And i miss you, I wish you woulda put yourself in my suitcase.

Yesterday I felt so weak. None of my close friends had arrived in Canberra yet, and for some inexplicable reason, I desperately wanted to see a familiar, friendly face. I had yet to unpack my bags, there were heavy boxes that needed to be moved, and groceries to shop for. I was so overwhelmed I went for a walk, got a little lost, teared up abit, and found my way back a few hours later. Then I went on the interweb, where I looked at photos and for awhile pretended I was back home with my family and friends again. Which actually made me even more unhappy. Canberra suddenly felt so vast and foreign; I almost wished I could take the next plane back. After all, my bags were already packed and noone would really know I was missing.

It’s so easy and tempting for me to say “I hate this place”, but I won’t. Because today was relatively good, and the days ahead can only get better. I managed to move the boxes myself (in several painful trips), unpack my bags in record time and shop for groceries as well. And tomorrow dear Shan is arriving, so I’m jolly excited. Classes start tomorrow too, so to distract myself I’ve been scrutinizing my course guides. How nerdy, I know.

Here is a picture of my room. It's still quite messy, but this is probably about as neat as it can get.



Here's to a good week ahead.

Isn't she lovely?

These are from an old (sometime last year, I think) series of shots of Milla Jovovich taken by Matt Jones in Elle Italy. And rather than tell you how distracted and tired I’ve been lately, I’ll just let you admire her instead.











Exhausted as I am though, I've had quite a good week. Meeting friends, playing with baby, shopping for CNY. Oh and before I forget, meet the newest member of my family:



His name is Daiso, and he is a 10-month-old Chihuahua. He gets along fabulously with my mum and likes reading the Money section of the newspaper. I'm joking, but he does enjoy getting his chin tickled.

Incidentally, purely for your amusement, Zy and baby were racing around a field a few days back (we're trying to train her to be an athlete because she's so energetic and stubborn). And although there were some guys playing soccer in the middle, I stupidly cried out "Go baby!!". Oh man, the stares. Yes I wish I could be less brainless sometimes too.

Other than that, life is good. Hanging out with old friends, trying out new eating places, painting. I just wish I knew what it is that's wearing me out.

Haitian Girl

I like this beautiful print by David Choe, which was made to support relief efforts in Haiti. It's a lingering image.

A few hours ago, as ZY and I were sitting in HK cafe eating our dinner, I asked her a question that had been floating around in my head. "Do I give off a vibe that I need to be taken care of?" She replied yes and no, it's just that being taken care of seems to be embedded ("a bedrock") in my existence. And it was something I've thought for some time, but it still made me sad to have it articulated nonetheless. I always had the secret thought that people were being rather careful around me. Which may be why I had been drawn before to people who showed a casual disregard for my well-being. I don't know what my point is. These days, my thoughts seem to dig up more questions than answers.

Oh incidentally, when ZY was eating her dinner, she proudly showed me a piece of fried luncheon meat she intended to eat (because her diet is known to be insanely healthy and she wanted to prove she eats unhealthy things too). And after offering me a bite, here was what she leftover:She barely ate it! Unhealthy, my foot.

Why do we keep shrieking, when we mean soft things? We should be whispering all the time.

I’ve always been quite dreadful in conflicts. My natural instinct is always to run and hide, even if it would make the situation worse. When I was young, whenever my parents fought (especially if it concerned me), I would camp out under the study table in my room and use my blanket to make a tent. Sometimes I would bring a torchlight in to read, or a radio to listen to (I would switch it on really loud until nothing else could be heard. I think that’s why I’m slightly deaf.) This has always been a weakness of mine, that I would irrationally avoid any form of argument and conflict, even to the extent of moving out. Or how a straightforward, reasoned debate on immigration in Singapore would make me consider jumping into the nearby drain. But I know I’m not that kid anymore, and I can’t keep finding study tables in my life to hide under.

Class is starting in two weeks, and I’m fairly excited for my courses this semester. I’m taking Creative Writing, Developmental Psych, Social Psych and Australian Foreign Policy. The one I’m most wary about though, is Creative Writing. Not because I hate writing, but we have to do “oral critiques” of each other’s work. I hate the idea of passing judgment on someone else’s work for participation marks, and I can almost see myself taking it way too personally. But I’m telling myself it’ll be a good practice, for life outside the bubble.

It’s almost Chinese New Year too, and I’m steeling myself for the onslaught of visiting relatives. I was just mentioning to a friend, that in almost every major life choice I make, they (my relatives) are always standing at the back of head whispering. I wish it wasn’t so, but it does matter a lot to me what they think, especially when I know they judge my family based on my irresponsible choices. When I decided to take another major in English, in my head I was already trying to justify this choice to them during CNY. I don’t know why the opinions of people we see only once a year matter so much, but they do.

Random find of the day: I love these photographs by Kevin Van Aelst. It makes you feel like it’s actually not that hard to see art in everyday things.


Driving At Night.


One Heartbeat.

In the meantime though, have a good week!

I really believed before this, that the reason why I didn’t write was because I had no time. But that wasn’t it at all. Because really? I was scared.

It’s hard feeling so vulnerable to the open world. Some days I just sit in front of my laptop and my mind wanders. Other days I’ll write something about my life, but delete it at the last minute. But the most common thing that happens is that I would write and rewrite until the person I'm writing about becomes unrecognizable, and my fingers would paralyze in a passing moment. I would imagine all the people who aren’t into me standing in a stiff line whispering my scandalous secrets under their breath. And then you stop yourself from writing, or tell yourself that there are better things that can be done with your time, that you need more inspiration, more thoughts, more something. And pretty soon those feelings snowball, and you’re left with a wealth of excuses and countless drafts of the same ideas.

I’m not sure why I’m bringing this up, maybe because it can get suffocating living in that bubble. You can’t write something meaningful unless you’re willing to be yourself. In the end the only thing we can do is to be brave.