My heart is beating in a different way
Been gone such a long time and I feel the same
Will you miss me?
When there’s nothing to see?
Every time this song plays on my laptop, as sung beautifully by The xx, I’d wish the band would’ve written it a little sooner (Missing was released in 2012, on their album, Coexist). It describes succinctly what 2011 was for me and though that year has disappeared into melancholy, the song’s meanings aren’t all lost to me.
Every year I do these little posts just before I leave the country to whine about my first world Asian problems. This year it will be no different. The good news is it’s my last year of uni so this is the final round of whingeing y’all are gonna get (nah, not really lol). I was reading my old emo posts and aside from being slightly embarrassed by them, I’m happy I wrote ‘em down. Measuring change is, above all, to recount these things of the past and figuring out if you feel the same (another nod to Missing, god I hope this doesn’t betray my infidelity with the other songs in my playlist). These old entries have had time and a shitty internet connection from being pored over by my eyes and I read them now, surprisingly distanced from past insecurities.
My fears of being left behind for being away for too long, of being alone in an unfamiliar place, of change because change sucks – they don’t bother me much anymore. I don’t have any real answers to why this is so; the only legit thing that’s different about my life is that I eat more gelato now. Is gelato or anything full cream the cure for all ills? Then I would recommend one scoop a week for those in a similar predicament, two scoops if you’re feeling especially tragic.
Somewhere in swirls of frozen green tea and white chocolate, I figured no matter how many times Oprah tries to tell us change is good – it’s horrid most of the time. But we can’t help these things you know? Ice cream messes, stickier situations; these catalysts for our formative years. It isn’t pretty but we must learn to accept, live, and grow – we do it in our own ways – because remaining stagnant is worse.
And don’t worry so much if it’s taking too long for things to fall into place. Life will always be a series of wrong turns, bad choices, foolish ideas. It’s going to be okay. We’ll be okay.
Image credit: Gemma Ward in Details Mag.
2012 has been exceptional – 365 turns in the game of life, some of which were experienced in secret and many, with strangers and friends and Kaori, the girl who makes my coffee every other Melbournian afternoon. The dice has rolled many times in my favour, landing me on squares that allowed me to gain new friendships and giving me the cards to strengthen old ones.
I’ve been lucky – the only times I had my heart broken, the deceitful man in question would almost always be an accidental crushed macaron at the bottom of my bag. Other times, it was a dress or skirt gone out of stock on Asos.com. I didn’t fall in love last year but my best friend did and habitually, with someone who doesn’t love him back. This means long afternoons of pep talks, digital chocolate-giving & hugs, but since sadness, like all other loveborne diseases, is contagious, there are moments when I feel powerless.
First, the wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff: he lives in the present and I live three hours into the future, which makes our friendship sound a lot like that Sandra Bullock movie. And there’s the Indian ocean, waiting to swallow anything that begins with ‘long distance’ as it’s done for so many others before me. It is the worst feeling, not being physically there for someone you care about, to talk things over tea and cake paid for by the gentleman. Aaron and I were never your orthodox best friends anyway, we’ve only met 7 times since the start of our friendship so we’re accustomed to being apart. But many instances this year, I find myself asking whether the words floating off my fingers would be enough to recreate my presence and help mend a beaten heart. I still don’t know the answer to that.
Inadvertently, but not surprisingly, Aaron thinks my inability to fall in love the past few years has turned me into a jaded cynic, which is only fair because I think he is a hopeless romantic, a dreamer, while I am every bit of a realist. It’s not that I have a loathing for the opposite sex; I just haven’t found a man worth loving. Observing Aaron’s pattern unrequitedness and the ways people sometimes change for the worse when paired with another, also puts me off the mood for love. But that’s what I admire about dreamers; they try, despite the risks and wounds. In 2013, I’d like to ditch 60% of my cynicism and replace that with some compassion. I’ll loosen the grip on my “I don’t need a man. I just need my closet” philosophy – still don’t need a man though, but clothes really are trivial next to the L word. It’s time to get my head out of my Lanvin fantasies because there is no need to replace love with clothes. I already am loved, by the most courageous and beautiful. I say courageous because it’s not easy to love me so for those who do, I will love you back more fiercely.
These are my favourite moments of my 2012, some of which, as I said earlier, were experienced in secret but many, with people that matter.
Hiding from the cold in one of the many cafes sprawled across my uni campus, I’ve only been here maybe twice in three years? Need to do something about that.
Was running late for class and Spring, just as tardy as I was, surprised me with the first blooms of the season. Very romantic, but it wasn’t enough to make me forget the long wintry nights spent hugging a mug of chai for warmth.
Spending time with Sher Reen, my reader turned friend, who goes to the same university as I do but graduated this year with a Masters in Architecture. Said goodbyes sweetened by Monsieur Truffe‘s expertly made hot chocolate in March and hellos again in December on a fair-weathered Malaysian Saturday. We have lunch and coffee – things we used to do in Melbourne – before she takes my friends and I to her architecture firm for a spur of the moment tour. Some of her colleagues are still working (on a weekend, good god!) so we try our best to be discreet but uh, you can see discretion isn’t one of our strongest points.
My cousins flew in for a holiday in June and one of them, Fatin (or Fats as we call her), spent a week with me exploring all the museums in the city and eating her way through my favourite brunch spots. After dark, we’d come home and talk for hours about the most banal of things really, but I loved every single minute of it.
My mornings in Melbourne start with a 15 minute walk to Carlton where I meet Amy who waits for me in her blue peacoat (no matter the weather) and we head to uni together, jaywalking, judging people on the length of their shorts, that sort of thing. These are my favourite 15 minutes of the day. We talk food, trade recipes by text, scribble on pages about what to eat for lunch instead of taking notes about how social networking sites were born. She’s the best, thank you for everything Amz!
Got to see Coldplay after finishing the last assignments of the year. Temper Trap was their opening act and oh my god they were fantastic. Coldplay? I want to see them live again before I die SO FORKING GOOD SORRY GAGA, YOU COULD NEVER. Also managed to catch the Metric gig in Melbourne where Amy and I found ourselves in the third row which gave us the best view of Emily’s amazing legs. How am I still straight after that gig?
Having weekly meals with my other best friend, LK. He’s very private and plays the part of the reclusive blogger almost too well so it’s rare that I get a photo of him looking at the camera BUT AHA! Got you, bb! ;p I am guilty of not speaking to him as often as I should when I’m away but I don’t know, whenever we spend time together in Singapore, it feels nothing has changed and I love that about us.
I LOST 10 KILOS WHAT UP! Photo on the left was taken in April and the one on the right was taken in December. I suppose it is time to rewrite the old diet entry.
Nad and I have been spending so much time together this year, it still surprises me that we haven’t killed each other. She’s a proud feminist and naturally has strong views on how women should be treated; I like the flow of our conversations – we’ll be discussing marital rape one minute and somehow ease into talking about mascara the next. We disagree on so many things and drive each other crazy but she’s always honest with me and that’s why she’s special. I shot this photo on our last morning in Gold Coast, the sun was hurting our eyes so she takes out her sunnies from her bag. I ask if it was the $10 pair we both bought the day before and she snorts, puts these Ray-Bans on and looks away. SO BAD ASS.
Two of my readers turned friends (what a mouthful) got married and invited me to be part of their special day omg! Thank you so much, Ana and Diana – both of you looked so beautiful and I’m very blessed to count you both as my friends now.
What I really love about tea noir is meeting all sorts of people, no matter their ethnicity or beliefs, that are equally as fascinated by beautiful things, good conversations and CAKE as I am. Shafah is one of them and here, she’s taking me out for brunch and a tour around Tiong Bahru. Isn’t she stunning? These Arab chicks should just run the world. ’twas my first time to Tiong Bahru Bakery too and I can see why many like it so much, their kouign amann is glorious.
Aaron and his friend were in Singapore for a short trip in December and we had the most beautiful afternoon eating itty bitty cakes and coffee. Somewhere in between debates on love and stealing bites of each other’s cakes, he got his sketchbook out and drew me ;__; I don’t think I’m that skinny but thanks bb, your work has always been magnificent.
How did we get so lucky?
The most striking thing about Gold Coast is its abnormal devotion to theme parks. There is, perhaps, no other place on earth that has that many theme parks squeezed into the same city. I used to think there existed only the Theme Park Trinity: Movie World, Dream World, and Sea World; but a drab tourism site tells me my vision of the coastal city is more retrospective than reality since Gold Coast is now home to more than 10 theme parks, most of which are lined next to each other along the Pacific Motorway, like bottles to be hit at the county fair. With my tiny savings and womanly priorities (i.e. all money must be spent on shopping, good food, and virgin mojitos), the only metaphorical theme park bottle I manage to hit is Movie World, the Warner Bros-themed attraction the studio’s board of directors hurriedly built in 1989 as an ‘up yours’ type solution to the burgeoning empires of Disney and Universal.
The gates are flanked by a T-Rex that comes to life every 10 minutes, much to the delight of 6-year-old kids in superhero capes made from glitter and polyester, and to the displeasure of new parents coaxing their toddlers back to sleep. Crossing these gates into Movie World didn’t bring me to the unfamiliar worlds a theme park ticket would promise; Main Street looks far less majestic than I remember and even the street’s Roxy Theatre is not enough to hint at its former grandeur. The DC Comics Superhero Hub is nothing more but a haphazard collection of blockbuster-themed rides stuffed into an area near the park’s entrance with no overarching elements to glue them together. Still, what Movie World lacks in its creation of immersive other-worldly experiences, it makes up for in its rides.
The Scooby-Doo Spooky Coaster and the Green Lantern ride are easily my favourites. The flashiest ride in the park, Superman Escape, however, did not make the cut. It’s a fantastic ride actually but in the most horrific way. Superman Escape is a coaster with a launch track so high my camera lens can’t capture it properly (iPhone pic here). Walking towards it, my travel partner, Nad, asks if I can handle its extremity. Girl, please. I tell her that having ridden Universal Studio’s dueling coasters, The Battlestar Galactica, I have all the mental and physical training I will ever need to survive any coaster. Nad treats me to some incredible eye-rolling. We spend some 1.5 hours in the queue, keeping busy with girl talk and sporadic whispering about the hot people waiting in line with us (2 broke girls in a foreign land, you can’t expect anything more or less).
The ride begins by taking us around a subway tunnel that experiences an earthquake you can’t feel but you know it’s happening because everything turns batshit cray: billows of smoke lightens the tunnels, the walls are collapsing and the sirens, deafening. It is the finest tremor-free earthquake of my life and I am about to tell Nad when I notice there is light at the end of the tunnel. There is no pause and shooting up into the skies at 100km/h (this is no exaggeration), my initial excitement turns into dread; my overconfidence into humbling prayers to God. My turban is ready to slip away and fall into someone’s lunch down below so I grasp the sides with shaking fingers. I can’t remember anything past the initial drop but after we stumbled out of our coaster vehicles, we decide 1) it is time to eat 2) we are getting too old for this shit.
One more thing: Movie World has a halal buffet restaurant on Main Street which is a great convenience for my fellow Muslims. The food’s okay and they have a soft serve machine which I enjoyed exploiting but I don’t believe it’s very economical to eat there since it’s probably unwise to have a heavy meal before being strapped into steel and flung around like marionettes.
Completely unrelated but still relevant: The Food Store, a cafe hidden in The Hilton‘s nondescript lobby, serves some great Toby’s Estate coffee at non-hotel prices. The last place I thought I’d find good, cheap coffee in Gold Coast tbh, I live for these surprises.
If you haven’t read the first part of my Spring Break entries, you can find it here. And if you love reading about theme parks, please check out my best friend’s website – he is one heck of a theme park junkie lol. I know you guys are probably used to my occasional updates, I always feel terrible about it but I also don’t believe in shortchanging my readers. Super short entries aren’t my style and it’s probably not what you’re used to seeing in this space either. My entries are stories on their own, they take longer to craft because I kill myself making them enjoyable to read so thank you for your patience and please follow the blog on FaceBook, my Twitter or Instagram for future updates!
“NOTHING COMES CLOSE TO THE GOLDEN COAST” – the smarmy line from that Katy Perry song Aaron texted me when I arrived in Gold Coast. I don’t know how Gold Coast would compare with California but that said, the first thing I noticed about the city was how freakishly similar it was to the other coastal areas I’ve been to. It reminded me of Malacca, Marine Parade, and Sentosa all at once and perhaps we’re looking at a trait inherent to most coastal cities: they gravitate towards nearly identical architectural styles and have a relaxing vibe that comes naturally with beachfront living.
My spring break didn’t start out so great. I had to sit next to the most insufferable people on the plane: two other girls, one of whom started complaining when asked to put her bag below the seat in front of her – “I can’t put my LONGCHAMP on the floorrrrr.” Girl, it’s hard to believe you don’t know it’s standard protocol to have all bags on the floor before take-off so stop playing the victim and let the stewardess do her damn job. A long string of expletives played out in my head every time she looked in my direction and finally, an hour into the flight, bitch went to sleep. I tried to look at the positive side of things; I may not be able to push this chick off the plane but at least I’d have one terrific flight story to tell Nad when I’d arrived.
Many things have changed since my last trip there (I was 8!) but to all intents and purposes, Gold Coast remains much the same as it was then. The beaches are as spectacular as I remember, just cleaner and more modernized. The coastline is still cramped with apartment hotels either fathered by the nondescript global hotel chain or the ones that are too indie to be clustered with the mainstreamers. I devised a little game to see if we could spot the most ridiculously named hotel but it was forgotten shortly after a seafood dinner of the grandest scale. Freshly shucked oysters, delightful baby octopus dressed in a light oil and vinegar dressing, lobsters, battered fish and shrimp on a terrifying bed of fries – it was carb hell but we were in heaven.
Unlike Melbourne, Gold Coast isn’t really the place for great coffee. Let’s be frank: nobody goes to Gold Coast for coffee. They’re there for the beaches, hot surfer boys, girls in bikinis overdoing the tanning oil, overpriced buffets, and amusement parks. But I am a coffee fiend who likes the occasional challenge. After some google-sleuthing, I scoped out two chic cafes with decent beans: Bumbles and Elk Espresso.
Bumbles is conveniently tucked away at the back of our hotel and after a 7-hour flight, Nad, understandably needed some caffeine and nosh in her system. I wasn’t in the mood for coffee after that plane episode so we split some prawn sandwiches, truffle fries, and a mocha between us. The prawn sandwiches weren’t just dressed in grandma’s old mayo but had some paprika and lemon juice mixed in as far as I could tell. It was blistering hot and those sandwiches were a cool food refuge from the sun, yum. The truffle fries were great too and came topped with parmesan shavings but honestly, they were expensive for the little amount we got. Still, money needs to be spent during a holiday and spend it all we did LOL.
My favourite between the two has to be Elk Espresso, this – dare I say it – Melbournesque cafe located in Broadbeach. Admittedly, it’s very hipster-y with a mural of an elk on its specked green walls and wood trimmings but god, it’s so pretty I didn’t mind being identified as a hipster for an hour. Nad ordered a beautiful lemon tart with a side of cream and a coffee. As for me, I had read reviews prior to my visit and everyone was saying the same thing: do not leave Elk’s without trying their crème brûlee milkshake. And it gets better. While they did have regular milkshakes on the menu, the crème brûlee flavour exists only as a colossal food monument you often see on Man V. Food: THE THICKSHAKE. It’s scoops of smooth vanilla-caramel ice cream, milk and white chocolate shavings blended into the thickest, most decadent milkshake in the entire gold/east/west coast. I don’t know how many calories went into one thickshake but nothing succeeds like excess. Kelis, it’s time to update your song girl – this thickshake is going to bring more than boys to the yard.
Stay tuned for part II!
19 River Drive
Surfers Paradise, QLD 4217
16 Chelsea Ave
Broadbeach QLD 4218
I was cleaning out my laptop and found these photos I took last year that never made it on the blog for reasons I can no longer remember. I have a hunch I wasn’t particularly excited when I first saw them, which would explain why they’ve been squirreled away in a folder I named “Mehhh” in my photo archives. Now that I’ve exposed my very inventive folder naming system to the world, we can put that to rest and talk about my renewed interest in these photos. I can’t really put my finger on why I like them again, maybe photos can be likened to wine: leave them alone somewhere dark for months and rediscovering them gives you a high so intense you see their hidden potential. My other flimsy theoretical take on this is that somewhere in that 12 month hibernation period, my tastes have altered slightly.
Taste is chemistry: it is conditional on a blend of the obvious – like your mood or food allergies (if you can’t eat peanuts, then it is certain Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups aren’t your favourite afternoon snack) – and also things that seem ridiculous: how early you got to work that day or whether you wore the right sort of underwear. And in my private universe of brain cells that dictate taste, I would imagine all these random variables accumulating, steadily tinkering with just how much I liked or disliked this and that.
Changes in taste can happen slowly: I don’t have the same enthusiasm about eating satay like most Malays do. It’s what I’m famous for. I have, at many a family barbeque, been treated to cousins sneakily pushing sticks of satay into my plate just to see my face contorting itself into this. Something happened earlier this year though – it was my last weekend in Singapore and dad suggested we hit this morning market in Malaysia for breakfast. I knew that was code for I WANT SATAYYYY! – meh – but I relented anyway since 1) we were already heading to my fave restaurant for dinner 2) I am a legit daddy’s girl, admittedly the worst sort. 20 minutes after placing our order, the sticks of dread were served and maybe it was the charcoal heat, the grease, my family’s happy nomming faces or the bitterness of having to leave them again for school but I found myself reaching for a satay stick, and another, and ano..damn it, I suppose I like satay now .__.
But unlike my Sataygate of 2012, changes in taste can also be in a constant flux. One day, you can hate undercuts and love it the next day when you see it on someone who can pull it off really well but only to dislike it a little when your best friend tells you NO. Disclaimer: I am not this person. Another strange taste-related event is that I’m also beginning to like people I once couldn’t stand? ‘Like’ might possibly be too charitable a word but I’ve become more patient when in close proximity with these people. I don’t feel like killing them half the time which is certainly an improvement. I think my brain cells must be all wonky from the cold. Or maybe I’ve just grown up a little.
I had my first birthday party when I turned 20. It was and will forever be the last party I throw for myself. It wasn’t a disaster per se – ok, yes it was. Normally, one would expect the birthday girl to have her day to herself, leaving all the cooking and decorating to the caterers and selected minions, oops I mean, close friends who have volunteered themselves to offer free labour in the name of her birthday. Except lifestyles of the rich and famous don’t happen outside the Hamptons and certainly, not in my house. *ADVERTORIAL* My party’s decorating services was sponsored by Ilyana’s Party Favours and the food was cooked on site by Ilyana & La Familia. Or in other words, I did just about everything.
I cooked, I cleaned, I wanted to do too many things. And on the morning of the party I became aware, when two of my friends who were supposed to help me out were running late, that the only way I could get things done was to do it myself. I was a dumb, wildly ambitious perfectionist. I was still cooking the takoyaki half an hour before the party started and I was so tired I wanted everyone to go home when they’ve only just arrived LOL. I think I was a horrid host because I couldn’t mingle with my friends as much as I wanted to since I was exhausted and all I could think about was replenishing the fast disappearing takoyaki platter. So if you were unfortunate enough to turn up to that mess of a party, I apologise for being the worst host in history…but at least you can’t complain about the food right? Because it definitely was fantastic, feast your eyes on these vintage pictures from my ~archives~: Pic 1, Pic 2 and Pic 3. Also LULZ at my old photography omg, I’VE COME A LONG WAY!
4 years later and I guess I still have parties on my birthday but they’ve evolved into private brunch dates with people I love. I know I say this every year but it’s sad not being able to celebrate it with my family. But living overseas also rewards you with a new family: a group of friends in the same sticky situation you’re in. And if you’re very very lucky, family from your home base might just take a flight out to visit too. Here’s some photos from my birthday brunch at MART and in order of appearance, meet my shiny, happy people: Brian, Amy, Kyun and Ili. Kyun and my cousin, Ili, were holidaying in Melbourne and it was lovely having family around – thank you for the tea set bbs!
And to Brian & Amy: I love you both so much, thank you, thank you, thank you.
FINALLY managed to crack open my Burberry lipstick too, expensive lipsticks are best reserved for special days yes? A review on that is coming soon!
p.s: sorry I haven’t blogged in a while, I had another cousin fly in and stay with me for 10 days after Ili left lol so this blog didn’t stand a chance against all the shopping and feasting we did. Fatin, if you’re reading this – congratulations on your convocation and I hate to admit it but I’ve started to miss your company!
by Lisa Gorton.
Morning starts without us.
On the wall above our pillow the window’s reflection
holds itself in place like a dream’s placard;
remaking even the wind out there, cut from the first ice on
into a decorative impulse:
its branch and leaf shadows not shining but all the same
shaking out light.
Waking is finding ache-
shaped bones, flesh weighed with sleep,
in the dent of warmth we have pressed into our mattress;
picturing with still closed eyes the suburb’s damp-bright
after last night’s rain:
torn clouds and more light on asphalt
than we could find in the sky.
hours spent like holes in our pockets, thrown out
to find our way into that field which is not there
in the wall behind us – the window’s idea of itself
all a matter of light –
now printing across our faces as we sit up
into a second chance.
Sometimes, filtering through the many, many poems I have to read for my Poetry module in university, I find that one poem that holds no pretense, no fluffy abstractions and describes with amazing succinctness, a fragment of our everyday. Sleeping in is exactly what I intend to do this weekend before my essay deadlines unfold and collapse upon themselves like dominos. Tea noir will be back soon with some great news to share ;D
p.s If you’ve missed my pretty pictures, you can follow me on Instagram at @ilyana x
I have been getting the same dreams lately; I wake up in an empty apartment, I walk out and everything is blanketed in snow. I walk for a bit, look back and discover I don’t leave any footsteps. It’s more beautiful than eerie but I’m only saying this because I always wake up before anything creepier happens. This is the last week of my holiday in Singapore and it’s this period that I become an emotional mess; my brain becomes muddled between missing home and missing Melbourne. Today, for example, when I had a really shitty watered down iced coffee that I paid 5 bucks for and all I could think of, apart from stabbing the barista and getting my money back, was my daily $3 cappuccino at Melbourne’s League of Honest Coffee. Then I did a little lingerie shopping at H&M, fantastic bras for only $20? No really, even I was skeptical until I tried them on and HOT DAYUMMMM Singapore, you are forgiven. And as if God didn’t believe finding cute bras was redeeming enough, Dad asked me tonight what I wanted for dinner and he drove to our favourite restaurant, despite having tons of work to do, to get me my chicken rice. I bawled in the toilet when he left.
I am very, very lucky to be able to experience an entirely different world in Australia and then come back home to relive my old life for a split second. Yes, it’s hard to leave things behind, I’ve said this many times, but today it dawned on me literally 20 minutes ago as I stared at my ceiling light – a moment which compelled me to write this entry immediately – this unbearable feeling that intensifies as my flight back looms closer? It’s the fear of being left behind. It’s ironic since I’m the one leaving but when one leaves, the space one occupies in a person’s heart diminishes with time and slowly they get used to being without you. It sounds like I’m elegantly describing what a break-up is to most people but it happens to all friendships and every tie forged with another person. I know my friends love me dearly but we are in different stages of our lives now; most of them are working, some of them are struggling students like me and we’re all experiencing different things. It is childish to think things would stay the same, even I know I’ve changed in some ways. But in my white dreamscape, it was nice to be in some place impervious to change even for a little while.
I should probably create a new “EMO SHIZ” tag, for things like this.
The past two weeks have been hectic for me so I’m sorry I MIAed on you guys. My baby brother got his O’s this month, proving that he is certainly much brighter than my 16-year-old self – especially in the Math department. He seeks a future in aviation so fingers crossed I might be able to travel for free in 10 years or so. CONGRATS LIL’ BRO, I’m so proud!
I had a gay friend, K, who flew in this week to meet his Singapore-based boyfriend and ladies, we have a problem. It took an expensive brunch (which my friend paid for *COUGH TAKE NOTE STRAIGHT MEN*) and a hilarious debate between the three of us and his other uh, rather conservative – that’s all I’m saying – friend about the “hazards” of having half naked A&F models gracing the Singapore store but I am convinced that all the nice guys are gay.
SIGH. I know I’m overgeneralizing here but honestly, I have never met a gay person I didn’t like. K has told me many stories about the assholes he’d dated but I’ve been lucky so far: all the gays I’ve befriended are warm, extremely well-mannered and so bloody nice. This is a serious epidemic ladies – there are plenty of amazing guys out there, they’re just not interested in us D8
My friend, Nad, tells me it takes a special kind of man to understand the modern Muslim woman – he has to have a wealth of knowledge of Islam, sufficient enough to guide his family, while being liberal in his views on religion, current affairs and just how much we want that clutch from Yves Saint Laurent. This man has to find some way to balance these sometimes conflicting ideals while tolerating my warped sense of humor. Does such a man exist? I’ve made some crass assumptions about men and I will continue believing in them until I cross paths with a guy who pisses me off because I was wrong, he’s right and in that moment of bewilderment, I will become the girl who traced the outlines of her lips and colored it with songs of his heartbeat – minus the dragon tattoos.
Oh yes on the A&F debate – obviously, I am all for some man candy while K’s said conservative friend (SHE’S NOT EVEN MY FRIEND JSYK) found the show of man flesh to be repulsive and “disrespectful to our society”. Bitch please, do you know how rare it is to find men in Singapore with abs (and hot faces LET’S BE REAL) of that calibre??
Photos were taken with my father’s Nikon 35mm f/2.0 lens I stole with no shred of remorse. Unfortunately, they stopped making this particular model some time ago but if you’re interested, Nikon makes a stellar 35mm f/1.4 lens I think. I’ve been wanting to check out Antoinette for a while now but don’t let the photos fool you – I never got to It was completely packed so my friends and I headed to TWG instead. TWG’s matcha raspberry cheesecake took my disappointment away, such an amazing cake!
p.s yes, this is one hell of a random entry. I’m talking about gay men in one paragraph and the ideal Muslim man in the next WHAT THE FORK. My best friend’s words of wisdom: “Every man has his own burden to bear”.
And this is why I’ve been MIA last week: I FOUND MY WALDORF-ASTORIA!! My roommate and I scored the most amazing apartment after a month of hunting and 3 rejected applications (sucks being a jobless student sometimes – the landlords can’t help but think you’re a financial liability). Here’s a sneak preview of our new digs! I’m sorry I don’t have pictures of the bedrooms to show because an empty room is an empty room lol. The building was completed a little over two months ago so we’re going to be one of the first few to move in. Our apartment’s on the 13th floor and omg look at that incredible view! I can’t wait to see what the city transforms into at night ;D My best friend’s like, “OMG WHEN CAN I MOVE IN BB?” Dream on, honey ;p
Apart from the view, I’m really all about my new kitchen. It’s been domestically pimped out to a level that would make Nigella proud. Restaurant-grade stainless steel finish (k I made that up), a gas stove, a dishwasher (!) and a huge ass oven (!!). OH and what do we have hiding in that corner thar – A REGULAR FRIDGE! I know it seems silly to get excited over kitchen appliances but try living in crap student lodging with a sad bar fridge for two years while fighting strange insect infestations, druggies shooting up in your laundry room and you’d be feverishly thrilled to be elsewhere. Of course, my new apartment isn’t just some place else – it’s home now.
I’ll be busy with the big move these two weeks so this blog is going to be a lil’ quiet. Don’t worry though, I still plan on launching Storm in a Teacup in a day or two Catch you all soon!