When it comes to scary moments—at least to me—in life, I’ve definitely sampled a fair share of them. This discounts the usual daily triggers, such as talking to strangers, going to lunch with distant acquaintances, and having a chatty Grab driver.
Much like religion and politics, I’ve found some topics to evoke a certain passion in people. There’s the “Is it rude not to reply on WhatsApp,” and the “Should you wash your jeans,” but my favourite questions has to be: “Is it okay to dine alone?”
Of course, whenever I broach this topic, the conversation naturally steers to other social activities, and I enjoy watching people’s faces slowly fade from amusement to horror.
Would I watch a movie alone? Yes.
Travel alone? Done it, love it!
Visit a mall? Attend a dance workshop? Skateboard in the park?
Yes. Yes. Yes.
“When we free ourselves of desire, we will know serenity and freedom.” -Gautama Buddha
It’s that time of the year again, where I’ve realised I haven’t updated the blog in months, where I come up with a sorry excuse of a topic to make up for it, and where I wonder if writing is really what I want to be doing in life.
There are only so many times I can write about procrastination, and that kinda sucks, seeing as to how little I have to write about anymore.
I tend to watch the days pass without doing anything, out of nothing but the sheer desire to not do anything. Public holidays would come and go, and it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for me to come out of long weekends achieving fuck all.
Friends have recommended I schedule a mental checkup, but I think I’m more lazy than depressed. After seeing some of the things people go through, I’d say I’m pretty mentally sound, as far as I’m concerned.
I remember harbouring a dream of writing for a magazine. In fact, I remember the exact article that prompted me to sign up for a Writer’s Bureau course. It was an FHM Magazine article, and it introduced me to the world of creative non-fiction, much like the stuff I publish on my blog.
It was then that I’d realise how words could be manipulated to evoke emotion. I starkly remember the sentence ‘One hour later and the airport lights were a thing of the past.’ The turn of phrase blew my mind, and since that day, I begun to aspire to the ways of wordsmithery.
I don’t know about you, but every time I return from a trip, I come home with an extra olfactory association as well—another stamp to the collection, so to speak. Singapore’s underground MRT stations smell like stale grass, the streets of Mandalay like boiled pork, and the back alleys of Saigon carry a hint of ham choy.
Well hello again. It’s been a while since my last post, and I thought I’d take this chance to announce a discovery I’ve made. I’ve taken to a monochromatic wardrobe a while back, and upon further inspection of social media, have come to a conclusion that it began almost one year ago. This discounts the black tee, jeans, and working boots phase I had prior to that.
Contrary to what I expected, the year passed by relatively quickly (much quicker than I’m comfortable with, frankly), and I haven’t thought much of my styling options until today, when I felt that my black Doc Martens could use a polish, but realised that my black Vans were too scruffy to stand in as a replacement.
I’d like to think that a handful of you would be interested in the life of a goth ninja, so I present to you, the things I’ve learned being colourless for a year.