I want to move to tumblr, or whatever the hell that is.

(via newyorkcanwait, photolittle)

Only because they advocate the use of Helvetica.

Lazy Sunday afternoons are the best.

You'd better look out below.

Something filled up
my heart with nothing,
someone told me not to cry.

But now that I'm older,
my heart's colder,
and I can see that it's a lie.

I guess we'll just have to adjust.

-

I cannot tell the difference, between what has changed and what has not. Perhaps everyone and everything is on the next page, repeating the same old. It feels like ending a scene and not knowing what should happen next.
I should know these things, but I don't. It frustrates me that I have not a clue.
It is the same thing. Nothing's changed.
This felt like yesterday, and the day before yesterday. This is not what I ordered.

Looks like everyone's gone out to play without me.

River, Stay Away From My Door.

Miss Apple singing River, Stay Away From My Door and Paper Bag.

P is for pansy.

You wouldn't notice a thing or two if I were to disappear for a week, while I am always trying to make my presence felt.

I am never good at playing games. Growing up, I would very much prefer collecting stamps over trying to win a game of catch at the school quadrangle. I had no body co-ordinations to excel in sports.

Sometimes I feel sorry for myself.

Perhaps subconsciously, I am killing it slowly for myself. That inevitably, you just needed a token friend in a foreign land and nothing else. Subconsciously, I would eventually see nothing in you that would make me look back and wonder, what the hell was I thinking?

How silly am I to believe in the powers of the subconscious.
I must be terribly blinded.

Panic. Attack.

Must. Calm. Down.

National Day

It was all for the better.
Or worse.




But now at least I see the more important things going back on track, and that is all that matters.

Gustav or Gordon?

:)

Sunday afternoons.

Boo's flying off to Bristol next week, and will be spending Christmas in New York. That means I will see him next year, when the holidays end and the new semester starts.

I wonder how things will be like then.



The past week was a case of losing track of the hour. Nights were spent editing, writing, having late night pratas at Al-Jalani or Red Bull stock-ups at Cheers. One more week and I'm done with the semester!

And some things do come unexpected.

From my room in Hougang.

We're almost half way through the semester, and for the first time since I came to Lasalle, I finally feel like I'm really in film school, drowning in an avalanche of assignments. It's both exciting and scary at the same time, my adrenalin often halted with unnecessary distractions, yet nothing that cannot be continued with a deep puff of nicotine and a flask of home-made chin chow drink. I feel blessed to be where I am now, with no regrets to where it has all led me to, and where it eventually will bring me to.

Sometimes these train of thoughts and emotions are difficult to contain and be translated into bodies of work. My mind seems to work in the most warp of ways. I have a problems with words.
And I don't know how to end. I always end up not knowing where the exit is.

the way things are

The thing is, I've been incredibly lazy and severely unproductive. I'd rather lie on my bed and rot to my impending death for not meeting all these deadlines than get down to work. But it's an exciting semester, really. Perhaps eventually I will feel the rush but now it feels as though I no longer keep track of time. I'm aware of the day and not the date, that the week is coming to an end or when we are half way through. I know August is coming to an end, but I don't know when. I don't want to know when.

The kindness of strangers.

I'm tired. Exhausted. I wonder what it has all led me to, because right now, I'm not happy with what I'm seeing. Everything feels numb. When will this stop? Sometimes I may laugh wholeheartedly at myself, being completely self-deprecating like a tragic figure laughing in a comedy. But in truth, I despised myself. There is not even a tinge of self-pity. I know, because I've searched high and low.

I can't find me. You won't either.

I think I've lost it,

or maybe it was never there.

Twiz.

Rosebud-stained page. 01-06-08, Saigon.

Let us move on.
Now that the ache has subsided
Into an almost non-
existential jolt that still awakens me
every moment when the nights become
still.

Let us not know,
If that dwelling, sinking, fading, menacing
still grip tight.

The world I see now
feels a hue from an auburn
and the day will move along into a blue.
By then we will know the truth to the whys.

The great affair is to move.

Good morning, Vietnam.

Vietnam's been amazing.
Time away from home is exactly what I need right now. I don't want to go back.

the rocket ship goes by,

Mother asked if I wanted dinner before I left the house today.
It's been a few weeks now that I am actually at home in the day and the typical answer was always no. My appetite has gotten very small lately. I have no desire to eat and when I do, I never, ever finished my plate. He said I lost weight. My mum said so, too.

So I said yes before plugging on the earphones.

I've been catching up with old friends for the past week. Some accidental, some called and planned. Every other night I was reminiscing the old times and pondering the days ahead with an old classmate or two. It kept my mind off things. I have a job this week, too. Props and set dress-up for a diaper commercial.

I haven't thought of Vietnam, and it's next week. I don't know when I will come back, or where I will be headed to within Vietnam. This whole carefree, running-away-from-home-to-a-foreign-land sounds almost romantic. But really, I just haven't thought much about it.

Over dinner today, Mother asked if I was not feeling well. I paused and said no.
Then eat up, she said.

the same rainbow's end.

Your eyes were not staring into the lens of the polaroid. We had supper at Sim Pang that night when I had managed to convince Sufen to drive to the east from the north. Such spatial distinction were sensitive. I think we took three shots, but I don't know if all three of us have one each to keep.

*

That night, when you came over to my room for the first time, you saw the same polaroid and cried. That very moment was the first time I left my anger behind, not knowing what to do except that instinctively, you were on my shoulder. We promised to make this work because we have to.

*

Audrey Hepburn's been singing Moon River on loop for the past two days, adding unnecessary cinematic effect that echoes my room. The row of polaroids stood on my mirror, staring at me every time when I do up my hair or check my zit. But you weren't staring at me, your eyes were somewhere else.

*

There is one polaroid; the Tampines train tracks stood majestically behind me. I looked like a little child forced to look into the camera while posing embarrassingly with an architectural grandeur. I scribbled 'monday blues' in front of it. It says 03.1'.07 tampines at the back. I missed my assessment review because my submission was late, and you tried cheering me up. You were behind the polaroid camera, and I said it was a beautifully composed picture. It really was.


Today, I took down all the polaroids, and kept it in the drawers somewhere.