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.

the greatest human tragedy

Metallic skyscrapers, a generous cleavage view of the sea, the light blue skies and chunks of cotton-candy clouds that you yearn to take a bite out of, acres and acres of vast green chasms, valleys and mountains, and the majestic shipyard with its clout of impressive ship armies.

No, I'm not talking about a painting.

This is the view I see every day when I look out of my office window.

But, what I find even more amazing than this view is the fact that how there is such a magnificent sight just a glance away, and yet colleagues remain oblivious, eyes remain glued to their wired-up mechanical devices, otherwise known as computers, fingers furiously tapping away at their keyboards.

No one bothers to look up, no one takes time off to stop, look and stare in awe at the magical scene that both God and Man have created; the natural beauty and the man-made one, the picture-perfect juxtaposition of a scenery. I become the lone ranger in my lonely pursuits of admiring natural and man-made beauty.

That is the greatest human tragedy of all. Not illness. Not death. But having beauty right in front of your very eyes, and not seeing it.

The serenity of watching an airplane crawling across the painting-like of a sky and slowly disappearing from sight as well as the calm blue waters guiding the ships like a beacon to their shipyards is the very best antidote to the drudgery of the interminable flow of work, work and more work.

It is a Friday morning, and I am sitting in front of a computer stricken with arthritis. Like an old man who has difficulty walking up the stairs, the mechanical device fights against the burgeoning pains of growing old, struggling with each wisp of breath to upload a file, download a document.

Sometimes, it succeeds, thumping its fist high up in the air with victory and the glowing pride of triumph. Other times, it slumps dejectedly as it takes forever to upload a document or reboot the computer.

It is also a constant uphill battle with the devils of impatience within me to try to control my growing feelings of impatience at that ancient monitor. I cheer when it cheers, and I mumble and curse inwardly when I've just wasted 5 minutes sitting in front of a page that stubbornly refuses to load.

It is an old boy. This computer of mine. An outcast in the expanding portfolio of technology. It groans when it has worked a muscle too hard, but I've since grown accustomed to its snail speed, even as it remains apathetic to my pockets of annoyance.

I feel lament and perhaps on a good day, a tinge of sympathy, towards this old boy. For once it must have been a gem, a plaything for the rich, a desirable for the poor. It has since lagged behind in the rat race, faltered to a statistic in the history of computers, emerging one of the lasts in the pecking order of computers around.

Its pregnant behind has since been replaced by countless of others, each one boasting a screen flatter than the other.

Surrounded by colleagues with the latest flat-screen monitors and laptops, I am sitting here. With my old boy. On a Friday morning.

Vanessa Hudgens Nude Photo Scandal: My Personal Theory

Unless you have been living under a rock, you must surely have heard about the news on High School Musical and High School Musical 2 lead star, Vanessa Hudgens' (above) nude photo that was leaked on the internet. The nude photo was reportedly taken in private for Hudgens' boyfriend, Zac Efron.

What perfect timing to drum up publicity for High School Musical 2.

Initially, my personal take on this entire saga was that the photo was leaked on purpose because of commercial benefit. On Hudgens' part, not Disney, mind you.

It was rumoured that Disney reportedly decided to replace Vanessa Hudgens with Adrienne Bailon (above) of The Cheetah Girls' fame, in the wildly-popular mega-franchise.

And look at the time where the photos were leaked. Not sooner, not later, but when a possible High School Musical 3 was in the works. What accurate and perfect timing that the shrewd-thinking Hudgens must have come up with.

By saying that the leaked nude photo could possibly DAMAGE her career forever because Disney appeals to young, innocent kids, and Hudgens ruined her good-two-shoes image and failed to live up to the role model that kids aspire to is RIDICULOUS.

Look what a leaked sex tape did for Paris Hilton's career. It launched it. And, as far as I know, Hilton's fan base are mostly 12-year-olds who look up to Hilton because 'she's pretty' or 'she's sexy' or 'she's hot'.

Also, look what a nude photo scandal did to Vanessa William's (above) career. In 1984, Williams was stripped of her title as Miss America when photos of her posing nude and engaging in soft porn with other women emerged on the net.

Today she is an Emmy award-winning singer and actress. In case you haven't a clue who she is, she plays Wilhelmina Slater in Ugly Betty.

To further beef up my theory (yes, it's just a theory, I have no concrete proof), after the photo was leaked, people couldn't really be sure whether it was her or not. It looked like her...but it could be someone else that bears an uncanny resemblance to her.

And, guess what? Hudgens' rep actually came out to issue a statement shortly after, saying IT WAS HER. Everyone knows that reps jobs are to lie, and the 'Is it her? Or is it not?' was a perfect opportunity for her rep and Hudgens herself to deny it was her in the photo. HOW STUPIDLY OBVIOUS CAN THAT GET?

This sort of method adopted by celebrities to grab headlines are not new.

Taiwan's top model, Lin Chi Ling (above) was a relative unknown when photos of her and good friend, Jerry Yen, were leaked to the press. How were they leaked? Apparently, her phone was sent to a shop 'for repair' and the photos that were stored in her mobile were 'accidentally' leaked to the press.

A mobile phone that is of personal possession is sent to a repair company and photos leaked to the press. Of course. Did you really think that the sole reason behind Lin Chi Ling's headline news the very next day were due to her great beauty, never-ending legs and awesome modelling skills?

A leaked photo to the press. A mega-star born overnight. How interesting.

Never underestimate the 'accidental' leak of anything.

SugerBabies & their SugerDaddies

There's a disturbing online phenomenon: girls selling sex for money.

Most are quick to admit that their deep love for money is what drives them to sell their bodies.

Some would go so far as to claim that they were driven to this path of no return, because they were forced by their financial situations.

And, if they weren't immersed in such "financial difficulties" and were born a rich man's daughter, they would not even consider to be in this line.

Their "financial difficulties" mostly refer to not being able to afford that $10,000 Prada Bag or keep up with their high maintenance lifestyle, tainted with late-night partying and booze; as well as, prop up their massive shopping sprees.

Most are really young, some as young as 17.

Why then at the innocent age of 17, when one should be at her most carefree, be overshadowed by her endless material pursuits, and let it determine her self-worth?

Let's not call them prostitutes, they are worse off, because most of them get cheated of their "money". Which directly translates to having sex for free.

How can the mindset of a 17 year-old match up to the quick-witted, callous, and sly thinking of, let's say, a 45-year-old lawyer?

These girls use the internet as their tool device to track down their "cash cows" - somebody whom they can milk for all they are worth. Money and a false sense of entitlement in exchange for sex.

Some admit they are doing it as a challenge against themselves. To find out how much they are worth. They lap up the attention and lust that the men are lavishing on them.

Whether or not you agree or disagree that they are eroding the very moral fabric of our society, these girls are very much a part of our integrated society.

They do exist, just that you don't see them. They could be your next-door neighbour's daughter, your classmate, etc.

Most don't show any signs of them prostituting themselves anyway, unlike the provocative dressing of the hookers competing for business at the red district.

Would you say they are a disgrace to our nation? That's like discrimination. Most don't grow up the normal way like we do, they grow up in messy households where their parents don't remain faithful to each other. Violence is often an issue as well, leaving emotional imprints on a child's heart, which leads them to their disillusionment later in life.

So, they grow up and they are generally disillusioned about love and life. They advertise their services on websites and flirt with guys online...How much do they get paid? Not very much, at least not enough to nourish their spending habits. They spend like crazy, they NEVER have enough money to spend, and this vicious cycle just goes on and on...

Why not instead of fixing their shopping habits, don't they fix their mindset first?

Most of their shopping habits are just whimsical fancies anyway, it is more important to find peace within themselves.

Very soon, their lifestyle will catch up with them, and those brief liaisons and sexual trysts whose sole purpose is to beef up their wallet (and corrode their soul) may not seem that worthy anymore.

Make me plastic, doctor.

[English Translation below]

有一位女生 Ling
她觉得同班同学 Y 很美
相比自下
自己丑了许多

可是跟 Y 成为好朋友后
就发现 Y 一直拿自己的样貌跟大明星比
觉得自己不够瘦 不够美

这样比比比 不累才怪
脸颊不比候佩岑美
身材不够蔡依林棒
鼻子比范文芳还扁
胸部不够谢宛谕大

新世纪 新流行
整容便成了现代人的消遣方式
想要割双眼皮
趁午餐时间去诊疗所一趟
出来后便是焕然一新的自己
为自己披上一张新面孔

啊呀有了双眼皮
就得配上尖尖的鼻子
于是再回去
“医生 ，请给我艾希莉辛普森的新鼻子。"

有了新鼻子 有了新自信
但是。。。总觉得少了些什么
要是能够再拥有希拉蕊那般漂白剂颜色的牙齿，
那铁定更加完美无瑕！

现在已经不流行自然了
长得抱歉的人也有了新希望
现代人讲究的是外在美
内涵已经演变成其次了

有多少个女性卸开了妆
少了染眉毛, 假眉毛, 涂口红, 涂唇膏, 粉底，画眉毛，化妆，等等等。。。
还是自然美的呢？
Excuse me, 烫还有染头发都已经不是自然美了！

好莱坞的大明星，
整容就好像吃饭。
整容前没脸见人，
整容了才能出位！
曾经帮多位明星整过容的整容师说：“要是你看到他们整容前的照片，肯定吓死人！”

有些艺人死都不肯让自己的脸蛋与空气结交。一层厚厚的粉底，化妆品便成了他们最佳的保护措施。但是，如果你以为这种在社会上出现的疾病只限于女性艺人，那未必。吴尊早前拜访他的老乡时，因为宗教信仰，被要求把戴在头顶上的帽子脱掉。可，他死都不肯，宁愿冒犯宗教与祖宗也不肯把没整理好的头发对外泄漏。

明星经常做的手术应该就是把胶原纤维注射进嘴唇里。
想拥有类似蔡依林在<<唇唇欲动>>里演唱：“Sexy, pretty & juicy” 般的嘴唇吗？还是像安吉莉娜裘莉被蜜蜂钉般厚厚的嘴唇吗？

这类手术无须花太久时间，通常一个小时以下就能够完成。只是效果是短期。三个月做一次。当然，这不只限于嘴唇。也可以用在脸颊上。这是为了使女性们看起来更年轻。让时光倒流。让岁月在你脸上留下的痕迹倒退。

其实，有些明星是受到压缩的，被迫在自己的脸上动手脚。
整容师等于就是他们的神，改写上帝赐给他们一张张脸孔的命运。难怪现今好莱坞的 “美女” 都是人性化的芭比娃娃，都是同一个 “形” 捏造出来的。

科技变得越来越发达，人就变得越来越笨!

----------------------------------------------------

There was once a girl called Ling. She always thought that her classmate Y was very pretty. Compared to her, Ling felt inferior, looks-wise.

However, after becoming friends with Y,
She discovered that Y loved comparing her looks to those of celebrities.
Y thought she wasn't as thin as them,
Y thought she wasn't as pretty as them.

The non-stop comparing was sure to wear out the both of them.
Whose faces weren't as pretty as Patty Hou,
figures weren't as voluptuous as Jolin Tsai,
noses even flatter than Fann Wong's,
and boobs not as gigantic as Fiona Xie's.

This is the new millenium, which surely calls for new trends. Plastic surgery has burgeoned so liberally into our lives and taken the meaning of au natural hostage.

Feel like cutting double eye-lids?
Make a trip down to the surgeon's clinic during lunchtime break, and the person that walks out of that front door will be a whole new you.

After the operation, you stare into the mirror, and big eye peepers assaults you. But you'll be back in the surgeon's office faster than David Copperfield disappearing during a vanishing act. Somehow, you feel like those huge inky orbs should be married off to a high bridge nose.

"Doctor, please give me Ashlee Simpson's new nose."

With a whole new nose, you feel a refreshing new level of confidence. But, somehow, YOU KNOW something else is missing. How nice if those huge eyes and high nose could have an orgy with teeth as white the colour of bleach!

'Dr., I want my teeth to look like theseee.' And, you thrust a magazine at your plastic surgeon, who flips it over and finds Hilary Duff grinning back at him with her eye-blindingly, dazzling white teeth.

Au natural is quickly losing its mass appeal,
All hail the new queen in town, Miss Plastic!
Fugly looking people have some semblence of a hope under the surgeon's knife. After all, it is all about looks these days, inner beauty is the tired-old excuse for ugly-looking people.

How many women when stripped of their make-up - mascara, fake eyelashes, lipstick, foundation, moisturizer etc etc. - is still an au natural beauty? Excuse me, but re-bonding and perming is not considered natural.

To the big stars in Hollywood, going under the knife to refine and sharpen their features is as common as eating. Or maybe, even much more common than eating, considering how most stars don't eat at all. Duh.

No wonder a famous nip-tuck plastic surgeon who has helped many celebrities to fight the demon of ugliness once made this public statement:

'If you were to see them before plastic surgery, it will frighten you to death!'

Some stars simply refuse to let their face meet the acquaintance of daylight, keeping their features tightly (and safely) hidden under two millimeters thick of foundation, make-up and powder. Or, on non make-up days, glasses that threaten to overshadow their entire face (suits their purpose pretty fine), or hippie caps on bad or ungroomed hair days.

But, in case you think this epidemic disease is only prevalent among female celebs, think again.

Wu Zun was recently reported to have adamantly refused to take his cap off when he when back to his hometown to visit a religious place. In short, he would rather offend his ancestors and godfathers than risk exposing his untamed mane to the public.

The most common nip-tuck operation is perhaps, injecting collagen into the lips. The answer to "Sexy, pretty & juicy" lips as sung by Jolin Tsai in "Attraction of Sexy Lips", and Angelina Jolie's bee-stung lips, can be found in that little tube of liquified serum.

The perfect way of getting some work done on your face during your lunchtime break, as it takes less than an hour to do so. The effects aren't very lasting though, so it is recommended that the job is done once every three months. Of course, this line of operation is not only limited to your lips, as it can also be done onto your face to make you look younger.

Lose those wrinkles, and erase those imprints that the nefarious culprit, otherwise known as time, has trampled all around your face.

To tell the truth, celebrities aren't to blame as they often fall victim to peer pressure. The plastic surgeon is like their God, rewriting the tragedy that is their god-given face, and together with it, their fates. Is it any wonder then, that Hollywood female artistes are all humanised barbie dolls, all emerging from the same type of 'mould'?

Technology doesn't necessarily make, us humans any smarter.

Who says reporters can't be young?

I'm fed up.

Fed up with the look and stares people give me.

So, what is the deal here?

If I'm not a balding man with white hair and a receding hairline, or not subjecting my arms to the punishing weight of heavy, professional camera equipment, I'm a faux?

Come on, I'm none of the above.

I am a bona fide reporter.

So, the next time, PLEASE do not stop me at the door entrance just to double-check or confirm my status. You make me feel like an adult of legal age getting checked at the entrance to a bar or to an R21 movie.

I DO NOT circumvent legal rules to get to where I am. So, I would appreciate if you stop making me feel like a conniving bitch, trying to bypass certain requirements just to gate-crash an event.

I had the last straw recently, when a fan came up to me during an event. And, to put it simply, she thought that I had 'bluffed' my way through.

Trying my best to sound polite and not the least bit offended, I finally asked her, 'Why would you think I did that?'

She shrugged. 'I only thought so because you look rather young to me.'

And, if you think I feel flattered that someone thinks I look young, I'm not in the least bit. Rather, I felt that statement offensive, and dripping with disparaging innuendos.

I might consider wearing a wig the next time round.

terror.

I WANT TO MOVE HOUSE!!!

On a separate note, I don't think Dad is gonna be too pleased when he sees the electricity bills for this month.

My house is haunted

The Ghost-O-Meter (if there is one) would probably be at an alarming blinking red state this Seventh Month.

Worse thing is that as though there aren't enough ghosts in my house already, the Chinese ghost festival has just laid out a red carpet to welcome more into my home.

Needless to say, the spiritual encounters in our house has reached an all-time high.

So, I was sleeping last night, when I was awoken by a faint knocking sound. Two knocking sounds at my door. I awoke with a start, my eyelids flicking open, only to be greeted with a deafening silence, a vast difference from the faint thumping of my heart.

Knock. Knock.

Again. Knock. Knock.

There's only so much you can blame it on the wind, you know? Especially when the weather outside is relatively peaceful and all our doors and windows are tightly shut. Once, when my sister alerted me to this, I brushed it off with disregard.

'It's probably just the wind hitting against the door or something.
I hear it all the freaking time.'

To which, my sister stoutly replied:

'It's not! It's the sound of someone trying to get in.'

And, yesterday, (not for the first time, mind you) I heard it. It was the sound of someone trying to get in. It's the exact same sound of someone banging their fists against the door, and it continues with an astounding repetitive mode, that the wind is not capable of.

Did I also mention the time when I heard the door knob turned, and when I finally opened the door, there was no one outside?

Oh, it's probably just your sister trying to play a prank on you.

You think?

My sister was fast asleep in the other room, and it took me quite a hell lot of effort (which basically involved vigorous shaking on my part) to wake her up. And, my parents swore that it wasn't them.

So, again and again, the knocking persisted as I lay frozen in my bed, listening to the precise rhythm of knocking on my bedroom door.

The terror that resided inside me was very real. There was someone at the door. And, whatever it was, it wasn't human.

After a while, I decided to try out a little experiment. Our good buddies from the netherworld are afraid of light, aren't they? I know, because I watch TV.

As swiftly as I could, I reached into the dark and flicked the lights on. The bright buttery yellow light that poured into my room was a welcome respite.

And, miraculously...

THE KNOCKING STOPPED.

I spent the rest of the night sleeping with the lights ON.

Some of the more trite horror stories happening right in my home, (which may I add, is a breeding ground for buddies from the other world) include footsteps in the middle of the night (no prizes for guessing whose; hint: It wasn't human), a baby's cries in the middle of the night, feelings of extra 'presences' in the room (for example, AS I'M TYPING THIS), strange knocking sounds IN the room at 3am in the morning, ETC ETC.

And, just to pooh-poohed anyone's claims that ghosts only emerge when dusks falls (Come on, professionals have confirmed that they are all around you in the morning as well), here is another hair-raising story.

Just this morning at 6am, my sister was in the bathroom when she FELT A FINGER TOUCH HER TWICE. ONCE ON THE ARM. AND ANOTHER TRAILING DOWN HER BACK.

Who says miracles don't happen?

The fact that I haven't moved house yet IS a miracle.

I flunked the interview

OK. Right.

Take a deep breath.

So, I wasn't really expecting such a grand setting. No big deal, right? RIGHT? RIGHT?!!

As I sat down at the area I was being escorted to, I saw all these huge meeting rooms with very professional-looking people inside them. And, I saw not one feet, or two feet, but omg...it looks like a whole room full of people! Gee, I wasn't expecting such a grand interview...

'Hi, are you here for the interview?'

I swerved my head round, and a lady in black overalls was peeking her head out of the room. A much smaller room. Phew.

So, I walked in, and saw not one, not two, but three women. Gosh. What had I expected? I don't know, maybe a two-year old toddler interviewing me?

This is what I think of today's interview. I think I did pretty well, I demonstrated my passion aptly, and I managed to answer most of the questions with a breeze of confidence and flamboyant grandstanding. In short, I don't think they are going to hire me.

So, I was preparing myself for all the grand and outstanding questions, which was why I totally didn't see 'What is your favourite Channel 8 drama?' coming my way. AT. ALL. And, I only managed to retain the bare minimum of dignity during the interview. Which is not good. At. All.

The key point I would like to make about today's interview is

WHY DIDN'T I WATCH MORE CH 5 AND CH 8 DRAMAS!!!!!!!!!

Here are some highlights of the interview questions and of course, my dumb answers as well.

Do you watch Ch 5 and Ch 8 dramas?
Yes. (OS: Just don't ask me to name any)

So, what is your favourite Ch 5 and Ch 8 dramas?
(Oh, shit, oh shit, oh shit!!! WHY DIDN'T I WATCH MORE TV!!!!) Erm...erm...(after a very very long pause) My favourite Ch 5 drama would be the one with Adrian Pang and....
(OK, don't panic. Don't panic. What's her name?) Jessica...Huang.
(looks up to see blank faces)...(OK, I KNOW the name of this show. I watched every single episode of it on Crunchyroll. Damn it! What is the name of that show?!!)

Oh, Parental Guidance!
Ahh, yes yes! (Smiles) (Never thought Crunchyroll would be so useful for an interview) (Swears to watch more dramas on Crunchyroll)

So, you watched Ch 8 dramas too?
Ah..yes. (PLEASE PLEASE DON'T ASK ME TO NAME MY FAVOURITE SHOW!!! ONCE IS ENOUGH!!)

So, what is your favourite Ch 8 drama?
(I'm dead meat. Why didn't I watch my Fann Wong show!!!!!! ARGHHH!!!) Erm....erm....(after a very very very long pause, finally) Stepping Out.

Why is it your favourite show?
Because it has a good script, and very strong casts. I think a good storyline and good actors and actresses are what makes a show successful.

Do you have an idol?
(Okay, I have no idea why they asked me this but I swear it is NOT because I couldn't stop talking about my worship of idols during the interview) Er, yes, I have many.

Like...?
Elva Hsiao. And, if you're talking about local artistes, it would be Fann Wong.

Who do you think would make a good interviewee currently?
Quan Yifeng. I think that for an interviewee, she gives very newsworthy answers. Because she doesn't really keep her private affairs out of the public eye.

Why would Quan Yifeng talk to you rather than say, an experienced reporter from XXX?
Simple, she wouldn't. Well, of course a reporter from XXX is more experienced, whereas for a newbie like me... (OK, this is not going the way I want it to be)...(Quickly changing track) I think the most important thing for me to do would be to put her at ease-

How would you put her at ease?
Well, before I even begin on the actual interview, I would just chat with her normal and routine everyday things.

As you know, there is a rampant paparazzi culture in Hong Kong. Do you think Singapore's paparazzi culture would match up to theirs?
Well, I do think there is a paparazzi culture locally. For example, reporters recently staked out overnight at Fann Wong's house, and they even took pictures of where she lived...but of course, the local media don't go to such a far extent compared to the paparazzi in Hong Kong.

If I were to ask you to stake out three nights over at Fann Wong's house, would you be willing to take up such an assignment?
(OMG OMG YES, YES! I WOULD LOVE TO!!!) Well, er...yes. That would be very exciting.

(Eyeing me suspiciously) Have you done that before?
(quickly) Huh..no, no, of course not. (Tsk tsk, what gave them the idea? Surely it CANNOT be that my worship of idols is SO evident?!!)

How would you get scoops on celebs?
Firstly, I would do my background research on them, maybe find out more about them from fellow journalists? (Interviewee OS: Then, why would we even need you in the first place?) Get info on the places they usually hang out at, filming schedules etc etc. And, then, I don't know, maybe like what you suggested, stake out overnight at their houses? (HA. HA. I AM SO FUNNY.)

hitting the bull's eye

After sending out a thousand job application forms, I finally got a reply yesterday, replying to my query on whether a job position I applied for was still available. That is, after three whole months. The editor must be really busy or something. I've even given up any hope of him ever replying.

Less than 48 hours after sending out my resume, I got a call today, requesting me to come down for an interview on Friday morning.

Interview. Right. Which also means that I'm not gonna get the job. MY DREAM JOB.

Not my pessimistic thinking working its magic, rather, it's a common fact that I am not verbally equipped enough to ace an interview.

And, even though I put 'Excellent' on my online application form under the column, 'English - Spoken', those who know me know that I can't even pronounce correctly.

What I do know is that I must not be late this time round. Because, at my last interview, I was just a little over two hours late. Which was probably why I never got into my dream school. Damn.

And, even though I've been aiming to get into Sept '07 intake, IF BY SOME GENIUS STROKE OF LUCK, I get this job, well all I can say is: Even if the world beckons, I'm staying put, right here on this sunny little island.

Too Wordy, No Pictures, Too Personal, Can't Be Bothered To Read More Than The First Two Sentences...

...Blah Blah Blah and all the ad naseum comments I've received about my blog.

Yadda yadda, I know my blog is wordy and you usually can't bring yourself to read past the first two paragraphs, or words, whatever. Then go over to some site where the blogger is a narcissist camera whore that has pictures galore to appeal to your visceral gratification.

Seriously, have anyone of you assholes out there ever considered? The reason why I do this is because I set up this blog to write, damnit, not cater to your viscerous instinct!

Yeah, sometimes I do want to give my readers a treat, other times I do think that pictures would actually enhance the attractiveness quotient be of some use to whatever text I'm writing, and so I spend THREE freaking hours posting up pictures after pictures on my blog.

And, then, I ask myself, all these for what?

For your three minutes scanning pleasure? For three minutes of your pleasant perusal?

It's so easy to fall into the trap of counting the number of hits your blog gets a day. Has my blog's ranking on Technorati moved up? Did this entry of mine containing a truckload of my bigass pictures actually attracted more chee ko peks readers than usual? Hmm...maybe I should post up more pictures of myself the next time round.

It's so easy to attract readers to your blog, damnit. The more convenient ones are leaving comments on other more popular bloggers' sites, or posting some comment in some widly popular forum or website.

The second way is by posting on some popular subject matter, like some mass shooting taking place in a school or Britney Spears attempting to go on a party night out sans underwear, so when people google those keywords, -Voila!- it leads to your site! Yay! More readers! If I keep this up, maybe advertisers will come knocking on my door blog.

I've seen SO MANY bloggers do that, but I don't.

How is this little seemingly inconsequential fact actually vital to the point I'm trying to make? From what I've typed above, I think it is fairly obvious I DON'T CARE WHETHER YOU LIKE READING WHATEVER I POST IN MY BLOG. IF YOU DO, THEN FINE. IF YOU DON'T, THEN PLEASE DO YOURSELF A FAVOUR OF NOT VISITING MY BLOG. EVER. AGAIN.

I don't see why I have to cater to your needs and what you like to read, when THIS IS MY BLOG!

At least, I very well know that I have friends out there who like absoutely love what they are reading in my blog.

Ok, let's talk about the criticism, shall we?

The one that has me truly nonplussed to the max is the one that says my blog is too personal. Hello? Excuse me?! How can that be?!

From my POV (fairly subjective, I know) a blog has to have two components:

(1) Personal components. This can mean two things: personal experiences or personal opinions towards a subject matter. I don't want to read some text that has been CUT, COPY AND PASTE from some other website, and vomited regurgitated out on your blog, to pass off as your blog contents. Sorry, that isn't your blog contents, that is some contents you got from some other website just to fill up the column space on your blog.

HELLO. RIDICULOUS CAN. HOW CAN A BLOG BE CONSIDERED A BLOG IF IT IS NOT ABOUT PERSONAL EXPERIENCES OR PERSONAL OPINION PIECES? THIS IS SUPER RIDICULOUS! IF IT IS ABOUT WORDLY ISSUES OR SOME GOSSIP COLUMN, THEN IT IS A BLOG SPECIALLY DEDICATED TO THESE WORDLY ISSUES OR GOSSIPS. MY BLOG IS NEITHER. THANK YOU.

(2) I find it laughable that someone even mentioned to me that my blog is too personal. You know what I think too personal is?

[At this point, if I want to create more hits for my blog, I will paste some links to some wildly popular too personal websites, and when these popular bloggers goggle their name and it leads to my blog, you know what that means, don't you?]

Too personal, in my dictionary is when someone posts up random stuff about themselves NO ONE IS INTERESTED IN READING. AND WHEN I SAY NO ONE IS INTERESTED IN READING, IT MEANS NO ONE IS INTERESTED IN WHAT TIME YOU GOT UP THIS MORNING, WHAT YOU ATE FOR BREAKFAST, WHETHER YOU WALKED YOUR DOG OR NOT, WHAT YOU WORE TO WORK THIS MORNING, ETC ETC.

Exception:

[Unless this is mentioned in a one-liner, especially to paint a picture in the readers' minds (Sometimes, minutiae details add flavour to the overall story) and NOT crucial to the entire blog post, and does not go on and on and on for the whole blog entry!)

If it is a breakup with a boyfriend, then I think the sadist curiosity in everyone will be very interested to know all the gory details. (If you managed to read this blog entry all the way until here, then I think it proves my point. Everyone loves a delicious morsel of gossip or discontentment, don't they?)

Oh god, I don't really want to offend anyone, but in defending myself, I think I might have accidentally on-purpose step on some toes. But, don't worry, if you are my friend, I will be immensely interested in what you did during the day, and what you had for breakfast this morning. (:

So, if you have ever criticised my blog by any of the words you see in the title post, I hereby issue you the license to start feeling guilty. Now.

Online Scam or Legal Money-Making Business?

Home Typist/Data Entry

Earn up to $300 -$500 per week!

The above words screamed out to me from my computer monitor. Now to a jobless person like myself, this is a job offer that is worth salivating over. Which I did.

The lure of 'working in the comfort of my home', having something to do to occupy my time and earn some income while waiting for my dream job to drop into my laps (if ever) was too strong an offer to resist.

So, immediately I replied, expressing my strong interest in taking up the job. Almost immediately, I received a reply, stating that I had to first pay $25 for the training materials before I can start on my job.

Of course, I was skeptical! I may be a dumbass, but not a dumbass with zero common sense (I have maybe like 35% common sense).

But, what convinced me finally was the rational behind having to pay $25 first to begin. It states that no business can afford to provide free training materials to any tom, dick and harry who decides to enquire about this job offer. (If you read on, you will later realize that this is a scam! Well, in a way!) And, so I paid the full amount. Now, that explains the 35% common sense.

And, so, I received the training materials the following day, and was excited to begin on my new job! Home Typist/Data Entry? Bullshit!

What this job actually is is an ad placement job. What it requires me to do is to post up the exact same job posting that I chanced upon on numerous free job placement sites. Which creates a pyramid-like sort of money-making scam legal business.

If you are really curious, they did include some clause fished out from the law book, down to the very numerical digit and clause page no, which means that this is a totally legit money-making business.

I say this for the millionth time, my brain works at the speed of a snail, so any thoughts of scam was brushed out of the window and my mind very quickly adjusted to pleasant thoughts to 'Oh! Such a clever money-making business strategy!'

And, so I quickly post up numerous job postings on numerous free job posting sites. I worked very very hard. Basically, I was lazy and slacked a lot and ended up working maybe four hours over three days. It states that if one were to work part-time, one could earn up to $200-$300 a week, and $400-$500 if one is working full-time. I was neither here or there. At the end of one week, I had posted in over twenty websites and received over twenty replies.

Well, just to give you a rough idea, a normal email reply to an interested applicant goes something like this:

[Heavily Edited; the actual email is actually much longer than this]

This job is great for anyone who wishes to work in the comfort of your own home! There is no calling or selling. And, this is legal way to make money! All you need is a computer, and possess basic skills like typing and know your way round the internet.

The amount of money you earn depends on the number of orders you process. To begin, you must transfer a sum of $25 to XXX, which is the cost of the training materials It states that no business can afford to provide free training materials to anyone who decides to enquire about this job offer.

Then, this morning I received a scathing email to my shock. (Well, to be totally honest, I saw it coming.)

[Original Email; Unedited]

As much as I wanted a job, like the one you posted, I can't afford to pay you no matter how "small" the amount can be. I am looking for an honest extra income and not spend money over something I am not even earning yet. If you based the sincerity of my interest in your job posting through the SGD $25, I am hurt. I hope you understand.

I was furious, so I sent her back a reply email:

As much as I'm not obliged to reply to you, I am. To be honest with you, this is an ad posting legal money-making business. This means like you, I was once the receiving end of such an email that I sent you previously. And, upon sending the money, I receive the set of instructions, in which I post the ad up to make money. There, I have given you the 'secret' of this business even though I'm not supposed to. This means you don't even have to pay me the $25 and you can start making money by posting the ad up. Sounds great? (:

Have a nice day and wish you luck in making money!

p.s/ This is an honest money-making business. As much as I hate to measure the sincerity of your interest through the SGD $25, it's the only way I make money. Just like you. Which also means that you wouldn't want to use this method to make money now, would you? Otherwise you would have just labelled yourself as a dishonest businesswoman, when really, you are 'just looking for an honest extra income'.

cheers.

To be honest, I felt a tinge of guilt after sending this email, but I struggled to retain my own dignity, which was slowly dissolving in the midst of accepting this job and then seeking to regain back the original sum I paid.

Was what I was doing legal? Moral-free? Somehow, accepting this job was like buying something with a GST price tag, and the GST was the guilty conscience that came with it.

I discussed this with a friend of mine. And, she stated clearly that this was not a REAL job, this was merely a vicious cycle, people are not getting paid to do any REAL work, but getting paid for 'cheating' others.

Perhaps, I knew this inside me all along, but I just needed someone to come out and just tell me honestly that this is not the right way to do things. ]

I guess I just wanted to make back the $25 I lost, but now upon retrospective, I would rather forego making back that sum of money and retain my own dignity and conscience.

I wouldn't want a fellow human being to suffer the same fate as me of having to question and perhaps a feeling of getting cheated, since the actual job was nothing close to what was stated.

It's so ironic. By, being honest with that lady who sent me the 'hurt' email, I was trying to retain my diginity. Not, knowing that I had already lost it all.

When I got back home, it was with trepidation that I checked my email. I was half expecting to receive an email from the lady scolding me after my very frank admission. To my amazement, this was what was awaiting me in my inbox.

Thank you for your honesty and the information you just provided. It's not that I doubt the legitimacy of your business. It's just that I was disappointed knowing I had to spend money before earning any. There are many people, just like me, who want to earn extra money, for whatever purposes they may have, only to find out they have to invest first. I hope you get what I meant. Anyway, I still thank you for the information and honesty. As for your method of making money, I think I'll pass. I'm sure I still would find home-based/work from home jobs.

So, as you can see, she appreciates my honesty, but doesn't agree with my 'method of making money'. To be honest, I also don't agree to my method of making money.

With the lady's email and my friend's reply in place, I knew just what I had to do. Up till now, I had received ONE very, very interested applicant J who was willing to fork out the $25 for the job, not knowing that she was like a lamb sent for the slaughter.

I sent J this email:

Dear J,

I regret to inform you that the position for Home Based Typist/Data Entry has been filled.

If you have already transferred the funds, please do not worry as I will return the full sum to you thru funds transfer. Please acknowlegde receipt of this email.

Thank you for your interest and have a nice day! (:

Immediately after sending this email, I received a few more enquiries on this job post. My email changed from as above to this:

Hi, thank you for your interest in Home Typist/Data Entry. I regret to inform you that the position has been filled. Thanks.

Even though I lost $25, my heart is at peace. It was a small price to pay for a valuable lesson. I now officially conclude that my common sense has gone up by one percent. (:

How nice if my dream job is to be a toilet cleaner

As if there is another reason to hate the country that I grew up in, that is, a drought in the availability of my dream career!

I'm thinking how nice if my dream career is to be an accountant or sales engineer. Or even garbage collector. Come to think of it, even toilet cleaners have better opportunities at getting a job than me.

You know I'm desperate enough when...

(i) I went to find out if they were hiring at the company where I did my internship. No, you did not read wrong, it's the place that I swore never to set foot in ever again. But, I quickly reconciliated myself to the fact that I don't have much of a choice!

(ii) I started telling people that I wanna work for free.

Usually, the person's response is a long silence at the end of the phone, before they start thinking that I'm a mad person and should get my brain checked or something. Seriously, money is over-rated in this society can?

Before you idiots start saying about how I don't have to worry about money yadda yadda bullshite, just smack yourself or something. Because I've been getting ZERO allowance and I couldn't care less. My choice of luxury food is KFC, my kind of branded is shirts going for $10 at pasar malam. Actually, come to think of it, I haven't gone shopping for the past few months, or is it, years? And KFC is what I said it was, a luxury, not something I can afford on my whim and fancy.

So, I can't stand motherfuckers out there who think as though there is an ATM machine in my house i.e. My Dad that I can withdraw money from as and when I like. I've been jobless for weeks now, and if money really mattered so much to me, I could have just stuck to my job and come out more than a thousand dollars richer.

Why should I? I will never let myself become a slave to money, like everyone else out there. If I really can't find my dream job, I think I will rather remain jobless.

Blurring the lines between a reporter and a fan

During the course of my duty, I am often like a deer caught in the headlights. While it is my job to ensure that I collect enough information to write an article, I often find myself losing it and turning into this enthusiastic aficionado, chasing my idols around with the fervent attitude of a young teenage devotee fan.

True, I'm young, and I still get lured by the beautiful package of those singers, being churned out in rapid mode in a mercantile assembly-line fashion.

I think it's common knowledge that most of our favourite singers or actors are 'packaged products' that exist for the purpose of commercial success, very much the same like a drink or merchandise goods. The motive behind an artiste is to milk as much ker-ching ker-ching as possible out of a transitory, ephemeral career.

Alas, many of us are often blinded by the superficiality of this industry. Our idols are merely packaged with great efficacy to target a certain group (mostly teenagers). Simply put, they are not what they are made out to be.

But, many of those delusional (or should I say, impressionable) teenage fans get siphoned into the management company's drastic efforts to portray a certain kind of image for the star. What you see is merely a caricature of the company's packaging efforts, not the real personality that lurks behind the face that you've come to be so familiar with.

For example, the idol market may be lacking of a cutie pop princess, so out pops Cyndi Wang.

Back to my topic. Because I'm a both a reporter and a fan at the same time, I get to see the side that no one does. Because I'm a reporter, I get access to otherwise restricted areas. But, because I'm a fan at the same time, I get to see the other side of the celeb that no one else does.

Before I go on, let me just list out the various reasons why other netizens don't get to see this side of famous people.

(i) No media gets to see it.

Note: There are exceptional cases, but those are usually artistes well-known for their short fuse and non-media friendly antics.

::ONE:: Because they are mostly oldies who don't give a damn about the star they are photographing. It's merely a job for them to pay the bills. Yes, there are some youngsters among the sea of reporters too. But, their level of enthusiasm is no match for mine. (Ha!)

::TWO:: They are the media. Most celebs are intelligent enough to know which side of their bread is buttered. In front of the media, most celebs are patient, friendly, humorous and very, very obliging.

Many celebs resort to chicanery in de rigueur fashion for the sake of building up a good reputation and ensuring that more moolah keep flowing in. Hence, they adopt a sense of perfunctory courtesy and ingratiate themselves with the media, taking on a friendly and sweet (for females) or charming (for males) affectation.

In the hodge-podge, heterogenous world of celebritydom, they are really all facsimile replicas of each other in the friendliness department. They feel incumbent to be on their best behaviour at all times in front of the media.

Unless you are talking to Shu Qi (good luck to you), who famously rebutted the Hong Kong media in a recent inerview with angry retorts like, 'I have no idea what you are talking about! I'm not answering your question!' Otherwise, chances are the fawning artiste will answer all your questions with a cogenial smile plastered across their faces, like as though they are contesting to be the next Miss Universe or Star Search champion. It's a different story altogether when the camera lights have dimmed.

(ii) No fan clubs get to see it.

Again, they are the fan club. Most celebs know better than to get on the bad side of their most devoted supporters. And, since the club manager has the ability to recruit members in support of the celeb, they can avail themselves of their status and power to do just the opposite.

(iii) No fans get to see it.

They don't have access to certain places.

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In case, anyone thinks that getting into this line, means getting bedazzled by the glamour of this industry, it's far from it. Yes, you get privileges here and there, especially if you are way high above in the corporate ladder.

For a start, office-goers have to report for duty at the office at 9am everyday. For me? I report for work at the cinema theatre for a preview screening at 9am in the morning. I am always late always try my best to be on time but somehow, something more important that requires my urgent attention never fails to crop up like catching my favourite show on TV. So, you see, not my fault.

Before I even began writing, I was contemplating whether it was only right that I wrote favourably about the movie since I got free tickets. But, very quickly, I made a stand to write honestly. In the end, one reader commented on the movie as 'crap' after I slammed it oh-so-badly in my review. Oops. I guess the pen works wonders in the entertainment biz. But, the movie honestly sucks. So, you see, not my fault.

Having said that, more often than not, your heart grows cold from the realities of this industry. Standing on a vantage point, having been both a reporter and a fan, I've seen the truest colours of some celebs. The feeling I get is often disillusionment. Simply because these celebs are very different from what you (and once upon a time, me) thought they were!

I'm not naming any names here, but let's just say the cutest and most friendliest stars may turn out to be the coldest bitches in the industry.

The celeb who may smile and chat amicably with fans on stage, may also be the very first to snub the very same fans when they get off stage.

A smiling face is always the most unpredictable.

I wonder if all stars who get elevated into a level of prominence, power and fame, start to think they are of a superior fabric to others.

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Ok, I'm just going to cite one experience of a fortuitous encounter with a celeb where I hit her the wrong way. It's a rather long-winded, drawn-out personal account.

This celeb has always had a healthy image portrayed by the media. She appears to be friendly, cheerful and a very, very sweet and nice girl overall. She also happens to be a very famous figure in the entertainment circles.

During her short jaunt in Singapore, she had many promotional activities to carry out. I was present at all her activities. This meant that I had to follow her around relentlessly the entire day. And, while she gets to sit in her limousine or whatever she sits in, and gets chaffeured around, and spent slots in between media and public appearances sitting around letting the make-up artiste apply war paint on her face, I was in my sweaty garb, taking public transport and chasing her all around town.

Because I see her like 24/7, the empirical impression she gave me was less of the friendly and sweet artiste, and more of the proud, haughty and arrogant stuck-up artiste, with an astronomical ego and cavalier attitude the size of ten elephants. And five monkeys. Heck, even my friend who had only seen her for a few hours also came out feeling the exact same way.

There were fleeting moments in between when I caught the hoity-toity pursued lips aka Meryl Steep in The Devil Wears Prada, I-am-better-than-any-of-you-here look. She was hyprocritical and superficial, but did anyone see that? No. All they cared about was her plastic, make-up pretty and uber gorgeous face.

Which, to tell the truth, is really pedestrian under all that make-up. Sad to say there are so few natural beauties around in the entertainment industry. And, yet, they think the sky of their looks.

That's what happens when you give someone too much fame and money. It corrupts their moral well-being, inflates their confidence level to one of superior hubris, and turns them into someone else altogether.

And, worse thing is, we all netizens are the ones that lavish them with immoderate amounts of adulation, thereby placing them on an invisible pedestral way high above us in the human pecking order.

This is also probably why some artiste can afford to have caviar flown in every weekend to apply on their hair. Yes, you read right, Catherine Zeta Jones has $400 worth of caviar flown in from Iran every weekend to wash her hair with.

Rarely can you find an amalgamation of a famous and rich person, complete with a wealthy personality. Such is the dearth of nice and famous people in the industry.

Usually, any protrayal of such are popular fallacies that people entertain sans questioning minds, which shouldn't be the case, but look how hard The Boy Who Said The Earth Was Round had to convince people whom all blindly believed that the earth took on the form of a square.

In short, celebritydom is a veritable minefield for cockiness and arrogance to breed rapidly like rabies.

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Well, during one of said artiste events, I approached her and asked her for her autograph. Her manager or personal assistant rejected my request on her behalf, and said, 'Laterrr, alright? Because she has other events to rush to...'

Note: The management always say 'Later, ok?' as a tactic to brush off persistent flies fans. Even if the artiste is on her way to boarding the next flight to Taiwan, the assistant will still go, 'Later, ok?' Like as though the fans are going to morph into one of the employees who check your boarding pass or welcome you into the plane. Or hop into the same plane together with the artiste(s).

As I don't take 'No' for an answer without trying my doggedly persistent best, I looked for the next opportunity to approach the artiste once again. I always believe you can learn so much from an artiste just by asking him or her for an autograph during a private event, i.e. non-autograph signings events.

So, she attended the next event. And, when she stood up to leave, I rushed forward once again. 'Can I have your autograph, please?' I asked her once again very politely. This time there was no personal assistant or management staff in sight, within a 100-cm radius. Just me and her. She could scribble her signature for me, or she could reject.

Guess what she choose to did?

She looked flustered. There was no one to help her brush me off this time. And, so she said, without looking at me in the eye, 'Er...(looks around)....I still have (stuttering)...I still have another event to rush to' before pointing in another direction. Then, she proceeded to look around, as though willing her personal assistant to hurry up or for one of the staff to give her directions and whisk her off to the next event.

The time that she took to reject my request? She could have signed two or three autographs for me.

I was waiting, and so was she. She had successfully created an emotionally hobbled situation for the both of us. I was waiting for her to sign, and she was waiting for something else to happen so she didn't have to sign. It became pretty obvious that she didn't want to help me sign an autograph. I thought back about her meeting with the media, and how she had quickly acceded to their request to sign on the big promotional board behind her.

She could have been all alone in an empty room with me, and I could have asked her to sign on my T-shirt, and she'd probably look around all flustered before coming up with a moronic excuse like, 'Oh, I am very busy right now, I have to dig my nose.' And, then, she'll stick a finger up her nose, and I will be like 'Ewwww' and she will feel so proud of herself because by now I wouldn't want her signature anymore.

Seriously, she acted as though signing an autograph for me was such a massive, herculean task. But, okay, fine maybe she was being professional and I choose to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Well, I sat back down to my seat in consternation. And, before I knew it, there was a flurry of activity. First, she was whisked out of the room, and next a bunch of people toting huge cameras rushed up in a maniacal frenzy after her.

Not wanting to miss out on any action, of course, I quickly got up from my seat and followed them, not realizing that I wasn't supposed to.

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I don't remember for how long we trailed behind her, before we finally reached another room. I stopped hurriedly in my tracks, as the artiste I was following stopped abruptedly, and was just standing inches before me. The next thing I knew, a very angry-looking manager was shouting at the top of her voice to a staff.

'WHO ARE ALL THESE PEOPLE FOLLOWING US? ARE THEY FROM THE MEDIA OR ARE THEY FANS? IF THEY ARE FANS, WHY ARE THEY FOLLOWING US AROUND?!! CAN YOU PLEASE ASK THEM TO STOP, BECAUSE IT IS VERY DISTRACTING FOR ALL OF US!

WE ARE TRYING TO WORK AROUND HERE!'

The staff took all of this in quietly, and then he approached the whole bunch of us. Instinctively, I reached for my media pass and held it before me. One by one, the others left (apparently, they were all fans!), until there was only me and my friend left standing there.

And, then, it suddenly dawned on me! The whole bunch of people that had got up and left were all members of her fan club! The media don't give a damn about following the stars around. Had I crossed my line as a reporter then? Was I being unprofessional?

At first, that was what I felt. A sting of compunction hit me, and that feeling debilitated me to a nervous little twit who was caught red-handed by mum for stealing cookies from the cookies jar. My intestines wound up into a nervous bound, and for a while, my eyes darted to the nearest exit and I contemplated scurrying out.

With only me and my friend left standing there, the manager then turned her blinding attention towards us.

'Who are these people? Are they from the media or are they fans?'

As part of my response, I held up my media pass. By this time, I was too stunned to say a word.

'If you are from the media, can you please get back to where you belong?!" The manager barked at me,

'We are trying to work around here!'

Lacking the authority to argue, I quickly acquiesced to her request. But, not before mentally giving the manager a big fat ZERO for her EQ-ness, or lack thereof.

I had to pass through said artiste on route to getting to my seat. And, everything happened so quickly, that I didn't have time to react. As I whisked past the artiste, she remarked loudly,

'She's not even from the media!'

Ok, alright, I lied. She was actually speaking in soft whispers that so gently caressed the air and floated over to my eardrums through airborne waves. But, with the surroundings as silent as a tombstone, she might as well have been screaming at the top of her lungs, and holding pots and pans and clanking them against each other clamorously, all the while yelling with carte blanche, 'SHE'S NOT EVEN FROM THE MEDIA! SHE'S NOT EVEN FROM THE MEDIA!'

Let's just for a second ignore the tone in which she used to say that offending statement. Yes, it's only one sentence, but it's a gratuitous remark nonetheless, and it incurred my ire. You can assimilate a truckload of collateral meanings from that alone. Let's dissect what she means from the brevity of that one inflammatory remark alone.

::ONE:: She was trying to chase me out.

::TWO:: She knew I was a fan. Is that the way to treat your fan? Clearly, to her, she didn't see any commercial benefit by just that very one fan. She didn't see the need to treat me nicely and politely, because she didn't see any return benefits for her, in terms of dollars and cents. So, a puny existence like me doesn't matter. It's been said that if you want to judge, judge people by how they treat those who can do them absolutely no good. I don't even wish to add on the fact, that I've been following her around the entire day, and the way she saw it fit to return the favour was by attempting to chase me out of an event?

Oh, she remembers me. Judging by how I've approached her twice during her events for her autograph, she quickly assumed that I wasn't part of the media. Simply because members of the press wouldn't give a damn about approaching the artiste for an autograph, unless you are talking a one-to-one interview.

All they care about are getting a few snapshots of the artistes during media events, during which the artistes are mostly on their best behaviour, and the next day in the entertainment pages you get superficial shite like, 'XXX was so obliging and answered all the media queries with a sweet, saccharine smile.' And, readers take in all that shite unquestioningly.

It's always occured to me how local media reports are so surprisingly devoid of any dirt, everything seems oh-so-perfect about the artistes being reported.

Sometimes, of course, you can't afford to be honest when writing an editorial piece. But, other times, it is the fans who refuse to believe that the person they idolise is really just a piece of good-looking trash. So, whatever good that is reported gets devoured devilishly by the fans. What about whatever bad that gets reported?

The fans pen a long letter to the media in question, lambasting the media's bias-ness towards so-and-so artiste, and then what do they do?! They threaten to boycott the magazine or publication!

Seriously, if I was the top management of the publication, would I rather my reporters report truthfully about the artiste and risk suffering a loss, and multiple rejected copies sent back to my department unit, or would I rather paint a colourful picture of the artiste, and the fans will still mechanically, without reason or visceral instinct, swallow everything whole?

Case in reference: Cyndi Wang, who did her promotions for her first few albums in Singapore. The media had several reports on her diva attitude and called her unfriendly, impolite, and nothing like the cute and friendly girl as protrayed in her album image.

Angry fans lashed out at the harbingers, and encouraged readers to boycott the magazine.

Just. Because. They. Didn't. Carry. Favourable. Reports. On. Their. Favourite. Idol(s).

Guess which side I choose to slant to in my postmortem report? Well, for that answer, read on..

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When I told my friend who was a fan of said artiste regarding this matter, her response was, 'Why did you tell me about this?! You've just tainted my perfect image of her!"

You see what I mean? Often, fans only hear what they want to hear about their favourite idols. They take everything negative about that artiste with a pinch of salt, and magnify everything positive about the artiste.

Every sacrilegious picture you taint of their idols is always about you being a jealous asshole who can't stand witnessing a fellow human being made good, and always never ever about you being professional in your work ethics and honest enough to tell the truth. Until it comes to a point where dishing the dirt about artistes is sacrosanct, a shaky ground to trespass upon.

Of course, there is another angle to this. In which, dirt dished out on artistes get devoured maniacally by the public, as people all enjoy reading controversies, but there are multifarious angles to any one issue, so that's another story altogether.

But back to the story. The manager's reply to that, was 'Oh, but she's holding the media pass.' Hah! Take that, you bitch.

My impression of her swan-dived overnight. I turned from one of her biggest aficionados to someone who despised and condemened her greatly. I began feeling a great deal of antipathy towards her. Of course, as I've been supporting her for SO MANY YEARS, I can't just kick off that habit of liking her, but, I'm trying.

Oh, did I also mention that she held a fans gathering during her stay in Singapore? During the fans gathering, she was such a loveable creature, that I would have loved her to bits! If I hadn't known better, that is. She was polite, friendly, obliging (took photos with her fans), sweet. In short, she was everything you ever wanted in an artiste. In short, she was everything the media reported her to be.

I was part of that media.