Did the captain of the Titanic cry?

Did the captain of the Titanic cry?
music: norah jones - wake me up

Typing. Writing. Crying. Hoping to rid myself of all remaining traces. Furious typing. Furious backspacing right here in this blog space. But I couldn't bring myself to hit the publish button. I still can't quite stomach the idea of starring in my own script. Each time I think that the last threads have been purged, they escape from the silent build-up.

I spend my days running in my head. Away from you, towards you. I feel like an advocate of a cause I am not sure about. I've long stopped talking to myself. I can't decide between living with an empty soul of grief, or a grieving heart. I'm sitting on a fence where the land is barren on both sides.

I go through daily motions, I smile, I laugh. And I really think I am okay. But once in awhile, the other me breaks through the facade, into the limelight. It was always happier as the star.

Rock me in a hammock.

Rock me in a hammock.
music: norah jones - come away with me

Cafe Del Mar. It looked really pretty, but we didn't get the chance to stay for a drink.






Imagine this shot to the theme song of Baywatch. No kidding. There was some safety demonstration going on, and the lifeguards ingeniously chose to use the Baywatch soundtrack.



No it ain't Bora Bora baby, though those stilted huts did make me think of The Paradise Room by Belinda Jones. This is ever-changing Sentosa for you. I can't believe it's been over a year since I left. Feels like yesterday, sometimes.





And here's the sunset, from my dining room windows. Pretty awesome huh? I promise these aren't photoshop-ed or touched up in anyway.

Head first into the mud.

Head first into the mud.
feeling: thirsty

Despite the complex intricacies, the fundamentals of human relations are (if you start thinking like a kid in kindergarten) not that complicated.

There was the pre-requisite twinge, and that morning scene has replayed itself a few times more than necessary in my head. The ball's right here I know, but I'm somehow more inclined towards sitting on it instead of shooting hoops. It just doesn't feel quite right.

On a different note, Paris Je T'aime was quite a delight. It was like a French version of Love Actually, coupled with a dose of ambiguity, sprinkles of creativity, and even that tiny bit of a scare. It was in a way more real I guess.

Shopped up a storm with HH (you're horrible influence!) after. There goes 80 bucks on a new jacket for the interview (what a convenient excuse haha) and another 40 on a beach kaftan. And I would have gotten those slingbacks if not for the fraying threads. Byebye angpows.

Just.

Just.

It's just that. No need to go all soft, woman.

Jumping hurdles.

Jumping hurdles.
feeling: relieved
music: black eyed peas ft. jack johnson - gone going

What's it with weirdos who rub themselves against you on the bus? Half the time I was silently pleading his innocence and tormenting myself by plastering myself to the window. I finally changed seats after ten bus-stops, and I actually felt bad for doing so. Urgh.

It's my first, and I reckon my last, sing & strum performance tonight. Only managed to rehearse with ZW yesterday evening, so... haha. Half the time I was distracted by his rabbit who turned my insides to mush. I must be emptier than I thought.

Piano lessons confirmed. Starting in April.
Cleared the SPH writing test. Phew. Next up, interview with the ed.

Travelogue.

Travelogue.

This is way overdue, I know, but here's the link to my travel-blog.
Click here.

Works are underway to move this blog elsewhere.

As traditions go.

As traditions go.

Waking up to the sound of my dad puttering around the house.

Having rice for breakfast. (There's something about Peranakan dishes. They taste better reheated. Hmm.)
Having that tiny bowl of sweet longan and red dates.
The scorching heat of the Lunar New Year sun.
The usual sequence of relatives to visit.
The same things they say.
Mundane. But there's comfort in familiarity.

I was lost in the story of Steve Serrano and Roxanne Rayeaux, and I thought it was only nine when Erwin called. He was in the area, so we ended up going for supper at the Railway Station. The place was featured in today's papers. I feel like a proud mama. Haha.

Mmm. Thinking very very carefully.

Quickie.

Quickie.

I've got about two minutes before I gotta wrap up and zip to the living room for Two Weeks' Notice with the sibs.

The spread. I love the view from the dining room by the way. You should see it at sunset. It's awesome.



Let the new year be a good one.

And I am totally digging Paul Walker. Here he is in Into The Blue. Oh my oh my.





pictures courtesy of paulwalkerlife.htmlplanet.com

Now I understand the fuss about Irish blood. He sure wears the whole scruffy beach boy look VERY well.

Le Baiser.

Le Baiser.

I really do want to watch Paris Je t'aime. I was rather optimistic about worming my way out of chores tomorrow to zip down to Vivocity for an early screening, but the sneak previews are scheduled at the weirdest timings. Bummer.

On a separate note, look what I found:

A picture of Ceci and I back in our Sentosa days, taken by Devina I think, during one of the craze-filled lunch hours. I don't know how true the saying "a picture speaks a thousand words" is, but this has sure brought back an onslaught of memories. I can almost feel the subzero air-conditioning, the quiet whirr of the air purifier, the tap of keyboards, and my vantage seat in the Communications department. And of course, some mortifying and cringe-worthy memories I'd rather keep under wraps.

A quick snap during today's unintended jaunt. It doesn't quite look like it in this shot, but the building was almost the exact same color as the blue and slightly overcast sky. Sky blue, haha.

Contemplation on the boardwalk.

Contemplation on the boardwalk.
feeling: at ease
music: corrinne may - something about you

We all have fantasies. Daydreams we spin, revisit and redirect to escape the monotony of life. The sheer absurdness of these dreams are probably what makes them magical.

I've had the same daydream since I was fifteen. Here and there, scenes are tweaked, the script's improvised, and the characters recasted (lol), but the essence is essentially that of my teenage reveries.

The last thing I expected was for this little fantasy of mine to, in a funny way, come true. It was one of the subtly weird situations I found myself in. And the magic disappears.

I'm gonna have to concoct a new daydream to occupy my future boredom-induced reveries.

Only the hungry.

Only the hungry.
music: ryan cabrera - true

Intuitively, you know.
It wasn't about impulsive ego-boosting mistakes.
It was about feeding the soul.

Return to Brotzeit.

Return to Brotzeit.
feeling: impressed

The almost-empty restaurant I visited on Saturday was bustling today. Many have apparently turned to beer as the antidote to the Monday blues. The crowd of mostly executives would have normally turned me off, for I am one of those who never think they're old enough. Weird I know, especially since I'm already turning 21 this year.

Amidst the sea of ties, blouses and shiny shoes, Ceci and I didn't feel an inch out of place in our tanks and Birks. We ordered a sausage platter, as well as a beer to share. And we had the sachertorte, which is worlds apart from the one we had at "my Austrian lover's place".

A group of school kids were walking by the steps outside the restaurant, and one of the girls unfortunately tripped and skinned her knees. One of the boys came by Brotzeit and asked for serviettes and ice. No stuffiness or rude tsk-ing here. The manager willingly fetched ice to the girl, and even asked about her knee. I was impressed.

And halfway through our meal, he actually came by the table and asked if we were enjoying the food. Quite like the headwaiter's role we were taught back in Hospitality Management. I am seriously impressed.

Cheers.

Steady as the river flows.

Steady as the river flows.
feeling: happy
music: orishas ft. heather headley - represent cuba

This road, this scene. Sunlight slanting through the leaves. It takes my breath away, every single time.

Chopped veggies for the achar. It's one HUGE pot of Peranakan pickles.
Welcome to Chinese New Year at the Khoo's.

I can hardly wait for Music & Lyrics to be out. I need a dose of chick flick soon. The bimbo meter's falling rapidly.

Afternoon beers on the promenade.

Afternoon beers on the promenade.
feeling: cheerful

After the hectic work week, nothing beats spending a lazy Saturday afternoon with my poly mates.

Jane had to leave for some birthday function, and the rest contemplated hopping over to Cafe del Mar on Siloso Beach. Pity we all had dinner engagements; the weather today was perfect for lounging at a beach bar. We trooped down go Brotzeit instead, this German pub by the Vivocity waterfront.


Pork knuckle for the boys


And a salad for me. The portion was huge, and even with Marc's help, I managed to only chow down half the plate. It was delish though. The feta cheese made all the difference.

And of course, the boys guzzled their afternoon beers with glee. I copped a couple of sips, and it was really pretty good. Then again, I'm no beer connoisseur so... haha.


Will there be a day when Marc'll pass up on a beer? Haha. He looks kinda cute with the beer moustache though.

Sea breeze, good food, great company. TP's Hospitality guys are definitely in a league of their own.


The afternoon slipped by, and it was to Marina South for CH's "pink IC" dinner with the Spottiswoode gang. Explains why I had the salad for lunch no? It was A LOT of meat, especially beef. I'm gonna have to go on another veggie detox.

Bali - Paradise Lost.

Bali - Paradise Lost.

I was initially rather nervous about today's speech, not so much because I knew I was going to be assessed, but because the topic was really important to me. I got rather emotional writing the speech, but the raw pain I felt five years ago has dulled to an ache. The last thing I wanted was to screw the speech up, and thankfully I did pretty well instead.

"Good afternoon. My topic today is terrorism. Don't worry, I wil not be talking about how I think we should deal with terrorism, or discuss its impact in facts and figures. What I am going to share with you instead is my personal recount of Bali before and after the terrorist attacks, and I hope to bring you with me on a short trip down memory lane. I chose Bali because the island holds a special place in my heart.

Now, a short introduction to Bali. It is an island in Indonesia and with its lush paddy fields, majestic mountains and gorgeous beaches, it is no wonder that it is also known as the Island of the Gods. I don't come from a family of avid travelers, although I love traveling, and my first official holiday apart from short trips to Malaysia was to Bali. They say you never forget your first love. It was June 2002, the year I turned 16, and although it has been almost 5 years now, some memories never quite fade.

I remember many things about my first trip. I remember the sweet Balinese air - an intoxicating mix of salty sea breeze and fragrant frangipanis. I remember the hustle and bustle of tourists, mostly Caucasians, all around, and the crowded restaurants and sidewalks. I remember visiting Kuta Square one evening, and I have a vivid memory of the young man who tried to sell me souvenir lighters. He was vocally impaired, yet he was the first local whom I spent some time "talking" to.

I was young, innocent, and I fell in love. Not with the young man, but with Bali. Apart from the island's God-given beauty, I was in love with the Balinese. They are the warmest, most down to earth and hospitable people I have ever met.

Imagine my shock when I first heard the news of the October 12th bombings in 2002. I had returned from Bali barely four months earlier, and it was inconceivable to imagine that paradise was now in a state of destruction. I knew about the September terrorist attacks in America, but Bali under attack was so much closer to home, and to my heart. The attack was the deadliest act of terrorism in the history of Indonesia, killing 202 people, and injuring a further 209.

All I could think of was why. Why Bali, of all the places in the world? What were the terrorists hoping to bring to the world's attention, when they decided to bomb the home of these harmless Balinese? Fear? Indomitability? Powerlessness? Or was it something else? Were they laughing in glee when the bombs went off? Do they feel for the people who were injured, or for the families and friends of the victims? When I found out that one of the bomb blasts happened in Kuta Square, I couldn't help wondering if the young man I met escaped alive.

Before Bali's economy had a chance to recover, the island was bombed again on 1 October 2005. This time around, 23 were killed and 129 were injured. Coincidentally, I was actually scheduled to visit Bali for a school trip in November that year.

If I were paranoid, I would say I escaped death twice.

I finally made a second trip to Bali in December last year, during our recent school break. I would be lying if were to say that I didn't worry about terrorist attacks, but the need to see for myself what my paradise has become overrode that silly fear.

I stepped out of the airport and breathed in the same Balinese air. Yet, it seems like the air was the only thing that didn't change.

The crowded streets of Kuta in my memories were now almost empty. Restaurants that were once packed only had the few odd tables filled up, and the buzz of tourist activity was absent. Clothes and bags for sale in the markets were thick with dust due to lack of buyers. There were still tourists milling about, but there were way too many locals this time. Touters lined the streets, asking and even begging for you to buy a souvenir or to buy a sightseeing tour. The essence of hospitality was still evident in the Balinese, but a desperation to survive is now apparent on their faces.

I am angry. I am upset. But I do not hate the terrorists who destroyed my paradise. I don't understand them, and I don't think they understand us. I don't know how a terrorist would feel if he were to walk along the streets of Bali today, and see the results of what his fellow believers have done. Will he be happy? Proud? Guilty? Will he, like me, see the fight for survival harden the faces of the once innocent Balinese? And he will he, like me, mourn the loss of paradise?

Thank you."

Recognition.

Recognition.

Barely two years ago, I didn't give two hoots about photography. I remember questioning Jason if the hassle of trying to capture a moment on film was worth missing relishing the moment. I remember being pretty harsh, and we had a semi cold war because of it.

Ironically, my recent travels have ignited my love for photography. If I could retract that statement, I would.

His love and perserverance for not just photography but taking meaningful pictures have finally gained him recognition. Click on the site below to check out the his shortlisted photos in the following categories:

- Best Picture: Destinies Entwined
- Most Sentimental: Let Them Be Little
- Most Sentimental: Good Bye