Cloud-Juice

Reminiscence

2010-02-09T17:40:00.012Z

Wednesday, 10th February 2010
1.45am

Since we are on the topic of Reminiscence, I shall tell you an old story about a story.

I believe the year was 2002. I entered a competition called the '48 Hour Short Story Competition'.The topic if I remember correctly (I could be delusional here) to do with some sort of humourous piece in relation to Christmas.

I did not win first prize but I won second prize. It was an obscure and terribly amature piece of work, but I believe written with all the vigour that a person at that age could have mustered in 48 hours.

I was subsequently asked to write comments on the competition/work/other works. The organizers never contacted me after the commentary I made. I include this commentary at the end of the piece.

Its very well that I never became a writer I guess.

This piece is for Astro Boy. I think you might like this one.Its your kind of thing. Happy Valentines Day and Happy Chinese New Year. You may not understand my pain, but you are always by my side.

CHRISTMAS MORNING
written and published online in December 2002

I’d been running so fast, I almost missed the corner. I scrambled for a moment to back step, while trying to keep my balance. It was difficult running in 5-inch heels and floor length gown. I had to hold up the hem of my dress as I ran. The sound of my pointy heels echoing loudly on the white marble flooring. I could have taken them off, but there was no time to waste. Every second was a matter of life and death. Great. Just Great. With all the racket I was making, there’d be here in no time.

I’d been running so fast, that this time, I forgot to stop. With the little surface area that my shoes covered, there was no way I could have braked on this lustrous floor in time, even if I had tried stopping a few metres off. There wasn’t much of a crash as my body slammed into the door at the end of the corridor. The door, as I’d found out by now, was wooden. Better wood then glass I thought. My vision was blurring but voices coming from somewhere far off awakened my senses. I was up on my feet in no time, pounding away at the door. It was locked. And I was minced meat if I didn’t open it soon.

I turned my head to look back and my eyes caught onto a mechanism on the wall of the corridor. It looked like some sort of calculator. “ENTER PASSWORD” flashed on its display. What was the password? Somehow, it was there, in my subconscious. I knew it. But what was it?
A-R-I-S-T-O-T-L-E?
Wrong.
A-G-U-S-T-I-N-E?
Wrong.
A-Q-U-I-N-A-S?
Wrong again.

Aloysius. That was it.
My palms were sweating so badly that continuous beats of sweat made their way down to my elbow, then fell silently on the marble floor, forming a puddle at my feet. That and the fact that I was crying profusely too.

A-L-O-Y-S-O, no.
I was shaking so badly. I was mis-typing. Last chance. If I didn’t get it right this time. It was kaput Maya and the door to the other side would lock forever.

I tried to steady my hands.
A-L-O-Y-S-U-
Damn it.

Sirens rang out almost instantly and the sound of footsteps followed closely. I wouldn’t make it back up the corridor in time. There was no way out but UP.

The ceiling was low enough for me to touch on tiptoe. I raised my hands, made a jump and managed to hang onto the metal runner. So far so good. Lets just hope the runner holds up. I make an acrobatic half-backward swing to dislocate the gypsum panel. The back of my knees grab onto a runner but my hands loose grip and my head hangs floor-ward. Everything is upside down before darkness engulfs me. I am momentarily blinded by my dress falling over my face. I can’t see, but I can hear them coming. My hands try to find an opening among the folds of chiffon. I finally catch some light and the swat team closing in on me. I attempt a 270-degree swing up. I only make it one-third of the way up before my head hits the unlodged gypsum board and the dress falls over my face again.

When my vision begins to clear up, my power yoga tutor and classmates are peering over me, shaking their heads and sniggering. Its not the first time I’ve fallen asleep in class. I mean. I can’t help it. Each time, Mrs. Ravi says ‘Let your eyes rest in your sockets’, I conk out instantaneously.

How many times have I dreamt this dream? In bed, in yoga class, at work. It comes back in different variations, but always with the same theme. Being chased and being trapped.

Since Aloysius left. It’s never been the same.

~

The Christmas crowds slow my advancement to my destination. Its 9pm on a weekday in Orchard Road, but still the crowds don’t show any sign of thinning. $1.99 shop forecasts increased sales this season. How heartwarming.

I finally make my way up Emerald Hill to ‘Ice Cold Beer’. Toru is slouched against the wall on our usual bench waiting for me. He has the ‘don’t-ask-its-been-a-bad-day-too’ look on his face. We pass the night sipping beer in silence and scowling at waiters passing in their white-fur rimmed, red Christmas hats. We’re no Scrooges, but Christmas is that time of the year we disliked most. For us, Christmas marked a kind of lonely death anniversary.

It was Christmas morning, when Toru woke up and everything was gone. The furniture, the utensils, the tatami mats and even the futon he was suppose to be sleeping under. Gone from right under his nose. One day, he had a wife and two cats, the next day, he was wife-less and cat-less.

That was two years ago, around the same time, my boyfriend in New York made the biggest disappearing act since Hudini. No calls, no letters. He just vanished into thin air (with a girl).

Toru and I are the best of friends. An unlikely pair. A twenty four-year-old record store assistant and Toru, the middle-aged, Sony executive posted to Singapore two years ago. This melancholy, this simultaneous dislike for Christmas and like for Japanese music brought us together, but there wasn’t anything more then friendship between us. Cupid had taken one look at the two of us and thought, ‘naaaahhhhhh’ and proceeded to shoot the couple next to us. Put two manic-depressive people together and you have suicide.

In a way, we were like a two-person support group. Always there for each other. The last year, we’d made a pack not to ‘celebrate’ Christmas. Our belief, being; you didn’t have to wait until a special occasions to give presents or be nice to someone. How many of us have presents we never use sitting somewhere on the shelf that we end up throwing away anyway? Worse, how many of us have actually given away presents given to us?

We passed that Christmas Eve playing scrabble until the dawn broke while I reassuring him that his furniture would still be intact when the morning finally came. This Christmas Eve, Toru would be passing it on a plane bound for Tokyo, where he would settle back into that tatami-less house again, probably never to return to Singapore. Me? I’d settle back to my routine of opening the tiny record store in Far East Plaza every morning without fail and heading home to sit in front of the TV every night after work. There’d be no more watching ‘Love Letter’ for the hundred and twenty eighth time, or raving about the latest Chara CD, no more midnight roller blading at East Coast or prata suppers. Somehow, Christmas would always be associated with parting and things looked likely to stay this way.
~

Sarong and clogs. I should dream up something better next time. How about Nike tracksuit. Throw in a pair of cross trainers and my life would have been a little easier.

Tadanobu Asano is hot on my heels. Or clogs. Under normal circumstances, I would be happy that my favourite heartthrob was chasing me, but with that shotgun in right hand, and this same stark white corridor I was running along. This was a regular nightmare.

By the time I made it to the door, it was too late. I turn around to face the showdown almost sure I’d wake up. For some reason, I’d always woken up just when there’d manage to catch up with me. This time I didn’t.

‘Finally caught up with you this time. You’re a real runner. None of us from the system could ever catch up with you.’ Still huffing lightly, he broke into a grin and tucked the gun into his waistband.

He took out a tiny red box the size of the matchbox and placed it in my hands then pointed to the door and said, ‘There’s another one behind that door, thrown in, compliments from the system.’

Written on one side of the box was ‘Merry Christmas’. I flipped the box over and on the side in bold as ‘HAPPINESS’. Happiness sitting right there in the palm of my hand.
When I looked up, Tadanobu Asano was gone.

I didn’t hesitate this time. I knew the password immediately.
T-O-R-U
Behind the door was an identical corridor, with a glass table. On the table was an Identical red box, labeled with the word ‘LOVE’. I picked up the box held it in my other hand.

When I came through, it was already daybreak and it dawned to me that Toru was gone. He was sitting on the plane, probably somewhere over the South China Sea, sipping on some red wine while I’d have to make do with teh tarik.
~

I made my way along the deserted streets of Orchard Road. Christmas morning, but we opened shop as usual. I rode the escalator to the third storey where I worked, a wave of loneliness passing through me.

Standing outside the closed shutters of Beng Huat CDs was Toru. Luggage by his side. Our eyes met and we both understood.

‘Christmas would mean something only if I had someone to share it with’, he whispered.

Taking my hand in his, We ran, that Christmas morning, mad smile on our faces onto the empty streets.

(1568words)

COMMENTS

Well, since you asked.
Firstly, I did it for the money. Yes, I was that hard up. Could have bought me 150 cans of baked beans. Attractive huh? The other reason, was this strange nostalgia for the fact that I use to work in a firm along the same street as you guys for a year. There’s great coffee in that corner shop and did you notice that guy with a moustache who serves coffee and he’s almost always wearing a t-shirt in the shade of green. Grey-green, army-green, lime green etc. Impetus enough to write? The only other reason I think anyone else would join was because they’re serious writing fanatics, eager to test their skills. And the promise of a ‘showcase to discover writing talents’ of something in the drift was poisonously lethal.

Secondly, my frank opinion is that the topic was cliché. My first reaction was to take a smoke. However, being as professional as I was, I came back after finishing my last cigarette and proceeded to finish reading the rest of the instructions. I think it including some requirements like ‘ flash backs, humor, meaningful, funny, character development’ and other rather meaningful suggestions (I can’t remember for sure because you’ve already taken the topic and instructions page out of your site). I was thinking, hey, you guys are literary professionals after all, deploying instructions about methods and styles of writing. Humor too is much harder and challenging to express then a depressive story would have been. But really you expect sensitive character developments and flashbacks in 800 – 1500 words? That’s a collage general paper essay, not a short story. Most of my character developments and flashback went into the recycle bin by the time I finished. And 1500 words in 48 hours? I had time for a manicure and a shopping spree in Kuala Lumpur. Somebody turn up the heat please. Make it at least 2000–2500 words in 48 hours. This is suppose to bring on major heart palpitations not induce sleep. And well, as for the humor and the funny and the meaningful part, most of the entries I read made me run for a dosage of Prozac. Some of the essays had spelling mistakes, mine included. I would have liked someone to inform me first before my essay was published. Some poor writer had a mistake like ‘He thrusted her’, instead of ‘He trusted her’ which I’m sure was noticed after it was sent. I know you pride yourself as ‘professionals with extensive language and technical subject-specific expertise’, but like an editor from a magazine, there should be some sort of prior consultation before anything is printed.

Thirdly, your site sucks. I’m sorry. Looking at your site, I know there’s a lot of emphasis on professionalism, but frankly, I wouldn’t taken a second look at your site. You’ve got to do something about this site. Then maybe, I can tell my friends that I joined this competition. Writing, like design is a creative field. Purple backdrop doesn’t go easy on eyes when it comes to reading. Imagine books painted on purple paper.

Fourth, what do YOU the organizers think? I’d like to know how many people sent in their stories, how many gave up, basically the response and how you find the general standard of writing. After all, you’re the professionals. No use only having me comment on my own amateur attempt.

Lastly, if you haven’t disqualified me already, know any job openings?

M'aimer, me detester

2009-01-03T19:16:00.009Z

Friday, January 02 2009
7.56pm
Love me,hate me.

He gently placed the ipod shuffle in my hand like an undying love pledge. Technology is a strange way of getting to know one another’s taste. Instead of listerning to music together, you pass them ipods which reveal bits of information about the other party. Flowers bought off the internet and posted to my office, emails and sms exchanges. Imagine a world lost in tehcnicolour blandness, gentle robotic monotonic whispers of declarations of desires. The mind is willing but the flesh is weak….Thus the new modern pre-coital courtship.

I woke up one morning sometime in the last 2 years to realize that I fu$%ing suck at Love. And the new world technology hasn’t made it easier. Like the interface between Windows and Mac, ‘Love’ is a mastery of liking and hating.

The main problem is that I’m in and I’m out. I’m for and against. I care too much but wish I’d rather not give a damn S%^t. I’m the cool thin gal in skinny jeans, 3 inch heals, chain smoking slims, slugging strawberries daiquiris who’s also the fat gal who would rather walk out of the house in sweatpants and pimple cream. I like contrast. I like being in love but I like being out of love as well. I like capturing images, making evidence of a moment, but I am terrified of someone taking pictures of me, like someone nailed me down to a jpeg.

I hate definition. Its as scary as settling into a life of predictable normality. Normality is like stillness. Deadness. Soundlessness. Just like some of us almost like being depressed and lost in a sea of blue. The truth is,good gals like bad boys. But am I a good gal? What good is the flesh when the mind is unwilling…I like to be with people who inspire me. My main inspiration are people down in the dumps, especially people who have struggled and made it through to the other side. I prefer gnawing questions, existence of a maker, death and purpose of life. As hard as it is, sometimes, I prefer suffering.

Mum said, that whatever I do, as long as I keep doing the right thing, everything will be alright. This year, despite all odds in my path aready, without fail, I’ll wake up, try my best and then fall asleep. If anything, waking and sleeping are still different, aren’t they?

Happy New Year!

Lots of hugz and kisses,

L aka CJ

On Player_Harvest_By Dragon Ash

La figlia delle stelle

2008-10-12T00:52:00.007+01:00

Saturday, 11 October 2008
11.48am

How can it be this beautiful? How can it be this beautiful? This is what I kept asking myself today while walking in the park. It’s that favourite time of the year for me again. And today, the heavenly beams shone brightly on me, crisp leaves crackled under my feet and auburn leaves fell on me. It was good. It was too good.

To be very frank, I’ve been complete mash. I’ve been crying alot recently. Each time I go to church, I silently shed tears when I sing. I cry silently in the shower after a long tough day at work. I cried at lunch time this week when no one was looking. I felt my tears welling up when I finished the last chapter of Jean-Dominique Bauby’s ‘The Diving-Bell And The Butterfly’ while waiting for the tube to come. I really need a reassuring pat on the back and a proper hug.

I remember the last time someone held me. We stood at the bus terminal to say goodbye. It was an awkard hug because he was tall and my head barely reached his chin. We held each other politely. I had an urge to draw him close, and stoke his back and tell him I was sorry. But it is impossible to apologize about something unsaid, something yet to happen even though you know it may.

In general, the people closer to me know I don’t like to be touched. I have to clarify this. I don’t like to be touched unmeaningfully. There’s the general cheek kiss, long-time-no-see-hug, how-are-you-hug which is all well, but not of any particular significance.

I felt myself ready to cry when I read the last chapters of Bauby’s ‘The Diving-Bell And The Butterfly’ when I’d come to the realization that I was experiencing the exact opposite of what the author experienced. Bauby suffered a stoke which left him unable to do anything physically even thought his mind was as able as before. Recently, I feel like my body is active and going through the general motions of life, but my mind is inert, like my soul has lost its spirit and my mind has lost its vitality.

I want to be the daughter of stars. I want to bath in the moonlight. I want to prance wildly in a field of tall grass at midnight and feel its blades sliding past my fingertips.I want to breath the air of degenerating leaves in the depths of an Autumn night. I want to be held again and feel the tenderness of being held. It may be dark and I've lost sight, but at least I want to feel something stiring within me. I need a real hug....

On Player_Notice_By Gomez

*Fleeting...

2008-05-26T00:23:00.014+01:00

Monday, 26 May 2008
12.22am

I am confused. I am confused. Did I say I was confused.
I must be.

In the past few days. My head has been a blur. A Blur.aBlur….

Fleeting memories having been slipping past me. Like water in my hands. I have been waking up a lot throughout the night and the day. Maybe because the sun rises too early and sets too late in Spring/Summer that I can no longer accurately guage time passing. Or maybe its just that I haven’t been sleeping well at all.

I use to like playing Dovorák, Debussy and Chopin on the piano. My dog’s name is Chopin. Debussy’s daughter’s name was Chou Chou. That’s what Viv told me when she passed me Shunji Iwai’s ‘All about Lilly Chou Chou’ and that sentence has kinda just stuck in my head ever since. I never finished watching the DVD because it made me nauseous but Debussy’s daughter’s name was Chou Chou. Debussy’s daughter’s name was Chou Chou. Debussy’s daughter’s name was Chou Chou….

In my awake/sleep mode I’ve been dreaming about tasting a bottle of Chateau de Verger 2004 Beujolais again that I had at the The Pig's Ear. In my dream it is at the tip of my tongue but I can’t grasp the taste. How painful.

I just bought a copy of Takeshi Miike’s ‘Ichi the Killer’ for Viv. Not because I like Takeshi Miike but because I love watching Tadanobu Asano. I have every single DVD with Tadanobu Asano in it except ‘The Picnic’ and the soon to be released epic 'The Mongol' , where he acts as Genghis Khan. ‘Ichi The Killer’ must be the most teeth-ghashingly violent and stomach churning movie I have watched, but I think Viv would like it. She’s a real special one….

Tonight, I just bought a cake online for my mum. She’s not really into violent movies.

I think Taka Hirose is the coolest modern bass guitar player around. He built his own bass. How cool is that?

I’ve been trying to search for an old Yano Maki album. Something that brings back painful yet tender memories for me.

My hair has grown long again. Too long for spring and summer I think. I should cut it again.

I am confused. Am I confusing you? But I aready told you I was confused.

I just started reading Jean-Dominuque Bauby’s ‘The Diving-Bell and the The Butterfly’. It was a gift from Viv after we went to watch the movie and I told her how much I would like a copy of the script. In simple terms, it is about the ex-editor of French Elle magazine who suffered a massive stroke which ended up paralyzing his whole body except his left eye. He wrote the entire book letter by letter with a person translating each alphabet letter by letter with an approving wink of his left eye. In a passage he talks about the last time he saw his father before his stroke.

I remember the last time I saw my mum. I held her briefly at the airport in February. It seems like such a long time ago now. Every time I go home. She appears to have aged. Her eyes seem to protrude more and more from her sockets and emanciated frame. I can see her capillaries through her now translucent and delicate skin. If I dig deeper into my memories, I use to remember that she had jet black hair. Even into her 50s. But now, with the fatigue of age, I can see all the whites. I can remember lying beside her and watching her during her afternoon naps. I have never had a habit of afternoon naps, but I liked to lie there right beside her watching her on afternoons when it was too hot and humid to do anything but lie still. I can remember her scent, her faint moisturizer and the ever comforting feel of your mother beside you. Mostly I remember how gentle and kind my mother was.

Happy Birthday Mum. Sometimes. I miss you. Very much.

On Player_Sumidare_On Yano Maki’s 'Live your Life’

Live

2008-05-16T00:29:00.011+01:00

Friday, 16 May 2008
12.17am

What is the best thing to say to someone who is dying? Get well soon? It’ll be ok? Not in the case of say terminal liver failure. I guess not.

On Friday evening, I was out with my friends J, D and M. I broached this subject of our mortality and religion. I’d just finished Ma Jian’s ‘Red Dust’ a few days before while lying around in the park. In it, there was a passage about the people in a little village called Jinuo that Ma Jian had passed on his journey through China.

The Jinuo custom allows members of the same clan to fall in love but not marry. When the time comes for a clan couple to separate, they exchange gifts with each other as pledges of undying love. These gifts are taken with them to their marital homes. When the clan lovers die, they carry these gifts to the mythical 9 crossroads, meet up once again and travel together to the underworld where they can finally marry each other. For the Jinuo, husbands and wives in this world are merely companions and true life begins in the afterlife.

I told them I thought this was a really cool idea. Basically, this life has nothing to do with love or truth but is a mere completion of an existential path. And in that sense it wasn’t so different from Christian religion where one’s life is a constant preparation for glory of afterlife in heaven.

On another level there is Buddhism which speaks only about how human desires are a source of pain and we must try to transcend these emotions by almost removing our sub consciousness and consequentially, ourselves from the present.

I asked my friends what was better. Constantly gearing ourselves towards the future or thinking only of the present?

Their unified answer was the present. What mattered to them was the present only. The future was something they hardly romanticized too deeply about.

The moment itself is what we should try to capture. These moments obviously become the past at some point in time but if we didn’t capture that moment or allow it to capture us in the first place, it’ll be like carrying no gifts to the mythical 9 crossroads.

I’m generally a cautious person who thinks a lot about the future. In that sense, I’ve never realized the moments that passed were beautiful till it was too late. When me and my best friend climbed to the roof top of our school and watched the orange sun set into the sea on an air-con condenser filled roof, I didn’t realize till years later that that was such a latent memory to me.

Mostly, I’m just scared because there were many instances when I let that moment take control of me and then felt utterly helpless and out of control afterwards. Many years ago, I was standing on a crowded train on my way back home. There was a man standing opposite me who possessed the most beautiful hands I’ve ever seen. My memory tells me he was very pleasant looking, but it was his hands that reeled me in hopelessly like a fish struggling in a net. His hands were large but well proportion between the palms and the fingers. They weren't too smooth and lined with the veins that people get only through time and pain. It was like stories were written on his hand and I was trying to read them. I had my eyes fixated on those hands the whole journey. At some point, this stranger began to notice the spell he’d cast on me and he started moving his hands. My eyes followed those hands and we continued this cat and mouse game till I had to get off the train. I don’t remember the face clearly, but I remember the hands and most importantly, I remember the moment where I could almost feel his hands on me, on my face and down my neck,my shoulders... like having your eyes closed in an open field and the wind gently whispering pass your ears…..just like the moment on that roof top.

A few years back, I met someone. Even before we became friends, I knew in an instant something omni-potent had overtaken me. I’ve never been romantic enough to believe in love at first sight, but on hindsight, it was in that moment that I knew things would never be the same. I regret my fear restrained me from acting on that moment because years later, I realized I never stopped feeling the same way about this person deep down inside of me. Now, even though I recognize those moments. The older I become, the fear of acting at a moment still stops me from capturing.

That Friday night, at the end of this debate about the present, I looked around. He was standing a few metres away from me. The face I’d seen somewhere in February when I’d gone home to take my Architects licensing interview and was browsing around an exhibition at URA. He was an Architect on a video being interviewed about new generation Architects in Singapore. I sat there and watched the entire interview. He spoke in a calm, measured tone and motioned his hand once in a while to enforce his point. His tone was so gentle and collected. Some people have that special something inside them that soothes me.

I was trying to recall if this person standing a few metres away from me was the same person. I couldn’t be sure about the face, but I was trying hard to recall the moment that soothed me.

There was something about the way he held his glass. He held it so casually between his thumb and middle finger. It hung so naturally off his finger tips, his left arm, his shoulders….He looked like he was relaxed and having a genuinely nice conversation with his mates. Occasionally he brought his glass to his mouth or laughed out.

I still couldn’t tell if this was him, but I thought WTF.WTF!?!. I asked D if he thought the group was from the creative line and he thought so too. But gutless as I was, I shoved my name card to D and asked him to do the dirty work before I left. I’m not sure exactly what D said to glass-in-hand but I didn’t think too much about what happened after that.

Funny thing…2 days ago I got an email and it began with ‘This is a shot in the dark……’

Shoot me please.

Between,what do you say to someone who is dying? You tell them how much you love them. Right now…

On Player_Feeling the Moment_By Feeder

Reset

2008-04-07T00:31:00.010+01:00

Sunday, 6 April 2008
10.58pm

My insouciance scares me sometimes. I mean, I called my mum today. The once a week 2 minute batter where I try to avoid topics of drinking enough water, getting enough sleep and eating my vegetables. Things were a little bit more spirited this week. I can just imagine... Dad does his weekend walk with our dog, comes home and has his afternoon nap after lunch with the Saturday newspaper over his chest on his favourite reclining chair. Apparently this week, he had his massage mat on his chair, on high mode I must add. After a while, ok, a long while, my mum walks pass and notices that my dad has blood oozing out of his eyeballs. This follows an evening trip to the accident and emergency where it appears dad has burst some blood vessels in his eyes ( from over stimulation from a massage mat…ok, I didn’t say that, neither did the doctor but mum did…). Dad’s ok, other then a big headache (I would if I had blood oozing out of my eyeballs, in fact, the thought of it hurts bad too) and a week of medical leave. Scarier than that was when I heard this, I couldn’t help laughing. I mean, is this normal? Your dad is weeping blood out of his eyes and all you can do is laugh……? Sorry dad, I’ll give you a call tomorrow (muffled laugh).

Its been a really strange day. I haven’t written in my blog for eight months, but I suddenly felt a great compulsion to, just like my recent unexplainable urge to eat cranberry and bran bagels with blueberry conserve. The fact that I still have urges and very specific ones, I hope that means I’m not really as indifferent as I thought.

As I was saying, it’s been a really strange day. This morning, the Olympic torch passed by my home with Tibetan protestors in tow. I finally managed to catch the Deutsche Borse Photography Prize 2008 exhibition at The Photographer’s Gallery still with a few Tibetan demonstrators in tow all the way into town. The exhibition was an incredible depiction of history, of cities, of cultures and of lives. I also read in The Guardian about the 1968, March 17th demonstration against the war in Vietnam at Grosvenor Square, London. John Lennon and Mick Jagger were at the demonstration. It wasn’t another decade before I was actually born on that very same day. I understood what I was reading and seeing today. Yet, I felt very little for it. Only that I wished I felt more for it. I mean, have you ever asked yourself what your contribution to this world is?

I bought an antique pocket watch from Portobello market a couple of weeks ago. It's probably not antique but I don’t care. D tells me everyone should have an object which they carry around with them which reminds them of all the good things in their lives. So whenever something bad happens I'm suppose to take it out and remember the good things. At first, I dismissed it for pyschobabel, at least until he took out a yellow stone from his pocket. Yeh, the dude always carries a rock in his pocket, so I guess he really wasn’t fluffing around with me. A week later, I started wearing that pocket watch around my neck. It's funny that I chose a watch as my object cause every time I look at it ticking away. It scares the S$%^ out of me instead of soothing my nerves. In the following weeks that passed, I’ve tried to reset my subconscious. Not my conscious but my subconscious. As the psychobabel high priest D says, its what the subconscious believes that truly matters. Its what the subconscious wills the mind to believe that empowers us. Something like if you believe hard enough that your B cup will grow into a C cup, it will. We believe what we will or think we believe, but seriously, how much do we believe what we believe and how deeply do we really believe what we think we are believing. Was it love, was it really love? Was this what you really wanted or thought yourself into thinking you wanted? It was just too hard for me though. Too taxing on my subconscious, so I went into what seemed the easier solution - indifference. Or so I thought I did…..

Yeh, its been a really strange day. Did I mention that it snowed in London today. At the beginning of April. My subconscious was so powerful, it made that happen too.

On Player_Reset_By Mute Math

Missing

2007-07-18T00:26:00.001+01:00

Flickr Update

July

Apologies for my absense to those who have asked. Sorry for any missed calls and messages. I think I've ruined my phone and I have been away in a far away place. I'll be away for some time more. I think Autumn is a good time to start again.I'll be back in full force then.I love Autumn and can't wait.

Thank you all.

Love

L

On Player_'Mr Brightside'_By The Killers

Ghosts*

2007-06-19T01:56:00.000+01:00

Flickr Update

May/June

Two of my favourite colours are black and white.

Grey is made out of black and white. I wear this colour sometimes, increasingly so since I moved to London. I have a grey wool scarf, a grey cardigan, a grey winter jacket and my favourite sweater is grey. But when you look at grey, where has the black and white gone?

I was sneezing in the office last week. C continued mumbled ‘God Bless You’ to me the whole time. So on Friday, I turn to him and ask him to tell me the story behind this blessing. He tells me that it was thought that at that instant that we sneeze, our heart stops for a fragment of a second. It was a cool thought. I feel it sometimes too, at that moment just before I torpedo one through my mouth and nose.But does the heart really stop for that second?

Another friend asked me if I ever wondered about how emails are really transmitted. How someone across the oceans from me received my email a split second later. How is it really wired through plasma universes to reach us?

On a double decker bus into town last monday night. I spotted a bold guy a few seats in front of me. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have noticed him, but this guy had an angry red birthmark on his scalp. I wondered if he ever knew that that birthmark existed before he made the shave?

2 people wrote to me this week mentioning a difference in me. At least on the surface I must say. We do everything that we can to hide what we feel inside. It doesn’t mean that I am better then I was before. It just means that my ability to conceal some of my emotions are stronger then before.

These are the scars we sometimes carry. Things we cannot see but exist. Things we try to hide with alcohol, concealer, handy plasters, fags, drugs. But the stories exist in all of us. The person next to you could be a flaming wreck on the verge of a breakdown. And we wouldn’t have know. I think we need to be a bit more sensitive sometimes to those around us.

Have you been in a situation where you thought something but then that something was something else and the something that you thought was something wasn’t that same something by that same someone? In particular, I met up with someone recently. We use to have a mutually amicable relationship, or at least I like to thing so. Even though it was long ago, the fond emotions still existed and I had and use to have a fair amount of respect for this person. I thought this person was a friend, at least I thought so, even though you can sense a change in their attitude thought periods of time and they tell you everything that they have been up to when asked except the most important parts. I found the most important parts from another friend and I wondered why I didn’t get to hear the most important part first hand. When it comes to many matters, particularly love, work, friendships, honesty is the best policy. You hurt someone even more with pretend and make believe.

Next time, be honest. I may appear real, but sometimes, like now, you made me feel like a Ghost.

On Player_’I Can’t Feel You’_By Camouflage

Passing Over

2007-05-31T02:31:00.001+01:00

Last week, bits of Summer gate crashed into the dissipating spring and I started crashing into spider webs. Time for prey and play and mutant reproductions in the animal kingdom.

The trains are starting to pong of a day's hard work. The pollen filled air was replaced with slithering heat on my neck in the garden pub where I had lunch one afternoon. Just as well, V says the pollen fragments floating everywhere were so bad she felt like picking out her eyeballs and running them under a tap. I made my weekend walk in the park with my eyes partially closed and taking an occasional peek just in case I miss Mr. Murakami.

I imagine that a lot. Meeting Mr. Murakami in the park. I know I would recognize him immediately. The bushy brows, the stout back, the tan. He would be jogging, practicing for the yearly Boston Marathon. I would trod up to him cooling, trying to put on my least psychotic stalker face and ask him how he was doing. If I could I would invite up to my place for tea and sign my hard cover copy of ‘Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman’ and we would have a quiet chat over Yorkshire tea and then say our good byes.

C tells me that Murakami has a new book out. Surprisingly, I wasn’t very interested. I remember waiting 2 years for ‘Kafka on the Shore’ to be translated into English and was deeply disappointed when I finally finished reading it. I haven’t finished ‘Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman’ either. It is a collection of short stories and I pick it up occasionally when I feel like a change from my bedtime reads, but all in all, my fascination with Murakami books seems to have ceased. Even so, his books influenced me greatly and played a big part in my interest in his persona per se. That period of time when I read his books represent a whole era of thinking tagged onto so many youthful emotions. I still believe 'Norwegian Wood' is one of the most important love stories written in modern literature. In that sense, even though I may no longer follow his books with great interest, everything pertaining to him and his books hold a raw spot in me.

This week, rain gate crashed into the dissipating summer and I started crashing into bed without proper baths. Our hot water boiler went on strike and I would much rather smell like pong then take a bath and risk hypothermia.

We managed a delightful BBQ in the rain with a bunch of Architects trying to build a temporary shelter over the BBQ pit with a mop and army green plastic rubbish bags. It was hilarious. For the BBQ, I baked a lemon cake with double cream and am still wearing spatters of cake batter on my PJs. It’s ok to be a bit sloppy every once in a blue moon and I think this week is ok for that (no hot water is a valid excuse too).

Effectively, it rained all weekend, even on the Monday Bank Holiday. Fickle is the weather in London. I spent the holiday lying in bed, munching peaches. Sleeping and reading. I know I should start studying for my exams but it was just the right weather to drift in and out of sleep.

There was a fresh punnet of peaches on the kitchen table that I had bought from Portobello Market. And a whole bag of coriander as well. I only needed a bunch, but the lady gave me a whole box as she was winding down for the day.

I met W online (He’s going to save my pathetic little ass this year by passing me his notes to study). That rainy day, I told him about my coriander over supply and he suggested putting it in soup.

He went on to rattle off a recipe for soup to me. At the end of it, I realized that it didn’t have coriander in it. So I asked him just to make sure,

‘So when the soup is done, do I put in the coriander?’

‘.....No’

Black Crow flies pass crowing loudly.
Spaz. Moron. (W...I know you are reading this :P).

Bye bye Mr. Murakami.
Bye bye Spring.
Bye bye Rain.

Hello New Era.
Hello Summer!

On Player ‘ Make This Go On Forever’_By Snow Patrol

Stories in a City_Finale_Happy Town

2007-05-22T00:56:00.000+01:00

Flickr Update

Last shots on my dying SX-70

No relationships are ever over, just abandoned. Like parallel dimensions of time, like meteor stars dislodged and separated from mother meteor, they are just fragments separated but still of the exact same make up. What I am saying is that you may no longer want to be friends with a certain someone, but the very fact that you register that friend as not a friend, is a form of acknowledgement in itself. You can’t run away from it / them completely. You just abandon them for the time being. It’s a daunting and amazing thought at the same time about the very people that you meet and form relationships with who stay in your life in some form or other.

Its’ been a tiring month. My body and mind have not been getting their act together as well as I hoped. Not with multiple body ailments and wasted nights and weekends working. Up front, I try to hibernate in my Happy Town. Its like I am smiling and looking at the person in front of me moving their mouth but some of the time my mind is elsewhere. If I didn’t go to that place called Happy Town, I think I wouldn’t have been able to smile.

The month has been peppered with many events and encounters. My SX-70 is dying. We continued freak encounters with our landlady and some money lost there. I also take the opportunity to apologise about another previous entry regarding work which I have removed. I always try to refrain from specificity about my work or private life.

Happy Town ingredients of the month were mainly books and friends. I managed to start and finish Amy Yamada’s Bedtime Eyes which was as good as a bad imitation of a combination of Ryu Murakami and Anais Nin. Disillusioned Japanese girls looking for love with black run away sailors is at best interracial porn. I finished Ha Jin’s Waiting yesterday night. It disturbed me very much and broke down any remaining romantic notions about love I was still harbouring. My second last chapter was read in the park while waiting for JW to come by but he stood me up!!! It was too cold to finish the rest of the book in the park so I upped and left. I’m starting on David Mitchell’s Black Swan Green now. I’m glad that I have been reading again. It keeps my head from running away from its neck and it’s the only little space in my head on the train, before I sleep and sometimes at lunch when I can get away from work and a real life.

On the first day back at work. I met JW in the print room. We said an awkward ‘Hi’. He flew off to Oslo soon after, but brought back a gift which is sitting on my office desk now. It was a rather strange gift of a Viking monster riding on a ship with bedeviled hair but it was a goofy reminder of a new friend made as well. When he doesn’t stand me up in the park, he’s an ally for late work nights. I had dinner with V the first week I was back and a rushed late Saturday night Spidey Man 3 laugh-out-loud-session after I frantically ran from work, along Battersea Bridge, Beaufort Street all the way to Fulham Broadway because I was late. Another week, I helped her with shopping and building beds and shelves in her new apartment. We had really good talk over dinner a couple of times after as well. I am delighted that we are still discovering so many things about each other. One another's families and our upbringings. We even realized we both studied Music and Art as subjects in school. She's left F+P now but she understands what I go through at work when no one else can. In a way, we use to form our own support group. I’m no good with words, but she’s one of the few people who can understand, even without alot of words.It feels so right. We have the same attitude towards work and many other aspects of our lives. She loves her cat and I love my dog. She’s always been there for me eventhough we’ve probably only known each other for 6 months. She had the patience to look through all my HSMP forms, help me with my appeal letters when I was busy and stressed with work even when she had enough of her own problems to settle. How many people do you know who would read though 60 pages of guidance notes and check your forms for you then help you write an appeal letter when all hope seems lost? That is how good she is to me. True friends show themselves in your worse times. Best of all, she is so damn cool. She drew a tattoo on her arm in junior college just to get away from swimming lesson. The rule then was no one with tattoos would be allowed to enter the pool, so she did just that and drew one all across her arm. She’s just the type of person who knows what she wants and proceeds it with action and commitment where necessary. I admire that the most about her. Best of all, she doesn’t even read my blog. She’d rather just hang out.

Two friends, YE and XY from my parallel home town dropped by for a couple of days this month and it was good to see familiar faces. JC has arrived to start life anew in London. SJ dropped me an email when he came back from his holiday and we say our hi-byes in the office when we cross path especially during late morning tea and late afternoon tea at the bar. Its been good to know more people in the office. Close encounters make for a better day in Happy Town. L flew in from Shanghai, but neither of our busy schedules could make for a meeting. Still, it was good to hear his voice again and know he was still there. A’s been working late too, but in a twisted sense its good to suffer together and to unite in the simple understanding of work weekends and exchanges of ‘are you at work too?’.

One late night after work, I had a conversation with an Afghanistan cab driver. He talked to me about memories of his beautiful war torn country, his very own Happy Town. He asked me if I was single. I said yes. He said I should find someone. I told him I thought about it but stopped hoping long ago. As I stepped out of the cab, he wished me well and that I would find someone soon. I smiled, thanked him, stepped out into the wet night and walked to my apartment without looking back at him. As always, happy town was close by.

Happy Town is where it's all good and great. It's the little things big enough to form a blockade against the worst. It's my make believe place. Its my dream world where I never mess up. Welcome to my Happy Town.

On Player_'Tumble and Fall'_By Feeder

Stories in a City II_Lost

2007-04-22T06:53:00.000+01:00

I was awoken at 5 am by my mother's voice calling me. I opened my eyes and replied in a croaky 'Yes?' only to realise that I was alone in my freshly washed sheets in my bed in London. I could have sworn that voice was so near and real.

I am still groggy from the long flight. My whole body is in pain from keeping upright position through two flights, lugging my 27kg luggage up four flights of rickety stairs of a period block and a massive bedroom clean up. There is still that constant pain in the lower left portion of my abdomen which I suffered throughout my flight like a bullet wound at my side that will not heal. I am not sure if this pain is real or in my head and if I could will it away. I only know that it hurts.

On the surface I appear normal. But beneath this surface runs a deep reservoir of complicated emotions. Maybe I should pray, but I have never been spiritual enough to because I constantly question God's motive, my guilt and the role I should play. Not that I do not believe that God exists.

My bedroom is strangely quiet. I cannot hear any traffic outside like I would from my 14th floor apartment in Singapore 24 hours a day. London seemed so far removed when I was at home and now Singapore seems so irrelevant from my life here in London. It feels like the reminisce of a party the night before. Empty cans of beer, half drunk bottles of wine, overturned bottles, lipstick stains on champagne glasses and I have to start cleaning up again.

What does it take for a place to be called home?

When I first exited the airport apon reaching home, I was blown away by an angry blast of hot air. I told my mom that I thought I was going to pass out because I could not breath and she told me not to be silly. Maybe so, but it was so hot, my clothes quickly clung to my body. The constant trickle of moisture down my spine and hair plastered to my face took me a while to get use to, together with the traffic, the noise and the scale of the surroundings. Emotionally, I felt out of place in a familiar environment, not just my physical being but my goals and aspirations seemed untuned to the mainstream. Yet, because of my upbringing, a part of me still aspired for the mainstream.

I am formed by many of the cultural references and behavior branded as Singaporean, even the way I speak, behave and think. But somewhere along the line of the pass year, I have grown accustomed to behaving in a certain manner culturally acceptable in London, ie not constantly smsing or talking on the mobile and being more courteous and patient. I have acquired habits like chewing gum or eating potatoes chips as part of my main meal. I have been given a a selection of newspapers that tell me what having different view points is like. It is not that I am not comfortable switching between these roles, but for the moment, as I adjust back to my life in London, I am questioning my very being in London or Singapore.

When I was in Singapore, I longed to leave. When I was in London, I wanted to visit home. When I was in Singapore, I was thinking of London. And now that I am back in London, I am missing home. I wonder sometimes that if I had even bigger problems in life or at hand that required my immediate attention, like cancer,poverty and war, maybe, my pursuit of happiness would be more fervent and meaningful and it would only take little things to make me happy again.

On my trip back, I met M through another friend. I asked him what he did for a living and he said he was a ‘Bum’ ie. comfortably settled enough to not work for a living. Such an idea seemed tempting but knowing myself, I know that even if I had such an ability, I would soon become infinitely bored by such a lifestyle. I need to work, I need to do things, I need to build things, I need to see that my life is progressing and I need to struggle to feel alive. Yet, I am also beginning to question why I work so hard for such unacceptable pay which compromises my living standards and ability to enjoy my life fully. Did I really come to London to learn, to work, to live, to play? I am no longer sure. When I left, my Dad told me to plan my life ahead. I am the 30 year old prodigal daughter. What can I plan when I am no longer clear about what I want in my life anymore and the things that I truly want seem so far out of my reach?

If my homeland is really Singapore, then my lost soul hovers on the banks of our beautified Singapore River, a ghost glittering against the waters in an evening sunset, like those ships that can never dock there again.

On Player_'Pure Morning'_By Placebo

Stories in a City I

2007-04-22T06:40:00.000+01:00

Flickr Update

Singapore

The Office

2007-04-03T02:09:00.000+01:00

Birthday in March

2007-03-26T01:16:00.000+01:00

Flickr Update

Birthday in March

Thanks LP and HL for Boh Peep. That's what I named her cause she looks like Ramsy the ram's Boh Peep when she's beside him. She doesn't look so cool beside Bigmouth though.I think she looks even cooler without her cap.haha.
Thanks Viv for the stories about New Castle, the presents and flowers and most of all for listerning to me when I need it.
Thanks M and L for the Flowers.
Thanks C for the book. I really wanted that.
Thanks Fullmoon and XY for the Book and CD. Yah, I like lingerie too...
Thanks A+M for the gifts from Neal's Yard...Always want to get something from there, even something from the smelly cheese outlet at Covent Garden.
Thanks Dad and Mum for the card.
XXXXXX, where is my present?
Thanks all others for the greeting and well wishes.

Play_Anything and Everything by Autour De Lucie for the month of March.

30

2007-03-15T00:26:00.000Z

I’m still going on about Sean Bean. He’s 47 and I’m turning 30 in less then 48 hours.

To commemorate the occasion,I took some pictures and completed the Q+A Sean Bean did with The Guardian Weekend Magazine in the 10th March edition.

I have to say that I do not feel as reluctant as I thought I would have felt. I think in my 20s there was so much I felt I needed to achieve before I turned 30. But now that I am turning 30, I realize that I can achieve anything that I decide to achieve, even up and moving to another country and starting all over from scratch.

When were you happiest?
When I was with XXXXXX.

What is your greatest fear?
My loved ones dying on me.

What is your earliest memory?
Sitting on a Milo tin when I was three and asking endless questions while watching my mommy preparing the evening’s meal. I had all the time in the world then.

Which living person do you most admire?
It’s a close call between my parents, my sister and Haruki Murakami. My mum is the kindest most forgiving person I know. My dad made his way up the ladder from scratch with family and burdens in tow and I have never ever heard my sister complain no matter what hardship she goes through.

Haruki Murakami captures hopes and dreams of the ordinary. He makes the most ordinary seem extraordinary.

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
Inflexibility and loosing my temper/patience when someone does not understand me.

What is the trait you most deplore in other?
Lack of empathy.

What was your most embarrassing moment?
Having a fib I told to a good friend exposed by her.

Aside from a property, what’s the most expensive thing you’ve ever bought?
I would have liked to say my baby pink Vespa, but I don't own one, so it would have to be my Toshiba Satellite Laptop with Harman/Kardon speakers. I still love it!

What is your most treasured possession?
Physical possession must be a framed paper cut from someone close to me and a first edition hard cover print of a Neil Gaiman book with his signature from a friend.

Metaphysical must be my friends and family's love and support.

Where would you like to live?
For this moment in my life, right where I am now.

What would your superpower be?
Being able to induce a cocaine like euphoria on people without cocaine. Either that or create mist.

What is your guiltiest pleasure?
XXXXXX and Peanut Snickers Bars.

What do you owe your parents?
My life.

What makes you depressed?
Loving someone, a friend or even a family member and not being loved back in the same way. Problems I have no power to solve. When I am not learning new things. Politics in the office and sensitive human relationships because my whole psyche is not made to deal with such issues. My inability to express my thoughts clearly verbally.

Would you rather be clever and ugly, or thick and attractive?
Dah….Clever and ugly.

What is your most unappealing habit?
Being uptight and unable to relax.

Cat or dog?
DOG!

What is your favourite word?
Don’t have one.

What is your favourite smell?
CK Summer.

What has been your biggest disappointment?
Not going to The AA to study.

What is your fancy-dress costume of choice?
This must be the most boring and predictable answer, but I’ve always wanted to have fairy wings, wield a magic wand and wear a tiara.

What is the worst thing anyone’s ever said to you?
I can’t say it.

What do you most dislike about your appearance?
I can't tell you one particular thing I dislike the most. It's a combination of things. But I think I was fortunate enough to have reasonable looking parents and no one obscenely obese in the family line.

Is it better to give or to receive?
When I was younger, I would say give….but now.....

What or who is the greatest love of your life?
XXXXXX

Which living person do you most despise and why?
Despise is a strong word, and Saddam Hussein is already dead so I think the person I most despise right now is XXXXXX.

Who would you invite to your dream dinner party?
Haruki Murakami, Tadanobu Asano and his wife Chara, Maya Lin and maybe Sean Bean! But if I could really choose, I would like to invite God. I have many questions to ask him.

Which words or phrases do you most overuse?
Its alright.(But actually not mean it).

What is the worst job you’ve done?
It’s got to be a tie between a waitress and a data entry clerk.

If you could edit your past, what would you change?
I wish I never met XXXXXX.

If you could go back in time, where would you go?
To China as an Empress.

How do you relax?
Having a warm cup of tea in my hand while writing/reading/sitting in the sun. Alternatively hanging out with friends and downing a couple of pints has the same affect.

What is the closest you’ve every come to death?
Pneumonia when I was 9 and another illness again when I was 17.

What single thing would improve the quality of your life?
Power Yoga twice a week.

What keeps you awake at night?
Problems and too much green tea.

What song would you like played at your funeral?
Right now, ‘Hang me up to dry’ by Cold War Kids.

What is the most important lesson life has taught you?
You can plan everything but not everything goes as planned.

Where would you most like to be right now?
Running in a sunny field with my dog, Chopin.

On Player_'48 hours'_By The Good Luck Joes

Mooning

2007-03-14T02:10:00.000Z

I've been adrift. I've been floating. I've been gliding as I walk in the rain.

I found myself spending some minutes with my forehead crumpled up, staring hard and long at an almost indecipherable mustard stain of my newly washed muji sweatshirt from a bradswurth hotdog I had with C aka ex-house guest at Portobello Market the morning before I started settling down to write this. That was two weekends ago.

The trees in the park are still bear but the grass is greener then ever and bursting with random spurts of blooms. The trees lining the path towards Portobello Market are sweet with the sight of pink blossoms. The smell of an early spring is in the air. Things are in motion. But I have been mooning.

It is easy to sink into melodrama. When I have a problem dealing with multiple problems, I tend to zone out, tuck my emotions neatly in a box and store them in cold storage till I am ready to deal with them. I spend some time away from people so as not to affect them while I deal with the more urgent problems at hand one at a time. Sometimes, I watch some senseless America’s Next Top Model, Grey’s Anatomy music videos on you tube, browse weather reports, read, stare at food stains and day dream to get away from it all.

Not that nothing was in motion, I finally made it down to visited PP/A/J in Seven Oaks, attended a freakish NUS Alumni Chinese New Year Lunch, visited Greenwich, said hello to deers in the deer park there, visited the Barbican for its 25th anniversary tour, attended the Riverside Studio Japanese film fest, cut my hair before it fell out, got to know my colleagues better and changed tables at work. One moment I was facing the bridge on the east and the next day I was watching the sun set over the western bridge. I still prefer the east bridge view. I even met Lord F on two late nights at work going to the print room to collect prints. Both times his black Mercedes rolled pass barely a metre in front of me and we made momentary eye contact. A lot has happened, but mainly I have been working and mooning while trying to make peace.

Sunday morning while munching on my cereal and milk, I came across an article of Sean Bean aka Boromir in The Lord of the Rings in The Guardian’s weekend magazine. He made a milk stain on my Pjs and triggered off a whole series of cloud time. I have a thing for rugged-overload-with-hyroxy-steroid-ketone-pain-of-destiny-and-tired-times-been-there-done-there-and-know-what-I want-now-types. His smirk reminded me of Tadanobu Asano too.

I’ve been feeling so worn out lately that I’ve been dreaming of settling down with my Sean Bean aka Tadanobu Asano type. We’d spend most of our time in our farm house in a quiet rural town. He would be a creative, intensely focused person and for once in my life, I could take a step back and put down the baggage. He would not have opulent taste, but would know to mix a pair of diesel jeans with an off beat Tsumori Chrisato or Comme Des Garcons shirt. I often imagine the him as a furniture maker creating objects with that pair of beautiful hands that he possessed. He wouldn’t be overly talkative but each time he spoke, he would stir my soul. I like men at work, men deep in concentration trying to get something done and no one or nothing can stop them.

Our house would look something like a barn. Large and simple, supported by wooden columns/ rafters and metal studs and I-beams to support the mezzanine level above. Large barn doors would open out towards the field beyond. The kitchen would extend to an outdoor terrace, overlooking our home grown Italian aubergines.

Every day, I would prepare his meals while he worked in the studio beside our house. I would find time after the chores and the baking of fresh bread and cakes to write more and build houses again, not because I had too, but because I wanted to. At night, we would gaze through the skylight in the bedroom on the mezzanine and watch the moon go by. His shoulder would be warm and I would be safe again.

I have it all figured out. In my head that is, right down to the colour of the original 1945 plywood Eames chair in the living space.

Right.....

On Player_'On This Life'_By Cold War Kids

Spring!

2007-03-14T02:04:00.001Z

Flickr Update

February/March

Untitled

2007-02-20T23:27:00.000Z

Careless in our summer clothes splashing
around in the muck and the mile
Careless in our summer clothes splashing
around in the muck and the mile
fell asleep with stains
cake deep in the knees
what a pain
now hang me up to dry
you wrung me out too too too many times
now hang me up to dry
I'm pearly like the whites
the whites of your eyes
all mixed up in the wash
hot water bleeding our colors
all mixed up in the wash
hot water bleeding our colors
now hang me up to dry
you wrung me out too too too many times
now hang me up to dry
I'm pearly like the white
the whites of your eyes

Playing_'Hang Me Up To Dry'_By Cold War Kids

ROMA and The Horizon

2007-02-11T15:04:00.000Z

Popped by The Albion Gallery mid-week during my lunch hour for the ROMA Exhibition and David Adjaye’s Horizon installation.

Its been a long time since an actual space touched me. Horizon was one of them. Seems like I’ll be there very often after lunch for a breather from now on. Subtle and superb.

Snow II

2007-02-08T22:54:00.000Z

It snowed again today.

Default Settings

2007-02-04T19:14:00.000Z

Its been a while. I’m still trying to recover from a 65 hour work week the week before. I slacked a little this week after a just-when-things-were-warming-up game of scrabble at The Fat Badger for Saturday brunch and a time-flies-so-fast weekend.

This weekend was a swirl of blurred faces, both old and new, having my head stuck in a plastic bag for half an hour, getting whacked in the face with a tennis racket, a short trip to see an exhibition at The AA, Korean brunch in a dingy basement surrounded by Korean videos tapes and farewell drinks with ET. All this blended with a pinch of happiness, a teaspoon of melancholy and a tablespoon of apprehension.

I am finally sitting down in front of my laptop to catch up with everything around me after a jog in Hyde Park, sun salutations, washing and ironing my bed sheets and fretting over a blown light bulb. Yo Yo Ma’s The Cello Suites is playing in the background c/o the-one-who-whacked-me-in-the-face-with-a-tennis-racket-ex-house-guest. I am just about to switch to listern to my default setting favourite Couch and adjusting my eyes to the darkness sitting beside my light-bulb-less lamp. I feel like a pianist about to attempt a Stravinsky. There is so much I want to say, but am afraid that it will likely come out as a catastrophic disaster. When you start something, you never know what the outcome is. Be it work, friendship, love and even baking a cake.

I read with great interest A’s recent Blog Entry. ‘A’ must be for Analyze with a capital A and I must just be Miss La La in her own dream land. I lost myself in the maze of his thoughts but I g0t the drift after a couple of repeated readings. We had a short conversation last night during ET’s farewell drinks. And he brought up a good point which is remotely linked to all this jumbled self flagellation.

A, I know of very few Architects around us who knew for sure that Architecture was what they wanted to do for the rest of their lives. Those few who do, I must say are extremely privileged. It is not so much the definition of Architecture that is up for debate as Architecture is defined by ourselves and what we want out of it and how we want to contribute to it. In that aspect, I can give you very little comment.

To be fair, I asked myself the same questions over and over, especially now, in a prestigious architectural office only to realize that this does not necessarily mean personal or even professional success. Like the primitives who wanted so much to believe that the sun and moon were gods, I still want to believe that Architecture is my destiny and not a default setting. This does not mean that I do not like Architecture, but is it enough to make a life out of? More so, is it important at all?

In the past year, I have been unable to practice Architecture in the way I knew and learnt to. And this taught me two things:

1. By not being able to do the things that I use to be able to do, I now know which aspects of Architecture I like.
2. By not finding full satisfaction in work, I have turned to other outlets to nourish my soul. And I forgot I could because Architecture can be such a self-absorbed, all encompassing profession.

My failures have thought me more things then my success. As age catches up with me, my patience runs shorter. I have started analyzing a tiny bit less, but to learn to trust my base instincts a bit more ( like you said I should last night). Of what makes me sad and what makes me happy. I admit I am old enough to know that I can’t always have the best of both worlds and sacrifices/ hardships as well as chimp tactics are necessary for whatever outcomes to get me to where I hope to get to eventually.

Full Moon aka C told me before that to be able to practice Architecture is a privilege. When the going gets tough and doubts begin to fill my head. I remember this. Just like the things I had taken for granted before and lost, if we view everything from work, friendships, family, love with fragility, just like I view each day in London as my possible last day, I am able to live life a little fuller and with a bit more love and a bit more tenderness.

So A, when the going gets tough, remember this. You can still Analyze with a capital A, but get dirty in the mud, eat nuts and climb trees. You never know what could be up another tree.

Oh and make more babies.

Snow

2007-01-24T23:57:00.000Z

My Habitat Big Mouth Bear experienced his first snow filled morning.

Flickr Update

Snow January 2007

Déjà vu

2007-01-22T02:34:00.000Z

It was a bright, calm morning. There were flowers in the bathroom from B to LP for her birthday bash the night before. The light from the frosted glass window proved to be a nice backdrop for the photo. A picture but not a thousand words said. As I sat on the can looking at the flowers, I thought about the night that had just passed. A memorable birthday party at Smiths but I could not describe the encounters and emotions. How do you capture moments? In a photo? In music? In words? How do you describe the drift of a woody muster from cigars in the atmosphere, apprehension in a face, the feel of the skin during the first seconds of a handshake, the scent of another human being as you draw them close to your space. Sometimes all forms of semantics escape me. Pictures and words have such ability to empower. But presented with such empowerment, I am sometimes pressured by an inability to truly document the essence of something, to uncover unknown mysteries and share these subtle discoveries with the people around me.

The month has flown pass so quickly. Much has happened in little bits and pieces which I am trying to piece together and make sense of. I’ve been trapped in some repetitive cycle of walking (in the rain), work, eat, sleep. Walking (no rain), work, eat, sleep and stealing time for special events outside work and time to myself.

It seems I can’t escape long working hours, working late into the night and working on weekends no matter which continent I pluck myself from. Past memories of work, memories of pain, memories of happiness. Where do they all go? Are they gathered in some hauling zone to be dragged out in another time and space? Have you ever come across a picture, a song, a smell, a feel of something that drew out something from deep inside you?

Most mornings when I walk through the park, I meet a group of about 8-10 dogs resting outside The Serpentine Gallery with their owners, barking noisily in friendly batter with one another, presumably after their morning walk. One day last week, I was lost in the crowd of these dogs in my path even before I had reached The Serpentine Gallery. At the moment it occurred to me that I was earlier then usual because I had met the dogs before I reached the gallery. Amongst them was Willow, a golden retriever blocking my passage together with a few other smaller dogs. I nudged Willow slowly with my knees as I moved forward and drew my hand through his fur. I was surprised at the texture of his fur as it glided through my fingertips. It reminded me of Chopin, the feel of his fur, the feel of his hot breath on my face when I gazed right into his eyes, his little manic dance after each bath and a whole well of emotion I had buried deep inside me. This brief glitch of time in my daily cycle and soft fur at my finger tips had drawn out so much from me.

The first cake I baked this year brought out a whole entourage of emotion as well. There was a vaguely familiar taste of custard on cake and I couldn’t remember immediately where the gingery taste with custard sauce had lingered into my mind from. Then I remembered the desert at Buku Nero with W. We had waited a month for the table. The meal was satisfactory, but the real highlight was the desert which was a simple warm cake with custard which I will always associate with an entirely pleasant evening well spent.

A friend of mine use to tell me that he believed in karma, in cycles of life. What goes round comes round.

This morning, as I lay procrastinating in bed, I tried to draw out memories I wanted to remember from out of myself. Yet, I could not remember them anymore. It was scary because the harder I thought about them, the less I could remember

I do hope, what goes round, comes round again and again. In some time and space. Something vaguely familiar. In particular, the nice things.

On Player_'Reason Why'_By Rachael Yamagata

Nouveau

2007-01-01T18:14:00.000Z

We all try to preserve beauty. We put photos of precious people and moments in our homes, in our office, in our wallets and on our phones. But many of the times, they mean as much as the mind can remember of the moment.

I received a lot of gifts this year at Christmas. And they were mostly exceptionally useful gifts. Among them was a book from A. This morning when I woke up, I picked it up from the pile of books on the floor and curled up in bed reading it. It was a book called ‘Kitchen Diaries’ by Nigel Slater. It is a diary of a Chef, of what he cooked and ate over a period of a year. The book doesn’t just include the recipes but also descriptions about how he felt. All the photos of the food were also taken in real time. The forward talks about the natural timing of food for the body. Like a thick slice of watermelon oozing with cold juice on a hot summer’s day or a bubbling hot stew on a rainy evening. He talks about the food like a gentle lover. About buying food from people truly passionate about their produce ie farmer’s market, butchers, fish mongers, delicatessens ie never stepping into mega marts like Tesco and cooking the food simply to compliment its real taste. It was very inspiring to hear someone talk about something so passionately. As I read the book, I thought about how awesome our God made this world, creating four different seasons, with certain foods available only at a certain time of the year for our consumption and how we had screwed everything up through genetic engineering and making so many types of food available throughout the year. Through abundance and excessiveness, we loose the true meaning of so many things.

This Christmas and New Year were especially significant because I spent it with people I am still trying to get to know better and haven’t really gotten down to doing so, not even after almost more then 10 years. We hardly really spend time together, even for some of us who live under the same roof. It’s still strange and awkward for me because I have largely forgotten how being with people really is. My inner timing is generally out of synch with the cosmos. I spent the last few years working frantically, the years before that silent from a family member who terrorized us and the years before that reading non-stop to get over a person who had forgotten about me and the years before that battling illness. Its so easy and convenient to be by yourself, but its better to learn to and enjoy being with other people. I’m learning all over again, even though very often I feel like a kid with knobby knees on the first day of school not knowing what is the right way to behave with the other kids, when is the right time to speak, what is the right thing to say and mostly how to say it. Sometimes I have a feeling about something, but I don’t know how to say it precisely in spoken words and it comes out insufficient to describe the thoughts in my head or at worse, all wrong. This makes me feel very frustrated, but I will keep trying because I know no one will understand me if I don’t try to say it.

I will not be making anymore resolutions this year with exception to bringing my own grocery bag to the supermarket from now on. I think I’ve always known the things I’ve needed to do. Not always clearly and in which order, but its there somewhere. For this year, I just want to enjoy the moments, the road, the inner mechanism of the human spirit, of what it wants, just like a good memory or moment, just like the passing of the four seasons is something we already recognise deep in our hearts.

May all our hearts desires be fulfilled this year. God Bless.

Hey guys, it was good. The Christmas of 2006.

On Player_'Seasons Change'_By Corinne Bailey Rae

The Flaneur

2007-01-01T15:11:00.000Z

Flickr Update

Paris December 2006

Before the Sun Rises Today

2006-12-23T01:23:00.000Z

Went down to Chinatown for a Winter Solstice dinner but could not find traditional chinese glutinous rice balls to commemorate the occassion.

There was a giant Christmas Tree in Trafalgar Square but it wasn't very pretty at all.

Am heading down with the rest of the Junkies to find the musky old bookshop where Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy re-united 10 years later in 'Before Sunset'.

Happy Holidays and Be Safe all.

p/s

W,

Im off to that bookstore. (stick out tongue). nah nah nah nah nah nah...

Thanks again for the DVD and forgiving me for the tear I made on your copy.I still prefer 'Before Sunset' to 'Before Sunrise' because their chemistry survived 10 years. Flatmate HL and LP think its possible eventhough I am more skeptical but its nice to think that anything could survive 10 years, even if it was in a movie. Gone was their puppy affection replaced by a comfortable, well paced, mature conversation, a single shared memory between them of that passionate night in their youth where they made love on a bed of grass in a park and the hope of a future in each other's arms. 'Before Sunset' ended the possibly life long regret of missed opportunity. 'Before Sunset' proved what 'Before Sunrise' couldn't, that they were meant for one another. I wept watching 'Before Sunrise' but I smiled watching ' Before Sunset'. That's why I like it better.

Thank you for your hapless answers, they didn't help.
Even so, may Love, Peace and Hope be with you this season.

p/s/s

Our Still Starless Christmas Tree.Many thanks to Bart, Low and all true friends for the cards, gifts and well wishes.

On Player_'Dirty Little Secret'_By Sarah McLachlan + Thievery Corporation

My name is Misty

2006-12-20T01:17:00.000Z

I never knew Winter could be this hauntingly beautiful. When I opened my eyes on Tuesday morning, there was a soft grey mist hovering in the atmosphere. She washed away the colour of the sky and buildings. I stuck myself out of the window into the cold in just my pyjamas to take some shots and make contact. Almost immediately, I started to breath white smog from out of my nose like a car exhaust. I didn't even have to exert any pressure or do my dragon puffs. That morning, I took out my long winter jacket. After asking around for so long about his arrival. He had finally come. Winter.

In the Park , a thin layer of white frost speckled the grass. The delicate mist danced around the trees. There was almost no one inside the park with the exception of the occasional runner emerging like a ghost from out of the mist or a dog and its owner.

The mist has been persistent but friendly and its visibility varies throughout the day. It looks softer then the Sumatra haze in Asia and luckily doesn't smell anything like it. You can see it, even in the night in the shadow of the street lights, but you can't touch it or hold it in your hand. It is mildly disruptive yet dainty and mysteriously evasive.

If I were to ever be a natural phenomenon, I would definitely like to be the Mist. A Thunderstorm would come a close second only for my name sake, but a mist is definitely way more breathtaking.

On Player_'Purple Rose Minuet'_By Susumu Yokota

Capsule

2006-12-20T00:15:00.000Z

Sunday, 17 December 2006
View From the Eye of London

Bye Bye Autumn Hello Winter

2006-12-10T22:18:00.000Z

Flickr Update

Weekend trip to Bath

On Player_'Run'_By Snow Patrol

A Shop Cramped Full of Memories

2006-12-10T00:46:00.000Z

*Brissi
I love this shop.

*Toms
I love the crisp morning air flowing through my lungs. I love the smell of a café with an all-day breakfast menu where the perpetual wiff of mushrooms sizzling on the pan drifts in the air.

I love discovering an old out of print book. I love a bookshop cramped full of the smell of dusty covers, of history, of love, of repression, of struggle and of strength.

*Ottolenghi
I love the smell of a patisserie cramped with the smell of baking, of suger, of flour, of raw eggs and of chocolate and cream.

*Tea Me
I love the texture of a smooth handle of a Copenhagen tea cup at the tip of my finger. I love the rim of the tea cup touching my mouth and the warmth of the tea gently sliding down my throat. The love the sound of the ting of my tea cup as I place it on a saucer again.

I love a shop cramped full of memories. Above all, I love the feel of hard labour, passion and tender loving care put into things.

*Toms_226 Westbourne Grove_London W11 2RH
T: 0207 221 8818
*Tea Me_129a Ladbroke Grove_London W11 1PN
T: 0207 792 5577

On Player_'Never Gonna Fall in Love Again'_By Snow Patrol

Press Release

2006-12-05T14:01:00.000Z

Winner of The Turner Prize 2006

Head Turner

2006-12-03T23:56:00.000Z

This afternoon, I took a walk from Westminister Station, passing by the Big Ben and Westminister Abbey to see The Turner Prize 2006 Finalists at Tate Britain. Coincidently, the results of The Turner Prize will be announced tomorrow. There was a free audio commentary which was very useful.

My vote is for Phil Collins and Tomma Abts. Both works are on extremes of each other but are very contemporary and contemplative works.I spend the most time in the rooms featuring their works. The two other finalist are Mark Titchner and Rebecca Warren.

My other purpose of visiting Tate Britain was also to see The Upper Room designed by British Architect David Adjaye featuring works by Chris Ofili. I did not feel the ‘chapel-like qualities of the space and its lighting’ but I think the small transitional space at the entrance was quite pleasant.

Sweet

2006-12-03T23:26:00.000Z

I spent a quiet Friday night baking brownies at home. The warm whiffs of bake in the air always soothe me.

Saturday evening, I visited a delightful Italian brasserie called Amato in Soho with a group of collegues to celebrate SP and B's B-days.The display was cramped with rising mountains of chocolate and marzipan and the cakes were covered in ruffled fans of chocolate and creams. It was pâtisserie heaven. I am not into food pornography but I wish I had taken a picture of the display.I had a Malaga with Elderflower and Lemon Tea. Simply delectable. After tea,I purchased a Dark Chocolate Truffle cake for M's B-day drinks in Camden Town that night.

Beam Me Up Scottie

2006-11-29T23:20:00.000Z

Volume

For Full Moon aka C and XY _ I was feeling a little down after work today but this cheered me up. It was fun. You would have liked it too.

Let There Be Light

2006-11-26T23:05:00.000Z

It’s all been about seeing the light this weekend even though there has been very little of it.

When I woke up on Sunday morning, it was dark with the gathering of heavy grey clouds above me. The raindrops pattered softly against my window plane. My gas heater hummed ever so softly in unison with it. The reverberations of the first trains deep down in the underground below started to vibrate through my building block. At 5 minute intervals my room started to vibrate a little, but I am use to it. My hair was still a bit damp from a late night wash and I brushed it away from my shoulders over my ears and turned to my side to stare out the window. I lay like this for a long time, listening, breathing slowly and trying to recall the dream I had last night. I turned over once to take my phone but there were no professions of everlasting love on it so I took this picture instead.

In my dream, I am driving into the twilight. It is snowing lightly. It is autumn. I can’t be sure that it is because the roads are covered in snow, but I get a sense that it is, strange that autumn snow may seem. I am not sure what type of car it is, but it seems like a big car, an MPV of some sort but with luxurious beige leather coverings. It is firm but comfortable and I like sitting on it while driving. There is someone beside me. I am not sure who, but I get a sense of it as well. Periodically, he puts his hand on my knee and gives it a bit of a squeeze as if to reassure me. Couch is playing on my player. I am not sure which song but it could be Gegen Alles Bereit. I think I have been listening to too much Couch in my another life out of the dream. But it is still the perfect type of song to listen to while out on a drive. In actual fact, I don’t drive but in this dream I was driving. Not the type of driving we see in sitcoms where the actors pretend to bob up and down with a digitalized back drop behind. In my dream, I was really driving. I was holding the wheel, changing gears and feeling at home doing it. In the dream it all came so naturally. Again, it must be too much real time lunch conversations about learning to drive. The window of the car is ever so slightly down and I can hear the whoosh of cars as they whiz pass us. Everything around us is covered in soft cotton balls of snow. I am driving quite fast, but the snow flakes seem to be falling in slow motion on my windscreen disaffected by the speed of life. The sky has my favourite evening hues. Dark blue on top gradating into pinkish orange hues below. I haven’t seen these hues very often since autumn crept in on us. At 4pm it gets dark, like some one is gradually turning the dimmer down and then everything turns dark by 4.30pm. The whole twilight process is skipped. I’ve been missing the twilights. The road ahead is long and I can’t see any end ahead, only the twilight drifting downwards, like a falling veil in the wind. I just keep driving and driving.

On Saturday night, I rushed down to catch the candle light concert in St Martins-in-the-fields. The New London Soloist Orchestra was playing Vivaldi’s Four Seasons together with some other pieces including my all time favourite, Bach’s ‘Air’ from Orchestral Suite No.3. I did not have very good seats. I had a seat hugging a column and lots of people in front of me. My head was lop sided in the direction of the column till my neck was strained and my tongue and saliva were drifting south with my lop side. It’s the type of look my dog has when he doesn’t understand me. The rest of the time, I just looked up at the chandeliers or closed my eyes and listened to the orchestra play. Still, it was cathartic. Soothing strings under candle light in a historic church.

This evening I managed to catch a Housing Exhibition, ‘On the Threshold: The Changing Face of Housing and a photographic exhibition,’Twilight: Photography in the Magic Hour’ at V+A.

It was interesting to see MVRDV’s Berlin Voids model at the exhibition. It’s the type of thing you see in your books while you were still in archi school and you give it a second take because it gives you a vaguely familiar feeling.

‘Twilight’ was good albeit a bit small scale. But it was something I simply couldn’t resist. Hand fetish aside. Twilights count high on my list as well. My favourite work was by Bill Henson. It was of an image of a girl. Only her face and part of her open shirt and breasts were illuminated by the evening lights. I liked the colour of the evening bouncing off her skin giving it a ghoulish green tint, but what struck me most was the single tear streaming down her face. It glistered brightly in the dim light and looked so three dimensional I almost wanted to wipe it away. Next favourite was Philip-Lorca diCorcia's works. It is a difficult task to capture evening or night images which is why I have recently been fixated with learning about the Fuji Natura Classica camera. I want to capture that evening light. Every time I take an image of the twilight, it never comes out as I had seen it or as I want to remember it. I want to get it right.

The Volume light/sound installation in the V+A courtyard by Massive Attack Producer Neil Davidge and band member Robert Del Naja was closed because of the rain. I will head down again soon to catch it.

There was another exhibition at the Serpentine Gallery that I wanted to catch called ’In the darkest hour, there may be light’ but I wasn’t in the mood for art. Sometimes I am not in the mood for it and sometimes I don’t understand it. A super size plastic replication of a half peeled potato could also be art.

My bets for the rest of the month are:
The Photographic Portrait Prize at The National Portrait Gallery
The Turner Prize at Tate Britain
In the Face of History: European Photographers in the 20th Century at The Barbican Centre

The house was so silent tonight. I could have walked around in my CKs but of course that would have been a silly idea. I would freeze my A$$ off.

Instead, I flipped through ex-house guest’s copy of Murakami’s Norwegian Wood sitting on my shelf and came across this.

There was light.

Pardon my language.

Nagasawa said to Toru, ‘Don’t feel sorry for yourselves, only Ar$eholes do that.’

I am driving up the road. I am in control, just me and my somebody and we are driving ahead into the twilight.

Summer, June 2006_Evening light from my bedroom window

25 Minute Walk

2006-11-26T13:17:00.000Z

23 November 2006

My heart finally came crashing down to planet earth from lala land on Thursday morning. Its meteors scattered the planet and washed the grounds with my sadness. I wasn’t getting on that plane headed to Portal. In fact, the plane had left by the time I saw its trail of white flush streaking the grey sky of Hyde Park as I walked to work.

I stopped taking the tube this week. The potential delays and rumoured strikes were too much to face early mornings with my hectic work schedule. I would rather walk for 25 minutes through the park to the bus stop to take a bus. In general, train delays and evacuating the train mid route seem to be the norm for Londoners. They take it in their stride as a part of life eventhough I still curse and swear.

Round the Bend
Little New York Back Alley
Entrance to Park

The Lake Side

The Pavillion
Out of the Park
The Imperial College of London
The Underpass
The Bus Stop

On Player_'London'_By The Crystal Method

In Search of the Gardens of Paradise

2006-11-19T21:49:00.000Z

On Saturday Morning, I went in search of instant karma. Actually, I wasn’t intending on something as momentous as that at all. All I really wanted to do was to slowly savor a bowl of oat crunch with fresh organic milk followed by a hot cup of Chai Latte while reading a whole week of e-mails at my own pace. For once, this would be a real treat for me because I have either been gulping down my breakfast or not taking any before work. There wasn’t even a drop of milk, organic or inorganic left in the house. There are some days where everything goes wrong. This is one of those times where I am going through a rough patch. On days like this, even the smallest magnitude of events that do not go your way are multiplied by a gazillion times. There is a saying about the redundancy of crying over spilt milk and probably more so for milk that never existed in the first place. Regardless of it all, I have been crying over spilt milk for the larger part of this week.

Something unpleasant happened at work this week. Actually a string of unpleasant things happened at work. But the main event resulted in the cancellation of my Portugal trip. I spent two sleepless nights measuring the implications of going on the trip and not going on the trip. It was a matter of leisure/ friendship/ money on one side and a matter of pride on the other side. I chose Pride and taking responsibility for something that I was partially responsible for.

The decision thus made still resulted in me breaking into tears every time I thought about it. In my last blog entry, I wrote about the places I wanted to visit at that point in time. They match the ‘X’ annotations as Rome, Portugal and France. Thus revealed, you can understand my disappointment. While many people have chosen to go to Spain, I had wanted to go to the lesser know places of Portal and Lisbon which glazed the magazines of Wallpaper. I have not had the chance to travel with a big group of people before other than a trip to Bali 10 years ago and I am tired of constantly traveling alone. Good company and shared memories are hard to come by or coordinate and I did not know that the trip meant so much to me until I had lost it. When do you realize the consequences of something until it is too late? I think that is how human beings are. On the other end of the spectrum, when do you even know if the resultants of your sacrifices are worth it.

I was not only filled with this sense of loss, but the grief also resulted from the fact that you know you could have avoided such a dilemma in the first place. It is the type of feeling I had when I was still a kid and I had just gotten my report book back for the year and needed my parent’s signature on it. On my way home, I would drag my feet through the muddy running fields where I’d spent too much time playing and keep wishing I had studied harder and watched less cartoons just for a few days or hours.

When the incident happened, I had the immediate urge to talk to someone, but as I went down my list, I realized that there was no one to talk to who understood me well. L was in Shanghai. W and the rest of my friends were in Singapore sleeping and I wanted to keep them in happy land. At that point, I immediately plunged deep into what felt like some desolate utopia, like coming out of a coma and realizing that every single living being on the planet had disappeared and you were alone in your decision making.

The impact of actions and consequences has been weighing hard or my mind. On Monday, the whole office watched Al Gore’s ‘An Inconvenient Truth.’ It was a sobering experience about global warming and our near Armageddon landscape in 50 years time where the melting ice lands will result in the flooding of major cities around the world. More sobering is the fact that we are the cause of our own decline through industrial emissions and also the only solution to our future survival.

Early week, I met bag man on the train again. I have met him on a number of occasions on the tube. He is very old, about 70. I can hardly see his face because his head is always perpendicular to his body, as if his neck is permanently broken. He carries a trolley bag with him and his clothes and large jacket are monotone from layers of dirt which have nullified their colours. He wears a large pair of brown boots which are two sizes too big for him. He smells and his head is covered in sores. Everyone avoids him like the plague. So I did the opposite and stood right in front of him and bravely ceased breathing for the length of my journey. After a while, he took out a plastic bag and unfolded what looked like a half eaten piece of chocolate. I wondered what happened to him and how he ended up in this state? Did he regret the consequences of his actions and behaviour in his younger days and were these the result of his current state? My heart ached while watching him pick at his crumbled chocolate bar. I wanted to pass him the 5 pounds I had left in my wallet but I thought maybe he didn’t really want sympathy. He wanted someone to understand him.

I remember telling this to someone before. I don’t need your sympathy, I don’t need a solution, I just need a hug and you to understand. And the truth is no one understands and you cannot expect everyone to. Human emotions are too complicated for one human being to fully understand another. We all settle our own problems and we carry the weight of our own burdens. That’s what being an adult is about.

So, on another consequential breakfast-less morning, I packed a single chocolate truffle as a reward, a magazine, a bottle of water and other essentials and went in search of my own salvation and sanity at the legendary Kyoto Gardens in Holland Park.

Finding one of the entrances to the Park was not so difficult even with my dismal sense of directions. I hate reading maps because I can’t tell left or right or right from left or up from down but I remember places from the sense it gives me if I have ever visited it once before. If you led me into the deep dark forest I could get myself out but if you showed me a map I would never be able to take you where you needed to go. Once inside the park, I felt a little lost and scared. There was hardly anyone in sight and I could not see beyond the trees which closed in on me. The path was muddy, laden with slippery leaves and the sweet rotting scent of a rapidly degenerating autumn. I came to a cross road with a small pond with a statue of some old dude on a chair in the middle of the pond. It didn’t make sense to me at all. An old dude on a chair in the middle of the pond? In any case, beside the pond was a map. I could tell left from right only because the outline of the side profile of the old dude in the pond was printed clearly on the map. Take the route on the right of the statue then a left at the first turn.

It was a quiet, lonely walk. I knew I should be doing some serious thinking about a lot of things and the time would come when I would have to make more decisions, but not right now. I felt completely drained from the late nights and week that had just passed. Finally,a short distance along the first left turn, I came across the steps of the entrance to the gardens. There was a squirrel sitting still and silent beside the steps and I thought he was a statue as well but he ran off as I came closer. Walking up the steps, I came to a clearing with peacocks, a waterfall and a small bridge across a koi pond where the waterfall terminated. It was almost surreal. I sat down on a bench at the foot of the pond, took out my truffle and magazine. Elle Decoration Special Collector’s Edition. Everything was peaceful for a while and I let the truffle disappear slowly on my tongue, till I got to page 30, where Casa Da Musica was featured. It looked so cool in the picture and I was suppose to be there next week together with all the Alvaro Sizas which I would miss as well. Suppose to.

I left shortly after. Back home later that day. I spent the rest of the evening in my room. The sky was as dark as ever and I suddenly felt a violent loathing of Autumn. Why did such a beautiful time of year have to be so dark? I did a bit of yoga, watched a movie on my computer which momentarily gave me some distraction, then read a book that Full Moon aka C had given me called ‘The Adventures of Captain Underpants’ by Dav Pilkey. It brought me some relief as well and I stumbled into a fitful sleep after that.

This morning, I took a walk in the park after foregoing yesterday’s walk in search of lost paradise. The crowds of people were not a mirage. This brought my impatience up another notch and I wanted to do a road runner and bull doze everyone in my way. Back home again, I took a nap to recuperate and gather some strength for the long week ahead. I woke up in a daze from a bizarre dream of a violent argument with Flat mate LP and HL over some pints of ale. The sky was dark again. I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth only to realize that it was not morning.

Come bedtime, I did not want to go through another night of hiking through barren dreamlands. I decided to take drastic measures and call someone. I decided to do the unthinkable. I called my mummy.

I may be an adult, but sometimes, I still want my mummy. I still need my gas heating. I’m still too young and too weak to carry the entire evolution of the world on my shoulders. I still need a hug.

Post Halloween Perspectives II

2006-11-13T00:26:00.000Z

Last weekend, Flat mate LP was in Venice and so Flat mate HL and I set out on our mini-adventure to the mega store to return the antenna which hasn’t done anything to improve our appalling TV reception. The good thing about London is that most shops are flexible and have a 30 day return policy for goods sold. I bet you could return just about anything from a rubber band to a Jacuzzi without undergoing a 1st degree interrogation.

In the last 4 months, I have not sat down to watch decent TV which doesn’t give me double vision after 5 seconds. And even though I have pretty much given up on TV and the fact that our TV set will ever be resuscitated, there still never seems to be enough time for everything else I need to do, including this blog entry which was suppose to be from 2 weeks back.

About 3 months ago, in my note book entry for Sunday, 13 August 2006, I wrote down the things that I hoped to achieve this year:

1. XXXXXX XXX
2. Memorize all the Cities on the Map of the Europe
3. Travel to XXXX,XXXXXXXX, XXXXX and around United Kingdom
4. Finish reading The Stranger on the Road to Emmaus
5. Start and finish The History of the World
6. Work related – XXXXXX XX XXXX
7. Work related – XXXXX XXXXXX
8. People related – XXXXX XX XXX XX XXXX XXXXX
9. Character related – XXXXX XXXX, XXXXX XXX XXXX XXXXXXXX
10. Bake the Ultimate Chocolate Cake

Evaluating this now, I am embarrassed to admit that I have failed in almost all aspects.

1. Tried but failed…so far
2. Started and located Santander, Lyon, Salzburg, Frankfurt and Cartagena on the map from my List of The 50 Best Cheap Getaways but went into perpetual sleep mode after 3 nights.
3. Varying degrees of success depending on how you look at it (excuses) although the pace is much slower then I though I could achieve them.
4. Started and Stopped.
5. Didn’t get down to even opening the cover.
6 and 7 are work related, no comment
8 is people related, no comment
9 is me related, even more so no further comment
10. Ate quite a few on the pretext of sussing out the competition but other wise haven’t even gotton down to getting a mixer or measuring scale.

Back to the point of this whole blog entry gathered from my conversations with Friday friend, KT after a particularly vicious day at work. Two important points he made to me, firstly, if I made a mistake or got a dart thrown at me, I shouldn’t continue being a walking dart board but pluck the dart out, evaluate why it happened and make sure it doesnt happen again. That is what learning is about. The second important point he made to me was that I could probably make lots of list and build as many dreamy castles about conquering the universe as I could but those lists didn’t matter as much as the things that I had managed to achieve outside of that list. Things which I hadn’t even counted on achieving.

A week ago, my estranged grandmother fractured her hip after slipping off the sofa, requiring immediate life endangering potential comatose state operation (and my mama was not able to explain why a hip operation had so many complications even though I think near-century age, high blood pressure and diabetes must have played some role.) Her accident has propelled our family into further debt of her already astronomical upkeep, but I feel that at least I can do my part. I am living entirely by my own means now, paying my own rent, still paying off school loans back home, insurances, taxes in two countries and hopefully doing my part for the family. It didn’t seem so much of a big deal then, neither was it apparent when I lived at home that Gas, Water, Electricity cost human beings money or that toilet paper didn’t grow out of cupboards. I may have been a grown adult but in actual fact, I was still a kid living off my parents who deserved a break from paying for 6 years of my tracing paper and balsa wood.

At times I seem to have taken steps back in the career zone but I am trying to see this step back as 3 steps up when I am ready to take the next step. I just have to remind myself that I have to be patient. The semi-invincible still need to brave the battlefields of tornados and well, darts, to achieve the extinction of desire and individual consciousness and that ultimate nirvana i.e. be whipped like a slave but still grit your teeth and continue pulling the plough but dream of freedom everyday till it comes. Which it will.

And well, there is London. Every weekend when I take my walks in the park, I am in awe of the beauty that exists in this world. I remember a letter I wrote to someone before I came to London. In it, I said I wanted to go to a place and lie down on grass that is not perennially wet. And I have actually done that, Ikea picnic mat non-withstanding.

Lastly there are little things about me. I recently rekindled my love affair with The Album Leaf after buying one of their albums a year ago when I heard one of their songs in the sickly sweet compilation of music from The OC. Its ok that I don’t like Damien Rice or don’t know popular song titles. W thinks ambient alternative indie folk/ rock is complicated. Sure,The Album Leaf, Couch, Mum, Mutemath, The Brian Jonestown Massacre and Portastatic don’t sound like band names but its my genre of music and its ok. Its ok to be complicated.

Essentially I know there are some things about myself that I can never change i.e. my nose still starts to drip when I take spicy food and I have bad (bad) (in all forms of the word bad) flatulence when I take excessive lactose based products but I am not about to jump onto the tracks just because of my atomic gas or that I failed my top 10 list.

Sometimes perspectives need to be negotiated and changed along the way, you give and take, you walk under glowing autumn shades and you weld your sword through the dark dungeon of monsters in the underground all on the same day. For now, I think I will trade the Title of Chocolate Cake Queen for the girl who likes peanut snickers bars.

Didn’t think I would ever wear one, but I got a half beanie cap from Covent Garden yesterday! And it wasn’t even on my list of essential ‘To Get’ items.

Lastly, I would like to announce that we successfully returned the antenna, but brought home a Christmas Tree instead. You think, maybe we could return that when we are done too?

On Player_’Prozac Vs Heroin’_By The Brian Jonestown Massacre

Untitled

2006-11-12T01:00:00.000Z

We'll do it all
Everything
On our own

We don't need
Anything
Or anyone

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

I don't quite know
How to say
How I feel

Those three words
Are said too much
They're not enough

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Forget what we're told
Before we get too old
Show me a garden that's bursting into life

Let's waste time
Chasing cars
Around our heads

I need your grace
To remind me
To find my own

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Forget what we're told
Before we get too old
Show me a garden that's bursting into life

All that I am
All that I ever was
Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see

I don't know where
Confused about how as well
Just know that these things will never change for us at all

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars_Snow Patrol

Silly, Bonfires, Bento Boxes + Dragon’s Breath

2006-11-05T23:06:00.000Z

The intermittent booming of fireworks sounded outside my bedroom window all night even as I crawled into bed at 1am last night.

There was a foggy mist of smoke and a faint scent of burn as I walked down the streets homewards after watching Guy Fawkes Day fireworks opposite Battersea Park. I decided to be a bit silly and wear my lazy oaf button. The skinny bear lazy oaf character was coloured in horizontal stripes and I was wearing a horizontal striped jumper for our night out of fireworks viewing.

Before the fireworks display, we had planned on going to gastro pub The Phoenix for dinner and drinks. The Phoenix is part of the group of gastro pubs owned by Rupert Clevely (ex-managing director of uber chic Veuve Cliquot). I have only been to one of his pubs before this, The Builder’s Arms which I liked because the English Pub deco is given a mod-twist. I think the new generation of British must like this too as the constant crowds attest to their popularity.

First stop, The Phoenix smelt like the top end of a fire place and was too crowded and noisy. Next stop, The Cooper’s Arms. I’ve been here before for a hurried meal of their award winning bangers and mash and I knew what to expect. I had bangers and mash again because they were out of steak and kidney pie. The bangers were a let down this time as they were not as crispy on the outside as they should be and the mash too luke warm for my palate, even though on the whole it still rates as an above average bangers and mash.

After dinner we walked towards Battersea Park and nested ourselves among photographers along the road facing the park and waited for the fireworks. The fireworks were nice, but not particularly spectacular. Still, it was very pleasant to just stare out at the dark sky and watch blooms of colours bursts before your eyes for a whole 25 minutes. At one point I realize I had let out a sigh. Its nice to be silly sometimes and its nice to do simple things. We ended the evening by finally going to a Clevely pub after all, The Builder’s Arms.

This week, work was very busy with datelines up till 9pm on Friday night. Hopefully the waters will be calmer for a few days till the next wave comes in. The Circle and District lines were also constantly down which entailed a frantic walk through the park to get to work one morning. Mid week, wild fairy child Flat mate LP packed my lunch for me. When I opened my pseudo bento lunch box of rice cakes, everyone had a good laugh.

The temperatures have finally dropped to single digits, the clocks have been turned back an hour and I do not seem to mind the cold as much as I mind the sun setting at 4.30pm.

This week, I also started wearing gloves. In my hurried futile effort to combat the cold, I bought a pair of wool autumn gloves that were not particularly fitting because I have small hands even for ‘S’ size. They fit everywhere up to the thumb but there is a bit left over on my other four fingers. I have not worn gloves since I was a kid and I forgot how it was till I tried tying my sneaker laces and locking the front door of the flat. My ability to gauge space and mobilize my hand movements have been effectively retarded by the use of gloves. On the tube on the first morning of my glove adventure, I spent 30 seconds trying to flip the page of my book. I could have taken off my gloves and turned the page then put on my gloves again, but I think the time taken would have equaled the process of flipping the page with my gloved hands.

The sudden cold has also allowed me mutant super natural ability to breathe long breaths of smoke from my mouth. While out with ex-house guest I did my Bruce Lee gung-fu stance and demonstrated my new found ability to let out a healthy gush of dragon breath. He was not particularly impressed and only rolled his eye balls at me. His super natural powers are obviously way inferior to mine if he can only manage the common eye ball roll. Spastic. Silly you.

On Player_’Set The Fire to the Third Bar’_ by Snow Patrol

Halloween Perspectives I

2006-10-29T12:39:00.000Z

Happy Halloween! Where are my treats?

Had an unusually quiet evening of 1 drink at S-bar with KT on Friday night. The barmen were unconvincingly dressed as Draculars with black bin bags tied round their necks as capes. So scaaarrry. Right.

I did not manage to catch a glimpse of Vivienne Westwood like I did last week but maybe it was because I did not stay long enough to. There say her office is right across of ours.

KT and I had a long conversation about some of the things that have been on my mind, mainly work and London. I am gathering my thoughts now and processing them. It has been a sober and contemplative week.

Pictures from Mariko Mori's Exhibition at Albion. I popped in for the 2nd time this week during lunch on Friday after gobbling down my sandwich at formular 1 pace standing outside the office. It was a lonely lunch. My phone was down and I was in the print room most of the day so none of my mates could find me.

Something about the exhibition feels just right for Autumn.

See TimeOut London
See Albion Gallery

On Player_'Truth and Rights'_By Thievery Corporation

Tribute II_One Wintry Evening

2006-10-23T00:34:00.000+01:00

My Saturday morning post Friday hang over runs have been replaced by walks. I’ve given up running because my knee and back are giving me too much pain. This week was also plagued by rough nights of troubled sleep.

It is full blown Autumn now. Some trees in the park are bare. Others have turned that tangy shade of orange. I did something out of character again. I stood on top of a pile of orange leaves and ruined my knee some more by stomping up and down on them like I was on a trampoline, just so I could hear the leaves crackling under my feet. When I was still a little girl in Australia, I use to run through piles of autumn leaves in the playground near my school. I was tiny then, and the leaves rode up to my knees. I still remember being afraid that the boogy monster would jump right out from under the leaves. Even so, I liked to swim through them running diagonally along the tall line of giant birch trees like a regular bollywood movie with the sunlight filtering through the glow of orange and yellow leaves above. I was the princess of the world and daughter of the queen of elves. I was at an age where nothing mattered but playing and being free. I do not have a lot of childhood memories because as many of my friends will attest I have at best the memory of a goldfish, but the image of that autumn scene, the faint scent of degenerating leaves, the sound of leaves crackling under my feet and the sunshine as my playmate is something I can still recall even today. Yes, for this image and feeling alone, Autumn is my favourite season except I do not remember it ever being this freaking cold.

As I walked through the park, I conjured up the image of a bleak Scottish landscape. There is a storm brewing among dark clouds in the sky overhead. Perched on a precarious cliff edge with grey rolling fields behind is a small regular shaped wooden shack. There is a door on one side and a large window on another. The window faces the crashing waves at the cliff edge outside. The scene is always set in the evening which is the time of day I like most. Inside that house, there is a fireplace where a warm fire is burning, a low table with cheese, crackers, wine and shortbread and English rose tea on the sides. Molton Brown Lemon scented candles are burning and seated on a well worn sofa and armchairs around the fire wrapped in cashmere blankets are 5 people and a golden Shetland sheepdog. One of those people inside is me, my mostest favourite Shetland on the face of the earth, Chopin and my four most important friends.

In recent days, I have been thinking a lot about my friends. Maybe because one of my few friends in London who I can feel at ease with has left and another of my closes and most trusted friends just flew off this week, setting off a string of melancholy in me. In a movie I watched recently called ‘The Banquet’, the character played by Daniel Wu said a person only feels lonely when no one understands them and I guess that is how I have been feeling. It is not physical loneliness that I fear most, but emotional and mental alienation. This image of a warm room amidst a stormy landscape is my comfort zone- thumb sucker image just like that image of an Autumn day in my childhood.

L_
I met you when I was 19. We were just kids then you keep telling me now.

You stood out from the rest because you were as tall as a giraffe. How you grew to be so tall still eludes me especially after meeting your family. No one in your family came close. That shows you were somewhat of a brilliant anomaly from the start.

We became good friends quite quickly. There was even a time when you use to draw circles with your finger tip on my palm. We spent so many hours doing nothing but engaging in conversation about life and architecture. That time passed quickly, but the memory lingered on for so long.

It takes me a momentus amount of effort to talk to people. Yet with you, even with my disjointed sentences and descriptions and going round in circles and not knowing what I am trying to say myself or having them come out the exact opposite of what I am trying to say because the thoughts in that head of mine knows only how to process things as imagery, emotions and feeling but not spoken words, you are always able to understand what I am trying to describe to you. In fact, you are able to reprocess these floating thoughts as words. You are my thought and word funnel. Most importantly, I feel that I can trust you. Amidst bleak landscapes, to be able to let down your guard and baggage is a big relief. Thank you!

You told me recently that there are some friends where if you fail to put effort to keep in contact with, meeting up with again after a period of time becomes awkward. For others, you need not put in any effort at all, yet, even 10 years on, that level of comfort remains. You said I was one of those friends and I was really glad.

Yes, 10 year on, when I look at you now, you are no longer the lanky philosopher who wore the same t-shirts, bermudas and flip flops to school but the Bally bag swinging, narrow jacket, ripped jeans, 60 pound Notting Hill Japanese sytlist cut, effortlessly scruffled hair dude with even more potent philosophies then ever. You have come a long way, but ever so often, you are still that boy who drew circles with his finger in my palm. We may change, but friendship never does, just like you said.

Your decision to leave London surprised me, but knowing you, you must have put in many hours of intense thought into it, just like you do for everything else. I am proud of you and as always, I wish you the very best.

Next stop, Jean Georges Shanghai for champagne brunch. See you soon bud!

G_
We have said our hellos and goodbyes so many times and spent so many hours watching the sunset on that air-con condenser filled rooftop. It will still be the same, well sort of, I hope. When I am home next.

Full Moon aka C_
This blog exists because of you. You beat me to it. You fumble in life but you always pick yourself up. I would not have been able to do the same if I were in your position. I’m a big cry baby compared to you. You know I adore you to bits for being you but most of all, for being real and unpretentious.

XY_
You are always the first to send me postcards, the first to send me CDs and oh how I love the anticipation of receiving letters and packages just for the rush of childlike excitement when tearing open a package. I listen to that CD when I take walks in the park. You possess the quiet strength and perseverance of a saint already but remember our promise…..

These supernatural friends of mine all possess level headed, inquisitive minds on their shoulders and always aspire to be better people everyday. You are who you surround yourself with and I am glad to have friends who I can positively compare myself with. They have all had an important influence on me. I thank them for their patience, understanding and kindness to me. Above all, I thank them for truly caring for me despite my numerous flaws.

In my coldest moments, I will recall this warm image of silent bliss in a wooden shack and I will no longer be alone or feel cold.

There are others who I have met in London, some who make me laugh and some who make me feel at ease. I do not easily draw people into my space and very often, friendship is something grown through shared pain conceived through time, of which, these friendships have not had the advantage to be nurtured from. Time will tell.

W_
You haven’t made it to the list just yet, but thank you for your recent letter and your best wishes for me. It takes superhuman effort to not like you because it is so easy to be with you. Your brooding writer stance is just a façade, you are pure and untainted because your heart still longs for innocence and goodness in the world like I do. For this, I can feel akin to you. I still remember the colour of the sky on that evening I wrote my first letter to you with Chopin sleeping at my feet and that warm cup of tea I had in my hand. I was happy then. Like you said in your letter, so many things were wrong timing. Maybe as my weakened constitution grows stronger, we will make better friends. You called me a muse, but really, it was the other way round. Continue writing, send the reviews, the poems and remember me when you become the editor of Rolling Stones magazine!

There is so much space left in that shack. It is a magic infinitive shack. Everyone is free to come by sometime. All you have to do is knock and well, brave the storm.

_

Chopin_
There are so many dogs in the park and they are so cute that it pains me to look at them. Just writing about you brings a lump to my throat. Sometimes when I use to watch you sleeping, you would move all four of your paws back and forth while twitching your nose agitatedly, almost as if you were running in your sleep. What were you dreaming of? It pained me then to think that you were dreaming of running free with the family you could not remember somewhere in your Scottish hometown. Maybe you never knew it, but I would pat your tummy over and over to soothe you every time I caught you space jogging. It pains me even more to think that you are dreaming of me now. What I would do to tussel your soft golden coat again. What I would do to run in those fields with you. Wait for me…

On Player_’Hejira’_By Joni Mitchell

SANAA

2006-10-17T23:22:00.000+01:00

LKE Ozolins Lecture
Kazuyo Sejima + Ryue Nishizawa / SANAA
18.30, RIBA, Jarvis Hall, London

Ryue Nishizawa spoke about SANAA's most recent projects, including 2 smaller housing developments, the 21st Century Museum of Contemporary Art, Kanazawa, Toledo Museum of Art, Ohio, the Learning Center for the Ecole Polytechnique Federale in Lausanne, the Learning Center for Swiss Federal Institute of Technology, the Zollverein School, Essen, Germany and the Satellite Museum for the Louvre Museum in Lens, France.

Was late for the lecture. Don't think they spoke about this project, but I wished that they had - The NewMuseum in New York.

Art?

2006-10-17T00:54:00.000+01:00

Sunday,15 October 2006_Tate Modern's Newest Turbine Hall Installation_ Carsten Holler's Test Slide

Had no guts to sit on it. Smarty Pants only.

Mindlessness

2006-10-15T02:35:00.000+01:00

There was a scream in the dead of the night. My house guest has been making noises in the night. From baby gurgle noises to talking and every time I ask him if he is ok, I am greeted by a silence that makes me feel like a complete idiot. He is in another world being fed grapes by his harem and I am still right here. He tells me the next morning that he had a dream of a voluptuous nymph who thought he was staring at her assets so she came right over to box him over the ears and he let out a scream.

I am like the wuss of a princess from the story, The Princess and the Pea. I am a hopelessly light sleeper. Every rustle that my house guest makes in the sleeping bag, I wake up and flip in my bed. Obviously I haven’t been getting much sleep but that should be over by tomorrow night.

Me and house guest take a walk to the park with me yawning all the way there. There is a soft fog like flat mate HL said there would be. The tone of the grass and trees in the park appear slightly more muted then usual, either from the fog or the changing tones of autumn but beautiful none the less. The birds are chirping and dogs chasing their balls. I tell house guest that I would like to jog alone. When we reach the park, we take separate routes. I start my sprint in the usual direction. My left knee protests but I start to run faster till my ribcage aches and the familiar pain of stitches resides at my sides. The pain wakes me up and I run the week’s events over in my head.

There are some weeks that just go right by and there are some weeks that drag their feet. It has been a bit of both this week. There are problems at work and the month ahead looks like a tough one, but work is something I have chosen to speak very little about until I can run it over and over in my head, give it some time to process before giving an objective account of if I finally wish to. Friday was gorgeous, there was some chaos and confusion at work, but the morning started well.

When I got off the bus, the sun was shinning onto me and the breeze whispering to me. I close my eyes for a split second and take a deep breath to let that feeling linger a little longer. It reminded me of the night of the Mid Autumn Festival Celebration at A+M’s house. I love that feeling of peace. Like my soul is doing a bit of r+r. At lunch, I sat outside the office with my tea and sandwich, marveling at the fact that I managed to consume a ham, cheese and tomato sandwich 4 days in a row without gagging on my fifth one this week as I took it out of my lunch box. Very little gets to you as long as there is sun in London. V shares some of her chocolate digestives with me and that adds to my little pleasure. I was wearing converse sneakers with pink socks again and I didn’t care.

Today, I decided to be mindless and give my soul some more tlc that it needs. The painful knee aside, the rest of the day was filled with a big breakfast at Notting Hill, intermediate stops at the quaint bookshops in the area before a walk though Portobello Market with house guest. I bought apple scented aromatherapy oil from a shop and a whole bunch of fresh peaches from the farmers. I love that they put the peaches into plain brown paper bags and not plastic bags. There is just something sinister about fresh fruits and plastic bags. I love the smell of peaches and it was my favourite fruit of my childhood where it was still readily available to me in Australia before I moved back home. The smell of childhood always brings back a warm fuzzing feeling.

The last few stops included more bookshops and shopping. Couldn’t decide between Neil Gaiman’s Stardust and Nicole Krauss’s The History of Love. Was detracted momentarily by Haruki Murakami’s Norwegian Wood which I have already read but the new cover of a weeping butterfly was too potent to ignore. If I had the money, I would have bought every single cover available of every Murakami book. What’s more, for me, Norwegian Wood is the quintessential love story of the last decade. A really good book is like good music, each sentence is like a tune that sings to you and you can read it over and over and when you do, it still manages to make you smile, laugh or cry.

I just realized that I used the word ‘Love’ as a verb 3 times in this entry. It wasn’t a bad week after all. The fresh scent of apples is drifting through my room as I get ready for bed. House guest is already sound asleep and this time I am well prepared with ear plugs. Be banished oh nymph!

One Last Time

2006-10-11T22:59:00.000+01:00

Will you hold my hand
One last time
And take a long walk with me
We’d take a train to world’s end

When we get there
We’d walk by the river
And dip our toes in the cool water
Then lie on the grass
And watch the moon go by

One last time
Place down our burdens
Wipe away our tears
I will carry everything I could for you
I would If I could

Forget the wrong
Forget the blame
Forget the injustice

One last time
Look into my eyes
Can you see that I want to fly

Be brave My Love
Be safe

One Last Time

Marxist’s Dialectical Materialism

2006-10-10T01:19:00.000+01:00

I was late for work (again) today and made my way to the bathroom almost bull dozing over my house guest while trying to remove my sleep jacket and swearing along the way. Alarm went off on time. Flat mate HL knocked on my door when it was my turn to use the bathroom. I didn’t hear a thing. Someone must have knocked me out with a pan last night. It would have been good if alarm clocks came with an extendable arm to give me a good old shake. An alarm clock that would roll over and give me a nice morning hug would be just as good too.

Been lusting after and been frustrated by equipment recently. The Leica M8 is out ( but I can’t afford it)(yet) and a part of me thinks that I’m not ready for a better camera because I take pictures not because I like to take pictures but because something inspires me enough to want to take it. Good shots are good shots. A good camera helps, but if you don’t have an eye for it, a $5000 camera ain’t going to do you any good either.

The opposite is true for work. If you don’t have a kick-ass powerful computer and utilize its programs, you are chop suey against someone who does. I have been feeling like that. By not knowing how to use the latest programs in the office, my ability to dream has been limited. Although I have picked up 2D Microstation fairly quickly and in its own way the software has its advantages, today, I realized it is slower then Autocad because I can draft in Microstation entirely without moving my left hand. It was asleep in my lap all day while my right hand went into overdrive clicking icons. Even after picking up 2D Microstation, I am raring to learn 3D Microstation. The current project is so complicated form wise that it is impossible to design 2 dimensionally. This frustrates me greatly. I hate that I am incapacitated by my incompetency of soft wares. Sure, I have been designing with models but as the form grows increasingly complicated, a physical model becomes inflexible in morphing itself as quickly as I could manipulate a 3D model. Ah well, the time will come when I will be invincible (after I complete the 3D Microstation course.) You bet.

Passed by a jewellery store on Brick Lane on Sunday and there was a wedding ring in a big wooden box which came with a pair of metal cutters. On the inner cover of the box, it read:

Plan A:
1. Fall In Love
2. Get Married
3. Live Happily Ever After

If all else fails activate Plan B.

Plan B:
1. Cut All Ties

Ingenious. Thus is the modern interpretation of products for our generation. You either screw them over or get screwed by them.

By the way, ah….if someone has 200 pounds to spare, could they get me this for Christmas? I swear my chronic backache will get better.

See Budda Bag

Battersea Awakening

2006-10-08T12:18:00.000+01:00

The China Powerhouse exhibition was a big let down! The ushers were disorganized and when you lump so many video installations in one room you greatly diminish the power of each. There was not enough supporting text to the installations and meaninglessness breeds disinterest in people.

The ruins of the Battersea Power Station where the exhibition on prominent Chinese Artist / Architects was set were ravishing though, even with the flooded floors and rusty water dripping down onto me.

The Toyo Ito Serpentine Pavillion was also rebuilt next to the Power Station. Zaha Hadid was having tea in the pavilion.

Flickr images have been updated, but they are taken with my phone camera. And some of the images are over/under exposed.

See Flickr

Moon Breath

2006-10-08T09:53:00.000+01:00

Thanks to A + M who have shown me great generosity since my arrival in London and Flat mate LP for the props necessary to complete the night.

I was looking forward to this the whole week. The light fragrance of green tea and the sweetness of mooncakes.

When the lanterns were lit, lights dimmed and soothing beats floated in the back drop, I stood facing the garden to admire the lanterns. The moon was peeking down on us through the clouds and trees. Hello there stranger! Then a gentle wind wafted up towards me in reply and I took a deep breath of it. For that short moment, as the cool air spread through my lungs and body, I felt a sense of calmness that I haven’t felt in a long time.

On Player_’Deep’ by Tanya Chua

The Bridge

2006-10-05T01:38:00.000+01:00

I have been taking very long showers. I stand under the shower and let the water run over my body till my hands are red and wrinkled. The shower seems to be the only place and time where I can think, clear my head and run the daily events over my head.

It was a bad one right from the start. I could not figure out if I wanted to wear pink socks with my shoes. 10 Minutes later after taking off my socks and putting them on again and off again, I decide that it was ok as I was wearing my fuchsia shirt. 15 minutes late for work later, I miss the tube just as I step onto the platform, missed the bus just as I step out of the station while deciding that I look and feel absolutely ridiculous in pink socks. To get home after work, I had to take 3 different tube lines, the District, the Piccadilly and the Bakerloo line because the district and circle line were down(again). Was exhausted and in a contemplative mood by the time I got home.

The day in the office was busy but not particularly eventful and my mind was wondering most of the time. As yet, I’m am not ready to talk in detail about my work in the new office for those who have been asking, only that it is a place which gets my adrenaline rushing most days and I am still seriously processing and considering the implications of my future fate with this office and the fair amount of events that have occurred in the last month. It is a lot of hard work, but which processes are not painful and plagued by hardship? Breakups, work, relationships, lives?

Worked late again today and decided to take another route home. Walked round the back of the office facing the river and crossed the bridge towards King’s Road before making my way on foot to Slone Square Station.

Along the bridge, I looked back and realized that the most brightly lit building was my office. When I left, ¾ of Group 5 were still there hard at work. I think passion is contagious and I like being around people who constantly aspire to build wonderful things.

When I crossed the bridge, I thought of Yosuke Kubozuka in the movie Ping Pong where he jumps off the bridge into the dark waters of the sea before his metaphoric renewal and the haunting song in the sound track called ‘Rise’ by Sugar Plant which went something like this:

Have you ever been in another war time
I am so afraid I couldn’t find time
The only thing to see
Is a memory I cannot change

Have you ever seen the world in the sea
I’m so afraid I couldn’t find me
… …
I want to rise to the surface
I want to rise to be born
not to die

I want to rise to still see you
… …

The temperatures are finally dipping towards single digits together with my spirits. We’ve lost one of our own. And am loosing another in 2 weeks time. My flat mates have been graciously tiptoeing around my paranoia but the cold is coming still...

On Player_’Rise’ by Sugar Plant

Tribute I

2006-10-02T02:46:00.000+01:00

3 years ago, on a rainy Friday night in Singapore, I made my way to a dingy expatriate populated bar in Emerald Hill which couldn’t have been more suitably named ‘Ice Cold Beer’. I wasn’t planning to meet you there, but somehow amidst the chaos, I found myself planted beside you listerning to you go into a lengthly description of what seemed to be the chasms of hell you were stuck in. At that point, I was thinking its Friday and I’d still like to go home for the weekend.

3 years later, I find myself meandering off a crowded street in London on a rainy afternoon, entering the Michelin Star Christian Liaigre furnished, Hussein Chalayan staff attired, legendary barman Dick Bradsell’s designed cocktail list Chinese Restaurant, Hakkasan to meet you for Venison Buns and Dragon Tail Tea wishing the evening would never end.

As usual, amist the back drop of the blue frosted Ling Ling bar and brooding lighting, when I saw you, you were smiling brightly at me like a purple peony. I can register that feeling only now as I sit down to write this, that when I am with you, I feel at ease, almost as if everything will be ok as long as I am with you. As if you could save my misguided soul if I opened up enough to let you. I know you could. That is how great you are.

Because of this simple fact, some how any lengthy descriptions of how you replicated my mums’ soup for me, the numerous culinary fleets you performed in our apartment, the gastronomical orgasms we have experienced together no longer seem as important. It wasn’t what you did for us, but who you were for us. The listerner, the adviser and the friend.

So, my dear world wisely PP, as you sit on the plane bound for new horizons, do not be afraid because on this cold London morning, as I climb into my bed, I am thinking of you and wishing you frosted milkshake dreams basked in silken moonlight surrounded by the warm effervescence of soft fluffy clouds. You told me I always have a choice, so do you. And I believed you only because you told me so.

On Player_’If You Leave’ by Nada Surf’

Commitment + Discipline I

2006-09-30T16:25:00.000+01:00

I think I can’t take it anymore. The booze binge weekends, nursing hangovers, the chips, the lack of exercise or 5 fruits and vegetable intakes, lack of bowel movement and I could go into Proustian detail about a whole list of mortal sins and why I am doomed to eternal damnation oh and did I mention that I am munching on a pack of reduced fat Marks and Spencer Salt + Vinegar Crisps while writing this.

In short, I have been feeling out of control. This could be the result of a perpetual hangover even though I swear the urge to annihilate every peanut snickers bar in the whole of London is very very real.

Today, after last night’s disaster which entailed frantic phone calls and slurred speeches to a few people I had no intention to call or who would not want to talk to me again after last night, the crisps aside, I am trying to take control again of every aspect of my life. Little steps at a time.

Commitment and Discipline.

These are big words for me even though I am not a guy. And as much as I have reluctantly tackled them all my life, I am beginning to realize that it is in fact the potential driving force in every aspect of my life if I could just get a grip on them.

Flat mate HL was relating how she was talking to a colleague E about how expensive gyms are and E’s straight forward reply was simply, all you need is a bit of discipline, not a gym membership. Why does it sounds so simple?

On a better note, I did manage to do some reading this week. Flying through pages of Milan Kundera’s Identity at lunch time when there is some sun outside the office with my sandwich and lemon tea even though I know I should stop reading depressive immoral literature as well..…

(Big Sis if you are reading this and squeal on me, there will be bloodshed…)

On Player_’ The Girl’s Insane’ by Thievery Corporation

Starting Over

2006-09-27T01:11:00.000+01:00

Starting all over again. Including this blog-like-journal thingy, for those of you who have been following via email. I have decided to stop counting or including the days which I have been in London at the top of my entries. On hind sight, the counting serves no purpose. What am I actually counting for? The number of days I have been in London? The number of days before I leave London? A day count or a countdown? And a count down to what? Life is no where linear anyway.

I felt the great urge to write an entry again after a long lull because I felt a need to clear my head and since my suspected dyslexia has been acting up and I am speaking less(more of less) then before I should take time away from everything to at least start writing again to clear the mess in my head, eventhough I am constantly fighting with time; time to read, time to myself, time at work, time to play, time to do housework, time to sleep.

Time. I feel like I have been trying to catch hold of it. On Sunday morning, as I was jogging in the park, I noticed the first signs of autumn littered on the ground. Dry orange leaves speckled everywhere. When I got to the river, I didn’t have to do the avoid-green globs of duck s#$% like landmines wild dance-jog because strangely there were very few ducks. Where have the ducks gone? They must have felt the passing of time too and the need to find warmer regions for a continued summer vacation. Because of the shorter hours of daylight and my new longer working hours, I have been unable to keep up with jogging. I literally cannot catch the light in the evening to jog and this urgency strikes me every evening when the sun begins to set and I am still at work. The sun is setting at 8.40pm where it use to set at 10.30pm. As I have had to work a lot longer and harder with the new office, it is usually 8.20pm on better days when I get thought the front door. 2 minutes to change, 2 minutes to get to the park and 6 minutes to run somehow doesn’t figure and did I mention the parks are now closing between 8.00 - 8.30pm. Worse off, amidst the new hectic schedule, I am still managing to put on weight. Where did that come from? Less exercise, too much cheese and chips or just slower metabolic rate coinciding with the impending big three-zero?

On Player_‘Blame’ by Everything But The Girl