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Monday Round-up
May. 28th, 2012 | 10:07 pm
Camping by the beach, preferably in Cali, most preferably in Malibu. Can't complain won't complain.
Who's hot?
Who has an I-want-to-have-sex-with-your-voice voice
Harry Styles of One Direction has an I-want-to-have-sex-with-your-voice-and-h
Who just bought protein shakes for a liquid diet?
Me.
Who's losing 5kg in 2 weeks?
Also me.
*Not From Concentrate
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(no subject)
May. 22nd, 2012 | 01:49 am
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(no subject)
May. 21st, 2012 | 12:10 am
music: Angkara EP - Naz
"The only time I set the bar low is for limbo."
When it comes to the process of standardization in my world, especially involving portions of which I have a pure vested interest in, like maybe achieving my life goals or more importantly finding the perfect non-fat Vanilla Latte, anything that dips in the meek waters of mediocrity offends me. Like a bad smell, garishly coloured Crocs and shoes with eyelets but no shoelaces (seriously please stop this). I was watching the final episode of this season's Gossip Girl and my fat spirit was lifted when my personal hero Blair "Uh Oh B" Waldorf proclaimed, "I know what I want, and I'm gonna get it."
I managed to read for an hour without my brain going up in flames and turning into coal, and I read how Plath was transfixed by her task at hand - using her time on her own terms, to attain her own terms. Many might not get it, but when you have the freedom to grab your goals sometimes paralysis sets in your bones and you can't move. The only moves you can make are ones that set you further and further away from what you actually want to do. It is distressing and it is conflicting. It is distressing because it is conflicting. It is a vicious cycle, one that might actually have taken its roots in something we call fear.
I do not like fear. I hate the word and I hate the idea of it.
Moving on.
Last night my dad told us stories of late grand-uncles that I've never had the privilege to meet. We were talking about how my future might or might not be bleak (talking about it makes me feel bleak when all I want in life is a new pair of totes chic spectacles), and then he told us how one of his uncles was a writer. He proof-read for my late grandfather, who was a lawyer, whenever he had a totes important case to deal with, and he wrote. So I thought, maybe I can do this. And maybe I can do it well.
Then I got a little ambitious and thought Maybe I can do EVERYTHING well. And then I thought of how I do really dismal Russian twists and lunge split jumps. So maybe not everything.
That is how I have been dealing with things. I am not content with 'average' (another offensive word) and I do not like to set my bars low (except if they're dumbbells because my arms are sad and useless......I have been active at the gym apparently to stave off my KGs it is not going so well). If I were to do things substandard I might as well not do them, or let people content with mid-range success to deal with them. And this exact mindset is what has been killing me.
I want everything too fast too soon.
Most good things are not like that, Time told me. If I were to be bold I would say ALL good things do not come into your life like that.
It is a climbing process. Rung by rung.
And it is possible and it is tough but it is more so possible.
Courage runs in my blood and I am not talking about the cartoon. (I love the cartoon, though)
But right now I have 45 jumping jacks, 15 squats, 5 jump squats, 50 Russian twists (dreckitude!!!), a 30-second plank, 10 standing calf raises, 5 kneeling push-ups, a 30-second Superman, 10 lunges for each leg and 40 crunches to kill.
My muscles plea for safety.
Goodbye. x
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Something's gotta give now
May. 20th, 2012 | 05:46 pm
It is sincerely getting OOC*. I have managed to replace my sugar-pop dose with Carly Rae Jepsen's Call Me Maybe (45 plays on iTunes) only to get hooked again by the lethal claws of entrapping boyband fixation. Zayn Malik needs to shut up with his physical attractiveness it is not cool how much I silently squeal like a hysterical female whenever I see his face.
I have also been getting steadily obsessed with Ashley Banjo after mindlessly watching him on Got To Dance UK in the hotel room a couple of nights ago. He oozed a too-potent air of sex appeal and the lovable appeal of a seriously cute animal, so I stayed awake. Despite my day's water and walkin' adventures, it was worth it.
Maybe my young age is slowly catching up after all this time of my brain moving at warped speed? Maybe.
I have left a piece of my heart in Krabi. After experiencing deja vu for two days consecutively, there might be something for me there. Could be the pad thai, could be the crisp sun, could be the fruit shakes, could be the real people (most probably), could be everything that it is.
Perfection would be a seaside pad with white-wash walls, unlimited parasailing and water skiing and snorkelling and surfing, with depthless supply of flowers for my hair, with sand between my toes while I sit with people I love on wooden benches and tables while the sun sets into a tingly night illuminated by baubly lights and jangle-bangles of music......................and Ashley Banjo at my beck and call.
Oh, possibilities!!!
*Out Of Control
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(no subject)
May. 10th, 2012 | 03:49 am
music: Get Some - Lykke Li
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[Unabridged Record - 2011]
May. 10th, 2012 | 02:46 am
Test. Testing.
I don't know what to do with this book. I guess I'll write in it. Inscribing on paper with this pen feels (quite/so) good. The channel from my literally aching brain to my right hand feel like it's working.
I also need to poop.
Also, I am in Malacca. For the second time in my nineteen years
This being the second time here, conjectures of yore has been knocking uninvited on my memory's door.
I love the buildings here though. I love this place. In small doses. With the right people.
My Being feels......
And my handwriting is :/ Probably should get a typewriter (nostalgia and all) => how to lug around?
Catch ya later, alligator.
P.S.
You can never embark on your new chapter if you keep reading the last one.
So go, little sailor ♥x
---
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(no subject)
May. 8th, 2012 | 02:21 am
music: Happy Hippie Birthday - SoKo
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(no subject)
May. 7th, 2012 | 12:09 am
I need some time to think about my life without you
To think my life without you
To think my life without you
I need some time to think about my life without you
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(no subject)
May. 5th, 2012 | 03:21 am
Tu me manque...
so much,
you crazy boy
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My Early Experiences of an Activity We Call Swimming
May. 3rd, 2012 | 12:22 am
When I was in kindergarten, or slightly before that, I would follow my dad and my brother go swimming at a public pool. My family also had a fond habit of going to the beach together and partying it up with everyone we knew and the day wouldn't be over without each a barrel of laughter enough to sustain the rest of the week ahead.
I can't remember much of my trips to the pool. I remember them being sunny, and crowded. I had a float that was yellow, complete with a backrest and a seat that my teeny butt greatly appreciated. My dad would also sometimes put it on his head, because he can.
One significant memory that jolts out whenever I look through my vinyl stack of yesteryears of these occasions was one that conjures up a feeling of fear and confusion. Slight excitement, but more anxiety.
Both my dad and my brother left me at the edge of an adult pool, forcing me to hold on to the metal rails for me to keep my body from slipping under the water and quite possibly, die of drowning. Of course they won't let me die, but I am paranoid, and that was cultivated since I was in my placenta, as I've discovered.
I held on to the rails for my dear life and my little heart kept thumping and thumping and I pleaded for them to save me from my misery. They kept telling me to stop being a wuss and let go. I couldn't. I never did.
My brother went on to be a lifeguard at a later part of his life. He's not a lifeguard anymore, he prefers to design pools rather than swim in them nowadays. I don't know why - last I heard it's the saviors who get the chicks.
My dad, well, he just kept on going against all waves. Man vs. Nature style. He doesn't care. He also would make us take videos of him doing different strokes across waters, lap after lap, and every time he'll end his water flapping episodes with a what I would call, triumphant poseur smile. He is a weird old man who thinks he is Jet Li.
Today, I still can't swim without giving myself panic attacks. Sure, I can float (most times). I can also swim underwater. Although the moment I take my head out of the water, I lose all composure (not much) that I've mustered and sink like an elephant. My dad still keeps bugging me about it.
He doesn't know my cycling abilities. Yet.
I took swimming lessons when I was in primary school. I skipped the last lesson ie. the exam because I knew I would fail.
I have had wisps of aspirations to take up adult swimming lessons so that I can tick the 'Yes' box in an air stewardess application form (we all need back-up plans) when they ask "Can you swim?"
I still can't.
But I can play the French Horn.
