Cued

The table is a flurry of contents.

I am not proud of my progress, 3 hours and with shaky confidence I can conclude ONE question complete. All the more reason to seal my fate for the first day of the new year; to spend it at a 24-hour coffee joint losing myself in assignments.

On the bright side, I'll be at the airport where I stand a one in a million chance of meeting a perfect stranger in transit and we will fall in love momentarily. Afterall, I have the tendency to fall fleetingly.

Honestly though, 2012, what a year. I feel like I've grown so much this year alone, and to everyone's who's had a part to play in this, whether blessing or lesson, thank you.

So stoked for 2013, I have so much hope for the new year. Time to leave everything behind and make changes.

Cue obligatory new year resolutions:
1) Eat clean, become a lean machine
(Couldn't resist some rhyme)
2) Studying will be the only thing worthy of my time
3) Work on my punctuality
4) Expect the least or nothing at all
5) Nonchalance over niceties
6) Stop depending my happiness on others
7) Not to dwell over things I cannot change
8) Say Grace before meals
9) Family and friends before love
10) Stop obsessing over what could have been

And most importantly, harden my heart.

japan

musings

Between the time it takes
For me to fall once again in love with
The insidious ways your eyes reflect light off mine
And for me to fall into
The spaces in the creases and
Indentations on your skin
From too many hours spent under warm sheets
Against cool pillows and over-zealous orifices

I lose more sleep and more nerve endings
From the fires ignited by your intrepid fingers
Than I ever will in any lifetime untouched by your presence

xxxmas

Regina Spektor has one of those voices you will never forget.

She is so adorable from her curly hair down to her stocking clad feet. Stole my heart the very moment Winona introduced me to The Call a long time ago. What We Saw From The Cheap Seats despite being a fantastic album still cannot beat Soviet Kitsch and Far. I feel she could've performed more of her older songs though, although I appreciated Ode to Divorce and Dance Anthem of The 80s.

I'm still not over the fact that she didn't sing Eet. I know, I know, I've tweeted about that already. But come on, that song is perfection.

In an hour's time I will hopefully be donned in something spectacular and shimmery and church appropriate, awaiting mass to start.

It's a quiet Christmas but I have so much hope for the new year.

Today is a joke

I will NOT say anything about the poorly predicted apocalypse.

Let's just say I had a good last day on Earth.

Been thoroughly obsessed with the likes of The 1975(who just released a couple of songs), Fiona Apple, Bat for Lashes and Foals.

My cheeks were reflecting the longest wavelength
My fan was folded up and grazing my forehead
And I kept touching my neck to guide your eye to where I wanted
You to kiss when we find some time alone

My scars were reflecting the mist in your headlights
I looked like a neon zebra shaking rain off of stripes

And the rivulets had you riveted to the places that I wanted you to
Kiss me when we find some time alone


I don't know about you, but I'm really not feeling the Christmas spirit this year. Maybe too much time abroad is to blame, it can be quite disconcerting sometimes. It's also official; I've spent all my savings. What's more worrisome though is the fact that I can't quite remember what I've spent them on. 

In my effort to purge any essence of Ebenezer Scrooge in me, I am signing myself up for the Christmas Immersion Programme where I will force my ears to endure cliched Christmas songs, load up on the christmas cookies and leg of ham and accessorize with those darn reindeer antlers.

What I really mean is putting The XX's Last Christmas on repeat and wearing my "Merry Freaking Christmas and a Crappy New Year" baseball tee.

sup life

Airplane rides have a knack for causing turmoil in my gastrointestinal tract.

After several hours of fuzzy audio with only lousy airline headphones to blame and a bleary-eyed array of movies I've either seen or did not for obvious reasons,  I very much preferred to alternate between tracing the scaly, reptillian skin on my knuckles and hands complete with a recurring internal monologue on how disgusting my apparent moulting was, and watching the screens of passengers seated in front of me and deriving stupid humor from my own insertion of dialogue between the onscreen characters.

Japan was a blur of dessert kiosks, signs, posters, vending machines boasting a stunning variety of bottled drinks, brown hair and headgear.

6 day holiday brought to an end so soon before I can even wrap my head around the fact that Christmas is a week from now and before I know it I will be frazzled, pimply A level student with a bursting waistline from stress-eating and one too many microwave dinners and ice cream tubs.

I promise some pictures from my Bali and Japan trip soon, if anybody's even interested.

And I cut my hair again, which nobody will probably notice because it almost always seems like a big deal to me and only me.

NIPPON-KOKU

Japan! I am going to Japan!
I hardly enthuse on my blog because I am too busy being a tortured soul, aren't I?

But I swear, I'm so much better now.
I am happy and content and self sufficient and pretty damn excited for my HAW LEE DAAAAY.
I promise not to care about my diet while I'm there and break the record for the most amount of desserts consumed in a day. I will eat tokyo bananas and mille crepe cakes until I excrete pastry cream, how about that?

I watched Ah Boys To Men today and it was a smorgasbord of bad graphics, unrealistic gunshot wounds and singaporean references. But generally a good laugh, points for relatability. Gymmed and swam at the new SAFRA at Toa Payoh earlier on with Claudz and had a wonderful time because that girl never fails to encourage my spontaneous fits of retardedness.

I have been indulging in folk and post rock lately but here's something I discovered awhile back but  got back into after it came on shuffle while I was shredding it on the treadmill (and totally dying) today.



Now, I am going to watch Edward Scissorhands for the millionth time and stay up late like a typical teenager fuelled by pixels and romantic cinematic portrayals and because it is the holidays.

I read that old men will see visions 
Young men will follow dreams 
I believed it when I read it 
I see your face in everything

quiet rage

In all honesty, you are a complete letdown.
A lesson, I've decided.

Goodbye now.

not so rude awakening

I've mentioned before, I consider myself to be an extremely happy person. But lately, I've been wallowing in some absurd combination of self-pity and cynicism, and it is ridiculous I tell you.

After a considerable amount of time spent indulging in such dreadful emotions, I had a mini epiphany and I realized how immensely pathetic and senseless I have been. I am now sitting at Han's, writing this while cursing myself for having forgotten to mention to the very polite and patient waitress(who waited smilingly as I reached for my money being very careful not to botch my freshly manicured nails) to not put any milk or sugar in my cup of hot tea. There goes my "clean" eating.

Oh, everybody I've ever wanted around has left. That's what they all do, they form some unmistakable connection with you, flirt with you and they're gone. What's wrong with me, what am I doing wrong?

If I get a little prettier, can I be your baby?

(I am no longer at Han's because I had to have dinner with Mum and blogging had to wait, half of my post wasn't saved btw and I had to wrack my brain to recall all I had typed in my burst of literary inspiration just now) 

Christ, at least I'm over that phase. Honestly, all that unhappiness manifests all over your face, it's in the furrow in your brow, the shadows under your eyes, the blasted little spots mushrooming all over. I'm usually good at hiding my emotions(come to think of it, not really) but the underlying sadness will still show subconsciously. Just like my gut. I have this thing where I suck it in 24/7 but I guess that's a lie because I've caught my reflection one too many times with my belly hanging out in its full, unabashed glory. Which is why I've decided to take on the Blogilates.com 90 day challenge that involves eating clean and hardcore pilates on a recommended daily basis.

In other words, I have just signed myself up for pure, unadulterated, merciless torture. Yay.

Now that physical wellbeing is works in progress, I guess finally should work on my emotional health. No more rolling around in self-loathing filth, crying over things and people that will not change and have changed. They've decided I'm not worth their effort or time so they're not worth mine.

Bye bye misanthropy, hello new me.

hmmm

I am mostly torn between being the sweet, over-caring, forgiving, willing, albeit clingy and overly-anxious side of me(my dominant one) and a nonchalant, coy, cynical and sarcastic bitch that is hard to get and couldn't give a damn.

Because the bad girls always get what they want, somehow, and the good girls; they're left on the shelves.

But somehow most times, I slip into the former anyway.

1:40am monologue

Millions die everyday without falling in love.

Who am I to mourn then, when I have encountered both love and loss, in all warm-gutted glory and conniving fury.

You cannot lose what was never yours to begin with, so I suppose it is safe to say I cannot have lost more instances than I have loved, only less or all the same.

And for that I am thankful.

writers

"Date a girl who writes.

Date a girl who may never wear completely clean clothes, because of coffee stains and ink spills. She’ll have many problems with her closet space, and her laptop is never boring because there are so many words, so many worlds that she’s cluttered amidst the space. Tabs open filled with obscure and popular music. Interesting factoids about Catherine the Great, and the immortality of jellyfish. Laugh it off when she tells you that she forgot to clean her room, that her clothes are lost among the binders so it’ll take her longer to get ready, that her shoes hidden under the mountain of broken Bic pens and the refurbished laptop that she’s saved for ever since she was twelve. 

Find a girl who writes. You’ll know that she has a sense of humor, a sense of empathy and kindness, and that she will dream up worlds, universes for you. She’s the one with the faintest of shadows underneath her eyelids, the one who smells of coffee and Coca-cola and jasmine green tea. You see that girl hunched over a notebook. That’s the writer. With her fingers occasionally smudged with charcoal, with ink that will travel onto your hands when you interlock your fingers with her’s. She will never stop, churning out adventures, of traitors and heroes. Darkness and light. Fear and love. That’s the writer. She can never resist filling a blank page with words, whatever the color of the page is.

You will smile hard as she talks a mile a second, and your heart will skip a beat when she holds your hand and she will write stories of your lives together. She’ll hold you close and whisper secrets into your ears. She’s lovely, remember that. She’s self made and she’s brilliant. Her names for the children might be terrible, but you’ll be okay with that. A girl who writes will tell your children fantastical stories.

It is hard to date a girl who writes. But be patient with her. Give her books for her birthday, pretty notebooks for Christmas and for anniversaries, moleskins and bookmarks and many, many books. Give her the gift of words, for writers are talkative people, and they are verbose in their thanks. Let her know that you’re behind her every step of the way, for the lines between fiction and reality are fluid.

She’ll give you a chance.

Don’t lie to her. She’ll understand the syntax behind your words. She’ll be disappointed by your lies, but a girl who writes will understand. She’ll understand that sometimes even the greatest heroes fail, and that happy endings take time, both in fiction and reality. She’s realistic. A girl who writes isn’t impatient; she will understand your flaws. She will cherish them, because a girl who writes will understand plot. She’ll understand that endings happen for better or for worst.Because that is the best part about a girl who writes. She has imagination and she has courage, and it will be enough. She’ll save you in the oceans of her dreams, and she’ll be your catharsis and your 11:11. She’ll be your firebird and she’ll be your knight, and she’ll become your world, in the curve of her smile, in the hazel of her eye the half-dimple on her face, the words that are pouring out of her, a torrent, a wave, a crescendo - so many sensations that you will be left breathless by a girl who writes.A girl who writes will understand reality. She’ll be infuriating at times, and maybe sometimes you will hate her. Sometimes she will hate you too. But a girl who writes understands human nature, and she will understand that you are weak. She will not leave on the Midnight Train the first moment that things go sour. She will understand that real life isn’t like a story, because while she works in stories, she lives in reality. "

gamble

I think you as a little self-righteous
It's in your gait
The way your eyes draw into slits
When you catch your reflection in a swinging glass door
And the wicked way your lips curve into a half-smirk
The same place that will be the graveyard
Of flushed skin and sweat
Where I find my rest

Like the slivers of your dinner you shared with me that night
Among past lovers and adolescent adventures
You decided you could do without me
We tiptoed around the future because with it
Drew prospect of a possible romance
And nobody speaks of such foolish hopes in the open
For fear they might slip from clumsy hands
Eventually,
you did between my trembling digits

It seems we're back to before we met
Strangers, except with a torrential flood of
Barely theres and plans that may never see the light of day
Or the sparkle in your eyes as laughter racked your body
Like sobs to mine when the night robs me of my mirth

I think I don't mind
Our paths will spiral and slant 
And intertwine with others'
Until they cross once again
Then the sear of a kiss rendered unbearable
By time and her medicinal ways
Will become my sole existential purpose