I was a balloon. I still am.
A balloon that has been stomped upon by the weight of what is gone: examinations. The exams are over, and the only academic relic that remains is that of a brown stain, a coffee stain on my no-longer-snow-white Darth Vader mug.
Mind you though, I’m no fan of Star Wars, upon which comment, you shriek at me, baffled. You splutter mysterious words, painting an unsavoury coat of saliva on my apathetic face, all the while pointing a sweaty finger at my not-so-white Darth Vader mug. You don’t understand. What’s more, you’re sweaty, and the Asian in me disapproves.
I too do not know why my uncle, God rest his soul, bought the Darth Vader mug either. So please, keep your cool while I restore the drool-less matte of my visage:
Anyway, where was I?
Yes, that’s right. Much to your surprise, I survived university and its penchant to sit and stomp on apprentice balloons like me. I, who once floated high on the lightness and absurdity of my ideas and dreams, am whipped to the ground once more, and have since flopped about as a bored, rubbery bit.
The squeak of defeat that has compelled the likes of the Marquis de Sade and the equally corrupt Leopold von Sacher-Masoch to thrust their inky, depraved thoughts onto paper has likewise compelled me to undertake a similar pursuit. Namely, I shall take it upon myself to taint the WordPress blogosphere with my penniless thoughts. I’ll do so in a manner befitting of an “independently-minded and socially-responsible young woman of integrity” (my ex-school mantra).
Needless to say, I will disappoint.
You see, my mind is at its strongest and most independent only when it wishes to avoid being productive. My – ahem – “keen social conscience and desire to enrich and lead society”, by-products that are supposedly doled out to all the ladies of my former high school, have alas been gulped whole by my own non-alcoholism and by the caustic beams of Friday night disco balls.
By now I’ve a feeling I’ve lost a significant portion of my readership. My guilt in inflicting you with ‘Tales of My Life’ has consequently plummeted.
‘Tales of Vicki’s Life’ will now commence….
So a lot has happened this December. I had my Hindustan-themed 20th birthday on the divinely apocalyptic 12/12/12, whose jackpot-like and providential nature deserves celebration, don’t you think? I certainly thought so.
I am tastelessly superstitious, and to be blessed by the Bible-approved number #12 pleases me to no end. I’ve been vocally very smug about this and as a result, the eardrums of my friends have had to suffer. Sorry, but I cannot apologise for being accidentally awesome.
Then I had my shared second birthday party on the 15/12/12. To satisfy the Teen Spirit dress code, my sartorial expression – which starred bright pops of colours, a chequered playsuit-cum-bustier, and a pair of black marabou-trim gloves – travelled back in time to Amy Heckerling’s ‘Clueless’ era.
And speaking of time travel, guess where I sailed to last night? I was at the ‘Dr Who Symphonic Spectacular’ at the Sydney Opera House where we were delighted by scores of magical Dr Who music, wandering alien monsters, and live quips made by the TV show’s very own Alex Kingston aka Professor River Song aka the Doctor’s wife. Mark Williams who plays the father of Amy Pond was there too! I’ll soon be sporting the TARDIS beanie that I bought last night, right by my new snowmen in France this winter. That’s a promise!
Moving on… I’ve since discovered a love for old Shanghai-themed dens, 90s karaoke, and Jet Li in ‘The Defender’ – which is essentially a fantastic imitation of ‘The Bodyguard’. I say ‘fantastic’ without the slightest dot of crimson on my face, because Jet Li as a repressed Chinese bodyguard is frankly… delicious.
I think I finally understand my Keats now, and for that I shall reward myself with a favourite draught of karaoke greatness in its most concentrated form: ‘Toxic’ by Britney Spears.