.feliznavidad.Collins Street City Square, Melbourne, December 17, 2009
...Merry Christmas, to you. :)
Friday, December 25, 2009
Monday, December 14, 2009
...hang a shining star upon the highest bow...
For the sake of updating the nonexistent: my super-awesome parents are coming down for Christmas and, of course, my graduation ceremony.
Being the highly-experienced urban travelers that they are, I'm fully aware that they are used to spending Christmas in cold, snow-covered, more-festive places. Think the Swiss Alps, or Western Europe, or the American East Coast. But this visit will mark their very first take on spending Christmas below the Equator.
I'm genuinely curious to see what Mr. and Mrs. Oey will make out of a sunny, outdoorsy, summer-y Christmas down under. *grins*
Other than the usual plan of exploring Melbourne to its very core, we also have Brisbane (otherwise known to the locals as Brisvegas), the always-compulsory Gold Coast, Tangalooma Resort, and Sydney under our messy traveling belts. Ten days of sunshine, hopefully *crosses fingers*, and ten days of total family awesomeness.
I promise I will make time to post another update before Christmas.
In the mean time, I will retreat under my snuggly blankets and bid you adieu. My parents will arrive at Tullamarine first thing in the morning tomorrow, and I have to be there by around 11am to greet them. *winks*
Have a nice start to your Christmas holidays, guys!
Put your best tank-tops on. Wear your most awesome sunnies. And cover yourselves up with sunblock because the UV rays are nasty! Then have a cold beer. Or two. Or three. Or as many as you want, actually, but please try not to get too drunk! Everything is more fun when your head's actually there and not all fuzzy. :)
So, yes, that's about it for now.
Merry Christmas, everybody. :)
xoxo
Being the highly-experienced urban travelers that they are, I'm fully aware that they are used to spending Christmas in cold, snow-covered, more-festive places. Think the Swiss Alps, or Western Europe, or the American East Coast. But this visit will mark their very first take on spending Christmas below the Equator.
I'm genuinely curious to see what Mr. and Mrs. Oey will make out of a sunny, outdoorsy, summer-y Christmas down under. *grins*
Other than the usual plan of exploring Melbourne to its very core, we also have Brisbane (otherwise known to the locals as Brisvegas), the always-compulsory Gold Coast, Tangalooma Resort, and Sydney under our messy traveling belts. Ten days of sunshine, hopefully *crosses fingers*, and ten days of total family awesomeness.
I promise I will make time to post another update before Christmas.
In the mean time, I will retreat under my snuggly blankets and bid you adieu. My parents will arrive at Tullamarine first thing in the morning tomorrow, and I have to be there by around 11am to greet them. *winks*
Have a nice start to your Christmas holidays, guys!
Put your best tank-tops on. Wear your most awesome sunnies. And cover yourselves up with sunblock because the UV rays are nasty! Then have a cold beer. Or two. Or three. Or as many as you want, actually, but please try not to get too drunk! Everything is more fun when your head's actually there and not all fuzzy. :)
So, yes, that's about it for now.
Merry Christmas, everybody. :)
xoxo
Thursday, December 03, 2009
...how many promises and fake apologies?...
Currently listening to: Hear No, See No, Speak No - Ricki-Lee Coulter
.yousayi'mcrazy.The Circus Starring: Britney Spears, 1st Melbourne Show
Rod Laver Arena, Nov 11, 2009
I find it really heartwarming when my favorite barista *wink wink* - having already been on a first-name basis with yours truly - yells out my name and lightens up whenever I merrily hop my way to that familiar chocolate-brown counter, with my best cheeky grin plastered on my face and my worn-out loyalty card at the ready.
Bonus points for already hitting the cash register and cheerfully calling out the exact price of my favorite drink before I stop prancing and finally arrive.
Bullseye. *grins*
Ah, the things you find when you get out of the house.
Turns out my seemingly foolish decision to brave the crazy winds and drag my lazy ass all the way to this cozy spot is not so stupid after all now that I think about it.
So here I am, conveniently perched on a chair next to the giant glass windows overlooking Chadstone's new shopping precinct, absently typing away. I have my regular-sized skinny Irish nut creme with me, brewed to perfection by the coffee-making prodigy in question *cough cough*. The sun's still up, the cafe's rather quiet given it's Thursday night, and Christmas songs are playing softly on the PA.
Can you say happiness? :)
Damn. It surely feels good to have nothing to do.
No due dates, no morning classes, no irrational deadlines to look out for (although the latter is subject to change in a few days' time) whatsoever. Lately my existence revolves around making use of my excess spare time and dealing with irrational thoughts, more or less. Think late-night phonecalls, endless Youtube sessions, and multiple cups of jasmine tea. I even took the initiative to clean up my room again!
*bows to imaginary clapping sounds*
Ironically, though, I have also been missing a LOT of gym sessions, hence my current wimp-like performance at the gym, in a non-sexy kind of way of course. Let's just say the treadmill hasn't been too kind on Mr. Couch Potato right here lately. I don't know where all the motivation has disappeared to; maybe I'm just being plain lazy, like always. I promise this will change.
I have since resorted to watching a lot of online videos everytime pangs of boredom strikes. I know things are getting bad now that I'm starting to get all impatient and borderline obsessive about communitychannel's video announcements on Twitter, but I can't help it. To spice things up a little, as of now I also have discovered a newfound attraction towards Singaporean online shows on clicknetwork.tv. "Chick VS Dick" never fails to amuse me, and I think Rosalyn Lee a.k.a Rozz is Singapore's hottest TV personality right now!
*sighs*
See?
Proof positive I should seriously start looking for something better to do before I drive myself up the wall.
But first things first. Semester 2 results will be out tonight, and I'm crossing my fingers big time. If I pass all four units, I'll be able graduate at the end of this year. December 17, to be exact, about two weeks away from now. If not... Well, we'll worry about that later. *shivers at the thought*
As much as I hate the idea of having to man up and face the real world now that my endless years of education is finally coming to an end, I actually think that graduating will still be fun and liberating nonetheless. And I sure as hell do hope I'll end this with a BANG. I wanna do me - and my parents, too - proud.
We'll talk more about this later. Let me get queasy and fidget with my hands first. A couple of hours to go, now. Won't be long.
*tugs at hair*
My coffee's getting cold. And is that the rain I hear rattling softly on the ceilings?
Alright. I better sign off now. Will let you guys know once the results are published.
Oh, Christmas is almost here, by the way. *winks*
Lates!
UPDATE:
I PASSED ALL FOUR UNITS!!! :)
I'm officially a Bachelor of Commerce graduate! Well, minus the hat and the funny-looking robe, though. That one's for December 17. *winks*
Bonus points for already hitting the cash register and cheerfully calling out the exact price of my favorite drink before I stop prancing and finally arrive.
Bullseye. *grins*
Ah, the things you find when you get out of the house.
Turns out my seemingly foolish decision to brave the crazy winds and drag my lazy ass all the way to this cozy spot is not so stupid after all now that I think about it.
So here I am, conveniently perched on a chair next to the giant glass windows overlooking Chadstone's new shopping precinct, absently typing away. I have my regular-sized skinny Irish nut creme with me, brewed to perfection by the coffee-making prodigy in question *cough cough*. The sun's still up, the cafe's rather quiet given it's Thursday night, and Christmas songs are playing softly on the PA.
Can you say happiness? :)
Damn. It surely feels good to have nothing to do.
No due dates, no morning classes, no irrational deadlines to look out for (although the latter is subject to change in a few days' time) whatsoever. Lately my existence revolves around making use of my excess spare time and dealing with irrational thoughts, more or less. Think late-night phonecalls, endless Youtube sessions, and multiple cups of jasmine tea. I even took the initiative to clean up my room again!
*bows to imaginary clapping sounds*
Ironically, though, I have also been missing a LOT of gym sessions, hence my current wimp-like performance at the gym, in a non-sexy kind of way of course. Let's just say the treadmill hasn't been too kind on Mr. Couch Potato right here lately. I don't know where all the motivation has disappeared to; maybe I'm just being plain lazy, like always. I promise this will change.
I have since resorted to watching a lot of online videos everytime pangs of boredom strikes. I know things are getting bad now that I'm starting to get all impatient and borderline obsessive about communitychannel's video announcements on Twitter, but I can't help it. To spice things up a little, as of now I also have discovered a newfound attraction towards Singaporean online shows on clicknetwork.tv. "Chick VS Dick" never fails to amuse me, and I think Rosalyn Lee a.k.a Rozz is Singapore's hottest TV personality right now!
*sighs*
See?
Proof positive I should seriously start looking for something better to do before I drive myself up the wall.
But first things first. Semester 2 results will be out tonight, and I'm crossing my fingers big time. If I pass all four units, I'll be able graduate at the end of this year. December 17, to be exact, about two weeks away from now. If not... Well, we'll worry about that later. *shivers at the thought*
As much as I hate the idea of having to man up and face the real world now that my endless years of education is finally coming to an end, I actually think that graduating will still be fun and liberating nonetheless. And I sure as hell do hope I'll end this with a BANG. I wanna do me - and my parents, too - proud.
We'll talk more about this later. Let me get queasy and fidget with my hands first. A couple of hours to go, now. Won't be long.
*tugs at hair*
My coffee's getting cold. And is that the rain I hear rattling softly on the ceilings?
Alright. I better sign off now. Will let you guys know once the results are published.
Oh, Christmas is almost here, by the way. *winks*
Lates!
UPDATE:
I PASSED ALL FOUR UNITS!!! :)
I'm officially a Bachelor of Commerce graduate! Well, minus the hat and the funny-looking robe, though. That one's for December 17. *winks*
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
.retrospect.
kuhirup manis aroma udara kota ini,
satu pagi,
tak pernah sepi
dalam riuh bisingnya sang metropolis awali hari,
memulai lagi,
kuhilanglenyap tenggelam dalam bergulungguruh arusnya
kudengar jeritmu di setiap bunyi klakson,
kerlipmu di tiap kedip lampu lalu lintas,
lagumu seiring petikan gitar sang pemusik jalanan
kurasa haru dalam keruhkelabunya langitmu,
deras rinai hujanmu,
juga mendungnya cakrawala,
sumpekruwet jalanjalan raya yang ribut meraung di luar sana
setiap detik kupuja hadirmu,
setiap detakmu selaras deru jantungku,
dan bersama secangkir kopi hangat,
sebatang pensil,
selembar kertas lusuh,
dan setahun penuh seruan rindu,
kunafaskan adamu,
jakartaku.
-- Dunkin Donuts Mal Ciputra Jakarta, 8 Januari 2009
satu pagi,
tak pernah sepi
dalam riuh bisingnya sang metropolis awali hari,
memulai lagi,
kuhilanglenyap tenggelam dalam bergulungguruh arusnya
kudengar jeritmu di setiap bunyi klakson,
kerlipmu di tiap kedip lampu lalu lintas,
lagumu seiring petikan gitar sang pemusik jalanan
kurasa haru dalam keruhkelabunya langitmu,
deras rinai hujanmu,
juga mendungnya cakrawala,
sumpekruwet jalanjalan raya yang ribut meraung di luar sana
setiap detik kupuja hadirmu,
setiap detakmu selaras deru jantungku,
dan bersama secangkir kopi hangat,
sebatang pensil,
selembar kertas lusuh,
dan setahun penuh seruan rindu,
kunafaskan adamu,
jakartaku.
-- Dunkin Donuts Mal Ciputra Jakarta, 8 Januari 2009
Monday, November 09, 2009
...now are you sure you want a piece of me?..
Currently listening to: Piece of Me - Britney Spears
THIS pisses me off.
Oh, and THIS one too.
I mean, like, seriously.
Lay off the obsession and, please, cut her some slack.
Honestly, though, up until this point I was completely unaware of these following facts:
1) that every entertainment news journalist out there in Australia is a prolific singer, an experienced performer, and an immensely popular artist who has sold millions of records all around the world - and this totally gives them the right to write disrespectful stuff about, oh, like only one of the world's best-selling artists;
2) that absofuckinglutely no other pop star in the world - other than our beloved Britney Spears, of course - has ever mimed to his or her own song in concerts and live shows before. No, not even Ashlee Simpson did it; and
3) that apparently "fans" of any music artist in the world are freely allowed to refund their concert tickets if they feel that their favorite artists are letting them down by not singing the songs they want to hear or not performing stuff they want to see.
I mean, wow.
I must be living under a rock or something all this time, to have been completely oblivious to these things.
So, what year is this again...? *raises eyebrows*
Those journalists must be really, REALLY insightful.
They must know what it feels like to be a pop star that has been through so much pain and struggle.
I mean, like, are they even aware of the fact that they're dissing an international pop icon?
Are their names included on Yahoo!'s most popular search list for four consecutive years? And has any of them been named The World's Most Searched Person by the Guinness Book of World Records?
Have they sold more than 83 million records worldwide?
Did they go through a heavily-publicized meltdown and emerge out of the chaos alive and victorious?
Has any of them ever performed on a hugely-successful world tour, grossing US$74.6 million in its first 48 US shows, with already 87 shows done so far and twelve more to go, in front of thousands of screaming fans?
Do they have their own names carved on a Hollywood Walk of Fame star?
Has any of them become the first female artist to have five #1 studio albums in the United States?
Answer 'yes' to any of the above questions, and we'll talk.
Otherwise, fuck off.
In an ignorant society that feeds its pseudo-happiness upon other people's downfall, shameless dissing can be the greatest form of flattery.
After all, for a typical pop act desperate for fame, bad press is essential. It gives you coverage and puts you on the map. Look at what Madonna used to do. Or what Lady Gaga does now. One has to stand out in order to get noticed. And that is true.
But for a pop icon as well-known and internationally-recognized as Britney, getting savage reviews from heartless, bitter journalists is inevitable. It's true that many people are rooting for her now that she has managed to clean up her act and lead a highly-successful comeback, but just as many people would love to see her fall from grace for the second time, if that's even remotely possible. When you're as big and successful as Britney, every little mistake you make can cause the whole world to go down on you.
Yet many people forget that underneath the make-up, the hair extensions, and the whole Circus-themed camaraderie, she is still a fragile human being.
And there's no way out for her. This is like a two-way dead-end.
If she sings live and doesn't sound good, people will bitch about her vocal pitch and say she's not fit to be a "real singer", whatever that means. If she lipsynchs her songs and puts on a theatrical show, they then say she doesn't put any effort into singing live and therefore is also not fit to be a "real singer", still.
Either way, she'll lose. So what's the bloody point?
So she doesn't sing live, at least not all the time.
So she hasn't reached the physical fitness level she once sustained at her prime.
So she doesn't yell out city names correctly and barely speaks to and interacts with the audience during her shows.
Big deal. Live with it.
Saying that her lipsynching in concerts is previously unheard of is like saying that nobody knows kangaroos live in Australia. Seriously. Like, what's the big deal?
She's barely a woman. She's 28, with two toddlers in tow. She's been through a lot, more than any of us could ever imagine. She had lost all hope, she had hit rock-bottom, she had experienced some of the cruelest, most terrible things. To have experienced all that and be able, still, to embark on a world tour filled with endless top-class performances is already a miracle in itself. Agreed?
Nobody in their right minds would have thought, two years ago, that the erratic, petrol-station-hopping, cigarette-smoking, British-accented Britney Spears would ever be able to record another smash-hit album and do another world tour let alone reclaim her Pop Princess throne, a title that was left unoccupied when she was gone from the music scene.
Did you think she could do it? Heck, even I didn't think she could, and this is coming from an avid fan who has always been endlessly supportive of her decisions, even when she was going through her ugliest, most horrifying days. But she did recover, miraculously so, like a phoenix rising up from the flames. And now she's back on top of her game, better than ever.
This is supposed to be a good thing. And we should all be on her side. After all, she's still one of us. She's just a normal human being trying to give her best for her fans and haters alike.
How would you feel if you were in her shoes?
*sighs*
We just can't leave our superstars alone, now, can we?
We love seeing them fall to pieces just as much as we wanna see them soar.
It's our money we're spending. And it's our idol we're spending it on.
So please, with all due respect, mind your own effin' business and find something a little less exploitative to write about.
So shut your dirty little mouths up. And please leave her alone.
I'll still come to her concert tomorrow, and I'm gonna love every second of it, no matter what.
I love you, Britney.
THIS pisses me off.
Oh, and THIS one too.
I mean, like, seriously.
Lay off the obsession and, please, cut her some slack.
Honestly, though, up until this point I was completely unaware of these following facts:
1) that every entertainment news journalist out there in Australia is a prolific singer, an experienced performer, and an immensely popular artist who has sold millions of records all around the world - and this totally gives them the right to write disrespectful stuff about, oh, like only one of the world's best-selling artists;
2) that absofuckinglutely no other pop star in the world - other than our beloved Britney Spears, of course - has ever mimed to his or her own song in concerts and live shows before. No, not even Ashlee Simpson did it; and
3) that apparently "fans" of any music artist in the world are freely allowed to refund their concert tickets if they feel that their favorite artists are letting them down by not singing the songs they want to hear or not performing stuff they want to see.
I mean, wow.
I must be living under a rock or something all this time, to have been completely oblivious to these things.
So, what year is this again...? *raises eyebrows*
Those journalists must be really, REALLY insightful.
They must know what it feels like to be a pop star that has been through so much pain and struggle.
I mean, like, are they even aware of the fact that they're dissing an international pop icon?
Are their names included on Yahoo!'s most popular search list for four consecutive years? And has any of them been named The World's Most Searched Person by the Guinness Book of World Records?
Have they sold more than 83 million records worldwide?
Did they go through a heavily-publicized meltdown and emerge out of the chaos alive and victorious?
Has any of them ever performed on a hugely-successful world tour, grossing US$74.6 million in its first 48 US shows, with already 87 shows done so far and twelve more to go, in front of thousands of screaming fans?
Do they have their own names carved on a Hollywood Walk of Fame star?
Has any of them become the first female artist to have five #1 studio albums in the United States?
Answer 'yes' to any of the above questions, and we'll talk.
Otherwise, fuck off.
In an ignorant society that feeds its pseudo-happiness upon other people's downfall, shameless dissing can be the greatest form of flattery.
After all, for a typical pop act desperate for fame, bad press is essential. It gives you coverage and puts you on the map. Look at what Madonna used to do. Or what Lady Gaga does now. One has to stand out in order to get noticed. And that is true.
But for a pop icon as well-known and internationally-recognized as Britney, getting savage reviews from heartless, bitter journalists is inevitable. It's true that many people are rooting for her now that she has managed to clean up her act and lead a highly-successful comeback, but just as many people would love to see her fall from grace for the second time, if that's even remotely possible. When you're as big and successful as Britney, every little mistake you make can cause the whole world to go down on you.
Yet many people forget that underneath the make-up, the hair extensions, and the whole Circus-themed camaraderie, she is still a fragile human being.
And there's no way out for her. This is like a two-way dead-end.
If she sings live and doesn't sound good, people will bitch about her vocal pitch and say she's not fit to be a "real singer", whatever that means. If she lipsynchs her songs and puts on a theatrical show, they then say she doesn't put any effort into singing live and therefore is also not fit to be a "real singer", still.
Either way, she'll lose. So what's the bloody point?
So she doesn't sing live, at least not all the time.
So she hasn't reached the physical fitness level she once sustained at her prime.
So she doesn't yell out city names correctly and barely speaks to and interacts with the audience during her shows.
Big deal. Live with it.
Saying that her lipsynching in concerts is previously unheard of is like saying that nobody knows kangaroos live in Australia. Seriously. Like, what's the big deal?
She's barely a woman. She's 28, with two toddlers in tow. She's been through a lot, more than any of us could ever imagine. She had lost all hope, she had hit rock-bottom, she had experienced some of the cruelest, most terrible things. To have experienced all that and be able, still, to embark on a world tour filled with endless top-class performances is already a miracle in itself. Agreed?
Nobody in their right minds would have thought, two years ago, that the erratic, petrol-station-hopping, cigarette-smoking, British-accented Britney Spears would ever be able to record another smash-hit album and do another world tour let alone reclaim her Pop Princess throne, a title that was left unoccupied when she was gone from the music scene.
Did you think she could do it? Heck, even I didn't think she could, and this is coming from an avid fan who has always been endlessly supportive of her decisions, even when she was going through her ugliest, most horrifying days. But she did recover, miraculously so, like a phoenix rising up from the flames. And now she's back on top of her game, better than ever.
This is supposed to be a good thing. And we should all be on her side. After all, she's still one of us. She's just a normal human being trying to give her best for her fans and haters alike.
How would you feel if you were in her shoes?
*sighs*
We just can't leave our superstars alone, now, can we?
We love seeing them fall to pieces just as much as we wanna see them soar.
It's our money we're spending. And it's our idol we're spending it on.
So please, with all due respect, mind your own effin' business and find something a little less exploitative to write about.
So shut your dirty little mouths up. And please leave her alone.
I'll still come to her concert tomorrow, and I'm gonna love every second of it, no matter what.
I love you, Britney.
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
...you're my silver lining, covered in gold...
Currently listening to:Breathing Underwater - Marie Digby
.catch the next train home.City Loop Train, Melbourne, September 2009
It strangely sounds like Mother Nature is wreaking havoc outside my window right now, noisy winds and all, and it scares the hell out of my pathetic little lily-livered self.
Amongst the endless array of hypothetical traits The Good Ol' Creator should have been a tad bit more generous in adding when making yours truly out of His own little brew, I'd say courage is on top of the list, definitely. Maybe it's about time for me to formally acknowledge the fact that I am an absolute fail when it comes to being brave in almost every single applicable situation. I can't even find the strength to slap a passing cockroach with a slipper; no, I'd rather cut myself sore with a nail-clipper instead, thank you very much.
So what makes one think that I can stand fifteen painful minutes of listening to crazy winds banging on my windows with crackling drizzles as the background noise without freaking myself out?
*shivers at the thought*
Thank heavens for window shutters.
At the very least they have spared me the torture of having to visually witness the entire crazy-winds-banging-on-window camaraderie.
And please don't judge me on this one. I know this honest confession doesn't bode well with the social integrity of that squishy piece of flesh between my legs, but oi, what the heck, right? I owe this to myself.
All wimpiness aside (and apparently I am allowed to draw newly-coined words out of thin air now!), I can now merrily tell you that, ta-dah! Summer is here.
And as much as I want to join the melanoma-prone crowd of sunshine lovers who are all gearing up to welcome the sunny days and humid nights, apparently the exact opposite applies in real life.
I have recently found myself guilty of not wanting to move on with my life as a new season rolls by. This is proven by the lingering overabundance of cardigans, jackets, and coats still scattered all around my room, and the pressing urge to always have an extra layer of clothing with me that I still feel nagging on my winter-loving conscience whenever I plan to go out.
I'm not sure if these two trivial facts are in any way relevant to my reluctance towards welcoming summer with open arms; I do know, though, that hotter temperatures will mean longer days, and longer days will probably mean spending more time outdoors, under the baking hotness of good ol' Apollo.
Being such an ungrateful, insecure pussy myself, this smells like a disaster waiting to happen. This is the time of the year when I feel that my insecurity over physical imperfections can be socially justified. It would be sweet to shed off a few kilos in order to look better in those pretty little tanktops and shorts. It would be convenient to have faster metabolism so those post-BBQ fat won't stay in undesirable spots. It certainly would be lovely to have a smooth, flawless complexion. And maybe a slightly lighter hair color tone?
But no, I should stop at that.
Asking for perfection would be pushing the boundaries a little. Or a LOT. You know, the whole preserving-the-normal-distribution-curve deal?
So next time you complain about life not being fair, take some time to stop and think about how boring and uninteresting it would be if every single person around you is skinny, has blond hair and blue eyes, and possesses a complexion so flawless and pretty even flowers will turn around in envy.
Differences are good. Uniformity undermines beauty; without diversity, it would be possible for anyone to stand out. *raises eyebrows*
And the world certainly doesn't need a second Tyra Banks running around promoting self-acceptance and natural beauty while wearing elaborate weaves and make up as thick as a freaking Twilight book half the time.
So I think I'll stick with staying true to my stuck-up, insecure self. I mean, what damage can pale skin and a pair of slanty eyes do?
*insert inappropriate Asian joke here*
...I know, I know.
Sorry if you all just didn't get that.
One's writing finesse tend to get a little rusty after about two months of blogging celibacy. And coherence hasn't exactly been one of my finer qualities all along, so.. your call. *sighs*
Truthfully speaking, I'm still trying to get back on the swing of things.
Thanks to the magical wonders of Twitter, my desire to pour out my disorganized, borderline schizophrenic thoughts into extensive paragraphs has gracelessly fallen down a southern path deeper and longer than the endless escalators at Parliament station. Why waffle when you can bitch your life away in 140 characters, or less?
That might or might not explain the imaginary cobwebs which are hanging, pixelated and virtual, all over this blog's deserted home page. Either that, or maybe your overly-vivid imagination is playing with your spatial sense of existence once again. None of which I give a damn about, honestly.
So, yes.
Welcome back, me.
Now that I've made my point, or NOT, I invite you to simply drag your mouse to that throbbing red square with the cross in its center, then let me do a respectful bow before the curtains are drawn and the lights go out when you make that life-changing click.
Amongst the endless array of hypothetical traits The Good Ol' Creator should have been a tad bit more generous in adding when making yours truly out of His own little brew, I'd say courage is on top of the list, definitely. Maybe it's about time for me to formally acknowledge the fact that I am an absolute fail when it comes to being brave in almost every single applicable situation. I can't even find the strength to slap a passing cockroach with a slipper; no, I'd rather cut myself sore with a nail-clipper instead, thank you very much.
So what makes one think that I can stand fifteen painful minutes of listening to crazy winds banging on my windows with crackling drizzles as the background noise without freaking myself out?
*shivers at the thought*
Thank heavens for window shutters.
At the very least they have spared me the torture of having to visually witness the entire crazy-winds-banging-on-window camaraderie.
And please don't judge me on this one. I know this honest confession doesn't bode well with the social integrity of that squishy piece of flesh between my legs, but oi, what the heck, right? I owe this to myself.
All wimpiness aside (and apparently I am allowed to draw newly-coined words out of thin air now!), I can now merrily tell you that, ta-dah! Summer is here.
And as much as I want to join the melanoma-prone crowd of sunshine lovers who are all gearing up to welcome the sunny days and humid nights, apparently the exact opposite applies in real life.
I have recently found myself guilty of not wanting to move on with my life as a new season rolls by. This is proven by the lingering overabundance of cardigans, jackets, and coats still scattered all around my room, and the pressing urge to always have an extra layer of clothing with me that I still feel nagging on my winter-loving conscience whenever I plan to go out.
I'm not sure if these two trivial facts are in any way relevant to my reluctance towards welcoming summer with open arms; I do know, though, that hotter temperatures will mean longer days, and longer days will probably mean spending more time outdoors, under the baking hotness of good ol' Apollo.
Being such an ungrateful, insecure pussy myself, this smells like a disaster waiting to happen. This is the time of the year when I feel that my insecurity over physical imperfections can be socially justified. It would be sweet to shed off a few kilos in order to look better in those pretty little tanktops and shorts. It would be convenient to have faster metabolism so those post-BBQ fat won't stay in undesirable spots. It certainly would be lovely to have a smooth, flawless complexion. And maybe a slightly lighter hair color tone?
But no, I should stop at that.
Asking for perfection would be pushing the boundaries a little. Or a LOT. You know, the whole preserving-the-normal-distribution-curve deal?
So next time you complain about life not being fair, take some time to stop and think about how boring and uninteresting it would be if every single person around you is skinny, has blond hair and blue eyes, and possesses a complexion so flawless and pretty even flowers will turn around in envy.
Differences are good. Uniformity undermines beauty; without diversity, it would be possible for anyone to stand out. *raises eyebrows*
And the world certainly doesn't need a second Tyra Banks running around promoting self-acceptance and natural beauty while wearing elaborate weaves and make up as thick as a freaking Twilight book half the time.
So I think I'll stick with staying true to my stuck-up, insecure self. I mean, what damage can pale skin and a pair of slanty eyes do?
*insert inappropriate Asian joke here*
...I know, I know.
Sorry if you all just didn't get that.
One's writing finesse tend to get a little rusty after about two months of blogging celibacy. And coherence hasn't exactly been one of my finer qualities all along, so.. your call. *sighs*
Truthfully speaking, I'm still trying to get back on the swing of things.
Thanks to the magical wonders of Twitter, my desire to pour out my disorganized, borderline schizophrenic thoughts into extensive paragraphs has gracelessly fallen down a southern path deeper and longer than the endless escalators at Parliament station. Why waffle when you can bitch your life away in 140 characters, or less?
That might or might not explain the imaginary cobwebs which are hanging, pixelated and virtual, all over this blog's deserted home page. Either that, or maybe your overly-vivid imagination is playing with your spatial sense of existence once again. None of which I give a damn about, honestly.
So, yes.
Welcome back, me.
Now that I've made my point, or NOT, I invite you to simply drag your mouse to that throbbing red square with the cross in its center, then let me do a respectful bow before the curtains are drawn and the lights go out when you make that life-changing click.
*waves*
Friday, August 21, 2009
...but don't let it all go to your head...
Currently listening to: Song for a Friend - Jason Mraz
.water traces.
12 Panorama St, Clayton, July 2009
I love how Blogger's built-in spellcheck system automatically strikes a dotted red line under every word that, despite being correctly-spelled as far as general English appropriateness is concerned, doesn't abide to the spelling rules of American English .
It makes me all warm and fuzzy inside, knowing that in a land of ever-changing weather conditions, crazy spelling - the way Aussies (and Poms, in this case) spell every word ending with '-ize', like 'institutionalize' or 'organize', with an 's' instead of a 'z' still intrigues me every time - and crazy accents with oddly-placed vowel emphasis *cringes*, at least someone, or something, in this case, is still willing to give me some credit for staying true to my stuck-up Americanized self.
Notice how I just spelled 'Americanized' with a perfectly-placed 'z' right then 'n there.
Ah, fuck it. I love my Starbucks. Leave me and my capitalistic golden arches alone.
...Anyway.
*raises eyebrows*
There's a reason why people need adequate vocal training if they wish to successfully belt out powerhouse tunes like their throats are made out of gold, or something.
That's because singing properly isn't exactly an easy feat.
I attended a music practice in the city earlier today. The practice was great; I got to meet some super-cool people with immense talent who shared my passion in music. We played a couple of songs, did random jam sessions, watched a couple of crazy videos, and basically had fun together. We even managed to find this rookie band a name! *grins*
More on that part later, in a future post somewhere.
So yes. It was fun, and rewarding.
But then came the annoying part, a few hours after the practice wrapped up.
Two words: throat spasm.
*coughs*
My vocal chords would be screaming in pain right about now if they could.
Three hard-earned years of vocal lessons, in the choir and with a coach, all gone just like that. *snaps fingers together*
In case you huggable trolls aren't aware of this little fact, I gotta tell you, singing is more than just about being able to hold and sustain a note. It is as much about establishing emotional connection with both the people you're singing with - other singers if present and the rest of the band - and the people you're singing to - the audience - as it is about maintaining vocal stamina. And if the current state of my voice is any indication *cough cough*, I'm convinced the latter needs a substantial amount of improvement.
Now I'm totally feeling the strain. And not because I wasn't trying my best to sing properly; admittedly, I'd just been slacking off.
Oh, lost musical forte, where the bloody hell are thou?
Maybe I should start practicing again.
And I will. Soon. Just you watch.
*sighs*
But before that, first I'm heading to bed.
It's late, and I'm tired. Tomorrow's Saturday and we all should be well-rested!
Let's hope I don't wake up with a spastic throat tomorrow morning.
*cough cough*
PS: One of my favorite bloggers just got plagiarized. And clearly she's none too happy about it. Go check her out HERE. :)
.water traces.12 Panorama St, Clayton, July 2009
I love how Blogger's built-in spellcheck system automatically strikes a dotted red line under every word that, despite being correctly-spelled as far as general English appropriateness is concerned, doesn't abide to the spelling rules of American English .
It makes me all warm and fuzzy inside, knowing that in a land of ever-changing weather conditions, crazy spelling - the way Aussies (and Poms, in this case) spell every word ending with '-ize', like 'institutionalize' or 'organize', with an 's' instead of a 'z' still intrigues me every time - and crazy accents with oddly-placed vowel emphasis *cringes*, at least someone, or something, in this case, is still willing to give me some credit for staying true to my stuck-up Americanized self.
Notice how I just spelled 'Americanized' with a perfectly-placed 'z' right then 'n there.
Ah, fuck it. I love my Starbucks. Leave me and my capitalistic golden arches alone.
...Anyway.
*raises eyebrows*
There's a reason why people need adequate vocal training if they wish to successfully belt out powerhouse tunes like their throats are made out of gold, or something.
That's because singing properly isn't exactly an easy feat.
I attended a music practice in the city earlier today. The practice was great; I got to meet some super-cool people with immense talent who shared my passion in music. We played a couple of songs, did random jam sessions, watched a couple of crazy videos, and basically had fun together. We even managed to find this rookie band a name! *grins*
More on that part later, in a future post somewhere.
So yes. It was fun, and rewarding.
But then came the annoying part, a few hours after the practice wrapped up.
Two words: throat spasm.
*coughs*
My vocal chords would be screaming in pain right about now if they could.
Three hard-earned years of vocal lessons, in the choir and with a coach, all gone just like that. *snaps fingers together*
In case you huggable trolls aren't aware of this little fact, I gotta tell you, singing is more than just about being able to hold and sustain a note. It is as much about establishing emotional connection with both the people you're singing with - other singers if present and the rest of the band - and the people you're singing to - the audience - as it is about maintaining vocal stamina. And if the current state of my voice is any indication *cough cough*, I'm convinced the latter needs a substantial amount of improvement.
Now I'm totally feeling the strain. And not because I wasn't trying my best to sing properly; admittedly, I'd just been slacking off.
Oh, lost musical forte, where the bloody hell are thou?
Maybe I should start practicing again.
And I will. Soon. Just you watch.
*sighs*
But before that, first I'm heading to bed.
It's late, and I'm tired. Tomorrow's Saturday and we all should be well-rested!
Let's hope I don't wake up with a spastic throat tomorrow morning.
*cough cough*
PS: One of my favorite bloggers just got plagiarized. And clearly she's none too happy about it. Go check her out HERE. :)
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
...you couldn't have loved me better...
Currently listening to: Already Gone - Kelly Clarkson
.shadesofwhiteandblue.
Sky High, Mt. Dandenong, Aug 2009
Hi. *does a communitychannel-style dorky wave*
So this year's not-so-chilly-but-still-freaking-freezing winter has rightfully managed to remind me of three not-so-trivial things;
ONE, that knitted scarves are unbelievably warm! And as far as my superior sense of fashion goes *cough cough*, I can say they go really well with trench coats of any color and cropped woolen jackets; coats of the big-buttoned, double-breasted variety are still preferable, though;
TWO, that jumpers and jackets go in and out of style nearly twice as fast as Katy Perry's post-"I Kissed a Girl" singles. Yeah, no kidding. If the miserable state of my wardrobe is any indication, I'd probably have to be more careful in color-coding and rotating my not-so-quantifiable collection of winter outfits in the future;
and THREE, that you should never, I repeat, NEVER ever think that leaving the house without carrying an umbrella with you in the hopes of not getting drenched by the rain is a good idea. Like, for heaven's sake, it always rains in winter, alright? No exceptions. And Melbourne's renowned four-seasons-in-a-day phenomenon only make things worse. For you fortunate car owners out there, seriously, good for you. *sighs*
Oh, and also the fact that being perpetually caught in the cold can really wear out one's batteries. Or mood. Or patience. But I know this already, at least I think I do; God knows I'd learned it the hard way last year.
*shivers*
But yeah. Apart from being slightly hypothermic, I actually don't have anything significant to complain about these days. Uni's been pretty okay, and since I'm doing two Behavioral Studies subjects - which are both immensely fascinating, I might add - this semester, I guess it means you'll get to see more of my snobbish, tortured-philosopher-in-disguise side in the future, if that makes any difference.
Don't get me started on the other two subjects I'm doing this semester, though.
Let's just say that even mere descriptive takes on those demented academic mumbojumbos may inflict on their subjected audiences episodes of extreme pain more excruciatingly difficult to endure than trying to listen to Brooke Hogan's so-called "singing".
I'm just sayin'. *shrugs*
Anyway.
On a slightly happier note, I had TWO fancy trips to Mount Dandenong last week. Two beautiful days of awesomeness galore, on two separate dates, with two different sets of friends.
Hold on. Let me marvel on that thought-provoking statement for a moment.
Ha. Take that bitches. I'm a confirmed social butterfly. Does that make you proud? *winks*
That was a sarcastic remark, by the way, for those of you who weren't stupid enough to understand my spastic sense of humor.
*scratches head*
Um, yeah.
These two photos clearly indicate that I really have to work on getting a less mainstream, more unusual photowhoring spot next time. For what it's worth, I personally think Sky High's The Giant Chair attraction has auspiciously achieved celebrity status within the super-trendy Facebook universe, judging from its ubiquitous, almost legendary presence as the defining background element of many people's profile pictures.
I, sadly, had gone down the exact same path, like many others had before me.
'had' being the operative word, which means that as of now I no longer have the commercial pose, as my quirky friend Christy would put in, on my cluttered profile page. So I guess that's behind me.
So, yes, For the shame of it all, I hereby proclaim my complete lack of photo-taking originality. Here are two solid proof.
This is from the first trip;
and this one's from the second;
Same spot, same place, same chair, different time of the day, different sets of people.
Freedom of expression OR conforming to normative trends?
You decide. *shrugs*
Just like what Christopher Lasch once argued, the modern 21st century everyman is indeed perpetually overcome with narcissistic tendencies.
But I won't go into that just yet. It's late, and since my quest for physical fitness requires me to stop imitating a vampire and return to conventional sleeping hours, I think I need to go to bed, like, NOW, or something. *yawns*
So I guess catch you guys later?
I promise I'll do updates more often from now on. :)
Bye!
*does another communitychannel-style wave then heads to bed*
.shadesofwhiteandblue.Sky High, Mt. Dandenong, Aug 2009
Hi. *does a communitychannel-style dorky wave*
So this year's not-so-chilly-but-still-freaking-freezing winter has rightfully managed to remind me of three not-so-trivial things;
ONE, that knitted scarves are unbelievably warm! And as far as my superior sense of fashion goes *cough cough*, I can say they go really well with trench coats of any color and cropped woolen jackets; coats of the big-buttoned, double-breasted variety are still preferable, though;
TWO, that jumpers and jackets go in and out of style nearly twice as fast as Katy Perry's post-"I Kissed a Girl" singles. Yeah, no kidding. If the miserable state of my wardrobe is any indication, I'd probably have to be more careful in color-coding and rotating my not-so-quantifiable collection of winter outfits in the future;
and THREE, that you should never, I repeat, NEVER ever think that leaving the house without carrying an umbrella with you in the hopes of not getting drenched by the rain is a good idea. Like, for heaven's sake, it always rains in winter, alright? No exceptions. And Melbourne's renowned four-seasons-in-a-day phenomenon only make things worse. For you fortunate car owners out there, seriously, good for you. *sighs*
Oh, and also the fact that being perpetually caught in the cold can really wear out one's batteries. Or mood. Or patience. But I know this already, at least I think I do; God knows I'd learned it the hard way last year.
*shivers*
But yeah. Apart from being slightly hypothermic, I actually don't have anything significant to complain about these days. Uni's been pretty okay, and since I'm doing two Behavioral Studies subjects - which are both immensely fascinating, I might add - this semester, I guess it means you'll get to see more of my snobbish, tortured-philosopher-in-disguise side in the future, if that makes any difference.
Don't get me started on the other two subjects I'm doing this semester, though.
Let's just say that even mere descriptive takes on those demented academic mumbojumbos may inflict on their subjected audiences episodes of extreme pain more excruciatingly difficult to endure than trying to listen to Brooke Hogan's so-called "singing".
I'm just sayin'. *shrugs*
Anyway.
On a slightly happier note, I had TWO fancy trips to Mount Dandenong last week. Two beautiful days of awesomeness galore, on two separate dates, with two different sets of friends.
Hold on. Let me marvel on that thought-provoking statement for a moment.
Ha. Take that bitches. I'm a confirmed social butterfly. Does that make you proud? *winks*
That was a sarcastic remark, by the way, for those of you who weren't stupid enough to understand my spastic sense of humor.
*scratches head*
Um, yeah.
These two photos clearly indicate that I really have to work on getting a less mainstream, more unusual photowhoring spot next time. For what it's worth, I personally think Sky High's The Giant Chair attraction has auspiciously achieved celebrity status within the super-trendy Facebook universe, judging from its ubiquitous, almost legendary presence as the defining background element of many people's profile pictures.
I, sadly, had gone down the exact same path, like many others had before me.
'had' being the operative word, which means that as of now I no longer have the commercial pose, as my quirky friend Christy would put in, on my cluttered profile page. So I guess that's behind me.
So, yes, For the shame of it all, I hereby proclaim my complete lack of photo-taking originality. Here are two solid proof.
This is from the first trip;
and this one's from the second;
Same spot, same place, same chair, different time of the day, different sets of people.
Freedom of expression OR conforming to normative trends?
You decide. *shrugs*
Just like what Christopher Lasch once argued, the modern 21st century everyman is indeed perpetually overcome with narcissistic tendencies.
But I won't go into that just yet. It's late, and since my quest for physical fitness requires me to stop imitating a vampire and return to conventional sleeping hours, I think I need to go to bed, like, NOW, or something. *yawns*
So I guess catch you guys later?
I promise I'll do updates more often from now on. :)
Bye!
*does another communitychannel-style wave then heads to bed*
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
...and you can't fake it hard enough to please everyone, or anyone at all...
Currently listening to: The Places You Have Come to Fear the Most - Dashboard Confessional
.meanbecauseyou'restupid.
Kawah Putih, Lembang, 2008
...You know what?
Good job.
When I was little, you didn't give a damn about how well I could draw, or sing, or write, or fluently recite classical poems kids my age weren't even supposed to be able to read. All you cared about was my freaking academic achievements.
You didn't care how sociable on the surface I was, or how many friends I had. You didn't care how sad, and depressed, and lonely I was as a kid, deep down inside.
When I came home with my end-of-semester report feeling elated because I got full marks for English, you sulked and asked why I almost didn't pass Maths.
When I told you my vocal teacher praised me for nailing that absurdly complicated Ella Fitzgerald song at practice, you pointed out I could've done so much better if I had continued with my boring piano lessons.
When I asked for permission to join the high school choir, you protested, claiming singing would distract me and thus further damage my already messed-up grades.
You never gave me the space I needed.
You say I'm slow. And lazy. And unmotivated. And simply good for nothing.
You got yourself worried sick everytime I came home late from school, even after I reached seventeen. With no reason, because I wasn't even acting out. Not anymore anyway.
You scolded me when I decided to choose Social Sciences over Physics and Chemistry. Then you assured me that I had successfully let go of my one chance to succeed later in life when I made that foolish decision.
From then on, you refuse to acknowledge my academic achievements. Even when I managed to get an almost perfect score for my TOEFL test, you weren't even proud of me.
You bragged about how you were already making money when you were my age, and brought me down for not being able to do the same for myself right now.
You threatened to kick me out of the house when once I had the courage to stand up for myself and question your integrity.
You took my first love away from me at such a young, tender age.
You deprived me of my teenage freedom. And you forced me to grow up far too soon.
You never liked seeing me happy in my element.
You wanted me to embrace your ideal picture of what you thought I needed. Everything wasn't about me being happy; it was all about you wanting me to relive your unfinished ambitions and unachieved goals.
You told me, over and over again, that I would never be as good as you. Ever.
And yeah, come to think of it, I wouldn't want to be as good as you even if I could.
Everything is just so out of control that I don't know what to believe anymore.
Now that I'm graduating soon, you're already starting to worry about what I'm gonna do with my entire future now that it's lurking close right around the corner.
No excuses. No space for me to even worry about myself. Everything is about you, and your thoughts, and your insecurities, and your fucking neverending expectations.
I can't even look at myself in the mirror now because you have stripped me of every last bit of self-confidence that I used to have before all this.
I can't even force myself to believe that I'm at least good for something because you have never convinced me that I actually am.
Hell, I can't even be free to see the people I love, and the one person I care about the most, simply because you have jailed me in my pretty little golden cage. Well-groomed, but trapped. Self-sufficient, but helpless.
And now that everything's said and done, I don't fucking know what to do with myself.
Thanks to you.
"This is for your own good" just doesn't cut it anymore. Alright? And neither does "You'll understand when you're older".
I think I'm old enough to decide what's good for me. Seriously. Back off.
You gotta start learning to accept the fact that this surly, over-demanding son of a bitch is really who I am. Warts and all. Your call.
I'm sick of always trying to be the person I don't wanna be.
I'm sorry. But this isn't what I want.
Please give me some space. To breathe. To break free. To think this over.
And to recover.
Heaven knows this may only be the only chance I got.
.meanbecauseyou'restupid.Kawah Putih, Lembang, 2008
...You know what?
Good job.
When I was little, you didn't give a damn about how well I could draw, or sing, or write, or fluently recite classical poems kids my age weren't even supposed to be able to read. All you cared about was my freaking academic achievements.
You didn't care how sociable on the surface I was, or how many friends I had. You didn't care how sad, and depressed, and lonely I was as a kid, deep down inside.
When I came home with my end-of-semester report feeling elated because I got full marks for English, you sulked and asked why I almost didn't pass Maths.
When I told you my vocal teacher praised me for nailing that absurdly complicated Ella Fitzgerald song at practice, you pointed out I could've done so much better if I had continued with my boring piano lessons.
When I asked for permission to join the high school choir, you protested, claiming singing would distract me and thus further damage my already messed-up grades.
You never gave me the space I needed.
You say I'm slow. And lazy. And unmotivated. And simply good for nothing.
You got yourself worried sick everytime I came home late from school, even after I reached seventeen. With no reason, because I wasn't even acting out. Not anymore anyway.
You scolded me when I decided to choose Social Sciences over Physics and Chemistry. Then you assured me that I had successfully let go of my one chance to succeed later in life when I made that foolish decision.
From then on, you refuse to acknowledge my academic achievements. Even when I managed to get an almost perfect score for my TOEFL test, you weren't even proud of me.
You bragged about how you were already making money when you were my age, and brought me down for not being able to do the same for myself right now.
You threatened to kick me out of the house when once I had the courage to stand up for myself and question your integrity.
You took my first love away from me at such a young, tender age.
You deprived me of my teenage freedom. And you forced me to grow up far too soon.
You never liked seeing me happy in my element.
You wanted me to embrace your ideal picture of what you thought I needed. Everything wasn't about me being happy; it was all about you wanting me to relive your unfinished ambitions and unachieved goals.
You told me, over and over again, that I would never be as good as you. Ever.
And yeah, come to think of it, I wouldn't want to be as good as you even if I could.
Everything is just so out of control that I don't know what to believe anymore.
Now that I'm graduating soon, you're already starting to worry about what I'm gonna do with my entire future now that it's lurking close right around the corner.
No excuses. No space for me to even worry about myself. Everything is about you, and your thoughts, and your insecurities, and your fucking neverending expectations.
I can't even look at myself in the mirror now because you have stripped me of every last bit of self-confidence that I used to have before all this.
I can't even force myself to believe that I'm at least good for something because you have never convinced me that I actually am.
Hell, I can't even be free to see the people I love, and the one person I care about the most, simply because you have jailed me in my pretty little golden cage. Well-groomed, but trapped. Self-sufficient, but helpless.
And now that everything's said and done, I don't fucking know what to do with myself.
Thanks to you.
"This is for your own good" just doesn't cut it anymore. Alright? And neither does "You'll understand when you're older".
I think I'm old enough to decide what's good for me. Seriously. Back off.
You gotta start learning to accept the fact that this surly, over-demanding son of a bitch is really who I am. Warts and all. Your call.
I'm sick of always trying to be the person I don't wanna be.
I'm sorry. But this isn't what I want.
Please give me some space. To breathe. To break free. To think this over.
And to recover.
Heaven knows this may only be the only chance I got.
Friday, July 03, 2009
...surreal...
.tracesofgoodbye.SQ962, T2 Changi Airport, June 2009
surreal.
i wake up in a daze, my breaths ragged, my eyes bleary.
my trembling hands lie open, powerless, weak.
with every pulse of my heart that beats in silence, i feel you, i miss you, i so long for you.
my brittle hands, they knew.
last night, in my dream, they were reaching out to you.
i watch, helpless, as the visual fragments of days long gone begin to unfold, engulfing this worn-out soul with the senseless guilt of an unrequited passion.
every move, every smile, every word, every little twinkle of your puppy-dog eyes...
they chase my weary thoughts away, endlessly.
i've got nowhere else to stay, but here. inside the warm confines of my sweet misery.
with you.
and i shudder, as i begin to remember, to recall, to celebrate the trailing steps of your nonexistence.
the way you sing to me the soft lullabies of the stars,
the way your velvet voice entertains my senses,
the way your beautiful brown eyes lock oh-so-gently into mine,
a thousand words communicated in silence,
as your fingers trace the outlines of my lips,
ever so carefully...
so delicate,
the rapturous delight i find within the comforting warmth of your sheer presence...
and so i let myself sway, gently, along the fragile lines of my sorrow. slowly wasting away like an empty vessel void of emotions.
the inane thoughts i have of you are all but a blur, swimming in a puddle of could've-beens, would've-beens, might've-beens...
for everything has an end, each story a final epilogue.
and so it is. our story has reached its afterglow, even far before it has a chance to begin.
what's the use of dreaming about all the things that never were when all i can find is despair and regret?
but i just can't help it.
with no safety net,
i have let myself fall.
deep.
again.
"...imagine there was no tomorrow,
imagine that i couldn't see your face,
there would be no limit to my sorrow,
'cause there's nothing that could fill this space...
i don't wanna put it off for too long,
i didn't say all that I had to say,
i wanna take my time and right the wrong before we get to that place..."
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
...still when i'm a mess, i still put on a vest...
Currently listening to: Superwoman - Alicia Keys
.nomatterwhattheysay.
Wellington Rd, Clayton, May 2009
...Er, hi.
*pushes cobwebs out of the way*
I have now come to terms with the fact that my supposedly-superb writing skills are now as obsolete as Mischa Barton's nonexistent movie career. And that reviving the spirit of this neglected blog is proving to be a foolish attempt even more terminally futile than trying to pronounce yours truly's long-ass name without having an oral seizure of the spastic variety.
*shrugs*
Well.
I do know that a dismissive lift of the left eyebrow and a bashful, happy-go-lucky grin won't pass as a decent excuse to rightfully explain my extended absence. But I needed that break. I needed to get away for a while. I had to organize my thoughts, and deal with my emotions.
And so I did.
In retrospect, though, I do think that the blog deserved some down time of its own, too. A part of my self-absorbed psyche likes to believe that the world was a better place, on a micro scale, during my absence. One less irrational wave of noises to deal with. One less snobby blogger to bitch about. Definitely wasn't world-peace material, that's for damn sure. But this irrational-noise-making fuckwit was simply having too much on his plate. So I guess in the end the silence was well-earned for. Wasn't it?
So, yeah. For the sake of humility - or lack thereof, I'll just shut up and humbly take the blame, basking in the unspoken guilt that all ye faithful readers - yes, all three of you - have unconsciously put on me when I was away.
To be frank, I did receive some complaints regarding the coma-like state of this blog over the last couple of months. Fragments of comments and questions ranging from trivial one-liners in the middle of casual conversations to borderline hostile paragraphs sent through various 21st-century social platforms. And they were all valid comments, actually.
Come to think of it, it is only natural for us to complain about stuff, right?
I mean, as community beings in charge of our own sense of self, we are rightfully entitled to occasional bursts of negative social commentary.
Or are we not?
Well, I know for a fact that affluent, effortless complaining is one of my precious few - if any - discernable talents.
I complain about my too-short Jakarta getaway. Three fucking weeks!
I complain about already missing Melbourne as soon as my plane touched down.
I complain about the weather.
I complain about traffic.
I complain about the lack of proper coffee in my house. And when I say proper coffee I earnestly don't mean tangy, weak, watery coffee of the instant variety.
I complain about the local TV shows that I get exposed to whenever I turn on the telly.
I complain about bad grammar.
I complain about not being able to afford better seats for Britney Spears's Melbourne concert. *sobs*
I complain about not getting enough sleep.
I complain about having nothing to do.
I complain about not being able to be out and about simply because the sheer presence of the only form of modern transportation that I can get access to here is as scarce as the amount of hair follicles remaining on Donald Trump's head.
I complain about not being able to write large blocks of texts containing witty lines, incoherent words and jumbled-up sentences with ease anymore. And this is precisely what drove me to refrain from blogging in the first place. Right now I feel like my over-the-top literary skills now reach as far as my koi fish's ability to remember their feeding times correctly. I mean, hello-o-o, how many times do I have to remind you guys that bobbing your slimy little heads by the sides of the pond at 3pm isn't gonna do anything to get you food?
Umm. Yeah. See? Incoherent?
*clears throat*
But anyway.
I complain about the miserable state of my skin, and how my face now resembles a large, greasy, cheese-covered meat lover's pizza, for lack of a more descriptive comparison.
I complain about my weight.
I complain about only getting a big fat C for my BHS2711 essay.
I complain about not knowing what to do with my life.
I complain about not knowing what I've made out of my life so far.
And yes, I complain about being such a total jerk for complaining about everything.
Yeah. Being an acute complainer definitely has its perks.
But don't we all complain about stuff we don't like?
Notice how many times I have repeatedly used the word 'complain' during the course of this post. I've used it far too many times and now the word fails to make a point.
And why the hell did I choose to start yapping about complaining in the first place?
*shrugs*
Maybe I'm just uninspired. At least I tried.
But hey. Thanks for all your concern.
The sabbatical did me good. And now I'm fully recharged, ready to churn out more incomprehensible, witty-sounding words for you guys to get crazy about. Or not.
Now y'all can heave out a sigh and be rest assured that this man *points at self* is not dead, yet. And this blog will continue to be the bane of existence of you guys o faithful readers - oh yes, all three of you still - as long as the resident bitch, namely me, lives.
I hereby welcome you back to my realm of unintelligible social discourse.
Make yourselves at home. And have a pleasant stay. *winks*
...'Till next time.
.nomatterwhattheysay.Wellington Rd, Clayton, May 2009
...Er, hi.
*pushes cobwebs out of the way*
I have now come to terms with the fact that my supposedly-superb writing skills are now as obsolete as Mischa Barton's nonexistent movie career. And that reviving the spirit of this neglected blog is proving to be a foolish attempt even more terminally futile than trying to pronounce yours truly's long-ass name without having an oral seizure of the spastic variety.
*shrugs*
Well.
I do know that a dismissive lift of the left eyebrow and a bashful, happy-go-lucky grin won't pass as a decent excuse to rightfully explain my extended absence. But I needed that break. I needed to get away for a while. I had to organize my thoughts, and deal with my emotions.
And so I did.
In retrospect, though, I do think that the blog deserved some down time of its own, too. A part of my self-absorbed psyche likes to believe that the world was a better place, on a micro scale, during my absence. One less irrational wave of noises to deal with. One less snobby blogger to bitch about. Definitely wasn't world-peace material, that's for damn sure. But this irrational-noise-making fuckwit was simply having too much on his plate. So I guess in the end the silence was well-earned for. Wasn't it?
So, yeah. For the sake of humility - or lack thereof, I'll just shut up and humbly take the blame, basking in the unspoken guilt that all ye faithful readers - yes, all three of you - have unconsciously put on me when I was away.
To be frank, I did receive some complaints regarding the coma-like state of this blog over the last couple of months. Fragments of comments and questions ranging from trivial one-liners in the middle of casual conversations to borderline hostile paragraphs sent through various 21st-century social platforms. And they were all valid comments, actually.
Come to think of it, it is only natural for us to complain about stuff, right?
I mean, as community beings in charge of our own sense of self, we are rightfully entitled to occasional bursts of negative social commentary.
Or are we not?
Well, I know for a fact that affluent, effortless complaining is one of my precious few - if any - discernable talents.
I complain about my too-short Jakarta getaway. Three fucking weeks!
I complain about already missing Melbourne as soon as my plane touched down.
I complain about the weather.
I complain about traffic.
I complain about the lack of proper coffee in my house. And when I say proper coffee I earnestly don't mean tangy, weak, watery coffee of the instant variety.
I complain about the local TV shows that I get exposed to whenever I turn on the telly.
I complain about bad grammar.
I complain about not being able to afford better seats for Britney Spears's Melbourne concert. *sobs*
I complain about not getting enough sleep.
I complain about having nothing to do.
I complain about not being able to be out and about simply because the sheer presence of the only form of modern transportation that I can get access to here is as scarce as the amount of hair follicles remaining on Donald Trump's head.
I complain about not being able to write large blocks of texts containing witty lines, incoherent words and jumbled-up sentences with ease anymore. And this is precisely what drove me to refrain from blogging in the first place. Right now I feel like my over-the-top literary skills now reach as far as my koi fish's ability to remember their feeding times correctly. I mean, hello-o-o, how many times do I have to remind you guys that bobbing your slimy little heads by the sides of the pond at 3pm isn't gonna do anything to get you food?
Umm. Yeah. See? Incoherent?
*clears throat*
But anyway.
I complain about the miserable state of my skin, and how my face now resembles a large, greasy, cheese-covered meat lover's pizza, for lack of a more descriptive comparison.
I complain about my weight.
I complain about only getting a big fat C for my BHS2711 essay.
I complain about not knowing what to do with my life.
I complain about not knowing what I've made out of my life so far.
And yes, I complain about being such a total jerk for complaining about everything.
Yeah. Being an acute complainer definitely has its perks.
But don't we all complain about stuff we don't like?
Notice how many times I have repeatedly used the word 'complain' during the course of this post. I've used it far too many times and now the word fails to make a point.
And why the hell did I choose to start yapping about complaining in the first place?
*shrugs*
Maybe I'm just uninspired. At least I tried.
But hey. Thanks for all your concern.
The sabbatical did me good. And now I'm fully recharged, ready to churn out more incomprehensible, witty-sounding words for you guys to get crazy about. Or not.
Now y'all can heave out a sigh and be rest assured that this man *points at self* is not dead, yet. And this blog will continue to be the bane of existence of you guys o faithful readers - oh yes, all three of you still - as long as the resident bitch, namely me, lives.
I hereby welcome you back to my realm of unintelligible social discourse.
Make yourselves at home. And have a pleasant stay. *winks*
...'Till next time.
Sunday, April 05, 2009
...if everything would stop, i'd listen for your heart...
Currently listening to: My Hands - David Archuleta
.thebestofthebest.
Gloria Jean's Coffees, Borders Chadstone, Melbourne, April 2009
taken by Edina Cecilia Saputra
Oh dear.
Now I'm seriously beginning to wonder exactly why I'm such a sucker for charming good looks and the like.
A little tip, fellas.
Next time you're thinking to charm the bananas outta this little whacked-out bloke - if ever, I might add, on one of those rare jolly good days that are as eminently scarce as the chance of seeing Tyra Banks on TV without her ever-present weave - try arming yourself with a pair of irresistible blue eyes, lopsided smiles, and scruffy blond hair, and you're good to go. That oughta do the job pretty darn well as far as my objective intelligence is concerned
And oh, throw in some exceptional coffee-making skills and occasional hints of dormant acrobatic talent, and just like that, I'll be head-over-heels in love.
I'm just sayin'.
*shrugs*
If that doesn't strip me off of what little bit of respect you guys still had left for this shallow, uncoordinated mess of an innocent soul, I don't know what will.
Anyway.
For those of you who don't know, this year's Daylight Savings Time in Victoria ended this morning, so I got an extra hour of sleep last night! *grins*
Coincidentally, the end of a year's DST usually also means the end of summer!
I seriously can't be any more hyped up than this.
Hell yeah, I'm glad the season's over. And I for one am bloody sure I'm not gonna go all teary-eyed and mellow about it.
No more scorching hot days, no more annoying flies, no more sunnies and shorts, no more applying sticky sunscreen all over my over-tanned skin and feeling like marinaded meat being grilled inside one hell of a giant, ozon-less oven.
And that's my cue to go "YAY!", I suppose?
*raises eyebrow*
Whatever. I'm just relieved Autumn's almost here.
Maybe it's time to rearrange my wardrobe once again.
Hang some. Fold out some. Dry clean some. Wash up some. Shop for some? *laughs*
Goodbye sunnies and shorts, hello trench coats and scarves!
Important countdowns:
One week to go before Easter Break starts.
Five days to Good Friday.
And exactly sixteen days to Jason Mraz's April 21 concert!
I know I shouldn't keep rubbing that in but I just can't help it.
*sighs*
For the time being, I wish you all a pleasant week ahead.
Enjoy the cold while it lasts! God knows I will. =)
.thebestofthebest.Gloria Jean's Coffees, Borders Chadstone, Melbourne, April 2009
taken by Edina Cecilia Saputra
Oh dear.
Now I'm seriously beginning to wonder exactly why I'm such a sucker for charming good looks and the like.
A little tip, fellas.
Next time you're thinking to charm the bananas outta this little whacked-out bloke - if ever, I might add, on one of those rare jolly good days that are as eminently scarce as the chance of seeing Tyra Banks on TV without her ever-present weave - try arming yourself with a pair of irresistible blue eyes, lopsided smiles, and scruffy blond hair, and you're good to go. That oughta do the job pretty darn well as far as my objective intelligence is concerned
And oh, throw in some exceptional coffee-making skills and occasional hints of dormant acrobatic talent, and just like that, I'll be head-over-heels in love.
I'm just sayin'.
*shrugs*
If that doesn't strip me off of what little bit of respect you guys still had left for this shallow, uncoordinated mess of an innocent soul, I don't know what will.
Anyway.
For those of you who don't know, this year's Daylight Savings Time in Victoria ended this morning, so I got an extra hour of sleep last night! *grins*
Coincidentally, the end of a year's DST usually also means the end of summer!
I seriously can't be any more hyped up than this.
Hell yeah, I'm glad the season's over. And I for one am bloody sure I'm not gonna go all teary-eyed and mellow about it.
No more scorching hot days, no more annoying flies, no more sunnies and shorts, no more applying sticky sunscreen all over my over-tanned skin and feeling like marinaded meat being grilled inside one hell of a giant, ozon-less oven.
And that's my cue to go "YAY!", I suppose?
*raises eyebrow*
Whatever. I'm just relieved Autumn's almost here.
Maybe it's time to rearrange my wardrobe once again.
Hang some. Fold out some. Dry clean some. Wash up some. Shop for some? *laughs*
Goodbye sunnies and shorts, hello trench coats and scarves!
Important countdowns:
One week to go before Easter Break starts.
Five days to Good Friday.
And exactly sixteen days to Jason Mraz's April 21 concert!
I know I shouldn't keep rubbing that in but I just can't help it.
*sighs*
For the time being, I wish you all a pleasant week ahead.
Enjoy the cold while it lasts! God knows I will. =)
Friday, March 27, 2009
...'cause i like being submerged in your contradictions...
Well, hello there, extreme moodswings.
Was just beginning to wonder where the bloody hell you'd been.
*shakes head*
The air is frigid, and the night is cold. My thoughts are scattered all over the place, so are my feelings. I feel like I'm slowly losing my grip. My iTunes totally defies me; Jason Mraz's "A Beautiful Mess" is quietly playing and right now I feel like crying.
Heck.
I have absolutely no freaking idea why this is happening.
No, actually scratch that. I do know exactly why my emotions are all wishy-washy and my head feels like it's gonna explode and pollute the air with colorful streamers and dead butterflies any minute. Classic stuff, really. The conscience's just tired.
Any Freudian fanatic would oh-so-breathlessly conclude that my untamed, psychedelic id is probably just acting out, and with the know-it-all superego on subconscious-realm-level leave, the far-too-overworked ego is, well, too overworked to be able to maintain the balance.
If anything, the old man's got a point. Eerily enough. No wonder Jung decided to stray.
But yeah. Spare me your psyche-in-distress babble and let me ramble on.
*clears throat*
True, this isn't the first time my emotional sanity suddenly decided out of nowhere to spark up some trouble and start going downhill without even the slightest bit of forewarning. Last time it happened I spent nights and nights wide awake, tossing and turning in my bed, my bleary eyes weary and my mind racing with a million thoughts. It was months ago. So why come back now?
Now the idea of pulling a pre-Circus Britney Spears and succumbing headfirst into a downward spiral of emotional turmoil seems almost as tempting as tucking into a hearty bowl of creamy caramel-crusted vanilla ice-cream in the middle of the night. My moodswings are way out of control, and my whole body is aching with all the obvious symptoms of physical unhealthiness; I've been subconsciously bingeing on food and coffee these past couple of days so I'd guess that's where the uneasiness must come from.
Don't judge. Don't ask why.
And please fix that pretentious stare someplace else thank you very much.
They say "when life gives you limes, catch them and make lemonade", or something along those lines. I've never been a dear whenever it comes to cheesy quotes and the like. But what I'm wondering is this: what if you get so sick and tired of catching soaring fruits above your head that after a while you just don't have the power to squeeze the juices out of those cute little yellow sour prodigies let alone serve them in fancy crystal glasses complete with ice-cubes and one of those random cocktail-umbrella-decoration thingmabobs?
Sometimes I get so tired I just wanna switch myself off for a while.
Somebody give me a red-buttoned tail soon, please.
If Doraemon can have one handy why can't I?
*sighs*
I'm assuming that since you guys are still sticking around after all these years, by now you must have grown into repositioning my insensible thoughts and unparalleled random nonsense within your range of tolerance.
A lot of nonsensical things make sense in my head, especially in trying times like this, personally-speaking. So bear with me.
And those little things that reality still has yet to deprive me of; warm, well-earned hugs, entertaining late-night phone calls with loved ones, sweet messages, unexpected surprises, and a warm cup of chamomile tea...? Please don't take them away from me.
Heaven knows what this miserable mess would be without them.
*kneels down and prays*
...Lord, help me.
Was just beginning to wonder where the bloody hell you'd been.
*shakes head*
The air is frigid, and the night is cold. My thoughts are scattered all over the place, so are my feelings. I feel like I'm slowly losing my grip. My iTunes totally defies me; Jason Mraz's "A Beautiful Mess" is quietly playing and right now I feel like crying.
Heck.
I have absolutely no freaking idea why this is happening.
No, actually scratch that. I do know exactly why my emotions are all wishy-washy and my head feels like it's gonna explode and pollute the air with colorful streamers and dead butterflies any minute. Classic stuff, really. The conscience's just tired.
Any Freudian fanatic would oh-so-breathlessly conclude that my untamed, psychedelic id is probably just acting out, and with the know-it-all superego on subconscious-realm-level leave, the far-too-overworked ego is, well, too overworked to be able to maintain the balance.
If anything, the old man's got a point. Eerily enough. No wonder Jung decided to stray.
But yeah. Spare me your psyche-in-distress babble and let me ramble on.
*clears throat*
True, this isn't the first time my emotional sanity suddenly decided out of nowhere to spark up some trouble and start going downhill without even the slightest bit of forewarning. Last time it happened I spent nights and nights wide awake, tossing and turning in my bed, my bleary eyes weary and my mind racing with a million thoughts. It was months ago. So why come back now?
Now the idea of pulling a pre-Circus Britney Spears and succumbing headfirst into a downward spiral of emotional turmoil seems almost as tempting as tucking into a hearty bowl of creamy caramel-crusted vanilla ice-cream in the middle of the night. My moodswings are way out of control, and my whole body is aching with all the obvious symptoms of physical unhealthiness; I've been subconsciously bingeing on food and coffee these past couple of days so I'd guess that's where the uneasiness must come from.
Don't judge. Don't ask why.
And please fix that pretentious stare someplace else thank you very much.
They say "when life gives you limes, catch them and make lemonade", or something along those lines. I've never been a dear whenever it comes to cheesy quotes and the like. But what I'm wondering is this: what if you get so sick and tired of catching soaring fruits above your head that after a while you just don't have the power to squeeze the juices out of those cute little yellow sour prodigies let alone serve them in fancy crystal glasses complete with ice-cubes and one of those random cocktail-umbrella-decoration thingmabobs?
Sometimes I get so tired I just wanna switch myself off for a while.
Somebody give me a red-buttoned tail soon, please.
If Doraemon can have one handy why can't I?
*sighs*
I'm assuming that since you guys are still sticking around after all these years, by now you must have grown into repositioning my insensible thoughts and unparalleled random nonsense within your range of tolerance.
A lot of nonsensical things make sense in my head, especially in trying times like this, personally-speaking. So bear with me.
And those little things that reality still has yet to deprive me of; warm, well-earned hugs, entertaining late-night phone calls with loved ones, sweet messages, unexpected surprises, and a warm cup of chamomile tea...? Please don't take them away from me.
Heaven knows what this miserable mess would be without them.
*kneels down and prays*
...Lord, help me.
Friday, March 13, 2009
...sounding hopeful but it's making me cry...
Currently listening to: Mr. Curiosity - Jason Mraz
.patterns.
Pakenham train, Melbourne, March 2009
Move over, Eric.
Looks like yours truly has earned himself a new coffee-ordering alias.
Say hello to Justin, everybody.
*bows*
It all began quite innocently as far as coffee-ordering between classes is concerned.
So there I was, standing by the CoffeeHQ pick-up counter waiting for my regular skinny caramel latte to be served, subconsciously blending in amongst the swarm of other coffee-and-sugar addicts also in line for their morning caffeine kicks. Usual stuff, really; nothing special apart from the fact that the one taking my order earlier was a newbie who had to ask for my name twice. I shrugged that off and waited patiently.
Arriving at the pick-up point, I saw a familiar face: the super-friendly barista who usually takes my order. Apparently she was just about to begin her shift for the day. So we chatted for a while, talking about the weather and such since that's the way Aussies do it down here, and she made a comment about the outrageous size of the Strategic Marketing textbook I was shamelessly carrying around campus like the world's biggest dork or something.
Still nothing new at this point; I realized that I was already ten minutes late by then but I chose not to freak out and kept on with the conversation.
Just then I could faintly hear the name Justin being called out by the in-store barista in-between sentences. Obviously thinking that name wasn't referring to me, I ignored it. But when the called out "regular skinny caramel latte" out lout, his eyes darting towards where I was standing, I came to my senses and rushed for the drink.
All the while I was thinking, "Wha-?"
Did he just call me Justin?
"...Justin?" He immediately asked, winking one playful eye, when he saw me reluctantly taking the cup with the barely-legible scribble "Justin" etched out across one side. "Who are you, and what have you done to the Jesse we all knew and loved?"
I shrugged to his, and of course the friendly barista's, great amusement.
"I know. So much for trying to stay true to myself." I then replied with a laugh.
Seeing as it was probably a good idea that I take off straight away since I was already really, almost unforgivably late, I waved them goodbye after they made sure the poor newbie would get my correct name next time.
Thinking about the incident just makes me smile. Even now.
I mean, mixing up Jesse with Justin? Come on. That's like too far gone, man. Seriously.
*grins at the thought*
Anyway.
It's late, and I should head to bed soon.
The weather's been wacky, and it's already starting to take a toll on my physical well-being. There's only so much consecutive hot-and-cold days a guy's body can endure, and I guess my immune system's running out of batteries.
Let's hope I stay healthy for the time being. Getting sick would definitely suck, big time. It's not like I don't have too much stuff going on around me already.
Oh well.
*sighs*
Have a great weekend, guys.
PS: I got my Jason Mraz ticket! Can't wait for April 21! *jumps around*
.patterns.Pakenham train, Melbourne, March 2009
Move over, Eric.
Looks like yours truly has earned himself a new coffee-ordering alias.
Say hello to Justin, everybody.
*bows*
It all began quite innocently as far as coffee-ordering between classes is concerned.
So there I was, standing by the CoffeeHQ pick-up counter waiting for my regular skinny caramel latte to be served, subconsciously blending in amongst the swarm of other coffee-and-sugar addicts also in line for their morning caffeine kicks. Usual stuff, really; nothing special apart from the fact that the one taking my order earlier was a newbie who had to ask for my name twice. I shrugged that off and waited patiently.
Arriving at the pick-up point, I saw a familiar face: the super-friendly barista who usually takes my order. Apparently she was just about to begin her shift for the day. So we chatted for a while, talking about the weather and such since that's the way Aussies do it down here, and she made a comment about the outrageous size of the Strategic Marketing textbook I was shamelessly carrying around campus like the world's biggest dork or something.
Still nothing new at this point; I realized that I was already ten minutes late by then but I chose not to freak out and kept on with the conversation.
Just then I could faintly hear the name Justin being called out by the in-store barista in-between sentences. Obviously thinking that name wasn't referring to me, I ignored it. But when the called out "regular skinny caramel latte" out lout, his eyes darting towards where I was standing, I came to my senses and rushed for the drink.
All the while I was thinking, "Wha-?"
Did he just call me Justin?
"...Justin?" He immediately asked, winking one playful eye, when he saw me reluctantly taking the cup with the barely-legible scribble "Justin" etched out across one side. "Who are you, and what have you done to the Jesse we all knew and loved?"
I shrugged to his, and of course the friendly barista's, great amusement.
"I know. So much for trying to stay true to myself." I then replied with a laugh.
Seeing as it was probably a good idea that I take off straight away since I was already really, almost unforgivably late, I waved them goodbye after they made sure the poor newbie would get my correct name next time.
Thinking about the incident just makes me smile. Even now.
I mean, mixing up Jesse with Justin? Come on. That's like too far gone, man. Seriously.
*grins at the thought*
Anyway.
It's late, and I should head to bed soon.
The weather's been wacky, and it's already starting to take a toll on my physical well-being. There's only so much consecutive hot-and-cold days a guy's body can endure, and I guess my immune system's running out of batteries.
Let's hope I stay healthy for the time being. Getting sick would definitely suck, big time. It's not like I don't have too much stuff going on around me already.
Oh well.
*sighs*
Have a great weekend, guys.
PS: I got my Jason Mraz ticket! Can't wait for April 21! *jumps around*
Saturday, March 07, 2009
...and you say that all that it takes is a phone call...
Currently listening to: Chinese - Lily Allen
.can'tsingadifferentsong.
Crown Complex, Southbank, March 2009
I got through Week 1 unscratched and unharmed.
That by itself is an achievement, so don't blame me if I'm gloating just a little. *grins*
Anyway.
Lately people have been telling me that I bitch too much about stuff. Uni stuff, friendship stuff, spiritual stuff, social drama stuff whatsoever, you name it.
I bitch about the fact that MKX3481 is boring as hell.
I bitch about having just spent a little under $200 for textbooks I most probably won't even bother flicking through until like the second half of the semester.
I bitch about having only Tuesdays off this semester.
I bitch about the eternal messiness of my room. Shocker.
I bitch about not being able to do my laundry this week because the weather's been cold and humid all week.
I bitch about contradicting myself since ironically I prefer cold over hot days anyway.
I bitch about friends in general.
I bitch about backstabbers.
I bitch about the painful fact that bitching about backstabbers actually makes me one too.
And mind you, being universally-known as the resident bitch of a given social circle isn't exactly a desirable trait one should be proud of. I for one wouldn't like that for sure.
So this got me thinking.
While it is remotely satisfying to know that at least I can self-identify as being in the same league as Christina Aguilera, superbitch-wise, even the powerhouse singer herself says that this can't last forever. One simply can't afford being mean and bitchy all the freaking time; the batteries are bound to run out at some point.
So for now, give me a chance to try to redeem myself.
Instead of getting on with my usual forte of rambling about things I don't like, this time I'm gonna write about things I do like.
Ready?
*takes a deep breath*
For starters, I like my room.
I like how my room is always cold in the morning, no matter how hot and sunny it is outside.
I like staying curled up under my super-warm blanket, snoozing the alarm as I desperately try to get back to sleep.
I like staring at my colorful hanging lights as I slowly drift off to sleep.
I like my bed.
I like my two adorable goldfish, Comet and Rudolph.
I like living in the suburbs.
I like my housemates. And I certainly love my house to bits!
I like my campus. Totally.
I like my course, though the workload can be a bit much sometimes.
I like Menzies Building's H1 lecture theater for no reason.
I like my BHS1711 and BHS1712 lecturer last year. And being the nerd that I am, I might've liked him a tad bit too much.
I like winter. Like I said, I love getting all cold and bundled up. Gives me an excuse to put on my fancy coats and scarfs! *grins*
I like watching the vapor trails that my breaths leave behind in the air during winter.
And I like walking around Melbourne CBD in winter. Makes me feel at home.
I like having nothing to do on a Saturday morning.
I like having nothing to do on weekdays.
I like having nothing to do at most times, actually.
I like hanging out in the Gloria Jeans Coffees outlet inside Borders Chadstone.
But I gotta say I like Starbucks even more.
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I like imitating accents. And I think the British are admirable for being able to pull off such a difficult and irritating tone. No kidding.
I like it when people mistake me as an American. It used to annoy me initially, but since this happens to me on a daily basis, literally, I guess I've gotten used to it already by now. *grins*
I like how the baristas in my favorite coffee outlets know me by name.
I like CoffeeHQ's skinny caramel latte.
I like Lily Allen's new album, "It's Not Me, It's You".
I like getting creeped out everytime I listen to Beyonce's singing voice. No offense, but it annoys the hell outta me.
I like watching fan-recorded videos of Britney Spears's "Circus" tour on YouTube, although the shaky cameras and the excessive shouting turn me off.
And while we're on the subject, I love love LOVE "Circus"! I like putting the album on repeat whenever I need a little moral boost.
I like Collins Street.
I like Federation Square.
I like walking along the Yarra, watching seagulls chase each other around the riverbanks.
I like jazz. And I obsess about Michael Buble every single day.
I like shopping.
I like shopping for discounted stuff.
I like shopping in Bandung.
I like shopping like there's no tomorrow. *laughs*
I like bitching about life in general.
I kinda like to constantly miss Jakarta. 'Cuz I do miss the town. Terribly.
I like FRIENDS. I like CHARMED. I like Gossip Girl.
I like Doraemon. He's my childhood hero.
I like hugging the people I love.
I like ruffling people's hair. If I ruffle your hair that means I genuinely care about you. *grins* And apparently my ex thinks this is amusing for some reason.
I like cooking. Cooking makes me happy.
I like decorating my walls.
I like collecting five-cent coins.
I like how I always run out of things to say everytime I try to do a list like this.
I like how whenever that happens, I'll rack my brains trying to think of anything else to say.
And of course, I like how I'll always give up after a while.
*laughs*
So that's it for now, I guess.
Now you know that I'm not that bitter a person. I know I might seem silly and cranky and sharp-tongued and even terribly annoying at times, but I do have some brighter qualities that also define me as a person, if any. Don't we all, anyway?
*yawns*
Alright. Better hop in the shower now.
Have a great weekend, guys. :)
.can'tsingadifferentsong.Crown Complex, Southbank, March 2009
I got through Week 1 unscratched and unharmed.
That by itself is an achievement, so don't blame me if I'm gloating just a little. *grins*
Anyway.
Lately people have been telling me that I bitch too much about stuff. Uni stuff, friendship stuff, spiritual stuff, social drama stuff whatsoever, you name it.
I bitch about the fact that MKX3481 is boring as hell.
I bitch about having just spent a little under $200 for textbooks I most probably won't even bother flicking through until like the second half of the semester.
I bitch about having only Tuesdays off this semester.
I bitch about the eternal messiness of my room. Shocker.
I bitch about not being able to do my laundry this week because the weather's been cold and humid all week.
I bitch about contradicting myself since ironically I prefer cold over hot days anyway.
I bitch about friends in general.
I bitch about backstabbers.
I bitch about the painful fact that bitching about backstabbers actually makes me one too.
And mind you, being universally-known as the resident bitch of a given social circle isn't exactly a desirable trait one should be proud of. I for one wouldn't like that for sure.
So this got me thinking.
While it is remotely satisfying to know that at least I can self-identify as being in the same league as Christina Aguilera, superbitch-wise, even the powerhouse singer herself says that this can't last forever. One simply can't afford being mean and bitchy all the freaking time; the batteries are bound to run out at some point.
So for now, give me a chance to try to redeem myself.
Instead of getting on with my usual forte of rambling about things I don't like, this time I'm gonna write about things I do like.
Ready?
*takes a deep breath*
For starters, I like my room.
I like how my room is always cold in the morning, no matter how hot and sunny it is outside.
I like staying curled up under my super-warm blanket, snoozing the alarm as I desperately try to get back to sleep.
I like staring at my colorful hanging lights as I slowly drift off to sleep.
I like my bed.
I like my two adorable goldfish, Comet and Rudolph.
I like living in the suburbs.
I like my housemates. And I certainly love my house to bits!
I like my campus. Totally.
I like my course, though the workload can be a bit much sometimes.
I like Menzies Building's H1 lecture theater for no reason.
I like my BHS1711 and BHS1712 lecturer last year. And being the nerd that I am, I might've liked him a tad bit too much.
I like winter. Like I said, I love getting all cold and bundled up. Gives me an excuse to put on my fancy coats and scarfs! *grins*
I like watching the vapor trails that my breaths leave behind in the air during winter.
And I like walking around Melbourne CBD in winter. Makes me feel at home.
I like having nothing to do on a Saturday morning.
I like having nothing to do on weekdays.
I like having nothing to do at most times, actually.
I like hanging out in the Gloria Jeans Coffees outlet inside Borders Chadstone.
But I gotta say I like Starbucks even more.
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I like imitating accents. And I think the British are admirable for being able to pull off such a difficult and irritating tone. No kidding.
I like it when people mistake me as an American. It used to annoy me initially, but since this happens to me on a daily basis, literally, I guess I've gotten used to it already by now. *grins*
I like how the baristas in my favorite coffee outlets know me by name.
I like CoffeeHQ's skinny caramel latte.
I like Lily Allen's new album, "It's Not Me, It's You".
I like getting creeped out everytime I listen to Beyonce's singing voice. No offense, but it annoys the hell outta me.
I like watching fan-recorded videos of Britney Spears's "Circus" tour on YouTube, although the shaky cameras and the excessive shouting turn me off.
And while we're on the subject, I love love LOVE "Circus"! I like putting the album on repeat whenever I need a little moral boost.
I like Collins Street.
I like Federation Square.
I like walking along the Yarra, watching seagulls chase each other around the riverbanks.
I like jazz. And I obsess about Michael Buble every single day.
I like shopping.
I like shopping for discounted stuff.
I like shopping in Bandung.
I like shopping like there's no tomorrow. *laughs*
I like bitching about life in general.
I kinda like to constantly miss Jakarta. 'Cuz I do miss the town. Terribly.
I like FRIENDS. I like CHARMED. I like Gossip Girl.
I like Doraemon. He's my childhood hero.
I like hugging the people I love.
I like ruffling people's hair. If I ruffle your hair that means I genuinely care about you. *grins* And apparently my ex thinks this is amusing for some reason.
I like cooking. Cooking makes me happy.
I like decorating my walls.
I like collecting five-cent coins.
I like how I always run out of things to say everytime I try to do a list like this.
I like how whenever that happens, I'll rack my brains trying to think of anything else to say.
And of course, I like how I'll always give up after a while.
*laughs*
So that's it for now, I guess.
Now you know that I'm not that bitter a person. I know I might seem silly and cranky and sharp-tongued and even terribly annoying at times, but I do have some brighter qualities that also define me as a person, if any. Don't we all, anyway?
*yawns*
Alright. Better hop in the shower now.
Have a great weekend, guys. :)
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