Tag: rants

Cotton Candy.

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I used to think that clouds are like cotton candies in the skies, and had the ridiculous thought that if I ever took the plane, I can just open the windows and taste the clouds.

It was when I grew up when I realised (after a certain documentary) that it is the perfect recipe for an air disaster. Imagine this little tyrant trying to break the window pane of an aircraft under the pretext of tasting the clouds.

The only thing that made clouds different from cotton candy, in my young mind, was that cloud gets angry then gives us rain! Cotton candy is always happy and disappear if there’s water. I quote my younger sassier self, “Pretty, sweet but also useless kinda cloud.”

I like clouds. They are like our imagination, it can be anything you wish for it to be.

They are like human, charged with emotions. Sometimes, sweet and naive. Sometimes, dark and murderous. Sometimes cheeky, other times nonchalant.

Sometimes, they even disappear without a trace, leaving the blue sky oddly lonely.

I find myself lying on the floor often, looking at the skies, staring at the clouds, willing it to speak to me. Silence, engulfed me, then spat me out, whole.

The wind howling, the skies grey, the clouds dark.

And this, is another story for another day.

Coffee breaks and in between.

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My body clock recognized that it’s time for a caffeine boost, and passed the information down to the cells, rallying them up for a headache.

The mild throbbing at my temples urged me to speed up the pace in seek of caffeine.

The nostrils flared as the smell of caffeine hits its sensors. I made a quick turn to the cafe.

As I stood in front of the cashier, all ready to order cafe latte. My eyes landed on the words – sweet potato latte.

Flood of memories blinded my eyes, and before I can stop myself; I heard my voice speaking up – sweet potato latte please. Hot.

What? No, I meant cafe latte. My mental screams left unheard, as she rang the cashier up and handed me the buzzer.

I held on the to buzzer, inhaling the calming scent of coffee.

Perhaps, this is all but a bad dream.

The buzzer beeped and flashed, reminding me that my dream is up, and my neon purple reality awaits.

As I carried my drink back to a seat, I stared down at the pretty drink. The sweet scent, so familiar and peculiar at the same time.

I held up the cup and took a short sip.

Sweet, like it’s smell. At the very least, it is not deceiving.

Another gulp.

It tastes like fruity pebbles soaked in milk and then strained. Luckily, I like fruity pebbles.

Another gulp.

Silly that I came to a cafe to order a non caffeinated drink.

I watched as the humans walked busily to and fro, rushing towards their destinations. Whilst I lazily grapple with my lack of caffeine induced headache and irritability.

I sat there, silently, observing. Wondering what was going through their minds as they whizzed past where I am seated. What stories will they offer, should I buy them a drink and listen to them talk for an hour?

I wonder if the people who walked past, wondered about what was going through my vacant stares? Are they curious about the strangers they walk past?

Or is it just me, and me alone?

Tick tock. Time’s up, I gulped down the remainder of what used to be a pretty drink, leaving the sweet potato dregs behind.

I stood up hastily, taking one last look at the remains of my coffee break before striding off in an unknown direction.

I feel pretty (not).

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On Friday, I rushed down to the cinemas (alone!) so that I can enjoy the movie that I’ve been anticipating – I Feel Pretty.

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Firstly, it is starring Amy Schumer! Secondly, it talks about self-esteem issues. Lastly, I believe that it is supposedly pushing for the idea that I believe in the most – being unapologetically you wins people over, and not the facade that you put up everyday.

I was sold. I need to watch the movie asap.

I stepped into the cold cinema (can someone please educate me on why is the a/c in the cinema always so blood chilling cold? Was it a feeble attempt to help us burn calories whilst we stuff our face with popcorn?) with a bucket of popcorn.

Amy Schumer plays Renee Bennett, a woman who has low self esteem and is unhappy about her life (or her lack of life). She meets this amazingly beautiful girl played by Emily Ratajkowski, and desperately hopes that she will be as pretty as her – to the extent that she went out in a thunderstorm to toss a coin to make a wish.

The next day, at a spinning class, she hit her head hard and became…delusional, that she became the slim pretty girl she has always wanted to be – warning, stereotype ahead: pretty means having thin thighs, nice ass and great boobs, the icing on the cake is having a face with a chiselled jawline.

She feels good about herself and became very very confident, well, at one point of time confidence is good. Then over-confidence turned her into a douche.

There were many parts of the movie when I thought, hmmm, they could have delved deeper into the topic. But no, it remained a superficially happy movie.

Her friends never bothered to tell her that she looks the same? My friends would have tied me down with a straight jacket and sent me to the mental institute straight away. The moment of realization that she is still the same old her and not who she thought she would be didn’t pan out well, that 10 – 15 mins of speech at the end of the movie wasn’t enough to save the entire movie like I hoped it would. Her friends forgave her for being a douche after that inspiring speech on stage.

There was many times I hoped that they would have explored self esteem and stereotypes further, how a seemingly successful businesswoman has her insecurities, how a stunningly beautiful woman has her own issues as well. Imagine if you allow it to delve deeper, the message sent across in the movie – would have been stronger.

I sat there, defeated, when the credits rolled and the lights on. Not quite willing to believe that this is the end of the movie.

This is a waste of all the talents casted in this show. And lastly, it is a waste of a perfectly good idea and topic that needs to be debated upon – self-esteem, body image, gender roles, stereotyping of both men and women.

Meanwhile, I would just have to deal with the fact that I still don’t feel quite pretty after stepping out of the cinema, and landing on reality.

On my table

thehiams3 Comments

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This afternoon, I took a photo of the pile of books on my table as I scribbled on my notebook.

My current reads:

The Zoo Quest Expeditions by Sir David Attenborough (please insert heart in eyes emoji in your own imagination)

and

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (in Chinese – I’ve gotten this a present last Christmas)

I used to beable to sit down for hours (perhaps that could also aid to explain my larger-than desired butt) and just read. I could read and forget about meals, and be in the zone. But sadly, these days, I’ve been fiddling with my phone more than my books.

My pile of books waiting to be read, waiting to be given life, sits in a lonely pile in a box – neglected, and seemingly abandoned.

The inertia is real, and very scary. The amount of guilt that I felt every time my gaze fell on the box is…

I took f.o.r.e.v.e.r to read through half of the book. The younger me would prolly look at the me now in absolute disgust, appalled at the person I’ve became (eh, sorry la. Adulting sucks, or rather I suck at adulting). I used to polish off books so fast, and concocted all these lovely little mini movies in my head whilst I read.

My attention span is now very very questionable and (somewhat) disappointing.

It’s extraordinary how self-obsessed human beings are. The things that people always go on about is, ‘tell us about us’, ‘tell us about the first human being’. We are so self-obsessed with our own history. There is so much more out there than what connects to us.
– Sir David Attenborough

Shucks. I’m self-obsessed too.

Back to the books!

Live to eat. Eat to live.

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Recently, the weather has been horrible. It rains when I need to get out of bed to go to work, then proceeds to burn me with it’s love when I need to get home.

I am beginning to believe that the weather now follows the lyrics of Katy Perry’s song: You are hot when you’re cold, You are yes when you’re no.

You know I am sick, when I start quoting Katy Perry to describe the weather.

I have been coughing non-stop for 2 weeks, and been suffering from indecisive fever. I miss the sleep, I miss the food.

Above all, I miss all the ice cream that I am now not allowed to have because it triggers my cough.

My cough hates me.

My cough likes to eat congee and soupy stuff, drink hot tea and warm water. Things that I sometimes eat and drink to….y’know…be healthier.

This long battle with cough also made me realize that…I live to eat. I now look at my meals with disdain, and with each bite, I pray that the cough would be gone. So I can down that ice cube laden drink to calm the fire that has been ignited with the amount of hot food and drinks I’ve been drowning in the past weeks. (note: I know that this is a run on sentence, but I think that it is needed to justify the amount of desperation in me)

I’ve tried to live vicariously through the food photos that I’ve taken in the past, but I realize that it does nothing but to crave for food more.

Oh, I am not allowed to eat chicken, because it seems to induce phlegm, and I don’t fancy the feeling of being chocked to death by phlegm when I am sleeping.

Many weeks ago, I stuffed my face with food.

  1. BAKCHORMEE

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Bak Chor Mee. Laden with all the meats. Laced with Chilli.

Apparently the trick with all these famous BCM store is to…go at odd timings. No one goes at 4p.m to have dinner. Because it’s too early to have dinner, too late for lunch, too filling to have as tea break.

So I can sit down and have the luxury of having a bowl without a queue.

The Meepok so springy. I like. I want to eat BCM.

I realize that I make a lousy food critic. I have a lack of vocabulary when it comes to describing food. But it’s good! Looking at the picture makes me drool.

*note: I just swallowed a mouthful of saliva.

BCM from Upper thomson, next to Udders.

2. Thai Food

Coconut milk and chicken boiled together as a savory soup. As you can tell, it was good, BUT I WAS VERY CONFUSED. Because it tastes like…bobochacha but savory and with chicken.

I am very easily confused. But I eat food that’s good.

Grilled pork neck is good too! I know the plating looks bad. But who cares because I am there to eat the food and not to eat the plating.

We inhaled a plate of kangkong too. This was post BCM, so it’s enough to tell that the food is damn good, because I will never bother to stuff my face when I am already semi-full.

Let me give you a hint: this is in sunshine plaza, and it’s next to Merely ice-cream place.

Why is this piece of information important?

it brings me to the third food place.

3. Merely Ice-Cream

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I love ice cream. I planned my food route so that I can end up somewhere near a good ice cream place so that I can legitly go “Oh! There’s an ice-cream place nearby! Let’s go get some dessert to wash the dinner down!”

Except that it isn’t coincidental. I planned it. HAHAHAHAHA.

Merely is always very very generous with their ice cream scoops. The two gigantic scoops were mine.

I don’t share ice cream. Blasphemy. Get yours.

Merely is at Sunshine Plaza, please leave me some ice cream thanks.

Life. Stories.

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Bangkok, Thailand.

As I ran in through the closing doors of the airport rail, I was greeted by this sight. I sneakily took a picture of this moment.

No matter where I went, the same subway moments strike me again and again. Everyone looks so connected, yet looks so…far, distant and disconnected at the same time. Together and disconnected, so I say.

Somewhere through the journey, I can’t help but wonder, what is on their mind? What is their story?

When I was young, I’ve always wanted the ability to read minds, because I truly believed that everyone of us have a powerful story to share. Behind every smile and tear, there is something that others couldn’t quite fully understand.

I feel you, but I truly don’t feel on the level that you do.

As I grew up, I learnt that the thirst of wanting to knows how others feel or what they are thinking – is called kaypoh. If you put it in better sounding terms, I empathize! But I’ll admit that I am more of the kaypoh type. I love it when people share their stories and feelings with me. More often than not, I would be the silent listener.

I don’t judge (outloud), and I don’t offer advice, because I realize that these 2 things are the things that people need the least when they approach me.

The listening ear indeed.

Sharing of stories, forms a true momentary bond between the speaker and listening. The unmistakable closeness. It is also due to the exact same reason, that, if given a choice, we would speak to strangers instead.

Stripped of the background, names, familiarity, we are nothing more than just humans. Humans with nothing attached to us. We have got nothing to gain, nothing to lose, hence we speak with our hearts and soul.

The easiest and often honest conversations always happens with strangers you just met. That auntie in the coffee shop, the grandma sitting on the benches, the uncle puffing his lung sacs away…

After the conversation, the bond breaks, and you are never to see them again. You carry on with you the wisdom, the lessons behind the conversations, to in turn, create your own.

Life. Stories.

Curated

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Have you ever wondered, how curated everyone’s life is on social media? Not just the celebrities, but your friends, your relatives…

and you.

Are you guilty of curating your life too? Are you guilty of glamouring your photos and captions, so that yours is comparable with others?

Some days, when I tap on the app, and all the different images starts bombarding on the retina of my eyes. Woah, she’s diving! So cool! Wah…he’s in Europe right now – Envy! The food looks so yummy.(Or styled and edited to look so good – edibility each sold seperately.)

Everyone is so unique, and having the time of their life.

What about me? ole me?

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While everyone is out there playing and enjoying (or I presume that they are). I’m actually stuck at home, feeling small and miserable. geeking it out and not feeling apologetic.

I don’t know why are we trained to believe that if we are not out there, doing something new and innovative, hanging out with friends – we are wasting our time moping at home, and that is frowned upon.

Imagine the numerous frowns that I’m about to subject myself to when I declare myself as a homebody. Sure, I have days when I wished that I can travel the globe without a care. Catch the sunrise every morning, without having to consider if I would be late for work. Catch the sunset every evening, preferably not from the windows of my workplace.

Like any other responsible human being on the planet, if you do realize it by now.

I work.

After I work, I’m too pooped to – even meet anyone, form a coherent sentence, hold a somewhat intelligent conversation with anyone.

I just want people to leave me alone.

I digress but now I’m at home, skin spotted with angry looking red rashes from food allergy, as I stared at the itchy inflamed skin, I can’t help but to feel maligned. I didn’t even eat any prawn, how on earth did all these happen. Away and alone, I do what I do best.

I read and I pop bubbles.

Processed with VSCOcam with hb1 presetAccurate caption: I ITCHY. I ANGST.I SQUEEZE DIE DIS BUBBLE.

DSC_5244esAccurate caption: SQUEEEEEEZE! AND POP!

IMG_7250_2esAccurate Caption: I can’t pop bubbles, read, turn pages and take photos at the same time.

I kid.

The Kinfolk Home is a good read for those who are looking to decorate their new home or seeking interior design inspiration. Every home, comes with a story. This is what it should be, because…

Home, is where the heart is.

Of Bralettes

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I’ve seen Iskra Lawrence posing in bralettes and reading about her cause for #bodypositivity . Iskra is like my goddess role model. She’s beautiful, smart and above all – confident in her skin.

I’ve been pondering whether I should purchase Aerie’s bralette. I’ve been sitting on it sooooo much, that I didn’t get around to doing it. Maybe the rude discovery of how filmsy a non-lined bralette is, aided in the decision to sit on it longer.

Then came my BKK trip in December 2016. Whilst my cute friend A, ventured into a local lingerie store to buy safety shorts, I went in to take a look as well. I was skeptical of everything I saw in the store, because I knew I was different from the standard thailand girl size, or the standard singaporean size. Past experiences tells me that…I won’t fit into anything here.

Then, something in the far corner caught my eye. It’s a bralette with front straps and IT’S LINED!  AND IT HAS ELASTIC BAND! After enquiring with the owner who confidently told me that I’m able to fit in this, I happily enthusiastically desperately asked for it in 2 different colors, paid and stuffed them in my bag.

Alas! When I got home to try it on. It was a nightmare. It was a struggle to put on the bralette (PLEASE REMEMBER THAT ELASTIC BAND ALSO DO HAVE LIMITS – THERE’S NO INFINITY STRETCH OPTION AVAILABLE). For a good minute I panicked, and I kept thinking what if I got stuck and people who save me will see me stuck precariously in this piece of lingerie. After convincing myself that I would not allow this to happen, I finally gathered my shit and shoved the lingerie in place. That’s right, SHOVED. I stared myself in the mirror and marvelled over the fact that:

  1. WHY SO SMALL AH
  2. SO TIGHT. OH YAS TOO SMALL.
  3. OMG THE TRIANGLES ARE TOO SMALL
  4. MY BOOBS ARE SQUISHED FLAT AND NOW LOOKS LONGITUDINAL
  5. I FEEL STUPID
  6. I KINDA RESEMBLE A BAZHANG (RICE DUMPLING) with all the different lines tying up my meat together

This nightmare did not end here. What has been put on, must be taken off. Wrestling with that piece of lingerie ensues, and I emerged victorious (else i would have appeared on the headlines the next day).

I sneakily banished this lingerie of shame in the dark corner of my closet – never to see the light of the day again.

It was all fine. I lived happily ever after with wired bras – or so I thought.

 

I wonder

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Sometimes, I can’t help but wonder…

Where has time brought me to?

Now as an adult, with far more responsibilities, far more constraints. Am I truly in a place that I enjoy? Or am I in a place that I simply tolerate, because you know, it puts bread on the table. It is nice to have spending money?

As much as it sounds like I’m pointing fingers at time, I’m not.

As a child, I enjoy indulging in creative projects. I take photos on a daily basis, force my poor friends into being my models  my friends are all more than willing to be my free labour whenever crazy ideas struck me deep and hard. I edit photos, admire them.

Dabble in activities that bring me cash for allowance, and I juggle my grades all at the same time.

I was literally doing that work hard, play hard thing that people are buzzing about now.

Look at me now, slouched over the laptop, tapping away at roughly about 3 alphabets per minute (or I imagine it to be so, because 30 minutes felt like foreverrrrrrr). The feeling of doing something because I’m salaried and hence this should take precedence over any creative crazy ideas that I’ve been harbouring in my mind.

My inner dialogue is crazy these days.

Brain: You know, you should get your fingers moving and get that work cleared. You know that the D-day is looming right ahead. LET’S GET STARTED!

also the Brain: But there’s this awesome idea that I have, you know perhaps I could sneak a few product shots for the next hour and go back to the work?

Brain: No, you are paid to do work! So work should get done. 

again, the Brain: But…I don’t feel like doing it! It’s the weekend! Give me a break. Weekends are for fun stuff, and I should’t be typing out work stuff. 

The dialogue went on forever, debating whether I should do work, or should I do something that I like.

Though deep down, I know the solution is to first clear the work and I am free to enjoy in any creative endeavours that I choose to partake.

But no, after I’m done with the imaginary debate with no obvious winner. The clock literally did a sprint,and I wound up having lost 3 hours of my life.  I grapple with the way I’m handling this non-existent not even mid-life crisis, whilst trying very hard not to tear my hair out.

I think, I’m terrible at this adulting business.

Oh why, do I tap on my Instagram and marvel over the many inspirations – Look! She’s so productive! So talented! So amazing!

And wound up feeling small, unaccomplished and perhaps even slightly jealous of the picturesque life of others. ( I know picturesque isn’t used this way, but just let me pleaseeeeee).

Everyone seems to be doing a better job than me! The horrors!

I proceed to convince myself that social media only show the good stuff, and that it is highly curated and chock full of positivity, glitter and pixie dust (all of which I do not possess), and that I shouldn’t be bothered by what I saw, because what presented to me might not be the truth!

Am I doing #positivity right?

Although, I’m extremely rather cynical about where I am with time now. I trust that given time, I will eventually reach where I desire to be.

Oh the oxymoron.

I shall just practice faith then.

Have some faith. (I’m repeating this to anyone, any, who is willing to listen to me)

OH LOOK, I’VE TALENT IN WASTING TIME APPARENTLY.

Blooms

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I always thought that I am the type of girl who doesn’t hype over flowers. Sure, they are beautiful…

But the beauty is short-lived.

By day 2, the petals start to take keen interest in…gravity. Under the deadly seduction of gravity, they plunge towards the desk top, and end up in the not-so-romantic rubbish dump. Petals also seem to have this groupie effect.

ONE FOR ALL AND ALL FOR ONE!

The next morning, the whole flower literally just…wait. what flower? I’m pretty sure that’s the stalk I can identify with.

I used to only be interested with baby’s breath. Fuss free! When dried it looks almost identical to the fresh version (maybe it looks like it has been tanned to death, that’s all). I can go onnnnn and oonnnnnnnnn ( like Celine Dion ), but that’s not the point.

Wait, wait, I don’t hiam flowers. I like flowers, but it’s nothing big to me.

This February, something happened to me. I was left hurt, grey and highly upset with everything around me ( this is simply a glorified sentence for I HATE THIS LIFE ). I was actually contemplating what should I do, if I’m to become a burden this life? What if I cannot walk without pain again? What if…

What if?????

WHAT IF (insert all those dramatic scenarios that I am thankful didn’t happen irl)

Whilst I was in that horrible black hole, something arrived.

It was a bouquet, with a quote that broke me down, yet build me up at the same time.

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It was pretty, with baby blue Hydrangea and mixture of Eustomas. It was wrapped in this brown paper that I’m always guilty of using.

It was me.

Little did I know, this was what I needed at the point of time. A distraction, a beautiful distraction.

This beautiful distraction, became a fascination. I began reading on flowers, floral arrangements, treatment for flowers.

I know they don’t live for that long, but I wanted to make sure that they are the prettiest blooms whilst they are still alive.

I then became the girl, with Blooms in my room.

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Blooms in my room – Tulips.

I am thankful, grateful for that timely bouquet – a reminder that, I am worth it. Despite the fact that I’ve been broken and flawed – I am worth it. I, am adequate.

You, you right there. You are worth it too.