Reality

In my dream, I am a pianist. I run my fingers haphazardly across the keys making thick melodious sounds.
In my dream, I am in my old house, slightly modified, with many rooms. We could pick any room, there are spares.
In my dream, I am with old friends again.

I don't think about them a lot when I'm awake, perhaps that's how they are collected in drips and drabs and released only when they are free to exist.

Hi my name is S

Had an unxpectedly good time at the Philatelic Museum with Siangs on Saturday. Chatting about our stamp collecting and pen pal days, writing 'thank you mr postman' on the postcard. I remember the postman was one of those whom I looked forward to every afternoon; would run out to the porch to meet him. Realised also that as kids, our intentions were so much purer, writing letters was just for making friends. I can't say that for now when we are all grown up.

Check in. Check out. Coming back is too much to handle.

untangled

in the end, he used the old fashioned way to untangle what had become a messy, knotted bunch of hair gone astray - patience and perseverance. no miracle gel, no amazing technique, no shortcuts. what did i expect.

are we always looking for shortcuts in life

lingering

The Cranberries were awesome! loved the music, loved the crowd, loved how we were a bunch of oldies trying to groove, stiffly, to the oh-so-familiar tunes, belting them out at the top of our lungs like we were young again.

and, my second P birthday passed. silently and stealthily, but knowingly with a definitive mark.
in Jinny's words, it's interesting how God turned things around. knowing God is present always is such a release (:

If by Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master,
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

'woohoo'

2012 was spent in P with clare and ross, toasting to the new year with herbal tea bottles.
everything seemed to clog up in a messy knot towards the end of the year, as if somebody decided to just pour whatever remaining flour into the mix. whatever that means. asherbaby's birthday, mums' birthday, baby nat's birthday, christmas, sf retreat, and a big deadline.

finally some time to catch my breath. beach and films with clare was splendid [: nothing like a lil getaway from the crowded world.

2011 was better than 2010 i must say.
there are still many things that i want to do, and feel.
hope 2012 would be better! (don't wanna miss anymore important dates)

flight

teochew porridge <3

the song that you wrote has been playing in my head for the past week.

take off, now.