Laughter is the best medicine.

Laughter is the best medicine.



I was just thinking the other day that it has been awhile since I had a real, hearty laugh. Not one of those half-hearted (read: polite) sniggers or giggles, but the kind that leaves you gasping for air as quakes of humor send the body into uncontrollable shakes.

And then I saw a clip from last Thursday's KTV session, where a very dear friend danced (the exact MTV steps mind you!) to a teeny bopper song with the comfortable confidence of countless afternoons of practice.

It brought tears to my eyes.

Louisiana Sunday afternoon.

Louisiana Sunday afternoon.


inmagine.com

How I enjoyed my Sunday! It's the first since the semester started that I didn't feel obligated to pick up my media law readings or go about hammering out yet another article draft. My third piano student postponed her lesson too, so I had an additional hour to enjoy the weekend without any niggling feeling of work-guilt at the back of my mind.

P and I spent an hour breathing in books in the library, and I've now got a stack waiting to be devoured. And that was just what I did after I got home in the evening - snuggle up in bed to read some wine literature until I dozed off. There's a quiet luxury about napping on Sunday evenings, slipping into sleep when the skies are bright and waking to the sunset's last embers.

But now, back to family obligations now that the exams are over. My sister's off in the front line jumping through fire loops (Mom's foul mood). Ecks.

Swing swing, swing the spinning step.

Swing swing, swing the spinning step.


You wear those shoes and I will wear that dress.

picture from here

The dreaded exams are over, and the girls and I celebrated with cheap beer and free bar grub at Brewerkz last night. I don't know if the bunch of us can ever be in the same room without starting what seems like our traditional game of Cantonese charades! All I can say is I'm glad the impromptu session of hoarse karaoke screaming didn't leave any permanent damage to my voice box.

However, FYP looms beyond the post-exams glow and my babes and I will be working through the weekend. Not ideal for our first weekend of freedom but hey, at least we'll be one step closer to completing the tedious project. For now, I'm just done editing the privacy settings on my Facebook account. I've decided that wearing my heart on my sleeve may not always be the best thing to do, and I've limited a lot of info and pictures to a select 16 people. :)

Off to the shower and to that triple-date with the babes. Happy Friday!

Thank God for my macaron girlfriend.

Thank God for my macaron girlfriend.



K's back from her Switzerland sabbatical and bless her soul, brought yet another box of Laduree back. No better food to celebrate the end of exams with, me thinks. And it's good to have the girlfriend back.

Which leads me to another point - Even girls don't always understand girls do we? Some friends we'll stick our neck out for; others leave us wondering just what the fuck they are thinking. But I refuse to let that stop me from savoring my night of fleeting freedom.

Missed and missing.

Missed and missing.

I've been missed, and I am missing, and it feels good in a bittersweet way. But you know what guys, the exams are over and I am back! Will elaborate in the next entry as I'm headed out catch a play.

P.s. I'll be helping a friend out with a digital campaign so don't panic if you check back here and there's a full page World Aids Day ad you can't get rid of. :)

Ramen respite.

Ramen respite.


picture from here

It's the first day of a craaaaazzzy week with a pile of project work waiting to be settled. Juggling exams and FYP really ain't easy - not so much with time management but with mental compartmentalization - but we can't say our seniors didn't warn us. I guess I didn't expect just how much energy a project can actually require, but it seems like we're on track for now so I'm thankful for that.

My last paper of the semester, and my second last paper of my school life (I hope!) is scheduled for Wednesday, but the eight-day break between my papers has made me all jittery and I keep having nightmares about completely missing the paper. Silly, I know.

Anyway, we took a short respite from the gloomy Monday with The Ramen Girl on dvd. I've come to expect little of movies fronted by Brittany Murphy, but this was actually quite enjoyable, possibly because it's about food. The Aussie grad trip is in the works, but I may just snap up those Tokyo tickets if they're ever on sale and pay Ran and those ramen shops a visit.

Slurp.

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?

Let's talk about food.

Let's talk about food.

I haven't felt this motivated for awhile now when it comes to school, but the recent journalism assignments have sent me into a writing tizzy. Despite the frustrations, I'm fueled by the inexplicable adrenaline rush that comes from writing and rewriting my way towards my idea of perfection. I'm currently waist-deep in my cuttings book of food feature ideas for Magazine Publishing, and I thought I should rest my aching back and marker-stained fingers for a spot of blogging, which I've neglected of late.

And what better catharsis for food-related workaholism than an entry on food? Here's my overdue entry on my birthday dinner at Iggy's. I used to eschew snooty dining establishments, but dating a gourmet's changed all of that. And surprise, surprise - I actually quite enjoy the occasional dose of quality dining. The service was personable but not intrusive, the seasonal menu was served in just-right sizeable portions, and it was a treat to dress up after roughing it out in Vietnam.

No bad comments at all really, so enjoy the visual feast!


The October menu.


Hamachi - radish, sesame and fine herbs


Autumn Salad - with mushroom varieties, dehydrated mesclun and an uplifting citrus foam


My personal favourite - Sanma with wild rice, olive and thyme


Spaghettini - simple but tasty zucchini and smoked mullet roe


Lobster - with oats, gizzards and fennel


Tomato palate cleanser I didn't fancy because of my genuine dislike of the fruit


Wagyu - served with lady's fingers, trumpet mushrooms and tapenade


Feijoa - Gin and lime


Coffee - with banana, milk ice cream, passion fruit and Mascarpone


My little birthday cake


Lemon petit fours

I'm not mean; I'm tired.

I'm not mean; I'm tired.


image from mrmen.com

I've been uncharacteristically mean of late. I'm not saying that I'm Little Miss Nice the rest of the time, but a touch of nasty has seeped into my replies several times this past week.

I haven't been sleeping well and my speech filter has been going on sudden temporary sleep-mode. All week long, I've ended up blurting things only to mentally picture hammering myself over the head. No one's hurt (yet) I think, but I'm really sorry if I've been rude. I don't dislike you - I'm just tired.

Bleak.

Bleak.

Words fail to describe the crippling pain that engulfs when you lose a loved one. I haven't experienced that since my grandmother passed away when I was nine, and we weren't even that close. However, the man slowly fading from my grasp is someone who's stood by me all these years. He's the person I call whenever I need company on a Saturday night, and the one who patiently endures my romantic grievances over coffee and carrot cake.

Seeing him barely lucid on the bed and a fraction of his jovial self leaves me helpless, but praying for him to have the strength to endure more pain seems ironically inhumane.

Would it be right to instead ask for his liberation?

Expression.

Expression.


image from inmagine.com

When put into words, everything seems peachier in retrospect.

Riding Poppy.

Riding Poppy.

Today, I tore the plastic wrap off my candyfloss pink bicycle and christened it Poppy. There's something wonderfully hippie-ish about candy-colored bicycles, especially one that comes with a basket, and Poppy makes me think of riding aimlessly along fields of wildflowers with the wind in my hair.


image from inmagine.com

Turns out that the refresher course I needed didn't take that long, even though Poppy had a mind of her own at the beginning. I made P let go after awhile and I was soon riding in happy circles around the empty carpark. I'm still a little shaky and Poppy seems to favour freewheeling towards pillars, but we're all injury-free and I'm a step closer to that wildflower daydream.

It's been an emotionally draining weekend, but having the wind in my hair and the brief feeling of freedom put the smile right back on my face. I can't wait for our next bike date!

Limbo.

Limbo.

The first came as a shock, the second quite abruptly. The subsequent three brought surprise and resignation. I've skirted around the issue of visiting since my return, and just when I braced myself for today's visit, came the sixth this morning.

Numb seems appropriate yet inappropriate an emotion. The anxiety from the initial stages have ebbed but it is not quite indifference we are feeling even though we've been living in a limbo for awhile now.

What can we do, but wait?

My pink bicycle and lemon sorbet.

My pink Signora and lemon sorbet.



I've been meaning to revisit the riding skills I picked up two years ago under the tutelage of Jins and Jared. My new pink bicycle will allow me to do just that in the privacy of the multi-storey carpark, away from embarrassing stares I'm certain I'll get at public parks. And did I mention it comes with a basket?

Excuse me while I attempt to stay upright and eat lemon sorbet at the same time...