Dear diary,

It came as something very slight, a miniscule discomfort that could barely be noticed. Then it began to worsen, slowly encroaching, spreading its festering tentacles through the gamut of pipelines that lay before it defenseless, the seemingly impregnable breached, a buffet for its taking.

Before long, I was dripping like a leaky faucet and shivering like a chihuahua in Siberia. (And for inexplicable reasons, chihuahuas always seem to be shivering, whatever the context.)

Yes, I have flu. Quite a serious bout of it too. And you ask why can't I just be trenchant about it and get straight to the point? Because, I wish to morbidify my predicament, let it be known that sq doesn't falter to a paltry common flu virus. Yes, it's probably a deadly variant that has weakened me so. I insist.

My eyes are closing. Random thoughts start zipping past me like a hyped up conveyor belt in a cheap sushi restaurant. I see the old lady I didn't help across the street. The single digit test marks that I received. The 10 cents that I shied away from the tin can clasped in the hands of a pretty SNGS student. The time I jaywalked across the street. And another street. And yet another street. The time I thought about sex. The instance when I fell asleep in class. Ok, that flashing probably took up most of the time in my recollections. Actually, that, and the sex.

Am I dying then? No, unlikely. Well it seems like it though, or have I mistaken death for the efficacious little bottle that says "Caution: May cause drowsiness"?

Zzz...

Dear diary,

Feeling out of sorts lately. The weather's bad, the haze isn't making things better; in fact, this is the first time I heard bloody Singapore having forest fires. Still, my poisoned lungs are the least of my concerns for now.

My right temple's throbbing. Bad things always seem to rush you all at once. It's like there's this underground society-for-misfortunes where all these ugly karmic imps gather in dank caverns on a particular day and conspire round a green ghostly flame on their next pathetic victims of affliction. Bi-monthly I might add.

Now I feel like I'm walking around with a big fat sign on my back that says "Torment me". So my head's still throbbing. So I'm still feeling out of sorts. A potent combination of aridity, four fleshy durians along Upper Serangoon road and nasty pranks that the ugly karmic imps have conjured upon me.

Then there's this last minute attachment tomorrow. In this weather. With the killer haze. And all the bloody Singaporean forest fires. On Tekong. Along with the karmic imps clinging onto my back pockets. And yes, that headache too.

Ouch.

Dear diary,

Valentine's Day just passed, and despite not having any girlfriend to spend it with, it was still a really enjoyable day.

I'm sure a long long time ago, Valentine's meant something more than just roses and chocolates and a chance to fleece hapless couples. It should have meant a day set aside to reavow your love, to let people have a time-out in their hurried lives to take a good look at the people that matter to them, a day when love is truly in the air.

The commercial success of Valentine's inevitably marred this resplendent day, another victim doomed to the big, bad ugly textbooks of economics. This ugly transgression however, didn't quite kill Valentine's spirit in me, not this time. If you look carefully enough, see past the long distasteful queues forming outside shrewd restaurants and florists, see past the mass-produced Hallmarks clutched in the hands of equally mass-produced human zombies, you'll notice the cute couples whispering sweet-nothings in quiet corners, silent couples walking comfortably down the sunset-bled streets, friends at a quaint café laughing amidst joyful banter.

The spirit and the exuberance of Valentine's Day didn't quite choke on itself and die in the face of putrid commercialism, it was merely masked by its vileness. To all the friends who made this day a Valentine's Valentine, an ode:

Lonely hearts we are not,
single smarts we purport.

We lived the day,
despite the fray.

Ate some dim-sums,
to fill our tum-tums.

Finished two cheesecakes,
probably better than I can bake.

Listened to good music,
but Fel needed some prozac.

Esmond came so late,
didn't start on his theorem, great.

Ended a Valentine full of joy,
forgotten a load of homework oh boy.

God that was bad,
but please do not upset.

Ok I'd better stop,
before I get er, bopped.

Dear diary,

You know how parents always want you to "quit lazing around, go enrich yourself"? Well after 21 years of living I think I finally achieved something along that line this week, by the broadest of definition no doubt.

I read three books in a week. One being The Unbearable Lightness of Being. It was never a light read, and to tell you the truth, it made my being pretty unbearable. The other two is Man and Boy and Man and Wife, but I won't touch on them. This isn't a book review.

I did twenty push-ups(which I swore seemed more like fifty). Played basketball, for a while. Woke up way early, something ninish/tennish. Damn I feel like a superhuman.

I scrubbed. I dusted. I wiped. I dumped. I recycled. I soaped. Oh my God, when will the horror end. This by the way, is the major annual event: spring cleaning. And I used to wonder why it's called "spring" cleaning when there's hardly any spring to consider in my part of the world, and metaphorically spring represents a season of joy and renewed hopes. Then as I grow older I realise "spring" is synonymous with "jump", or rather "pounce". How devilishly clever.

So I did all the things that should enrich me somewhat. I was expecting that little "ding" sound that registers whenever you level up in a game. It never came. How can I tell if I was "enriched" or not then. Literally I didn't feel any richer, bank statement's still a joke. I didn't feel any different inside either. Wasn't any smarter than before. Nope. In fact I developed a phelgmy cough.

Where the hell are the benefits?! My sense of well-being?! I demand some proof! Sometimes you just feel so shortchanged.