffee granita with a slice of chocolate tarte and creme fraiche. The chocolate tarte so dense and rich though it was slightly crumbly. The coffee granita a welcome cleanser for the palate.

Then Daddy took me to my French class and I had a much needed intellectual boost before returning home to my mummy and sister. There are sentiments which need no paper to record for they are seared onto the silent pages of the mind by their very strength. My beloved family, piecing the little shards of me back again.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll drinks.

Oh my god, my throat will never recover from this abject funk. I am wheezing, coughing and my voice has gone down by two octaves.

Last night was fun though :D Went to meet Sarah, AkeshJamesBhavan, Daniel and our darling birthday girl Geri at the Kandi Bar. Nice place there, small and quiet with adequate music. The mojito there tasted a wee bit funny. Aside: Mummy was down at Clarke Quay too! She went to mos though but not before having a look at my friends.

Sarah was hungry so we went to Tapas Tree to get some snacks. The smoked salmon and cream cheese was like the first time I've eaten smoked salmon since I was enlisted in the army. The cheese croquettes were good too and tasted like proper cheese, a hint of cheddar, brie and mozerella (an irony that I can never spell my favourite cheese). Oh, we proceeded to the Fashion Bar thereafter because I wanted to take a look at how a fashionista's version of the sports bar would be like and I like it. Had another drink over there, SMO, which was good. I'm not too big a fan of Bailey's and sweet, milky cocktails but it was refreshing enough. I was very upset when they told me that they'd run out of champagne, like, hello?! Sarah fell in love with Franck Sorbier and Ellie Saab, I wish she'd seen John Galliano's early collections.

Went to mos thereafter to meet the rest where apparently, my mother'd talked to them and stuff. Haha, Mummy rocks. Mummy was upstairs and we were downstairs and to my dismay, the Tattinger bar was closed for private function. Damn. Anyway, had my cranberry vodka. Then another. Then another. And then two Jim bean mixes, and then another. Haha, pity my drinking partner wasn't there (yo val, CHEER UP! :D) and Sarah decided to moderate herself. Took my first timid steps onto the floor and discovered for myself how nice it is to close your eyes and lose yourself to the beat. Oh, and Happiness was there, a pity the Other was sick. Poor Tong :P

Talked outside mos for a while and I still want to go to Clinic cause the concept looks cool. Mummy came to pick me up afterwards and we left.

Woke up a little too late today. Need to pack for army and prepare for field camp. Argh. I can't wait to go to Paris where the clubs/bars/restos there are like 84758 times better than those here.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll

Happy New Year!

I hope I have the time to write one of those long posts I habitually do to mark special occasions like this. I find I no longer have the luxury of time to savour the full qualities of a complete introspection and am forced to cherish every second of my liberty with a sentiment verging on desperation.

Oh, before I do break out into a one of those, there's still yesterday to write about. Basically, I didn't do much to celebrate New Year's Eve. Lunch at the Sun with Moon avec ma famille plus les amis comme d'habitude sans Ying. Jeffrey turned up from some odd corner in Singapore after a very long while. It was quite a nice lunch before we headed off to Kino to shop. Saw Jo there attempting something unspeakable but at least she had a conscience, that or a very handsome Japanese. I bought 200 dollars worth of books after the 20% discount. There is the very fat and juicy Louis Vuitton book, a little primer on perspective and Le Rouge et le Noir in the original. Very happy. Met Debbie on the way home. Xuan's very good at balancing herself and I have the most long suffering friends all of whome endured the 30 minute wait that shopping at Zara entails. Did I mention that I hate Zara? Ok, now you know.

Anyway. Dinner was a family thing, well, with the addition of a few friends that my mother couldn't resist inviting. A most enjoyable meal consisting of potage de terre, roast beef with asparagus and mashed potatoes infused with garlic, chicken cooked in a mint and yoghurt sauce and to end the meal, an apple and mint souffle. Oh, and there was this most remarkable bottle of dessert wine.

Ok, back to introspective. This year has been a great year, seriously. I have lost a few friends along the way but not by the truckloads as I did last year and I think I've become stronger this year in more ways than one. While school seems a distant thing now, I really learnt alot from my teachers and my friends.

On that note, I want to thank all my JC friends:

Xiao Jun, obviously, for having been a loyal friend and ally through school and the petty affaires that a fruitful day in RJ entails.

Val for being innocent, sweet, for sharing food and talking about weird stuff and for just, well, being Val.

Sarah my lao po for being such a dear, for always being noisy and long sufferingly funny.

Candice the mean girl who became a dear bud and who has been simply great.

Kristine, for making me laugh alot when she accuses me of being a greater glutton than she is although we all know that is simply NOT true.

Dee for the fellow fashionista comraderie: NS will never change that!

And did you think I'd forget you Clare? Don't be such a dick XP.

Made my peace with Liyana, like, about time! Be strong, girl.

GERI!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Sorry for not being able to make it but you're a sweet doll and I hope you make good use of the coming year.

Akesh, you suck for downgrading yourself to Pes C, shame on you but it's been a great year and you've been a great friend even though I always thought I didn't pay enough attention to my guy pals in 2006.

Bhavan for being a friend though I don't really talk to you much, you'll love NS.

James, wake up.

Darius, Darius! Look, I'm really sorry about 2005 but that really wasn't my fault (or it was but I'm refusing to admit to it) and you've shown yourself to be a much better guy than alot of other people I know so there, kudos to you.

Nick, I hope you grow up.

Stally, get a shrink, seriously.

Jo, in no way an insult for placing your name right next to the one on top, thank you for being a friend and for trying to be nice. You've scared me and made me laugh and made me angry in the course of a year and I'm not sure if you even care but hey, c'est comme ca.

Tong, my ethical anti-elitist snob friend. You've been a riot and though not a close friend, certainly a reliable one. May 2007 sustain your HAPPINESS. Just, erm, keep it to yourself.

Jing Heng, we've brooded our way through 2007 and I hope we haven't grown any more cynical because there's really no time for cynicism in youth. I hope you do really well, get a scholarship and go to Leopard Company which is just next to mine! Happy New Year!

Jessie, ma chere amie, what a remarkably short period of time it has taken, our particular amity. Through rats and rantings and compartmentalisation, through eulogies on my part and dark red nail polish on yours, through dior homme bobs and then your incredibly shrinking bob, here's to a new year and that we remain friends.

Shang, frankly, I wish you'd been accepted as a PR and they'd made you do National Service because it would have been so funny watching you talk to the sargeants though not as funny when you offend them and the platoon gets it. Happy New Year to you.

Victor. Happy New Year.

Everyone else in school whom I know either directly or vicariously but whom I can no longer remember because you didn't say hi to me or because I was too socially reclusive to make alot more friends, Happy New Year! OH OH, and my TEACHERS! Mrs Chia for being wonderful! Mrs Butler for making me laugh through every lesson. Ms Veera for also doing that, I hope 2007 won't be such a dark year for you. Mdm. Chitra from my secondary school who continues to inspire and to encourage me. Happy New Year!

Alas, the friends from secondary school who have been there with me through all this. Ying for being a close friend, never very active but always there for a chat and company. Tze Hock for his forebearance and his loyalty, you can always count on him and I hope I've been an equally good friend to him. Then of course, Xuan who has always been there whenever I needed somebody to talk to, when I need somebody to share my joy or when when I just need to unload something sad. You guys, I won't forget you.

Hew Ting, you too. I still remember you. You will be loved, even through a year when you're not here.

What I remember most about this year!!

My trip to Japan right after my exams.

My trip to Paris and London right before the A Levels.

Eating at Angelina.

Eating at the Raffles Grill.

Going to J8 for lunch in Clare's car and the whole bunch.

Candice's birthday party.

Eating desserts at Sun with Moon with Xuan.

Going to Chinatown with Candice and Kris.

Afternoon teas at the Fullerton, the Four Seasons et al with my mother and sister.

My trips to the tailor.

My acquisition of my beloved shoes from Ferragamo.

My birthday when Mummy sprang a surprise on me.

Reading and crying my way through the Time Traveller's Wife.

My first lunch with Jo.

Christmas dinner with my friends and family.

Post Christmas brunch at home!

Prom Night for numerous reasons.

The day I met Jessie, or How We Made Victor Angry with a Plastic Rat.

Shopping for clothes with Jessie and Shang.

The last lunch, and tea, and supper with Xuan, Ying and Tze Hock.

Falling deathly ill during Econs S.

Last minute revision for prelims with Clare and Xiao Jun.

Running over to J8 for food with Akesh during Math.

Running away from PE teachers who tried (unsuccessfully) to get me to cut my hair.

All the times when I stupefied the sales staff at any of the luxury goods store.

My second lunch with Jo.

The Econs and Fund Management Quiz where we got a silver instead of a gold.

Xiao Jun and me conspiring, now that was fun.

My one and only lunch with Victor where we ate, last minute, at Shashilik.

The night Mummy took me to Marmalade for dinner after a good massage.

The trip to Aspara after the As.

The nights Mummy and I spent talking and talking and talking.

Playing with my little sister and going through the PSLE with her.

Just being with my little sister on lazy Sundays.

Collecting her results with her.

Hearing that she managed to get to RGS.

Lunch at Beviamo's with Ying and CC.

All the nights out with Val and Geri or Sarah and the lot.

If there are more, then it is because I have been exceptionally blessed in 2006 and for that, I thank GOD. I remain still an anti-religionist but I do believe in GOD. I regret the slight drift away from GOD that 2006 has engendered but I believe in 2007, we shall meet once more.

Do I have any resolutions? Of course I do:

Get Silver for IPPT.

Aim for and hopefully survive OCS.

Read every single issue of the Economist.

Polish my French.

Create seven good pieces for my portfolio.

See my sister through her first year in RGS.

Still be close with my family.

Not lose contact with old friends.

Never lose my dignity or my pride.

Never let NS change me.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll sits still.

It is a common phenomena, I think, that you forget what you want to write about when you finally can. Our dear Louis XVI, after all, famously wrote 'rien' in his diary on the day the Bastille was stormed.

I am at home again. I am clean and the place is silent. I have control over my own time and actions once more. Certainly, there exists an element of surrealism to my civilian life now for I am now also part of another world.

The army is a peculiar place. I cannot say that I have no enjoyed my brief stay in the army and I hope that I will continue to do so. Nonetheless, I cannot say that it has not been frustrating, that it has not been tiring, that it has not been nerve-wrecking, that it has not been hard.

I am who I am. I am proud and pampered with a certain knowledge of what makes life worth living. Above all, I have dignity. The army has taken it from me. My hair shorn, my vestment changed and homogenised with a thousand other people, my neck enchained with that thing they aptly call a dog tag. I am shouted at and made to obey people whom I would scarce look at along the street, whose dispositions I scorn. All measures of station beyond the barbed-wire confines of the military stand for naught and I find myself at the very bottom of the hierarchy.

At the same time, the army has also allowed me to befriend people whom I would otherwise have overlooked on the street. I confess to being something of a snob at times and perhaps it is folly on my part though it remains my conviction that it is this which preserves my pride. I have come to know people whom I can trust, people whom I can work with and there is no sense of rivalry, no backstabbing. The commensal spirit is so strong that it takes all of one's strength to fight for one's individuality.

Then there is the system. One of the most mundanely inefficient and stupidly dull systems that Man has in his misguided ingenuity created must be the military system. Everything has to be standardized but all wrongs make a right. We spend pointless hours waiting for decisions to be made only to go through a minute of panic and chaos. We are forbidden to do so many things for the sake of Order and Neatness even if it means forsaking pragmatism. Were it a civilian organisation, I would have sent a letter of complaint to the manager already but as it were, the system is also closed.

Not just closed, but insular. I begin to understand why so many coups began in the military. There is a faint air of distaste for civilians, a sense that civilians remain ignorant and that the burden of a military's responsibility to safeguard the sovereignty of a country imbues them with some special precedence. Nobody is allowed to enter and the publicity generated for the public is merely that, publicity. In the end, I am glad that the Singaporean military is placed under the jurisdiction of MINDEF and that is placed directly in the hands of civilians.

Yet one remembers that individuality is also chaotic and chaos can translate to vulnerability. What a remarkable structure the military is, that it may gather so many disparate elements and enforce order on them. One sometimes forgets when one is in the military that it is itself a paradox that lies at the heart of human nature. The dichotomy that exists between order and chaos, the organisation and the individual, conformity and originality- all these are reconciled by sheer effort. One comes to understand the screaming, the punishment, the callousness, the occasional brutality, the brusque dismissal of civilian comforts, the regimental silence of rank and file, the determined ruggedness for all these serve to introduce order where order should not be found. A band of people who fight, without discipline, is but a mob. It is regimentation and the subordination of the entity to the interests of the state and the nation that makes it an army.

Having said all this, I have to see it also from the perspective of an individual. I love Singapore, I really do. I go through all the hardships of National Service, endure the humiliation of being subjugated to people who would otherwise be beneath me by measures of education, background and merit but at the end of the day, the sight of the Singapore flag being raised is enough. These two years will be my parting gift to the motherland that I have grown to love so fervently and truly, I do believe I would fight for her. Though I have chosen my dreams over my country, I will say this- National Service is worth the pain, the sweat, the despair, the drudgery, the panic, the fear solely because I love our country.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll sits up straight.

This is it. Two whole, painful years.

I will survive this, I will.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll weeps.

So, so tired. Argh.

Lunch at Marmalade Pantry where I tasted foie gras for the last time before I enter NS where I'll be lucky if I get white rice instead of instant noodles. I haven't eaten a single packet for the past two years and I think I really will shiver and throw up if I have to eat them now.

A little shopping afterwards but as with everything that Mummy does when she's working, it was rushed and hectic and devoid of all pleasure. We walked from Orchard to Dhoby Ghaut within half an hour while managing to buy stuff from L'Occitane at Taka and then Robinson's at Centrepoint before heading back home.

If ashen could be used to describe complexions, my face must be that now. There's this strange minty taste in my throat and I feel like I could vomit any moment.

I think I need sleep.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll spends and spends.

Ok, for the record, I am very broke and need a) a job b) somebody to give me money c) money d) an inheritance. Then again, the military will claim me for two entire years and friday looms.

I had this strange nightmare/surreal dream last night where I was stuck in this place running away from something.

Jogged in the morning. Ran some errands for Mummy. I can't believe I actually managed to locate the Great Eastern Building in the middle of Raffles Place with nothing but the map, my sister and my pair of shades. Such a great feat of accomplishment for me.

Lunch with Jo thereafter at Sun with Moon which piles on the carbs. I should have ordered the sirloin or something. Anyway, my sister was really amused by Jo and we were all very amused at the funny waiter who gave us a thimble of apple vinegar when I ordered one for Jo (since I drank hers without telling her I was sick :O ) and so now we know how much water they use to dilute it with.

I ended up buying a CD for myself when I really don't have the money to. Oh and you know, I went to L'Occitane and couldn't resist buying all my christmas gifts from that place so there. At least I'm not so broke that I have to downgrade to Body Shop.

Trailed Jo around looking for her book which was considered a success since finding a pair of nice, cheap suspenders proved impossible. Met Jeremy at Gap. Erm, lol?

Tired out. All I really want is a glass of cold water and a blanket. Simple comforts, simple comforts. Monastic comforts so when I go into NS, I won't miss having a maid at my beck and call, won't miss proper food.

Leave, don't go away.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll sits down and sleeps.

You asked me what I thought was love. Well, I gave it some thought.

Love is not the lovers' embrace haloed by the soft, white glow of dawn. It is the grip of the rusted vice and the lash of the silken night.

Love is not the forever afters. It is the instant of fear, the crystallisation of age, dread and mortality that settles on your skin when death comes.

Love is not the quiet walk through the park with the little children running around and the dalmatian leaping ahead. It is the violent rape in the anonymity of the savage forest with naught a single person and the last thing you see before the pain consumes you is the floating sliver of a dandylion.

Love is not the fragility of a chin held between tender fingers. It is the aftermath when the hand closes tight and blood tints unwilling lips a dark rouge, when that inner bestiality that is more human than bestial takes over and love yields to lust.

Love is not the sweet warmth of breakfast the day and the gentle whistling coming from the kitchen. It is the hangover in the afternoon, breakfast at the lobby with more champagne than eggs and nothing spoken of the night before.

Love is not. It just isn't.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll eats dinner.

Having been depressed for the past two days, Mummy has very kindly brought me to the Raffles Grill at Raffles Hotel to have dinner there. It was brilliant, almost sublimal though not quite there yet. Unfortunately, I did not get to eat the duck liver and the tenderloin but I had the privilege of partaking in their seafood degustation which was excellent.

Cocktails first. I had a Bellini. There is something so wonderful about being able to order a cocktail by name without looking at the cocktail list and then the waitress taking note with a smile. The assumption that they can provide you with almost anything you may want to eat or drink is something you have to experience yourself. They give you this chilled glass, pour a measure of peach liquor from a little bottle and then comes the bubbly- a very rich, smooth Tattinger no less. I would have ordered three more if not for the fact that I didn't really want to get drunk with Mummy there and falling over the table before food was served is so not glam.

Amuse bouche was ok. I liked the soup alot though. It was this froth of green pea which had a nice, deep flavour to it with little lobster ravioli in it. For a little cocktail glass-ful of it, the intensity of flavour was really surprising.

Entree was this salmon tartare marinated most beautifully with an aspic of scampi, the two complementing one another so brilliantly and made even more so with the trail of creme fraiche and caviar by the side. Mummy really liked this dish.

Then came the oysters. Oysters go so well with champagne, seriously. There were the sweeter American oysters as well as the salty ones from France. At the centre was this luscious gem so much larger than the rest and it was so fresh, all that essence of the sea spilling out in a bite.

Now this dish, my sister will kill me for not being there. A pot of seared scallops (the size of which may be approximiated by making a circle with the thumb and index finger with a thickness of at least an inch) braised with cepes and a voluptuous butter sauce. It went very well indeed with the olive bread which was studded with little bits of olive and smelt really good.

The piece de resistance was the lobster dish of course. A whole lobster prepared in three different styles. The body simply basted in its own juices, the claw served cold while the remaining bits chopped and formed into a disk of orgasmic deliciousness with some sort of pumpkin cream. It must be disturbing to see me eat when I enjoy my food so much.

Then the dessert. Roasted fruits slathered in a champagne sabayon and then baked once more. The fruits melted in your mouth, yielding with caramel sweetness yet bursting into that last note of tartness as if in defiance. The champagne was a nice touch to the sabayon as compared to the usual white wine that is customarily used, its taste richer, its colour deeper.

With tea, the meal ended. Give me food this good over sex any day. No wonder dear Kipling was so enamoured of the food at Raffles.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll eats pie.

Alot of people focus on the separation between the state and the church in the last century but few celebrate the separation between the state and the labour unions or guilds as they were called. It could just be me but I find it fascinating that up till the seventeen century, France still had specific guilds for such duties as selling soft drinks (limonadiers) and cutting hair (coiffeurs). The Italian City-States were also foci of strong guild control to the extent that the leaders of these guilds often formed the oligarchy that ruled cities like Florence and Venice. I think the line between nobility and the guilds was quite undefined, especially in the cities where burghers crossed the line between the peasantry and the nobility. Think of all the rent-seeking involved. Wow.

Anyway, I have no idea why I wrote that except to say that my maid makes some mean parmesan omelette and is such a genius for giving me bread with peanut butter on it instead of just plain butter. Oh, and dinner at the Raffles Grill tonight.

I know I have the cocktail dress, slight trapeze line in mind but a new idea's beginning to creep up on me involving an apertheist's royal fetish but I'm not done with tweed and deconstruction yet. That's like, jumping two seasons ahead.

Je peux et je vais souvivre sans toi, tu sais.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll eats.

I am on a reading binge right now because the notion of effacing my individuality for two years scares me. I don't mind the rigour or the physical exertion. I do object to the conformity of that particularly uninspiring mentality that informs the miliary.

Ils sont pareils mais ils ne le se voyent pas.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll

Yesterday was graduation night. I spent the entire morning obsessing over a piece of handkerchief before spending the afternoon obsessing over my hair. It turned out well in the end, my ensemble.

What is there to say, I think everybody must have already described yesterday's events. The food sucked. The entertainment wasn't really worthy paying attention to except for certain parts. I suppose what was most important was that everyone got to see everyone else at their best for the last time while the air of shared experience still lingers. Took alot of pictures so I shall have to find a way to get my hands on them. Kris' dress turned out well I thought, seeing that I dashed out that design with the extra half an hour at the end of some literature A level paper. The rest of the girls looked gorgeous, more so than usual. Jo was her usual blase too-cool-for-this. Akesh had brilliant hair, Steven some very nice clothes, I couldn't recognize Tong, Samtan with a nice shirt and Darius was just, wow.

Momo sucks, lol. Was it the smoke, the crowd, the general atmosphere or the lousy drinks? I'm not sure. Ah well, at least I had my friends there with me and it was sort of funny to be sitting next to Siva who has been catching me for my hair for the past year because he totally didn't recognize me in the dark. Pity it was a tuesday so Equinox closed really early. Went off to someplace else after that to spend the rest of the night.

What have I learnt? There's a part of me that's still growing. I don't really like the looks of it yet but ah well. Oh, and I swear I could live my entire life in a suit, seriously. I'm going to get as many tailored pieces as I can from now on.

Got home by 5am, slept at 6. Woke up at 9 with a splitting headache. Ate breakfast, went back to bed till 5pm to get ready for some SKII event with Mummy which I'd forgotten about. Ah well, they had good white wine and champagne there so it was all good. You know, when I think about the Parisian clubs and the fashion events I will no doubt attend and organise in the future, botox and facelifts definitely sound attractive. Ended the day with dinner at Hot Stones. Had my hands burnt by the stupid plate.

If it sounds as if I'm tired then maybe I am. I'm a little angry though I'm not sure why. I hate my little bouts of anger so here's a song that I like and which makes me want to cry except I don't think I have the extravagance of emotions to do so:

I'll fascinate you

for awhile

My hands can wave to please

So well

When I wake to realize all I've done

I'll be breaking strings

And all you're gonna feel

is untied

I will not stay if you ask me to stay

Do not ask me to stay, because I will not stay

Why do we always collide

Stuck on two different sides

Your resignation

Don't simplify

It's not always good about

your life

When I wake up to find

All I've been is unkind

All you're gonna feel is untied

Untied

Why do we always collide

Stuck on two different sides

Why do we always collide

Stuck on two different sides

Why do we always collide

Stuck on two different sides

Why do we all...

Why do we all...

Collide by Rachael Yamagata.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll talks story.

"Your grandfather was a great man."

Not all the men in my family are weak, some of them are ever remarkable. My grandfather has become a legendary character, his soul crossing the chasm that divides the living from the dead to find me. I am informed by memories of him that are not my own but which fills me with a sense of awe anyway.

If I want to know about my grandfather, I have to ask my parents, my uncles and aunties and my grandmother. My grandmother tells me the most about him. Born in Fujian, my grandfather was born to a family of merchants. He was the few from his generation who chose an education, an English one, even though unlike the rest of the scholars who became revolutionaries, he chose to return to the tradition of his family. "Your grandfather was a scholar, he could speak English," my dad used to tell me, I only know what a remarkable thing that is now when I am eighteen.

Dutiful to a fault, he married his First Wife in China through a middle woman and they had children there. They are all grown up today and have children themselves. My grandmother does not like us seeing them even though they come sweep my grandfather's grave every spring. "The eldest son looks exactly like him," my mother would say. I have come to believe I am the first son of the first son of the first son, it is now to my dismay, that I discover my status as Second Wife's first grandson.

Yet he was also a man who believed in love for he married his little cousin whom he had loved since childhood. My grandmother, youngest daughter of her Peranankan merchant family, with whom he exchanged letters while he was in China and she was in her last year at Nanyang Girls. I have read their letters and they smell of people. The words are written long ago, in couplets and proverbs swearing undying love. My grandmother, no stupid girl, replied in couplets and proverbs too. I like to think I can smell the tears on the letters, that I can hear the wistful sighs of longing that must have come with the last fell of the pen. He took my grandmother as his Official Wife in Singapore.

"Your grandfather was a gentleman," my aunt said to me when I carelessly draped a leg over the bedpost, "he never slept like that." So my grandfather was a gentleman. I have only seen him in suits and shirts, his hair combed carefully to a side, his cheekbones so high that make his eyes look dark even when he smiles for pictures. He gave my dad a leather wallet from Aigner when my dad was young and insisted the entire family had their clothes tailored. He would buy only imported jams and honey with a taste for things not found in Singapore then. Twenty five years ago, my grandfather had style before his time. How it must surprise my dad and mummy, to find their son making the same choices his grandfather did so long ago.

My grandfather was also a successful man. Nobody remembers my family now of course, so many could-have-beens, and perhaps we do not merit remembering. Who may remember that my dad used to own a firm next to Creative Technology doing the same things they were doing then, only better? Who may remember that my grandmother ran a commodities business that came from before the Japanese Occupation, that her family was in charge of rice during that period and that she was the first distributor for F and N in Singapore? "Your grandfather was a good friend of OCBC's boss," my grandmother told me the night she showed me her letters, "he helped your grandfather reserve a whole stretch of land." My grandfather never bought the land because he died before he could and my parents never mention the could-have-beens. What is left today is the flat my grandmother lives in. He bought that for her as a gift. The house in which I grew up in had been bought by my grandfather to store rice. The shophouses are no more, taken back by the government. "Your grandfather carried a gun with him when he was young to protect himself," my mother would tell me gravely, my mother, the strong woman in awe of this man.

There are sides to him that make me smile too for it comforts me that my grandfather was also human. "He made the best chicken wings," my mother would say to which my dad would agree, "deep fried chicken wings, better than KFC." When he quarreled with my grandmother, my grandmother who was the strong woman before my mother would chase him out of the house and he would walk all the way to Changi where his factory was. My dad upon hearing it would drive over to pick him up.

My grandfather died at age 72 even though he suffered from gastric. I think he did it for my grandmother, living so long, who wailed and beat him when he died. I do believe she loves nobody else as much as him and when he died, she could but wait to join him. On his death certificate, it lists among the various reasons for his death: colon cancer, gastricitis, pneumonia. I have gastricitis.

The Chinese have it that the third generation will undo the good of the first. I will carry my grandfather's name once more. Travelling across the sea to another place, I will bring with me his spirit whose greatness inspires me with its unassuming strength. Sometimes I wish he had waited for me too, the first grandson of the first son of the wife whom he had loved, then I could tell him that I love him too.

How strange, that I may love a grandfather I have never seen. I wish you were here for me, here to watch me grow up. I want to hear you bless me when I tell you that I have decided to study fashion, I want to hear you praise me when I bring home my straight As, I want to sit at your feet with my head propped against your knee the way Little Aunt used to do when she was young. I want to tell you I love you, and then to hear you tell me that too before you close your eyes and fall asleep.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll.

I hate artspeak. It offends my sensibilities when people take any random piece of metal, twist it twice and call it the physical manifestation of Man's discourse with his inner self through the paradoxical distortion of Nature- in other words, it's art darling, it's art. Pfft. While I am content to leave an extended rant on art to another post, I think I liked art alot more when it was about an atelier with a master painter, his apprentices and a dozen pieces of comissions going on at the same time. You got it, Renaissance Italy or Bourbon France. Now, that was art. It was nothing founded on strange Freudian ideas or the need to transcend boundaries of taste, or maybe it was, but what art achieved then was beauty, symmetry, perspective. It's the technique, stupid.

Oh, and why did I start that? Because I either read in the Straits Times or heard over Art Central a phrase that particularly irked me- "set in its naturally artistic setting". If it had been said with irony, maybe. But it was whispered lovingly, reverently- "it's art darling, it's art". Does it occur to anyone that naturally artistic is an oxymoron? That Nature and Art are not synonymous? That Art by its very nature (pardon the pun) may only approximate the thunderous magnificence of Nature as viewed through the narrow looking glass of the individual? The individual, no matter how great, is but a whisper amidst the immense requiem of this world. Nature is the work of GOD, the apotheosis of evolution, life and material hurtling in a thousand directions.

Anyway, Saturday was spent with Jessie and Shang as we tried to find clothes for Shang. I risk nagging here but Shang, you really should have bought your clothes earlier.

Mummy applied a supp card for me and it arrived through the mail yesterday. I seriously hope I know how to manage credit.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll says hi.

Happy SUPER BELATED Birthday to Sarah darling. Went to her place yesterday for her birthday which had this cute black tie thigum and was terribly late :(

Rant: What IS it with cab drivers? Seriously, they whine and complain about Singapore, develop foolish conspiracist theories about the government, can't drive properly and are generally rude and disagreable. Noting the irony there. I have a new thing to add to my list though, my on earth would you advertise that you accept credit card if no cab driver will willingly accept it? There were seven cabs right in front of me stupidly waiting for a customer and here I was wanting to go to Clementi from Sembawang: all they had to do was to accept the damn credit card. Really, cab drivers, strictly a necessary evil.

Val had strange hair, Geri's nicer. Candice was wearing a nice dress with her spectacles which she now has on like 24/7 though it makes her look really cute, like she's always concentrating on things. Sarah was just radiant even though I wanted to rip the hairband off her head. Hazmi did a very good impression of a french gay artist (think Van Gogh, wait, he's not french. Think Picasso, wait, he's neither gay nor french. Damn.) and Dee has some cool hair.

Silly Sarah decided to go to some weird place with Victor and his *drumroll* extended family- heard that one before, Jessie?- while poor lil' us: Geri, Val and I decided to go down to town.

Oh, and all the ATM machines broke down so I actually penniless until we got to town and I found a proper machine. Sheesh.

Raffles City. Menotti was closed! Heartbroken. I so want a Bellini and eggs on toast. I think I'll go there for breakfast next time, it's bound to be nice because then I can have gelato too for breakfast. Then Val went to get her friends and Geri and I went to get food (and failed). It was a lost cause, none of the places at the Raffles hotels were open and Val refused to go to Equinox.

Comment: It was PJ's night out yesterday. In general, I think our girls do a much better job of presenting themselves to the world. It amazes me that the Straits Times does not publish things like "JC girls brandish ugly imitation handbags in equally ugly satin dresses and swear like they came from the gutter". Terrible.

Having gotten very lost in our misguided attempt at getting to the Esplanade via Raffles City while Geri and Val tried to figure out what was given out on the ninth day of Christmas, a really cool trishaw uncle gave us a ride to boat quay for five bucks each! Poor uncle, perspiring away while fat children like us wander around doing nothing. Uncle should become a cab driver, he's so much better. [Val's blog should have the pics of the uncle]

Inevitably, we ended up at Asylum. Before which I met this girl whom to my embarrassment, I could not recognise. Turned out to be Aunty Mandy's, erm, sister's daughter and it's always strange to meet relatives outside.

Ooh ooh, nachos at Asylum with a screwdriver and a lychee. Very nice place, it should be christened our class' turf. Like seriously, it's quiet, it opens till two, it has cool music, it's small and cozy, it's got chess (!), it's next to tcc so I can get ice cream though it doesn't serve the cocktails I want and no rum. Val was a little sad, don't be sad Val! Talked with Geri alot since Val decided to fume silently in the corner. Haha, I've never talked so much with Geri before, strange huh. It was nice though.

Slept at 4 am and I have no idea why or how I woke up at 10 am.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll eats up.

There's a paragraph from I, Lucifer by Glen Duncan that I like alot.

Take torture, for example. What do you want from torture? You want the suffering of the victim, obviously, the bougquet of fear, the parfum of pain; you want the gradual revelation of the body's thraldom to physics, the careful journey back to the flesh's sovreignty over the spirit. You want his appalled grasp of the inescapable ratio: your motivation is pleasure; your pleasure increases proportional to his suffering; your capacity for pleasure exceeds his capacity for suffering; no amount of his suffering, therefore, is ever going to be sufficient...You want, too, his degradation in his own eyes; you want him to observe the dismantling of his own personhood, his astonished shift from subject to object. It's why the classier torturers force their victims into a relationship with the instruments of torture before those instruments have been torturously employed.: the whip is drawn caressingly over the shoulder or loins; the rods and prods, the ferruled canes, the probes, the nightsticks, the crops- must be kissed, fondled, or otherwise venerated by the torturee, as if they themselves were sentient subjects while he is a mere object of their intentions. You want him to see that in the universe you now control, in your universe, all prior hierarchies are void.

Ah.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll

Annoyed that I can't even work out properly because I'm ill and nurofen is making me dizzy.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll eats grass.

Glorious post-exam day today thanks to my mother.

Yes, I get out of the house only after 3pm. Went to Canele once more to have tea with my mother. Indulged in macaroons again and ate the strawberry shortcake which was a charm. Mummy liked the place as expected and told me about her clubbing days at Double O.

We walked all the way to Goodwood Park hotel, along the way talking to her beautician at the SkII counter who looks very pretty thanks to Botox and dentistry. Worth the walk though because tea was too much. Oh, and I asked an idiot salesperson if they stocked Tom Ford's Black Orchid and he said he's never heard of it, what an imbecile. It's quite like the woman at Paul Smith who had no idea what split yokes were for.

Went to the Aspara for a massage, just what I needed after the A levels. Service was discreet and nice. The people there thought I was taking an old mother out for a massage, funny how you can fool people over the phone. Well, it was a decent massage although I've tried better. I like the service though.

Then, Mummy and I went to Bugis Junction to get my sunglasses. They are resolutely, absolutely perfect. Seriously. I was born to wear sunglasses. Actually, that probably means I don't have nice eyes. What the hell, they're a pretty pair.

Dinner at Ah Teng's at Raffles. Don't you love Kipling for coming up with "When in Singapore, feed at Raffles". Damn his White Man's burden. I think I ate a little too much there since Mummy ordered the crayfish hor fun (crayfish shell is edible!) and I ordered the fried rice. I hate rice, except in sushi.

Walked through Chijmes with Mummy talking about The Past and how we're all glad it's over and we're all more wonderful and enviable for it. My childhood was a good trial by fire for a spoilt child like me.

Just a thought, I want to grow up to be the sort of person who scares people without having to raise my voice. I think I'm getting there, considering I can now get salespeople into all sorts of confusion until they pass me over to the manager.

I will survive.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll eats.

It's a little disappointing that the doctor didn't give me something that'd make me sleep and then also a little ironic that I managed to wake up so early on the day after the official ending of my school career.

Today's going to be fun! :D

Oh, oh, I'm not sure if I should do a run-through of the A Levels but then if I don't go through this cathartic process, bits of it are sure to hang around and haunt me later on when I grow up in some form of Freudian psychosis so there:

History: Oddly, I'm very comfortable with it. I thought IH was challenging but quite fun to do and I actually didn't see what the fuss was about. I'm a little miffed with my Seahist because I actually had one and a quarter of an hour to do my SBQ but between daydreaming and wanting to piss, I ended up not being able to finish it. Nonetheless, I did manage tos squeeze in four criteria for two of the essays so that should be fine.

Economics: I think I sort of ruined my mcq paper because I couldn't be bothered to study for mcq. I think I saved myself later on when I did my drq/case study which I thought was interesting and quite nice to do once you saw what it was looking for. I can't really remember my essays but I think I did well for two of them and sort of bungled up the last one.

Literature: I'm not quite sure if I did well for lit or not because the entire exercise was so strange. The questions were strange to begin with and I found myself being forced to do contextual questions because those were the only ones with decent thematic concerns. Then I think I messed up my Conrad essay which is supposed to be my best although maybe it wouldn't turn out to be so messed up in the end. Woman warrior looks much better this time round and the Duchess essay was a cheat as was the M4M essay. I hope I do well for pc, I think I did rather fine for the prose.

History S: This is one paper I half-know and half-hope I'll get a distinction for because seriously, it just flowed. I love it when paper just flows and the thought process was practically crystalline. Yes, I finished half an hour early but I'd like to think that was because I was in control of the paper and not because I didn't have enough to write.

Economics S: And yet, and yet. I fell sick for the paper and really couldn't concentrate. I will most probably get a U for this paper and I can't really say that I care even though I must say that I really enjoyed econs s.

It's really over. I feel a little shell-shocked. Now, I have to begin preparation for my portfolio. Yay!

C'est tout.

Blank Doll stalls.

The past week has been kind to me, with the exception of today where I promptly fell ill for my econs s paper which promises to result in a U grade. Ah well, c'est fini.

Finally managed to get my macaroons which have made me exceedingly happy. I was even going to start experimenting with chocolate souffles but now that I'm sick, I guess that will have to wait.

Spent a strange night with my mother and her friends karaoke-ing. Seriously weird, I'm like eighteen and they're all older than me. Ah well, I'm still a kid.

Whoa, woozy. Ok, shall lie down now.

Die you sucker.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll was wondering.

It seems amusing to me that economics exhort us to be rational then people appeal to our sense of humanity and morals. Fair trade, why ought I support fair trade if it's going to cost more to me than free trade? Why do I care what happens to another person (and by extension the good of society) if it does not affect my individual pleasure? Why would I want to pay more tax just for the sake of social redistribution if I'm not going to get a larger share than that which I pay? Why wouldn't I want to take advantage of the system to enrich myself?

Don't you love the human mind? Such a complicated thing for the simplest of ends.

Il pleut comme un vache qui pisse. The things we learn in French school.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll wonders.

The strange things you think of when you're walking back home with a little block of butter wrapped in a plastic bag. Take life for example. What differentiates all the living creatures of the world from the unliving? What is the last unit of life? We learn that the spirit holds dominion over the flesh, but why ought this spirit transcend the material? Nothing but animated dust after all. We are as shaped by the material as we are by our spirits.

White is the colour of purity. White denotes space, denotes things untouched. White is also the colour of bone and snow and death. White is the colour that obscures the divide between life and death. White is the colour of nothing. There is a certain frisson to white. White asks to be defiled, white begs to get dirty. White stands away from the crowd yet longs to be brought down.

My mind unravels.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll barfs.

Go get your own signature you little stink.

And get a bath.

Oops, being childish and annoying again. Guess what? I don't care.

Oh and pray tell which shit can't afford two more percent of GST? Is it going to kill you? Make eating rice a thing of the past? Oh wait, I know, you're not upset about the hike right? What you're upset about is that the government isn't giving you FREE medicale care and FREE education right? You want to be a little parasite right? Next you'll tell me you think strikes and the minimum wages are good ideas. Next you'll tell me we should forget about meritocracy and spread the smart people around. Next you'll be telling me we should slap a good 50% tax on those rich asses at Bukit Timah, yeah, that'd make you happy wouldn't it.

Seriously, eat your own bleeding hearts and don't be such an embarrassment.

Blank Doll eats.

This weather is making me murderous. Seriously, either go for an all-out torrential shower or don't. This little namby pamby sprinkle of water just makes the heat worse.

Gorged on salad just to keep myself happy. I hate taking lunch so late in the day. Oh and silly me, I just realised that the darling little chocolate shop at Palais Renaissance was Teuscher! Come wednesday, I shall buy myself some champagne truffles to comfort myself.

Stop giving in to me. Seriously, don't make it seem like I'm asking for anything when I'm not.

Tired. Maybe I need rest.

Blank Doll takes a gulp of air.

Economics is over. Finally. Now, I can throw all my Economics stuff away unless they have something to do with S paper.

It was international history today however and that was one hell of a weird paper. I'm experiencing irrational bliss now even though I did a question that was out of syllables so don't interrupt it. Allow me this one moment where I actually savour the feeling of having done a paper where I thought I'd done a rather fine job considering I didn't have much information on hand.

Oh god, let this be over soon.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll sits down.

It says alot about me when I always prepare myself for confrontation but am lost when somebody treats me nicely. Annoying.

My birthday was a great day! Haha, Daddy bought me the to-die-for shoes that I would have sold my soul for because they were on sale and then I bought a pair of cufflinks. French was fun and after that, I went out for a spot of shopping with June from my French class which was even better. The Ferragamo sale is so worth it!

So I was late for dinner right and Mummy told me to hurry back home. I promptly took the wrong train and so spent half an hour trying to get back home by which time it was eight.

Anyway, I entered the house and *boo* surprise! Did I mention that I hate surprises? Well, I still do but this surprise was nice. Ying, Xuan and Tzhock were there which was quite a surprise indeed since everyone must have been so busy preparing for the As. Mummy had ordered a buffet and her friends were there, trust her to come up with such a thing. So I had to push aside my dread because I really needed the time to revise because I was just touched that my friends had bothered. I mean, seriously, it sort of scares me to be eighteen.

We talked alot, renewed amity, Xuan bakes (ok, half prepares) the best cornflakes-in-a-cup and Ying has established this tradition where she buys me famous amos cookies every year. Tzhock was really sweet and gave me a swiss army knife although I'm not really sure what to use it for.

So I want to thank everyone because that was just really sweet, especially because I'm not a sweet sort of person which makes me awfully guilty now.

And then there was today's lit paper. I hate it. Come to think of it, Liyana made sense when she said the paper was too easy. It wasn't a brag, it was said with indignation. I mean, come on UCLES, give us some credit- straight forward character questions? What a cheap shot. Oh, and what's with the weird thematic questions? I had to do the context questions (help, help, help) even though I've never done context questions in the two years of my life at RJC.

This promises to be a weird examination run which means that I don't care if I didn't get straight As because I know I deserve (almost) straight As and the paper was weird.

Then, there's the question of Econs S.

Sigh.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll waves.

Ok, I have to record this dream sequence down before I forget it because it was so strange and so funny:

First part of it, the part that I remember anyway, involved the entire family at the club walking by the pool towards another wing where suddenly I saw the entire A01E class sunbathing and had to say hi to Alps. Weird dream part 1.

Then for some strange reason my mother wanted to see the interiors of RJ so I brought her to the school because I had somethings to collect anyway. The funny thing was, the school had changed. Oh and the General Office had this weird staff who kept insisting that I go to the music room to collect my notes. So I brought Mummy in and the met Bhavan, Kristine and Steven too. Bhavan for some strange reason was from TJ though I knew him in my dream. RJ for some weird reason had been transformed into some sort of neo-gothic english manor and there were vaults and gaslamps! Ok this is not the weird part, the weird part is when we stopped at the library right? Steven happened to be climbing up the building from the outside and asked us if we wanted to join him instead of taking the stairs. We said no because we wanted to take my Mummy to look at the library. Eh?

The library was gorgeous and there were these strange corridors that led out of the building into clearings. Suddenly, it wasn't quite RJ anymore because it became a university town with the library as the centre compound and all the corridors were just taking us to different smaller schools. I remember a School of St. Nicholas. Now THAT is weird. There was even this corridor built in the honor of King George the something.

Next scene, the entire family is living in some part of Paris I think in this three storey house which was a little cramped I think but very beautifully furnished. Apparently, Pa had a winning lottery ticket and had to collect the money instantly but didn't know how to take the metro so I had to tell him what to say in French. Mei had to actually ransack the entire basement which was another two floors for the ticket. I have no idea what's going on in this dream.

Another scene. I'm with a group of friends, the weird thing was, I don't know these people in real life. I haven't had a dream with make-believe friends since I was eight! (I always remember dreams with make-believe friends so I can watch out for them on the road) We were talking and talking and one of my friend had this little tortoise that had clung to the wheel of her bicycle and was turning the wheel. It was all rather funny because people started throwing coins on the floor thinking my friend was a beggar and she couldn't get the tortoise to stop. The bicycle wheel became bigger and bigger as we were laughing but nobody else seemed to notice this. Then the tortoise became a frog! A frog that could jump real high (or was it still a tortoise? I can't remember) and we were joking about entering it into some competition while my friend continued to insist that she didn't train it.

I woke up laughing. Sheesh. Thanks GOD, for another cryptic dream on what to do for the coming year.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll thinks about it.

Today is the last day of my life as a 17th year old. You know, being a 17 year old has always been strange for me. There is something not quite right about 17. It straddles the coming of age year that is 16 and the yet more coming of age year of 18, not much credit given to being 17.

I think the past year has been great for me. It truly has been a very fruitful year in which I have changed alot. I like to think I've changed for the better, that I am now a more confident person and that I have conquered at least some of those little buggers hiding behind the closet. There have been friends that I know I'll cherish and there has also been the little wisdom of 2006 that amity is always a bilateral affair.

The year 18 ought to be a clean break for me and it would be were it not for the period of two years I have to spend in NS. Let that be my little sojourn through the desert. I hope it doesn't dull my edge, I hope it doesn't break my individuality even by the tiniest bit the way my dad says it will.

But I suppose in a way, it is a clean break. The two years I have spent in RJ have been great. Lots of garbage from the past have been thrown out. Two years of great harvest to be followed by two years of drought. Hooray for me and my lousy biblical references. The thing is, I wouldn't be who I am today if I had indeed gone to some other school because this school has shown me alot. For one, I now know I have an irresistable urge to laugh when somebody talks about giving back to society and that alleviating poverty is a moral duty.

I don't have enough time. I think all of us are aware of our mortality, it looms so far away at the vanishing point on the horizon yet like all things to do with perspective, that far away thing could really be larger than the event at hand. I think I'm a little desperate because I keep telling myself that, I don't have enough time.

I need time to succeed. I need time to break through. I need time to establish, to create. I need time to love, to lay to rest the rage that I have carried from my childhood. I need time to have a family, to teach another generation to love. I need time to learn about myself once more, to finally understand what objectives I might have in life beyond taking a high seat among the devils who wear prada (I for one, prefer Hermes so maybe I'll take a higher seat). I need time to wreck my life and to mend it again. I need time to breathe, to be acquainted once more with solitude. I need time to live.

If I work really hard, I might have another sixty years left. That's a little over half a century. I don't know how the world would have changed. I look at my grandmother and I can't help but wonder about what she sees. Her world has changed so much! I hope the future will engender as much change, that in the blinding optimism of youth lies a brighter future for Mankind.

I hope the European Union picks up and eliminates their bloody labour restrictions before I have to work. I hope they vote Jacques Chirac out and get a tough liberal capitalist.

I will be the generation to witness the new century, the first of the third millenium. It is an altogether too frightening thought. Let it be that Singapore should prosper even when I exhale my last breath.

Happy birthday to me.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll grouses.

In a fit of anger yesterday night, I whipped out my pencil and a piece of paper and began to sketch out my top shelf in perspective. I refuse to believe that a person of my calibre and learning cannot self-teach myself to draw. If I can self-teach myself the croquis and figure drawing, I can bloody draw a line of parallel trees.

Explained to my sister why art and science were the twin pillars upon which civilisation is built. I know this is a little presumptuous because a person of my level of learning cannot possibly grasp the significance of the idea of civilisation. In the best pedagogical fashion, I suppose bequeathing what little I know to my sister so that she may venture forth prepared in the least. Just as well that my sister at the tender age of 12 knows about the Gutenberg press and stuff like that instead of being preoccupied with- I have no idea what twelve year-olds are preoccupied with today but I remember an embarrassing obsession with digimons.

This brings me all back to the notion of truth. I don't think I can grapple with that idea without a headache and having exhausted what mental faculties I have on revising Heart of Darkness, I don't think I want to try. What fascinates me is this general consensus among different authors that I have read about the truth. It appears that far from some perfection, the truth is terrible. The truth is no shining light at the end of the road, no signpost to some divine firmanent, but is in its concrete certainty, terrible.

Ouch.

I have also eaten two mincepies thus far (Christmas is around the corner when M&S starts selling mincepies) and my calorie intake today is still below the daily recommended amount. I love my restraint.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll.

Today has been terribly boring, I can't wait for the exams to be over so I can get my life back on track. I need to learn (all over again) how to paint and I need to learn perspective.

Am I annoying you? I hope so.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll eats a muffin.

I can't wait to weigh myself again because I think I'm living permanently below the daily recommended calorie intake. Breakfast is such a relief for me, when I am allowed to eat something.

Yesterday night, I had a dream where I had a strange pet. It was like a cross between a furry penguin and a turtle with one hell of a beak. I tried tickling it while it tried to bite me until at last I clamped its fins down and then it couldn't. Strange.

I was going to blog about how I find people who spit along the road disgusting but then decided that I hated it not because it was Morally Wrong but because it Offends my Delicate Sensibilities. Really, spitting is gross.

FF12 is out! FF12 is out! Somebody please get it for me as a gift.

No, my dear little sister, you are specifically not allowed to get me that as a gift.

I'm so bored. I should be studying hard, but I'm not. I'm bored and trawling the internet for erm, food guides and restaurant reviews. God save me from my gluttony.

C'est tout.