ehehe thanks han

I have been feeling flat and uncommunicative lately. I think my wonderful supportive boyfriend has been amazingly patient with my alternating between rants and indifference.

This will be another squirmy week, and my screwup with that sash just added a few extra minutes to my daily fidgeting.

I jump at every single phone call.

I jump at every single new email (though in the past week there’s been an additional, and good, reason for that).

I don’t feel like sleeping at night. Morning. Whatever you want to call it.

April’s traipsing past meeeee and May will come soon, and this month will decide if I’ll be smiling inwardly or outwardly in May when I hustle and bustle through my internship and if I’ll be having to seriously consider Citibank as my employer right after graduation. I wonder how long it’ll take for all this to be over. Of course, I have a good real approximation of that, but you know how warped perception of time can get when you’re mulling over something in anxiety and pessimism day in day out.

Come to think of it…life without clocks will be so, so, strange. Everyone will have different ideas of time lengths because there’s no universal measurement to rely on. “A while” is probably vastly contrasting in definition between someone who’s grieving, and some bond trader who rakes in millions with every minute spent on the phone, and someone retiree from the countryside who wakes up to birds chirping in his window every morning. In fact, it’s actually already different enough despite the existence of clocks.

I love how everything is relative.

However I do wish there was a standard scale of preference when it comes to handmade sashes ):
What a stupid story.

Went out with GinYuen Yien and Alexander again today to watch the Children of Huang Shi (which sounds decidedly better than Escape from Huang Shi, which kinda reminds me of that cheesy book cover I saw of “The Prisoner of Zenda”). Darling Rhys Meyers, is, as usual, hot. However, even an English-ed Malaysian girl sounds like a blithering idiot when trying to converse in Mandarin can tell that that accent was completely uncalled for. That budget should have channeled more funding for accent coaches.

HILARIOUS, it was. Radha Mitchell and Jonathan Rhys Meyers speaking Mandarin. Haha.

According to another account of the true story behind the movie, George Hogg (Rhys Meyers) could actually converse in fluent accentless Mandarin after a few years. If I had made it into Oxford, I can say that I graduated from the same school he did! How cool would that have been.

Nevermind, I can say: I have a classmate who graduated from the same school as the heroic journalist that Jonathan Rhys Meyers plays in that new movie starring Chow Yun Fat. [in 3 years of course]

What an honour!

Well well the movie wasn’t too bad except it didn’t invoke enough emotions where it tried to [Think the Rape of Nanking]. I don’t suppose the end MEANT to invoke any emotions–more likely it meant to end the movie with a good hard dose of realism, but I think it brought out more empathy than any other scene, because for the first time, it actually felt real enough. I think the scenes were somewhat too fleeting at times, and before you know it, poof, the moment’s over, and my almost-welling tears have ::poofed:: too.

And not everything, I discovered, was historically accurate. But of course like someone said, this story is a human story about George Hogg, and doesn’t mean to (in my opinion) relive historical horrors or trumpet Chinese propaganda or anything. Therefore, screw historical correctness. It’s not as if the entire world really knows or cares that Shanghai had a unique police uniform. Especially if the movie goers are fans of that hot Irish guy 😉

HOWEVER. I don’t understand how come writers don’t develop an guarding eye for cheesiness after all these years! Really! Cut down on the cheese please, and that unnecessary male-female tension. It’s not necessary, nobody cares, and people would rather see you bonding with the Chinese orphans. Or even better, exploring their backgrounds and what made them what they are. It didn’t help that ShiKai looked like a popstar wannabe! And that we can’t even tell the difference between all the little boys save for the youngest (because he was the shortest) owing to the fact that we hardly know any of them at all! Character development, thanks. Shoddy semblance of a romance, go away.

Nobody cares for a shot of Radha Mitchell’s cleavage (in a surprisingly new and intact nightgown, apparently nobody gets sick or no fighter planes surprise-attack when she’s getting her beauty sleep!) or a candlelit dance which was mostly meaningless because they had zero chemistry.

Enough complaining. All in all an okay wholesome movie, totally not R-rated, and Jonathan Rhys Meyers is hot.

More movies of him, please! (((: