ok you know what? i give up. i give up trying not to be socially dysfunctional and i give up trying not to sound too unsingaporean. it's not even about speaking singlish, it's about speaking singaporean. i give up trying to make small talk about rice-cookers. i give up trying not to be the kind of person with whom almost-strangers feel compelled to talk about the jewish lobby in america instead of people with ang mo kio faces. (don't ask.) i give up trying not to be the kind of person for whom the same almost-strangers feel compelled to suddenly switch to speaking in grammatically-correct english. was that even grammatically correct? i shall be vaguely asianized with the americans and vaguely westernized with the singaporeans and generally strange. sit in a corner and drink gin and gibber poems to myself. i'm working on the gin.

(unfair? -- of course. it was fun. really nice people. really cool people. really good food. didn't really talk about rice-cookers. that much. and only in the context of chicken rice. talked to this girl, she was great. left before the drinking started but that's cos i had -- have -- an essay to write and i hadn't -- still haven't -- figured out the title. but walked home with these two girls, one of whom stayed in my hall. -- ah but she wasn't singaporean she was chinese-american and said 'dude' a lot and the other was singaporean but had an american accent so strong you could bomb afghanistan with it. -- bad taste? whatever.)