Quick follow-up.

I am insanely glad to be out of my makeup, although I still smell of pungent nail polish remover (silver toenails look nice in the first two hours or so, and then I get mildly startled each time I look down and spot them glinting up at me and wonder briefly whose toes those are before it dawned that they belong to me.) No, lar, it's not a fancy dress party I went for, it's just a role I'm playing in our Singapore film project, where we've got to make a mini-Singapore-film of our own, and I was suppose to act the part of this deviant and terribly lonely girl.

Which is really very odd, because not only am I an amateur in acting, I am an amateur in being--or dressing--deviant, too. (I can't work that darned eyeliner properly, lar... and purple lip-gloss! *wails at Maria again* I look like I just downed poison, wu-xia-ju style, and should, more aptly, lie in a faint in some handsome hero's arms gasping "I--will--die--without--the--antidote...The--spider--spirit--has--poisoned--me---You--must--run...Don't--bother--to--save--me...") But of course, this is an English programme, and therefore with complementary blackened eyes I just look malevolent and vamp-ish, more gothic villianess than dying heroine. (Sigh. No handsome hero. *grins*)

Okay. I'm exaggerating. Aftermath of the intoxicating nail-polish-remover.

It's just kinda difficult to get into character, because I am tempted to smack the young protagonist and tell her to wake up her idea because I think of the girl in the mirror with her makeup and her black mini-skirt and black top and her growling frustration at her mother and her friends and the depressing entries she writes in her blog and... It's not who she is, but the silly little thing cannot untangle herself from her own misery.

She isn't what I want to be, at any point in my life. This is not an outlet for vicarious rebelliousness and untapped potential to unleash the darker side of the self, or something. All I see in this girl is a gaping hole, and an aching desire to fill it up. But she can't, because she's looking in all the wrong places, and her family doesn't give her the emotional fulfilment she needs. *shudder* And you wonder what you can do with her, when things are so warped.

Gosh. I sound like some prissy kid who thinks herself too well-brought-up to be able to empathise properly. My apologies. I am so freaking conservative, I sometimes suspect that I'm supposed to be born in 18th century England or ancient China. Char was telling me the other day that I exist on a seperate plane on my own, of a seperate time and space, haha. Although indeed there's more truth to that expression than one can imagine.

Okay now. Must snap out of musings like that, and direct my textual analysis to where it's needed... ie, the three essays lined up for the coming weeks. For all my inability to act obviously deviant, I'm quite beyond completing enough readings within the stipulated time in order to qualify as a proper guai kia. Sigh.