profile Firmly believes in life after death. Secretly addicted to Gossip Girl & ATNM (oh, the shame). Finds painting own nails therapeutic. Takes an eternity to make a decision. Likes to swim. Fancies self as seasoned chef in manner of Masaharu Morimoto. Hates driving during rush hour. Feels happiest waking up to bright sunny mornings. Is afraid of cockroaches and balloons. Dislikes awkward silence. Buys too many dresses and not enough comfortable shoes. Is convinced that people only appreciate what they have to work hard for. tagboard archives February 2004 March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 January 2006 February 2006 March 2006 April 2006 May 2006 June 2006 July 2006 August 2006 September 2006 October 2006 August 2007 November 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 July 2008 August 2008 September 2008 October 2008 November 2008 December 2008 January 2009 February 2009 March 2009 April 2009 May 2009 July 2009 August 2009 September 2009 October 2009 November 2009 skin by: Jane |
Tuesday, November 24, 2009 @ 4:33 PM
Prezzies from Nepal  Fridge magnets for everyone!
 I can't get over how pretty these handmade bags are. It's like native and rustic but the colors are so modern.
 Some of the designs remind me of the doodles I tend to draw when I'm bored. Maybe that's why I like them so much, hehee.
 Did you notice all of them had a tinge of turquoise, at least? ;) One of them's for my mom, which I'll let her choose since I'm so nice. *beams*
 Handmade journals! My absolute favorite kind of souvenir. =) The musky recycled paper, the original textures of dyed rice paper... although this feels like it's made of hay. @ 3:33 PM
Lovey Dovey Story - Not for the Queasy I slow down the car, scanning the driveway for a safe place to stop. Spotting an empty space, I swerved in. Right next to the International Arrival Door 4 signboard. Perfect. 12.07pm. My phone blinks. It's from him. 'Dee the flight juz touched down. Will be out in 30mins. Muah.' A wide smile sweeps across my face. Finally! I try to imagine what he looks like after three weeks of limited civilization and hours of Should stop fantasizing. I grab the Japanese textbook (brought it along just in case I had to wait in the car) lying on the passenger seat and start to flip through the sample test questions. Finding it hard to concentrate, I glance around outside instead. Some people with huge backpacks and Teva-like sandals are pushing out of revolving Door 4. My heart skips a beat. Is it him? No. It's just a couple of shaggy-haired Mat Sallehs in very crumpled linen shirts and khaki pants. I shake my head and try to focus on the test questions. He won't be out for another 30 minutes... 12.22pm. I realize I've been on the same page for 15 minutes. I give up and toss the book to the back seat. Who am I kidding? I can't stop myself from looking outside every few minutes. Getting impatient, I lean my forehead onto the steering wheel - it feels cooling on my skin... Is that him??! I see a young man walking out of Door 4, a trolley of backpacks in front of him, a pair of dark sunglasses perched on his nose. I crane my neck further to get a better look - same height, same type of clothing style, a little pudgier than usual... but maybe he put on weight? I imagine the boyfriend so embarrassed by his weight gain that he started wearing sunglasses indoors. Oh baby! I'll never discriminate you! I will be totally understanding and not- A woman, also with sunglasses on, comes up from behind and hooks her arm onto the pudgy young man. Oh. That's not him (it'd better not be). Come to think of it, he's a little on the short side. 12.46pm. It's been more than half an hour since he texted me. What could be holding him up? Maybe someone stuffed bags of cocaine in his backpack without his knowing, and now the custom officers are doing a strip check on him?! ...Or maybe his luggages are just delayed, that happens all the time... Unless his luggages have been lost?! I catch a flash of yellow as the revolving door spins into action again. Even though I couldn't see the person properly, the figure feels familiar, the way he moves, the way he's looking left and right before pushing the trolley onto the zebra crossing... It's him! And he's scanning the crowd, his face expressionless until he sees me in my car, breaking into a grin. I jump out of the car and walk towards him, determined not to run even though I feel like skipping my way to him. He stops in front of me, and wraps his arms around me. 'I missed you.' He smells so familiar. I hug him back tightly - he's lost weight. "You lost weight," I told him, looking up at his smiling eyes as we break away from each other and walk towards the car. "Ya? Alot ah?" I circled my arms around him and gave him another squeeze. "Uh huh." "Yaa, I lost 5kg! Crazy trip. You know we only ate dahl and bread everyday?? And 14 hours of non-stop trekking, but the..." And we're back to normal. =) Tuesday, November 17, 2009 @ 8:07 PM
Just When I Needed A Chuckle GShyn: So how's Andrea doing? Me: He's OK. They're on their way down now. Some of his teammates got AMS though. Johnny: Oooh that's very dangerous. It usually happens at night. Me: Yeah, they had to carry the people with AMS down, cannot go any further up. J: Waah, that serious ar. Last time in KK, my friend got G: But usually you'll know right? When you have PMS? Me & J: Huh? G: I mean, you can count right, when are the days and everything. Me: ...It's AMS, not PMS. G: Oh. LOL~. Note: AMS is short for Acute Mountain Sickness. Monday, November 16, 2009 @ 11:21 PM
Day Out With Mommy  Getting our hair done. She wanted to straigthen her hair, I wanted to perm mine.
 Don't put up these pictures on that blog of yours!
My mom's gonna kill me for this. XD @ 11:14 PM
Excuse Me, I Need to Wallow  Him wearing my favorite shirt, in my favorite cafe.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009 @ 3:53 PM
Daddy Don't Cry His steps were hurried, almost clumsy as he moved past the doors and approached my grandma, pausing abruptly at the edge of the bed. Bending down slowly, he took her hand into his own. She didn’t move. Ma, he called out gently, as if to wake her up. No response. He repeated his call, this time shaking her a little; her eyes remained close, her toothless mouth slightly open. I knelt down beside my dad as he continued to shake her, refusing to believe despite holding her limp body in his arms. I could sense the stubbornness in his actions, irrational and desperate like a child determined to prove everyone wrong. His eyes were glassy, his face flushed red from trying to hold the tears. I bit my lip to keep from sobbing aloud – seeing my calm and grown-up father losing it was heart-wrenching. Slowly, he gave up, a look of defeat in his tear-stricken face. Lovingly, he clasped her hands together on top of her stomach, and pulled the blanket over her body. I reached over to caress her forehead, grazing her grey hair gently. A fresh flood of tears threatened to fall as I remembered how she used to pat her unruly hair defensively whenever I teased her about her ‘lioness’ hair. We'll never forget you, Popo.  Her back was aching that day, so we built a pillow tower for her to lean on.Friday, October 23, 2009 @ 3:56 PM
With Colleagues Like These I got in the office and there was a stranger at my desk. Sitting on my chair. Using my Mac computer. Puzzled, I walked up next to her and asked, "Umm, Hi. You are...?" "Ohh! You must be Cindy. I'm new. Matt said I could sit here, and to tell you that he's changed your desk somewhere else." Turning to my far right, I narrowed my eyes suspiciously - sure enough, a few cubicles away, Matt was gesturing to the seat next to him. "Your new desk is here, Ms Cindy." He could hardly keep his face straight. I shook hands with the new girl, apologizing for the mix-up, and marched towards the culprit. I noticed all my belongings were already there - my water bottle, my stationery, etc. "I go on leave for a few days and you transferred me?!" "Here better la. Now you can hang out with us all the time." He snickered. Sitting beside him, Kenny looked up from his computer screen and laughed out loud, "He means he can kacau you easier now. No need to throw paper balls or flash laser lights." "And it's so much easier to shoot you with our Nerf guns at close range," Ben, the third musketeer sitting in front of us chimed in, a huge grin on his face. "Faster do work la, ng sai jou ar," Matt chided casually, his eyes intent on his Mac. Shrugging to myself, I switched on my computer, anxious about my document files. I clicked on My Documents, and was immediately bombared with a full-screen video of an obese man dancing to some Euro-techno music - wearing nothing but a pair of boxer-shorts. And the volume was on full blast. I tried to switch off the video but it was too late. People around were turning around to look. The three guys were holding their stomachs, leaning on each other for support as they tried to catch their breaths from laughing so hard. "YOU GUYS!" I practically yelled, my cheeks burning red from all the unwanted attention. "I... I.. I din know you were into fat men, Cindy," one of them managed to speak in between guffaws. "What's all this for!?" I tried to maintain a stony face, but it was hard to stay mad for long - They'd always asked me to move to that cubicle with them; I just didn't know how much they meant it. "See? We make you happy early in the morning, so nice." "Yaya, so nice. Thanks for the welcome-back," I smiled sarcastically, and tried to get back to work as everyone quieten down. All the icons on the Desktop led to the Dancing Fat Man Video, each evoking a bigger laugh than the last from the jokers. Serious, with colleagues like these...?? Friday, October 09, 2009 @ 12:23 PM
gaah What do you do if you found a homemade sex video featuring a friend (or two) of yours? Brainstorm with bf/gf for ways to blackmail newly-discovered porn stars Go through the videos to see what kinky stuff they do Wish for a barf bag and nausea pill Christmas gift ideas for Porn Star Couple: Hair-removal/waxing vouchers Resist the urge to call out “MANSLUT!” when face to face with Mr. Porn Star Scarred for life by image of Mrs. Porn Star humping a pillow Tuesday, September 22, 2009 @ 4:08 PM
Lunch Hour Fantasies The girl let out a frustrated groan, ready to claw the arrogant face only two feet away from her. Instead, she took a deep breath, and snapped her fingers. Three well-dressed men appeared beside her in one practiced motion, decked out in Ray-bans and Armani suits. One of them reached into his inside pocket for a bejeweled metal box and flipped it open, revealing tidy rows of clean, unlit cigarettes. No. 1 took out a stick and placed it gently into her awaiting mouth. As soon as he stepped back into line with the other two, No. 2 walked towards her with a gold lighter in hand, lighting her cigarette swiftly but carefully. The cigarette bud lit up brightly as she inhaled deeply, savoring the first puff before letting it out by the corner of her mouth, tilting her head upward as she did so. A heavy silence fell upon the room as she continued to smoke, deliberately not saying a word till the right moment. Her boss sat up from her chair and fidgeted with her bangles, visibly shaken by the unusual display of attitude. “What’s all this?” The girl nodded her head discreetly; No. 3 stepped forth, a white envelop in his hand. He placed it in front of her boss slowly and went back in line. Neatly typed on the envelop – “Letter of Resignation”. The girl took a last puff, put out the incinerating bud on the boss’s leather notebook, and walked out of the room, the three men following her closely behind. Wednesday, September 09, 2009 @ 11:58 AM
Touché We were brainstorming for a contest name. “How about The Shopaholic Contest?” I suggested, sneaking a peek at her Macbook screen. 12.34pm. My stomach growled as if on cue. “The word’s too negative. It implies that the shopper is diseased, flawed or something,” she explained as she fiddled the hems of her short tartan skirt. Worn over a pair of black lacy leggings so new I almost expected the price tag on it. “Just because a person loves to shop doesn't mean she has no control over her own shopping habits,” she continued a little too defensively. “Right?” she tilted her head towards my direction, a slight edge in her voice. I looked up from the flowery doodles on my notepad and nodded obligingly. “People shop because they love to.” She toyed with her gaudy gold bracelets (also new) absentmindedly, staring off to space. “It’s a hobby, something you do to make yourself happy.” “I hate it when people use that word. It’s so negative.” Hoo-kay. I think I hit a nerve there. |