Write again

Someday soon, I shall write again.

Because, the devil in me is itching to come out to play.

What a year it has been.

I finally set foot on the continent I thought I wouldn’t have the chance to, and boy, despite the dramas, I felt like… I fit in.

3 countries in a month brought forth lotsa self-discoveries, some sorely needed.

It also made me see a lot more in others, some pretty unsurprising, but some still have the capacity to make my jaw drop with utter disbelief.

Alas, all that I have seen in a month, are probably what these people will never see in their entire lifetime. So I shall be contended with being the only crazy lady who insists the earth is round, not square.

I think the journeys to search for selves sometimes aren’t exactly pretty.

So, a cautionary tale, I shall one day write.

It ain’t pretty. It doesn’t even make sense to some. But if you are quick enough to get on it, you will marvel how clever some of these things truly are.

But it will cost you your faith in humanity.

Then, do you still want to know, or not?

I can let you. But I don’t want to. But can anyone stop you?

Didn’t think so either.

The dream that ends it all

It was just a day ago when I decided that the dreamful sleeps I had deserve some kind of mention on this space.

I was thinking that writing things that don’t really make sense might be a good start to make a little difference to this word-drought.

The nights of insomnia seem to have come to an end, I had one of the best rests yesterday (or rather, earlier this morning), and I could feel the tension easing off, and I could feel how my body was just in absolute ease and comfort – though I suspect the ceasing of the extreme allergy reaction to the mosquito bites played a part too.

I remember recently I woke up after trying to save the world. One with me playing the superheroine, and there were dead people everywhere. But then reality thought it would be fun to slip in a cruel joke in the midst of it, I was trying to evacuate the public when I accidentally walked into a scaffolding (which I am damn capable of doing in real life), and the scaffolding collapse onto the people trying to escape, thus increasing the number of casualties.

Even in my dreams, I am a clumsy superheroine. Not funny.

So, last night I was thinking of writing about my dreams, and I went to sleep with a dream which is going to impact me for a long, long while.

You know how a dream that feels too much like reality, and you woke up feeling like you really lived through it? Even though it has absolutely no link to the reality you are in right now.

Yeah, one of those.

They are not wrong to say I am a dreamer, I dream on most nights, and sometimes I wake up forgetting what they are, yet the dream I had yesterday had every detail etched stubbornly in me.


Maybe it has to do with the people in the dream. For the first time in years, my dream has absolutely no one from my present, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t subconsciously contributed to some of the decisions I made in the dream.

It was pretty strange, cos in the dream I was thinking and making decisions based on many things I have encountered recently and it was almost as if I could control where my dream was going.

And man, I did.

I woke up more than 6 times in my sleep, once with me heading to the washroom for a pee-break, and another waking up to get some water to drink, yet every single time the dream continued.

And there was no other dream, but one that played out like a 8-hour film.


The lead in the dream was someone from my past, 8 years ago. There was once I consciously woke myself up just to try to recall his full name.

It is no surprise that I ended up searching the archive of this blog to try to latch on to the past we once shared, and figuring out what are some of the details that might have slipped by me.

Strange thing is, even some stuff I no longer remember, the dream reminded me that even the tiniest possible details from 8 years ago are still very much hidden somewhere in a corner of my mind. You don’t realise how much you remember about a person, or the impact this person has on you, until he is given some form by your subconscious.

It was someone I was rather fond of, who was incredibly sweet to me, yet had his episodes of spite and pent-up anger during the time we were trying to get to know each other.

I remember how much I enjoyed his company, and then finding out he was kinda in a relationship kinda halted things, and then I did the unceremonious thing of pushing him away, thinking it was the best thing I could do for both of us. Eventually he did end his relationship but still there was no way for us to take things further and I think in a way, I did kinda hurt him back then (but so many years already, we both are probably looking back at that episode and laughing about it).

Then, we cut each other off for good thereafter.

For many years I still think about how he is doing, and the last I heard from him was in 2006, and I think he was pretty glad to have nothing to do with me anymore.

So, the dream started with us reconnecting and within few weeks, he proposed. And with the giddiness of youth and simply too tired to care, I actually accepted with spontaneity that could be passed off as stupidity.

And the days that built up to the simple wedding, we actually agreed that we could divorce anytime, and gave it a month or so.

I remember how queasy I felt about the idea of the wedding when it drew near, and that was when I first woke up, to realise it was a dream. I quickly relaxed myself back to sleep knowing it wasn’t real.


I remember it was a nice 3-storey resort honeymoon suite, with views of the mountains, valleys and the sea, nothing short of beautiful with the white curtains flowing in the wind. The breeze was comforting.

The best part is waking up and feeling like I have actually been to a place like this. You gotta love realistic dreams which fuck up your mind like this.

I remember walling myself up pretty soon and looked on to the entire thing like it was just… a show, and despite his initial reservation with me after all that had happened between us, he was utterly sweet and thoughtful, and it came with a maturity I wished I had found back then.

I remember the glares his friends shot at me, wondering if I would end up hurting him since he was marrying me against their wishes.

I remember I only had one friend I recognised with me. A friend from primary school. She asked me if I was crazy to do such things on a whim and I said, one for spontaneity, and give it 2 months and we will end it.

What for, she asked? I shrugged, “We just wanna see how it feels like, since we probably would never get to find out, and he knows that this ain’t gonna last too, though I feel bad about it.

I remember I curled myself up in bed after the ceremony (which was funny cos the dream totally skipped the ceremony part which means I didn’t have to entertain thoughts of familiar people and the only time I was in the lacey dress was during the fitting in the dream) after I had showered, and he came to the room in a well-cut suit to wake me up tenderly to ask if I was hungry.

I was, and he held out his hand to me and led me to the hotel’s kitchen and got the cooks to whip up some of my favourite dishes for me.

Despite we knew it was going nowhere, we actually gave the best we could.

It was a lot of good times in the dream.

But the funniest part was the sex part, cos apparently I married him without ever testing the goods (which is true in real life too). So the night of our wedding we decided to well, finally made it happen.


I remember thinking to myself, “Well, since I recently discovered something about myself, let’s try it out and make the best out of it.” Then I rolled on top of him.

That is the point when reality and dream kinda intercepted for a moment, hurhurhur.

I am not sure if it says how I gauged him to be in real life since we never ventured that far to find out…

I remember waking up for a toilet break shortly after and thought to myself, “Seriously, if this is a realistic dream, and the sex is bad, FML. Can I have Robert Downey Jr as the protagonist and have awesome sex tomorrow?

I remember walks by the sea, and just something really carefree, with the constant thoughts of when I can bring up the topic of divorce.

I remember how when he held my hand, and I thought how unfamiliar this feeling is. It is nice, but foreign.

Then he gave me flowers, the same ones he got for me 8 years ago. I laughed when I got it, and he said, “I know this is not your colour, but I just thought it kinda allow us to reminisce the past.” And then, he actually had another bouquet prepared in the colour I actually like.

I remember how he is really treating me like a princess, and I was smiling a lot when I allowed myself to be, well, myself, to just live in the moment.

Everything felt… innocent and pure.

The dream didn’t last till the divorce, but I woke up freezing the moments when they were at their most beautiful, and I felt kinda good.


Wherever you are, I believe you are at a better place without someone like me in your life.

I hope you are well, and thanks for making me smile on a day like this with the memories, and dreams you left me with.

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Random thoughts – 0313hr

As I stood at my usual spot whenever I need some space to myself, words overwhelmed me.

Words that used to come easily to me, whenever I need to liberate the thoughts within me. Words that give form to the quirky perspectives which I wish could somehow bring me closer to finding myself.

As I root myself before my monitor now, I can’t seem to recall anything.

It was barely 5 minutes ago.

What a start to the week. Maybe the dreary Monday did get to me afterall.

It pretty much illustrates how successful I have been at detaching myself from my reality, and blocking out the one solace I used to seek.

I used to see beauty in the littlest things, giving each and every memory a form of its own, filling it with hues of sentiments, just to remember how alive I once was.

Things and people used to mean so much to me. So much so that I held them delicately in my hands, cooing over how they settled snugly in a corner of my heart as I admired each and every details on them just so I don’t ever forget.

With age, I am not sure if it is wisdom I gained, or just sheer jadedness from rich disappointments, it occurs to me that it was just naivety on my part.

You never know when is a streak of boredom cloaked in a gesture of sweetness, when is something special to you is just something borrowed, when is a kiss on a forehead a mass-manufactured act of affection, when is a genuine friendship to you just a game to another, or when the words you held dearly to are replicated by iPhone’s brilliant function of Copy+Paste.

Same stories. Different people.

So, I stopped believing at some point.

But yet, being the contradictory me, I still believe in pinkie promises. Much more so than any “This I promise you…”.

I guess, putting myself out there has once again reminded me why I felt a need to shy away. People, and things are just not what they seem. Sometimes, they let the excuses they found for themselves to define who they are, and I have learnt how to find excuses for them just so it would lessen the disappointments they bring.

And the perfect excuse is none other than: Never enough.

I am not perfect. In fact I am the most flawed individual I have ever known, yet I don’t think it is much to ask of to be enough.. for once.

Yet some things I settle for, I have no doubt that I probably deserve better.

Contradiction there, isn’t it?

This private space of mine has seen me through over a decade of changes. Of life. Of growing up (maybe not much). Of tears. Of joy. Of achievements. Of failures. Of lust. Of needs. Of wants. Of heartbreaks. Of people. Of fleeting moments that once mattered.

In the past year, I probably had experienced countless episodes of such moments that deserve a mention, encountered various people who might have taught me more about life than I could ever imagine, and had my faith in myself trialed in more ways than one.

Work, was a big revelation.

I surprise myself with my ever-expanding threshold, while shoving my principles out of the windows. I can’t blame them for grasping dearly to my esteem in their feeble attempt for survival in their final moments, and when that failed, they plunged all the way down to ground zero, with it clenched tightly in their hands. And then. Crash and burn.

But we all know the ending to stories like this, don’t we?

That I will end up resenting the person I allow myself to be.

There is something about liberating yourself to be who you are, to be vulnerable, yet that could be fatal when you allow someone near enough to hurt you irrevocably.

Rather strange, I must say, to look through pages and pages of words, only to feel a sense of curiosity, of the person I once was.

This sense of detachment is rather peculiar.

I remember at a recent gathering with a couple of good friends where we sat around and they asked the questions they always wanted to ask. I replied candidly and they remarked how I was like relating a story of someone else, and I was even laughing at the most painful parts of the stories while they winced uncomfortably.

Maybe I am still the same person, rejected by the very me at this moment.

Whatever we need to do to get through the day, no?

There is some sort of finality to this, and honestly, I feel kinda relieved, with a load off my shoulders.

Maybe there is a change round the corner.

Maybe there is something I will come to terms with and I will learn to live in the moment.

Or maybe, I will finally find moments I can proudly say, are exclusively, mine. Without games, without the need to fight for anything, without self-doubt. And I can still be myself.

I have much more to say, but somehow the alter-ego in me is refusing to let the weakling in me out to play, so once again, an abrupt ending.

Like the way, I end things in life abruptly.

And then, I kick asses, when you least expect me to.

O… don’t you dare.

I feel a great impulse to write.

And then it hit me.

I am just too afraid to find solace in words… for I do not dare to face what is there when I have to dig deep into myself.

The mess I might find. The ghosts I might need to confront.

So I turn my back, dip my chin a little, and allow that pained, sad smile to creep out.

Throw an arm up, and draw a weak wave in the air.

The perfect, mysterious stranger, again.

This, I will say.

I find it kinda sad.

It was never what you thought it was.

Alas, you will never see it.

Not that you have any ounce of interest to ever find out, anyway.

At the end of it, I just don’t want to allow someone to chip away a part of me more than he already did, knowing full well what he is capable of.

Then again, I already knew from Day 1, didn’t I?

Well, I am just afraid. We all are. I just have more reasons to be so than most people, that’s all.

Braving the system

This private space of mine, I miss.

Quick one.

Just because I feel an indescribable urge to sow the seeds of writing here, in the hope that one day I can let the thoughts flow ceaselessly through my fingers again.

I hesitate too much these days, and I became too self-conscious cos I hate to see how I have came to massacre the English Language.

Yet, I remember this place fondly. For this is what accompanied through the darkest days of my life.

And there are the people, some I had never met in person, who gave life-saving encouragements which pulled me through.

Thus, I thought, it is a milestone that worth an update.

Minibean is now in Primary One.

And here is she, in her uniform, on her first day in school.

Whenever I reply this to people who ask, it always prompts the same shock, the same reflective ‘oh my, time flies..“.

Hell yeah, it did.

There are so many people I have to thank. But sometimes, thank-yous are the hardest words to get out these days.

And I can’t find it within me to write anymore.

So pardon me as I leave you, or whoever is reading, with the tidbit I shared on Facebook today:

Bizarre conversation with Minibean as we hugged our knees together for a long talk into the night. She left the best bit for the last. And I didn’t expect the primary school nightmares to start this soon. First.

She asked why I don’t have other children, and I told her the reality that <slash>Mummy isn’t getting any</slash> it is expensive to raise a child in Singapore.

I had to explain what is a miscarriage, and break down the pregnancy timeline. It got awkward when I had to explain why some people have medical conditions which don’t allow them to bear children despite desperately wanting to.

She asked how long it takes for the tummy to slim down after giving birth.

Basically she wants me to be a baby machine, on demand.

I said a prayer of thanks that I didn’t have to give her any graphic description of how I squeezed her out.

Then. The bombshell.

As we continued the conversation, she asked me what would I do if she is bullied in school.

I said I would find out why and talk to the teachers, if need be.

I asked her if I should do that. She said no.

That is when she made me promise not to talk to any of the teachers, or confront the said bullies if she were to tell me secrets (dammit, now I am bound by the promises).

Apparently, 2 boys tried to bully her today. She said it with a smile (I soooo see this coming).

She said Jayden and Lucas tried to kiss her today, and she defended herself by flipping her hair.

I breathed in deeply and tried to act the coolest I can muster. You know, sometimes have to play it cool to fish it from her lah.

“Try to kiss me, Mummy.”

She dodged and showed me how agile she is.

I taught her a few tricks to push the boys away (tempted to impart her the groin kick but.. oh well, next time then), encouraged her to use her Wushu moves, and how she should dodge them next time.

Not sure if those are gonna work because ahem, Mummy had never quite successfully defend herself in situations like this.

She said Lucas is an assistant leader in the group, but then confessed she likes Jayden more, when I asked why, she excitedly raised her voice, “JAYDEN IS HOT!” (an example of how aesthetic has triumphed ‘power’, definitely not my genes.)

“Baby, ‘Hot’ is not the word you should be using on little children. Cute or handsome maybe, but it is not a word you should be using.”

“Mummy so what does it mean? Why cannot use? So how should I use it?”

“Uh… uhm.. cos, you use it in instances like ‘Mummy is HOT!”.

She went to bed, kissing me goodbye, with a zealous parting shot, “MUMMY! YOU ARE COOL, BEAUTIFUL AND HOT!”

I think a trip to the optician is on the cards.

Boys out there, stop kissing my precious! I will learn how to break the legs and egos of these mini-sized male hormones.


And this, shall be the length of all her skirts, till she turns 30.

2013. I can only…


… hope.

For it is hope, that keeps us alive.


“But what we call our despair is often only the painful eagerness of unfed hope.” – George Eliot.

Fuck you, 2012, for you have made me feel like a complete failure.

I need a little less fear, and a little more courage.

Nursing this fatigue

The urge to write is overwhelming.

Alas, along the way, censorship becomes a must, and the need for me to look away from myself has became a great deterrent for the words to connect with my fingertips.

I have massive amount of things to say.

Too much.

It is as if I wish the release of the words could bring along with them the fatigue within.

I resent being taken out of context. I fear words are just taken at their literal value and people fail to see beyond.

This space is not a representation of who I am. It shouldn’t be the apply-all rule to my real life. It could be a form of escape. It could be who I wish I still am. An ideal which I have no hope of achieving.

You might think you know what I am getting at, even I might think I know what I am trying to say, but you are not me.

Who are you to define me?


I don’t remember the last time I have had this much sleep in the past month.


Jet lag sounds like the perfect culprit for my grogginess when I awoke at 4pm. Then again, what jet-lag?

Went to see Minibean at her wushu class, and seeing her showing passion for what she is doing brought ample relief.

After bidding her goodbye, the weather was too inviting.

I napped.

I opened my eyes at 8.30pm and felt a pang of hunger. I fell asleep again, dreaming that I ordered for delivery. I was too lazy to wake, and the subconscious¬† decided to take care of my body’s needs.

It was 10pm when I finally managed to drag myself out of bed to the news of Manchester United’s victory.

Again, the accumulation of words in my head wouldn’t let me have it easy. They were prompting me to write, provocatively egging me on, yet when my hands hover above the keyboard, the defense put up by my fingers is at an all-time high.

The grief the past few entries had brought is what I can do without.

Yet, these thoughts, both sober and dark ones, have to go somewhere, don’t they?

Time to bring the fight of the inner demons into the open. They probably need a larger battleground.


Only another day of rest before my next assignment.

In the past weeks, I made a return to the charms of Prague (had it been almost a year?), had my 2nd encounter with Vienna this year, and roughed it out in Ho Chi Minh City for the 2nd time in half a year. The experiences are thoroughly humbling.

Monday’s trip is an unexplored territory to me, and the irony is, I will be returning to the embrace of my home country.

What I am truly looking forward to, is to plan for my own disappearance into a sea of faceless people, at the end of the season.

This need to flee, is too strong to fight.

Somewhere new. Or maybe, somewhere familiar.

Somewhere uncharted. Or maybe, somewhere I need to revisit.

Somewhere undisturbed. Or maybe, somewhere I can be imposed.

Somewhere, where I am an unknown to it. Or maybe, somewhere I feel belonged.

Somewhere, where you can’t find me.

Waltzing round the unknown

On Wednesday I had a last minute assignment which will see me leaving Singapore tomorrow.

Pretty short notice, there.

But maybe one that is much needed for me.

I have got to stop having this morbid fascination-slash-obsession. I am overdosing on my Air Crash Investigation and 60 seconds to Disaster, which is almost like a SOP every season in.


I am not sure when was the last time someone’s brutal honesty made me smile and laugh so much. He probably thought it was mockery, as the occasional hints of self-consciousness betrayed the confident front he often puts up. I sniggered cos I saw how endearing that rash, tactless honesty is.

Kinda refreshing. Not very much welcomed, cos whatever happened to my original plan…? Dammit.

It is all an act.¬† A little voice warned me. Haven’t we seen this once too many times?

Go with your gut feel. But hadn’t it failed me too frequently in the past? Laughs.

Strangely, I didn’t quite find it within me to guard this time round. The dangerous pitfall of being too comfortable. The natural defense mechanism, however, kicked into action.


And then. There. In that dark corner where I reached out for the door to my car, with one hand tugging at my arm, turning me towards him, and another cupping my face – he leaned in.

At that instance as I turned, I felt it.

When was the last time my pulse was sent into overdrive when someone pressed his lips against mine?

And I, had conveniently forgotten to draw my next breath, and I got lost in my flustered, blabbering mess.

The giddiness that accompanied the panic and confusion wasn’t helping, which was all the better that he took over the wheels. Well, he offered, cos I pretty much threatened to leave him behind.

I nearly needed a map to find my way to the passenger seat as he leaned against the boot with his arms crossed, obviously enjoying the comedy.

He pulled me close and made his move once again.

I found my arms snaking over his shoulders.

Yet, I forgot to breathe, again. I could feel my heart picking up speed and its beat sent racing.

How. The. Fuck. Did. That. Happen?

Let’s go. Curiosity fulfilled. Not much of a mystery there, was it?

We bade goodbye on the quiet lane as I dropped him off, and I felt a tingle of desire when the hand that cupped my face found its way to the back of my neck.

Mine crawled up the small of his back and pulled him closer. His chest, pressed against mine. And the little awkwardness when my thigh carelessly brushed his desire.

I was actually feeling like an embarrassed amateur.

The tease pulled away and planted a kiss on my cheek before he said his farewell.

I had to get out of there. Fast.

Watch your steps, Miss Ting.