currently loving:

1. The Dream Factory: Inside Perfums Christian Dior by Camilla Akrans

credits to Industrie Magazine 2


yes, i'll do it for love

sometimes, i wonder how long i'd be stuck in this traffic looking out of the windows wishing if only i could be on the other side

other times, i wish i could just feel safe in this confined comfort zone

right now, lets forget how we feel and immerse ourselves in sarah bareilles and english pear cologne


the echos of an email

Dear _____,

to be honest, i do feel the same. Its hard to complain when everything is so supposedly perfect, but somehow there's always this strange feeling haunting me that it's not enough. Or maybe its the fear that I might not be able to sustain such a lifestyle with my own competence that kept me troubled at times. The best way to put it: growing up is a mixed feeling. especially when you're 19, it often feels like you're stuck in the middle of an annoying traffic, often wondering how you got here, not knowing whats hindering you, and not knowing whats ahead.

My dad, oh well, i know hes the best piece of advice but he could be as stubborn as a mule. i used to oppose him a lot just for the sake of making sure he's not the only one talking. but either its me who's getting older or its him or both of us, it seems like there's nothing to fight about these days. the house seems strangely quiet now.

yup. i'm 19. i hope i look as mature as i sound (haha) but really, if you get to know me, i'm everything but mature. maybe it's the way i talk. as for your deep questions, i guess its the aftermath of your mind-refreshing spiritual trip. fortunately enough i'm a thinker too and yes i've questioned myself so many times i'm starting to get used to the confusion. i used to get all worked up and felt very uncomfortable for being in the wrong place or doing the things that are just not me. but then i start to realise the rebel in me is actually my motivation. and like i've said, we are always curious of whats happening on the other side of the world. maybe we just need to pretend we are visitors living our lives through foreign eyes. then things like burning your own fireplace would sound more interesting than it really is.

p.s i hope little things like this email (/blogpost) can light up your day :)



tarte aux pommes

if my mother's my muse, my sister's my superwoman

a random call from sherborne made my day, along with the settled plans of meeting up in london around may-ish. with people here and there and everywhere these days, this is indeed something worth looking forward to.

and just as i'd like to call it a day, a sweetheart from the states confessed her loneliness along with some catching ups and morning/midnight blabber. a proof of it all: a post-it on top of my table lamp scrabbled with a to-be psychiatrist's number. talking about friends for benefit.

for a long time in a long while. it felt like what it used to be. safe and sound.

is it the over-sized lavander carpet or the excess warmth from a sizzling heater? everything looked just like a year ago but it hardly felt anything similar.


as i woke up to an unexpectedly warm sunday morning, i decided to turn some pages back to the regina spektor days. and the list goes on: dido, norah jones, kt tunstall. so london. so paris.
even the air smelt like its time to make a debut on tarte aux pommes.

everything happened according to plan, until i realise i got everything but the short pastry. and how can tarte aux pommes happen without the tart? so a simple task of picking up stuff ended up with an extra half-an-hour drive to the nearest frozen food counter.

apples are best served in their simplest form. (i remember i read that somewhere but if i didn't, well, consider it a good homemade quote). and to work the applepie x tarte aux pommes magic i decide to replace all that french custard with cognac with mere mushed boiled apple sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon.

its funny how things fall into place: the wrong pan lemon-less dicing an extra pinch of salt here and there slicing failure rose apples instead of granny smith

i tell myself: if this is possible, i'll get myself a julia child cookbook and enroll in a self-taught 6 credit course on french cooking 101.

and voila! bon appetite.


i need sleep

sometimes i feel like im living in an asylum

im tired of this guessing game

i am not sick. or mad. or angry. or sad.

i am just me. or do u know me at all?

please dont say doctor in front of me again or i swear i will go craxy, this time for real.

the answer is simple: i'm just growing up. please don't judge. give it time. no more tears.

thank you for all the love.

but too much of everything is poison.


please don't be ashamed of our love

so, should we be begin with a recount?

though i decided to summarize the week as mediocre just a few days ago, it took no more than a single night to turn it all around. see, now it is an understatement to laugh at life and call it a rollercoaster. i think its more analogical to the 9 degree mornings we're experiencing again. yes, we are still living in hongkong.

the night before began with a spontaneous meet up with a long lost girlfriend. apparently iceland and a new boyfriend's the ultimate antidote to heartbreaks. a year ago we did exactly the same thing, only blueberry chessecakes got substituted by warm pear tart and crunch cake; long island by rosé; confusions with contentment.

late-summer memories do haunt me still when i pass by the familiar spots, but i've decided to let the past stay where they belong and twirl flutter laugh my way into a pleasant birthday, only to decide the musics too loud the champagne's flowing too slow small talk overload. though we never remember where we ended up i do remember your hand in mine and mine in yours and nothing really mattered.

things do happen for a reason, even though they never happen accordingly. things like an unexpected reply from an overdue silence, the bag of thompson raisin sitting seductively in the fridge. things i once never paid attention to, things i cared a little too much for.

if i could only pick one lover to spend the winter with, it would be my heater.


but i don't know how i feel anymore

i used to get pretty worked up when i realise i did something as rash as waking up at 7 for some bs.

not that i dont anymore, well since chilling is now trending, i'll pass.

then i decided to vent my frustration/call it a pretty mediocre week planting khahi roses on the tips of my fingers, paying my friend the doc a little visit and sealed the deal for sister's birthday surprise

i always wanted to watch that episode of SATC. the last bit. but i just couldn't. you can call this savouring the very last bit of a fading holiday. but a little part of me cant wait to put last semester all behind me. trust me, im glad its said and done.

they say new year new resolutions. i say new semester new attitude.

30 credits plus some chinese philosophy some introduction to psychology. i guess i'll need that bit of SATC sooner than expected.

oh and before i say ciao, lets sing dance fight against this craxy cold. i don't like the fact that its turning my heart into an icy lolly. how can i know how i feel anymore?

to my love, my love and my love - get well soon.

current favourites

1. leighton in missoni s/s '11

courtesy of fashionising.com

2. lily and lionel scarves - ballet in cream

more at lily and lionel


norwegian wood afterthought

"Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.

An you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You'll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.

And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about."
Haruki Murakami (Kafka on the Shore)



due to 9 degree Celsius
i succumbed to socks.

worn out by the cold. its a love-hate relationship. i love how the freezing air frosts all feelings. for a week, my heart felt numb. you can poke it break it tear it and i don't feel a thing. i used to think winter's the time when the we feel most needy. for that hug for the warmth for the company. maybe its the best time for heartaches since, oh-well, you don't feel too much of anything anyways.

last night, someone's voice left me warm and snuggly.

oh before i start wondering if you really meant what you said, i just want you to know

you made me smile.

goodnite love. sleep tight and sweet dreams.


i'll blame it on the cold

ok. i'll blame it on the cold.

usually i'd die for the little anxiety the little affection the agony from your silence

and since when did i began to feel afraid

of too much love too much truth too much smile

i don't understand why the things i used to like don't stirr my heart like they used to. then i find myself going through the pain of looking for new heartaches. how i wish it'd be more simple.

had an amazing afternoon chillaxing with an old friend, small talking about life and making up new blabber such as once in a whiles. we both agreed that the pain will go and we will find what we deserve. its just a matter of numbers - time and people in between.

i guess in the end, we all know who's the most favourite. pity is, hes not a keeper. truth is, love is never found in keepers. we are all children who eventually get tired of their favourite toys.

talking about toys. today i ran through a bunch of them. the old me will begin reminiscing. the new me simply starts replacing memories with spaces. yes. i prefer cold empty spaces than tangible tear-attracting trashy memories.

because when one day i decide to forget, i'd just wipe out this blog. words are easier to handle.

i surprised myself when i told a certain he through e-mail: i was never good with feelings.

i simply toy with them, give them a cuddle and leave like it never happened.

i thought everything was way better before me came along. i thought the beginnings are always happier than the ends. in the beginning, it all began with an "I" then some "he" crashed into our lives and somehow it ended up being a "we" but usually not for long.

please tell me how to put up with your imperfections. i can't even stand my own.


it happened.

what happened?

when denial became the norm and plan Bs start replacing plan As and you never get to see those who matter but those you don't give a shit starts plaguing your time, you lost track of sanity

no, its not a matter of fact that your heart failed to give you answers. its either you're too much of a blabber to listen, or you're too much of a coward to give in to the wants and not to the shoulds. or maybe you are just too used to being let down it doesn't matter anymore eh?

to those who made the last month of last year livable: you are the stars of my universe.

i used to think that when the shooting stars leave my soul stranded, thats the time when the hollowness sinks in.

but fortunately and unfortunately, i've gotten to like this solitude.

i thought i told you i m worn out by my own smiles.

til then, lets love like it never hurt.


morning blabber

a week ago, tugged safely away in my little heaven, i got used to jumping out of the white covers walking into the barelylit dawn. the cloudless skies are still turning in its sleep, i love leaving dimples along the shores.

i listened to the sea breathe.

the wind whispered.

i closed my eyes.

my mind is blank.

i let the tides wash away the pain. i forgot.

i walked all the back. i couldn't find the memories.

i loved. i lived.

morning, world.


lost but found

today, i found something i've lost.

it all began with a good loaf of raisin rye from Ceres Boulangerie et patisserie, smoking hot, promising and with love from my muse. i can't remember since when did sitting on the kitchen counter bathing in the morning sun small talking with the other half who shared my love for flour felt oh-so-right. maybe all the super sad love songs drowned out the other kinds of love.

some 5 days spent with family in a heavenly maldives began with dreadful expectations. it would be an overstatement if i said i hesitated before prioritizing family over..him and the fun and the hypercrazy sober-less life. but sometimes things just fall into place without expectations' hindering.

some kind of love just come and go (and they are usually those you thought most important); others silently sit wait and wish it'll cure you when you're in pain.

today began with some loaf of rye and ended with more. nothing beats dad's angelic smile when the light wheat rye descended from its iron cage. the warm smell the sweet laughs the shared love.

happy new year

p.s. my new year resolution: drive more frequently to Ceres Boulangerie et patisserie so maybe (oh plessshhh) i could bump into this amazing man who turned my mornings into heaven...



lets pretend, it all ended with the year that passed. new year, new start eh?
so i'd begin the year with the NEWs:

starting with

a new haircut

a new hole puncher

some new emotions

a new breakfast

and perhaps a new you.

p.s. if u can pretend to forget, i can pretend to live you-less. how harder can that be?