i was just reading filmart under dim lights, trying to get into the mood of nighttime. night always sets a certain type of surreal sensuality to me. especially cold chilly nights. almost reminds me of new york streets like those i see in “Cold Case”. those blue hues. well of course, i don’t see blues everywhere at night in singapore. singapore’s pretty bright at night. and sometimes on these nights, you know…… i’ll just begin to trail from the rhythm of shits around me and begin to wonder what other people on the other side of the world are doing. what would people of my age be doing now? and then they’ll be this sudden maelstrom of emotions. like sex + guilt + frustration + idleness. i feel guilt for those sweet children from third world countries suffering, starving, living day by day (which sucks totally, trust me). i feel pleasure knowing that i’m doing better than other people across the universe. i feel that little hint of jealousy and frustration knowing that people of the same age have actually accomplished greater things that I could actually accomplished in my entire life. like skinny people the likes of coco rocha and mary kate.

 a teacher once said “if life is unfair, you are saying god is unfair” i mentally laughed at what she said and instantly shrugged it off. that phrase seems redundant because sometimes i really couldn’t care less about life being fair or not for  and to me. do we have to judge life? like we judge people? li was saying how we cannot stop ourselves from judging. and it’s true. judging is like breathing air; sometimes it is done subconsciously, unconsciously. at others, we just do it on purpose because really, it’s automatic. so really, wouldn’t it be great if we know that somewhere out there, someone is like us (gee, this is as cheesy as HEROES) and that someone is sharing the same exact sentiment as i am now. and my queerness and their queerness will instantly converge into a mesh of random intellect conversations, forming that exclusive relationship we didn’t even realise had existed? it’s funny somehow. i think life is funny. life is eccentric. and we are all eccentric in one way or another. my little brother once lay down on the bathroom floor with water cascading down from the shower onto his face. he sniggered something along the lines of “i wanted to sleep” maybe, if he fell asleep beneath the rush of cold water, it’ll take away all his insecurities, raging hormones, pains and anger. i remember when i was in primary school, i thought i could be cool by saying that i talk to myself when im alone. but instead i got glares and snide sniggers as response. but don’t we all have intrapersonal conversation with ourself? in our hearts, in our minds, on the phone when we are so freaking bored of walking home alone and decide to talk to ourself on our cells? life is funny. and we are all funny. we all have that little bit of charlie chaplin and andy warhol in ourselves. sometimes i feel that we all want to be someone else. we want to escape and just be a radicalist in our own lives.i watch hollywood movies and imagine to be in their positions. perfectperfectperfect life. but then the cinema lights will bring it’s magic and bring me back to “hello reality”. we all do that, im sure. we all have hopes that one day we’ll be someone completely different. it’s funny how we try so hard to not be ourselves sometimes. a really good friend said this to me a couple of nights ago “what we do in escapism, we do exceedingly well” and don’t we all do very well in escaping?  

and we want to be someone else so much, it’s so demeaningly superficial. we all want to be superficial,to be fake and plastic. like hollywood. don’t you? i do, andy warhol had great appreciation for hollywood glamour ““I love Los Angeles. I love Hollywood. They’re so beautiful. Everything’s plastic, but I love plastic. I want to be plastic.” I hate Andy Warhol. I don’t know why. I just hate him. But, at the same time, I cant help falling in love with his art, with his films and of course, his superficiality. Can we truly love and hate something or someone at the same moment? Maybe I hate what he became or what he became of other people. AH! escapism and superficiality and wishful thinkings and underlying hopes. what a night.