You mean I'm not a hoarder?

You mean I'm not a hoarder?

I've always thought I am messy. There are times when I'll stare at my room in utter despair, especially when I feel like the clutter is blocking my feng shui or chi or whichever new-age mambo jumbo I'm into at the moment. And while the obvious solution is to clean it out, there always seems to be something better to do, like watch tv.

I happened to catch a clip about hoarders on the Oprah show and I am equal parts fascinated and relieved. It's scary how messy people can be. Imagine clothes littering every part of the floor, piles of toys, soiled plates and backyard junk lining the walls...

Thankfully, there is a difference between inertia+innate messiness and compulsive hoarding. The latter is a mental illness where there are actual psychological obstacles that prevent people from picking up their mess.

So I'm not a hoarder, but boy do I need to do some springcleaning pronto. Maybe on Sunday. :)

A different perspective.

A different perspective.


picture from here

So much has happened to the people around me this study week that it almost feels like my perspectives on life are being vicariously altered while I simultaneously attempt to compress an entire semester's work into seven days of revision.

What strings these different accounts together is probably shock. The sort of "Oh my God you're kidding", eyes widening with mouth agape sort of shock.

We go through life assuming, or at least allowing ourselves to believe in, some forms of permanence and certainty. Just when you start to believe that the ground is stable, life rips the wobbly planks from right under your feet, leaving you flailing and defeated.

It's scary when change comes not gradually with time for you to ready yourself, but instead in a tidal wave just when you are wearing your new silk frock.

You'll cry, lament the tattered silk, blame the sudden wave or sit in the aftermath of devastation in denial.

And then you'll pick yourself up, stick on some plasters and carry on living as raw wounds turn into muted scars.

Such is life, and the resilience of the human spirit.
And this I hope is your silver lining behind the dark, dark clouds.

It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas.

It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas.







Pictures from here.

Hello, hello.

Hello, hello.

It's the official start of the week-long studying break, which means I can no longer do non-revision stuff without feeling that painful tinge of guilt. And media law, in all its intricate glory, sure does make me want to do anything but study it.

What seems like a luxurious week stretched out ahead of me to cover two measly modules will pass way too quickly I'm sure, especially when I've got this much catching up to do.

But there's a light at the end of the tunnel, and I'm sure we'll get there soon.

P.s. Despite all my unabashed anticipation for the end of school, the anxiety of entering the working world for good in six months' time has finally caught up with me. Aish.

That niggling feeling in my heart.

That niggling feeling in my heart.



Has it only been 40 days since I last boarded a plane? It feels thrice as long, and if things don't work out this December, it'll be at least another 169 before I do.

In all honesty, I've already traveled quite a fair bit this year despite all the travel hiccups. There was the Lombok/Bali trip in place of Perth, Hong Kong (without Taipei), Hanoi for Sojourn, and Batam though it feels more like zipping over to your neighbor's messy backyard. But still there's this niggling sense of disatisfaction and incompletion in me.

Why do you travel?

For me, what started off as escapism became a pleasurable past-time, which then evolved into wanderlust and a self-discovery journey of sorts. I suppose the turning point for me was India. Leaving the comforts of home to spend four months in a developing nation with an entirely different set of culture and lifestyle values has changed me, and along with it my travel personality.

There's the yearning to see and experience, but above it all, a yearning to feel. I'm no longer content to touch and go, only to see the superficial and capture that in a snapshot. But neither can I describe this yearning as a need to get down and gritty with every foreign place, because I unabashedly value my creature comforts.

Perhaps what I'm looking for from each trip is perspective. It's an intangible concept that is wholly self-indulgent, but not any more than choosing a country for its cheap massages or its selection of boutiques/bars/restaurants. Could it be then that it is because my recent trips have slanted towards the materialistically-indulgent that I am this unfulfilled?

Then again, perhaps not. That is yet another thing to discover.

Paris in retrospect.

Paris in retrospect.

Ernest Hemingway once said: "If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast." I was never beguiled with Paris as many were, but the city of lights can be nostalgically beautiful in retrospect.

Watching Victor/Victoria (set in 1930s Paris) last night and now replying K's email with a list of eats in Paris have evoked my almost-forgotten Parisian adventure. I can't believe it's been over a year since i from the rash but utterly rewarding trip that I think has played in part in shaping me as a traveler.

The view from B's apartment.


One word: Yum.


Baguette and pastries galore.


Climbing up the Eiffel.


Ah... the metro.


Luxembourg Gardens.


The institutional bookshop.



Memories. :)

*Enjoy your weekend in Paris, K!

Enough is enough.

Enough is enough.

I've spent the past several weeks writing, writing and writing. I've revised one article, and am now left with the last. It's almost 3 but I can't sleep because the strive to perfect my every piece consumes. Perfecting a piece really eats one up alive doesn't it?