the book

reading is good. reading depressive literature is not good. "bitch: in praise of difficult women" by elizabeth wurtzel. i feel so depressed, disheartened about life. i feel what she feels at the time of writing this book. a huge amount of research has gone into this book and when i reached the chapter of the women who have fallen apart due to depression, i just felt like curling up into a ball and just cry. anne sexton, sylvia plath, edie sedgwick, zelda fitzgerald, frances farmer, margaux hemingway. when i read about margaux hemingway it struck me because she did get her life in order, made appointments, moved house. however, it was a facade, an order to cover despair, appointments she will never go to, in a new house with things still neatly packed in boxes she committed suicide. those who are serious about ending their lives will do all they can to conceal their intentions from anyone who might get in the way and not cause a whole fuss about it. as wurtzel wrote, "depression, the disease of not feeling, starts to manifest itself as tantrums, hysteria, excess --- the disease of feeling too much ..... behaviour that is mistaken for any number of things --- lasciviousness, insanity, bitchiness above all --- is rarely mistaken for what it actually is, for one of the oft-forgotten sins against society, the illness at the centre of so many ills: despair." are you scared yet? i bloody hell am.

on to other things. i cleared out my drawer, and found a whole bunch of letters i used to write and receive from others back in the early jc days. before i had a phone, before i used email and icq often, before everything that happened that lead me up to keeping an online public diary of sorts called a blog. always loved putting pen/pencil to paper. it felt good to write on good paper with a good pen. i love the smell of fresh paper, the crisp, smooth and unblemished texture of it. it made me come alive. now that i type more than i write, i press phone buttons more than i write, i don't feel the life i get when i write, the fluidity, the grace, the elegant dance of paper on pen, in english exams the mad rush to put thoughts to paper, the slashing and slicing like a sabre of a british calvary officer in the air during swordsmanship practice. despite sporadic attempts to revive this life, i have not been able to regain the life i had released. oh to feel that vigour once more! i do not keep a diary, commiting most thoughts and experiences to memory. in my childhood i was too lazy to write. now, in my young adulthood i am too inept. using a weblog to communicate with others as they visit at their own convenient times. helps with long distance relationships i suppose, and with friends you are not really close too.

gone down to bellagio (a gelato outlet) today. it was introduced by ruijie, one of my campmates. 72 flavours can you believe?! indulgence. sheer indulgence. tried black sesame (hit), chocolate fudge (hit), yam (hit), rose (so-so), banana (so-so), wattle seed (so-so), grand marnier (miss), tia maria (miss) and bailey's (miss). 9 flavours. 3 triple flavour cups. $6.50 a cup. expensive ice cream. coincidentally, it was the place shulin's friend went to and described in her blog. did not give it much thought till it hit me like an oncoming train. however, having studied in the bukit timah area for 6 consecutive years (the chinese high school, then national junior college), i still prefer the gelato at 6th avenue. venezia at guthrie house, you know, the one with the cold storage and coffee bean and across the main road is a 7-11? much fewer flavours but smoother texture. can't believe i actually binged today. even the staff at bellagio were looking at me and seem to be thinking "sure or not?". ah well... as long as i am satisfied. haha. go for what i want. that applies to everyone of us too. go for what we want and don't hold back.

Bertram awoke @ 2:12 AM with