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I've had this lifelong dream of getting a lovely toned stomach with two lines running down the middle for as long as I can remember. Yeah, sure I exercise like a dog four times a week - weights, yoga, BodyPump, running....anything as long as I sweat! You'd expect me to be as thin as sin and as fit as one of those Olympian runners if you didn't know me better.

But. No. It ain't happening. Why? Because I can't give up food. I love food. I live to eat. Hell, even as I write this I have a container of nuts and raisins next to me. Yeah, I get my guilty days when I feel as though I've eaten just over enough to feed the Royal Navy and then I live off salads for the next couple of meals. But it ends there. After purgatory, I revert back to my old self and wonder what to cook for dinner again. Chicken curry? Fried noodles? Beef stew? Perhaps try a new restaurant? Food, food, food. There are so many things to eat!! I don't care if I sound like a glutton right now.

If people can make a living out of studying cortical spreading depressions in the brain, cooking actually seems to be a brilliant career choice. There is something thrilling about bustling about in the kitchen and an even greater thrill when you look at the fruits of your labour after twenty minutes. Cooking is not difficult at all, but it requires passion - as hackneyed and overused as that bloody phrase sounds. But like most hackneyed sayings, it's followed by the obligatory "It's true!" You need lots and lots of enthusiasm if you want people to remember the flavours of your food. For instance, I've realized over this academic year that my curry varied with different moods. I would make curry during my exam period, and it would come out watery and incredibly bland. Kind of like how I was feeling at the time. And then when I wasn't so stressed, it came out creamy and pedas enough to numb your tastebuds just the way I wanted it to. If you cook half-heartedly, your food will taste like shit. Frankly.

Anyway. Er. Basically...I'm just wondering casually in a non-regretful way now why I didn't choose to go to cooking school instead. Hm. Gosh, are my thoughts disjointed.

See, all this sort of came about after watching Gordon Ramsay on TV yelling non-stop at the poor broke bastard on Kitchen Nightmares. I would make this post a lot cleverer but I'm just talking out of my bum as usual.

Night.

Watching the marathon live at 2AM makes me want to run for my life. I might just. This Romanian woman is amazing. She's whizzed past right ahead; she's all alone! Watching Michael Phelps power through water also makes me want to swim a lot faster once my navel piercing heals over. Hurray for healthy living!

And who knew that Malaysian sports would finally see the golden light of day at the summer Olympics? Finally! Malaysia boleh, for once? Please LAH, Mr Lee!

As I sit here, wiping the sleep from my eyes, I wonder what the chances of me going out and bumping into someone I know. Used to know. Same difference. Statistically speaking, probably quite low. But there are some days when you feel that gods of Chance are at work. What Twoface said in Batman - that there is no God, only Chance - is probably quite untrue. Why? If Chance can be equated to God, then surely there must be an antithesis to Chance. Which is what? The gods of Pre-Determination? Fate, then, surely? Some people believe you can determine your own fate, whereas others just let Fate take its course. Hah. Well. Me. I think Fate and Chance only come into play when you've done everything right and somehow everything else manages to fuck up for no rhyme or reason. Then only do you question the existence of such factors. When everything is going swell, nobody questions God or Fate or Chance. Hardly anyone counts their blessings. Maybe that's something everyone should aim toward, you know? Just so you won't feel like a loser when statistics don't favour you.

It's been raining incessantly for the past two weeks. This is not summer. I can't wear my skimpy dresses or sunglasses. Thank goodness I didn't buy new sunnies. The antithesis to the gods of materialism have saved me. Well, not really. But nobody else has to know.


The shade is a tool, a device, a saviour
See, I try and look up to the sky
But my eyes burn

There was a rainbow in the sky as I walked out after the rain today. It looked nascent and pretty. When you walk away, the rainbow follows.

Sometimes all you need is a good support system and a rainbow to get through to 20 years.

And Family Guy.




Here's to the next one hundred, baby.




I'm not a teenager anymore. Not that I've really ever felt like one to begin with.

The simple things in life that bring about a transient state of euphoria

- Crackhead friends
- Cake
- Sex and the City
- Photos from my fugly but adorable Instax Mini 7 camera
- Showering after sweating like a pig at the gym
- Stalking overpriced handbags online
- Thinking about buying said overpriced handbags
- Piercings
- Quirky jewellery
- Rain
- Family Guy
- Pink leather notebooks

It takes a while to let go.

I think there's only one place I can call home. It's not a person, it's not London, it's home, where all my sacred dreams were born and fears were allayed. Where everything will become magically okay again.

I want to go home.

Little girls shouldn't be taught to believe in fairy tales. Fairy tales are like drugs. Once you start believing, you don't stop. Regardless of how many pieces the heart is in, we will always pray and hope that some charming man will rescue us from a prison cell labelled "Depressed, Single and Lonely". Regardless of how many female empowerment songs we hear on the radio. Because we've been fucking conditioned to believe that we need someone to carry on with our daily lives, that living alone is very much frowned upon. "Oh you're going to die an old maid!". "Awwww, your time will come". "No man in your life? That's okay...one will come soon enough". Of course there are the occasional "SINGLEDOM IS AWESOME" and "Fuck that, let's go party" comments. However, most of these comments are perpetuated by people who have found some sort of stability in their lives with another person - a soulmate, if you will (if that even exists). I suppose to some singledom is a choice, but for the most part, it really isn't. I love how people who choose to be single are more often than not the most attractive ones. Ugly girls don't have choices in life. Pretty girls do. Poor people don't have choices. Rich people do. Whoever said we live in a classless society is obviously rich, intelligent and drop dead attractive. I have digressed.

I've been a cynic for as long as I remember, but I still do believe in happy endings. Though I must confess that most happy endings are bittersweet (but humans don't give a fuck - all that matters is getting the girl/man because we're selfish like that). Take The Little Mermaid. Ariel got the man of her dreams and became a human, but she left an entire world she'd known for sixteen years and a father who loved her to no end behind. I would think that she would be plagued by some sort of guilt trip every now and then. I would be. Then again, I'm no princess. I'm an angry bitter teenager with various addictions and hobbies that don't include singing and seeing the best in others.

I'll just shop more because in the wise words of that old skankwhore Fergie, "a Prada dress never broke my heart before".

I dream about tsunamis rather often. I don't think it's sheer coincidence that I dream about these waves washing over me. I don't drown, because they say you can't ever die in a dream (although I do recall dying but not really going anywhere pivotal or of special Significance). In any case, I usually climb to higher ground, say, a house on a hillside (which was last night's refuge). Cowardice much? Other times, I simply watch the onslaught of water beckon slowly towards my direction. Once, a tsunami hit New York City whilst I was walking along the streets, even though I have never once set foot in the US. This wave was probably the most frightening one, but I don't recall being frightened. In fact, last night's tsunami arising out of the ocean was by far the most shock inducing. But that might have been because I was not alone; my grandparents were also around.

Thus, I decided to Google "tsunami dreams". Being an ex-English Literature student, I can easily tell you that "waves symbolise the feeling of being tremendously overwhelmed" and that "the waves are reminiscent of repressed emotions". Funnily enough, "Dream Dictionaries" will tell you that too.

In waking life tsunamis occur when an earthquake or some other violent action takes place thereby lifting the sea up which in turn creates a gigantic wave that causes much devastation when it comes ashore. In dream life, a tsunami may symbolize the same feeling--a feeling of being overwhelmed by a huge, powerful force beyond your control. Dreaming of a tsunami can be a sign that you are feeling emotionally overwhelmed or emotional upheaval. Look at your life and see if there is a situation that feels overpowering.

It's really not a wonder why I'm over-bloody-whelmed. There is, also, another meaning to tsunami dreams:

According to Carl Jung, a tsunami dream is very significant. It is one of those great “archetypal” dreams, meaning symbols which are universal across all cultures. A tsunami is supposed to be a symbol of some great spiritual change, the washing away of the old and the beginnings of new growth.

I must be still waiting for my spiritual awakening. Don't we all need one right now.

Anyway. To work, to work.

It's THAT time of the year again!!!!

Such is the revelry and joy that my life continues to be peppered with every single day. I am joined by Mssrs Piles-and-Piles-Of-Notes and Impending-Very-Bad-Fever-As-You-Can-Tell-By-Unhinged-Nature-of-Post.

People ought to be that much more sensitive. And unselfish.

To whoever is reading this, PLEASE fucking think about what you say and do next time.

TRAILERS
1st : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TALm5xaXDUU
2nd:http://youtube.com/watch?v=wB1cbZxTHEQ

Everything.

Past, present, future.

Oh, Dreary Thoughts at Half Seven in the Morning, go away, go away.

I'm breaking out with bloody pimples like hives on an irritating allergic-to-everything-child.

Stress, doh.

Past one week. 12 hour days. It gets hard to tell night from day sometimes. It's amazing how the earth keeps spinning while the rest of us seem to stand so still in the dwindling daylight. We walk up and down the same weather beaten track over and over again. Same place, same time. Repetition is the Monster in my closet, the one who will hold me tight when I cry late into the night, the one who will always be there for me when everything falls apart. The easiest things in life come from this ghastly creature. Still. I despise it.

We're always fighting for something. Aren't we now. My something just isn't half as clear as yours. But. It'll be okay.

It's always "Fall Term" or "Autumn Term". Well, anyway, it's now "Spring Term" and the weather hasn't improved at all. Miseryguts.

New year, same shit.

Welcome to my life. Insert childish whine while I can before I hit the big 2-0. Gasp.

The rest of the occupants of Flat 47 left this morning to Nottingham. And so, I'm left here alone at home to bubble and simmer away in a flat-ful of thoughts and empty songs, my usual three shot coffee by my side. I haven't written or done anything of this sort in a while. Christmas is near and I am dying for time to pass by more swiftly. What I wouldn't do to have the oppressive burden of a guilty conscience not bearing down upon my (literally) aching shoulders.

My first term routine of living off three hours of sleep and twice weekly exercise has left me in a dribbling mess of snot and general all around knackeredness. Getting sick can be good for you sometimes, gives you an actual excuse proper to skive class and sleep in.

I think today might be one of those days when I feel like I'm done with being iconoclastic.

It's a nice feeling.

I think I owe it to the blueberry muffin I'm eating.