According to the Bible...

A little something for bible thumpers who enjoy using the Bible as a justification for their various bigoted, sexist and homophobic ways. 


Some things the Bible bans:

Shaving (Leviticus 19:27)

Cursing (Ephesians 5:4)

Gossip (Leviticus 19:16)

Football on Saturdays and Sundays (Exodus 20:8)

Eating lobster (Leviticus 11:10)

Eating pork (Leviticus 11:7)

Cotton/Polyester blends (Leviticus 19:19)

Associating with women who are having their periods (Leviticus 15:19-20)

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned."

"What is the nature of your sin, my child"

"I ate lobster."

"Get the fuck out of my confessional booth."

A Month To Go

I think the first and most overwhelming sensation I experienced upon arriving in Singapore was that of sinking disappointment. It's weird, because I expected to be knocked over with that bursting joy of homecoming. Isn't that the quintessential feeling one has to go through upon returning home after a trip that lasted a whole 10 months? I've not seen my parents, my sister, my friends (apart from Damian), my beagle - for all this time, and of course I miss them all dearly, but what is it about seeing that familiar Changi Airport control tower, that 'Welcome to Singapore' Banner they have outside the airport, that now jarring tone of Singlish, that fills me with such crushing disappointment, instead of an expectant elation?

Recently, another friend of mine with pretty similar circumstances as me, except she went to UK instead of the US, also remarked that homecoming was more of a disappointment than anything. This got me reflecting, as I do with much regularity given my barren schedule, upon my seemingly heartless side. Was it the very familiarity that makes us feel this way? I've been constantly traveling and coming upon the exotic, strange, fascinating and weird, and actually constructing a semblance of home out there. To return to a place where everything is exactly the same as when I left it, seems to belittle everything I have accomplished on my own. It feels as if after all that I've been through the past year, here I am again, back to square one. It's completely silly to think that way, of course, having elevated myself from a freshman to a sophomore in the course of my absence, but it still feels unnatural to not have to begin discovering this new piece of foreign land. 

Perhaps returning to a place I once called 'home' is making me question the very definition of what 'home' constitutes. A sanctuary where one feels sheltered and secure, an exclusively private space to have some alone time, or simply a nest to return to for bedtimes? I had been calling that one room in my Lucky Apartment home for the past 10 months, only to relinquish it after two semesters. Seeing how my lease for The Towers doesn't start till August, I'm practically homeless in the US now. Perhaps its the drifting uncertainty of my 'home' that's throwing me off. Where do I truly belong, if my 'home' changes with such regularity? I pride myself for being able to just get up and move on, plough forward, when the time calls for it, but do we all secretly long for somewhere that's permanent and stable? A place we can count on. Sometimes it seems like such a weakness, to require this emblem of stability. Other times I feel like maybe I'm rushing from one place to another in order to find that one perfect location that I know can contain me in my entirety, to base my world around. My true home. 

It's as if time is on a complete standstill while I'm here. This doesn't feel like my real life anymore, and day to day, I get that consequence-free wooziness in my head, the kind that accompanies a vacation. I feel as if nothing I do here makes any sort of long term impact on my actual life in the US. Of course, given the recent developments with my dating life, there is nothing I like more than to have that brought into my US life. But I guess sometimes life just throws you curve balls and you just have to make the best out of it at the moment, however excruciatingly hard it may come to be. Of course I know it's going to hurt, we both do. Friends constantly remind me so. But surely they know that if I had given up on this now, the heartbreak that accompanies our eventual parting of ways would be nothing compared to the agony of the uncertainty that would haunt me for ages. For once, I don't have an ulterior agenda for this relationship. It doesn't have that fairytale pressure of 'forever-lasting', it doesn't have to be an epic and beautiful love. It doesn't have to be anything at all, all I want is to just be.

I want my time away to have meant something. I want to know that everything I have worked for has led me down a path where I've encountered what anyone else would not have. I want to have cultivated the mental capacity to recognize it when utter ignorance is uttered by those too afraid to venture out. Mostly, I long for a validation, a clear sign that my efforts did not go to waste. For someone to say, completely sober, "Look at how he's changed, it would not have been possible without his experiences and death-defying struggles."

Do I fear going back, now that I've been through a year of it and know what I'll be up against? Yes, I do. I know the ache of loneliness, the dazed detachment during significant days, and not having someone from my inner circle to talk to. But I also know that there is much to look forward to. Rushing new pledges for the Fall semester, moving in and decorating my new apartment in The Towers, coming into contact with numerous new fields of study... Being a sophomore. However tough it is, it's my real life now. And I'll enjoy the one month of holidays I have left to the best of my abilities.

From Monona Terrace

I have always wanted to blog from a terrace overlooking a lake. Okay, maybe that thought only occurred to me after I randomly stumbled upon a terrace that just happens to overlook a lake. But nonetheless, this is a beautiful place to write, no matter how hideously shallow the content. It feels a lot more author-y, somehow, writing on a lovely rooftop garden, soaking in the undeniable freshness of it all. It's the kind of place people would wanna bring their first dates to, as if being surrounded by softly glowing lamps and gushing fountains would convince their dates that they do indeed have a romantic side.

I did stumble upon the Monona Terrace by accident. After an hour of reading during the afternoon by Lake Mendota, I decided that I had to get up and leave, before my primal urges take over and I start pushing noisy kids into the lake. Somebody has to teach them that there are consequences to voicing one's adoration of ducks in an excessively loud manner. We'll see how much they like ducks when they're swimming with them. Besides, the sun was setting and it was getting a tad chilly, so I set off for dinner at Potbelly's. Nowadays I take extra caution not to tell the sandwich maker that I've got Big Meatballs anymore, after being given the strangest stare by the girl behind the counter. Sniggering after saying it does not help matters either. "Big-sized meatball subs" seem to be the safest way to say it.

Not wanting to return to my apartment for yet another night of binge-watching 'Dead Like Me', a most delightfully morbid series, I decide to just set off in one direction, wind in my luscious bottle-blond locks, and go wherever my well-toned calves and thighs take me. I deviate from my usual circle around the capitol building, and set off instead towards a path that seems to lead towards an expanse of water. The capitol building is on a piece of land flanked by Lakes Mendota and Monona, and I was unknowingly headed to the latter. A swarm of fluttering insects greet me, but they all parted like mist as I walked through the cloud of flutterers. I can't say for sure what they are - they're not flies or mosquitoes, nor moths, but look like miniature dragonflies, only more transparent. I take a short stroll by Monona, unimpressed by the lack of ducks but grateful for the lack of duck-loving children, and headed up the stairs of a building with numerous signs promising a rooftop garden.

So here I am, up on the terrace. It really showed me a side of Madison I never knew existed. I was around the campus area for so long that I got the impression that that was it. The rooftop garden offers a uninterrupted view of the illuminated capitol building on one side, and the lake on the other. You can just barely make out the opposite bank, with the lights of little houses dotting the shoreline. There is wifi connection from up here, but the free 56k version doesn't get you very far. For a weird nostalgic moment, it reminded me slightly of Singapore's Vivocity rooftop, only with less people and no ships in sight. 

There's just something about being in a place built solely to please our aesthetic side. It gives us a sense that people still do care about unwinding and relaxing, about enjoying the simple nuances of life, without being consumed by whether something's profitable or commercial. Maybe there's hope for the dreamers after all. 

'S'il suffisait d'aimer' en anglais

J'aime cette chanson beaucoup, mais c'est en francais, alors je l'ai traduit en anglais! 

I dream about your face, I reject your touch

Suddenly you're with me, I would long so much

All that I need to say, but words can't find a way

If only you could read my mind today

It seems that everyone can succeed besides me
Is it a mistake to have these wild dreams

I offer up my soul, my heart and all my time

Giving up my all, but you're still not mine

Is it enough to love, can we survive on love

If there's one thing that we can change, trying to rise above

If it's enough to love, if we could only love

I'd make this dream reality, for eternity

I see blood in my dreams, I see petals drifting

I feel the scars unseen, the tears my past still brings

Life isn't waterproof, my island's crumbling soon

The door leaves cries to enter, even when it's closed

On a balcony of flowers my inner child stays

Hiding from the blaze of my brazen ways

Dark clouds are gathering now, a sign of what's to come

Do our fears respond to the wartime drums 

Is it enough to love, can we survive on love

If there's one thing that we can change, trying to rise above

If it's enough to love, if we could only love

I'd make this dream reality, for eternity

Is it enough to love, can we survive on love

If we could do it all again, I wonder if I would change

If it's enough to love, if we could only love

We would make this dream a reality

If it's enough to love

Starbucks Gaze

 I'm really into monologues these days, perhaps a side effect of acting class. Love how a 2 second gaze can be developed into a full monologue. 


"Cute guys hang out at Starbucks. I know, because I've spent enough time lounging around Starbucks with my empty latte cup, pretending that my continued presence by the fireplace was essential cause of the latte that I had yet to consume. Those times, however, I was there, lounging by the fire for the sake of eyeballing some delicious cutie, then frantically blackberry messaging my girl-friends and just being a huge perv about it in general. This time it hit me completely by surprise. Yes, it happened at Starbucks too. Isn't that where all the most romantic of meet-ups happen? Engulfed by the heady aroma of toasted coffee-beans, I made my order at the counter and turned around and then – nothing. That was the best I can describe it, I just, felt completely nothing for a moment. It wasn't like I was bored out of my mind and felt 'nothing' in that sense of the word. It was more like, a beam of high powered light - focused directly on my face - and every one of my five sense were obliterated for a split second. As I clicked back into the real world, I realized that I had been looking at a pair of eyes. 'I know this person! I most absolutely know this person, we go waaaay back,' my mind is telling me. I instinctively pull one of my earpieces out, because that's what you do when you meet someone you know – you detach yourself from your iPod and say hello. It wasn't until our gaze broke, did I come to the weirdest realization. I had never seen this man in my life. But at that moment, that electrifying, soul-shattering, sense-obligating moment, I could swear that I had known this guy all my life. I felt my breath catch in my throat, right before it was going to be released, forming a sound or a word, and I pulled it back. Our gazes flicker to each other's eyes one more time, this time with some caution, as if suspicious about this bewildering sensation of familiarity. Then just as suddenly as it had started, he had gone, and the distorted, saturated glow that my surroundings had taken on ebbed deliberately away."

Last Day as a Freshman

The last bubble of the Scantron sheet I filled in was a 'D'. I remember that with absolute clarity, because it was the final question of the final paper of my freshman year. What was the main argument behind the Pennsylvanian prison system, they ask. Humans are social animals, and putting them in isolation was a punishment because it deprives them the chance to be social, I confidently answer. Whether that's actually correct is beyond my concern because I'm finally done with my first year of college.

It feels appropriate that my final paper required me to do a lot of reading on prisons. Trapped in my room in self-imposed isolation, force-feeding myself hours upon hours of prison facts. I almost feel as if I could relate to the horror stories so vividly described in my readings. Research shows that just ten days in isolation was enough to cause negative psychological effects on a prisoner. I think they were able to last that long because they didn't have to read about it. Ten hours spent on 'Entering the Gates' was enough to do me in. I spent two nights in a row having nightmares about prisons and waking up wondering if I was still wearing that horrible orange jumpsuit. That part's the worst, I think. You knowingly impose a color on him that just clashes with his natural skin-tone, he's gonna snap. Some of the prisoners' mental state deteriorated to a point where they started flinging feces at guards just for any form of human communication. 'Come on, play with me! Let's throw my bodily excretions around, it'll be fun!'

As per tradition, the first song I always listen to after my exam season is Mariah Carey's 'I Am Free'. It goes, "Once, I was a prisoner..." (What's with the recurring theme of prisons, it's haunting me!) A mere 9 months after I first started college, I suddenly found that I wasn't a freshman anymore. To put it in completely unnecessary dramatic terms, I had gone from fearing the unknown abyss, to slowly feeling my way through the darkness, to finding a way to stand on my own two feet, to realizing that I had -surprise, surprise- survived my very first (triumphant) year. I had gotten an AB for French, As for Theater and Music, and hopefully something decent for my just-completed Criminal Justice. Je peux parler un peu francais maintenant! Hourra!

Now what lies ahead is the monstrous task of packing up my room in preparation of my big move. Damian, of course, would be joining me here in US soon. We'd be off for our grand tour of the States, culminating in the widely anticipated Celine Dion concert in Vegas. Come to think of it, there's less than a month before I see my goddess with my own eyes. I don't even want to imagine how I'll react right now, I mean, how does someone act in the presence of god herself... Cry and promptly faint? Or tremble as you take in the glory that is Celine? Or go completely numb and then realize that you've pissed and shit yourself? Just so many ways to inappropriately behave, I'm not sure I can decide on one right now. I can hardly wait to see Damian on the 28th either. He's the first familiar face I'd be seeing after all this time, and all the emotions I'd be suppressing for the past year could be unleashed upon his arrival. I'm just giving an early warning right now - the screaming and sobbing could cause airport security to react violently. It's like how someone could get into an accident and get sent to a hospital, all the while maintaining completely calm, and then just loosing all control the minute a friend or family member comes.

Meanwhile, I'm gonna take total advantage of the fantastic summer weather Madison's experiencing right now. Have an ice-cream from Coldstone, enjoy the ducks on the lake... Life is currently looking very good.

The (Kinda) Big 2-0

Memories of my last birthday celebration can still be accessed with relative ease, as if it was only a year ago. A huge party was thrown to commemorate the last time I'd be celebrating a birthday in Singapore, and various uncles and aunts were all heralding the triumphant way I had escaped the clutches of the army and gotten myself a future in my very own birthplace. I was filled with an enthusiasm and optimism only the certifiably insane could have managed. "I'm a trailblazer!" Most likely, I was drunk. "I'm finally free to fly away and live the life I was always destined to - with countless lovers and a cellar full of wine." Now I'd like to invite you, dear reader, to jump forward in time to the present, to a day where I'm sitting here in bed (without any of the countless lovers in sight, I might add), stone cold sober, and writing to an imaginary audience, in hopes that someone out there would read this one day. Boy have I deviated from my goals. 

It sure is weird, celebrating - actually, we'd go with 'experiencing' - my birthday without my usual inner-circle of social-deviants. This is quite possibly the first time in my life where I did not receive a present on my birthday. I don't know if my parents were cheapos back when I was too much of an infant to know what a birthday is, but as far as I could remember, I'd always at least gotten something. I'm not being a Poshy Poshstine here, and I'm certainly not being resentful of the lack of presents. It's just that it has suddenly dawned on me the great fortune I've had in my life. There are literally millions out there who have not and will not ever receive any gift, birthday or not. Just growing up in my given circumstances, and now seeing how it's not something to be taken for granted, makes me feel exceedingly blessed. People don't have to do it for you - so be grateful when someone does. 

Honestly speaking, I thought I'd be hitched by now. I had envisioned my birthday with the perfect date, and how much less of a torture a birthday would be to get through because I was with an incomparable someone having the finest dinner and enjoying the most magnificent horse-carriage ride à la Will and Kate. Most unfortunately, my quests for a transcendent relationship have only culminated in hair-raisingly terrifying Vanessa Hudgens-esq scandals. Perhaps I got it so wrong because I was doing it for all the wrong reasons. For whatever reason, I believed I needed someone to lessen the impact of significant holidays and important dates. But I also realize now the danger of putting that much hope into one person, because what would you be left with when they decide to go? If everything I had was based on the supposed existence of that someone, how would I ever truly appreciate the innate survivor within me? 

Birthdays are celebrations of life, of the successful liberation from one's mother's womb - they're meant to be enjoyed, not tolerated. No matter where I physically am, I know I'm in the hearts and minds of those who truly love me. That in itself is cause enough for celebration.

Kindle

Now, no one loves the feel and the smell of a pulpy, sturdy new book more than I do. I've always been an advocate for reading actual paper-made books as opposed to reading stuff on the computer, or on one's iPad or iPhone. It never truly felt like a book to me if I can't clutch its physical form to my chest and sob my heart out when the heroine dies in a tragic accident. I love putting my nose to the pages and inhaling the intoxicating, woody scent of deceased trees. I love ruffling through the pages and feeling myself getting drawn into the imaginary world, the world that I held between my fingers. Most of all, I love arranging all my books neatly and obsessively on my shelves, first by genre, then by author, cross referenced with dates of publication, book-sleeve color, number of sex scenes and my general approval rating. You can't just do that with e-books.

With that being said, given my current living circumstances, I can't really afford to physically have that many books with me. I'm moving once a year, and it's just very silly to carry around tons of novels and a big bookshelf. I had always known about the existence of Kindles as portable e-book readers, but had never really gotten to know what it was. A trip around the Amazon website got me really interested - it works based on some spectacular e-ink technology, that projects words on your screen without using a back-lit LCD. As a result, each page looks just like it would on a piece of paper, except super smooth. The idea is that this wouldn't strain your eyes, unlike on a computer or an iPad, and you'd be able to read for hours on end, just like with an actual book.

As usual, when faced with an exorbitant purchase, I did what I always did. I stopped, took a deep breathe, cleared my head, then keyed in my credit card numbers with the speed and mad enthusiasm of a child on Christmas. The transaction was done before I had time to really process what was being done, and then I could sit back and safely blame it on a moment of temporary insanity. My Kindle's on it's way! I had also purchased a classy leather jacket and a gorgeous decorative skin to go with it, because since I'm already spending on it, might as well go all the way and make it fantastically decadent. The lesson here, boys and girls, is to always go all the way.

Here we have a couple of pictures of my Kindle: 

Will you look at that gorgeousness. Yeah the Kindle's pretty too.

With the jacket closed

The first book I bought on it was Tina Fey's 'Bossypants', basically a collection of stories about growing up and getting into improvisation-acting. The idea of going to school for improv seems a little funny to me, seeing how the very idea of improvising is that you're coming up with something on the spot, so how could you go to school to prepare for that? I always figured it was a talent you either possessed or didn't. I also got Betty White's 'Here We Go Again', an incredibly fascinating read by the First Lady of TV. She was basically there when TV was born, and is still going strong after 6 decades in the business. She's the pinnacle of what ever actor and actress aspires for in Hollywood - you have longevity (both in business and health), respect, and a wit so sharp that I very truly believe it inspired the phrase 'she'd cut a bitch'.

I had sprung for the version with 3G connectivity, which means that I'd be able to buy a book anywhere with 3G connection. I thought about what I'd do if I were trapped in a remote wild forest and hence would I would not be able to buy a book, and decided that my priorities at that point would probably lean towards self-grooming, in order to keep myself from turning savage. I absolutely refuse to become one of those people that just let themselves go when they think no one's judging them in the wild. But as long as I remain in civilized lands, I would have no problems if I, for whatever reason, decide that I needed to read Hemingway immediately or I'd asphyxiate from lack of culture.

Amazon's doing a Kindle-Library project, to be released later this year. I would assume that it'll allow Kindle users to download books and read them for a limited period of time, after which it'll either disappear or charge you for keeping it longer than the borrowing period. I can't wait for that, because right now I'm spending around $10 per book, and I'd really like to read for free, seeing how I've already spent so much on the Kindle itself. So hurry up with the Library thingy already!

University Chorus Concert

One of the more enjoyable classes I'm taking this semester is University Chorus, a non-auditioned choir of 60. If you wanna be a part of it, all you have to do is to sign up at the start of semester. Given the non-auditioned nature of the choir, I went in with very law expectations and a very high apprehension. 

'There are gonna be jeremimis (check out his YouTube videos for the most horrifying experience of your life) and delusional freaks here! They're gonna ruin everything for everyone and their squealing will mean that I would never get to live out my Nun-Choir fantasies from Sister Act! Fuck!'  This was a phrase that most certainly did not resonate in my head as I went for my first rehearsal. 

Surprisingly, it was a really solid group. I guess the only people who would really sign up are those who have had some experience, and the bad ones would have figured out by Week 2 or so that they should just quietly sneak out before anyone catches on to their lip-syncing. Now I had never been in a choir before, having been really repulsed by the caliber of the choirs I've witnessed in Singapore. There are not many things that I wouldn't do, but swaying in beat and shamelessly harmonizing about being the 'Teacher's Pet' is definitely one of them. After all, one can only partake in that much faggotry before one's soul gets sucked away by a sparkly Cullen.

The endgame to our three-days-a-week rehearsals was the Mills Theatre Concert on the 25th of April. I realized too late that this seemingly docile 1-credit class was turning out to be a lot more work than I thought. To give you some perspective: my French class meets four times a week, just one time more than UChorus, and that's a four-fucking-credit class. Granted, everyone was already promised an A in UChorus, just as long as you show up to every rehearsal and perform in the concert. 

The dress code for the concert was either full black or white and black, with an optional red-colored  accessory (our school colors are red and white- ironic how I spend my life escaping Singapore and still ends up with a school that celebrates SG's national colors) of your picking. I went with the classic GAP white shirt, Levi's black pants. with a bright red skinny tie from Urban Outfitters. I emphasize on skinny because at this age, one really should not be attempting what I call the 'Daddy's Hand-me-down' ties. Embrace youth! The grandpa-ties only makes one look like a preteen playing dress-up with his uncle Oscar's unfitting clothes. But enough about my impeccable fashion, on with the concert. 

Four months ago, I unknowingly and randomly just sat front and center on the risers. By chance, that area ended up being the basses' area, and I somehow got stuck there permanently. Fast forward to the concert, and boy am I rejoicing/regretting my decision. It feels super good walking in the front row onto the stage, where a theater full of audience members applaud your entrance. There I was, beaming at my adoring crowd and acknowledging that they were all there to see me (I had to pretend not to see some posters with the name ALYSSA on it), when I realized how exposed I was. Theoretically, I know that with the exception of the two people standing beside me, no one else would even know that I made a mistake, if I do make one, but I still felt supremely self conscious. My smile froze in place as my mind raced a mile a minute. 'Did I get the order of the songs right? What was the first note again? (Doooo..) Am I sweating? Look at those smug assholes in the first row, just waiting for me to mess up. Did I zip my pants?' 

The order of the songs we performed:

- In The Beginning & The Heavens are Telling by Joseph Haydn with Orchestra

- When Again All These Rare Perfections Meet by Ross Lee Finney acapella

- Kyrie (Nelson-Messe) by Joseph Haydn with Orchestra

- In The Beginning of Creation by Daniel Pinkham with electronic tape

- Gloria by Antonio Vivaldi with Orchestra

You'd think if there were 60 other people up there with you, you wouldn't be nervous at all, but I still felt the familiar adrenaline vibrations pulsing through my veins. I was sure I could begin hovering in midair in a minute. I look up at Mike, our adorable conductor, and realized for the first time how crucial the role of a conductor was. They may not look like they're very useful when you're part of the audience, but when you're up there, he's the only one who's keeping time and giving you cues. That being said, a very attractive member of the orchestra caught my eye near the start of the concert and I missed half my cues. No biggie, I rather jump in late than be the only voice that started early. 

The pieces with the orchestra were incredibly fun to do, but the real kicker was the Pinkham piece, with the electronic tape. I'm half serious when I say it's outta this world, because it sounds like something rejected from Lady Gaga's home planet for being too outrageously weird. Its like a bunch of strange electronic zips and zangles thrown together by someone clearly tone-deaf, and we have to make odd whispery chants over it. The audience's expressions were priceless, it was more like we were doing it just to see how freaked out they'd get. I threw in a couple of dark, snarling expressions for good measure as we whispered 'and the darkness, over the face of the abysssss' to our very frightened crowd. I'm sure some of them would have screamed if we decided to drop and crawl towards the audience at that point. I won't say that it's a triumphant vocal performance, but it definitely caught grabbed their attention by the balls in case they were drifting off.

As we rounded off the last note of Vivaldi's Gloria and soaked in the thunderous (you weren't there, so just accept that they went bat-shit crazy over us) applause, I said a cast a silent prayer to my good fortune. This is what being in a US college is all about, isn't it? Limitless opportunities, dizzying new experiences and just having a crazy, crazy good time. My love affair with the stage is far from over, we're only just getting started.

Proust Questionaire

What is your idea of perfect happiness?

- Acceptance. I want to be able to live a whole day without once thinking about how I'm appearing to someone else. I know, I know, I exude an intoxicating blend of charm/sophistication/confidence, but on the inside I'm as distrustful of me as everyone else.

What is your greatest fear?

- Poverty. By poverty, I don't just mean like serious Ethiopian-pregnant-belly-boy-with-plastic-bottles-as-shoes type. I've been down to the homeless shelter at the Salvation Army, and I honestly would not even last one day in there. This makes me sound super pampered and sheltered, and perhaps for certain aspects of my life I really am. I don't mean to suggest that there are no problems left in your life if you have money, I'm just saying I'm more able and willing to cope with issues like Ray-Bans versus Oakley, or Armani versus Calvin Klein.

What historical figure do you most identify with?

- Cleopatra. What's that, she's not really a great beauty? Fuck this, I'm changing to Alexander the Great. He's the hot one right?

Which living person do you most admire?

- Betty White. The baddest old bitch on the block will rip you a new one while simultaneously not giving a shit.

Which trait do you most deplore in yourself?

- Complacency. Just once, I'd like to get good grades and actually maintain it for a couple more tests. "I scrapped an A? Uncork the wine, butler-guy!" 

What trait do you deplore most in others?

- Stinginess. I refuse to be friends with anyone who would count money down to the last cent.

What is your greatest extravagance?

- Every aspect of my life. I am literally physically incapable of saving money. A common rule my mother taught me - "The most expensive thing on the menu should be the best. It makes more sense!"

On what occasion do you lie?

- Whenever I speak to my parents. I don't lie to hurt anyone, all I know is that they would not hear a shred of truth from me until I know they are capable of handling it. And parents? Not so good handlers.

What do you dislike most about your appearance?

- My high cheekbones. Because Celine says that a 'pretty face can take you places you don't wanna go.' No seriously though, every time I buy shades, my cheekbones are always touching the sides of the lenses. Or, maybe its cause my nose-bridge is not protruding enough to balance my gorgeous cheekbones. Sigh, it's hard being this pretty.

When and where were you happiest?

- Recording songs with Damian. The most honest and freest connection true friends can make is through music.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

- To curb that wandering eye. No, I don't have a lazy eye problem, I have an off-the-charts lust issue.

If you could change one thing about your family, what would it be?

- More understanding. That they would learn their children are going to be who they are going to be, and to not feel as if every 'mistake' their children make is due directly to their failure in parenting.

What do you consider your greatest achievement?

- Going away to college and managing my own life. It is literally and figuratively the biggest step I've taken in my life, and I know of lesser beings who would be too afraid to do what I have done, so good job, Jamie-darhls. (Yes, that is what I call myself when I speak to a mirror, usually followed by a 'Hello, gorgeous', depending on the mood and lighting.)

If you died and came back as a person or a thing, what would it be?

- To have any job that comes with a bodyguard, but with no real danger involved. Yes I'm an attention whore, so what draws people attention at a crowded mall better than a huge guy dressed sharply in a suit? People would go nuts trying to figure out if I was some sort of celebrity while I make my bodyguard muscle the way to the front of every queue.

What is your most treasured possession?

- My wit and sanity. Not quite sure if they're meant to coexist, but I do know that I'm nowhere near the DID patients in the videos I used to see in psychology class, so I'm still good for a while. The statistics they use in that class does scare me a little, and a lot of psychotic illnesses manifest themselves in the patient's late 20s or early 30s, so there's still plenty of time for me to completely lose my mind.

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?

- Being the last surviving member of your family. They're still the only people who will always put your life before theirs.

Who are your heroes in real life?

- I look back at all that I've overcome, and inspire myself daily. You think I'm high from smoking my own ego, but I'm really being completely serious. Just take a look at everything that you have done and think about how, once upon a time, you thought you'd be defeated by it. I lived through all that, I can do it again.

What is it that you most dislike?

- Religious nuts. I like my pistachios and almonds completely atheist and roasted, thank you very much. 

How would you like to die?

- On the grassy hills of Switzerland, while the breeze takes away my final breath. I just hope the sheep or whatever god-awful creatures it is that lives on those hills don't nibble or take a shit on my cold dead body.

What is your motto?

- Haters gonna hate. I wish I could truly have a screw-the-haters attitude, but not gonna lie, it sometimes does hurt.