REVEALED! The Mystery of the Haunted House

It was a small, nondescript terrace house, tucked neatly among many other apartments. If you weren't 'in the know', you probably wouldn't bother giving this apartment another glance. Visitors to this house have a purpose, a motive. They have come here to seek enlightenment.

There are two things I notice about this house the moment I step in.

One. It is surrounded by shreds of broken wine glasses embedded in solid granite rock, whose purpose I can only guess, is to serve as an amulet against trespassers.

Two. The owner is a lover of cats. It is evident that the cats are well-fed, pampered creatures. At first, I noticed one lone cat, curled up lazily under the table in a fetal position. Then, a second one appears, a black cat with long whiskers. And, by the time I left, I saw five to six cats wandering around the apartment with unbridled freedom.

When the owner finally emerges from within the confines of her apartment, she immediately stands out. Sporting a short crop of scarlet red hair, she is clothed in a cheerful and conspicuous mandarin-orange ensemble from head to toe.

She invites us in, into a small room. But, there is nothing ordinary about this room. It's nothing like your average home. The copious amount of gold assaults me, and what enters my vision is a sea of golden and bronzed Buddha statures. There are all sorts, minutiae ones, human-sized ones.

There is something oddly calming about this room. It's almost as though I can sense the 'divine presence'.

Yes, it's what my family and I have travelled half of Singapore to come to. To seek divine help. To seek divine interpretation for the disturbance caused the night before.

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Knock, knock.

Knock, knock, knock.

As, I lay in bed, listening to the above sounds, I was calm. This was something my ears were accustomed to. Nothing out of the ordinary. I had drawn the curtains, having enough courage finally to sleep in a pitch-dark room again.

20 minutes has lapsed, and the knocking sounds IN my room continues. My heart flutters a little at each knock, but my mood is relatively calm. I try convincing myself that it is all part of my imagination.

Knock.

It was this knock that really paralyzed me with fear. It was so real, so undeniable, just inches away from me, so unmistakable. The sound of a human fist meeting the acquaintance of something hard and solid. Only the combination of the above two could produce some acoustics. My ears were not playing tricks on me.

My hand automatically leapt to the nearest switch and flipped the lights on. With rising terror, I shook my sister awake with a frenzied energy.

"Wake up! Wake up NOW!" My sister's eyes sprang open to reveal a pair of sleep-laden peepers. "Did you hear THAT?!!" The eyes that were still staring at me were suddenly drained of all sleep and they quickly turned terrified.

Knock.

AGAIN. An unmistakable knock just inches away from me. In the case that I was hallucinating, I had an extra pair of ears for verification. My sister heard it too. An unmistakable knock on our table.

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Now, as we sat in front of the woman ghostbuster, my heart was calm. There was another family in the room, apart from ours. She began regaling us with tales of her ghostly encounters, even going so far as to name the apartment name and unit number.

The tale of a family whose toddler couldn't stop crying for a week after they moved into a new home. When she went over to check out the house, she was 'shocked by the amount of spirits lingering about the apartment'. The sight that greeted her was this: four women spirits sitting in a row outside a room, a grandpa, and four other gentlemen.

"Children are very pure," the woman states simply, "They are able to see unclean things."

She spoke of another woman who frequently saw a pair of legs wandering about in the kitchen. What was most chilling is that the appendages had no body or head attached to it.

All these households, according to the woman, now enjoyed peace.

"More and more people are witnessing supernatural encounters. The world today is in a state of unrest, very unpeaceful. Open the newspapers and look at the amount of people that die every day, being reflected in the obituaries column. And, what about the tsunami? Those people that lost their lives are ordinary people, just like you and me. And, they were suddenly ripped apart from the human world. Where have they gone to? They are on this earth, lingering about, waiting for a time where they are ready to go to a place and find peace. That is why more and more people nowadays are encountering such things. The dead are roaming the earth."

I have to agree with her that the increasing occurrences of natural (eg. Tsunami) and man-made (eg. Iraq War) calamities has caused many of the dead to roam the living earth. And, such disasters means that the body may not be a complete anatomy, but different body parts detached.

My maid's friend was living in Iraq. After the war, she was showering one day when she felt something touching her behind her back. When, she turned, she screamed until she fainted. It turned out that there was a man's arm (ONLY THE ARM!) scrubbing her back. That was because during the war explosion, the victim's body was split into many pieces, causing appendages to be all over the place. That explains why some ghostly encounters only involves the limbs.

My mood was now relatively disturbed, my previously calm mood like an undisturbed water now rippling with increasing dis-settlement.

The other family that came had a toddler less than two years old that the mother cradled protectively in her arms. After we spoke of our dire situation, they spoke of theirs.

What happened was that once, the grandmother and the baby were alone in the house, but in separate rooms. Suddenly, the grandmother heard the baby crying and wailing, and when she rushed into the room, the baby had been stripped of her diapers and pants. And, she was fast asleep.

The little girl fell ill immediately after that incident, and haven't recovered a week since. She kept on vomiting, and had to avoid solid foods. The parents, in their desperate attempt to cure her, brought her to this lady.

The woman digested all this, asked more questions, and then stopped talking altogether.

"Let's start," she says, and she turned so that her back was facing us. She began chanting, reciting from the Buddha scriptures, and didn't stop for the next five minutes.

By the time she turned round to face us again, she had already 'taken on the form' of the Lord Buddha, and every word that spilled out of her mouth was spoken by the omnipresent deity.

The frequent knockings in the graveyard silence of the night, the sound of the door-knob turning, the sound of someone entering our room.

Finally, the mystery was unveiled. As this woman turned to look at us, what she was to say next, the words that were to come out of her mouth, I wasn't ready for any of it.

She begins by saying that there is a male spirit in our room. A tall man, whose previous occupation was a physician. He is always decked out in a white coat, like those physicians in the olden times, or like those you watch in drama serials.

In 1951, where our room is now, it used to be his practising room as a physician. And, where our bed is now located, it used to be the table where he can be seen administering his patients, treating them.

The noises and the knockings that we hear in the middle of the night was of him going about his daily routine as a physician.

His spirit rose in our room 7 years ago, and the explanation for why we only began hearing those weird noises about two to three years back, was that we were still young, and while those noises were present, we couldn't be bothered with them. Now, that we have grown up, we are able to discern those acoustics.

Great. I love hearing things like these. It puts my heart at COMPLETE ease, KNOWING that I have been SHARING a room with a spirit of the opposite gender, and now, I can even put an OCCUPATION to this spirit, GREAT, my heart now is completely at ease. No worries.

THIS IS GREAT. YOU KNOW WHY? BECAUSE I'M SUCH A HOSPITABLE HOST, AND I LOVE INVITING PEOPLE OVER TO MY HOUSE. BUT, I DIDN'T REALIZE THAT MY HOUSE IS SO POPULAR THAT EVEN MY GOOD FRIENDS FROM THE NETHER WORLD ALSO ENJOY THE FACILITIES IN MY HOUSE. I CANNOT TELL YOU JUST HOW HAPPY I AM TO KNOW THIS.

The woman goes on to say that sometimes people hear noises because they are hallucinating, but IN MY CASE, I have been unwittingly sharing room space with a male physician who has since died. She then added that 30% of the 'noise' that I hear are due to my imagination, while the other 70% is due to the male spiritual existence in my room.

While the spirit means no harm, and is probably just minding his own business while I'm minding mine IN THE SAME ROOM, the collision of yin and yang does not share a peaceful co-existence, and our personal luck will be dragged down by HIM. (IT IS SO NICE FINALLY TO BE ABLE TO PUT A GENDER TO THE GHOST RESIDING IN MY ROOM.)

As though, I'm not spooked enough that I now can put the SEX, OCCUPATION and EVEN WHAT HE WEARS to the 'presence in my room', what come out of the lady's mouth next (or rather, the Lord Buddha), has caused irreparable psychological harm on my well-being.

While humans and ghosts are different species separated by flesh and meat, they do have something in common. That is, they both have their own paths to take. Humans have their own path to take. So, do ghosts.

AND, APPARENTLY, OUR ROOM IS THE PATH THAT GHOSTS TAKE FROM TIME TO TIME.

The Lord Buddha continues, "There is a Chinese saying. Humans have human paths. Ghosts have ghost paths. Apparently, the location of your room is such that spirits will pass by from time to time to get to where they belong. This is UNAVOIDABLE, and cannot be prevented. What I suggest you to do is NEVER to leave your room in pitch darkness when you sleep at night, leave a small light by your bedside."

GREAT. I CAN'T EVEN BEGIN TO ENUNCIATE TO ANYONE READING THIS HOW MUCH I LOVE MY HOUSE. IN FACT, I LOVE IT SO MUCH, THAT IF YOU WERE TO PAY ME A BILLION DOLLARS TO LEAVE IT, I WOULDN'T. YOU COULD HIRE A BULLDOZER TO DRAG ME AWAY FROM MY HOUSE AND DROP ME OFF A MILLION KILOMETERS AWAY, AND I WILL STILL FIND MY WAY BACK TO THIS HOUSE. BECAUSE I LOVE IT SO MUCH. SO MUCH. GET IT?

Of course, like anyone reading this, you probably have your doubts. I did have my doubts at first, but there are a couple of things that made me believe that the Lord Buddha really CAN see, and DO see, and what the lady says on behalf of him is REALLY TRUE.

One. The Lord Buddha goes on to give us a character analysis, that is so damn ACCURATE, that someone (the lady herself) seeing us for the first time could never decipher. All the character traits mentioned were deeply-rooted, and shockingly spot-on.

Two. The lady speaks in a monotone, and has this glazed expression during the whole time she is speaking, she really does LOOK and SOUND like someone possessed by the Lord Buddha's spirit. And, halfway through her verbal diarrhoea, she suddenly mentioned out of the blue, "..................I can't stop talking, it's the Lord Buddha speaking.....and whatever the Lord Buddha sees, he will just say it out........................." All said without emotions, expressions and in the same monotone you get from a robot.

Three. The lady used to be a Catholic, but apparently, the Lord Buddha CHOSE her to carry out his legacy. Remember that I mentioned that there were Buddha statues all over the room, including a life-sized one? Apparently, when she first set up shop, she choose the minutiae Buddha statues and the Lord Buddha came to her in her dreams and told her that He wasn't satisfied with the small statues, and informed her to get a human-sized one.

At the end of the ordeal, we went through a blessing session. As the lady pointed her fingers at our foreheads, she spoke loud and clear, "Please get the male spirit out of these two girls' bedroom."

That night, I lay in bed with my eyes wide open like saucers, heart thumping against my chest. Every single sound was magnified tenfold by my fear. I fell in and out of sleep, terror snaking its way into my veins each time I startled awake. In the morning, I couldn't last ten seconds in the toilet without turning my head round just to check if the male spirit was looking at me. When I closed my eyes, the image of a man in all-white get-up, staring indignantly at me and chiding me angrily for chasing him out, haunted me.

A trip to the ghostbuster hadn't ended it all. It was just the beginning of my nightmarish dream.

I had come to find peace, not additional disturbance. I had come to hear that my room was clean and that everything was conceived solely out of my highly imaginative mind, not put a face and gender to the spirit(s) lurking in my room. I had come so I could sleep peacefully at night, not to be rewarded by paralyzing terror even worse than before.

I've been living in this house all my life. I had always been aware of other presences in my household, that clearly wasn't human.

As children, my cousins and I used to joked that our backyard was like a cemetery. It was true. The dark, creepy forested trees and foliage cemented our impression of our backyard as a graveyard. I often heard my cousins joking that if we were to unearth our backyard, we would find dead people laying beneath all that soil.

If it is indeed true that a child's heart is the purest and they can 'see', then my house wasn't devoid of ghostly encounters. As a child, I would walk into the room innocently playing hide-and-seek, and get the hair-standing feeling that I wasn't alone.

I think what I was seeking for was a white lie, not the earth-shattering bombshell that had been dropped.

I can't find a better situation to say this now.

Some things are better left unsaid.

a hairy affair.

The humid air swiveling around me only further fanned the flames of my mood, spiking it to an impossibly irritable high. We had set up a large booth in the central of The Raffles District, and the business crowds were piling up in queue for the freebies we were giving out.

I glanced up and saw a boisterous group of aunties, chattering loudly. Excitedly pronouncing the free giveaways. One turned to her friend and said, 'Look what they are giving out'. By now, my interest in her should have died down, just one of those cheapskates looking for a freebie. But, no, I couldn't glance away, try as I might. My eyes were magnetized towards this auntie, drawing me in like repellents. I couldn't look away. She was gesticulating her arms wildly in the air, flinging them about and announcing something intelligible to her friend. Just beneath her sleeveless blouse, were a clump of thick, coarse armpit hair.

Yes, that is my question to all ladies all there. Why do some of us walk out of the door with unshaven armpits for the entire world to see? As much as the bra-burning feminists of the bygone era fought hard for ladies' rights and equality, and did so by refusing to shave, I think personal grooming should very well remain any woman's innate instinct and necessity to look clean and tidy.

There once was a survey done among the male population - "If you see a very pretty girl walking ahead of you, and suddenly she lifts up her arms to show a pair of unshaven armpits, how would you react?"

Unsurprising, mens' responses varied from 'disgusted', 'turned off' to 'No matter how pretty she is, I wouldn't want to strike up a conversation with her.' As superficial sounding as the male population's cavemen instincts sound, I as a female would gladly support them all the way.

During the premiere of Notting Hill, Julia Roberts once did a public airing of her very much unshaven armpits. Donning a red sleeveless blouse, the unsuspecting Hollywood actress lifted her arms to wave at fans. What assaulted the public eyes and photographers' camera lenses were a forest of clearly-unshaven-for-days-weeks-even armpit hair.

Once, I was out shopping with an ex-colleague, and a wide array of accessories attracted me and I quickly started trying them out with my colleague. My colleague, at that time, happened to be wearing a sleeveless blouse, and a shawl around her neck, so that her upper arms still remained modestly covered. She was trying out a necklace, and I was standing beside her when I turned. I immediate lost my appetite for any shopping therapy. There, they were, taunting me. Below her lifted arms, were a forest of armpit hair that obviously hadn't met the acquaintance of a razor for WEEKS. Let's just say, for sometime after that, I had some difficulty trying to dis-associate her face from armpit hair.

Since the start of time, most women have dedicated huge chunks of their daily routines to personal grooming. Waxing, shaving and plucking from their various body parts from top to toe, ensuring that they are free of any sort of unsightly body hair. And, if the need arises, even resort to the Grandmother of them all, the Brazilian Wax. One women even claimed that she spent 14 hours a week shaving, preening, getting rid of all unsightly body hair.

While I definitely do not expect shaven armpits as smooth as a baby's bottom, the least these women can do, if not for the public's sake, then to preserve their own dignity, is to show that they did put in an effort. Okay, maybe sometimes there are hair stubs, you know those stubborn hair roots that refuse to go away? Some women are spared that agony, but some can play tug-a-war with the stubborn root hair for the entire morning, and it stays, looking at you defiantly in the eye, and saying plainly that you can forget about getting rid of it because it's taking up permanent resident status under your arm.

But, the women that I've seen by far? They sport long, thick, coarse armpit hair! And, instead of keeping it hidden under wraps and away from the public eye, they flaunt it. Granted, they don't do it on purpose. But, it just makes me wonder, don't they look at themselves in the mirror before they step out the front door? Don't they feel that something is amiss if they rub their pits against fabric, and are rewarded by anything but a lubricant, cleanly shaved underarm?

Danielle Lloyd, star of Celebrity Big Brother, recently sported fake underarm hair for a British documentary. She had to go out in town and to the gym to flaunt those hairy underarms to gauge men's reactions on them. At the end of the ordeal, the pretty lass who got less than favourable responses from men, said, "It's been so embarrassing. I'll remember this day for the rest of my life. I never want to see hair under my armpits again! I felt like a man."

While hair on a male might accentuate his manliness, a female with hair in all the wrong places meeting the acquaintance of light, only has a nauseating effect.

So, the sales girl working at Hang Ten outlet, I hope you do something about your unshaven armpits, because you had me staring at them (eyes unwilling, but alas, flesh is weak) for a full minute while you yakked away on the phone, until finally I could divert my eyes away and go on to pretending to be immensely interested in the kids display section.

a tale of two friends.

She dreams of a simple life. No rocket science complications, no emotional potholes. She believes in true love. And the good of mankind. Her 5 Cs are Care, Concern, Consideration, Cherish and Carefree. Yes, that's the epitome of the ideal life she looks forward to. Her motherly instincts grew sprouts even when she was at a tender age of 16, she wants children of her own. She leads a life that is firmly grounded, devoid of the evil temptations of money. She places relationships above all else, her family is at the peak of her priorities. She knows true freedom comes in the form of The Simple Life, Paris-Hilton-and-Nicole-Richie style.

She dreams of becoming famous. Her perception of life is even more complicated than a heart bypass surgery. Her life is full of emotional potholes, a deep, dark abyss of lost hope, despair and misery. She thinks all humans are out to rob her, whether of hope, expectations, or feelings invested. She devotes precious brain space to those sugary utopian dreams of hers, of fame, fortune and dreams ablaze. She is thirsty for recognition, and only that elusive dream of hers will quench her buds. She believes true freedom comes in the face of success.

This is the difference between two friends. Who, by some match-making of God, was brought together to share a strange affinity called friendship. They were as different as the fingerprints of two separate individuals, and yet they had so much in common.

Four days ago, in true Simple Life fashion, Simple Life Girl penned an entry on how beautiful this world is, on how true love still exists. Even though she hadn't gotten a taste of it herself, she witnessed it in all those around her. Yes, it was a truly good feeling to love and be loved. Then, four days later, she realized that her brother's girlfriend was two-timing him. In a fit of anger, she spewed a series of mild profanities, which for her case, was as bland as plain water. Her brother hadn't said a word to her, but she knew he was miserable. He HAD to be. Especially since the unfeeling girl had dated two guys at a time, and her brother had expended time and money on her, lavish gestures that were going down into the drain. Finally, she worked up the courage to speak to her brother, hoping to offer some words of comfort to his crushed soul. So, that's what she did. And, her brother told her that he had been doing the same thing. Two-timing his now ex-girlfriend, that is. Simple Life Girl couldn't believe it. Didn't want to. This couldn't be true. In Simple Life Girl's world, couples remained faithful to each other, a relationship was an entity to be preserved among two, and only two, individuals. What happened to true love? Since when did true love manifest itself in such ugly, monstrous ways? Suddenly, Simple Life Girl's found her dreams and hopes of all humanity dashed.

The fragile crystal ball that she had held so preciously in her palms, the one which contained hope and love, slipped from her unwitting fingers and smashed into pieces on the ground, revealing a smorgasbord of evil lurking behind it, lurking behind the human heart. Her ideal world was now a couple of smashed glass pieces. The blizzard of inhumanity that drizzled upon her hardened her heart a little.

In the face of such danger, what could Simple Life Girl do?

Well, she turned to Complicated Life Girl for help, of course.

Complicated Life Girl didn't bat an eyelid. Her brain cells were accustomed to such stories. In fact, nearly everything that worms itself into her brain, seems to possess some kind of deformity. Deformity of the human heart and mind.

Couples who remain faithful to each other, walk down the wedding aisle, have kids and grow old together. This was how Simple Life Girl saw the world.

Complicated Life Girl would beg to differ. Couples who don't have the integrity in them to break up face-to-face and resort to sms breakups, couples two-timing, three-timing each other, people no longer nursing heartbreaks because they no longer cared enough to do so. It was on to The Rebound Guy immediately after The Break-Up.

While Simple Life Girl saw the world in hues of rose pink, Complicated Life Girl's vision was tainted by images of hurt, betrayal and loyalty flipping faster than cook flipping burger patties.

Simple Life Girl didn't understand Complicated Life Girl. Complicated Life Girl thought Simple Life Girl was too naive.

But, the moment Simple Life Girl found her implant of the good of mankind forcefully uprooted from her brain cells, she was at a loss. Her mind wasn't tuned to react to this sort of dismal circumstances, and she found the information being rebooted.

Complicated Life Girl dutifully informed her that the institution of a relationship had been greatly abused by human beings. It stood tall in the beginning, a beacon of hope and true love. But, humans began to realize that they could do anything, they didn't need, didn't want this institution. They were more superior than that, didn't have to listen to some stupid law that govern relationships. Who says I cannot two-time my boyfriend or girlfriend? Who says I cannot break-up through an sms? And, so this law that entitled two individuals to an exclusive relationship and have decent respect for each other began to corrode under the unfaltering abuse of mankind.

Simple Life Girl lamented the death of the institution, Complicated Life Girl on the other hand, was a sporadic visitor to its graveyard. Complicated Life Girl has long accepted that it's dead, Simple Life Girl has only awakened to the idea of its death, but she adamantly refuses to admit it, prefering to inject illusion into it, struggling to revive it. It's a procedure strangely similar to Botox. It's short-term, very soon the cold gushes of reality which is Life will flood her brain with dreadful images. And, really, like the surgical procedure of Botox, Simple Life Girl is only creating a temporary dram to block out those awful images, but in reality behind the dram, is a whole lot of ugly monsters waiting to be released. Botox hides the awful wrinkles, Simple Life Girl's dram blocks out the reality of life.

Simple Life Girl questioned Complicated Life Girl why humans had left things to wither to such a miserable state. Complicated Life Girl replied that if it was up to her, she would choose misery over happiness, evil over kind-hearted, fake over genuine, suffering over comfort.

Simple Life Girl didn't understand. Because her life up till now had been a cup of clear, distilled water, sparkling in her genuine belief of goodness in this world. Complicated Life Girl was different, her cup of water had been polluted by fragments of disillusionment, leaving behind residues of hatred and bitter in her heart. Now, Simple Life Girl was slowly finding dirty bits crystallizing in her previously pure liquid.

Simple Life Girl didn't know this. But Complicated Life Girl knew the best story-tellers in the world led a life that was far from peach rosy. If they hadn't had misery, evil, suffering and disillusionment instilled in their life, the world wouldn't be blessed with such great story-tellers today.

These seemingly bad factors in life were the very same elements that spun the most beautiful stories ever told in this world. Paradoxical, but how very true indeed.

Some of the best stories that Complicated Life Girl have ever read were told by people who have gone through depression, abortion, countless of break-ups and the heartaches that follow, childhood abuse, teenage bullying and violence. These swampy polluted areas, the bad side of life, were the ones responsible for grabbing millions and millions of eyeballs.

You've got to be admit that a sinful life tainted with booze, drugs and sex sounds a lot more exciting on paper than a straitlaced, prim and proper one, skirting around one's pursuit of scholarly instincts, the great academic chase after that not-so-elusive-anymore PhD certificate?

Which is more interesting? A car crash or smooth flowing traffic? A controversial statement or a Politically Correct one? A heart-achingly break-up or a couple celebrating their 40th anniversary? How you cope with depression or how happy your life is? Which are the ones that are pulling people in like magnets, and which are the stories that, even though are heartwarming, are one in a million and repelling bored readers?

Ask yourself, who would you rather be? A miserable, talented person? Or a happy, talent-less person? Sometimes, Complicated Life Girl believes pain is crucial, one has to suffer for his or her craft. The beauty of life only surfaces through suffering.

Until then, there will always be the cold, hard clinical realities of this world. A bitter pill to swallow. And, it's only a matter of time before Simple Life Girl wakes up from her coma of illusion and stop flirting with the idea of The Simple Life. After all, Prince Charming ain't gonna come along and kiss her awake from her sleep.

some boring shit.

The cable cars dangle like Christmas lights in the far distance. The momentum at which it is moving is so unlike the rapid lifestyle of Singaporeans, which move at a pace faster than a bullet train in Japan. It is taking its time, revelling in the backdrop of the hills, mountains and seas. It doesn't matter how amazing all these greenery shrubs surrounding it is, for it jolly well knows that it is the centre of the attraction.

It is the day that every working individual in the Lion City dreads. Four more days to the weekend seem like such an agonizing wait. The money-making factories continue at their work, making more money, that is. It never ends, everyday is a monotony, they wake up at the same time, go to work at the same place, they drink the same coffee every morning to electrify their spirits awake, they sit at the same familiar desk, type on the same familiar keyboard, talk to the same people, ignore the rest that they see everyday but have not a clue what their name is because it's none of their business (like the auntie that cleans the toilet and clears their wastepaper basket every morning), they go to lunch at the same hour (sometimes, it's a different place. sometimes, it's at the cafeteria downstairs, sometimes it's at the opposite building, but mostly, it is the same, at the hawker centre located at the industrial building a stone's throw away) they leave work at the same time (sometimes, they groan at having to work OT), and then it is finally time to go home, they cheer. The next day, they repeat the whole dreary ordeal all over again.

She goes to work everyday, feeling like she is stepping into prison again. Monday to Friday. Monday to Friday. The only change is the date and day of the month. Her routine repeats itself, yawning and casting a disparaging eye at the boredom of its owner's life. She wakes up at 7 every morning, go to work at the same MNC, she sits at the same desk at the corner, type on the same (no longer) abandoned keyboard, struggles to keep herself awake from her graveyard internet surfing hours the night before, (or more exact, this morning) talk to the same colleagues, ignores the auntie who cleans the toilet and pretty much everyone else, go to lunch at one (it's always at the hawker centre located at the industrial building a stone's throw away), and then it is finally time for her to go home at 6, she cheers.

The only difference between yesterday and today is that she had Wintergourd drink the day before, and Barley water this afternoon.

p.s./ this article is as boring as my life currently. so if you think this article is shitty and meaningless, you can simply apply the same understanding to my life.

Eyelids heavier than a thousand-pound elephant...check.

Boredom more lethal than heroin...check.

Depression sinking in faster than Titanic after hitting an ice-berg...check.

An entry to enunciate my level of bo-liao-ness...check.