POOF

i need a name change

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

lookatthis

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.

: (

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,

... 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.

(Friends, TOW Chandler Crosses the Line)

I'm sure everyone feels like that sometimes.

i was just thinking

... 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

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

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

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

... 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

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.

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

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

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

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

DA BA DEE DA BA DIE!

*repeat*

on a useless dutch desktop

“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

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!

Don't break plates.

Don't break plates.

Don't break plates.

Don't be blur.

Don't be blur.

Don't be blur.

Don't lose your bag.

Don't lose your bag.

Don't lose your bag.

last-minute things before Stockholm

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.