Co-ed accomodation? Bring it on, but don't tell daddy.

Following the fateful hour during which my mother (finally) discovered me to be an unbecoming smoker, a few life-altering decisions were made. One, of course, concerns a rectification of a certain mistake, and the solution, so I was told, is to stop smoking. I know I sound less-than-earnest at the moment, but that's an in-built bane which has always wrongfully rendered my sorry(s) non-apologetic, and which has also gotten me into much trouble back in the days of yore when I still attended institutions which taught me that, when in doubt, cheating and lying will secure a less-harsh future. After all, once you've attained the grades, no one cares if you really do know calculus or not. Well, unless you meet someone who has no other talent to boast of, and who tries relentlessly to engage you in conversations steering towards the damn mathematical concept (I happen to know one such person; his life mission is to convince me of the virtues of calculus, because, if not for it, I'd be exchanging my Chanel for a prehistoric spear right about now).

So I've digressed. Point is, I'll try, I promise.

Respiratory habits aside, it was also decided upon that I shall be deprived of the one year break which I have intended for own leisurely good. It's more or less set in stone that I'll be leaving for Monash come February.

And co-ed student accommodation? My hotass neighbour (he will be hotass, if I believe it enough. Perhaps Japanese, too) will make me one very happy and distracted girl. But I've long learnt that distraction can be bad or good. Sometimes it's more than good, it's awesome, it's fabulous, and it comes with a pretty face and perhaps more than a few dinner dates?

June 25, Zouk











A slew of not-so-successful attempts at capturing us as Bag Buddies1. 2.
3.
Nah-dah












And thus we concluded the night.
June 27, Phuture







Guess who brought who home
June 28, Indochine Forbidden City, Zouk (the outside of), Newton

Too many casette tapes

Knowingly or not, I don't doubt that I've committed a colossal number of mistakes in just the past few years alone. But even if there comes a day when something happens to show that my life's been nothing more than a seismic, never-ending nosedive, at least I won't get to say that I'd never known what it's like to follow my heart.

And if I were to end up falling, then at least it was done with the most electrifying of blind faith and belief, at least I'd have flopped with all the grandeur of hair-flipping-in-the-roaring-wind, and an ideal derived from nowhere else but the innermost of my being. I wouldn't know what I would do, but there'd be a chapter closed and I'd have been nothing but true.

You could say it's all in my head, but who really knows what goes on up in there.

Bye-bye metal-mouth

'Twas a long wait.

Iconoclasm

After two anxiety-filled days and one nightmare, I've finally gone to collect my second Holga roll from the nice, old chap behind the Ruby counter. If you haven't heard, which you probably haven't because I don't remember proclaiming this proudly, the last time I used my Holga was probably more than half a year ago.

The first roll perfectly encapsulated the notion of abhorrent photography. I much considered those misguided snaps as a treachery towards all things beautiful and ugly-beautiful (for which I could well be a purveyor of). After that fateful betrayal, I left the Holga sitting on my bookshelf for a good six months and counting (it sat cross-legged on the pedestal that holds my most-prized items, taunting at my inability to fully utilise its potential).

But I figured that to admit defeat would successively equate to the deprivation of much, much more. So I heaved the camera off the shelves and set out on my Second Chance endeavour.

I hope that explains that nightmare while anxiously awaiting the outcome.

Here's a few that I like better + one taken by Paul. Nothing fantastic, but also nothing that would make me set the camera down again.



Now you know what really sits cross-legged atop my bookshelf




Encouraging enough to have me the urge of packing both the Holga and the Nikon FM10 to the alleys of Little India. That place is almost feels like a photography hometown.

The past two days saw me heading to my Reading Spot with a cuppa. Construction work about the area is causing cacophony that has had passers-by pressing palms-to-ears, eyebrow-to-eyebrow. Earphones-wearing me find that a joy to watch.


Today it poured and when it finally stopped, I arrived. Mini-puddles galore congregated on the tabletops. After a certain Not-Much-Of-A-Coffee-Drinker conversation with Tony last night, I got all mocha-minded, but a weak resolve is all that one needs to ask for Iced Chocolate (which was much too sweet) at the counter. Nice Girl from yesterday wasn't working too.

"Communism had seeped out of them and been gulped down by the thirsty, lizard-quick earth; they were beginning to forget their skills in the confusion of hunger, disease, thirst and police harrassment which constituted (as usual) the present." - Midnight's Children

It's almost-true for the multitude of us. Just that our hope is in not Communism, our nemesis not in poverty. But let no other factors dictate; here's a reminder to how we should live.

June 15, of Paul's birthday and tie-dyed shirts






Just a photo op



And I dug up some of my old stuff

I believe the notebook is still lying around somewhere
(I used to bother with borders!)


My very favourite Cody and Little Friends
(Conceived during boringass lectures)

Something a very talented ex-boyfriend drew (using markers, I believe).
We were 18.


Haha, my old wall.
Imagine my mom's shock.

The prospect was scorching for a minute there

Yeah, it totally was. Then the dark clouds inched and creeped its way in and it started pouring over my foolish optimistic head. Of course it left me with awful stringy hair, but stomping and sulking were out of the question (least because of the pouring and hence the hair, but more due to the succeeding events) lest, you know, I hover around as an annoyingly dripping wet blanket (though I literally was, save for the square/rectangular aspect that usually qualifies a blanket).

You could call this sweet, but the years spent with iTunes has, at last, paid off. It's developed a sensibility of its own. How did I know? Well, you see, upon my downtrodden state, the first song that spilled from my speakers after the play button was clicked was Mr Brightside. Now don't you dare call it coincidence. That C-word is as dirty as the other c-word in my sickeningly bright-and-cheery dictionary (or so I think, apparently). Mr Brightside it is.

You know what I miss about school? Call it silly, call it superficial, but seriously, mathematical equations and the theories of chemical reactions have come to mean naught to me now that the certificate is attained and the non-impressive grades have been stamped and imprinted as a chapter in my too-short history. So here goes: One thing I miss is spying on cute boys and secretly wondering if they know of my existence despite the nonchalant and aloof (or so I think, but I've been told that a tad bit more than un-obvious) front. There, I said it and it wasn't easy. Don't pretend that you've never had that. Mine was a boy named Push. Now that I'm over it, I miss the idea of a Push.

Funny how it was a push that started it all.

June 10, of very-good burgers and a certain 24-hour fish shop




June 12, Helipad








June 13, Taboo and many many half-Bern-and-Jack(s)


Tiffy's so cute









June 14, Tiff's

The one with Chandler's finger

The Korean next-door neighbours have moved out yesterday.

I noticed the exodus yesterday when I was heading out for a tan and noticed something unusual about the hallway. For one, it was notably emptier (no, duh). And didn't there used to be a bicycle that caused a certain congestion problem? But of course, my suspicions were only confirmed after I failed to locate their shoe rack.

So after a few prolonged seconds of standing in the doorway with a contemplative countenance, I gasped as revelation dawned and headed back into the house to make the grand announcement of our official neighbourless state, only to be met with a reminder of my oblivion to my general surroundings that do not come in neon, blinking lights: "Oh, they've been moving for three days," says the aunt.

Then again, I would like to argue that this lack of scrutinising ability is not a perpetual syndrome.

For a week now, in an unexciting turn of events, my life which I no longer know now revolves around a 10-year-old sitcom that most would remember by the name Friends.


In an episode (which I'm too lazy to locate now), Chandler lifted up his hand and rested it on Joey's arm. That marks the point in my life where I earn 10 trivia Friends points (in my head) because then, I noticed that Chandler's middle finger is shorter than his index and ring fingers! Woots, I cheered, that's something I learnt and it's not even fished from Wikipedia!

June 9, neighbourless tanning

When you've got Burberry, Miu Miu, and Agyness Deyn, who needs an ashtray?

The hollowed pimples of bullet-holes

He closed his eyes.

"Don't fill my head with all this history. I am what I am and that's all there is."

June 7, Johnny Two Thumbs studio



Crow's feet








From Facebook, June 4 at Zouk

So true, so creepy

You Are An ENFP

The Inspirer You love being around people, and you are deeply committed to your friends. You are also unconventional, irreverent, and unimpressed by authority and rules. Incredibly perceptive, you can usually sense if someone has hidden motives. You use lots of colorful language and expressions. You're quite the storyteller! In love, you are quite the charmer. And you are definitely willing to risk your heart. You often don't follow through with your flirting or professed feelings. And you do break a lot of hearts. At work, you are driven but not a workaholic. You just always seem to enjoy what you do. You would make an excellent entrepreneur, politician, or journalist. How you see yourself: compassionate, unselfish, and understanding When other people don't get you, they see you as: gushy, emotional, and unfocused

What's Your Personality Type?

Mr Sun is no fun

Now that I'm officially past the stage of my life where one, you know, basically makes living to pay for expenses such as, err, shopping, I have been going to sleep in unparalleled anticipation of the next day, of sun-filled meadows, berries picking, and rowing a boat through the lake. Or at least the Singaporean equivalent of the mentioned activities (cool, swanky malls, picking out clothes, shoving through the maddening clubbing crowd to get a drink at the bar the Singaporean way).

But alas. Man can plan, but the stubborn ways of nature are hardly negotiable. So while the lazing around bit that basically just involves me, a book, or a laptop has gone pretty well thus far, Mr Sun's failure to compromise has reduced to me sitting here and blogging in a bikini, resolutely refusing to change out, while it's pouring bigger-than-cats-and-dogs-animals outside.

You see, the past two days have taught me that the weather basically works like this:

12pm: Sunny, uber sunny
12:15pm: Jack grabs all tanning necessities (tanning oil, towel, books, magazines, shades, iPod, sometimes-laptop, etc etc) and heads downstairs
12:20pm: Sun still scorching
12:25pm: Jack finally settles down and finishes oiling herself
12:26pm: Dis-fucking-mally cloudy
12:30pm: Jack tires of waiting and decides to watch an episode of The O.C.
1:15pm: Still cloudy
1:30pm: It drizzles
1:40pm: Jack is determined to wait
1:50pm: IT STARTS FUCKIN' POURING
2pm: Jack is stuck downstairs with her laptop and stray belongings, unable to head home, while her towel and goggles are soaking up the rain out on the deck chair

So I managed to brave the rain and got back home. It's 3:35pm and I'm asssured that the sun will come out once I decide to hit the showers and change into proper clothes. I'm refusing to succumb.

I WILL SIT HERE AND DAMN WELL WAIT.

May 23, Fly Entertainment's 9th anniversary at Zouk




May 24, Butter Factory















May 25, shoot along Scotts Road

I'm in love with the Dior bag and shoes, esp those shoes!


May 27



May 28, Clarke Quay's Art of Revelry






May 30, graduation party at MoS






































May 31, bowling at the American Club, then off to Zouk











Bye, I'm going shopping with Erin.

Talk about it talk about it talk about it

Till today, I have yet to decide if my sheer inability to wake up in the mornings is due to a genetically-infused condition, or a mere lack of discipline.

I would like to believe in the former, but judging by how inept I am in other (similarly unexplained) aspects of my life, I might really just overwhelmingly lacking in the willpower department. But I can't help it if I'm weak, right? It's like how you don't blame a toddler for not being able to move a boulder. And how you won't blame Camilla Parker Bowles for not being even almost pretty. Things don't just happen, you know.

I was going to say more. But I'm tired already. Anyway, the entire point of this entry is that:

I FINALLY MADE IT TO THE MORNING MEETING!
(Albeit 15 minutes late, but that was only because I haven't gone for so long that I'd forgotten that it starts at 9:30am and not 9:45am.)

Off Facebook

Ah Yoke E

When your medication's label instructs you to pop the pill 'After food', what happens if you defy that authoritative message and down that pill Before food, or better yet, Without food?

Does that mean:
a) Your stomach reacts in a horrific manner and maybe you'll die.
b) The pill still works.
c) The pill loses its effect, hence you remain sick.
d) None of the above.

See, I took the cold tablet right after dinner and got so drowsy, I hit the sack at 9pm. Then, as luck (while some argue logic) would have it, the medicine lost its magic and my nose decided to take things into its own hands and acted up again. That, coupled with a scratchy throat and the lack of want of sleep is err, the best way to err, rouse one from sleep. And it did. (Not the best time to demand for eloquence.)

So I went to the kitchen and decided to self-medicate yet again but the problem was:
a) The label said After food
b) That would've been alright if five hours After food is acceptable
c) I've already brushed my teeth and worn my retainers
d) Eating and brushing my teeth again was not an option

I popped the pill anyway, and I'm hoping my indignation won't cause a very untimely death - after all, I've got to work tomorrow.

May 14, Tangs party at En Grill and Bar

















Bern pimps the bag
May 17, Zouk, ReadySetGlo with Steve Aoki

And I've decided to flash my braces more because come June 21, it'll all be gone!