just when i was about to get over things, pick up the pieces, ready myself to study and be focused.



i realise, when people call it a post moterm, or trash-out session, really stupid things can come out of their mouths. which is why i chose to keep mine shut, mostly.

i'm feeling quite fed up with this.
jaded, pissed, whatever adjective you can find to describe it.

madeline expressed her shock at hearing me say the fuck word three times so forcefully for the first time throughout rag. indeed, not many things can bring me down to that level to be so miffed to produce such an unnecessary word.



for one thing,
i'd like to clarify matters, maybe with myself.

rag was a whole lot of fun this year, because i got to play with detailings, colours, painting, some engineering, costume design, and to hang around this bunch of people, though most of them are inconsiderate munjen people, who are unaware about the fact that some raggers cannot speak or comprehend more chinese than 'ni hao ma?'.

but indeed, shazzy, i think i understand.
why you will never be wardrobe mistress again.
and esther ng cheng teng, why you, so in love, so dedicated to, so committed to, so passionate about sewing and costumes, would choose dp sets over dp wardrobe.

'because i don't want to deal with dancers mah.'


don't get me wrong.
dancers are a nice, fun bunch of people.
they are friendly, kind, cheerful.

but if you are a wardrober, or have been, even half, you would understand where this notion is stemming from.


there are no words to describe, no pictures to illustrate, no need to elaborate.

do not ask me, ever,
to do wardrobe again.
---------------------------------------------------

rag was really painful this year because i did wardrobe, kind of.
im not sure if i should be ashamed, because i don't really think of myself as a wardrober.
i hate it.
hate it when people say wardrobe is slack.

and it's true. that wardrobe was slow, inefficient, inexperienced, no sense of urgency.

every second, every minute of my living moment in wardrobe was in pain, in desperate, in waiting, waiting for hong jin, so desperate himself, alone, toiling at the main float, bursting his brains thinking of detailing and colours, to push the panick button and to call me back to engineering/detailing. so that i could be productive, so that i could have direction, drive; a motive, a goal, a target.

with the exception of some light-hearted moments when esther, shazzy, or nadia was around, to inject some motivation, some drive, some direction and some laughter in me, wardrobe was simply not at all as wonderful as i wished it to be.

i admit, i was looking to our wardrobe mistress for some sense of direction.
but we have, we had, none.
she, had not.

maybe i was asking for too much.
too inexperienced, too undirected, too easily distracted.
the weaknesses of wardrobers, myself included.

which is why i will always remember wardrobe as a bittersweet experience, and promise to wash my hands off costume, or any kind of fashion design for anything related to eusoff hall from chingay onwards.



now i think back, and sometimes scoff at myself.
what an idealistic fool, i must have been.
-------------------------------------------

but as much as i have this love-hate relationship with wardrobe,
the mere mention of the idea really made me spit fire.

the mere thought that someone would suggest scraping wardrobe totally.
really,
really,
really,
pissed me off.

like seriously.
like, big time.

i was like, fuck?

it disgusts me, repels me, disturbs me, eats at me.

goodness knows what controlled me to keep my bloody mouth shut so it wouldn't sprout some undiplomatic nonsense to scare off people.

and then i emoed.
quite quietly. in the corner, next to gui ming wayne.

and then, like how siddhata gautama gained enlightenment, i saw through everything; overdue realisation dawned upon me. like a foolish child receiving punishment for a long done mistake, like expired can food waiting to be thrown away,
i wept.
silently, in my heart.

year in year out, we do these things.
things that i suffer for. things that i sacrifice time with my family, my close friends. things that make me regret not being at home when i was needed. things that make me feel guilty for letting my vice president shoulder alone. things that make me lost chances that could earn me something dear to me in future.

we're not paid for them; we're not recognised.
now, we're not even appreciated.

what do we get?
i really don't know.

if not for you, my friends, fellow sufferers, comrades,
what for?
to be complained about?
to be asked to be scraped away?
to be so stressed and have so many deadlines and things to finish,
to have to push myself to the limit, and sleep less than 4 hours a day?
to be away from my family, and have my relationship with my parents suffer?
to pay extra money for hall stay during vacation, when i could be jolly well earning?

seriously, i...

i'm so sad really.
i'm not even angry anymore.

i feel sorry for all the wardrobers who have done a great job since the start of rag wardrobe so far, and apologise for having been such a lousy designer such that my design, the year that i should provide the direction and design for wardrobe, things turn out so fucked up that people even come up with the notion of tailoring dancer's costumes and scraping wardrobe totally.

now you know people are lying when they say you're really appreciated.




i can only laugh. sadly in my heart.

i'm sorry, i will never want to be someone, like you. a part of you, with you, whatever.
i wash my hands totally off this.

chingay, i'm coming, but i want to be there operating the float.
our float.
or you can let me sit on the float and wave.

because im part of the team who MADE this thing.
part of the people,
in my heart,
who really matter.
----------------------------------------------------------

i'm happy that despite the loss, or maybe precisely because of the loss, many raggers have bought their ticket. it's not an easy decision to make, but im proud they have made it.

today, a whole lot of people gathered in blue oyster.
a lot of us talked, some of us made sense, some of us didnt. some of us didnt understand, and never will; some of us have experienced, understood, and will.

today, i realised, these people don't really matter.
crap, they can say what they want to say, because, they don't understand.

every year we talk about improvements, about getting more people.
every year we say we will come out stronger, fight again, thrash everyone else.
everytime raggers/dp setters get arrowed,
everytime we're expected to do this again, just because we've done this before.



nobody, who hasn't done rag before, will understand.
if you know what i mean.

don't ask me to buy a ticket,
i dont really feel like taking the bus, at least, not now;
it's a ride leading a long way down into an endless tunnel,

cause i'm seriously jaded.

今、そう思った。