Reading material. ))))))):

Wrote long rambling post about Son of a Witch, which I shall save for better days when I am significantly more coherent and have vocabulary beyond brilliant and bleak. But really, I am horribly depressed, horribly lonely, only because in a show of support towards Singapore literature, I am reading The Man in the Cupboard (Colin Cheong), which is actually quite amusing and an extremely insightful study on repressed identities and isolation (or so the summary claims). And it is interesting to see talented people write in such simplicity. No need for grandiose vocabulary, elaborate metaphors, or long, pretentious words like iridescent to impress. It is like his talent simply seeps out, and it flows so prettily with the clear and simple prose, which is complete love. Reminds of Never Let Me Go, actually.

But the point is, so the story goes like this: Ho. Spiritually boneless, physically infertile man is married to condescending, high-achieving wife for fifteen years. So it is fifteen years of repression, humiliation, and one day man cracks, decides to kill wife. Maybe this is one big metaphor about repression in Singapore. A cautionary tale about people who fail to, hem, self actualise. Whatever. I am simply convinced that in all my unpleasantness, curtness, and probably cruelty, I shall be murdered in cold blood by my spouse before I even turn forty. And what is scarier is probably the notion that someone might by repressed by my words. Which is like sdkl;fnsdkl;afn. )))))):

End of story.

But of course, I haven't actually finished the book. So I will cautiously anticipate the interesting twist at the end. That, and find a way to get my hands on Great Expectations, because I need a great tragedy to sob over.