The (re)awakening.

I started blogging here on sarongskirts 10 years ago, during my younger days when I really loved wearing sarong skirts. I kept the blog all the way until mid-2012, when I decided to restart on a new slate on Tumblr. At that time, I was seven months into my renewed yoga journey after a long hiatus, and I felt trapped by the identity I had created on the seven-year-old sarongskirts platform. Unknown to me then, I was experiencing all these subtle yoga-illuminated shifts inside, so I was finding it increasingly difficult to relate to the written world I'd created over the years – a world where luxury travel and trending eats were of utmost importance. Sarong skirts had made way for chic dresses and heels in my wardrobe, and online, sarongskirts no longer seemed like the right home either for my new brainwaves on yoga and its grand philosophies.

For two and a half years, I experimented with various domains and platforms, and at one time invested much effort in setting up sproutblog, a website that I believed encapsulated the mindful life. It was certainly the right home for all my thoughts on wellness and yoga, but the tipping point came very quickly when I realised that writing for sproutblog made me feel like I was back in magazine publishing. I didn't quite care for that, so for most of last year, I stopped blogging completely. Teaching yoga full time and sharing all those yoga-related thoughts in class had taken all the big words out of me – I was left with non-related musings, but I couldn't find a home for them on sprout.

Writing is like coming home – an intangible emotion akin to each time I step onto my mat. While 2014 was the year that I truly felt like I was beginning to live my dharma, the writer inside me was constantly unfulfilled. I thought of starting over, creating a new platform, and I spent a long time pondering over which new blog name would fit. Should it be about karma, or dharma, or santosha, or maybe something cute like Buddha belly? I played around with countless word combinations in my head, but nothing felt right. I kept coming back to sarongskirts, but a part of me resisted it, simply because there was too much history.

Yesterday, I taught a workshop on Manifesting Your Life, one about wiping the slate clean. After the session, an ex-classmate who attended it came up to me to share a memory of us from 15 years back, a memory from a time that now seems so distant and almost unreal. Listening to her, I realised that I was silly for wanting to lock away my past, silly for constantly looking for new writing slates. I can't feel more different now than I was in secondary school, but if not for that now unrelatable past, the two of us might not be standing in the same place here in the present, connected by yoga and its profound impact on our lives.

I found my love for writing here on sarongskirts, and that love has taken me to so many places. While I can no longer quite relate to the things I used to write about, it seems to me that it is only poetic justice to restart the slate on this good, old one. And you know what – it feels right.

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!

Counting my blessings.

Counting my blessings.

I have only hours to go before I leave Paris, and I'm feeling very reluctant to break this spell of temporary bliss.

Despite all my gripes of how the Parisians are snooty and walk too damn fast for me to catch up in my flip flops and short Asian legs, there are really several elements which I have grown to love about this city, and the country in general.






I like the cool days, and how the sunshine is always a welcome warmth from the sometimes cold breeze.
I like staying in on rainy days, comfortably cocooned from the temperamental gusts of winds.
I like breaking off a chunk from a baguette, knowing that the crusty loaf was freshly baked barely an hour ago.
I like stepping out of the apartment into streets and alleys lined with cafes, boulangeries, quaint pâtisseries and kebab shops.
I like how we go grocery shopping every evening, instead of overloading the fridge with a week's worth of produce.
I like the convenient metro, the way I have to push the button to open the doors, and how it is an intersection of people from all walks of life.
I like how I could decide on a whim to skip the metro and walk my way to almost any place in the city.
I like knowing that I could easily meet Marine for a picnic lunch in the garden, or Romain and her for drinks in the night.
I like the "bonjour mademoiselle"s from cheeky men when I walk down the streets, almost as much as I like smiling at and then ignoring them.
I like eating lunch in the garden, along with many others who enjoy sitting in the sunshine as I do.
I like roaming around the city's many markets, visually enjoying the display of pastries, cheeses, fresh produce and fresh meats.
And most of all, I like this carefree life I've been leading with B, enjoying the simple pleasure of each other's company.






I like waking up to his annoyingly melodious handphone alarm each morning, and kissing him goodbye when he leaves for work.
I like running errands together when he comes home, and roaming the city aimlessly on the weekends.
I like coming in through the door of the flat, and seeing our coats hung up near the door.
I like being held close when we snuggle up on the couch, his pulse thudding against my cheek and his stubble grazing my eyelids.
I like sleeping in on the weekends, and the lazy but delicious brunches we toss together when we finally wake.
I like watching him cook, his brows furrowing in concentration as he chops and sautés.
I like it when we make a fool of ourselves on the streets, and laughing at our silliness.
I like laying side by side in the dark with him and talking, just talking.
I like just being with him, even if we're doing nothing at all.

But of course, reality beckons, and I'm honestly rather looking forward to returning home as well. Apart from a wonderful family who gives me the freedom and support on my constant jaunts around the world, I am also blessed with a group of really, really wonderful friends so close to my heart, they're like family.

These are the people who send me constant updates when I'm away from home, who call home on my behalf to tell my family I'm alright, who are unfortunately stuck with the awful job of placating my folks that I'll be okay halfway around the world, who make the effort to send me off whenever I leave for my adventures, and whom I can't wait to see again.







I'm off for one last picnic lunch date with Marine, and to pick up the macaroons for Ern, before coming back to do some last-minute packing and have an early-dinner with B.

It's been one awesome summer break. No regrets. Cheers.

Yesterday.

Yesterday.
music: jack johnson - cocoon

I was rummaging through my wardrobe in search of a brush (you wouldn't want to know what kind, right Jinli?) when I chanced upon the stash of cards I'd received on my 21st birthday. And so for some time I sat, wedged in the tiny space between my wardrobe and the bed, reliving yesteryear through the heartfelt scribblings and well-wishes.




I laughed out a couple of times, especially when reading my bitch's card. Others had me going "aww" as well, like Kenrick's Christmas cum farewell photo collage. I didn't realize just how many pictures we had taken together over the years!

Anyway, it's been a series of laugh-out-loud moments over MSN these two nights.

Scenario #1

Me: Babe, I don't know if I'll have internet access in Shanghai, so sms me your birthday plan.
Ceci: Okay. Your Indian number?
Me: I'm going to SHANGHAI!

Scenario #2

Jane: Babe I just added you as a friend on Facebook.
Me: Finally, one year later than everybody when it comes to technology as usual!
Jane: Add me back. I'm new on Facebook and I feel so lonely with no friends!
Me: LOL.

And last night, I once again attempted to say something to Berty in French, but it turned out quite differently from what I thought I was saying. LOL. I'll spare you the details, but let's just say it'll be some time before I confuse 'cow' with 'fat'!

The past few days have been a change in pace. I finally got to run the errands I'd meant to but never got around to getting done, and I finally sat down to a good discussion with my business partner. I'll keep this part under wraps for now, at least until the project's properly underway.

I'm off to email B, and then to bed hopefully by 2 a.m. It's shopping for sneakers with Lanxi tomorrow, shopping with CH on Friday, tea at Marmalade Pantry with Ceci on Saturday, and the Mount Faber walk and Botak Jones with my ex-colleagues on Sunday.

I feel so much less frazzled now that my schedule's all planned out. I know, it's the Monica in me talking again. Haha. Good night world.

P.s. If you haven't already heard, Cashmere Mafia is the new Sex and the City! I don't care if they're gonna can the season, it's awesome. I'd put it on the tv-drama pedestal, but it's already overcrowded with Grey's Anatomy and Gossip Girl. ;)

I left my heart in Temasek Polytechnic.

I left my heart in Temasek Polytechnic.
feeling: reminiscent

It was a gloomy day, one where the rain showed no intention of stopping, and you had to watch every step you took with your flipflops carefully lest you end up with rain-soaked bottoms. Bus 69 plowed through the familiar landscape and we scurried off the bus.

We had arrived. At the bus-stop where 518 took a million years to arrive, where the HTMIG held our midnight meetings when we were chased out of school compounds, where there was always the familiar joke of "You taking bus 23? Add both la," whenever bus 8 and 15 arrived concurrently.

We headed up the grey steps. Steps we've walked up and down at least a thousand times in our three years. In true TP tradition, we'd arranged to meet at our favourite "mushroom".



We mused about how our Hospitality & Tourism board looked way better when we were in charge of it, then rode up the cargo lift to the fifth floor. Down we walked through the familiar hallways. How many times have we sat around chatting while waiting for class to start? How many times have lecturers paused their lessons to come out to shush us? And into the staff office we went.

The familiar faces, some of which we used to view with trepidation (at least I did when my CPM group had to see Mr. Lee for a lit-review tutoring session, haha). Ms. Grace Chia, Mr. Nair, Mr. Aloysius Lee, Ms. Quah, Ms. Ivy Tan were there, amongst many new faces. The rest were at the Sentosa campus. And we chatted, and chatted, till our shoulders ached from the weight of our bags, and our stomachs growled from the lack of lunch.

So down we went, past the computer labs where we spent many a late night slogging through our projects, past the tennis courts where we polished our rusty skills... towards Mensa 2 for the damn shiok Western food.



What a familiar sight.



Beef goulash, chicken chop, and cherried crepes.



The familiar view overlooking the reservoir.



Now all we need is you to fill up that empty seat Jane!



I ate three shares. Hahaha.



Marc the gentleman cleared the dishes. I think I've figured out why I expect gentlemanly behavior - the Hospi guys set the standards!





I miss you.