I'm sitting here at the miniscule temp staff cubicle that I don't even have the luxury to call my own
listening to underappreciated cover bands on youtube;
coral nails typing away at mundane menial admin work.
It might just be this particular dreary combination, at 2:36pm on a Thursday afternoon (which in my opinion is the most random out-of-nowhere day in the week, next to Tuesdays), but sitting here makes me all the more certain that I want something more with my life. In all my essays I've talked about being drawn to glitz and glamour, and right now I'm not afraid to admit that I think that's really where I want to go. Maybe not right smack in the middle - I'd be more than content with writing in the shadows as long as I'm given the privilege to retain my own voice, write for topics I'm interested in, you know. If anything I could always wear a full-on glitter bodysuit just to get in the mood.
I can't write prettily. Sometimes I wish I could, because I know strong grammar and camaraderie with the built-in thesaurus isn't special enough to get you places. I envy those gifted enough to effortlessly translate their thoughts into beauty - nothing pretentious like what you'd get in Hwa Chong or even (God forbid) here. If I could write prettily I would just document random bits of fluff in a little notebook everyday, just because I
can. (I might then proceed to gush over how doubly pretty my writing was - fyi I have impeccable handwriting that has made it to the likes of Ms Heng's OHP. Also earned me a few stickers.)
I don't know. What a wonderful world we live in, with so much incredible beauty in prose and music it makes your head spin. I think, all I really want is to one day be a part of it, fully immersed such that the very pores of my skin leak sheer art. It probably would reduce me to a poor in-debt sop, but dare I venture that I would be greatly enlightened..? And well I'm sure it'd do wonders for my complexion.