"I don't know who you are. Please believe. There is no way I can convince you that this is not one of their tricks. But I don't care. I am me, and I don't know who you are, but I love you.

I have a pencil. A little one they did not find. I am a woman. I hid it inside me. Perhaps I won't be able to write again, so this is a long letter about my life. It is the only autobiography I have ever written and oh God I'm writing it on toilet paper.

I was born in Nottingham in 1957, and it rained a lot. I passed my eleven plus and went to girl's Grammar. I wanted to be an actress.

I met my first girlfriend at school. Her name was Sara. She was fourteen and I was fifteen but we were both in Miss. Watson's class. Her wrists. Her wrists were beautiful. I sat in biology class, staring at the picket rabbit foetus in its jar, listening while Mr. Hird said it was an adolescent phase that people outgrew. Sara did. I didn't.

In 1976 I stopped pretending and took a girl called Christine home to meet my parents. A week later I enrolled at drama college. My mother said I broke her heart.

But it was my integrity that was important. Is that so selfish? It sells for so little, but it's all we have left in this place. It is the very last inch of us. But within that inch we are free.

London. I was happy in London. In 1981 I played Dandini in Cinderella. My first rep work. The world was strange and rustling and busy, with invisible crowds behind the hot lights and all that breathless glamour. It was exciting and it was lonely. At nights I'd go to the Crew-Ins or one of the other clubs. But I was stand-offish and didn't mix easily. I saw a lot of the scene, but I never felt comfortable there. So many of them just wanted to be gay. It was their life, their ambition.

And I wanted more than that.

Work improved. I got small film roles, then bigger ones. In 1986 I starred in "The Salt Flats." It pulled in the awards but not the crowds. I met Ruth while working on that. We loved each other. We lived together and on Valentine's Day she sent me roses and oh God, we had so much. Those were the best three years of my life.

In 1988 there was the war, and after that there were no more roses. Not for anybody.
In 1992 they started rounding up the gays. They took Ruth while she was out looking for food. Why are they so frightened of us? They burned her with cigarette ends and made her give them my name. She signed a statement saying I'd seduced her. I didn't blame her. God, I loved her. I didn't blame her.

But she did. She killed herself in her cell. She couldn't live with betraying me, with giving up that last inch. Oh Ruth. . . .

They came for me. They told me that all of my films would be burned. They shaved off my hair and held my head down a toilet bowl and told jokes about lesbians. They brought me here and gave me drugs. I can't feel my tongue anymore. I can't speak.

The other gay women here, Rita, died two weeks ago. I imagine I'll die quite soon. It's strange that my life should end in such a terrible place, but for three years I had roses and I apologized to nobody.

I shall die here. Every last inch of me shall perish. Except one.
An inch. It's small and it's fragile and it's the only thing in the world worth having. We must never lose it, or sell it, or give it away. We must never let them take it from us.

I don't know who you are. Or whether you're a man or a woman. I may never see you or cry with you or get drunk with you. But I love you. I hope that you escape this place. I hope that the world turns and that things get better, and that one day people have roses again. I wish I could kiss you.

Valerie

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~"

- from V for Vendetta
Written by Alan Moore.
Art by David Lloyd.

courtesy Shadowgalaxy.net

4.35 am. I am sleepless. I question myself. Surely, given the fact that willpower alone being a substantial amount of effort to be put into play by will alone, failed to hide the intensity of what I have beget myself...ourselves to put words into play once again.

I cannot fathom the reality of what has transpired.

The surreal imagery of the past few days, those chain of events, almost instantaneous, but had all along threatened to erupt, even before the first day we took that first step towards what I had believed to be our last.

Perhaps, you'd been right, I truly had no solution to what you had hoped we could marginally have become. Perhaps, I possesed no sound mind to even answer my own crediblity. Perhaps, we had been moving along different episodes in our respective lives. But, was it a moment of weakness we felt that instant? Or was it self-denial in the long run? I myself gather no moss, as I try to make sense of the whole debacle.

I miss you already.

It is not enough. How can that possibly suffice? Subconsciously, I have been struggling to come to terms with the fact that all along, I had failed to provide you with the essence of which 2 individuals shared. How can I possibly face you?

But again, haven't we all heard that before.

Sometimes, things turned out they way they do for a reason. Its compelling enough to say that we could have been this and that, but maybe we just didn't know how to carry it out. I know you are tired of hearing it again and again, and you imagine yourself, if you are to hear all this for the rest of your life. I am tired of saying it again and again. Because I know, it piles on top of misery.

I tried running away. And at those points, all I knew was to run. But I stopped in my tracks when I know I risked losing you. I suppose I had already gone that distance when I can no longer turn heels and retrace my steps where I had faltered. But as far as we are both concerned, the damage was already done.

I hate myself. I hate myself for not being that one who could cushion your falls, the hand that can pick you up thereafter, and ultimately for not being able to tell you that I am more than who you could have ever begun to percieve me for.

But where's the point in that when all you could see in me is distraught and emptiness? We have both been blinded and plagued by our own demons, our own conceit, and our disappointments. I had believed I had done what I could, and I had believed I did what was deemed the right things to do.

I couldn't enirely agree with what you portrayed me as. It would have seem, as if, I had lived my entire life that way all along. Was that really me? Am I like truly that? Why is it always me? How could I convince you otherwise? I needed to withold my own worth. And eventually, slowly and painfully, I had begun to lose faith as well. How strong could I have been? I am only human.

I ask myself, was it because we are who we are that had lead us to where we are today? I didn't want to lose you, but, I can't afford to lose myself either. I had wanted to hear from you that we had something else to believe in, that you could have believed in me more. I didn't want to sound too abstract, but I suppose I could never have brought my traits across, being the person that I am. I had no sense as to how to bring my answers across to you.

I love you. And still do. You have brought upon me the longest train of emotions I had ever experienced in my life. You changed my life. The very course of it. And for that, in return, I had wanted only the best for you. And still do. You deserved no less. Not all this. And never should have been to begin with. We are no saints. I still firmly believe no 2 persons are never able to come to a compromise other than acceptance and betrayal. I believe in fate. I believe that there is always a light at the end of the tunnel at the end of the day. I believe although we can't predict the future, one can still shape how he wants his future to be like. I believe in that you can love some one so much as if she was the only reason that keeps you alive.

But one can only believe so much, when he is alone in believing.

You didn't lose me. I just failed to find you.

"Remember, Remember the Fifth of November
The Gunpowder Treason and Plot
I know of no reason why the Gunpowder Treason
Should ever be forgot" - Guy Fawkes, V for Vendetta

I is now officially a "V" junkie.
Please watch it. It is fucking nice. Thank you.


A very vivaciously venomous valkyrie.

每一件不得不放手的思念, 總算帶來過快樂.
每一段不得不完結的關係, 只是一種選擇.
倒不如這樣, 我們回到擁抱的現場, 証明感情總是善良, 殘忍的是人會成長.
在一起與彼此摸索兩個人同時佔有的快樂, 反而從厭倦裡面偷取恨愛.

儘管不懂完全明白是因如此而放縱, 但是祗得這刻可相信未來又怕會終於都撲空.

你叫我最快樂.
你也叫我最心痛.

在迷惘中, 你叫我最渴望, 卻也叫我猜不中.

誰可以這樣折衷曾與你愛過卻匆匆.

過去己有太多類同. 誰在心中怎能猜得準.

彷彿能跌進這刻感情光中, 一切已經共同. 也因如此, 才能有解脫.

Tonight, I experienced a brief rush of euphoria.

Nothing of the naughty sort, but simply just being in the cockpit of one of man's modern creations, and cruising along Bukit Timah road at 70 km/h. Windows wound, a dewy late night breeze brushing gently against your face, and with Sigur Ros playing in the stereo, is enough reason to feel more alive than ever.

On that note, I've decided to come up with a list of awesome stretches of tarmac for all you melancholic junkies out there who might wanna share that moment of intimacy with yourself (please hold those sick thoughts again.) :-

1. Upper Bukit Timah Road
As recommended and expercienced by yours truly. I have no clue why but somehow I feel sort of attached to that stretch of road. It casts a tranquil sort of charm on me everytime I drive there. And of course, notwithstanding being able to hold the mortgage there might occassionally threaten to put me off.

2. Changi Coast Road
A favorite amongst amorous couples who are in search of brief pockets of privacy. The limited gantry-ways to the runaway which runs parallel to this road boosts a spacious lot for parking, plus it comes with a magnificent view of our beloved airport, with deadly gaseous fumes and aero-asphalt added for measure. A hot spot on weekends. (NOT only for young lovebirds mind you.)

3. Orchard Road
Don't be mistaken, Orchard Road may seem bustling with life in the day, but take a slow cruise along here at night may open yours eyes to a mellower side of Singapore's greatest sin. Do watch out for the young delinquents who dwelleth within.

4. Mandai Road
Wind down your windows and take whiff of nature's air-conditioning along here at 2am in the morning. Try stretching your arm out as you carreen along this uber long belt of serenity. Totally theurapatic. Do be careful with that stretching-hand-out thingy, you might just lay your palm on some cycling foreign-worker's genitals.

5. East Coast Parkway
The reason why I find that our nightsky is one of the truly awesome things to beget this tiny island. As you trudge up Benjamin Sheares bridge, take a moment to gasp in awe at the grandeur of the Singapore River and its tapestry of skyscrapers. Sigh.

There you have it, my top 5 list of recommended routes for leisure cruising. Hey, don't blame me if it isn't substantial enough, it doesn't help that I've been staying in the West all the while.

Come to think of it, this post is entirely pointless. Petrol costs an arm and a leg here. So stay home. Play GT4.

These days there's hardly anything to lament/bitch/whore about. Every single detail sort of slips away the minute you recall it. Lest the remarks/comments everyone of us indulges in just for that moment.

I was going through some random character map thingy I did recently, and I realised, from the results shown, that I have portrayed a myriad of attributes to so many. In that instant, what I gathered was, either no one (even in the faintest sense) knows me, or *gasp* I don't know what I have made myself known to others. In a sense, I can't even tell for myself (from others) who I truly am. It is a disturbing thought.

For the longest time, I have come to terms to being that character I put on to showcase to the world. Some call me simple and relaxed, some say I'm quiet and complex, a couple feel I make a good listening ear, while others find me uncouth, aloof and vulgar. It truly astounds me, that even though these traits are totally random or even done haphazardly, that the difference between them are that extreme.

On a hind side, this is just another silly way of getting your friends to rate (judge?) you. In fact, I shouldn't be too affected by this. Its just that, when the situation is being raised, the waylaid dictations by your fellow peers are so much more perchant than you actually finding out for yourself. It saddens me to a point, when I can't even meekly muster a few constants. (Notwithstanding all the weaker points lah)

At least, in a broader sense, I can still recognise my own reflection. Ha.

Whatever is it that you seek when you wake up each day?

What is it you want fulfilled everyday you trudge yourself halfway across the country to plant your ass on a chair for 8 hours?

What do you see when you stare out the window of a train as it transcends across a concrete landscape marred by desecration and despair?

What do you figure goes through their minds when you look into their cloudy gaze?

They laugh. When they're euphoric. But when you cry, why so? It astounds, for the reasons when you do so. For it could be for a million reasons, or for only one. Sometimes, one is enough.

But, do you know when to stop?