I bought my Halloween costume in Hong Kong five months before Halloween. At that time, I didn’t know it was going to be my Halloween costume. I didn’t even know I was going to attend a Halloween party.

I bought it because it’s an outift combining three of my favourite influences: Gothic, Victorian and Japanese. Also because it’s really cheap in HK (compared to prices in Singapore).

Thank goodness for Halloween. I’d never have gotten a chance to wear it, otherwise.

I love laces and ribbons and crosses. I was so tempted to buy two or three of those outfits but I didn’t because I was trying to be practical.

Many people thought I was dressed as Emily, maybe because I was holding a cat dolly. I did consider going as Emily, but they don’t sell dresses like Emily wears.

So I went as a Gothic Lolita. Might as well, since I already have the costume sitting in my closet. I even have two bodyguards. Except that my bodyguards turned on me at the last minute. Some bodyguards! Bah!

Maybe they wanted to steal Sabbath.

Sabbath is the cat in my arms.

I was shopping for a Gothic handbag when I saw him sitting sadly (and dustily) on a shelf. He looked so cute and lost that I decided to buy him instead of a handbag. (I carried him while the Goonfather carried my barang barang in his pockets. Haha.)

Incidentally, Sabbath is one of Emily’s cats. That is, this kitty is an actual character in Emily’s strange family. If not for it being an actual Emily cat with a name of his own already, I would have named him Mr Cranky.

Doesn’t he look like a Mr Cranky to you?

Sabbath has a beanbag bottom so he can sit on a shelf or on someone’s head (see first picture).

Next picture: My favourite costume!

Luvphobia (I don’t know his real name, lol) with his Little Red Book in his commie pose! How cool is he?!

I didn’t do much at the party. Like I mentioned before, I’m a wallflower sort of person, so I just kinda hung around in the shadows. But I did grab Vincent for a photo (or two, or three, or ten – us actors can’t resist photo opportunites).

No, that’s a joke. It’s not true. It’s a stereotype. I was quite camera shy the whole night and only took photos with my closest friends and my favourite costumes. And Vincent had his crazy self-censor specs which I insisted he remove when taking pictures with me.

Oh, my other favourite was Ah 9′s ninija costume. I took a picture with him but because he’s all black, he blended into the pub’s dark background and didn’t show up in the picture. But you can see his costume at his blog.

This Halloween party was really cool because of all the costumes and games and rowdy drinking people, but I think I had more fun celebrating Halloween two years ago. There weren’t any fancy costumes but it was hilarious because we had pumpkin candles to murder and we bought icky body parts candy to give away to the pub’s staff and regulars.

And I didn’t have to be a wallflower because it wasn’t, like, a real party; it was just a regular outing to a pub with my friends.

Last year’s Halloween was celebrated together with Rena’s birthday. We had a barbeque and a surprise birthday party for her at home with Halloween decorations.

Halloween is cool. But what’s more cool is having friends who are crazy enough to celebrate a crazy festival with you.

I love my friends.

I got through yesterday with only three hours of sleep. We had played Runebound till 4 am and, after my friends went home, I surfed the net/blogged until 7 am.

Woke up at 10 am to get ready for a birthday party.

The last time I saw Mr Cute Personified was when he was, like, a day old. I had looked forward to attending his party because he looks so cute in his invitation card.

At the party, I sat in a corner for the whole two hours. Justyn (proud Daddy) tried to be the perfect host and came over to rile me up a bit.

J: What are you doing sitting in a corner? Go and mingle around.
QY: It’s what I do at parties. I sit in a corner.
J: You’re impossible.
QY: I’m anti-social.

I like to think I fill a very important role at parties. What’s a party without wallflowers? The popular ones can’t shine as brightly without them, can they?

But I did get off my butt long enough to grab food and to take a picture with cute birthday boy in his cute Japanese suit.

It was a great party where I enjoyed being a wallflower at. There were goodie bags prepared for the kids. I JOKINGLY told Justyn I was a kid and that I just had abnormal cells that made me taller than I was supposed to be, so I needed a goodie bag, too.

And, horrors, he told his wife to give me a goodie bag (which had a “The Incredibles” mask in it, among other things) and they wouldn’t let me leave without it.

Oh boy.

Next stop for the day: Bone marrow donor drive at Bishan Park II.

More kids!

There was a balloon man who made balloon weapons for the kids to fight each other with.

(Some kids, unfortunately, didn’t get weapons and got pwned.)

We also took a picture with Jaywalk‘s friend, Chrissy, who’s one of the organisers of the drive.

(Some kids just keep getting pwned.)

I was very pleased with my Pristine Sword of Purity, so I got the nice balloon man to make me another in black so I can dual wield. He said I was a scary kid.

Got meh?

After we left the event, we had some time to while away before dinner, so we went for a drink. Everyone had coffee or tea, as usual, except Kell, who had iced horlicks. I think he was in competition with me yesterday for “Best Kid Imitation”. Or perhaps Kell is really a kid.

With indecisive blood (hiak hiak hiak).

Despite his nickname.

Which I better not name here for fear of brutal murder.

I didn’t have coffee or tea because I don’t like. And, since I was a kid yesterday, I ordered “sparkling ribena” (with 5% alcohol).

That was a mistake because I was already quite stoned (having only had three hours’ sleep) and the alcohol only made me sleepier.

Still, I soldiered on because we had to pick Nanny Wen’s Pork at the airport in the night. Nanny Wen wouldn’t stop singing in her too-loud kiddy voice while we played Runebound two nights in a row because she missed Pork so much. Then again, Nanny Wen won’t stop singing all the time, regardless of Pork’s location.

Nanny Wen is actually the undefeated kid champion.

To while away more time, we went shopping and I bought three used books for $5.50. How cool is that?!

I normally rent books at a rental price of $4 – $5 per book. The books I bought yesterday were for sale at $1 – $2 each. The “Cheap Sale” section had mostly crappy books and teenage romances, but I found these three that didn’t look too bad. And I don’t even have to return them.

After welcoming Pork back to Singapore, we headed to our favourite coffeeshop for drinks. (No more “sparkling ribena” for me.) We all had teh-o iced limau while the guys talked about computers (yawn) and the girls played with the coffeshop kittens.

Kawaiiiiiiiiii~~!!!

I could melt from all that cuteness.

I don’t want to whine about my life.

I started blogging years back because I like writing funny stuff and I want to make people laugh.

Of course, I do talk about my career woes, but that’s just to share the gritty side of showbiz that most people outside the industry don’t get to see.

Other than that, I try to write only happy, funny things.

The sad, angry things I leave for my personal diary.

In recent times, unfortunately, it seems like someone has stolen the funnies section of my life.

But, still, I don’t want to whine.

The poem I wrote is one way to update my blog and still express myself without whining (I hope).

Forgive me if I seem distant to well-wishers. I do appreciate the concern.

I don’t like to whine and I don’t talk about my troubles because I don’t have any grand illusion that my troubles are any more important than your troubles.

Everyone has troubles. Nobody wants to hear mine. That’s my theory, anyway.

Besides, troubles are usually compounded and go way back to when one is, like, three years old. How can anyone give an accurate picture of their troubles without providing all the background? That’s why people who see psychiatrists see them for years and years. They have to start from the very beginning.

(But I don’t believe in paying money to have someone hear me yak about how sad I am two times a week, the least of which reason being that I don’t have the freaking moolah anyway. It would serve me better to just write a damn autobiography and maybe make a few dollars out of it.)

So.

I’m trying to blot out ignore cover my eyes see no evil hear no evil fuck off the damnable ache that’s grinding in my heart grinding it down to nothing.

I want to start writing stupid, funny stuff again, regardlesss of how I feel.

Who the fuck cares lah.

Sorry for the disruption to our service. We will be back with you shortly.

And here’s a random picture from my pictures archive because too much text is boring.

Screenshot from Star Wars Galaxies

(That, by the way, is the “toaster droid” I was talking about in a previous post. It got killed by a stupid frog I was trying to kill.)

What was she thinking when she killed herself?
by Shen Qiaoyun

The blood still glistens on the blade of her knife;
When no one was looking, she’d taken her life.

Alone she lies, angelic and calm,
She’ll no more awaken when tomorrow comes.

Is that a smile on her pale, ashen face?
Or a grimace wrung out of a lifeless place?

Would that for a minute she can speak again;
Would that for a second I can hear her pain.

But death holds fast to those it calls;
Questions left unanswered on the parabolic wall.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

What of the years that had led to her end?
What had befallen that her heart couldn’t mend?

Was there naught in her eyes could preserve life’s sanctity?
Love, money, health? Or family or beauty?

Did she look at the world and see only strangers?
A world so unkind it could only slowly change her?

Did she find sleep every night on alcoholic wings?
Was it rest from the weariness that ceaseless tears bring?

How many troubled years had she carried the pain?
On the day she decided that death must reign?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

And there laid out on her fresh made death bed,
She’d cut herself, and her last tears shed.

Was she cradled by bliss, did peaceful death slake her?
Was she wracked by doubt and did agony take her?

Did she die with a smile as she whispered, “I’m done.”
Or did she yearn for a moment for the deed undone?

Did her life flash past like a runaway train?
Did she weep for the ones who’d inherit her pain?

As her hands went slack and the knife did fall,
What was she thinking? Was she thinking at all?