How can I not love you.

I lost the tune in the shower.

How can I not love you / when you're gone is all I can remember of it. But no accompanying melody.

It is said that one of the off-shoots of "blogger burnout" is that you could start another, new blog, and it would be better than your first because it was more honest.

I started this one.

David mentioned me by name in his, for the first time. He left it simply at, "To Jasmine: I'm sorry. Please don't drink."

I'm sorry too, David, I really am. For the way things turned out. I wish they didn't have to be this way but they are and I can't change that unless you're there to change it with me. So be it.

If I lived a hundred years ago, I might have wanted a ballgown for Christmas. Today, however, it's a pair of Levi's ladies jeans that top my wishlist. I've also developed a fondness for all things old-world, like Chanel No. 5. Although I'm shelving that for my 21st, chances are, I'll probably get that before the year's out.

And what a year it will be. One of transition and change, heartbreak and renewal, love, hurt, anger, healing.

B r o ken is how you spell my heart.

I was talking with someone I hadn't seen in close to what was it, two, three years? Ian hurt me not by what he did, but by what he said. He insinuated that he would like to bed me. In his words, "she's mine for the night".

Being the scaredy-cat I am, I froze, as I usually do in situations like this. When I was thirteen some boy pinched my butt and though I knew what had just happened, I refused to believe it, feigning ignorance instead.

Ever since that fateful Sunday night, Ian's been plaguing my waking moments. I'm not sure he knows how much his little joke has affected me, but it has. It's unearthed all those paranoid impulses and random fears I thought I'd buried but knew I hadn't.

Countdown.

10. Fitted blazer.
9. Canvas hobo handbag and school tote.
8. Black lace camisole (check) and sequinned tank.
7. Imitation Louis Vuitton Monogram Cerise wallet.
6. Red high heels.
5. Abercrombie & Fitch denim skirt (check).
4. 3 basic tops in white (check), coral pink (check, consider this prior-owned in neon) and brown and a shrunken black cardigan (check).
3. Novels for both serious and feel-good reading (check, but craving more).
2. Dior Addict 2 EDT (check).
1. Dior Addict Ultra-Gloss (check).

Buh-bye.

I'm reviving plans to put my public blog on hiatus. I write to maintain the tenuous connection with people that is all too easily lost with tangible separation, but I am sick of people second-guessing, and judging me because of what I write. Bah.

Sick of it.

I'm travelling up to KL for the weekend. I bet no-one will miss me that much. The shopping better be good, I have a list I want to check off.

Oh, and David wrote.

"Grades... matter so much that friends become secondary, because grades are my first priority, and when the exams are over, some friendships are spoilt. They matter so much that I become impatient with those who think with their hearts and not with their heads, even though I am/used to be one of those who think with their hearts.

Grades matter so much that I can use them as leverage for neglecting people.

What I've learnt in the University is lost love. Love of a friend turned into nonchalance when I led myself on. Love of a friend turned into disappointment when a friend does not understand my perspective on how grades matter. Love of a friend turned into disappointment when I get scared I might get too close to her, and I cease all contact with her.

What I'm learning in the University is who I am."

His entire entry is written very well, because it is starkly honest without coming across as overtly sentimental (which is one of the major trappings of my own writing). And I find myself wondering if he could be talking about me.

It's not rocket science, you know.

But see you (or me, should I say) in a few. If everyone else leaves, I still have me.

Summer left before summer came.

The interview process at DW Group is awfully tedious. I took three-and-a-half hours today. But on my parents' advice, I've decided to go with my woman's intuition and decline the job. Something smells fishy. No company seeking to expand spends that much time on hiring a temp staffer. I wouldn't be surprised to find out it's a scam, as seeing that my friends did warn me about magnetic mattresses this morning- a sign, maybe? Or foot-in-the door technique. They harrow you and exhaust you and brainwash you until you'll sign any "contract" they give you. Anyhow, I don't care. I'm not wasting another two hours of my time tomorrow.

I'll do better. But I need a job. I'm getting anxious. It's been a fortnight and I'm still unemployed. I need some spending money, fast. I also want work because I can drown myself in it and forget how lonely I am; I suppose paper-pushing is preferable to certain other vices.

At least I met someone today. His name is Ryan. He used to be a diver in the Navy, but I'd never have guessed he was from NUS Computing although his checkered blue shirt was a dead giveaway.

So, not entirely wasted.

I gave him my number real fast and he suggested that maybe we go out someday. I can't believe I was stupidly checking my handphone for his message every like, five minutes. How schoolgirl. But I know I shouldn't get my hopes up. Expectations are precarious because so much hangs in the balance.

It's been a long time since I had a good conversation with someone, anyone. I feel starved.

Earth, wind and fire.

You Are a Dalmation Puppy

Kind, bright, and very energetic. Firemen love to pat your little head.

What Breed of Puppy Are You?

Whadddya know? I like firemen too...

What the fcuk.

Alot of people have been getting attached recently. Not me. But I am not one of them, and I am not like them. I can and will wait.

Upthedate: I would love to.

I booked salsa lessons for five at AttitudeDance Studio. I have to give myself a pat on the back for my sudden burst of inititative. If I do get one of those nine-to-fivers, I'll have a legit excuse to get myself new metallic heels as part of my workout gear since I'll be coming straight from the office. Woot.

Catching up with Sheena last night was also great. She needed to do some last-minute shopping for her Kota Tinggi trip so after scouting around for three-quarts and coach groceries, we found ourselves in a ghost town version of the normally bustling MacDonald's outlet where we shared Marks & Spencer chocolate bars, iced lemon tea and good conversation. The M&S creme brulee was a delightful little slice of heaven, by the way.

It was an encouraging two-and-a-half hours. My feelings towards David have also softened when Sheena mentioned that he still reads my blog, and that he would like to patch up but he's just shy. Painfully shy, I recall he once told me. I have nothing bad to say about him. And I thought I would never want to hear from him again, but if he did ask me out, even if it was just for dessert... I would love to.

I woke up to the raucuous laughter of my aunties this morning. And suddenly, after sitting on that competition essay since Thursday, I had a flash of inspiration. I could write about the women in my family, a la How To Make An American Quilt.

So make my day.

I gave my mother a little treat at Delifrance, and later overheard her telling Gabriel that that was "the best coffee I'd ever tasted in my life, because Da-jie bought it for me". So that, plus the pleather clutch we got her, should make her a happy camper this week.

The red tide is in again. I quite thought my period had forgotten to come, until...

Style magazine, please give me the Prada fragrance hamper. I wrote a nice long email to you guys (albeit with a couple of grammatical slip-ups, much to my horror) and censored all my nasty comments. Prostituted my writing for a bottle of perfume. But not just any perfume. The Prada perfume.

In other news, my meetlist is lookin' pretty healthy once more. Tuesday shopping with the girls, Wednesday I have an interview at Somerset and tea with Hamidah, Friday's Japanese dinner with my secondary school pals. Back out of shopping rehab.

Art Meets Everyday- A Reader's Letter

Dear Style Magazine

You guys have outdone yourselves! I must get my fix of fashion magazines every month, and this May, Style was it! (Looks like I won't be searching too hard for June's pick either.)

I used to think that local mags would pale in comparison to their American or European counterparts, but you guys have made a believer out of me! Your "Fill in the Blanc"(whoever knew that white could be both sensual and ethereal, all at once?) and "Dimensions" photoshoots were an absolute treat for the eyes. Thank you for seamlessly blending local designs with collections from international fashion houses- now that's haute (hot)!

Many other mags I read provide sketchy glosses on their featured must-haves, but I was struck by how Style columnists painstakingly dedicate entire articles to fashion history (e.g. the evolution of the knit) and product inspiration (like how the Prada scent was developed). To me, that attention to minute detail embodies the essence of high fashion, committed to creating nothing but the best for your clientele.

I absolutely have to commend you on your love for fashion and writing about fashion! Your magazine's like a pair of good stilettos- just makes me wanna go out and get myself another next month!

Happy Style-ing!

Jasmine

This, as part of my efforts to procure a Prada fragrance hamper without straining my wallet.

Hurtin'.

I know no-one knows. Or cares. What's the difference these days.

I don't want to always have to be the one making the sacrifices.

I'm having a little issue with my sister. I showed my mum a picture of baby Elliot on my camera phone and when she returned it it had been scrolled down to a snapshot taken weeks ago. And David chats with her on msn but not me. What the?!? I resent the intrusion of my privacy and my social circle because she doesn't let me into hers.

I resent it greatly.

It bothers me that I cannot be genuinely happy for friends, perfectly wonderful people who have been happy for me.

And I am currently engaged in a seriously unstimulating conversation right now. I ask how he's been and the best he can give is, "Full of ups and downs", and then inserts this overused cliche for emphasis, "Like a rollercoaster". Help. Could we add 20 IQ points please?

So effin' messed up.

Food blog: Take that cheesecake away.

Sheena asked me out for coffee today, "just the two of us", which I thought was terribly sweet of her, because goodness knows I've been missing her too!

I went for the Mother's Day dinner at po po's place. It's good to see that she's back from China with a whole new wardrobe and accessories to boot, but I really hope that nasty cough goes away. Gavan, Koen and Elliot are cuter than ever, if that be possible. I heart them all! I spent a good portion of my time training three-year-old Koen to be a proper little Jedi, which was peachy-cute until Koen assaulted my nose with his backscratcher-cum-lightsabre.

Also, topping my favourite persons list is my cousin Kaylyn, who generously offered me four things tonight- a Meg Cabot novel, a recommendation of MAC Lipglass (it was between Chanel Glossimer and Dior Addict previously), a good hair tip (don't do rebonding or you'll look like a sarong party girl") and the quote of the week, before dessert was served: "Take that cheesecake away".

If you live with a baker, like I do, the furthest the cheesecake will go is the fridge. Yowr.

B*tch forum.

I always feel the best time to write is when I am feeling something intense. Anger, elation, profound disappointment, whatever. It galvanizes me to write better, and more honestly. And now is one of those opportunites I must seize.

I heard that David went shopping with Weixuan and drove down to her place with Sheena. There's nothing wrong with that, and I think it's great that they're all chummy. But what is so, so disappointing is that it reminds me of everything we used to be, and more.

FCUK! WHY CAN'T YOU JUST TELL ME WHY YOU FCUKING HAD TO LEAVE?

I've been racking my brains wondering what could possibly be wrong with me. Okay, I admit, I'm quite a handful, I'm even scary. All those fainting fits, all that shopping when we should have been studying, the admissions about the ex and the hurting, and all those fcuking rumours. No wonder you got scared off.

I don't like to give up without a hard fight, but what am I to do here?

David, it just disappoints. I don't think it was fair to me at all. It wasn't what you did, but what you didn't do. I'm a sucker for closure. Why didn't you just tell me fcuking why.

I could live with that.

You don't have to please anybody, you're right. You're not a social butterfly, and I respect that. But I have spent my time trying to please you. Why couldn't you have told me goodbye?

Keep this space blank.

Summer bre ak has begun. And I have kicked it off with a bang slumming in my living room watching a pirated DVD of Miss Congeniality 2. Only I am not feeling particularly congenial. And I want to spend. And write. And get a job.

So how now brown cow?

It's over and done. I still can't believe it. I would sing it to the world, but I've lost my voice. This morning I opened my mouth to speak and all that came out was a croak.

I bade goodbye to David. Call it my act of closure. Five seconds in pre-exam rush, he returned me my NETS card, and that was that. I don't suppose I will ever meet him again.

I cancelled on shopping with Melly and Xuan today because of the throat. Bummer! I was so looking forward to some retail therapy. And I passed up Thai food with Eleta et al yesterday so that I could cram for my last paper. I honestly hope it'll all be worth it, but for now, I'm just glad it's over.

And I'm addicted to Dior Addict. I spent a wonderful afternoon at the Robinson's Beauty Hall, just me and all the salesgirls. I'm considering buying the ultra-gloss and a baby bottle of the fragrance. I wonder why they don't advertise it more. It's pretty and smells so fresh and sparkly! I was actually looking for something more um, seductive, but it's hard to resist pink. I almost had myself persuaded that I had seen wrongly and it wasn't really Dior Addict but Lancome Miracle So Magic (which scares me because it is intended for the woman who is "a bubble of optimism". Shudder. Not me. Nope.)

So I'll write my competition essay over the next couple days. And work out a halfway-decent meetlist for the coming week, and line up job interviews. But right now I need a lozenge and a nice long nap, just the way I like it.

Hello holidays.