._.

2011-07-01T13:34:00.001-07:00

POOF

i need a name change

2011-06-23T15:14:00.000-07:00

... for this place so IDEAS my dear friends.

lookatthis

2011-06-16T02:40:00.000-07:00

Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

which sucked a couple of hours from me. Some picks:

rialtoscuro

n. disorientation when you step outside a movie theater into unexpected darkness, a twinge of jet lag from two hours of escapist fun which only diverts you from making the sequel to your youth—an old cult classic with wild shifts in tone, dropped subplots, major characters that appear out of nowhere only to vanish without explanation, and an ambiguous ending—but this time, it’s personal.

apomakrysmenophobia

n. fear that your connections with people are ultimately shallow, that although your relationships feel congenial at the time, an audit of your life would produce an emotional safety deposit box of low-interest holdings and uninvested windfall profits, which will indicate you were never really at risk of joy, sacrifice or loss.

waldosia

n. [Brit. wallesia] a condition characterized by scanning faces in a crowd looking for a specific person who would have no reason to be there, which is your brain’s way of checking to see whether they’re still in your life, subconsciously patting its emotional pockets before it leaves for the day.

sidenote: I'm guilty of 1 and 3.

: (

2011-06-15T15:32:00.000-07:00

I have failed you guys.

The Mats in Uniform at the Malaysian Embassy refused me a new passport.

So it's either I stay in UK for the rest of my time, or glue my passport back together and argue my way to Paris, or fly home.

Basically I'm in shit but I promise I'd get out somehow. Be Brave!

well,

2011-06-14T16:32:00.000-07:00

... my passport sort of got into a mystical river storm of spins and suds, and it is now a two-piece thingy.

Ask me how I got through my flight to London : D

Right, don't get mad yet. Of course, the matter wasn't funny when I had to do all the post-tragedy rescue, which involves many many SKYPE calls to embassies on eternal lunch breaks, trips to police stations that actually close early on a Monday (wait, they even close??), and delicate operations to revive my dear passport yada yada.

But the reactions I get are so classic. Even the Jonko gang (namely Kangwei Xien Jeremy) appreciates it! And not so long ago I thought they couldn't stand me so much they would skewer me on a ten-foot pole and offer me to the God of Marzipan so that I'd be one of those sad Swedish cakes that is displayed forever but never sold so they don't ever have to be around me again. *breathes*

But now they actually miss me. I mean, who can possibly miss the Me that I am? But I digress. On to the good stuff!

Upon seeing a passport with pages detached from the cover:

1. Police officer at Jonkoping police station

me: Hi, can I possibly travel to London with this passport? *hands it over*

officer: What's wrong with it?

*PAGES FLY OUT*

officer: Oh. Well you can still see your name and photo and everything.

*flexes the cover page*

*cover page peels off halfway*

officer: Oops. I'm sorry. Here's the number to the Swedish Embassy, it's in Stockholm ...

2. Check-in lady at Gothenburg airport

me: Hi, I would just like to check beforehand if this passport is okay for travel?

bored lady: Sure.

*picks it up with one hand by the cover*

*PAGES FLY OUT*

horrifed lady: Oh no no no no no no no no no!

3. Customs guy at Gothenburg airport

me: Here.

*hands over passport through the tiny window*

*PAGES FLY OUT*

guy: *looks at me with the whythefarkareyouhere expression*

4. Customs guy at London Gatwick airport

me: Hi, my passport is damaged, but the Swedish airport people called over and confirmed my identity.

*PAGES FLY OUT*

(likely to be) young guy with a part-time job: *shrugs* so what happened?

me: I fell into the lake.

young guy: Woooah! *whistles*

[following interrogation were more on the lake than on whether I was an illegal Tiong immigrant]

-END-

So anyway I'll be getting a new one tomorrow, so cross my fingers that it won't be too troublesome.

2011-06-13T02:08:00.000-07:00

(Friends, TOW Chandler Crosses the Line)

I'm sure everyone feels like that sometimes.

i was just thinking

2011-06-11T18:29:00.000-07:00

... that giving your heart to someone is literally that. To love someone (and someone back), you have to pop your hearts out of its cavities and exchange them. That's the easy part. To keep it going, your heart learns to mould itself along the inside walls of the other, kind of like how you grow to love an ugly T-shirt and wear it all the time. You don't ever want to let go.

But if someday your bruised heart gets ejected back to you, it just doesn't fit right, for a while at least. As you walk about your daily routines, you can feel it wobbling right there, and it pains you. There are some nights when your heart takes a tumble in its own cavity, especially when your brain decides to play a late-night re-telecast of Terrible Things That Happened Before. You awake feeling all funny, and hug your pillow while you stay up all night trying to be brave.

It feels terrible to see the person again, because he/she can never look you straight in the eye (or maybe it depends on case by case). You don't have the courage to talk to him/her either, because the stuff leaks into the empty spaces of your heart cavity too easily. Yet you miss him/her like gawdawfulshit, and have all these Fantastical Bullshit Imaginary scenarios where you would go, "Hey bro!" and

he/she would go, "Hey how dya doing!" back and suddenly all those bad things don't matter anymore and you can be best friends again. [this is just one variation]

But everything gets better. You either wait for your heart to fill up the empty nooks again, or you plug it up with ice-cream and other feel-good things. And popular wisdom seems to suggest you'd never be the same again i.e. you'd have to live with a misshapen freak of a heart for a long long time.

Until you find someone you'd feel safe enough to make another exchange. Someone you think is cool enough to hang out with for the rest of Da Life.

But until then, you learn to live with the misfit heart.

(to dear friends: there you have it, I know you guys know that it is impossible to get me to open up to talking about Hurtful Things in life. I'm glad many of you had tried with immense frustration when I be all Hui-Huan and clam up about things : D here's as far as I can get)

be brave

2011-06-05T15:59:00.000-07:00

Frah E cyf ruf rec fungc dinhat uid naymmo kuut (yht udranc drehg cu duu), E lyh'd ramb pid kneh du socamv ymm tyo.

Ra sicd pa vaamehk cu rybbo.

E ys CIYGI (haf funt E maynhd) du dra syq.

Caasc mega ed'c buccepma vun sa du secc cusauha y mud.

E fecr E lyh pa drana du caa dra drehkc ra caa.

E fecr E ryja dra bufan du lraan res ib frah ra kadc ehdu uha uv druca suutc.

Pid dra dnidr ec, E tuh'd ryja dryd bufan, hud yhosuna. Drana ec hudrehk eh sa dryd ra megac huf, yht E ghuf ra fuimt ajahdiymmo veht cusauha amca.

Cdnyhkamo, E drehg E fuimt pa rymv-ahjeuic yht rymv-kmyt frah ra tuac veht dryd cusauha, palyica E ghuf huf ruf yfacusa ed vaamc du muja yht pa mujat.

Yht ra femm pa vaamehk cu rybbo.

Frelr ec fro E ryja du maynh du hajan pudran res ykyeh, zicd mega ruf E ryja maynhd ruf du muja. (Drana ec y hajan-ahtehk mecd uv drehkc du maynh eh Meva.)

E sayh, Pyt Drehkc ymfyoc rybbah frahajan E dneat du dymg du res. E cusadesac fyga ib lnoehk palyica so rayt fyc bmyoehk y myda-hekrd nabayd pnuytlycd uv cusa uv dra funtc ra cyet.

Ed'c duikr du ryja du mayja res ymuha. E tu ehtimka eh Cdibet Vyhdycdelym Esykehyno clahyneuc eh frelr fa aht ib paehk vneahtmo dufyntc aylr udran ykyeh. Iciymmo eh ipan lunho fyoc.

Pid yd dra aht uv dra tyo, E ryja du gaab dra pek beldina eh seht (kyft, E's pyt yd dryd) yht nasaspan dryd "ed'c bnupypmo vun dra pacd".

Be brave.

(I apologise for being me. This is one of those things I feel I absolutely must do. Ignore!)

look to the right

2011-06-01T15:35:00.000-07:00

And notice that I have learnt how to use Twitter!

*confetti*

I'm mostly doing this for the sake of my dear parents and Oi Shan. We shall call it the H-checker, the sole official indicator that HH Is Alive!

Call the police if I don't say something within 24 hours. Otherwise, I'M ALIVE. I repeat, I'M ALIVE.

sex shop

2011-06-01T12:02:00.000-07:00

I went into one while I was on the Reeperbahn in Hamburg.

It just felt like the right moment to have my First Time in one of these things, because

1. I was travelling alone and feeling particularly brave

2. I actually thought it was a bookstore at first because they put the books with tastefully naked people up front i.e. it looked non-seedy.

3. I had my passport with me to prove I'm over 18.

It was a fairly big moment for me, kind of like the time I realised that Jesus doesn't physically appear in the clouds on Good Friday.

And the experience taught me the extent of my ignorance.

The phallic objects and sex dolls I could understand, but there were these entirely mysterious objects that I had no idea where on the body they are meant to be used. I spent a good hour in there trying to work out the biology and physics of it all. The torture implements in the BSDM section were the most perplexing o.o

Where do you go to learn all these things? Even Wikipedia doesn't know that much. All the knowledge I received from the Sex Museum in Amsterdam wasn't enough.

Ah, the mysteries of the world.

if I could

2011-05-23T13:16:00.000-07:00

... I would teleport home to Singapore every night.

I would sit there in front of my computer and stay up all night watching/reading something lame.

I would chill with a huge cup of pudding caramel milk tea which my dad brings home from work sometimes.

I would have a Maggi Penang Laksa party with my siblings at 3am (and not get caught).

I would be there to secretly open the front door for my sister when she comes home late from a night out with Mr. Sungha. Just like she did for me before.

I would make sure Mr. Sungha doesn't break any hearts.

And then I would teleport back to Sweden and continue my wondrous exchange life.

If only.

I am painful and awkward and shy

2011-05-22T01:49:00.000-07:00

I keep priding myself in receiving Best Improvement Awards (self-awarded) for my courage in facing new people and other social encounters.

Then now I am creating the impression that no one lives in my room in Vilhelmsro. Tactics include

1. keeping the lights off all the time and drawing the blinds

2. eating biscuits for meals because I am too likely to bump into someone in the kitchen

3. bathing at 4am, and only after I've scouted the area and certified it people-less

4. climbing out of my window if there are people in my common area (just outside my door).

I am deep-shit terrified of having to stammer through an explanation when someone asks me (hypothetically), "haven't seen you in a while, girl!"

My gawd I haven't changed. I am still as autistic as the day I was born. I am still too shy to talk to strangers, acquaintances, coffeeshop uncles and pretty much anyone whom I am not close to (which is of a strict definition: someone whom I am desensitised to because I talk to him/her on a daily basis).

This also extends to my online life, which explains why I am hardly on Facebook. Which is also why I only found out my sister is (likely to be) married way before all my friends did. My gawd I phail as a sister.

By the way, my dear friends, please don't wish me Happy Birthday on my Facebook wall. The prospect of having to answer you in the (probably imagined) sea of gazes from 264 FB Friends makes me pee.

2011-05-05T16:06:00.000-07:00

Remind me to blog about Latvia but for now I'm just plain lazy and too hooked on torrented stuff.

four days alone in latvia

2011-03-31T16:54:00.000-07:00

is what I planned for 24th to 27th April.

Oi Shan is certain that I would be kidnapped and sold to a child prostitute syndicate, but truth is, I feel no fear.

I feel a mix of agitation and anxiety and ardor that roughly makes up to a semblance of fear, but I feel no fear. Not in a good way.

Maybe if I get scared in the correct situations, it would be like a gamefaqs.com walkthrough that guides me 100% to act in sensible ways. People would finally like me O__O

Yet I do get scared, just not for my life. I get hell scared when I have to lose or disappoint people I care truckloads for. I sure have vested interest in making sure everyone around me communicates "I Am Happy" to me.

*typical scenario in Huan's life*

XXX looks tired/grumpy/sad/worried/insert other non-happy adjectives

[Huan's head: ALARM TEETEETEETEETEETEETEETEETEEETEETEE!

step 1: rectify the situation

if step 1 does not work, repeat step 1. ]

I attribute this perverse hobby of mine to someone I met in primary school, who also happens to be in nursing school now, on her way to become the Singaporean Mother Teresa.

I digressed.

Anyway I just wanted to say I wouldn't die. I've got a good feeling about it. Ya?

don't look at me

2011-03-30T18:11:00.000-07:00

I'm putting up my scaffolding

to rebuild

to hide.

Locked away for now, but

I'd see you then.

*waves*

*waves a fish*

i'm blue

2011-03-24T13:14:00.000-07:00

DA BA DEE DA BA DIE

DA BA DEE DA BA DIE!

DA BA DEE DA BA DIE

DA BA DEE DA BA DIE!

DA BA DEE DA BA DIE

DA BA DEE DA BA DIE!

*repeat*

on a useless dutch desktop

2011-03-20T12:55:00.000-07:00

“I've been making a list of the things they don't teach you at school. They don't teach you how to love somebody. They don't teach you how to be famous. They don't teach you how to be rich or how to be poor. They don't teach you how to walk away from someone you don't love any longer. They don't teach you how to know what's going on in someone else's mind. They don't teach you what to say to someone who's dying. They don't teach you anything worth knowing.”

- Neil Gaiman

And they don't teach me how to be less selfish. They don't teach me how to stop moping over the scraped knees of my juvenile hurt heart. They don't teach me how to be brave.

Tell me it's okay to feel a little alone.

happiness junkie

2011-03-14T05:09:00.000-07:00

This blog was dead because

I was busy finding cheap ways to make myself happy. Attempts include stuffing myself with multiple squares of Rittersport, taking bus rides from end to end with a zen expression on my face, and crying my soul out over the first twenty minutes of UP. Twice.

When Ellie first pulled her helmet off, her hair went WHOOM.

Here's Ellie and she's weird. And she's loved.

What am I? I drift through life, I hold on to little things that make me grin, I lose stuff sometimes but I do my laundry on time always.

I try to act masculine in the most phail ways ever possible (as Oi Shan can vouch for). But when I can see myself clearly sometimes, like in an out-of-body state, I can see that I am just a terrible little bundle of paranoia and affection.

I forget to act in sensible ways sometimes. But I'm not a rebel. I really, um, just forgot.

I don't know how I got here, but I won't give myself trouble for being myself.

... maybe a little.

THERE I BLOGGED!

2011-02-06T04:02:00.000-08:00

Don't break plates.

Don't be blur.

Don't lose your bag.

last-minute things before Stockholm

2011-01-12T21:32:00.000-08:00

1. Learn Swedish.

2. Especially of food names.

3. Don't always buy the cheapest option at the supermarket because it can turn out to be Chicken Stomach.

4. Dress up my camera in socks if I don't want it in a cold-induced coma.

5. Don't lose my scarf.

6. Prepare for -18 degrees weather.

7. Figure out the strange coffin-looking dryer that's supposedly for jeans.

ze wonderful adventure of the useless midget

2011-01-11T02:00:00.000-08:00

Nini, here is the sequel to China.

Leng, here is Excitement Galore, as you requested.

Oi Shan, don't freak out. (I heard shoes expand when you wear them often.)

NOTE: this post was made yesterday morning. A lot more happened. Another time.

Let's start with the wonderful.

Snow definitely wasn't what I was expecting. No knee-deep tracts of snow. (edit: I WAS WRONG.) Not at this time at least. You'd quickly learn that snow next to the road is grimy and black and best avoided, but if you stumble upon vast flat lands that stretch all the way to the horizon (as I saw on the Swebus), you'd see dazzling, obscene whiteness that you really want to hurl yourself onto.

I saw my first frozen lake, complete with fishing boats caught in stasis.

Walking on snow is Crunch Crunch, like walking on cornflakes. Not cotton wool.

Some of you would be glad to know that pimples dry up like magic around here (and so does your face and hands). Amazingly, the frizz in my hair just upped and gone like that. I can't stop touching my hair D:

The adventure. (Don't kill me, Oi Shan)

The gods have decreed that I be separated from the WKW bunch. They now live 3km south of school, while I'm 5km up north. That's 8km to Enforced Independence. I was half-horrified and half-nervous, although I was pretty annoyed to receive a scolding from my dad and an imperative to get myself transferred to a 1m-vicinity of the Others, immediately.

I've got myself a single room and an extra dose of hyper-vigilance (I couldn't stop fingering my room keys in my pocket, and I'm making plans to buy a heavy-duty chain).

Right now, I'm staring out of a giant window.

NTS: buy curtains.

It's 8:10am and I slept really well. I love my bed to bits. It's triple-layered with mega bouncing power, and I've got four pillows.

Down the hall, there are eight more rooms, all guys. I'm sharing the bathroom with a dozen dudes. My heart sank when I saw the classic "Previous User was Male and Cannot Aim Properly" syndrome in the two toilets on my floor. It's like having a hundred brothers instead of just one D:

NTS: buy female toilet signs.

The useless. (Don't kill me, Oi Shan)

WHO SAID VILHEMSRO IS A PARTY PLACE?

When I got here, the entire floor was deserted. I was clueless, hungry and utterly useless. I was supposed to get online ASAP and contact the others, 8km down south, until my French neighbour told me we have to get access cards from school, the next day, to get Internet.

I wish to say I'm independent and brave, but truth was, I was bloody scared. I am 8km (don't laugh) from anyone I know, and I have no way of contacting them. I can't cook, I was starved and I have no Internet. That means no way of wiki-ing the bus routes to grab something to eat out. Which would be fruitless anyway, because my Japanese neighbour told me, in Japlish, that all the shops are closed.

There was this Chinaman from Room 5 (sharing with my Japanese neighbour), 25 this year, who was my Iron Enforcer of Independence. When I told him I can't cook and have got nothing to eat:

(imagine Sensei Stance)

Then Learn. You're Scared, But You Have to Learn on Your Own.

Then he proceeded to educate me on the Parts of the Kitchen.

I resigned myself to cup noodles. Btw, his name is Neko. Neko, and his roommate is Japanese bwahahahahhahahahahahaokayignoreme.

BUT WAIT! DON'T FREAK OUT, OI SHAN!

I went up to the 2nd floor and met a bunch of Hongkies and became best friends and ate burnt rice and Chinese soup for dinner and suddenly it doesn't seem too bad after all and I managed to borrow a computer to get Jeremy's number and I'm probably going to see the rest in 2 hours' time so exit. (EDIT: which I did. I spent the night at Xien/Shiying's place and made my way back in the early morning, when it was still dark. I have amazing mapreading skills/guesswork power/intuition/luck.)

taxi drive from Changi Airport terminal 2

2010-12-26T10:24:00.000-08:00

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:

2010-12-19T10:17:00.000-08:00

(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

2010-12-09T10:01:00.000-08:00

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

2010-12-06T11:37:00.000-08:00

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

2010-12-03T21:31:00.000-08:00

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

2010-12-02T23:29:00.000-08:00

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

2010-11-30T21:08:00.000-08:00

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

2010-11-28T06:00:00.000-08:00

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

2010-11-12T07:17:00.000-08:00

Farnie.

... again.

Hahahahahaha. Okay, work.

up set

2010-11-08T22:45:00.000-08:00

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

2010-11-05T09:25:00.000-07:00

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

2010-11-01T08:01:00.000-07:00

from I need help

two narrow escapes

2010-11-01T03:34:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-27T11:12:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-26T09:41:00.000-07:00

dream #1

2010-10-19T00:05:00.000-07:00

I've moved this to my dream journal.

update: The Brother

2010-10-14T00:05:00.000-07:00

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

Well on his way to becoming a Man.

tagboard horror

2010-10-13T23:26:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-05T09:09:00.000-07:00

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

2010-07-31T02:07:00.000-07:00

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

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

my twentieth

2010-07-20T07:40:00.000-07:00

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

2010-07-09T09:28:00.000-07:00

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

2010-05-23T07:17:00.000-07:00

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

2010-05-23T01:34:00.000-07:00

(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

2010-04-29T09:59:00.000-07:00

(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

2010-04-20T22:12:00.000-07:00

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

2010-04-17T23:45:00.000-07:00

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

2010-04-17T07:10:00.000-07:00

And my (perceived) individuality:

Xin and Stella, don't cut your hair!

still infallible

2010-04-10T09:51:00.000-07:00

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

INFALLIBLE

2010-04-10T08:57:00.000-07:00

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

2010-04-08T23:09:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-04-01T09:17:00.000-07:00

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!

2010-03-29T07:16:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-13T07:02:00.000-08:00

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

poke

2010-03-10T05:31:00.000-08:00

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

2010-03-02T07:34:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-28T06:51:00.000-08:00

wait I should have screamed

2010-02-26T08:30:00.000-08:00

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.

2010-02-17T18:06:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-17T07:07:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-08T18:18:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-08T05:10:00.000-08:00

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.

2010-01-25T04:29:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-20T08:05:00.000-08:00

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

This makes me happy too.

tinted glasses of warm hues

2010-01-15T09:20:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-13T09:26:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-12T08:11:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-06T07:43:00.000-08:00

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.

this blog is not dead

2009-12-21T08:00:00.000-08:00

There is something incredibly liberating about spamming greenades on a horde of zombies and watching them die. This post ish all about how to kill zombies with finesse.

Nah.

Waileng cheated with her Cameron post. So shall I. Meeps, I am too lazy to produce any semblance of belles-lettres.

(I drank all that)

(you'd only see this on Thursdays)

(D: nostalgia)

(vitagen is a flavour?)

(national school uniform : D)

(D: too literal)

(booze!)

(the horror)

(nearest mac: 5km away)

(all hail the great huan)

(the tile in the middle says "air-con" - it used to be a big deal : D)

(obscenely cute)

(new semi-Ds in the area)

(these dogs last had a bath five years ago)

space

2009-10-12T22:36:00.000-07:00

On Japan's multi-storey graveyards:

"I think it will be nice to be stored with other people. It's more fun, there'll be company."

(But really, that's like some HDB version of the afterlife.)

14 - [ i would appreciate the view though : D ]

see

and bunnies

2009-09-27T20:40:00.000-07:00

I need a private diary

2009-05-08T09:00:00.000-07:00

It is the ultimate insult to say that I am a naive pampered self-centred typical adolescent kid who cares only for her individual quality of life and has absolutely no intention of repaying her parents for their investments of time and love.

I love my parents, I really do. I don't want to make them sad or disappointed. I definitely want to let them live a good life upon retirement. I want to give them lots of money and make them proud of me.

I really don't want to let them worry about me. I don't want to let them down. I can't stand the thought of floundering down my path of interest (passion - that's so overused, isn't it?) and having to trouble my parents to fish me out of crises in the future. U zyr'd ifir pikur zudn zned la khertlydnihm zyoct dnurg. Ifihayri iqbisdm e losn lyhi ybecimsird wodohi wyh li. U'l msehit yw ryd cufurk ob dy zned U luknd pi.
U nedi dy pi micwumn. U zyoct nedi dy dnurg dned U'l micwumn.U cyfi la behirdm e cyd e cyd.
Ayo! Dhyopcit yfih zned?? Lyhyrus licytheledus mosgih!!! LYHYR LYHYR LYHYR. Zned ehi AYO shaurk yfih? Aie huknd, ayo ert ayoh bihsiufit dhyopcim in?

I don't think I'm even coherent anymore.

Some things should be recorded down

2009-04-02T06:39:00.000-07:00

With flair or without, that's no matter xD
This evening, I noticed a dubious letter from NTU atop the usual pile of bills and mags. I fully expected an early Good Friday addition to my collection of NTU-endorsed greeting cards (which I keep lovingly under a heap of dated magazines and assessment books).
Enclosed within was a letter:

Dear Ms Tang

Congratulations! The University Admissions Selection Committee has approved your application for admission to the Nanyang Technological University (NTU) to read the following programme in academic year 2009-10, which commences on 11 August 2009:

Communication Studies (First Year)

Behold the words in bold. No interview, no essay, nothing. And barely a day after the closing date for university admissions? Surreality. But I'm glad~
*sings in joy: satsugai! satsugai!*

my dream

2009-03-17T22:49:00.000-07:00

(This post is loooong overdue. Remember I had a scary dream after my harrowing Grade 5 theory exam? Well here's the draft I wrote of it but never got around to completing it:)

You know how singer-songwriters would dream about a melody one night and turn it into a sensational pop song the next day? (Famous examples include Angela Zhang's 夢裡花.)
Well it has finally happened to an aural fanatic like me! Perhaps all that brainwork during my theory test has finally tapped into the most obscure regions of sub-consciousness in which I might have astounding musical talent!
So anyway, this is the product of my talent:

Imagine PMS and Ho Dong and Haha and MC Yoo on a stage, dressed in sparkling white suits. Dancing. I remember clearly that PMS did a perfect V-split standing on his hands. MC Yoo had a bowler hat on. Ho Dong was doing ballet. I was in disbelief (so should you).
To me left. Wu Zun was looking at them, nodding in approval. He has a nametag on that says "Manager". He was giving verbal directions to Haha on how to moonwalk (??).
Back to the stage. The four guys were dancing the intro to a to-be groovy hiphop song. Wu Zun went up to them and gave guidance on singing (you must be low and indistinguishable like me!! oh yes). Then, abruptly, they started singing a 70s' style beach song in Fei Lun Hai's voices, aka unison singing with an incredible amount of off-pitching. The song was godawful - the lyrics was like:

Noo noo no, I am young and worldly
Ohh ohh oh, I am more than nobodeeeeeeeeey~~!!
(repeat)
(repeat)

I can remember the tune still. Egad.

(this draft ends abruptly here)

this shall neba happen again T_T

2009-03-14T08:38:00.000-07:00

This is, quite simply put, the worst day of the year. I am in no mood to recapitulate this with flair. I shall only record it succinctly as a reminder of horrifying consequences of certain long-standing habits. Begone.

I reached there on the dot and was the last to enter the examination venue. I was asked to produce the entry proof and omgwth it wasn't in my bag. Took me fifteen minutes to retrace my steps, disturb someone's toilet affair and retrieve the uncooperative piece of paper. (It was sitting nonchalantly on top of the sanitary bin.)
The label, the one with my name on it, was defiant too. Apparently I must have dropped it in my bag or at home or in school or whatever. Anyway, it certainly wasn't with me, so I had to take a few minutes off to fill in an "Anomalies during Examination" form. The examiner wasn't happy.

My mechanical pencils? A bunch of insurgents. The green one had about 4mm of lead left. The purple had but a miserly (but still of some utility) 1.4cm of lead in it. It's akin to a time-bomb. I had to ration out the use of pencil over the five questions. (I ran out by the time I got to checking my answers, so I had to resort to holding lead between my fingernails. Eww.)
Question 2 hated me. I redid the question twice. (Which also equates to waste of lead.)
Question 4 and 5, with some optimism, wasn't a German extract. Oh yes. The Italian term I was tested was this:

pochettino piu mosso

Three fairly common Italian words. I knew all three, certainly. BUT.
Pochettino means very little.
Piu means more.
Under all schools of thought (except Zen and yoga and the like), something less is never more. Never ever.
(Anyway I settled for "a little bit more movement". Screwed.)

The last ten minutes was spent on a cranial debate on whether a fagotti is a trumpet or a trombone. (I later realised it was neither. It was, in fact, not even a brass instrument.)

The ultimate misery? The Gee song looped fifty times in my head. By the second hour it was accompanied with images of PMS dancing the Euro dance. (This been said, I wonder why I am buffering yet another Xman video in the neighbouring tab -__-)

Anyway I was so traumatised I slept immediately when I got home.
This shall never never never happen again. God forbid. (While I imply moral decay amongst my belongings, I do understand it was my fault entirely T_T)

P.S. I had a traumatising dream in my sleep too. I can only say it involves a song and IC guys and Fahrenheit. More on it next time~

ah, I don't get it again

2009-03-11T02:08:00.000-07:00

Me - headache and an exceptionally acrid mood.
Today was a day of constant crossfire, with me firing pellets of "engineers work like hell and earn like shit!", and my opponent discharging rounds of "yar, lose face when all your peers drive larger cars than you do!".
Any passing remark (even on who gets to eat the mushroom curry puff) gets taken to be a caustic retort to godknowswhat and develops into a bout of toldja-so! and I'm-right-you-suck! and the like. Both parties claimed to be oracular and flung about visions of the glorious life (my side: of jetting to goodnessknowswhere everyday on the pretext of requirement; her side: of earning big bucks for doing nearly nothing and living in a condo and driving a posher car than anyone else).
If you listen to me, each will say, all these and more can be real. So we say.

need a break

ah, I get it now

2009-03-10T03:42:00.000-07:00

How this blatant truth had eluded me for the past 18 years is atrocious.
My naivety was appalling, wasn't it? 18 years of a life with no worries for lack of material necessities made me a disgusting snob who believed herself to be advocating for love of life in her incessant wish to go against the mainstream culture (in a call to be "true to one's self").
But that me is no more. I understand now.
Worrying about personal interest is but an intensively selfish obstinacy. I thought I could, but it was only 'cause I saw none of the society's cruel but valid circumstances. My sheltered life permits no such view. As of yet I still see none. But it's there.
I still have choices though, to pander to my egocentric need to have freedom (in modern days, a desire that's nothing but pop culture's romanticism).

I can do law, or bioengineering. I can choose a double degree if I want to.

My parents were so happy when I told them of this. It made me happy ... kind of.

when I'm not the first to think of it

2009-03-02T08:03:00.000-08:00

The idea spawned and consumed me in an instant.
The spark came when I missed out one double-u in www.blogspot.com, and I was directed to this blog in a language my computer can't read. That aside, isn't it novel to have an address like that - ww.blogspot.com?
So I thought, I would like wwww.blogspot.com, but it was taken by this deeply philosophical random Iranian blogger.
wwwww.blogspot.com was seized by a Mexican (I think) who shares my fondness for parenthesises. (Pardon the irony.)
wwwwww.blogspot.com and wwwwwww.blogspot.com were adopted and forgotten, for they were but "experiments". They have horrible camo-green colour schemes. The same sucker took wwwwwwwwww.blogspot.com too, but at least there were characters on it. I refuse to acknowledge that stuf lik tis cn b counted as wordz ... neva ... neva wif mi
(disclaimer: this is personal opinion, not judgement of any kind. huan cannot be held liable)

And I spent the next fifteen minutes on a crusade of [w X x-variable] blog-hopping, encountering anything from proper blogs (wwwwwwwwwww.blogspot.com, that of a Japanese student who obviously owns this blog as a practice pad for English) to utter nonsense wwwwwwwwwwww.blogspot.com, I like cheese too but I like your blog's name more).
There are loads of bloggers out there. Anywhere imaginable. (That's the mandatory cheesy realisation of a mature blogger.)
Anyway I've safely established that if I want a like blog name, I'll have to go for
[breathes] wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.blogspot.com

The sad thing is, that exceeds the character-limit by one wubby lousy double-u. That's my spate of luck in recent hours, but I'll like to say with feigned optimism - I'm using up all my bad luck! YahoO! By a stretch of fallible logic, maybe I'm subconsciously accumulating my fair fortunes for the day that wilt maketh me. That fifth day of the moon. Whither shalt I go? Methinks, an I wert bright, I wilt go hither. Withal aplomb, I shalt go.

Now what?

2009-02-26T07:41:00.000-08:00

I'd admit that I feel hurt whenever my parents express incredulity at and inconfidence in my abilities to survive down a perceived non-conventional career path. So much so that I've continued to emanate the same festering indecisiveness and non-existent self-assurance I've carried with me throughout my formal schooling years. How sad. Sometimes I baffle myself. Much as I have known myself to have thoughts of a heretic, I've somehow (paradoxically) stuck to the rules of a conformist, perhaps more in a straggling fashion but still safe within the green area of what's it and only it. I don't like to think I'm another one of those obsequious denizens of Singapore, but I sure behave like one, even if my brain regularly carried out protestation in microscopic ways, such as not studying for little tests or not doing tutorials and such (both are ostentatious actions of pseudo-non-muggers, which I now look back on in disgrace). The farthest I have tested the boundaries, if of any worth to boast about, is perhaps when I took literature in JC (oh no, don't get me started on how I'll flunk my lit in As -__-). So there. I've existed (nominally, at least) as the characteristically Singaporean acquiescent student for fifteen years, and possibly continue on as a duteous and well-trained article of the celebrated workforce of Singapore. I'm reluctantly reminded of those old-school Ministry of Manpower posters that depict happy labourers lovin' it ...
(Yesh, I've been excessively employing hyperbolic expressions, but do allow me to wallow in my own piteous clay/mud hole for a few paragraphs more.)
(Or you can just stop here. This is a rant.)
My only lucid thought: I don't want to look back (say, fifty years later), and think, oh, so that's how I lived my life - like any other 69-year-old, I had worked 10-hours-a-day-5-days-a-week-45-years-a-lifetime. But then again, why do I have to have such aberrant ambitions? What's wrong with being ... ordinary? As far as I can see it'd only bring me good family, good dough, and a good round-the-world trip after I've retired. A patently nothing-goes-wrong path. But to me, even the paraphernalia (please, not related to paraphelia) associated with the mundane life scares me silly.
Why why why.
I can't comprehend my own thoughts. In fact, my post is going off in so many tangents I think I shall just stop here. Also that I've merely been repeating myself. Whatever that's up there is probably worth less than noisome carrion. Anyway, it'd do me no good to blog myself into a grandiloquently depressed mood just before I sleep.

An aside: I've settled (tentatively) for something that's arguably normal. Being a J-O-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X can hardly be considered a deviance from the norm, can it?

P.S I've scanned the entire post and found it incoherent and insubstantial. All the big words (all Graveyard Book's fault for filling my head with words to do with death and gloom) in there conveys nothing more than pomposity that invites mockery and disdain. No, I'm not requesting you to display the mentioned emotions. In fact, you should only feel apathy, or nothing at all. Rest assured this post will be taken down A.S.A.P ... until I've lightened up enough or when I've finally contorted myself into the mould of what I should be.

Slow Is Good.

2009-02-20T08:04:00.000-08:00

I've decided to blog about this in a different post, because it's of a decidedly different nature, and I do not want this musing and introspective side of me to be tainted by the unintelligent malice of dah previous post. To put it simply, I want to keep my alter-egos separate. To prevent internal personality conflicts, you know?

Anyway I've started work, and work is always hectic and backache-causing. (Never mind that I was forced to don a fluorescent yellow shirt against my will.) (Never mind that I've actually only worked for three days.)
I have a fifteen-minute break everyday, and there isn't much you can do with fifteen minutes. Maybe take a walk round the entire building of shops. Or finish half a cup of mashed potato from 7-11 (I'm a slow eater). There isn't much to do around either, except maybe hang out at the hawker centre and gossip with the workers there (that's what the other cashier-aunties tend to do).
So on one of these stellar fifteen-minute break, I suddenly had a craving for fried ice-cream from the stall which I've seen a couple of times but never had the urge to patronise before. I went up to the stall to find the uncle sleeping soundly in his chair. Seeing that my precious fifteen minutes might not last till his nap is up, I proceeded to wake him up with a chorus of "Uncle! I want ice-cream!". The old uncle looked up and had one of those guileless smiles to his face.
"Xiao mei yao chi ice-cream ah?" He said it in this I-have-all-the-time-in-the-world tone.
Then he sluggishly unfolded his legs and hobbled over to the fridge, whistling this I-am-the-happiest-man-in-the-world tune.
As he fried the ice-cream in the lukewarm oil ("Xiao mei, deng yi xia you re ah ... "), he kept up this languid but amiable conversation. I couldn't help but strike up a comparism between his service and the service of the bubble tea ladies - the ladies were motorised and efficient, but didn't seem to care very much for their wares and patrons. On the other hand, this old uncle was cheery and in no hurry (my fifteen minutes was slipping fast), as if frying ice-cream was the best thing to happen in his life.
Contrary to feeling impatient, I actually relaxed and fell momentarily to the old uncle's pace of life.
(The ice-cream was pleasantly piping hot on the outside, and the cold filling was nicely contrasting.)
Then I looked at my mobile phone's clock and realised time was up. So I hurried back to my counter, but not without the lasting aftertaste of fried mango ice-cream in my mouth. (It was so everlasting, I still burped fried-mango-ice-cream two hours later.)

Erps, I didn't intend for this post to be a mushy musing on life. Never mind, I shall steer it into neutral territory. The conclusion is, fried mango ice-cream rocks, and I think fried strawberry ice-cream might rock even more. We'll see tomorrow.

P.S. By next Wednesday I can chuck the stupid neon-yellow shirt!

the CYNIC strikes again

2009-02-20T07:13:00.000-08:00

It seems the cynical side of me has a penchant to surface whenever I witness sartorial disasters ... Welcome Huan teh Cynic.

Case A in point: A middle-aged lady who begs for attention. Visually. Picture this - a semi-transparent chiffon blouse which showcases her electric-blue bra perfectly. Brown leggings which hugs (passionately tight) her and highlights her cellulite-filled thighs. Moving down, we see normal casual strappy sandals, but WAIT. What's that? It looks like a riot of colours, randomly and unstrategically placed on each foot to render a gaudy and dorky circus-look to her feet. The culprit in question is a pair of unsightly, garishly coloured socks paired with sandals. If you look into the hidden book of sartorial rules, sandals and socks never, ever, ever, ever, happen together. Never in a good way, except in heaven-born miracles. More on the socks - the base is of a dirty mustard colour, and each toe is coloured a tawdry version of a random colour in the rainbow.
Imagine it.
Now puke. (I am mean.)
Please take note that I only caught sight of her for a mere one minute, and the absurdity of it all seeped into my brain and claimed a permanent spot. Involuntarily. There's more to it! The lady in question was also holding this oversized clutch bag that was entirely monogrammed with LVs (it was also in the signature brown characteristic of Louis Vuitton bags). I've never seen an LV handbag that big in my life, nor do I deign to believe it exists in the catalog of this French luxury brand. That aside, I'm not chiding her for not being able to own a genuinely branded bag. I just think it's ostentatious to pretend to have one, especially if one thinks the bigger the bag, the more bling bling goody it is.

Case B in point: Any one of the random Singaporeans wearing mass-produced (usually in stock factory colours) tank tops with mass-produced mini pants (usually khaki or denim) together with plastic flip-flops. There is this sameness to most females in the crowd because they have decided that Singapore's weather is too hot for better-looking clothes (I agree with Jiani that Shanghai has way better-dressed people T_T).

Huan the Cynic says ...
To death with both. It's either tried too hard (A), or didn't try at all (B).
I am just plain mean, but Simon Cowell is meaner.

P.S. I still see no signs of the stated elegance leng claims my writing has. mehss

the CYNIC appears

2009-02-16T00:21:00.000-08:00

Woot I'm back.
Where was I? Only on the most fabulous slimming programme ever, the Flab-Losing Ultimate package! If you haven't realised, this has been the trend in our image-conscious little red dot. It consists of involuntary exercises of your tummy muscles (for your dream waistline) as well as slow heat over your entire body (burn those fats away!). The results are nothing short of amazing: I lost 2kg in three days when all I did was to roll around in bed / read Beedle the Bard two times / read my brother's storybooks / read my sister's biology notes / read the random manual for my new DVD player / try to read the Tamil version of the random manual mentioned previously. Too bad, admittance into this programme is dang exclusive, so don't try.

Let's move on to real content. Anyway, I've concluded that my blog has been decidedly cheerful, and it's time to put more weight in my words. You know, to give my blog this mysterious edge. No more skip-around-lala-I'm-happy Huan. You see? Huan has decided that she will look at the world in (deliberately made) smoke-tinted glasses. Don't worry, the effect is temporary.

(what you see below is mostly non-fictional.)
Which male teenager presented below is considered more fashion-urgh worthy?
Case A in point: The guy in a grey pasar malam Mickey Mouse sweatshirt, waist-high maroon pants, over-the-ankle school socks and sneakers
Case B: The guy I saw 2 seconds later, who was decked out entirely in Billabong merchadise. ENTIRELY.

Huan the Cynic says ...
Both induce uncontrollable retching and winces of agony. Exhibit A obviously shows no signs of EQ, for it was written in the hidden book of High School law that Thou Shalt Never Tuck In Your Shirt, Nor Wear Socks Above Thy Ankles. It is very likely that he was The Geek in school. Exhibit B, however, certainly knows that Billabong is one of the "accepted" brands of coolness that secondary school kids fawn over. But there's cool, more cool, and overkill. B must have no mind of his own. His peers probably have been feeding him with these notions of "style", and B has not only followed them ardently, he has followed them to the point of no return (there is no way for him to refund his Billabong cap, shirt, pants and bag now). Let's go back to A - still untainted and self-absorbed in his own cocoon of pasar-malam clothes. BUT!! with a little help from Auntie Dawn, A still has potential to be the next school hunk! B, on the other hand, might be forever stuck in his thinking that he is but the lackey of the cooler boys in school - for they owned more Billabong items than he did. How sad! At the very least A is unique, so I say B sucks MORE!

the end of teh pointless post

P.S. I'm dying for some Auntie Dawn humour!

dey first post after a loong long time

2009-02-10T10:36:00.000-08:00

... and dey first driving and aikido lesson! Finally something in my life worth blogging about.
(I'm sure no one will be entertained by a post on how I'm jobless and moolah-less.)

Driving was kind of disappointing. No VROOM-VROOM madness. I'm surprised that my instructor did not expel me, when he had to say "You are too fast!", and "What lan eh, dont push so hard, will spoil the gear leh!", and "Oi, going too fast!", and "Eh, please dont speed round the bend!" and "Omg please dont touch the accelerating pedal anymore!" and various permutations of swearing and cursing revolving on me going faster than a chugging snail speed. I bet I can cycle faster!
Anyway, my teacher still deemed me suitable to try out driving on real roads (prior to that I was training in this random lorry carpark which was filled with more Toyata sedans than lorries). Real driving on the road? More Math test than arcade racing.

A typical mental journey goes like this-
Hands: Steering wheel on straight
Right leg: Slight presssure on accelerating pedal

*chug chug chug chug chug chug chug chug*
(instructor: okay, STOP line ahead!)

Eyes: see that the first arrow is covered by the bonnet
Right leg: Move to brake pedal and apply pressure

*car lurches to a stop*
(instructor: omg you only press the brake pedal that hard in an emergency!
me: sorry sorry
instructor: Green light!)

Eyes: see green light
Brain: count for one second
Right leg: move to accelerating pedal, apply pressure
Hands: Crossover motion, to the right at moderate speed

*vroom rooo rooo rooo rooo rooo ..."
*car swings to the right*
(instructor: okay very good but can you don accerelate so much ah?
me: eh I think my right leg is very insensitive -___-)
*ooo rooom mm m ch chu chug chug chug chug chug chug chug chug*

-repeat from above----^

So there. Driving is less thrilling than riding a tricyle. Just too many rules and short-tempered commuters to deal with -____- So let's move on to aikido!

What did I do on my first lesson?
First, to turn with style. Serious. Turn left/right/back, all covered.
Second, which is a lot more useful, is a toned-down simulation of mob fighting. Basically, three people will try to push their palms into your face and you must be ready to deflect them all.
Next, roll around. The proceeding half hour was filled with loads of rolling. Tuck and roll from the front. Tuck and roll from the back. Pay a roll of money for lessons. Pay another roll of money for e uniform. I used to roll a lot in kindergarten xD so this wasn't too difficult.
FINALLY, a basic aikido technique. Which involves pwning whoever who tries to grab your wrist. Very useful for kidnapper/mobster/gangster scenario ... not that I've ever met with such a situation -__-
Anyway it was still good fun. Dong anyone else wants to join me? x)

P.S. someone give me a job please!

feet glorious feet ~

2009-01-07T04:26:00.000-08:00

Yesh! It is what it looks like - macarons! Sublimal domes of sweetness ... complete with feet! omg omg omg

Okay let's rewind a bit here. I had been itching to make some of these meringue confections for quite a while, so for weeks I would fawn over macaron sites and pore over all kinds of Internet recipes, filling my cerebrum with all sorts of scientific macaron theories. As most famous chefs say, cooking is as much a form of art as it is of science x)

So anyway, finally believing that I can handle these temperamental babies, I slaved in my kitchen for four hours today. And macarons popped out.

But of course that is only the summary x) Now let's go into details:
NOTE: this account is really detailed. read only if you absolutely have to or if you are simply too bored

I followed this recipe (but in actual fact I had fragments of about ten other recipes floating in my grey matter o____o)

a. Sift almond powder & the icing sugar TWICE. It’s your chance to get rid of the not-so-fine almond powders.
I used a normal household sieve and spent twenty minutes trying (in vain) to get my almond meal through the mesh. Then I concluded the ground almond I bought belongs to the "almond meal that isn't quite fine enough" category. So I got out my juice blender and pulverised my almond meal. Problem solved.

b. Line baking tray with cut-to-size baking paper (or prefably a silpat if you’ve got one). Place this tray on top of another tray (Doubling up the tray delays the heat cooking the Macaron from the bottom. This insures that the outer surface is dried up first before the inside starts to lift it up. This is what makes that all important ‘foot’ & the smooth surface that is not cracked).
I absolutely do NOT have more than one baking tray, nor will my mum ever be convinced to buy me one o____o (on a side note: I requested an electronic balance for my baking attempts and she came home with a $2 mechanical scale from Cash Converters)

c. Have a piping bag ready.
No problem x)

1. Whisk the egg whites with the icing sugar. Whisk until stiff peaks.
Let me ramble a bit about egg whites - I read somewhere that grease ABSOLUTELY must not come into contact with the whites, and as I did not possess proper plastic gloves, I used those transparent bags people put curry puffs in. Moral of the story: buy plastic gloves. (I had omelette for dinner)
I read somewhere else that aged egg whites are divine for macaron wannabes, and read somewhere else else that egg whites put in microwave ovens for 10 seconds are as good as old whites. To be safe, I sacrificed two tablespoons of egg white at first - and they cooked. Entry No.1 - utter failure. The second time round I set the dial to low heat and popped another spoonful in for 8 seconds. Good to go xD
Okay finally to the whisking part. I read somewhere else else else that the egg whites must be brought to a foam first. QED. The same source uses caster sugar instead, and asks for the sugar to be added "a little at a time". As I was whisking, I held to only one mantra -
"NEVER NEVER NEVER OVERMIX."
Images of overbeaten batters (courtesy of Syrup and Tang) flashed in my head and scared me to near death. But that aside, I did get a mixture that yielded "stiff peaks" [checkpoint "till stiff peaks": pass] and was really shiny [checkpoint "glossy meringue":pass]

3. Deposit the pre-sifted dry ingredients (almond powder & icing sugar) in to the white in one go.
Many recipes call for four or more additions, so I went for the majority's opinion x)

4. Use the spatula to fold it in. Once all the dry ingredients has been incorporated & dissapeared, you must check wether you’ve reached perfect consistency. Test by lifting up the dough with your spatula - HOW DOES THE DOUGH FALL? If it is not falling down in ‘GENTLE’ continuous ribbons, try mixing it a tiny bit more. The technique for mixing at this point is to “fold & press” your spatula against the side of the bowl to deflate the air out of the whites. Do this til you’ve passed this vital ‘dough fall’ test. But just remember, don’t over mix it either… (This folding process is called ‘macaronage’. This is the most tricky bit of Macaron making. I find that you can only know how much one should fold by practising again & again…)
Yesh. This is THE killer step that defeated countless of budding macaron-makers. A quote from David Lebovitz recipe: "One extra fold, and it's all over". Gulp.
All along I had the impression that "folding in" consists of literally folding the dough into half, but these videos 1 2 3 steered me back onto the path of righteousness. Note that the pattiseurs in these videos look like they are abusing the batter, really. So by imitation, I abused my batter. My mum thought I looked clumsy, so she took over and abused my batter. After the last trace of dry ingredients disappeared I literally hollered STOP. My mum had the honour of performing the falling ribbon test and OMGicantbelieveit it did fall as ribbons. I did a little dance at this point.

5. Spatula the mixture in to a piping bag. (tip: having the bag over something like a juice decanter like the picture below is much easier than the professional way!)

6. (skip this if you’re using silpat) Scrape the left over mixture from the now empty mixing bowl & smear it under all four corners of the baking paper. It’ll act as a glue to stick the paper to the tray.
I didnt do step six coz my baking paper was obedient enough to lie flat to receive macarons xD

7. Pipe 3-4cm rounds on to the baking paper. Make sure to leave at least 2cm around it as it will spread later.

I sucked at piping for the first batch and ended up with a dozen misshapened freaks o____o My mum did two circles and omg, they came out as circles. I got better for the second batch though. The trick is to hold the nozzle low and to let the batter ooze out like toothpaste.

8. Once all piped, drop the tray horizontally on to your work surface to knock some air bubbles out & to spread the dough out a bit. (If you’re doing this at night, & you’re worried you’d wake your kid upstairs (for example), layer some kitchen towels on the work surface to dumb the sound!)
This Is Fun.

9. Leave it aside for 20-30 minutes. This is to dry the surface of your macarons. After the time is up, check how dry it is by gently touching the surface. Does the dough stick back? Leave it aside for another 10 minutes. Once it’s not sticky, proceed to the next step.

I didnt actually waited half an hour. Another quote: "Let them sit for a few hours? No way, we just popped those suckers in the oven right away."
But I did wait for the skin, which took about 10 minutes to form. There were some cracked domes in my 2nd batch, which might be due to not enough "skin", as claimed by Syrup and Tang. I'll keep that in mind~

10. Prepare your oven shelves - you’d want to place your trays on middle shelf. I’d like to cover the shelf above it with foil so that there’s no direct heat hitting my Macarons & discolouring it brown.
My oven has one and only one shelf~ But my macarons never got close to browning. Not with a lousy wheezing oven like mine

11. Pre-heat oven to 190 degrees.

12. Pop your trays in. (Make sure they are doubled up!!) Sit by your oven with your oven gloves.

13. Once ‘the foot’ graciously appears (it’s usually after 4 - 5 minutes), & has reached it’s maximum height, open the oven & quickly but safely take the bottom tray away (meaning don’t double it up anymore). Place the macarons tray back in the oven.
14. Change the temperature dial to 170 degrees.
15. Bake it for another 5 - 7 minutes. If the colour of the surface is starting to brown, turn the oven off, keep the door shut, & bake it with the remaining confined temperature.
Honestly I've never seen more complicated oven instructions o___o I read through this bit a zillion times and committed it to memory. Basically I kept reciting to myself "190 degrees, wait for foot, then 170 degrees for 5 minutes". I even ate duck rice by the oven (lunch). This was where there was a momentary moment of sheer heartbreak when absolutely NOTHING happened in the oven for 15 minutes. Glops of macaron batter remained glops of batter. At this point I replied Waileng's sms and said something about how this will turn out to be just like foam cookies (a previous failed attempt to create meringue cookies) yada yada ... I went out to the dining table to finish my duck rice, while the sad glops sat on for about 10 more minutes under their sun of 190 degrees.

...

Then the miracle happened. I was at the sink washing up my bowl of duck rice when I thought I might as well clean out the baking tray.
And omg feet. The glops in the oven had feet! Feet feet feet! The coveted feet! The feet! Not just any feet but the great feet of macarons! I positively danced in front of my oven.
*insert melodramatic victory-march-esque music*
I was in too good a mood to even feel worried about the burnt bottoms of the mishappened freaks (as the cookies of batch 1 are known). It's small wonder that they are burnt - they sat in that oven for a good twenty minutes! Gross overtime, and macarons are all about precision!
So anyway I happily piped out the 2nd batch (which later became the macarons you see in the photo above) and popped it into the oven, but only after I've given my ancient wheezing oven a good fifteen minutes to warm up.

Results
Skin: B1 macarons have much harder sugar shells while B2 macarons have lovely, fragile skins
Interior: B1 macarons are really chewy and tough. B2 macarons aren't x)
Bottom: Some B1 macarons stick to the bottom of the tray. All B1 macarons have chaoda bottoms. B2 macarons all have good bases xD

19. Pipe the ganache centre mixture (Please read the ganache recipe below) or any other mixture of your choice & sandwich the Macarons together.

Lesson learnt: wait for the ganache to cool and semi-solidify before use. Contrary to popular beliefs, chocolate everywhere is NOT a good thing.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

So anyway, I conclude that my first attempt isn't bad. the only sad thing is I have to wait till tomorrow before I can munch on them -_______-
It is the hardest rule to follow.

P.S. I napped for an hour after the whole adventure o__o

TV blues

2008-12-05T06:07:00.000-08:00

After Project Runway ended it's run last Thursday, I've been in urgent need for new shows to keep me TV-happy.
But ze sigh. The closest contender to fulfill my needs was the Nyonya show on the Channel 8 primetime slot. The trailer promised the culminating point of forty years of Mediacorp goodness, the greatest epic with the longest list of homeground celebs ever to hit local TV yada yada. All I see is the same old family-feud story, along the likes of Tong Xin Yuan and Holland V (the one who started it all). Albeit with a spanking new cultural air. Except, I daresay, this show fails miserably in the realism department. Nothing irks me more than a spastic plot packed with flat caricatures they pass off as characters. And recycled plot elements. And creaky acting here and there. Take the evil-stepmother routine for an example. The family oppression plot device was pretty exciting the first time round, but another generation of the same ol' abuse gets stale. AND it's pretty infuriating to think, "Yay! The overly saintly Jeanette Aw is gone!", only to have her replaced with an equally saintly Joanne Peh (dressed in goody chiffon white!!). The two "English-educated" ladies also have their new-generation counterparts in the two ultra-spoilt brats who are siblings of the new saint. (On a side note, it still puzzles me how an "English-educated" gentleman can say "rubbish!" in an oddly Singlish way) My suggestion - just kill off all those stereotypes in a huge house fire and digress into a plot on how Charlie Zhang gets his butt roasted. The new-generation Charlie Zhang (his son) will probably take over as the new menace and resident villian ... but what the hell, he's cuter at least xD

Raaawr I need my TV-fix. Gib me cable TV please?

aftermath of the As-

2008-11-25T06:26:00.000-08:00

(Not too late!)
(NOTE: this is a rant)

Definitely the As were more harrowing than Os( and way too looooong-drawn at that). The only paper that remains clear in my mind is English Literature Paper 3 o_____o
I sincerely believe I screwed it up. Those three hours of frantic writing were quite possibly worse than having one of those wrenching tummyaches that last through the night. Prior to the exam I conditioned my brain to hold on to only one mantra: THINK. WRITE. WRITE!! But my grip on the golden mantra wavered once I was confronted with ten sheets of blank paper and the prospect of continuous intelligent output in three hours.
The unseen question: I was presented with a choice of poetry or drama. At a glance, the drama question consists of merely a single character's soliloquy, packed with ellipsises. Confronted with a huge square block of words, I naturally turned towards poetry ... at least there was some visual appeal in it. Without much thought I commenced on a futile essay harping on fires and devils and wastelands and ending with a half-hearted conclusion on how the world sucks. One question down in flames.
The Compare and Contrast question: I had so much to write, but I COULD NOT FINISH. Sucks.
The Owen question: I chose the question that examines the use of religious images in his poetry. Definitely not a difficult question, but I stupidly screwed up by forgetting to address "how far ..." (OMG! GP stuff), thereby submitting an essay that harps on "The Poetry is in the Pity" and dullards and cups of blood and thorns and JESUS I'm going to fail.

So there. That's the worst paper of the whole lot. Even Biology Paper 2 was incomparable. Sometimes it's unbelievable how nutty I am, gamely taking on H2 literature when the last time I touched the subject was Sec 2 (with my highest score being a miserable B4). The only thing that kept me afloat these two years was my penchant for reading xD
oh, and a grumpy angmoh teacher who has an undeniably prophetic right index finger.
And a sentimental Missus who is nearly as obscure as Marlow.
And a 1.8m guy with a 1.5m-high car and a 3m-wide shoe cabinet and (possibly) 365 shirts who can quote off his text but can't for the world not digress into talk on Hollywood and the like.
And of course the classmates I move around with - Shima, Shelvi, Shanshan, Shuning. Call me Shampoo xD
And I certainly enjoyed my Literature lessons. Beats Econs any day. Myagaga.

So I safely conclude that I survived the As. *cheers*
But already the world is reminding me that there's more to come. I received a letter from NUS today that went like "it gives us great pleasure to extend a warm invite to you to apply to join ..."
Enclosed in the big brown envelope was the same brochure they gave us when they came for a campus visit earlier this year -____-

But I don't want to think about it now T________T
Allow me to distract myself with mindless pursuits a while more ... ... please?

-the end of another farcical post-

A little beyond the halfway mark~

2008-11-11T08:38:00.000-08:00

I really ought to blog more about myself, this being a blog and all, and now being the As.

First up, the A' levels. It sucks. Done.

Next: recently my dad has been insidiously drilling the idea of me going to Australia to study medicine into my head.
And sad to say, it seems to be working, especially what with my head being more permeable than usual due to prolonged periods of intensive study.

My resolution to enter ADM is swaying. Not a good sign.

But I promised my dad I'll consider it only if I get three As. (which as of now, is far from a confirmed reality)

tada of ze really boring post
(but I promise better posts after life resumes next Thursday. omg-)

and it's seven!

2008-10-19T11:46:00.000-07:00

And here is the answer to my previous post!
I expect to hear ooooohs and aaaaahhs xD

To put into words, there are seven beats in a bar!!

Seven beats!!!
How does the drummer even keeps in timing o________o
(A little background info: most songs either have four beats or three beats)

Okay, back to mugging.

P.S. I guess I have to consult Yee Bei x)

something seven?

2008-10-12T09:20:00.000-07:00

YahoO! It's time for a little interactivity on my blog!
(But I get a feeling that this post shall be ignored ... but nevertheless)

This is a song Yoko Kanno wrote for Cowboy Bebop.
I first heard it while I was nursing a bad post-mugging migraine (double ouch). But I was fascinated by it's high-strung quality - there is so much tension in it. At first I really couldn't pinpoint the source of this truncated feeling I get from hearing this song - might it be the ultra-heavy riffs? Maybe it's the urban grungy sounds.
But then I did a little arithmetic and discovered the oddest thing - the kind that makes people go o__o ---> O_____O ---> oooooooooh!! ahhhh!!!

No wonder the song is called 7 minutes.

So there! I'll leave it up to you peeps to discover for yourself what this fascinating thing is.

P.S. No, it's not because this song is 7 minutes long
P.P.S. And do tag my flashbox with guesses x)

this is a rant. ignore.

2008-10-09T10:16:00.000-07:00

I'll shamelessly admit that I liked writing English compositions in my pri/sec school days. Not to say I'm fantastic at it, sadly, as interest and aptitude don't align nicely all the time. But anyway, I've never liked the way English teachers teach writing in school - it's like an incessant desire of schools to make everything systematic and mundane.
This tiny discomforting thought in me was reignited when my sister asked me for some pointers on composition-writing the other day. So I looked through her English file and ... the horror.
First up are the "model essays". I know the sun is a symbol of life, the essence of vitality, the pinnacle of strength yet the embodiment of maternal gentleness... And, of course, is omnipresent. But why must every single narrative essay wax lyrical about the sun in all tested-and-tried cliches? And most pertinently in the first paragraph (because stories always start in the morning). While I understand that the sun is a potent source for literary prowess (bring on the idioms!), highly economical in terms of figurative language (you get power, gentleness, warmth, light, life, all in one package), and a much loved subject of every school of thought (no one ever claims that the sun is satanic. Without the sun everyone is dead), it's just booooring to mention the sun in every essay. Whatever happened to creative writing?
"The warm and golden rays of sunlight sifted through the rafters ..."
"The sun rose in a spill of violets and reds, pouring golden warmth into my room..." *urgh*
"The warmth of the sun washed over me like a wave of golden honey ..." *double urgh*
Doesn't it ever rain in the world of compositions? Leave the sun alone, I say!

But the above is a minor detail.
What really irked me, in my sister's English file, was a comprehensive list of model phrases. Which most abominably includes a section on ways to describe the sun. And the weather. And "commonly used" emotions. And ways to paraphrase "I learnt my lesson". Once I was chatting with my classmates about our secondary school days - a particular friend of mine fondly recalled memorising such phrases and splattering them lavishly over all her essays. "It was easy to write essays then. You'd start on the weather, then a bit on the story, then a 'I learnt my lesson' section ..." What matters is to squuuuueeeze in as many chim words as possible. Hence, there is the need to pepper every single noun with obscure (but very smart-sounding) adjectives, to pair every verb with a complimentary adverb, and to be sure to use pertinent idiomatic phrases every now and then. Is it a crime to use the word 'happy'? Why must I be 'in a euphoric stupor' when I'm just plain happy? o_____o
Death to all cliche phrases!

I'm not expecting everyone to write like Neil Gaiman.
I just hate to see English forced into the mold of Science.

P.S. This post is dumb. I seemed to have lost all sense of gaiety after spending four days in the "Heart of Darkness" ...

miaou miaou, ouaf ouaf ouaf ouaf~

2008-09-17T10:01:00.000-07:00

The Saboteur Script

I'm taking a tiny tiny tiny step tomorrow. It's time to stop wallowing in my little clay hole!

I need a new script

found you!

2008-09-08T09:15:00.000-07:00

Following the melody of this song is like chasing butterflies.
It goes along different threads all over the place, but leaves a pretty yet somewhat vague impression. It's the kind of song that takes you forever to remember the tune, but you know it's a beautiful song and you can recognise it whenever you hear it again.
But after that, you forget what it's like again save for a sketchy idea that it's - erm, well, a nice song.

Or is this the case only for me, what with my goldfish memory?

Erms, anyway, I discovered this song on FM93.3.

P.S I guess this proves me wrong - 93.3 IS not all about Fahrenheit x)

And you ask about my obsession with languages?

2008-09-02T08:23:00.000-07:00

Honestly, the role of language in songs is understated.

I've never thought much about lingoes until I bought my first CD, which had an "ultra-stylised pop idol with multi-coloured hair which looks oh so pretty that I just had to buy it". Which was a Japanese CD. But, being young, I just listened to it anyway and thus started my (ex)obsession with Japanese. I listened exclusively to J-pop - acts like Ayumi Hamasaki, Utada Hikaru, Otsuka Ai and the like. When I said exclusively, I meant exclusively. I absolutely dissed all Chinese or English or Korean songs. When I hear a new song, once it established itself that it is no Japanese song, some part of my brain filters the rest of the piece out indiscriminately. Until today, I can't explain my (ex)obession. Perhaps it was the three-part formula that nearly all J-pop songs faithfully follows. Or the fact that the chorus NEVER EVER EVER fails to be catchy. Somehow, the language itself just makes the song sounds appealing.

Then I discovered Yoko Kanno (music composer, film scorer, and the likes)
Okay technically she's still Japanese. BUT she absolutely adores foreign languages, it seems. So far, she has French, Italian, Russian, Brazillian ... ... and an overwhelming assortment of made-up lingoes in her works.
On to a live demostration!

Inner Universe - Origa

This song is composed by Yoko Kanno for Ghost in the Shell (an anime I've never heard of).
Sung by Origa, otherwise known as Ольга Витальевна Яковлева (xD). Honestly, I've never had a liking for electronic/urban songs, but this one is an anomaly. The grungy/mechanical sounds set the mood for a gritty, somewhat uncomfortable tension, which is nicely juxtaposed with Origa's clear and piercing voice. And of course, in Russian! It is a nice choice - the fricative consonants, and just the right amount of nasal sounds~ I can't imagine if Yoko Kanno picked Ilaria Graziano to sing this instead. I think it will sound more like a tea party over the din of construction men (no offence to French - it is a pretty language lalas). I think German or English would have worked too, but Russian is ultra-foreign to me, and that gives it sparkles!

Speaking of Ilaria Graziano ...

valse de la lune - YOKO KANNO

This one was for Wolf's Rain. Ilaria Graziano is another vocalist that Yoko Kanno works with a lot, singing in both English and French (which is the case here). French has always sounded to me like a mouthful of hazelnut praline, with all the words flowing into the next in one continuous, smoooth stream. And often interspersed with the stereotypical Frenchy sibilant sounds, like how Fleur goes " zere isn't much to do 'ere, unless you like cooking and chickens!" (credits to gownie for diggin' it out of her seaweeded HP book 6) I think French gives e song this whimsical, quaint quality. Just very, very pretty. Like a tea party in Lalaland.

(And don't get me started on Italian. With all the wonderful rrrrrrrrrrrrrrolling Rs.)

So convinced yet? But wait! Don't go away with the idea that Germans must sing outlandish rock songs, and French are stuck with sweet numbers o_____o My point is, while each language has it's intrinsic qualities, this DOESN'T mean that they are confined to their niche area. Why else would we need creativity then xD

To prove it, Bratja from Full Metal Alchemist:

Brothers - [Fullmetal Alchemist]

German is infamously regarded as a vulgar and uncouth language. But here, the strong sounds of German actually complements the song wonderfully. (if you allow me to be mushy, it shows the unbreakable bond of brotherly love between Al and Ed. Awwww~ xD)
So that! German might not be all about shouting big.

And I haven't got to Asian languages yet! So here I'll have a nifty conclusion: Language does maketh the song~

... ...off to master my rolling Rs ~

P.S the main point of this post was to emphasise that I am over Japanese, but I kinda lost that thread after I started browsing through my Yoko Kanno collection xD

P.P.S ah well you get my point. I'm over Japanese.

P.P.P.S Anyone wants to play bridge with me?

What Hui Huan means -

2008-08-13T09:13:00.000-07:00

You are truly an original person. You have amazing ideas, and the power to carry them out. (o___o Thank you thank you!!)

Success comes rather easily for you... especially in business and academia. (It does?)

Some people find you to be selfish and a bit overbearing. (OMG. They do?) You're a strong person. (Erm ... this is starting to sound like Yujiao.)

You are a very lucky person. Things just always seem to go your way. (Rubbish.)

And because you're so lucky, you don't really have a lot of worries. You just hope for the best in life.

You're sometimes a little guilty of being greedy. Spread your luck around a little to people who need it.

You tend to be pretty tightly wound. It's easy to get you excited... which can be a good or bad thing.

You have a lot of enthusiasm, but it fades rather quickly. You don't stick with any one thing for very long. (Yesh, something very true.)

You have the drive to accomplish a lot in a short amount of time. Your biggest problem is making sure you finish the projects you start. (Ah hah! A common problem of mine. But wait, this is just a re-iteration of the previous point -____-)

You are usually the best at everything ... you strive for perfection.

You are confident, authoritative, and aggressive.

You have the classic "Type A" personality.

(That's me?? But all these kinda scream Yujiao.)

You are very intuitive and wise. You understand the world better than most people.

You also have a very active imagination. You often get carried away with your thoughts. (This I admit.)

You are prone to a little paranoia and jealousy. You sometimes go overboard in interpreting signals. (Bingo! At the last statement)

The above is from What's Your Name's Hidden Meaning?

Definitely not very convincing, 'cause half of it describes Yujiao. Gasp. Unless I secretly resemble her?

For good measure, I tried out Yujiao's name too:

You are a free spirit, and you resent anyone who tries to fence you in.

You are unpredictable, adventurous, and always a little surprising.

You may miss out by not settling down, but you're too busy having fun to care.

You are a very lucky person. Things just always seem to go your way. (ehhH!! Reusing!!)

And because you're so lucky, you don't really have a lot of worries. You just hope for the best in life.

You're sometimes a little guilty of being greedy. Spread your luck around a little to people who need it.(Gib me your self-confidence!! Raaawr)

You are fair, honest, and logical. You are a natural leader, and people respect you. (About the last verb that appeared in this sentence ... o_____o)

You never give up, and you will succeed... even if it takes you a hundred tries.

You are rational enough to see every part of a problem. You are great at giving other people advice.

You tend to be pretty tightly wound. It's easy to get you excited... which can be a good or bad thing.

You have a lot of enthusiasm, but it fades rather quickly. You don't stick with any one thing for very long.

You have the drive to accomplish a lot in a short amount of time. Your biggest problem is making sure you finish the projects you start.

You are usually the best at everything ... you strive for perfection.

You are confident, authoritative, and aggressive.

You have the classic "Type A" personality.

(Lo and behold!! She has this bit too!)

You are well rounded, with a complete perspective on life. (And I thought the only thing that matters to her is money and pride. Hmm.)

You are solid and dependable. You are loyal, and people can count on you. (I wonder ...)

At times, you can be a bit too serious. You tend to put too much pressure on yourself.

The verdict: This is a dumb test. Imagine if my name is Huan Does the Hula instead.

飞轮海 who? Nah. 笑死 (Celsius) is hotter!

2008-07-25T05:56:00.000-07:00

People have expressed much horror regarding my previous post, and I find it pressing that I make some clarifications regarding the direction of my affection.

LOVE HER. (I meant that as a command)

...
That might be a lil' on the baffling side. Don't worry, you can start on this -

Lyrical xD Here's the cue to go zomg *SWOONS* !

I love 飞轮海!!

2008-07-12T10:09:00.000-07:00

ZOMG! *swoons*

吴蹲 is dah love ... he has such a sexy upper lip!!! And he exudes such maaaaaacho brilliance. His manliness gives his singing this euphoric SWOON factor. Look at that poise! And those strong arms!! ZOMG! *swoons*

He has dah brains too. Just look at the height of his hair-

汪東橙 is soooooooooo cool!! He has this SWOON-able boyish charm - cheeky and sooooooo sweet. Yet he has this grunginess within - soooo smoky, so sexy! Especially when he has eyeliner on! ZOMG! *swoons*

He brings around with him a comb, lip gloss and a mirror. Such passion

炎亞輪 is adooooooorable. I so want to hug him! His jellyfish hair just screams for affection. Coupled with his saturnite demeanour, he's like this lovable yet shy 5-year-old no one can resist. And his mascara-ed eyelashes just makes me faint. ZOMG! *swoons*

And he's musical - his piano-playing is soooo pro -___-

辰亦儒 is ... he's this other guy in the band! They needed another guy to complete the 'four seasons' thingy (gah that's so SWOONingly romantic). He's usually around when the other three are. Seeing him usually means the others are around. ZOMG! *swoons* ZOMG! *swoons* ZOMG! *swoons*

Gosh such wonderful people they are ... Those guys on 金曲獎 don't know what they are missing.

Disclaimer: I couldn't resist xD

Stop looking at life from your childish and idealistic perspective.

2008-07-08T06:00:00.000-07:00

Face it - this is known as cold, harsh REALity.
REALity dictates that we should all work 9 to 9 in (paradoxically) personalised cubicles.
REALity asserts that we should seek monetary reward in its various forms - more commonly, as the intangible assets of a bank account.
REALity says that "continually churning"out scholarly kids to repay our society should be one of our utmost priorities.
REALity ensures that we lead stable lives, effectively avoiding possible risks such as bankruptcy, loss of social function and miscellaneous bla which will result in crippling of finances and hence hurt our chances of survival in a competitive economy.
REALity makes sure that we won't lose face in front of our extended family, in particular fellow peers. However, REALity makes things interesting by deciding that some careers give more 'face' value than others. Hence, comes the commencement of a warped game of dignity, in which being a loser really sucks.

REALity is what's there, what's real. REALity shall be my future direction.

I would much rather do something else, but that's only 'cause I'm still immature. In time I'll look up to REALity as the mantra of truth, and live by it for the rest of my life.

At least I get to decorate my cubicle.

I saw Soda Green live!!

2008-06-19T09:12:00.000-07:00

(I blog because Waileng asked me to.)

So I'll start with my convo with Waileng on MSN ... at around 5pm I think. Actually, by that time I had already given up trying to poach someone to accompany there, and I had already decided that I shall give it a miss.

leng: :-O
WAT ARE U DOING HERE?
GOGOGO (fear of getting murdered by Waileng: convincing power 70%)

me: im trying to contact yee bei T.T
her hp is off

leng: ur sis?

me: nah
on dear

leng: they will be playing u noe!
live! (free performance : convincing power 30%)

That's how I got 100% convinced to attend the session. So I did!
Of course there was the usual dilly-dallying, and I reached Bugis at around 6:45pm, which technically is considered early. BUT they were ALREADY THERE! They were fiddling with the instruments and equipment at that time. edit: turns out they had already performed two songs under the guise of "soundcheck". By then the crowd was already massive, so I settled for an awful right side/back view. Though that position was quite close to the stage. Then I realised I would end up with a blogpost filled with stuff like "I saw that Qing feng has a mole on the back of his neck!" So I shamelessly pushed myself towards the front of the stage, fervently hoping that people will pity me for my height. Oddly, I felt like an oba-san in a crowded department store during GSS period.

So anyway, they started performing, before seven, under the guise of "rehearsal". Due to my deficiency in height, I could only watch through the cracks in the crowd, so I could only see the guitarist and the bassist. Believe me, I tried! On tiptoe, it was slightly better. I could see the top of Qing Feng's head + the arm of Ah Gong (coz he was waving them about). It's quite regretable that I was so preoccupied with trying to catch a glimpse of them that I didn't really pay attention to the song (小宇宙) xD Anw, sometime during the song (or was it before?), Qing feng launched into a monologue about how people who aren't there for the music should leave immediately, referring to people who are flashing their lenses at them.
"the quote is in chinese, so please ask huihuan for a verbal copy"
From then on, anyone who flashes a camera will get this quote thrown onto them. Really, he was obsessive about it. Perhaps he didn't want too many momentos of his silver/purple hair.

So anyway, like true Singaporeans, everyone obeyed. Which was good, coz those irritating cameras were blocking me anyway xD

At that time my phone only had enough memory for 6 minutes of video, so I decided to record only 1 minute of each song, for the sake of variety. The next song they played was 記念. I still wasn't quite impressed then. I found an opening and squuezed further up front. For the very first time, I noticed the drummer!
And so, they moved on to 頻率. That's when I was really strucked by their awesome-ness. I can't explain why. Mayb it was those high notes (male whistle register lol). I was so enthralled I forgot to stop the recording at 1 minute. By the time I realised... the song had ended T.T So I had to delete a couple of videos (including a few yujiao vids) coz I SIMPLY CANNOT NOT RECORD THE OTHER SONGS.
Ah yes, the ex-girlfriend song. For 左邊, he walked off the stage to mingle with the audience. GAH. I was nowhere close to his mingling-radius. Nvm, I got to shook his hand later ^^. By this time I was almost fully converted into a Soda Green fanatic. It's cool that they can play so well live. Seriously, not many pop artistes can. *hint*
And those four songs were their set pieces. After that, the audience got to pick songs! I instantly got the ominous feeling that 小情歌 shall be it. And it was. Im not really fond of that song -.- Anw that was the climax of the event, coz everyone sang along ... with the right lyrics. At that point I felt like an imposter, coz I'm only familiar with that many songs (limited to the ones Waileng sent me). But that deters me not! From now on, I shall be a dedicated Su Da Lu Fanssssssssssssssssss!
Then the next song was to be their last one. I wished it would be 城市. T.T Most people screamed for ballad-ish songs, and Qing Feng complained xD. So they settled for 飛魚, and I was quite happy ^o^. Though I would be happier if it were 城市. But he did the cup-over- mouth effect for 飛魚 too, so all's good. In any case, here's when I noticed the weird antics of Ah Gong. He sticks his tongue out and shakes his head when he plays the viola o_____o. Then when he switches to the keyboard, he still kiaps the viola under his chin O___________O. Better yet, he can still bounce along while banging chords on the piano. Then when he has nothing to play, he still kiaps the viola in the same position, while swinging an arm along in an overhead half-clap. Dancer nature, tsk tsk. Occasionally, he will do some weird arm movements. Much like a jellyfish ... in Eygpt. But that aside, he's pretty pro xD
I still wish they sang 城市 T.T

So that's the end of the performing part. (No 城市. o____o)
Next was the mini-interview ... I have it all in my hp hohoho.

The last segment was the autograph session. I really was ready to head home then, but I had a strange urge to purchase their CD right there and then. Must be withdrawal symptoms xD. And so I did. Then Yee Bei(lol first mention of her) sublimely brainwashed casually mentioned that we might as well get their autographs. And I listened to her. But it was worth it!! I get to enter the mingling-radius of Qing feng xD. But I kinda wasted the chance, coz I only uttered three lines.
"Ya! *insert nervous laugh*"
"Ni hen ku4!"
"Wo xi huan ni men de ying yue!! *another bout of nervous laughter*"
But I did fare better than Yee Bei. She only spoke once hah.
That aside, I got to shake hands with all six of them! And like I mentioned to Waileng, I got to see them in full HD-TV glory. There's something inspiring about seeing celebrities up close, and I got to meet six in one go xD

THE END

...of me encounter with soda green. me want their concert tix. me want hear 城市 live.

Disclaimer: this blog post was not proofchecked for grammatical abominations. Yes yes, the post ended abruptly o______o.

It's 2:35am now. -_____________-

It's a gross misunderstanding.

2008-05-23T01:27:00.000-07:00

I think I need to rethink my opinion regarding songs sharing the same chord progressions.

I guess music is not just about the harmony itself - after all, no one ever mistakes Zhang Shao Han's "Aurora" for Zhang Dong Liang's "Wang Zi".
The melody, the lyrics, the type of instruments used, the overall mood, the singer him/herself and other random stuff all contribute to the aesthetic quality of a song.

Hence,
I shan't be picky. And I am no music elitist. Nor an audiophile. Nor Simon Cowell's closet fan.* Someone who can't play any songs on the piano without scores shouldn't be. Same goes for someone who plays the piano at a decibel value fit for mosquitoes. By the way, "Aurora" is quite a nice song. xD

*Actually, the main point of this post is to prove that I am NOT a Simon Cowell# fan. As Waileng might believe it to be.

#Simon Cowell is a cranky old man.