You know how i want to be a writer, and i'm sure you've been reading what i've been writing, and writing is actually an art, a delicate art or some sort of art... and if i can't draw to save my life it still is okay right? As long as one day i can weave a portrait out of words? =)

I was here at Orisinal (lovely cute site with flash games and more) looking at flowers the dear and the prawn sent me. And you would THINK that however you arrange a few flowers, especially when all of them look nice already, it would turn out nothing less than acceptable, and i guess it did turn out acceptably well when i sent a bouquet to the prawn...

But honestly, when i compare the prawn and the dear's flowers with my measly bunch, i can't help but sigh in GREEN ENVY at the artistic quality their little sprigs contain. It's a talent, gift and practice. But urgh I guess i just really don't have that flair, or ANY flair in drawing/art at all. Nice people will tell me i make lovely cards, but that's because i have lovely paper to begin with. I'm at ground negative if i was without paper T_T

Grrrr. NO. The ability to draw has nothing to do with the ability to write! Satisfied, goodnight!

*is in love with SE's XPERIA X1 pictures =x

this is a long shot but i'll shoot it anyway. Do i get phone buffs as part of my meager readership? I'm looking for a phone, more of a PDA phone since you can put everything in it. And am amidst resolutely ignoring the bf's 'iPhone iPhone' calls =) I heard it has too many flaws for the price we're paying, so any ideas?




...



I have a scab on my left lower thigh, one that you're dying to pluck, your hands wander to its general vicinity and caresses it, as if expecting it to peel, yet not wanting that at all (the texture of it is amazing, though). This tiny pool of dried blood magically transports you to the days of yore where scabs are everywhere on your body and you have no sense nor a care to actually not peel the scab. Then, after the peeling comes the scolding from the parents, warnings of scars and more blood, fast forward and there! no scar on the knee. Oblivious to the danger the knee might have faced from society's future frowns.

I miss those times. Now i'm very well aware that my left leg is procuring more scars than ever and it won't heal like before anymore. My once-proud leg is ashamed to see the light. More scar serum there there and there. You're gonna heal, i will not yield.

I can't wait for A levels to end. Till then, every action is backed by the nagging conscience "get home and study or you won't finish it" and why are we studying? To get to universities? To satisfy your own expectations of yourself? Do you like the subject? Are you just trained to want to perform in exams?

Scream free. We all need happiness and a break. I need to grow up.

tiny details

like when he reaches out to me, confidently hesitant, when for some reason we needed an apology between us. the breach melts away with a shy touch and sheepish smile. and you just can't help but love him more when you see his downcast face.

like when he easily grabs the guitar, sits on the table and sings the first lyric that comes to his mind. and you know he means everything he's singing because it's all made up at the spur of the moment. then he sings the most wonderful phrases about you.

like when he'll suddenly just stop his work and look at you. and in those eyes are not deep contemplations, but a simple look of wonderment. a look that tells you he's thinking about you, he's thinking about love, and he thinks he's the luckiest man alive to have you.

like when you're irrational or insecure or out-of-sorts or wilted, and you go to him with just your eyes and ask for a moment. then we'll have our moment, with his hand around me, and share a silent space around ourselves. the world stops and leaves us to our own for just a little while.

in those moments our usual head-strong pride and ego dissolves. in those moments we do not think about the hurt and pain we can and do cause each other, we do not outdo each other, we do not mend and improve each other. we have no resentment, no angst, no bitterness, no competition. we are then, not two but one.

in those moments, those private moments, you'll be witnessing two people in love. and i smile when i remember glimpses of these little moments. precious moments that heal, moments that make it worthwhile.

you can say however much you want about the ridiculousness of society, putting stereotypical images on let's say... women's figure, and rant full-blown on how it downgrades people who are stubby and fat, puts high pressure towards women and pushes some over the cliff, anorexia and bulimia ensues. and your rant might entirely be true. how we should not care about looks, how the inner being is more important, how this brand of capitalism eats up your wallet so much you have to starve throughout the month just because of that dress, and that is downright ridiculous. and you also might be correct.

but it will not make you stop contradicting yourself as you talk about how fat you've become, how ugly you feel, how you have to make excuses for the days you 'just don't feel like dressing up', how we'd perm ourselves for prom, parties, clubs, outings, parties or anything more significant than out getting a loaf of bread, how you had to have that dress because it's 'just so pretty'. because honestly if we feel so strongly against the stereotypical face of women branded by society then why not go against it?

Face it lah, society's not gonna change for us. like it or not we're socialised into pretty-loving objects. Pretty shoes, pretty clothes, pretty images, pretty selves. at least we should stop being two-faced about it and stop complaining about society when we ourselves wouldn't mind splurging that extra bit of cash for that absolutely must-have pair of heels. it's our own fault really, for succumbing to work perks, for gaining attention (every type), wanting to be the social elite? but really, would you have it another way? i like looking pretty (yes i know it might have been the whole consciousness ingrained in me by our capitalist ruling-class money-sucking machines), i guess i'll stop blaming society for making prettiness such a big issue because in the society i want to thrive in, i HAVE to be pretty and at least it does make me happy looking at myself when i feel/look pretty. i used to complain so much because i find it such a hassle having to look pretty. it's such a chore, it takes up so much time, make up chemicals kill the face, I'M JUST LAZY.

so i will stop saying i don't care about looks because i know i do. as if i'm trying so hard to defy the norm or act nonchalant about being pretty for one reason or the other because i realise (rather i'm painstakingly reminded about it) i always seem to do that, and it's another method of acting like someone i'm not. so here i proudly proclaim that i'm a victim of capitalist materialism, and have always been.

=) confessions feel so good

by the way, i lost my phone. Being surprisingly nonchalant about it suggests that I really disliked using motorola. Or that i'm in a state of such shock that I actually LOST my phone (i know i constantly forget things, but i've never lost any wallet, phone, ipod etc stuff before), the impact of it hasn't touched me yet. Only today did i suddenly remark: "Oh. I lost all my contacts!" to a very well-deserved 'duh?!' from the other half.

I just realised that I lost the songs in the phone too. There are a few in there I don't have in the com: Howl's moving castle theme, asatte no houkou theme, some chinese songs i really like... my ohayo morning call. Shit that's a very essential part to waking up. That irritating sweet japanese voice has been the first sound of every morning for too long. Blessing, curse?

There is a very important message in there I've been keeping. How? I wonder if i can dig through joel's archives and find his sent message? I don't think saved messages constitute a big part of his kept messages though. Oh no I just lost one of my pillars of strength in times of need!

Ah, but possibly (and most probably) i'm not at all disturbed is because i've always not really liked having a phone around. I honestly don't like the fact that with a phone, i'm accessible to others wherever I am. Obviously that is a conflicting notion, as I want to be accessible as well, and the perks of having a communication device by you is endless. I guess it's getting calls you just don't wanna pick, and the phone more often brings you those rather than those you wanna hear from.

omg, des i lost your 'xiao pick up des is calling!' voice!!!

Ah, but i realise as well how much this nonchalance comes from how secure I feel of my dad's financial ability. Lost phone? Get a new one lah. The deprivation is not felt, and in my case can only be felt from emotional stances. It highlights how pampered and downright spoilt I am. Only in this position can I feel this loss of only sentimental values, only in this standing can i afford sentiments on a device. That I didn't even worry one bit of having lost my phone, just shows how much I'm cocooned in this security blanket of my dad's hard-earned comfortable wealth for the family.

What can I say? I'm thankful for my luxuries. it's a conflicting guilt and not, at the same time. sometimes i wonder if it's plain luck that i've been born into a family where my parents never pressured me about saving money and never displayed any signs of financial instability before. or if there's a hand somewhere? what to learn from this?

i am this small of a person for committing multiple sins unknown

unknown the word is unknown unknown unknown

go away little girl i don't want you little girl leave little girl stop little girl grow little girl





and then you shudder, and know everything he said was right. there's once again no excuses, no point or, shall we say, no grace for defenses. no nothing to your mind fighting back about what you think you know but also know that it means nothing because as usual, you are wrong.

everything leaves me to have no option but to be better.

thanks.

Well now, it has been a very eventful week. Eventful being seeing the real definition of certain words I've never been able to identify with before. Like Trauma, like Faith, like Sacrifice, like Love. Those are words easily said and used. Everyday scenes in drama and words to live by.

All these words sapped the strength out of me, even though I'm not the one having to fully live through each of those words. Ah, dear friends. I am not strong, I am not independent. I miss going out and I wanna catch up with you (hi nicolai, jean, yin =( ) but now it's the season of the proverbial push and rush for the finals. I know where I stand in my academic ability. It tells me that I need severe concentration if I want those A's. My socio is in the ruins.

Anyway, time is of the essence; or time and tide waits for no man; great words for time - sucky feeling to listen. Talk to you later =)

Perseverance is a beautiful word. Phrases complimenting perseverance: 'what doesn't kill you makes you stronger', 'success comes from multiple failures' and these are the words that people will hold on to when each wall crumbles and hope extinguishes, when rejection meets.

And then we realise that's why perseverance is such a beautiful word. If you triumph it, time after time, fall after fall, keep jumping over that one word 'perseverance', i guess, there's where you want to be. The word is beautiful for its hope. The word is hideous for its existence of needing to push and crawl, to plead and beg for death, to feel lost and lonely and no one does understand. Because we can't.

I cannot use the word persevere. I haven't been through enough shit in the world to warrant my use of such a nobly hated word. So it breaks my heart to be by the side of someone needing constant perseverance, requiring every ounce of strength and cursing every syllable of that detested blessing. For having the will to persevere through millions of perseverances means finally reaching a place where it's no longer required. But having to persevere, means to trudge on, to fight every battle and triumph, to have hopes up till that last obstacle breaks, not knowing when it'll crack.

And I have no words of comfort but my own pact to hold. I am.

taking my own life by my own hands and steering it to the exact pavement I want it to be on. forsaking some grounded habits , allowing entry for the new. i'm exposing myself to new experiences. i'm in a drinking party with who I can only deem as strangers. cups of vodka raspberry. free flow of music. outgoing parents. lying on the grass. emo lyrics. my lover singing. i'm in a company where being virgin is odd, instead of the usual opposite. everyone I know will squint and judge, point and remark 'change'. my mother tells me i'm 'unusual' now. but if you pass a Comment like that so quickly, i'll tell you i've never seen enough to have had a true me, so you obviosly have no idea what is changing.