Celebration

Yep. I'm talking about Madonna, that ageless mutton. I should be very lucky if I had her level of stamina when I hit 50!

My first encounter with Madonna was when I was still a young, impressionable teenager of 13. A friend bought a cassette and I happened to see the cover. It was a heavily made-up woman wearing very skimpy negligee. I thought nothing of it and played the cassette.

I didn't like the first track, and fast-forwarded it to the next track. When the next song began, I slowly savoured the lyrics, the slow-paced music, the guitar works. It was refreshing, it was new, and not to mention sensuous. Top it off with 'Bedtime Story' and finish it off with 'Take a Bow' - I was captivated. Totally captivated. I ended up borrowing and playing the tape for a week.

Much later, I found out that this singer, whose voice charmed me, was once a seemingly wayward artiste whose fore never seemed to extend beyond overt sexuality and total debauchery.

However, in retrospect, I realised how smart this woman was, and how she dared to push the envelope for performance art in an era where artists were mostly cowed by their contracts. Not saying that there were none, but as far as I am concerned, Madonna was a prime example of artists pushing and breaking boundaries. Not only in songs but also in video-making. She elevated it to an art form. See below.

Madonna dared, in an era where sex and the like was hidden behind doors, to showcase sex as an integral part of her art, and not to feel ashamed of it. Which is why I think her music is as fresh it is now as it was back then. You might not agree but there's the comment button free for you to abuse. Meanwhile, I'll just kick back and listen to the double CD CELEBRATION.

Life in Narration

I always felt a need to write since I was very young. Maybe because I did not talk a lot back then. I was an introvert (still am) and always had my attention somewhere else.

My very first output was a poem, of all things. The memory was sketchy at best, but all I could remember was how very surprised I was at that piece of work. Surprised, because I was a very bad English student. I loathed the subject, or more precisely, the teacher.

Back to the poem. It had something to do with a swan gliding across a tranquil lake before stopping under a bough beside the lake. It could have been around three stanzas at most, and I remember thinking to myself, 'What in the world had just happened?'

A few days ago I saw a newspaper article lamenting the existence of Twitter and SMS and how they could spell the end of novels, short stories and the art of narrative. Life nowadays wants everything to be short but leaves a great impact. Ours is a generation that relies on speed, no matter how it comes about.

Storytellers and poets used to hold important social standings in the society across the history. When newspapers came about, they were replaced by reporters who more or less had that kind of gift, the gift of narration, albeit a bit terse and impersonal. (Objectivity sans emotions, or something like that.) Now, the writer continued, with the advent of Twitter and SMS, it destorys the urge to narrate the reality around us and replace it with several near-unintelligible words and symbols as such:

W8 4 me @ d stre! C wat I mean?

I really miss the days when the postman came and shove the postbox full of letters. Penpals were the object of envy back then. Someone you barely knew actually took the time to sit down, get pen and paper, and start writing about what he did that day to how the dog bit off his shoe.

My father once bought a typewriter - an Olivetti machine - but he rarely used it. Every time I sat in front of it, I imagined myself a writer and began typing away, taking pains to get the spelling and grammar right. Not because I wanted to practise my English, but more out of necessity - when you spelled the words wrong, there was no UNDO button. That also meant you'd waste the ribbon and paper.

Stories came out of the typewriter like nothing I have read before. Whenever I pulled the paper off the typewriter and read what I'd laboured upon, I questioned myself inwardly - Did you really write this? - then went off to play.

To be continued...

Oh My --- Gawd.

It's official - I'm on the path of becoming a teacher.

Run and hide, parents.

I just hope that nothing else would come in my way - myself included. I really, really want this. Not only because it is a noble profession, you also get to travel around, meet and live with people you don't know and become friends.

We went through the unavoidable orientation (1 week) and met lots of colourful characters. And soon enough, cliques and friendship began to bud and blossom. (Not to mention distaste, but that's an entirely different story.)

And there is also the fact that I want to lose weight. Yes people, this weight-challenged airhead is trying to lose weight so I would look good in a Red Crescent/Red Cross uniform. No, really.

Also I swear to try anything that I have never done anything before. Like becoming a Red Cross. My reason was I wanted to smooch people. And also, I became the head for my sports house cheer leading squad. Do cheerleaders dance to Vivaldi?

They warned us that everything will be super fast, because this was supposed to be a 2-year (at minimum) compressed to a year. And it's not actually one year as in 12 months, because most of the time will be spent out of class. Yep. I will actually missing classes for valid reasons.

And by the way, I am doing three of my favourite subjects: Maths, Music and English. Yes, yes!

New year, new outlook, same ole me. Just maybe better and younger.