taxi drive from Changi Airport terminal 2

All of a sudden, I'm convinced all the HDB blocks I'm seeing are really futuristic implants, optimised for human-living at maximum efficiency of space.

ALIEN INVASION FTW

five months of daily-intense-conditioning and sporadic application of anti-frizz serum and occasional hairdrying (which is supposedly good) later:

(if I tuck behind ears) ↑

(if I don't tuck behind ears) ↑

I guess, for my hair type, this is considered good enough. *glowers*

...

Or maybe I should just go back to these days ↓

($6 haircut → low-maintenance → A+s)

SHOW ME THE WAY, OH WISE ONES. WHAT DO I DO?

X plus X

At some point in my life, I have acquired the ability to cry on cue. (Special talent, no?)

It's a kind of raw sadness, devoid of bitterness and makes me want to roll up myself like a sushi in my one-and-only comforter, and just sort of water the sunflowers on my bed sheets.

And then I'd unroll myself and realise, ohmygawd, I am a female life form. And there are such things as Emoshit Hormones that I might finally be susceptible to, after years and years of failing to grow up like a woman. Or at least, I was never aware of it.

If anything else, Zixin is not the only person who can cry on cue.

And Zixin is not the only person who's going to have long, long hair.

logic

If I can find a coat as red as this, my time in Europe is going to be absolutely weets.

I'm going to meet the perfect roommate.

I might also meet (again) that Indian dude I hung out with at the Swedish Embassy.

I would also magically learn how to cook and feed all my friends at Grashagen.

I'll start searching tomorrow.

self

Change of mind.

Today, I'm weak and bleary-eyed.

*plays Tokyo Jihen's Rakujitsu and mopes about the floor*

I'm tired and lazy, so I'll just squat around and wish for something nice to happen. For once.

I'm a dependent and weak soul sometimes.

Plus my stomach hurt like shit (thanks to Tom Yum Ban Mian).

*draws circles on the floor*

*draws triangles on the floor*

*looks lifeless in general*

self

Sometimes it gets very clear that I'm just a normal human being.

Sure, I have my bunch of idiosyncracies that my Good Old Friends love and laugh about, and I fantasise about Dramatic Shit sometimes. (e.g. discovering that my heritage is Martian or living out wayward and contrived explanations for normal everyday happenings)

But I'm really very ordinary. One who has 207 to study for. One who is not particularly brilliant nor amazingly charismatic nor have astounding hidden talents nor is breathtakingly good-looking. One who is just existing with a bunch of Others, and who, by-the-way, is also growing out her hair on a whim of changelust.

But today I'm strangely thankful and contented to be just like that, because it's just so comfortable up here.

*sips tea*

*flips textbook*

*watches a torrented movie*

blunder

Sometimes I am mightily glad to be Huan, possibly the only person on Earth who can be wholly distracted from the Disasters of Her World by a single cup of cheapo Hazelnut Chocolate Soymilk from Jollibean (which she personally thinks is a gawdgaudy version of Mr. Bean).

Or maybe she just has a highly attuned sense of relativity, a hidden protege of Einstein in the functional application of his thought. And she also has a propensity to kaypoh the pain of others, calling it an exercise in perspective.

Or maybe she's just a potential Ad Dude who accidentally brainwashed herself with nifty ad copies.

But no, she really isn't anything. *Sniff sniff* All she did was check her email two days late and got her groupmate into thinking she's a lazy ass in the bum of a huge pair of Nehneh who SUed the module and is going to put in zilch effort for group effort and is basically a Failed Member of the Human Race.

SERIOUSLY MISUNDERSTOOD BOOHOO

mantras to hold on to for Survival

1. Everyone whom you matter to prefers you looking like a Manic Grinning Idiot.

2. In fifty years' time, all these are going to seem really, really, really funny.

3. You honestly prefer to be a Manic Grinning Idiot yourself.

When in doubt, look at the ground and pretend to be particularly interested in your toes. Autism Coping Mechanism #1 ftw woot

When dressed like a dumpling in Sweden (and can't see your toes), duck into your oversized fleece coat and try not to cry because you don't know the effects of frozen emo liquid on your eyelashes. Don't risk it.

what I use tumblr for

Farnie.

... again.

Hahahahahaha. Okay, work.

up set

Give me chocolate.

(Wait. I'd take Depp in that top hat too.)

When I'm 80 I would look back and find it all really, really funny.

update: life

Derek Morgan always has a door to kick in every episode.

Dinosaur gummies ish the best because it doesn't come in pineapple flavour.

Don't want to go anywhere near MML without Oi Shan. She reminds me to be sane. Gawd. The lighting. Good Gawd.

Death to Anxiety Attacks.

Remedy for AAs: Just remember that in 50 years' time, you'd look back and guffaw because you really were just a Pig running under the sun, panicking that you'd turn into bacon just because the sun is hotter than usual.

Dear Director, make my life a sweet comedy. Thankew.

ö

from I need help

two narrow escapes

An adventurous week lately, involving many trips to the SAO lost-and-found bureau, a madcap taxi chase down to a musty oily jungle (the natural habitat of our beloved Bus ABCs), and one mandatory against-the-clock rush to DBS bank (I reached at 5:03pm).

But to recover my Banana wallet, my lovely vintage 50 cents coin, my ultrashiny 2010-made one dollar coin, and one ugly passport photo I need for my residence permit. Really nice.

And I very nearly found myself flying to Copenhagen alone. With two days in Denmark alone.

Which would be fun : D

backstory:

All because my dad MIA-ed while I'm trying to book air tickets with the Others and he also conveniently decided to apply for MasterCard SecureCode®.

In a span of twenty minutes the airfare hiked from 1.9K to 3K.

Except my dad called me on both the house phone and his cellphone (simultaneously), warning me NEVER, NEVER, NEVER even think of trying that.

Except the alternative was to fork out an extra SGD1100 just so that I could be with the Others. ("If you die, at least SOMEONE would call us!")

Luck's been so bad it's funny. But it also means that I'm using up my bad luck and good things are coming.

May the good things be so : D it's a sin.

when I emo

I feel like a proper pile of shit.

(Guess I'm ultranerd enough to feel shitty over a poorly done assignment.)

It isn't merely poorly done!

After all, what he expects:

Us running to multiple locations in Singapore. Try the weirdest-ass, the most ordinary, just as many as you can cover.

Peel your ears. Get the sounds. Marvel at your little sonic collection, write an essay on it with pride.

What I did:

Three days after the deadline, I just took sounds at Pioneer Station and some hotel at Chinatown (because I was there for another project. a core-module-therefore-more-important). I reused footage from a previous assignment, wrote crap to reach 1000 words and submitted it in mp3 format (because wav takes too long and I need to sleep).

Late and blissful shit. *bangs head bangs head bangs head*

I feel awful for having to disappoint Prof Permagnus. (who also happens to be Swedish and cute).

He's going to spend three hours tomorrow showcasing our masterpieces. Kill me already.

imoverreactingbutidontwanttowakeupandgotoschooltomorrowjustgivemeafeverrightnowthankew.

(S/Ued the module in pure shame.)

ladeela

dream #1

I've moved this to my dream journal.

update: The Brother

Blood-splattered, zombie-hacking, buck-toothed specimen.

Well on his way to becoming a Man.

tagboard horror

YOU GUYS NOTICED I BLOGGED?

YAY.

I don't know why, but I'm squealingly glad that Somebody Out There actually stalks my blog. Even though I offered nothing at all for months and months. Not just someone, but Someones. People I'm mighty glad to have around.

You guys see me nearly everyday, yet you still check to see if I died? On my blog? Honestly, that's kinda sweet.

: D

I love you people.

(WARNING: SENTIMENTALITY LEVELS UNUSUALLY HIGH LATELY. A NATURAL SIDE-EFFECT OF RECENT CONDITIONS. IT'D GO AWAY. ENJOY IT WHILE IT LASTS. DON'T PUKE ON MY TAGBOARD THANKYEWS.)

phoenix down! to revive deh blog

I haven't got anything to say actually, maybe except that I've been gaining EXP and levelling up at a tremendous pace.

*Final Fantasy Victory Fanfare*

Have I levelled up enough? I'm tired of killing the same monsters. Chain combo! WOOT

tum tum tum tum

Armed with my army of white shirts, here I go!

Just have to remember to zip my bag AND ALL IS GOOD

my twentieth

I just have to blog about the wonderful people who made my birthday awesome. Totally didn't expect it, especially these few classic moments: Epic Phail Birthday Surprise (thanks to my godawful timing), my first Bollywood VCD (not just one, but three hot guys), Very Shag Day with People (you know who you are) semi-forcing me to buy souvenirs ("because it's your birthday!")and so on.

It's wonderful, really wonderful because you guys are out there, and you guys are people I really want in my life. These days I've been learning about appreciating people for who they are, precisely because I didn't do so. I'm regretting it so badly, but at least I know better now. Sometimes I think, SHIT I'm almost twenty and I still managed to make such a childish mistake? But then again, I cringe at my primary-school diaries (I called myself a Teen and was god-damn proud of it. Shoot me.) Back then, when I was writing it, I didn't think it was stupid. Of course, there are other mistakes which, till today, I'm still ashamed of. Which I would writhe in horror and guilt just to recall it. This is my latest mistake, probably my second-most-horrible one, so far, that I wish I can just erase off cleanly. But I can't, and post-mistake remedy is not going well.

For my birthday, I would like to pour all my Birthday Wishes and Luck into my efforts to at least soothe the open wound. And all my previous years' of Birthday Wishes and Luck, because I've never used them.

Please. It's my birthday. Please.

Sorry for being so sappy but it's my birthday ya? BO BIAN. I SHALL HAUNT YOU GUYS : D

the Hit List

I hereby declare that I'm going to capture the following people:

1. Lye Wai Leng

2. Wang Jia Ni

3. Wong Oi Shan (update: I spare Oi Shan because she actually has photos : D)

4. Xu Jing Hui

in photos, with every chance I've got.

This amazing brainwave came after a chance realisation that I would be 80 one day and I would find that there are no photos of the Youthful Me.

Like most girls, I grew up with hundreds of toddler photos. (All babies are photogenic, ya?) Then, the numbers dwindle mysteriously to the point where I shun cameras by reflex. I ostensibly believe that all my photos would turn out bad.

You know what I mean don't you : D

But today, I was confronted with the sheer alien-ness of five new tagged photos, OF ME, in my facebook feed.

As usual, Glam Meter near zilch. I'm still the awkward mess you find in candids (even in the posed ones).

But these are photos of me when I was nineteen : D

My point is, there is no need to look good in all your photos, friends. I shall spare no one. Ho. Ho. Ho.

my brother and bieber

This is one of those once-in-a-thousand occurrences resulting from the coming together of two or more unrelated and unfortunate elements.

1. It just happened that my sister, the ultimate audiophile, somehow found a liking for Bieber. Because he sounds like a girl (My sister digs childish men voices).

2. She also has the habit of burning her newest favourites into a disc every two weeks or so (kinda like her personal Billboard Top 100) and playing them in the car when we go on family trips.

3. My brother, who is 13, picked up 'Fuck' from his friends.

So 'Baby' was playing in the car with my siblings squealing at the top of their voices. As you know, Bieber is catchy. Backseat singing ftw. All the way to Sakae Sushi! ("Baby baby ohhhh!")

At Sakae Sushi, they would take turns to break out into song.* ("My first love! Broke my heart for the first time!")

Then after a while they got bored, and started singing solemn choral versions. ("Baaaaaaaaaaby baaaaaaaby baaaaaaaby Ohhhhhhhhhhh~")

After a while they decided to do the rap part instead. ("When I was 13, I had my first love. Yo.")

Then they did presidential versions. ("When! I was 13. I! Had my First Love.")

Finally we were laughing so hard till my brother said: "When I was 13! I had my first Fuck."

Cues maniacal giggling from brother.

Cues shocked silence from the rest of the table, and possibly, two tables down the line.

"Do you know what fuck means?"

"It's the same as ji bai or kana-ji!"

Being the evil one, I said: "Fuck means boy and girl have sex."

"Then what's motherfucker?"

Cues random deaths in a 2m-radius area around said perpetrator.

(My brother is going to be very entertaining for a couple of years.)

* to avoid accusations for lack of integrity, I admit me was singing too.

mishmash to revive

(Shan't let May go by without a single post!)

Heard this at dinnertime. Apparently, my dad had this heated discussion with a bunch of his golfing friends on whether the Earth is round. Imagine: a bunch of pot-bellied dudes of every Mediacorp's-old-faggot-who-is-a-businessman stereotype conceivable.

Ah Kam, who happens to be knowledgeable in electricity and Tesla/Faraday shit, thinks it's impossible. ("What about those on the sides and bottom? They'll feel like they are upside down!")

Ah Loo agrees with my dad that the Earth is round. ("Why not? I think the Earth is jagged. Like the steps in a plantation! So everyone is essentially still upright.")

Amazing how people can forget Primary School gravity! But then again, I don't suppose the shape of the Earth is going to affect how much they're going to earn in the next week. Hurhur.

you know you need to sing this

(come on, it's catchy)

Smile though your heart is aching
Smile even though it's breaking
When there are clouds in the sky, you'll get by
If you smile through your fear and sorrow
Smile and maybe tomorrow
Youll see the sun come shining through, for you

Light up your face with gladness
Hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear may be ever so near
That's the time you must keep on trying
Smile, what's the use of crying?
You'll find that life is still worthwhile
if you just smile

"We all pay for life in certain ways." - Gownie the Great

You were nineteen when

You refused to eat properly

And ended up irregular.

Then you spouted something

On a childish whim

You paid.

Laxatives ftw

12 and older

In his usual fashion, my brother led me to the fridge to show me a "cool new something from the supermarket". (The last time he did this was for Cadbury Milk Chocolate Frogs.)

"Da jie da jie!"

A can of cola-flavoured Naughty G.

Thought process: miracle molecule horny goat weed raunchy advertisements rumoured to be aphrodisiacal horny goat weed naughty for him & her horny goat weed in my fridge among the cans of root beer in the hands of a boy barely 13-year-old he wants it because it's Cola.

In that moment it was as if my brother bought flavoured condoms because he thought they were candies.

A bit of backstory: my brother is no longer a primary school kid. It has been so for three months and eighteen days. Now he has classmates who tell him stuff like "your dick will pop up when you think about girls" (and he tells me everything because he's clueless). He'd probably ask me for permission to look at porn someday.

On one hand I want to weed out these little fellas and bash their heads in. At the same time, I want to be all-cool and think it's perfectly normal to be horny at this age. Oh, glorious puberty! (Never mind that I was a negative example, having only confirmed the details of copulation during biology at the grand age of I-shall-not-say.)

But out of precaution, I googled horny goat weed to make sure it wouldn't further my brother's development. As of yet he's still a golden child with a whiny voice.

Then we shared the can of Naughty G, cola-flavoured.

for sake of variety

And my (perceived) individuality:

Xin and Stella, don't cut your hair!

still infallible

because I am going to break Leng's blogging record. Yosh.

INFALLIBLE

is what I am now.

Ho yes. Blood floods my brain. My cheesy neon lights shine for me. I think I'm young. I see blank sheets of paper and I have a truckload of pens with 256 x 256 x 256 different colours. My Macbook still looks cool.

I detect emotion in a dated pop song. I can live on Nissin beef noodles for a week. I can't see the dead pixels on my screen.

All is good. Very good. (sniggers)

Malaysia

I've never felt that much different from any other Singaporean kid, apart from here-and-there occasions when people comment that I don't seem local. (Variants include Chinagirl and Japanese.)

I've never felt that my parents are that much different from any other pair of Singaporean Chinese parents. And they aren't really. Except for a few anomalous traits which I've recently noticed:

1. My mum uses clear vinegar and can't stand the vinegar used in local hawker centres.

2. My parents swear by garlic chili made in Kampong Baru, of which they would buy twelve bottles every time we return to homeground. I hate that stuff.

3. We eat salty char kuay tiao.

4. Occasional remarks along the lines of "Aiya, Malaysia has better (insert name of dish)."

5. We pronounce "shi" as "xi". So "dian shi" becomes "dian xi".

6. We listen to 92.8FM in the car.

I never realised Red FM is based in Malaysia. By the way, they have hilarious radiomercials.

An example -

Male voice: Hey, can I have your sister's number? She's beautiful and my friend is fussy with girls! I want to introduce her to him.

Female voice: Oh, that was my mother! She is drinking XXX nutrient drink. It contains bla bla bla bla. For a healthier life and a more youthful look!

Male voice: Oh wow! I would like to buy it now!

(pause)

The same female voice: Where can I buy a cheap aircon that is environmentally friendly and saves more than 50% energy, AND is quiet and efficient at the same time?

The same male voice: Go to XX aircon roadshow now! It is at bla bla bla. Get the cheapest and most reliable brands, all in one show!

Female voice: Oh wow! Let's go there now!

(pause)

Still the same female voice: I need a loan, what can I do?

Finally a different male voice: Oh, have you heard of YY bank? They have a new and wonderful plan. You can bla and bla and bla. It's totally great!

Female voice (still enthusiastic, yes): Oh wow! Let's sign up for it together now!

It's as subtle as a 50s' TV ad. Win.

(Disclaimer: I have nothing against Malaysia)

Anyway, I just felt like reviving my blog, so there.

I deserve it.

It's been a longtime secret guilt of mine, me being a picky eater.

The most recent case:

I bought seafood tomyam and left all the seafood.

I'm so going to get cursed with lifetimes of bad karma, if we count the numerous times I could have sent food to Africa. Panic.

I cannot do this anymore, if I want to be taken seriously as a human being. *nods*

That and other little OCD-ish oddities that annoys the hell out of my mum.

ding!

I'll make a good researcher because I'm rarely convinced I'm right.

In that same line of thought, I also rarely try to convince other people that I'm right.

Which makes me good in an argument, or worse.

declaration

If I happen to die some time recent-ish, please don't put my edventure photo next to my casket.

poke

Creepy, but I have an urge to hum all the songs in Yoko Kanno's 'Song to Fly'.

Even creepier is I have this urge to put the italised part above in APA format. Until I realise I don't know how. And that's when Julie's face surfaces in a Tim-Burton-esque pool of dark acid. Hooked nose first, and then her librarian-ish blouse ( I swear she has only two sets of dissimilar clothes). And then her wonderful voice, berating me for not being an 'infomation literate individual' and seducing me log on to EBSCOhost because that's the closest thing to heaven.

Let me find time.

dang

Six people wished me Good Luck. I would like to know where all the luck went.

Picture this: The examiner gave me a sight-reading piece in C major with a sympathetic look on his face. He was nice. I do hope he's nice enough to let me scrape a pass by one or two marks.

Anyway when I went back to the holding room, there was a dude at the piano looking as emo as can be. Total stranger, though I know his full name and birth year. I was seized by this Ameliesque desire to do good, so I thought I would transfer all my Good Lucks to him by verbalising it in his direction.

May the Karma give me one more mark.

for your entertainment

wait I should have screamed

I believe I was the victim of an attempt at molest. 11:59pm, at the crossing near my house.

Although it was an incredibly half-assed attempt.

There was this Indian version of a Beng on the other side of the road. Bleached hair and red polo tee (thanks to the corruption of memory through time, I have the impression that it had dragon prints).

When the light turned green, we crossed. As he was nearing me, he just sort of shouted something incomprehensible and reached out to grope. I wasn't very sure what I should do, so I thought I would just step aside. His hand brushed the side of my pants.

I kept walking. I could hear him break into faster footsteps behind me. After about two seconds or so, I realised he must have been attempting molest. A very PHAIL attempt at molest. I couldn't resist curiosity. I turned back and saw him on the pavement. Staring at me. Stationary. (I suppose he must have realised that he didn't manage to commit a crime.)

I couldn't help but found it farnie. I gave him a quizzical half-smile, and for the rest of my way home I composed a new blog entry in my head.

Sure, it's pretentious, but maybe I like pretending. (No one has to like it. I don't have to like anyone not liking it either.)

*insert a CNY song for obligatory festive aura*

supply and demand

I have an issue with the phrase, "a woman in a man's body".

In the first place, is there a particularly womanly soul? e.g. If I have a woman's soul, I automatically like pink and I paint my nails and I like to wear frilly dresses.

If I produce more testosterone than estrogen, I cannot like pink. The notion is biologically incomprehensible. My brain will be inclined to blow up or my hormones will go haywire and I'll find myself speckled with acne.

If I want to be girly, I must not have a penis. I must spend loads of money to chop it off in surgery. Only a woman's body can encompass a woman's soul.

Maybe the Ceiling Cat has a surplus of men's bodies.

(Or is it some society pressure sorta thing again?)

for a ten

I feel terrible in two ways.

I feel a terrible sense of longing for it.

I feel a terrible sense of guilt for wanting it that much.

(My mind keeps playing back that moment when I gallantly waved off that ten dollar note. If only I had been more shameless.)

Updates

The speeches I prepare for COM205 are so much in the style of how I blog it's alarming. But the audience like it (maybe not as much for Verena), I feel comfortable, and it certainly makes COM205 seem infinitely more manageable.

An unrelated personal goal:

To cut down on less commonly heard words a.k.a bombastic words. I shall master deh beauty of economical expressions.

No more walls of text. Succinct is the new Cool.

Another unrelated comment:

The econs studies I signed up for sounds promising. Exciting in a damn evil way. The only clues I've gathered are "guilty money" and "odd and even". Let's see if it'd eventually warrant proper documentation on my blog.

I am quiet and shy and quiet.

It seems so strange that I should be given a (mostly) positive appraisal for my speech o.o Honestly, I was coldsweating for COM205 because I've always known myself to be the classic quiet wallflower who can speak to a crowd only when the crowd is made up of ants. It's almost a violation of my internal logic that I can actually appear to be a decent speaker. It's just wrong.

Or maybe I got lucky.

Or maybe it's in my teacher's secret manual that thou shalt be nice to those without confidence because oh ho, that's what they need. Encouragement. Loads and loads of carrots (to Jiani: don't you start).

I'm not sure if I should be experiencing some epiphany of newfound confidence, because I don't, really.

(Here's a call for more alien sightings! I promise there would be no image management involved.)

magic of not-so-good singing

Here. Better than some random (decently skilled) American Idol wannabe.

This makes me happy too.

tinted glasses of warm hues

signs:

I sing old Sinatra favourites in the shower (as opposed to composing depressing verses while I stare darkly at a bar of Dettol soap).
I actually publish stuff on my blog (because it is not emo and thus can escape the fate of being a draft for eternity).
I can name food which would make me feel happy to consume. (In the emo days I just don't eat.)

I feel skippingly happy for no good reason.

the clincher: I grin even while listening to my personal weakness on repeat.

I think I've lived long enough to realise that I am amazingly predictable. There are the periods of random emoing/moping about. Then, with no discernable trigger whatsoever, I snap back to a strange jovial self which scares me. It's so bad I can find a horror film funny. I can look at old couples sharing food and think they are cute. I have to resist sudden urges to put my arms around huggable objects in my vicinity o.o (image!! image!!!)

The worst part: I wake up in the morning with a grin on my face. *dies*

It's this period when I am extremely forgiving of people and incredibly susceptible to nice behaviour towards others, so enjoy it. While it lasts.

2010 resolutions

Buy a padlock and chain my wallet to my body.

Qualify for entry into male toilets so that I won't ever have to queue to pee.

genetic explanation for any anti-social tendencies I might display

Got locked out of my own house for half an hour while my entire family was home o.o

The main door is locked only at bedtime, but today my parents were just too lazy and bolted it early with the intention of camping in their room for the entire night.

My sister was, as always, securely bound to the computer via Bose TriPort headphones with amazing sound-cancelling properties.

My brother was Youtubing. On my bed.

No one could hear the doorbell. No one could hear my knocks. Everyone could hear the phone ringing but no one picked up because
1. he/she is not expecting any calls tonight, so logically
2. this call is for Dad / Mum / Sis / Bro so
3. he/she is too lazy to pick it up, hence
4. he/she just waits for someone else to do it, and
5. I make six unanswered calls

Eventually I took out my mac, nestled myself among the shoes, got on the wireless and played Amateur Surgeon. (Until my sister decided it was a warm day and tried to get more ventilation.)

2010

Watched Amélie for the fourth time and was reminded that I do have a pair of tinted glasses, warmly hued, somewhere. No more moping about and thinking I am a miserable being. (Initiate to do some mopping instead so that your roommate will think you useful for a change.)

unrelated side note: Sims 3 World Adventures is an instant remedy for boredom-depression. And damn eater of time.