‘You’re the only thing I know like the back of my hand’
- Taylor Swift

Ah, but are you? Who knows anymore?

* * * * *

I’ve spent the last couple of days working in a function venue where there is a never-ending rush to get plates of food out, fake smiles alight and some wine pouring involved. Of course I feel like tossing down tequilas like strawberries and sucking on oranges with cinnamon sugar but those dessert platters aren’t gonna serve themselves, dammit. I still can’t really experience much sensation in my feet from the autopilot back and forth to the kitchen and tables, and my calves feel like they’re about to be slaughtered (yes, I did mean to say that).  And I kept thinking, it’s okay. I’ll have money soon. And then I can hang out with friends and clean the house before I leave, yes?

But of course, I realise tonight that my flight is a day earlier than I thought it was. And suddenly, I panic like hell. How did I manage to get it all mixed up?! Every single one of my plans go awry, and I have no idea how to fix it. Someone fucking call Bob already, dammit. I was looking forward to the holidays and I know that I AM supposed to be on holidays but it doesn’t feel like it all because I was chasing the dollars. But I guess that’s life; you keep trying to scrounge up the Benjamin Franklins of this world without realising that the time to even spend it has run out. *shakes head* Originally, the weekend hadn’t seemed so bad despite the slight sleep deprivation, and I hadn’t regretted agreeing to another shift despite not being rostered at all, but the agony of knowing that I stupidly gave and stole my own 24 hours away is a killer. Bleh.

I know it’s my birthday month, but besides that, there hasn’t been much to look forward to at all.

I know exams are over and we’re all dreading results but after one particular exam, Trinity and I wouldn’t stop complaining about how the multiple choice section was written. For example, what would you think if you had read:

A. customers are not divisible

?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Well, that was my reaction. And I begun to fervently wish that I had brought in a dictionary, even if it would kill my Grammar Nazi ego. In my head, I saw a customer, quite literally, being torn into two with one marketer (*cough*) grabbing one-half (oh the morbidity) and another happily walking off with the prized other, which hopefully has the wallet!

Another thing that caused me to bite the insides of my cheeks so I wouldn’t burst out laughing like a hyena:

A. blah blah.
B. blah blah blah.
C. none of the above.
D. all of the above.

Pray tell me, how do you select D with C being C? Cause I sure as hell would like to know how it can be all three!

Looks like someone needs to sit through a course in exam-writing, since that sure as hell was a sure-fail exam on his part, bahhh!

I’m thinking about it so much more now that it’s falling apart. Where the pieces are beginning to show cracks that I had surreptitiously patched up with crossed fingers that no one would ever find out. When I started to hide the truth about what really matters and tossed it aside whilst keeping my head in my hands, believing that it could all change. Who do I turn to now because you have made it so impossible for me to bare my heart to someone else that isn’t you. And just how to break. Because I’m breaking. Somehow, you probably are too.

There’s only so long that someone can really pretend that things close to the heart don’t matter. Then comes the cracks, the holes in the trees you whispered into, the strangers whom you came across and poured your heart into that you thought you’d never see again; everyone and everything that threatens to tell the truth, with or without your consent. Secretly, you think, let them. Maybe then it’d stop killing you slowly.

I was trying to download a song last night, so I searched for any song under the band name ‘the xx’.
Wanna take a guess as to what started flooding the screen? =.=”

* * * * *

Mom: Naaah, hand cream for you.
Me: Oh okay. Eh, anti-ageing…
Mom: What? You didn’t see your hands lately ah?
Me: … =.=”

* * * * *

Me: So you pick us up at 6:45, okay?
Ti: 7 o’clock la.
Me: I’m hungry la.
Ti: Okay, 6:50.
Me: Why?
Ti: Hah? I’m playing pool now.
Me: …. =.=”

Playing pool is more important than feeding your hungry sister. Phail.

* * * * *

Mom: You want cheese in your sandwich?
Me: Nope, sick of cheese.
Ti: Yalah, here got so much cheese. *whacks me on the leg*
Me: …. =.=” *whacks him back*

* * * * *

My two grandmothers are coming to visit next year! They’re both flying in at different times and we’re getting them the premium seats on the plane.

Mom: Mama (maternal) said she doesn’t need the premium seat. Or the blanket.
Ti: Yeah, right. Later they (both grandmothers) will talk about it together. You know ah, when you sit aeroplane ah…
Me: Lu zhay buay kee lai hor, oo zhay hee leh… (lousy Hokkien pin yin for ‘when you sit aeroplane come here ahhh you got sit the…’)
At this point, there is no need to complete the sentence cause I’m in stitches.
Dad: Yah. Imagine when you’re older and you buy your mother-in-law the premium seat but not your mother.
Me: Mom will disown us!

Look, Portmans, you wicked wicked darling.

It’s not cool to bombard me with ads like this during exams.

Reminds me of all the shopping I’m missing out on.

Yes, I’ve seen your latest collection, so it’s especially not cool when it looks fucking gorgeous.

Portmans Spring ‘Fashion on the Field’ Races Season Collection

From what I’ve heard, it not only looks gorgeous but feels so too. *whine*

I must say, your model looks like she suffers from serious malnutrition though.

Now can I get back to my email blog-writing revision?

Thanks, mate.

Yeah, I love you too. *wink*

I went to my favourite fashion portal on the web and usually, it’s just a simple browse, mmms and aahs, and close.

Tonight, I stopped. And stared. And silently moaned (in a non-sexual manner).

It’s so bloody perfect.

*sigh*

Go browse The Music Collection. And drool at its perfection.

Sad songs are written about things no one really wants to talk about but speak of the coldest truth. Why sugar-coat it when it eventually comes out in the open, in its most bitter and raw?

* * * * *

‘Almost Here’ by Brian McFadden & Delta Goodrem

Did I hear you right
‘Cause I thought you said
Let’s think it over

Don’t let go on us tonight
Love’s not always black and white
Well, haven’t I always loved you?

But when I need you
You’re almost here
And I know that’s
Not enough
And when I’m with you
I’m close to tears
‘Cause you’re only almost here

But when I need you, you’re almost here
(Well I never knew how far behind I’d left you)
And when I hold you, you’re almost here
(Well I’m sorry that I took our love for granted)
(Now I’m with you, I’m close to tears
‘Cause I know I’m almost here)
Only almost here

Source

It’s easy to insist that I should be allowed to make my own mistakes, but were I to be a friend watching apprehensively, wincing and waiting for the worst to happen, I’d hate to be told that I need to let go too. So I get it… but I kinda don’t.

Sucks.

I wanted to lie and say that I don’t care what the world thinks. But I do. So I told the truth.

I wish I could be so carefree as to say that life could just throw us what it wants and we’ll deal with it as it comes. But I can’t cause I hate being unprepared. For all the times that I proclaim spontaneity as the key, I know that it only goes so far; it provides a bit of unpredictability in a life that I would prefer to be so damn written out and obvious that I could close my eyes and not feel any kind of apprehension about the future.

Two sides to every coin.

I won’t be there when you get home;
I won’t be there if you need someone.
I won’t be there when you’re all alone;
I won’t be there for the said and done.

I won’t be there to hold your hand;
I won’t be there to warm your bed.
I won’t be there to understand;
I won’t be there to hope and wait.
‘Cause it’s too late, too late…

* * * * *

And this, kids, is what happens when you watch too much Grey’s Anatomy.