Rummaging through my drawers filled with crap, paper, bills, paper, notebooks, notes, memorabilia, paper, photos, negatives, CDs and stuff I realize:
1. There are a lot of things and moments that I miss
2. I am morphing into a scrap paper whore rather than a notebook whore. Thing is more pieces of paper are accumulating. Shit. Yellow lined paper rocks as do office supplies!
3. My organizer drawers are way beyond “organized” that I can’t find stuff. Heck I forget where I even put the keys to my wardrobe drawer which contains my passport and other important stuff. Which reminds me I need to renew my passport or I can say sayonara to flying anywhere. *first thing, find the keys*
4. If I have my own room it would probably be worse than a junkyard.
5. I really have no idea where some of my stuff are
6. I’m actually living in organized chaos despite the facade of a clean room, more of a knee-jerk reaction to stop the wailing siren of the domestic matriarch. My mind actually works in organized chaos in keeping things
Which got me thinking could Singapore ever exist in an organised chaos? The systems, mechanism of doing things are structured. At a work visit, a passionate youth worker mentioned that ‘organised chaos doesn’t exist in the Singapore’s dictionary’, in comparing how a flexible, non-formal and non-overly structured US system can produce such effective programs based on simple ideas and organic mechanisms. Just dance, just paint and generate natural interest rather than mandated, contrived ideas, programs and implementation mechanisms. Of course this is based on the principle of a civic-minded community. Can we.
Now where is that damn book that started this whole exercise!
p.s. messy is good, don't let anyone say otherwise to you :)
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Changes they come in numbers,
Yet the only constant thing is my inherent bouts of calamity.
ms calamity scene 1
Rushing to get to a wedding, I got out of the shower to get something from my room. In a hurry, I slipped and fell like nangka busuk. And I tell u it hurt like hell. But no it wasn’t the wailing that awoke d snoozing sister but my loud thud. Sprawled on the floor, my sis woke up with squinting eyes, looked at me, smacked her forehead and went back to sleep. Thanks ah.
Thing is the next day I realized I had a blue-black blood clot on my arm the size of two eggs. And I didn’t even hit that part of my arm. It’s still on my arm after 2 weeks, which I hope would go away. The responses range from, “What did you do? I don’t wanna know what you do in ur spare time”, “wah, you kinky hor”, “let me rub it, if not the oceh will run and spread to your face *nice try*” to “you mean u were naked when you fell?!? (Which elicited a familiar sounding response in my head à “You mean Chinese eat cow’s tongues?!?”)
Of course, I didn’t do anything and let the bugger disappear from my arm. Of all my years of breaking things, falling down and such, this has left an imprint, literally.
ms calamity scene 2
Went to a wedding, more like forced to. Someone from the great matriach’s posse left a foldable wooden fan on my table. Was waiting for the inane conversations and social niceties/updates to end when I started twiddling with the abandoned fan cos it was soooo bloddy hot (like 34degrees!) and the fan looked like it came from the traditional art institutes of Bali (like as if I know rite, but that’s the visual that popped in me head man). Right upon opening the fan, I broke one of the folds of it. Great.
Next thing I knew, while twiddling with the decapitated member, it fell into my-oh-so-bloody-sweet-teh which I really do believe had 0.1% of tea and 99.9% of condensed milk *bleurgh*. Never abandon your things around me. Hohoho.
Best thing was convincing the bro to drink the contaminated the cause it was oh so delicious. Nice.
Yes, if anything that hasn’t changed, it has to be this.
