Since young

"Even at the age of eight, she would fall asleep pressing one hand into the other and making believe she was holding the hand of the man whom she loved, the man of her life. So if in her sleep she pressed Tomas’s hand with such tenacity, we can understand why: She had been training for it since childhood."

Milan Kundeva, “The unbearable lightness of being”

The coolest macbook cover

Been wanting to post this for awhile. COOL SHIT!






lovely lovely Wednesday delight.




via http://www.twelvesouth.com/products/bookbook/

"I dream, sometimes that is the only right thing to do."

"Dream a little dream of me" - I never knew these lyrics could be so haunting.At 3am I gave up, knowing that even if I made it through the night, quality will be low and I won't survive today. Tonight's production night and I can only choose to give my best.

Ironically I was staying up reading Murukami's quotes, which I figure it's time I let him take a back seat - too distracting.
A dinner session with Libing saw the the possibility of a new read, "The unbearable lightness of being". The book is an easy read, divided into "sections" such as "body & soul" and the what nots. I can see myself reading it and listening to Dashboard's "Screaming Infidelities".

Hurukami haunts me, his quotes, and my personal association of various objects with him.
I saw X & Y both entered my dream, they took the same approach, like badly cast male leads acted out by novice actors.
One minute I was wandering, the second I was sitting in an antique bookstore, sharing a read.
Out of nowhere, you popped out. Walking by me as if I were a ghost, but the truth is, you are the ghost in my life.

And so when the alarm rang at 8am, I saw it as a relief.
Because I don't want to acknowledge this existence of us. I might reject the notion of being engulfed by a fragment of my imagination, but neither do I want to come to terms with the fading thread that is linking us together.

I prefer a daydream, not a haunting dark moment that is a reflection of the reality.

So I dream,yet again, because no matter what, that is the only right thing to do.

Your drug mule.

And I realised that you have been like a druglord, and I, a mere runner. A mere runner of unimportance. A drug mule some would call. You have many of those, little drug mules that come along offering their services for an intangible joy of smelling your cigarette infested breathe, hearing your throaty voice and glancing at your rugged and worn face. I am at your mercy, your disposal and your service.

Did you know the death of the drug mule is caused by the drug lord?

I knew I was walking into a mistake the moment we met.

A fragment of my imagination

I need you to hear me from your heart.
Then let me know this is not a fragment of my imagination.
That is my only remedy.


via http://nincompoopsie.livejournal.com/

Please, Don't

Don't withdraw away from me just because I'm being critical.
I'll like to hear your voice even though we disagree.

It's so easy to sit around and wait for you to remember me.

["Near To You" by A Fine Frenzy]


This week is "bump-into-all-your-crushes week".
Bumping into Mr Copy-writer from XX advert company and Mr Geeky whom I was obsessed about for 3 years in Ngee Ann, was a pleasant surprise. No actually it was more than pleasant, it induced a mild adrenalin, the kind that brings about a euphoria.

Looking back they were dumb crushes, but they made my day.

A chance encounter on the bus, being trapped in the lift together - they were very much movie-like except that it did not blossom into some kind of fairytale ending, or start, for the matter. I guess we needed so much more than the power of coincidence, I guess we needed a spark. (AH it so did not happen).

Mr Geeky threw me a salute as I went down the stairs, and him, up the escalator. He was adorable. It was as if I took a glimpse into the past, one that pumped a wave of nostalgia into my heart.

Mr Copywriter is his usual smiley self, reserved but sincere, he hasn't changed but boy HAVE I CHANGED.

....

"Baby" has come back to me. It its tangible self, it was the best thought of the day.
This hall magazine kept me smiling all night. I savoured every page of the magazine in quick glances, every moment tasted like a delicacy. Sheer delight. A success. A True Success by my Standards.

Prior to receiving my bundle of joy–the hall magazine–I went through a mind gruelling 9am-6.30pm in school.
Stuck with thoughts that could only be deciphered by some kind of higher order.
But I came to a conclusion.

My passion is cheap, my love is real but something's gonna give.
There's no fragment of light at the end of the tunnel, no chance this decision requires any further thought.
On my declaration form there will be one name, and one name only.
And it's not going to be "Journalism". No more journalism modules (unless it's design related).
I will write as an indulgence, I will write to fill up a space in the paper, I will edit for a greater cause, but it will never be a passion.
Now listed under "hobbies", it will be a part of my life I bury along with those overflowing thoughts of Ngee Ann. (Don't get me wrong, I'm not burying the NP experience, but just the unbearable feeling that it will never be like the way it was).

I mentally dug a grave and buried "Journalism".
As I prepared for an interview, I arranged my portfolio with a one-track mind and put my journalist pieces right at the very end. It has become something I disclose with much unease. PR WRITING PLEASE!

From Lelove

I thought it would be a great idea to ignore Facebook and Blogger for awhile.
Then I had to CHANCE UPON THIS POST in Lelove.
Bear in mind I DID NOT POST THIS. But it's a train of thought I've been toying around for awhile, deciding if I should post this "rant-on" kinda post. Ahhhh my guy friends will be disappointed in me. HAHA.




So a good guy friend of mine tried to explain to me that guys and girls can't be friends... Which really pissed me off. I tried to brush it off since he has just been dumped. He said, "there are four relationships girls fit into Mother, Sister, Girlfriend and Replacement Girlfriend, guess which one you fit into. I replied that I hoped to fit into the sister but I'm guessing I don't.

Replacement girlfriend. I got really angry at his response. Why? Well in a lot of ways it's true but I had never looked at it in that light. I always looked at it as it was just another asshole guy using me or, sometimes like I was the stepping stone for another relationship some kind of girl version of "good luck chuck." It was painful to come to that realization. There were sad moments when I felt that all guys saw in me was sex maybe now it's just that they see good traits in me but nothing that could solidify me as a girlfriend type. Maybe I'm just another bragging right kind of hook up. It sucks to watch a guy you really cared for in another relationship shortly after whatever you had ended. Always trying to laugh it off thinking, it can't last, he jumped into that one so quickly...then kicking yourself a year or two later when they are still together.

What's worse is that one time when you happen to be at the same party as the two of them. The whole time you try to ignore them and look like you're having the time of your life when you really want to sprint out the door and find a place to shed a few tears. Then the once time you risk a glance he's looking at her in a way he once glanced at you but it's even better than when he glanced at you because there is so much more care in the way he looks at her. Then you stop and think wow...why couldn't that be me yet, at the same time you realize he cares for her so much more than he ever did and a feeling of inadequacy settles in. Makes it hard to hope that it won't be the same story the next time. The next time you talk to a somewhat cute nice guy you find yourself wondering how long he would stick around before disappearing like the rest. Yet somehow I still hope to have a real relationship where I am not just a temporary replacement where I am the real thing that actually matters.

with hope for love,

Leila
POSTED BY LE LOVE AT 11:35 PM 20 COMMENTS




It does not represent how I feel exactly, but it does strike a cord with my thoughts a couple of months ago with XXXX (Keaty & XY will know who). These days I've proceed to being the emotional and CONFESSIONAL arm of my guy friends, can't say I hate it, it works out somehow. I guess thats really a million times better than being the "good luck chuck".

In university, its so damn hard to make friends with the girls in my batch (year 1s...1990..) In the middle of conversations sometimes I go "WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS GIRL TALKING ABOUT". Ah should not discriminate.KARMA can be a bitch if you're one.

Smile of the day.

makes me smile.
via http://www.fubiz.net/2009/06/23/middle-school-program/

so Long

THIS CRACKED ME UP. FYI we were talking about OLIVER from the XX.
Long legs long legs long legs...

Rainy days with Coffee and Cigarettes.

It's pouring, and my playlist is spinning the maddest saddest songs.
Franz Ferdinard finally decided to make their exit, the Kooks got tired they stopped playing, and Florence finally stopped healing my heart. Michelle Featherstone took over the stage with her unwillingness to dispose of coffee and cigarettes. Ah, don't we love vices.

We are what we are, possess my heart ok?

"The potential of you and me It's like a book elegantly bound But in a language you can't read just yet"

Or so Death Cab Sings.

I left the door ajar, for rain to find its way to me.
I left the door ajar, for inspiration to creep right in.
I left the door ajar, for you to find your way to me.

* I was listening to the rain and admiring its amazing grace when some weird ass senior neighbour emerged from the opposite side. I eyed him from the corner of my eye and he threw me a very dirty look IT'S NOT A CRIME TO BE BASKING IN THE BEAUTY OF RAIN OK just because you don't appreciate it doesn't mean I CAN'T! *

The talk of flaws.

Which is worst, Seeing no flaws? Or falling in love with every flaw?

Honestly I can't decide.


Enlighten me.

Remember me, almost lover.

Finally, a story in which romance did not touch my heart, but instead bonds did.

The screenwriter's haunting screenplay puts me in a trance, and is a remembrance of an incident that shook the world. It is a master piece, if you can only see/read the meaning behind of every quote, every scene and every kiss, every decision. It was never about Robert Pattison, well I do love his strong and masculine back, and that abundance of facial hair, but this was not about him.

Li Bing was right: "I think this is a movie we'll always talk about." - she said that even before we watched the show.

I left the theatre with my eyeliner almost wiped out, and with my heart settled down on the grounds of New York City. I will visit that city, I will. And with a tagline like LIVE THE MOMENTS - similar to that of my own, my soul was taken instantly.

There were funny moments as well. My laugh erupted all the way down from my little toe.

Ally Craig: I don't date sociology majors.
Tyler: Lucky for you... I'm undecided.
Ally Craig: About what?
Tyler: Everything.

//

Tyler: If you could hear me, I would say that our finger prints don't fade from the lives we've touched.

//

So it has been decided that I would be called Ally. Not Ellie, Elly or Allie. But Ally. Ally Mcbeal Ally.


Moments with beer, mustard and pizza, and A fine frenzy's "Almost lovers", was a perfect wrap-up to a day filled with shameless thoughts, philo moments and a heartbreak that would last till sunday night.


Goodbye, my almost lover
Goodbye, my hopeless dream
I'm trying not to think about you
Can't you just let me be?
So long, my luckless romance
My back is turned on you
I should've known you'd bring me heartache
Almost lovers always do

- A fine Frenzy "Almost Lovers"

I have written about you before.

I picked this up from a random blog I've chanced upon.

"I have written about you before. I will write about you again. For that is the only time I can ever have spent with you."

This is the very problem that persists.

.

I write to you over and over again, like time never mattered and as if you were reading all of this.
You never let me know if it's getting better.
And I keep writing.
It's as if I'm writing to the old grand auntie who is about to make her exit out of this world.
The frequency high, afraid that I will miss the opportunity for any moment together on ink.
But I write with a burning desire to be completed.
Reciprocality is my nemesis.
My saviour no one but myself, no one but a clear-minded train of thought.

Sometimes I objectify you, but it is the most tangible aspect of you that can ever happen to me.
I take time to paint a picture of you.
Many a times, I give up half-way, deterred by the fact there are too many missing gaps I cannot fill of you.
Longing is unrequited, not love. So says my muse.

and so we quote: "I have written about you before. I will write about you again. For that is the only time I can ever have spent with you."

Slit wrist beauty.

I think it'll be nice to fall out of love for a change and to answer these questions, to speak about it in greater detail.

It seems harder these days to find someone and ask, ‘ if you were to spend the rest of your life alone in seclusion but with a choice of books, film or music to take with you, which would it be?”

It seems impossible these days to find someone and ask, ‘ if you had to spend the rest of your life with every memory of identifiable sadness as opposed to a shattering void, what would it be?’


I see my muse is a lonely soul ready to slit his wrists.
There is beauty in your thoughts, the way you ink your words, the idea that we live in a world distant from everyone else and yet we're forced to be LIKE EVERYONE. For companionship is vital for survival.

Good Bye "Niners"

I guess this is how it ends.
I mean, hasn't it always ended like this?
"Ending with a bang" - that does not exist in my kinda projects.

It starts like this.
You keep it in your mind for days at a go. You're inspired by every single thing that can make it better, aesthetically.

You inspire everyone else in the project. You communicate, mis-communicate, you frown over it, smile and meet somewhere in the middle. You agree to disagree for a greater good.

You fall asleep thinking about this project and wake up working on it.
You become obsessive and compulsive (I do anyway).

And gradually you become a collective form with your team mate and call yourselves "we". And you stumble into sudden closeness. When it ends, this becomes a sudden retreat. Inevitable, except for Sandy and I.

This is the closest I've ever felt to doing a creative project of sorts in Ngee Ann.
It was something remotely similar. The company was almost close, the project was without a doubt the best I've done. It was fun, there were bouts of excitement throughout. I ate less and fed more on my creative juices.

We learnt to "bleed", crash into crisis – in which for once I'm no longer a problem solver. We learnt about competency and intellectual exchange. Baby you keep us awake.

So baby baby, as we put you to sleep today, will you promise not to make a sound? GO smoothly to the printers and come back safely in my arms when you're all pretty and tangible.
I'll be waiting.

Hear hear

Rainy days with Coldplay.

Where is that "big love" The XX was singing about?

The rain brings the smell of the wet grass we used to walk on,
the sounds we use to fall asleep to,
the wet breeze we use to smile about.
The rain is here, but where are you now?

I feel a rush, to listen to that all-too-familiar Coldplay.

Nothing good happens after 3am.

Today feels like this:






:

Tinted Lens.

Confessing to being a selfish brat is self-indulgence.
I miss the company of xinyu and keat, the lessons they teach me and the way they treat me.
The day was spent drifting in and out the hall and thinking about them.
Best friends are funny people, they seem to know what you are thinking.
In the evening I received a text from xinyu about a meet-up.
sadly I had MDA essay, Hegwig, Chron, the com202 quiz and PUB stuffs to last through the week.
Not forgetting Saturday's white party at Pan Pacific.
At least we were all thinking about each other. That is a huge relief.


.
Everyone leaves.
The question is, do they come back to you again?
I can;t help but feel bitter about what and where we are now, a far cry from who we were and had.
So many heartbreaks, and zero healing sessions.
I wish we could all win.
Can you see me through your tinted lens?

Saturday - craft and nostalgia

SATURDAY IS CRAFTS DAY !!
A case of rash left me struggling for cool air and zero-perspiration

Decided to hang out at Chong's place - she had all the tools I needed to finish my "work".
Of course, I never fail to leave her house with some goodies.



MY PREETTTTTY POUCH, THANKS AH LIBING!
Although I super thick-skin and asked for it.
but it was so irresistible....
She handmade it, so its my precious ONE-OF-A-KIND pouch!



And "craft".
I need a trip to good ole popular for vanguardddddd sheet!


We attempted to watch 2 movies.
Being MURUKAMI fans, I was excited to share my latest find "All God's Children Can Dance" - based on Murukami's short story. Well apparently it was so avant-garde it put us to sleep.

Girls simply cannot stand looking at a male lead that is constantly turned-on and goes about banging a photocopier.


Abstract Norwegian production la...


Aaron Kwok's very complicated production...MURDERER
We came to a conclusion that HongKong movies are so full of potential, great location-scouting, actors (GORGEOUS) but some how they have bad climax la.
This movie was such a good scare and good laugh altogether. One of the locations really looked liked the shithole that I lived in when I was in Hong Kong.



The first scene took place in somewhere like here.
Yeah I was in that shithole for a couple of months, imagine creaky lifts, narrow dirty walkways and did I tell you someone jumped to their death there? Holymother.

Familiarity in Strangeness.

Beer makes the world go round, believe it or not.

My devastating FAIL in newswriting was actually a blessing in disguise.
It has brought me closer to certain like-minded individuals, funny, quirky, outspoken JOURN people.
As much as I try to brunch out and get a "variety" of friends, every attempt only brings me closer to the like-minded people.
It reminds me of my low tolerance for stupidity - Journ people are just different.
SO DIFFERENT.
Finally I can venture back into the world of analysing articles, thinking about scoops and big stories.
I feel at ease and happy.
It's all happening, it's all coming together.
I'm no way closer to nirvana but I see a joy ride ahead.

Perhaps there will be more mambo nights, drinking sessions, mahjong and splendid meals ahead.

La dolce far niente

A morning of robust energy.
An afternoon of sweetness contained in void.
A spectacular night of cravings and company consumed swiftly by the heat of the night.



"la dolce far niente"


The heart of life is good.