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”.
I found my old moleskine while cleaning out my drawers a couple of days ago. I can’t remember who or what started it but in 2008, Dejiki and I were religiously documenting our lives in our moleskines. We’d spend our lunch hour writing in the cafe at work while sharing a brownie and when we were done, we’d switch moleskines and laugh over the stupid things we’d written. “Omg this is so bitchy,” was what Aaron told me this week when I showed him some of my favourite pages from the book so for your sake, I’ve blurred out my writing so nobody gets hurt ;p
The main reason why I was so adamant in pouring my soul in this moleskine is also an unlikely one: I got dumped, wanted my ex-boyfriend back for reasons I don’t want to remember and you know that stereotype about designers being extremely dramatic? It’s true. I was determined to get my ex-boyfriend back so I found the solution in a beautifully-bound $25 notebook and the plan was to write about how much I missed, loved, cherished him (so it appears I actually had a heart in 2008? *gasp*) and I would pass it to him a month after – more precisely, the night before I was due to leave for a holiday in Hong Kong during which I hinted that since it was typhoon season, I might not come back alive. God, I would have made such a great actress in a Malay soap opera.
Of course, the theatrics didn’t stop there. I had these big, bold headings in my moleskine and sketched here and there to make it the most awesome, incredible, stunning etc diary I could possess. Designer stereotype of having a personalised moleskine with sketches? Check. After a while, writing in that book became a daily ritual; it was a form of catharsis for me and it helped me understand why my ex wasn’t the right person for me, why I had failed as a girlfriend and why it’s completely justifiable to spend $500 on a wallet. The sad thing is I’ve completely stopped doing any form of writing in my current moleskine, apart from scribbles about essay deadlines and lecture notes. So this summer holiday, I’m aching to bring back my dotted sketches and unrestrained writing in a brand new moleskine! What say you, Dejiki? Coffee, cake and quiet writing again? :3
ps: My moleskine project didn’t work in the end. It takes a lot more than a notebook to repair a broken relationship but looking back, I wouldn’t have done it any differently. He took up a large space in my heart for the bulk of my teenage years and I loved him. But to be frank, if your man isn’t a designer, an artist, or a writer, there is a chance he can’t tell the difference between an expensive notebook and a $2 one. Shit. I have such high expectations :/
pps: I am LOVING all the guesses on what you guys think Storm in a Teacup is! No one’s got it right yet but oh wow you have given me so many ideas on other entries I can work on for this blog 
Anyway, Storm in a Teacup will be unveiled in the middle of next week so look out for it! x
I don’t talk about my religion much on this blog and you wouldn’t find my version of the ‘trial and tribulations of a hijab wearer’ that you find often discussed on hijab style blogs. I don’t know, it’s not that I’m uncomfortable writing about Islam but seeing as how the Internet dangerously allows words to be misunderstood, the complex inner-workings of my religion seem to be better discussed with friends, rather than with 99.9% of the world’s population who don’t know me in person. Besides, who made me the expert on Islam right? There are so many things I don’t have a complete grasp of, some things I’ve struggled to understand and well, I have my vices.
I have a good Muslim/bad Muslim complex; I tend to oscillate between these two modes on an average day. Of course, when I talk about being a ‘bad’ Muslim, I don’t mean that I’ve tried to rob a bank or eaten 10 skewers of pork – it’s those little things: losing my patience or swearing like a sailor when someone or something pisses me off. Of course, I try to control my vices whenever I can but sometimes, things just don’t go as planned.
Like yesterday, for example.
I had a coffee date with super beauty blogger, Roseanne, and I was running a little late so I decided there was no time for fancy schmancy dresses and grabbed a basic top from my closet. Since I started wearing the turban as my hijab, I’ve been using turtlenecks to cover up any exposed skin from the neck down. Two of them were in the wash and one of them I ruined with a hot iron just last weekend, so the turtleneck I was supposed to wear was the only one I had left. It was a wee bit wrinkly so I figured I’ll iron the damn thing. I’ve already ruined one before so there’s no way I can ruin another right? I burned a hole the size of a golf ball in the middle of the fabric right where my left breast was supposed to be. I NEVER SEEM TO LEARN DAMN IT. Or maybe I need a new iron :/
And so I was faced with a dilemma: I could either choose to expose my neck or my left breast to the world LOL – of course I picked the lesser of two evils and went with a boat neck striped tee.
Then it occurred to me after I left my house that I could have covered up my neck with a shawl -____- Bad muslim moment omfg. Ah well, we all have our moments. And how’s that for some religious controversy? ;p
Anyway, I’M BACK! 
I meant to blog sooner but I’ve been down with the flu for the past two weeks, the most serious case of flu I’ve ever had to be quite honest. I threw up a lot, especially when I ate meat, and it got really annoying to the point where I told all my friends I was pregnant with Jared Leto’s vegan baby LOL.
Well, it’s good to be on holiday again – the couple of weeks have been horrendous because of all the essays I had to write while suffering from said flu and a fever that never seemed to go away. I was drugged up every 4 hours on Panadol and all the magic pills my mother supplied me with before I moved here – here’s hoping all my essays don’t turn out to be incoherent rubbish! ;p
Charlotte
In response to Sofia Coppola’s film, Lost in Translation (2003).
Crumpled sheets and a hotel with no name.
He leaves her with a kiss that bruises her knees.
She looks below and sees the city,
Atlantic lights playing with red blue pink orange gold.
It has a different smell from her New York but tastes the same.
Urban trees bear the same fruit,
packaged under a different name.
The streets are beaten with stilettos
And pelted with runaway stars.
She can tell them apart after the third day,
they watch her as she watches them
The Shibuyas.
Same streaks of blonde,
fake like her pink hair,
But their renegade dreams too real.
The rain looks like it touches her
But it doesn’t, her 100 yen shield.
Transparent, it unfolds onto the skies,
turns back time
And removes his kiss.
The city was hers, not his.
She went as far as Kyoto,
Snaking through carmine temples,
Where monks painted loneliness on her wrists.
But she didn’t leave and still by the window,
Toe nails painted red, she whispers “Goodbye, Tokyo.”
- For Aaron.
Poetry Final Collection of 10 poems, 15.04.2011
Oh my gosh, my Poetry results came out today and I scored 90/100 for it..I’m stunned, speechless etc I can’t even think properly right now so please forgive my garble! It’s not in my nature to be shy about things but I rarely ever show my “real” writing to people other than myself. Writing is, I suppose, one of the areas I’m convinced I will never be good at. Fortunately, my Singaporean mentality comes in handy in such instances, rejecting the thought of failure and reminds my frail ego to toughen up or risk upsetting my mother by getting a B. Tough love – that’s just the way it is with Asian parents.
Most people would be stumped when asked to name their favourite movie but I can honestly say nothing has ever topped Lost in Translation in my mind’s eye. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen and it still is. Its soundtrack is perfection and while the ending doesn’t make me bawl like it used to, I still appreciate the mystery it leaves me with. I have always, always wondered what happens to Scarlett Johansson’s character, Charlotte, after the movie and this poem is my personal response to that. If you have watched the film, I do hope you enjoy this poem and if you haven’t, what are you waiting for omg? Watch it!
As with all my best and favourite poems, Charlotte is dedicated to my best friend, Aaron. He’s the only person who gets my obsession with Lost in Translation because he’s obsessed with it himself! Plus I send him all my poem drafts and he reads them without complaint, stepping in only when he sees something he dislikes to say “OH MY GOD WHAT IS THIS EMO SHIT” HAHAHAHAHA I love you bb! Aaron thinks Charlotte is my best poem yet and I sorta agree – it’s going to be difficult surpassing my borrowing of Sofia Coppola’s magic in Lost in Translation. I don’t know if I should post the rest of my poems up on tea noir since poetry isn’t everyone’s cup of tea but I figured I’ll start and leave you with my best.
tea noir will be back to regular programming next week! Hello to my new readers and thank you so much for leaving me a comment! I know there’s a ton of comments I haven’t replied to in my last two entries but I will get back to you guys over the next couple of days. So much drama happened during my birthday but more on that later! I have to start packing urgh, my flight back home is in 3 days!
I love it when my girlfriends and I get together for dinner. Somehow the best conversations always seem to be formed during the great wait for your food to arrive from the kitchen. The other night we were trading relationship horror stories (the ones where you start with “omg you wouldn’t believe what this douche did to a girl I used to know”) and a friend who’d never dated before exclaimed that hearing all these stories made her fear relationships even more because everyone seems to get hurt/cheated on.
She does have a point. The stories of ever after and true love have become less apparent, less heard of, while botched fairy tales where the girl gets dumped have quickly risen to become a staple topic at girly dinners. But honestly, I think getting dumped may not necessarily be as terrible as it is made out to be. Of course, if your ex-boyfriend was a lying, cheating bastard who dumped you for another girl, then yes, I will be signing my name on your petition to have him sterilized and sent to live among sheep.
But what if he broke up with you because you weren’t the greatest girlfriend? And that you weren’t the flawless female you thought you were? If that is the case, then the break-up serves as a way to re-examine yourself, to discover the flaws you subconsciously knew you had all along but never took notice of – I mean, who likes admitting they have flaws right? You can cry for a month but you have to realise that there has to be a reason why your boyfriend left your purported perfection to cruise the highway for singles once more. And while it stings like a mother to admit that you were the main cause of the break-up, good news is you finally have time to work out what actually went wrong, to brush away the thin shroud of denial that once comforted you and slowly, work on diminishing your weaknesses.
Being in close contact with a person gives you awareness of how you behave in private: you show a ‘secret’ side of you, a certain vulnerability that your family and best friends never get see – I think this is the ultimate reason why even the most mutual break-ups hurt. But it’s okay. Every break-up we go through only serves to make us stronger and a little closer to figuring out how relationships work. And slightly twisting a song title from Daft Punk, we all emerge hardened, better, faster and stronger. Whether your past relationships have been happy or progressed into grisly horror flicks, I think we all can learn a lot about ourselves from being romantically involved with a person. Of course, I am in no way recommending that you throw yourself on the next available guy mmkay!
Ok is this blog turning into a relationship advice column or what lol? I have to apologize, some of my girlfriends flew in from Singapore last week and god, it’s been so long since I’ve had a girly dinner with people my age so the stuff we talk about is bound to end up on this blog ^_^; Oh and one more thing I like about girly dinners? The bitching fest that comes with dessert 8D
Some photos from last week:
1. My vegie burrito from Vegie Bar: Refried beans wrapped in a tortilla and nacho chips with sour cream and guacamole.
2. If these blended fruit juices had come in shorter glasses, they would’ve deceptively looked like potent cocktails.
3. My friend’s wild mushroom risotto from Vegie Bar.
4. Coffee stop at the Sensory Lab.
5. Showing my friends from Singapore my favourite graffiti wall in Melbourne.
6. Chicken paella at the Morrocan and Spanish restaurant, La Paella, off Sydney Road.
7. With a name like Van Gogh, this has to be the prettiest cake in the world.
8. Is it safe to say we will never run out of cakes in Melbourne?
Excerpt from After the Park by Felicity Plunkett.
Things fade and fail, but not the dream – Gwen Harwood
Noon emptied the park like a death.
Vanished skies swung crying.
The last woman, lingering,
I pushed the beads of a plastic abacus:
counted my losses. At night
my dreams rolled back to taste your trace
and I sailed their upswing
woke to the jolt of their stop:
salt mornings; hope’s flaking away.
But what if it were not
too late? What if, as you turned
and left our accidental meeting –
our unrehearsed universe
pressed between pages of unwritten notes –
I called your name?
I don’t fall in love often. I think when you’ve had your first one, two, maybe 10 relationships, you start noticing there are some things you absolutely can’t stand about a person and some things you adore. Then, based on the skeletons of your failed relationships, you start mapping, in your mind, the ideal partner you hope and seek to fall in love with. The problem many women and I have in common is that we’re just too damn picky. Our standards sometimes border on the ridiculous:
1) Has to be hotter than James McAvoy.
2) Has to be a writer or be able to write beautifully*
3) Understands what Prada means to me**
*My friend told me last night that I should give this up because, and I quote, “In Singapore, you’d be lucky to find a guy who can even form a proper sentence.” Not true, obviously but I think it does give you a slight indication of the kind of single men I have to deal with in Singapore.
** I’m only half-joking.
The thing is I’ve been single for 3 years now and I think part of the reason why it’s so awesome to be single is that you get to hang out with your other single friends! You know, the ones who can confirm that they’ll be meeting you for lunch instead of cancelling with a sad text: “Eek Ilyana I’m so sorry it’s just that my boyfriend has this thing he has to go to and he doesn’t really want to go so he’s asked me to go and I can’t say no because I feel bad and I love him and he- OH MY GOD I DON’T CARE. Srsly, single girls will reach this phase where they realise all their other single friends are no longer single *shriek* And when you see how happy your newly taken friends are, you start turning your back against the Ya-Ya single sisterhood and start pining for love.
It happened to me this semester when I met an amazing writer and no, it wasn’t love at first sight – I just fancied his intelligent ways, you know? ;D Meanwhile, my mind was constantly swamped by thoughts of him and it got to the point where I couldn’t take this b/s so I figured I should get to know the guy more before I decide if he was going to be the love of my life or not. I did and while I admired his knack for writing brilliant prose, we had nothing in common. Now I know having nothing in common never stopped anyone from falling in love but as the night progressed, I understood that what I did like wasn’t him to begin with: It was the idea of romance.
It’s tricky, this romance thing. Sometimes you think you may have feelings for a person but other times, it’s just the thrill, the idea of romance that clouds your judgement and manipulates you with images of decadence, roses and “Meals For Two” cookbooks. Maybe I’ve been single for far too long to be sucked in by the cheesiness of romance but I suppose this means my heart is capable of feeling love for something that doesn’t involve shopping. That’s comforting.
I can’t believe I’m making my return to blogging with an entry detailing my failed romance that never was lol! Well, I’m sure my mother would be very pleased with my still sorely single state. How has everyone been? I’ve had the most intense month in school ever omfg, I swear this semester is the worst one I’ve been through. I had to write about 12,000 words in essays and blog posts for my finals this time and it was absolutely horrendous. I spent the last week in my pjs, just writing and writing. Of course, I had a bit of fun writing a 2,500 word dissertation on Sex and The City, I’m going to be so pissed if I don’t get a distinction for that because I werqed those Manolo Blahniks fo’ reals.
Now that I’m officially on holiday, I’ve got a couple of entries lined up and that giveaway I’ve been wanting to do! I can’t wait to read and catch up with everyone’s blogs, it has been too long since I’ve had time for myself and this blog. Also, helloooo new readers! I’m sorry the first entry you guys prolly had to read was my pronunciation guide to tea noir, oops! I suppose I can count on everyone to pronounce it correctly now, huh? ;p
Anyway, imma brb for a bit guys, I need to indulge in some DVDs before I can blog full time (and because I fricking deserve it):
Somewhere (2010), Sofia Coppola.
The Delicious Miss Dahl (2010), Sophie Dahl.
The French Kissers/Les Beaux Gosses (2009), Riad Sattouf.
2 Days in Paris (2007), Julie Delpy.
p.s My best friend, LK, has started blogging! Check out his blog: Dejiki.com. He has a bit of an obsession with theme parks and he takes amazing photos too
At the beginning of the semester, I became friends with a Colombian guy who had lived in Australia for 5 years prior to our meeting. He asked me where I was from and when I replied that I was from Singapore, he said in a nonchalant manner, “Hey isn’t Singapore under a dictatorship?” I was moments away from launching into my “WEI DON’T TALK BAD ABOUT SINGAPORE HOR!” tirade when I realized, holy shit – he wasn’t entirely wrong.
I do think we live in some sort of happy dictatorship and as much as we see the flaws in the way we are ruled, we push our acknowledgement of these flaws to the bare edges of memory, to prevent the shattering of this illusion of contentment – unless, of course, it concerns money, rising costs of living (still money), foreign workers stealing our jobs (wait for it – still money).
When I first started living in Melbourne, I was mildly surprised to find how journalists are so open in the press. Sure, the main newspapers in Australia are owned by media conglomerates with individual political and economical agendas that poses its own sets of problems and influences the way news are written. Still, I believe it’s a better situation than what we have in Singapore where most, if not, all media is state-controlled.
According to the Press Freedom Index, Singapore ranks, I dare say it, a pathetic 136 out of 178 positions. We are tied with Mexico and in contrast, Australia is at #18. America? #20. Japan? #11. We are doing slightly better than our neighbour, Malaysia, who ranks at #141 but you know what, Indonesia is in at #117 man WHERE IS THE JUSTICE? Let me tell you where it’s at – justice is slowly reclaiming itself in Iraq who ranks in at #130. That’s right. We, the citizens of Singapore, have less press freedom than Iraq and other developing nations.
What does this tell me? We are a developed nation and yet our press is undeveloped in printing our nation’s ideas. Singapore is filled with bright minds, swelling with plans that are more substantial than what the word ‘prosperity’ has to offer. These minds have imagined what our current government still believes is unimagined and are quick to snuff out the bright flame of their visions.
I’m not saying I’m anti-PAP or pro-Opposition. In fact, I am still undecided over which party I’ll be rooting for to win this coming Elections. I respect what the PAP has done for our country but isn’t it time for a little more freedom in the press? Singapore deserves to know more about the myriad of plans the different parties contesting have to offer. Taking care of your people takes a lot more than just transferring money in our bank accounts on 1st of May so we can party like it’s our birthday, you have to know us. Even the ones who oppose your ideals.
And this is where I stop procrastinating on my school work lol. An anti-climatic end but I’m afraid if I went on any further, I might get into trouble with the government ;p Remember to vote wisely, guys! Attend as many rallies as possible and learn more about each party’s plans for Singapore – because you sure as hell won’t find them in the press.
My mother had to undergo surgery last week (it’s nothing serious) and while I wholeheartedly embody the Daddy’s Girl stereotype, I love my mother fiercely although I would never admit it. But you know, the frequent tension between mother and daughter kinda does get old once you’re past your twenties. You realise, perhaps a little too abruptly in my case, that your mother has been right all along and you were the rebellious fool.
It’s unsettling but (most) mothers really know what’s best for you. You question their logic but it’s useless since what you’re really doing is questioning a mirror. I have battled against ‘becoming’ my mother since I was a child and I find the more I rebelled against my own DNA, the more I was actually resembling her. I find it disconcerting sometimes, how my mother and I are so alike but we are still different people.
My dad sent me a photo of her resting in her hospital room and I was suddenly struck by how mortal she looked, the greying hair and hard-set features that have softened over the years. I don’t want to risk sounding like a sap, but I do think we take it for granted that our parents will be where we’ve left them the day before. We unconsciously think of them as demi-gods, if you like, not completely immortal but they’ll always be there at the very least, ready to step in whenever we need help (or cash, yep I said it LOL).
My mother’s perfectly fine now but she’s going to be stuck at home for a month before she’s allowed to resume working so she’s been texting me often about the cat and other random things. I’ve been calling her everyday too, something that I have never done before. It feels strange, building on a relationship with a person I’ve known all my life but it’s a warm, lovely feeling.
Sorry I’ve been writing all these ~wai so serious~ entries, I’ve just been thinking a lot the past couple of weeks. I figured I should just write it down somewhere and thought maybe some of you might appreciate reading something other than the pretty things I usually write about
NEW RECIPE POST COMING UP NEXT! x
Today I received a wedding invitation from a Malay friend who’s been living in Melbourne since she was a kid. And she only has 300 guests on her list! In a culture so fond of inviting just about everyone to a wedding (1000+ guests is normal), 300 guests is pretty small for a Malay wedding. And I’m envious. I know the minute I tell my parents my plans to get engaged, my mother will be combing her coffee-stained address book to account for all living acquaintances to invite even before they’ve met my boyfriend’s parents.
It’s not that I dislike Malay weddings, I love them. I like how the whole family gets together, peeling hard-boiled eggs with cousins while complaining about the stupid weather, watching the bride get ready, sneaking away for bubble tea – it’s real fun lol. But the guest list oh my god, I cannot. And I betcha the bride and groom don’t even know half the people on the list. I understand that most of the people on the guest list are usually old friends and family of the bride/groom’s parents and the wedding is perhaps, a symbol of strengthened bonds/family ties. That sounds good on paper really, the whole high school reunion at my daughter’s wedding..just not on the bill.
My cousin’s getting married next year and already, she has spent $20,000 on the food, location, decor etc. I don’t know the average money spent to hold a Malay wedding but $20,000 JUST TO GET HITCHED?! That better be one extravagant wedding or I’d be disappointed. Honestly, half that money could be spent on an apartment (but since I’m still single, perhaps a camel Birkin ;p) or you know, a trust fund for the future kid(s).
I long for a small wedding, just with my family and the people I share half my heart with. My husband can fight for the other half. It’d be more personal, less overwhelming to the senses and everyone would refuse to leave because they’re having too much fun. Customized table settings, napkins monogrammed with my guests’ names and a gift bag that doesn’t contain the following: 1) A small slice of fruitcake that tastes like it’s a couple of centuries old 2) Face towels in a colour that matches the wedding deco (srsly, guys..) 3) A fish-shaped glass dish (My parents have received 4 of these so far SMH!) My friends will be my photographers and I won’t be surprised if I end up doing my own make-up. I certainly have the right tools (and I’m quite possibly anal enough 8D)
But it’s never going to happen. I know all too well that my wedding isn’t going to be my wedding. It will be my mother’s. She will decide on the floral arrangements, the location, the food (scoffing at my suggestions of sushi platters and fajitas) and which old neighbour to invite (ALL OF THEM!) So for now, I am extremely grateful that when I dream of having $20,000 at my disposal, I think of how much I would donate to Japan, the countries I want to travel to, the presents I’d buy for my beautiful friends and my wishlist on Net-a-Porter.
The thrift store I go to all the time, to find things once loved and then discarded. It’s fascinating to see the incredible things people give up. I like to come here just immersing myself in the once-treasured past, without knowing exactly what to buy.
I fear I’ve fallen back to my once-in-never blogging schedule now that school has started erk. This time, however, I’m going to try putting aside a couple of hours per week just for this blog so we’re looking at maybe 2 posts per week, homework-willing? You guys are the sweetest really, I’m so sorry you had to read my previous angst-driven entry ._. I’m going to stop whining about my writing and make a conscious effort to write more.
School started a week ago and assignments are already streaming in so I haven’t had the time to read anyone’s blogs/reply to comments on my own blog -__- It’s terrible, I can’t even remember the last time I talked to Nadz or any of my friends from Singapore. I suspect this year is just going to get worse in terms of my workload and I would really like to ignore my responsibilities as a student but that would be apocalyptic lol.
Also something to inspire me to work harder this year:
The new MacBook Pro to replace my rusty MacBook! It’s a funny story, actually. My roomie’s computer got hit by a virus which rendered it completely useless (Ewww Windows, she had it coming sry2say) and I talked her into getting the just-released MacBook Pro. We went to the Apple Store last weekend and after 10 minutes in the store, she was ready to swipe her credit card LOL. I was trying not to look jealous, had my best Gaga poker face on and texted my dad a photo of my roomie’s new MacBook Pro.
Dad: “You guys have it there already?? It’s not available here yet, I want the 15 inch! How much is the 13 inch?”
Me: “Why, do you want to buy it for me?”
Dad: “Thinking of it.”
- At this point, I knew if I played my cards right I could leave with a new computer 8DD –
Me: “Would it help if I told you I’d work even harder than before?” – Trump Card #1: THE RESPONSIBLE STUDENT
Dad: “See how.”
Me: “I promise I won’t tell mom” – Trump Card #2: THE DADDY’S GIRL FOR LIFE
The rest is history ;p
Ok since I feel terrible for being the most inconsistent blogger ever – I’m going to share something personal I wrote for my parents. Fine, it’s not really personal since it’s up on my Facebook lol (nothing private thar) but I thought it would be nice to post it here because I know a few friends who are ready to give up on love.
Lovers
Their love is not perfect but 25 years ago, he said to her, “We’re flawed but I will seize every minute to be with you.”
Today, they are still working things out. Sometimes he sleeps on the couch and there are days when she doesn’t utter a word. Then there are flowers hidden in the bathroom sink, in open sight and the iciness disappears. She has fallen again, she wouldn’t say but he knows it. His space colliding with hers, the years shortened but he still has her mapped in his heart. With time, the relationship is no longer transient but remains encased in glass.
“There is enough love,” he said to her that night. And love has sustained them since.
- For my parents
This was to mark my parents’ 25th wedding anniversary but they’ve been together for close to 35 years if I remember fragments of their love story. Let’s make it to 50, and forever.
