The AppleBeloved

Synaesthesia, Imagination, Asperger's Syndrome.

I’m mad with my words. 
But some call that poetry.

I’m mad with my words.
But some call that poetry.

Stephen Dedalus of The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, James Joyce

Stephen Dedalus of The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, James Joyce

*Latest haul of books: House of Mirth, Villette

After all, a Pulchritudinous day

With a gentle shot of black coffee, this peculiar day started off much more poetic and smoother than the grotesquely studious recent times. Life has been patronising me lately, trying to urge me back into its ugly distractions. But I know better than to fall to their whims now, I’m on a path towards my great ambition. I’m making baby steps, but those steps are shovelling me up to the heavens. I’m grateful, all pure gratitude here.

Notifications with positivity:
1. Aceing the math tests I incidentally prepared for.
2. Scoring 17/25 for a literature essay.
3. Scoring 31/50 for my gp essay.

I need to do the same for my content subjects, which I had been slyly avoiding. Please, darling - it’s arduous now or painful later. There isn’t much time left for you to dawdle in grey areas and limbo.

The morning I spent on doing my math revisionin the canteen, subconsciously enjoying the rainy morning’s breeze against my cheeks. I had a cream coffee.

So the next event was Nabila’s call in the midst of literature lesson.

I bolted off in the middle of class, after mumbling something urgently, and found Nabila in the third storey female’s restroom. We sat in silence, listened to Taylor swift’s perky “Shake it off”, talked about intellectual concepts, had a slow and brief elaboration of her plight … And I made some terrible jokes, a personal and singular impossibility, to attempt to lighten the mood. In other words, we were guzzling literary geeks of hobos in the toilet. I hope …

I hope all will be well for my best friend.

She reminded me of the times when Soren - my boy - and I were impossibly mad at each other, a short period almost every single year, yet helplessly inclined to the other person. It was a torn moment between loving the person and digesting the hurtful words they were spouting about you.

But the secret in resolving issues lie in accepting flaws. You have to find the person whose flaws you can live with, then determine if you might fall in love with he or she. You can have a choice. You can, oh yes - yes - yes. You mustn’t believe the lies that books tell you about love and romance. It isn’t natural and never will be, unless you make some effort to create that sort of wondrous magic. Make it happen, child.

We cleared up the unwanted faeces the miserable wretch of a lady - Bryan - released impulsively, and headed for class.

After class, I had a good lunch with Jiaying over curry chicken and rice. The most awe-inspiring thing about Jia Ying is her beautiful string of thoughts that never ceases to flow. I love hearing her story after story, and it is through this interaction do I realise how much I adore story-tellers for friends. Perhaps they remind me of a part of myself I can hardly express, the realistic side.

But I find greater solace in expressing divinity.


We all (Keith, Nabila, Jia Ying, Big brother, Rayna, Soren, Eden, Myself and probably Kok Jin as well) possess the writer’s syndrome. That’s the crucial part of our reality, the majestic way we perceive and interact with the world before our eyes.

Jiaying and I then poured ourselves over the books, crying out “what bibliophiles we are!” in the most unwonted fashion, at the small but convenient branch of Times bookstore. There explains the package of books I returned home with.

Today is someone’s birthday, apart from Nabila’s …

Throaty Day

It’s not about having a sore throat or a hoarse voice. It’s about the strange hollow and resonating experience this day feels, to me.

There’s a strange revelation I made today. 

I often imagine my face with two seemingly painted black stripes running down my cheeks from my eyes. It’s rather haunting, with the allusions to goth culture, but I felt like those two painted strips belong to a part of the way I view myself. It has a vital importance in my image representation, where words do no good. Queer enough, gold glitter would do the trick too, and I’ve actually gotten down to acquiring a little bottle of skin-friendly golden glitter paint. I can’t explain it now - it must be expressed, and then explained afterward.

Now here’s the queer thing: today, as I was scrolling down the tumblr dashboard, a particular image caught my eye. At first, the statue of an Angel enraptured my brain’s personal, highly sensitive radar for angelic properties. But on closer look, I immediately shuddered. Here was the picture of the Angel of death victorious who guards a particular cemetery, with rusty black stripes like two streams of tears, running down his cheek. I was surprised. And there was that burning fever that envelope my throat, even till now. A funny kind of heat that wouldn’t go away despite my intense hydrating.

A few other trivialities:

1. Today, I realised that “pop-star” Katy Perry had been previously married to YouTube “philosopher” Russell Brand. He found her ugly. I would agree. But her offending factor is only her vulgar exploitation of poetry, without much attention to details. Its almost as if it were planted there for the sake of it. I do not have anything else against her.

2. I have a fundamental problem with the math topic “permutations and combinations” because my mind works simultaneously (multiple facets are employed to think out one madly opinionated answer) and not systematically (a to b to c to d to answer). I have to practise this systematic technique fervently.

3. I have a packet of “runts” from “the wonka factory”. Hopefully they will last me till the end of this week. (Sugar boosts my concentration and capacity for self-control.) It costs SGD$1.95 for this sizeable portion. Wonderful deal.

4. My body tends to lose weight around the shoulders nowadays. Its deflating my upper body. It used to be more oriented around the waist. I wonder why. Is it due to the increase in female hormones? I’m sticking to my goal of 42kg, in any case. Lowest this year was at 46kg after being hooked on minecraft during the holidays - in my extreme obsessive mode - such that food was neglected. (I was building the “czardas” town to immortalise monti’s inspiring piece. Insanely poetic, that violin and piano duet version.) I’m currently around 47-48kg. I’m doing intense running every other day, and trying a 1,200 calorie “diet” plan. To be honest, I usually eat way below 1,200 calories. It’s because I don’t consume real food, only sugary sweets and yummy cakes. I hope I don’t become diabetic.

5. Bro’s birthday …

6. Letters to teachers for this last week in school 

7. Let’s take a hiatus from music in my life. 



 That’s all for now. Goodbye!

Throaty Day

It’s not about having a sore throat or a hoarse voice. It’s about the strange hollow and resonating experience this day feels, to me.

There’s a strange revelation I made today.

I often imagine my face with two seemingly painted black stripes running down my cheeks from my eyes. It’s rather haunting, with the allusions to goth culture, but I felt like those two painted strips belong to a part of the way I view myself. It has a vital importance in my image representation, where words do no good. Queer enough, gold glitter would do the trick too, and I’ve actually gotten down to acquiring a little bottle of skin-friendly golden glitter paint. I can’t explain it now - it must be expressed, and then explained afterward.

Now here’s the queer thing: today, as I was scrolling down the tumblr dashboard, a particular image caught my eye. At first, the statue of an Angel enraptured my brain’s personal, highly sensitive radar for angelic properties. But on closer look, I immediately shuddered. Here was the picture of the Angel of death victorious who guards a particular cemetery, with rusty black stripes like two streams of tears, running down his cheek. I was surprised. And there was that burning fever that envelope my throat, even till now. A funny kind of heat that wouldn’t go away despite my intense hydrating.

A few other trivialities:

1. Today, I realised that “pop-star” Katy Perry had been previously married to YouTube “philosopher” Russell Brand. He found her ugly. I would agree. But her offending factor is only her vulgar exploitation of poetry, without much attention to details. Its almost as if it were planted there for the sake of it. I do not have anything else against her.

2. I have a fundamental problem with the math topic “permutations and combinations” because my mind works simultaneously (multiple facets are employed to think out one madly opinionated answer) and not systematically (a to b to c to d to answer). I have to practise this systematic technique fervently.

3. I have a packet of “runts” from “the wonka factory”. Hopefully they will last me till the end of this week. (Sugar boosts my concentration and capacity for self-control.) It costs SGD$1.95 for this sizeable portion. Wonderful deal.

4. My body tends to lose weight around the shoulders nowadays. Its deflating my upper body. It used to be more oriented around the waist. I wonder why. Is it due to the increase in female hormones? I’m sticking to my goal of 42kg, in any case. Lowest this year was at 46kg after being hooked on minecraft during the holidays - in my extreme obsessive mode - such that food was neglected. (I was building the “czardas” town to immortalise monti’s inspiring piece. Insanely poetic, that violin and piano duet version.) I’m currently around 47-48kg. I’m doing intense running every other day, and trying a 1,200 calorie “diet” plan. To be honest, I usually eat way below 1,200 calories. It’s because I don’t consume real food, only sugary sweets and yummy cakes. I hope I don’t become diabetic.

5. Bro’s birthday …

6. Letters to teachers for this last week in school

7. Let’s take a hiatus from music in my life.

That’s all for now. Goodbye!

The Protagonist of the Day. Thee,
With his charming tears of delight -
At trivialized details that make no sense.

But impeccably a culture of innocence
Thriving on … nothing but praises 
and condemnation. Funny, yet true.

This little creature -
Tastes of blood tears of genius
Hands that know real work
And a chin that calls for duty
To be persisted. He knows what 
It means to truly be alive. Hah!  

Come alive, my boy.

The Protagonist of the Day. Thee,
With his charming tears of delight -
At trivialized details that make no sense.

But impeccably a culture of innocence
Thriving on … nothing but praises
and condemnation. Funny, yet true.

This little creature -
Tastes of blood tears of genius
Hands that know real work
And a chin that calls for duty
To be persisted. He knows what
It means to truly be alive. Hah!

Come alive, my boy.

This was my breakfast today.
1 of each type, I meant. The other two were reserved for my little sister. She eats the same amount, or more, than I do. I have a weak constitution arising from mild symptoms of thyroid disease. At least, I am not lactose intolerant or allergic to prawns, like Nabila.

There was a dead canary bird at the school porch this morning, when I arrived. 

Prima facie, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. For a couple of minutes, I stood over the little yellow bird and scrutinised its immobile body. Being myopic without my glasses (which are safely stored in its case in my haversack), I casually brushed off the possibility of the death of such an exotic bird in our school grounds. Yet as I took off to the classroom, the thought enraptured my attention. I decided to take a picture as evidence. It was proof of this beautiful bird’s once existence, as well as the fact that animals can actually lose their way so unfortunately in this urban world. For some reason I prefer not to disclose, I would like to commemorate this fat yellow bird’s existence. It is 20th August 2014.

I continue to wonder if the bird had a fleeting moment of faintness or fatigue, and was resting almost lifeless-like on the stones. It was gone by the time I tried to get Rayna to see it for herself. Perhaps the cleaner got rid of it. I hope not. I hope it flew away after regaining its consciousness.

Things of interest today: Gym, Long bus ride, Talking to the aunty that sold me the watermelon slice.

There was a dead canary bird at the school porch this morning, when I arrived.

Prima facie, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. For a couple of minutes, I stood over the little yellow bird and scrutinised its immobile body. Being myopic without my glasses (which are safely stored in its case in my haversack), I casually brushed off the possibility of the death of such an exotic bird in our school grounds. Yet as I took off to the classroom, the thought enraptured my attention. I decided to take a picture as evidence. It was proof of this beautiful bird’s once existence, as well as the fact that animals can actually lose their way so unfortunately in this urban world. For some reason I prefer not to disclose, I would like to commemorate this fat yellow bird’s existence. It is 20th August 2014.

I continue to wonder if the bird had a fleeting moment of faintness or fatigue, and was resting almost lifeless-like on the stones. It was gone by the time I tried to get Rayna to see it for herself. Perhaps the cleaner got rid of it. I hope not. I hope it flew away after regaining its consciousness.

Things of interest today: Gym, Long bus ride, Talking to the aunty that sold me the watermelon slice.

“Riding subways over public buses is as if we’re paying more to have more time for ourselves to waste.”

– The AppleBeloved [wondering on the public bus, which took 23 minutes to arrive at her destination 6 stops away.] (via toss-appleby)