Thursday, June 19, 2008

Teenage Crisis

Guess what? I wake up today and realised that I'm a teenager. And no, it isn't my 13th birthday. I wonder if I'm too fat or if the shoes are to casual or too mature. I hate school (yeah, I'm a really late one, there was always optimism in my previous years) and I hate back-stabbers and I absolutely hate Abdominable Snowball. Call her A-S for now. Didn't notice it when I first named her that but ah well... the name so fits her.
Attention: I'm getting a new blog to fit me, this one is not ME anymore. I'm finally ultra-scared that I'm immature. More updates in the next week!

Sunday, June 15, 2008

I feel terrible lately. The homework pile has not diminished in size and my mind just can't begin writing. Its like a dead sea now, consuming every book I toss at it yet never producing anything. Its sort of hopeless the way it is now, not being able to finish my homework and it being the last week of the holidays. A little secret between me and a never-there-special-someone would be nice if only that irritating person shows up once in a while.
Its like a little migraine which keeps forming and taking control of my thoughts. It would be nice if I lived in a fantasy world where they gave you your lover's name and the time and place which you would meet. Save a lot of unnecessary trouble finding a not true love. A little something to cling onto when you're feeling lonely and contained by people who make life miserable.
That's all the melodrama I can write for now. Back to the drawing board for scheduling a new life.

Thursday, May 29, 2008

A page, a pen. Am I too worthless to use them?
Then why does my hand tremble when I pick up a quill,
A tool which so many use without pain or loss or grief.
Milton, Shakespeare, what was in them?
That flow of thought which even death could not stem.
Now... how can I write with the same tools of the trade,
With bloodied hands which cannot write a passable essay?
Nothing to say from my swollen lips but spill a sad laugh.
I wish to write the words, the mind, the soul.
I can't write except this filth.
The ink won't flow. The paper burns.
Someone is calling now. Why should I answer?

Sunday, May 11, 2008

Hello again. I suppose I went for an ultra long break. Been quite busy lately since its a new environment and the examinations are now over! (till next term...) Now I have to finish up some projects and try to fit my self learning french studies into my routine which now has knitting and slacking in it. Talk about bad influence.
Things are picking up quite well. I have finally decided on a plot and now I need to put it on paper. I really miss the Roald Dahl side of me, perhaps its time to read the BFG or Mathilda again. Once the holidays start again in June I'm going to meet up with my old pals. My pen-pal is coming to visit her relatives and hopefully me. She's an American educated Chinese with a grasp of Cantonese better than me. She crochets and her mother knits. My knitting started when they came two years ago I think but I left the needles in the cupboard until this year.
Could someone help me with the French nasal sounds? I really need help the book doesn't really make sense. Do you pronounce the "n" or not? Like in oncle and encore. I'll figure it out soon I suppose. Only got this book four days ago or so. Wish me luck!

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

Poem Crazy

They call this feeling down in the dumps,
People who have it slink off to the slums.
Yet something else lurks far beneath it,
Something which its owners fear to sheath.
Rage boils over and over again,
Leaving me to always feel the same.
I feel horrible, ugly and detested,
People who scorn come out in masses.
Each step I take upon life's track,
They easily surpass with no excuse to slack.
I feel useless at everything, good for nothing,
Nothing keeps track to time except clock's clicking.
Curling up in a corner of the cold room,
Staying, rocking in silent gloom.
There is love, hope and joy,
But from sights like these I chose to recoil.
They were the same desires which led,
Me to seas of lust and waves of dread.
Longing so much for pleasure's light kiss,
How all humans chose to escape all this!
I end it all with a staff to call my own,
I chose to reside within silver domes.
Where spears, knifes, back-stabbing hands,
Are all prohibited from my lands.
I will find consolation with those like me,
Whose souls others simply refuse to see.
We do our best each day and night,
Yet sometimes our efforts remain hidden from sight.
I'll just stay hidden from sight,
From dark cold, fires aglow.

Sunday, March 2, 2008

Just wanted to drop a line to explain my absence.

1) Projects

2) Trying to write time consuming things

3) Books, I have some, no, 4 unfinished titles excluding poetry

See you all in quite a while!

Sunday, February 10, 2008

Fragile Earth

Poem I wrote for a friend. Give me a topic, I give you a poem.


A man used to toil in the clean fields,
Using whatever he grew for his meals.
Perhaps this never completed cycle,
Would never have begun without denial.

Denial that we should never stop the search,
Never to stay while mysteries still lurk.
Better, faster, a life made easier,
Our forefathers wanted work to be levered.

While these dangerous advancements came,
The Earth itself was never lame.
It bounded back fast and strong,
Destruction unforeseen in the quiet song.

Moving plates of the Earth’s crust,
Causing fault lines as they must.
Earthquakes, volcanoes, hurricanes,
Men soon wanted to over reign.

Geology tore the Earth apart,
While men thought that it was a delicate start.
The Earth waded too far into revenge,
The bitter boiled to long to amend.

Now fate has rounded the wavy bend,
Soon lives will be lost like salt in sand.
Which one is against the other now?
Nature against human in sworn vow?

Loses seen from both sides,
Have we broken law we must abide?
Nature while destructing us,
Has lost its own in dangerous lust.

Who started this tirade?
That from each we start to raid.
Nature first gave us Life and abode,
But we found it lacking in bounty load.

We tapped and sapped from its source,
Till all is almost thought to be lost.
But was it Nature who started the hate?
By giving too little till too late?

Still, once done can not be undone,
As sure as the setting of the sun.
Fragile and weak we are now the enemy,
However we wish not, you and me.

Zephyr Tan a.k.a Annabel Tan

Daughter of the Past, Mother of the Future

The missing link is now us youngsters. We are the daughters of the past (or sons) and want but can't really the mothers (or fathers) of the future yet. Still chunks of textbooks to learn and apply. Bother the subjects we aren't going to use. If you know where you're headed, that's enough of a plea to me. Unless your government has rules governing that you won't get to a Junior College that way.
Now I have to live in a crisis because I can't take in most information I am getting from certain subjects, soon I think I'm going to really live in heaven and hell within 24 hours. With the nagging sermon I received today. The passion of Jesus Christ. I know Easter is a long way but seriously, if the sermon on Easter Sunday was as emotional, you are going to get crying and fainting people. That pastor really puts soul into his sermons.
Then on Saturday I read a 2000 July issue of the National Geographic Magazine at a cafe and the references to the bible and the Earth's moving crust and our utter vulnerable selves is amazing.
Better go, I have to finish research on dams. Tell you more a century from now.

Tuesday, February 5, 2008

Chinese new year's round the corner and soon I'll have some money to deposit into the bank. Talking about deposits and banks, i need to write a report on the Singapore River. Deposits more sediments at the outer bank or named... should be concave bank.
The festive mood is intoxicating and I just want to snack on goodies all day and forget all about homework, which includes a chinese essay, research on dams and that report. Groan...If only I wasn't so fat. I need to watch what goes in even though I care more for the taste. Pineapple tarts and sweets to behold at every house. Not to mention fizzy drinks if I cared for a glass. People practically force you to drink it. Though it is really fun.
Laugh out loud. Let me talk about art now. The knitting I am trying now is really difficult. Writing is easier.

Monday, February 4, 2008

Just a little poem I wrote, hope all of you like it. Been to busy lately, I might blog when this whole mess is over.


Spring’s Calling

Awaken Dryads, Awaken Nymphs,
Dance forth lithe and light.
The frost and sprites and imps of snow.
Are now filled with dreadful woe.

See now, look, far to your east,
They flee and fly leaving none the least.
Spread out your branches, your leaves, your roots,
Torrent the waters and call forth the rain.

Awaken Spring, Awaken Souls,
For those who resist will be destroyed a hundredfold.
See the rain, feel the warmth,
Let us celebrate in a dreadful romp.

Spring forth the blades of fresh green grass,
Collect dewdrops and drive off frost.
Awaken the squirrels, who think all is lost,
Preen in the sunshine, show off your beauty.

Awaken Dryads, Awaken Nymphs,
Sing for trout and birds and bees.
Awaken them from their private lairs,
Let them begin their lives afresh.

Hush down Dryads, Hush down Nymphs,
Humans await fast and fleet.
Never show yourself amiss,
For Spring breeds love and friendships,
Never fall for that fateful kiss.