Yesterdays and today

2008-10-03T08:53:00.058+08:00

*WARNING* Picture Intensive Blog Post *WARNING*

Here's the Timcanpy Tutorial. EDITED TO ADD TAIL: I forgot all about the tail DX.

Materials needed:

- Two A4 sized pieces of yellow felt cloth (colour name Lemon)

- One 5cm x 5cm piece of white felt cloth

- Two pieces of wire, 1mm diameter, approx. 37cm in length

- One piece of wire, 2mm diameter, approx. 30cm in length (the colour of the wire is not important)

- Thread colours used: DMC 726, 727 and 712 (712 can be replaced by normal white thread).

Other materials needed:

- A4 sized paper to make templates

- Circle template/compass (picture of circle template below)

- Ruler

- Pencil

- Scissors

- Needles

- Pins/ safety pins

NOTE: All sewing done with DMC 726 unless otherwise stated.

All stuff except wire and circle template bought at Spotlight (Plaza Singapura). But I think you can find wire at Spotlight. Circle template's $11/$13 at Bras Basah Complex Popular bookstore.

Part A: Tail

1. Draw out the shape of the tail on a piece of A4 paper, along its diagonal length. Total tail length approx. 36cm, width 1.5cm. Oval 13cm x 8.5cm.

2. Cut out paper tail template.

3. Using safety pins/ pins, secure the paper onto a piece of yellow felt cloth. Use a minimum of two.

4. Cut cloth carefully, following the template as much as possible.

5. Cover 2mm diameter wire with the cut out cloth by sewing the two lengths of the cloth together.

6. Embroider oval with backstitch using DMC 727.

7. Loosely coil up the ends of the wire.

8. Tail done.

Part B: Wings

1. Draw out the wings on a piece of paper, length 24cm, width 5cm

Detail: Base of wing,

Detail: Middle of wing (midjoint),

Detail: And tip of the of wing. Note that tip is slightly more tapered than the base.

2. Cut out wing template.
3. Before cutting the cloth, place the template such that 4 wings can be cut from the cloth; 2 for the right wing and 2 for the left wing.

4. Secure wing template onto cloth using pins and cut carefully.

5. Sew 2 wings together along the edge, leaving the beginning of the wing open (opening approx. 1cm) for the insertion of 1mm diameter wire.

Detail: Stitches,

Detail: And This is how the back should look like. Make stitches as neat as possible.

6. Insert 1mm diameter into opening. Ensure that the wire is positioned along the upper edge of the wing, where the "bones that can fold" would be (@@).

7. Secure wire into place in at least 4 places by sewing it to the two pieces of cloth; 2 near the tip of the wing, 1 at the midjoint and 1 near the base.

8. Embroider lower edge of wings in backstich with DMC 727 to get the feather effect.

9. Loosely coil up the ends of the wire.

10. Wings done.

Part C: Cross on front

1. Make a cross template. Get ready circle template/ compass and ruler. Draw a square 2.5cm x 2.5cm on a piece of paper. Mark its centre by drawing two lines across the square, or as such:

2. Where the line intersects the side of the square, that is where the circle that you are going to draw should be positioned (take note of circle marked 7mm; that is the circle that I've drawn):

3. The result should look like this:

4. Draw 3 more circles on the other 3 sides by repeating steps 2 & 3.

5. Cut out the cross template.

6. Secure cross template to white felt cloth and cut carefully.

7. Cross done (phew! That was one of the harder parts).

Part D: Body and sewing everything together.

1. Start with the front. Draw a circle of 5cm diameter on a piece of paper. Mark its centre by drawing 2 lines across it:

2. Centre marked as shown:

3. Extend outer lines by 2cm and draw two curved lines that resemble Timcanpy's foot:

4. Draw another 3 more feet/appendices (@@). Your drawings should be neater than mine:

5. Cut out the front-body template.

6. Secure template to yellow felt cloth and cut carefully.

7. Next, the back. Using your front-body paper template select two feet (this will be Timu's feet) and cut away the other two. Now you have your back-body template.

8. Secure back-body template to yellow felt cloth and cut carefully.
9. Cut felt cloth back-body into half, starting point in between the feet. This is where the stuffing's supposed to go in. This is what I mean:

10. Back body done.
11. Sew cross onto front body with DMC 712/ white thread using backstitch.

12. Front body done.
13. Middle part. Cut out two rectangular strips of yellow felt cloth, 16cm x 2cm.

14. Sew one strip along the circumference fo the front part:

15. Secure wings onto body by sewing wings onto the first strip. The loosely coiled wires at the base of the wing should also be sewn onto the first strip to provide more support:

16. Sew the second strip along the circumference of the body i.e. along the first strip. It should look like this:

17. Underside. If you want to you can sew a safety pin onto Timu, so he can rest on your shoulder =)

18. Sew the back body along the circumference first. Once that is done you can put stuffing into Timu in the cut that was made in Step 9 (diameter cut). I used the remanants of the yellow felt cloth for stuffing.

19. Fix the tail into the body by sewing the coiled end of he tail (exposed wire) to the base of the body. Sew it in at least 3 different places.

20. Sew Timu up:

Part E: Finishing touches.

1. Bend wings and tail ainto position.

2. DONE. XD

2008-09-29T09:43:00.004+08:00

Bonus pic!!

To give you a feel of the scale, I hearby present you a headshot (that's my head =O. Apologies for the lack of lighting and messy hair @@). The wingspan is about that of my shoulders (more than 40cm). The approximate size in the series is when Allen reunites with Timu in the White Ark. That would be the 134th Night: The Ark's Location (Book 14).

This scene is made of epic funneh.

2008-09-28T15:21:00.011+08:00

As promised, photos of Timu =)

Master of the universe, MUHAHAHA.

Tail and wings are fully bendable, as such:

Top view shot:

Underside: Safety pin~

That's all folks! Nine days of hard work but it's definitely not perfect. It's good enough for me though LOL.

Disclaimer: Timcanpy and the characters of D.Gray-man belong to Hoshino Katsura. I am just By-Stander A who happened to make a plushie version of Timu. This is NOT a props-making site and I will not accept any commisions. But if you ask nicely I can post up guidelines for making Timcanpy (you have to ask, as the blogger is reknowned for being very sporadic with her posting. And I mean VERY). Sankyu~ !!

2008-09-21T13:33:00.005+08:00

"WHY HAI THERE."

And so begins the first post in what, 6/7 months? Sorry for the lack of updates, my procrastination gear was kicking in in record time. Anyways, IAP IS OVERRRRRR!!!!

*Cue demonic laughter* MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA.

Having holidays now, the next semester will commence on 13 Oct 08. I know I'll survive. Keep moving forward. Have trust in friends. Fight to protect. Never give up. In the meantime...

I'm constructing my very own Timcanpy *YaY*, because I was wondering, wouldn't it be nice if I had my own Timcanpy even though it probably can't transmit sound, do video recordings, fly around and bite my ear while being all cute and glowingly yellow AT THE SAME TIME?

No, no you aren't, Timu. (Hey, isn't that the Golden Snitch?!)

Timcanpy can't talk, by the way. He responds by biting. IN OTHER NEWS:

I have a boyfriend.

YEP, that's him. Exorcist-Poker extrodinaire Allen Walker. Who were you expecting?

2008-01-28T11:59:00.000+08:00

A Dedication, Before It’s Too Late When I Finally Decide to Log On to Blogger to Write This Stuff

So here we are now, a fresh new beginning that is January 2008. The start of the year feels like the end, not because of the weird polytechnic calendar that we all have to get used to (somehow), but because we will be splitting up—for good—for the entire third and last year of HLM.

When I mean “we”, I mean the two classes that I hover about in (2G01 and 2G02. I just realised I didn’t tell any MLamer my class number that I am in when I’m in HLM. How strange. For the record, I’m in 2G02.).

Plant Tissue Culture (PTC) and Industry Attachment Programme (IAP) are the causes for this split up. I chose PTC over Project Work and I’ll be doing my attachment instead of PTC first, when we have all been led to think that we’ll be doing our attachment later and study modules first.

To sum up—the split up sucks. Or, the split up WILL suck to the nth degree.

I hate that we’ll be in different places, apprehensive about my to-be supervisors/bosses, fearful that I might, well, mess up badly.

I’ll miss the laughter and kindness most of all, being in the company of friends—telling lame jokes, jellyfish-dancing and Panda-Slapping.

*Verbally constipated*

I think I’ll continue discussing this another day.

Edit: Changed song, messed up my template LOL. It's a D'Gray-Man ending song, which one I'm not sure.

English Title: The Reason Why You’re Here (Anata ga Koko ni Iru Riyuu) - Rie Fu
English Translation

If we sing in the night, we’ll be absorbed by darkness
The morning light shines on that
It won’t reach, no, it’s not like that
The door is already open

If I’m satisfied, I’ll become uneasy
If I cry, then that’s also happiness
I’ll have, once more,
The pleasure of standing up again

Ah, only taking a step,
I’m filled with thoughts
Merely taking in, this anxiousness
The reason that you’re here
This sound of rain knows

If we stay naive, there’ll be something missing
If it’s just beside us, we won’t be able to see it
We didn’t realize, no, it’s not like that
I understand it painfully

Ah, opening my heart,
I’m filled with thoughts
Merely taking in, even in this moment
The reason that you’re here
The sunset sky knows

Wanting and desiring that which I don’t have
What I don’t have,
You should

Ah, only taking a step,
I’m filled with thoughts
Merely taking in, this anxiousness
The reason that I’m here,
I’ll continue searching for it

2007-12-14T19:32:00.000+08:00

Look at all you've gathered, all you own,

Hold it in your hand, does it weigh more than a single feather?

I hope it doesn't, because I want to have lived a life with few things to weigh me down-- few worries, troubles, burdens. A life that has experienced much, loved much (and maybe hated much as well) and lived much.

2007-12-14T11:51:00.000+08:00

Almost Time to Go

by Jason Webley

Guess you never really stuck around,

All that long anywhere.

I guess I should have known that you'd skip town.

You always did, catch me unawares.

Looking now at your debris,

These trails of paper strewn across the floor.

Towards an open door.

Look at all you've gathered, all you own,
Hold it in your hand, does it weigh more than a single feather? If the things you feel outsmart the things you know, It's almost time, it's almost time to go.

I don't know if you struggled at the end. I know at times, you fought like hell. I know that sleep was never quite your friend. I hope that now, you're resting well.

Old band names and alma maters,

A patchwork quilt of people you have been,

Tattooed on your skin.

Think of people, places you have known,

Sculpted out of sand.

The tide's coming in and we're going nowhere.

If your feet are still in shoes that they've outgrown,

It's almost time, it's almost time to-

Think of seed you've scattered and you've sown,

All out of your hands,

Lost in the wind like a little feather,

And the things you feel outsmart the things you know.

It's almost time, it's almost time, it's almost time, it's almost time, it's almost time, it's almost time to go.

Song reccomemdation courtesy of Neil Gaiman, lyrics courtesy of Lyrics and Songs.

Hope you liked it as much as I did =) . It's a bit depressing, but the melody is very soothing, the lyrics meaningful.

Look at all you've gathered, all you own,
Hold it in your hand, does it weigh more than a single feather?

2007-12-09T19:48:00.000+08:00

WOOT IT'S TIME FOR TEH HOLIDAYS!!!!!111!! Me thinks it will be a rather busy one, fraught with danger, adventure but not so much excitement (especially when you factor in those duanting projects and work >=( WORKLOAD OVERLOAD AHHHHHH!!!!11!!!!). Again, Mr. Grae and Other Projects Of A More Pleasurable Kind will have to take a back seat --the one at the very end, yes, where all the cool kids sit, hey STOP POKING THE OTHERS GRAE-- er, let me start again kids these days murmur murmur murmur...

My to do list:

Do Landscape Design project,

do Plant Propogation and Nursery Management report (95% done),

do revision for Plant Breeding and Genetics and finish the accompanying worksheet,

Plant Breeding field trip and lab report to do,

finally meeting up with Wan Jun, Wenqi and Melissa after 2 long years,

probable 4D gathering,

MLamers gathering AND

holiday in Penang (with Nudebear in tow).

At the end of all this I think I'm going to die (LOL).

Little known fact..

2007-12-03T21:21:00.000+08:00

Little known fact: I'm probably clinically insane. LOL.

2007-10-03T17:55:00.000+08:00

Aya News Update

Business as usual folks, nothing new at all except this. No better way to perk up your day. And *gasp* I found out that I'm not that heartless anymore.

The next installment of Mr. Grae would have to wait. My mind's in a rut now, a sort of mental block. I'll try to finish it as soon as I can, even though I think not many people are reading it.

Ha, as if my ego isn't any huger than it needs to be. Oh well, c'est la vie.

I'm most definitely getting myself out of Singapore in the next one and a half years or so, following the blog post (dated 1 October 2007) on Nude Bear's blog. I can't picture myself staying in Singapore for the most of my adulthood, unlike my brother. Wanderlust maybe, but I am very sure I'm going to devote most of my life to study and eventually, work. Marriage will probably go out of the window, as in buh-bye forever. As to where I'm going to further my studies, it's a tough choice between University of Melbourne, Bachelor of Science (majoring in Plant Science), or University of Sydney, Bachelor of Horticultural Science. At the end of it I hope to become a Plant Pathologist and help save the plants of the world. Or something like that.

That's all I think. Till then may you have a pleasant life and best of luck to those taking the dreaded A-Levels.

2007-09-16T20:56:00.000+08:00

If there's some one out there, please prevent them from making mistakes that once made cannot be corrected.
If there's some one out there, please protect them.
If there's some one out there, please save them from certain death.

I know it's part of life. But still.

2007-09-12T13:52:00.000+08:00

I'm baaaaaaaaack. And just about time.

So it's been uh, about a month since I last posted. I've been going out, reading, playing those online Flash-based games and generally being very bad at them (this song is fantastic, I've been playing it on loop), slacking, procrastinating, sleeping, and generally living the life of a bum. With added bonuses (free and clean lodging!) and a legitimate excuse (it's the holidays. Woooohoo!).

In between those activities, I've done a bit of gardening. Together with friends Cui "Machoman" Wen and Estha "Nudebear", we FINALLY implemented the Young Kranji Alumni Garden. During which I completed 70% of my journey to the loving embrace of Death, Estha was halfway there too but only Cui Wen persevered, because she's the MACHOMAAAAAAN.

Anyway, there's this great webcomic I stumbled into. Go read it. It's makes for great entertainment XD.

Angel Sanctuary is a great manga. Enough said.

2007-08-04T23:23:00.000+08:00

Quick updates:

Tests, deadlines and more tests, and of course exams.

Play nice now. LOLZ.

2007-07-08T16:57:00.000+08:00

It's been almost a month since I last updated this blog (one week shy of a month, in fact).

Hmm what can I say...

The trip to Kuala Lumpur (20 June-22 June 2007) was fun (three-days-two-nights of eight course lunches and dinners, anyone?! Oh and educational field trips on a slightly rickety bus), and slightly disturbingly I found myself closer to the people in the other class than my own classmates.

To tell the truth, that wasn't much of a surprise to me, especially since the start of my second year at Ngee Ann Poly. The shock-factor kicked in during and after the trip. I realised I knew more about them than my own classmates and I was the only representative of my class (save your sympathy for the poor man on the street). I didn't feel as lonely as I thought I would be during the trip, which was quite the opposite in my own class-- I didn't feel like I belonged, but that was mostly due to the fact that I missed the MLamers so very much and was confident that I can't find another group of friends as fine as them *coughs*don'tbaskinthesentimentalityfortoolong*coughs*.

Sorry, got sick (sore throat, runny nose, fever, the works) during the weekends (i.e. Friday through Saturday. Feeling much better today, which is a Sunday =) )

Anyway after that memorable trip, we (all of us) were once again plunged and almost drowned in the watery depths of that dreaded four-letter word. I think you know which one I mean. At the very least, I've nailed down one presentation, one Autocad project (my rough estimate is that it had reduced my life by ten years) and Planting Mantainance tutorial questions. That leaves a yet-to-be-revealed Autocad project, an individual project for both IS module (Self Discovery through Popular Culture) and Planting and Maintainance (on the topic of Turnip Crinkle, a viral disease found in plants), another group project and presentation for the aforementioned IS module, an insect collection project and finally, a Plant Biochemistry and Physiology test.

Virtual cookies to every one who has been feeling down due to work-related depression or other stuff that life hurls at us.

2007-06-15T22:19:00.000+08:00

Six years have gone when I stepped into the manga section of Kinokunya Orchard.

Six years have gone, just like that.

I will never forget the first time I laid eyes on all of you on a normal day in 2001. I was slightly unimpressed at first, but I gave you a shot in the end. In 2003, I was enthralled by you, moved by your stories and your ever-changing personalities.

I will remember the laughter you (yes, all of you) shared, the sadness, and most of all, the love.

How do you become so attached to inanimate objects? When they have life of their own, that's how.

Fruits Basket shall live forever (1998-2007) in our hearts.

When snow melts, what does it become?

Spring.

Thank you, Natsuki Takaya-sensei!

2007-06-13T12:30:00.000+08:00

Date: Tuesday, 12 June 2007
Time: 6-ish p.m.
Location: Bukit Panjang Plaza
Occasion: "Annual" MLamers Gathering
What Were We Doing: Placing Bets, eating ice cream, embarassing ourselves in public, being a nuisance to the public.

Who Will Get A Boyfriend Next Show-- Place your bets!

Cui Wen: 3 bets (Shuling, Estha, myself)
Shuling: 2 bets (Estha, Cui Wen)
Huiqi: 1 bet (Xuelin)
Xuelin: 1 bet (Huiqi)
Myself: 1 bet (Sharon)
Estha: 0 bets

Grand Prize: A grand total of $0.25 from the MLamers Treasury.

So now you know who's the popular choice for the Who Will Get A Boyfriend Next Show, starring 7 (very bored, but kinda think of it, that's what friends normally do) people.

I think we would all have lost if Sharon hadn't revealed that she has a partner now, hence the title. LOLZ.

(A) year(s) from now, the results shall be revealed..

"Pilfered" this from the blog, but since I'm the original author of the blog post, that doesn't matter (heh heh heh). Additional stories (WITH PICTURES!!) at nudebear's blog.

2007-06-09T21:36:00.000+08:00

Ah. I can dump the SCUBA gear already. For two weeks at least.

After two common tests and one presentation, I feel so much free-er now. Hmm.

2007-05-27T18:59:00.000+08:00

Father, "...banana prawns. They are very expensive at $20 a kilo."

Aya, "Why are they called banana prawns?"

Father, "Because they look like bananas."

Aya, "No. Really. Why?"

Mother, "The prawns eat bananas."

Aya sighs deeply.

I love dinnertime conversations. Oddly enough (or not, if genetics is your kind of thing), what Mother said would be something I would have said if someone asked me why banana prawns are called bana prawns.

2007-05-18T22:07:00.000+08:00

And then there was 0ne.

Or something.

Hmm. The SCUBA gear worked wonders for me.

Take care of yourselves now, lots of bugs waiting to enter your body. This goes to those Angsana trees out there too.

G'bye now.

2007-05-13T12:58:00.000+08:00

Hmm. How should I begin? Okay, latest update(s) since May the Third:

Planned to join the Golden Point Award, organised by the National Arts Council (Singapore) and am racking my brains over a suitable storyline. What do you think about a boy and his (dead) pet cricket, who solves crimes with Mr. Smithers Greene alias Mr. Grae?

All right. I confess that's a bit much but hey, who knows? It might just work! And yes, join in if you want to. It's open to all as yet unpublished authors, so get your fingers a-blazing on the keyboard.

I am, as of now, partially submerged in work. It's fine I guess, since I'm not fully submerged in work, at the point at which a submarine is needed to meander through the dreadfully deadly seas of Work. I need SCUBA gear, though.

Okay. That's all. See you again the the indefinite future.

2007-05-03T20:35:00.000+08:00

And We All Can't Hope for a Better Proposition Than This from the Unpredictable Unexpectedness of Life

Frantic scrambing all 'round,
feet scuttling about,
voices rising up and down,
making panicky noises,
fingers getting finickier and
minds becoming manic-kier.

Hand me a paring knife
and I'll knife myself a pear
just so I can have my share
of a full stomach and
good old fighting strength.

Himiny himiny himiny ho,
off I go
fighting foes.
Wish me safe and
wish me well,
and I hope you'll do
the same as well
for i hope we all
don't stinge on this telling
of good tidings and
well wishing.

A poem born out of a bout of pure randomness. I wish you well too, if anything else.

2007-04-28T20:55:00.000+08:00

Dun dun dun!! I'm back again. I know you're not suprised. I came here to tell you something of great importance: 2 May is, and could be, a memorable day for me.

That is all.

2007-04-24T13:08:00.000+08:00

Ahahahaha!!!!!! Finally, a new blogskin, this time with cute dinosaurs(?) prancing about in all directions. AHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!

Geeze, I have to do better than this..

2007-04-21T15:28:00.000+08:00

“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.”
Neil Gaiman in the Sandman

Lovely quote. Basically because I can't think of anything to post.

2007-04-21T14:55:00.000+08:00

Slight Rain on a Sunny Day

There are some secrets
I know should be told.
Here are some of them,
As others I have an obligation to keep
Unwrapped,
Unknown,
Unforgotten.

I wanted badly to forget
Things that I loved,
Lest they don’t love me back.

That’s the first secret.
If you want to know more,
There’s a price you would have to pay.

Are you ready?

There were times I felt passive rage
And blind jealousy.

Another?
(Upping the stakes, I see.)

I have lost so much
But it seems so little now.

Again?

Slight rain on a sunny day
And I feel happy,
Although I know it’s rain.

Do you want to know something else?

I knew I should have hated you.

Argh, This is an example of a half-arsed poem. Still, it's here. Oh well.

2007-04-15T15:06:00.000+08:00

The Irrational Fear of Vanishing Beings

There was a car waiting for us at the back of the house. As far as cars went, this one was old, really old. It wasn’t my idea of the perfect getaway car—it didn’t seem like it could go at more than 10 kilometres an hour, let alone a hundred.

“Don’t. Mock. The Car,” he said. His tone had such an air of reverence that The Car deserved its capital t and c.

“I didn’t say anything,” I replied casually as we walked briskly to the car. The police would be here any minute now. Ms. Ambery Mreen or Wellings’s neighbours would have phoned them already. Such a ruckus they made, the Wellings, I imagined them grumble, made me lose concentration on my soufflé, caused it to sink.

“You didn’t have to. It’s written all over your face,” he seated himself in the driver’s seat. I wasn’t sure if he was old enough to drive, but I kept quiet. I made myself comfortable in the passenger seat. The inside of the car smelled of gunpowder and burnt meat.

He started the car and knocked over an iron-wrought chair in the process.

“Smooth driving,” I commented. He stared at me stonily. I smiled back, artfully deflecting the daggers thrown at me.

He drove out of Saints’ Street. Shortly after, cars, with sirens a-blazing and lights a-flashing, dashed past us in the opposite direction. The clean-up team had just arrived. Till this day, I still don’t understand why they are always so tardy.

“So, my friend, it seems like a few mysteries need to be solved,” I said as I lounged in my seat.

“For example?” he asked. We turned into a narrow road, no bigger than an alley.

“For example,” I breathed in deeply, “who are you, why are you helping me, where are we going, when are we getting there and what do you plan to do once we get there.”

“Eldritch. For a friend. Twill Avenue. Approximately 1200 hours. None of your bloody business,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“So, an army man, then. Or a trained killer?” I asked. He didn’t answer.

“I heard they made robots out of young people in the army. Some of them, anyway. Since you used the word ‘bloody’, I assume you came out of the God-forbidden place for quite a while already or you are really pissed and just doing your friend a favour, albeit grudgingly so.”

He was silent. I scanned his mind, but there was nothing. He just concentrated on driving. I sighed. Trying to make conversation with him was very much like talking to a statue. He was a living and breathing person, yes, if you consider a human-like surface and stony interior a person.

We were rode out of town and the buildings gradually became smaller, shorter and fewer. After two hours or so we were riding on a road that seemed to lead to a mountainous area. Rolling hills gave way to the sharp and jagged outlines of mountains which were cloaked in a blanket of green velvet.

“You know, you talk a lot for some elusive, hired killer,” he suddenly said as he turned into a lane lined haphazardly with pine trees, “They said you were hard to finish off, gets the job done well, has a morbid sense of humour but cheap to hire and hard to find also. Is all…that true? It would be a disappointment if they weren’t, if you know what I mean.”

“Well done! Finally, some improvement in the social department. We should celebrate, really,” I smiled amiably, “Where did you get all that information? From some dating agency for spurned lovers?”

“I did some digging. It was hard to find stuff about you, since most of your former employers were already dead. You did kill most of them, didn’t you?” he asked.

“In my field of work, young man, there are actually fewer of us than you imagine it to be. It’s no surprise to us to be told by our current employers to kill our previous employers. In fact, our numbers are dwindling as the years roll by. Occupational hazards, this profession has. That’s why few of us manage to live till old age. For those who do, however, they rarely take in an apprentice. Too much blood spilt, they say, don’t want to destroy another young person’s future. I’m not sure if I want to take in a protégé either, when I get to that age.”

“You don’t look very old to me.”

“After turning 25 you would start to feel old already. Trust me on that.”

After another hour’s worth of driving, we came to a stop in front of a tiny cottage. Its chimney was spewing smoke out of the cottage, and the smell of soot was overwhelming. It was obvious that a nice warm fire was burning, but we were still in the middle of summer.

“We are here,” he said and got out of the car.

“Hmm. 11.57a.m. Looks like we are early.”

He made no comment and headed straight for the door. It was wooden and typical of such cottages. He knocked once. The sharp rapping didn’t echo through the forest-- instead it seemed to absorb the sound.

There was no reply as we waited for five minutes.

“You knew there wasn’t anybody in there, didn’t you,” he spoke. There was a certain amount of panic in his voice. I was slightly caught off guard by this turn of events and didn’t have a reply at hand.

“You said something about being early,” he queried me again after receiving no reply from me.

“That doesn’t mean that no one’s at home,” I managed in a tone that was as calm as humanly possible.

“Yes, but you implied—”

“I can’t read the minds of the insides of houses, my boy,” I interrupted, lest he began rambling again.

He seemed to accept my reply. It was strange to see such a person lose his composure so quickly. You didn’t need abilities like mine to know that he was worried for the people who were supposed to be inside the cottage.

And so this continues the long awaited (cough) er, continuation of Mr. Grae's adventure. More importantly, rah, the cat's back and the mice have to go into hiding again, watching where they step in case they get pawed.

School starts tomorrow, so this story might stay here for a while, if anyone actually bothers to check on this blog for any updates on the story. If you do, please tell me okay? It's really encouraging to receive support and critiques from people, friends or random strangers alike. So just drop a comment in the tagboard on the left or in the official comment page at the bottom-right corner at the end of this post.

So long and farewell, until the next post we shall meet.

2007-03-18T15:08:00.000+08:00

I'll be gone till 14 April 2007.

No really. You can stop coming to this site until then.

All right then. Take care of yourselves and best of luck in everything!

2007-03-08T16:59:00.000+08:00

I had my hair cut today.

They should have just put a wig over my head and pass it off for a haircut.

Bugger.

BLOGGER!! GIVE ME THE COLOURS!!!

2007-03-04T20:49:00.000+08:00

Requested by Estha, and therefore for Estha.

Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time, as most stories begin, there lived a travelling minstrel who could tell wonderful stories of courageous heroes and heroines, and of mysterious and wonderful lands that lay high above the clouds or deep beneath the ocean, at her whim and mood (it would be fantastic if you threw in a meal and a couple more crowns in too, on top of the basic fee of three coins a story).

The stories she told became a little different as she went from town to town, but nobody minded as long as there were stories to hear. After all, people liked hearing tales of hope and bravery and wondrous lands. It gave them a temporary respite from the routines of ordinary life, and more importantly, tales have power when they pass through the storyteller’s lips—they could make the bravest of grown men curl up and shiver in fear or have you bowing over in laughter and it would be the happiest sound that could be heard from miles away. Of course, stories gave the most precious of gifts to people, which is hope. How else do you think stories of the little village girl, who had a kind heart and saw through the beast’s façade, accepting him for who he is on the outside but transforming his heart forever, survive? Not forgetting the countless tales where knights in all sorts of armour defeat terrible creatures, even when the odds are against them.

The minstrel, weaver of stories, was attracting a huge crowd in a tavern. The owners of the pub had just thrown out a wandering “jester” who told jokes that were funny in the way an angry mob, armed with mandatory Angry Mob Supplies and chasing a thief around the town, was funny. What he did say though, while running through Farmer Hogg’s barn, was that his jokes were way ahead of his time. Everyone else in the tavern thought different—the little thief won’t have a future lasting more than ten minutes in the next town. The townsfolk of Tranquil Town would go to great lengths to hang someone guilty of stealing an apple just to preserve the “tranquillity and niceness that so defines the peaceful Tranquil Town”*.

The pub owners, Mr. and Mrs. Truepenny, trusted this minstrel. In the nearby villages he was highly praised for her inventiveness in story telling and honesty, something that they felt were lacking in today’s travelling entertainers.

“I wonder what it is this time round,” an eager young voice rose out from the rising hubbub, “I heard her stories were beyond imagination!”

“Huh, really? I hope it has dragons innit. I’ve always liked dragons,” another young ‘un said.

“Giants are good too. But dragons have the longer end of the stick, me thinks,” the same child seemed to be in deep thought as he said these words.

“You think? How so then?” the first one challenged. The tone had an air of haughtiness to it.

“Fire-breathin’ and all that and Really Sharp Teeth too. Makes the story interestin’,” the child replied, seeming no to notice the sarcastic remark. How wonderful it is to be young and ignorant. If the exchange had happened between two inebriated adults, it would very likely have ended in fisticuffs.

“But giants have larger hands and, and legs! They say fie-fi-fo-fums better and with more conviction,” the staunch supporter of giants countered. The child’s face was reddening from the effort of carrying on the debate with the dragon-lover.

“I reckon dragons can do that too,” the child added as an after thought, “might bite their tongues, though.”

“Listen quietly, now. The minstrel is about to begin her story!” someone shouted.

The pub, which was filled to the brim, fell silent. The magic of the untold story was already working its way through the crowd.

“Madame Minstrel! Could you tell us a story with giants and dragons in it? We just want to know which is stronger, the dragon or the giant!” the giant-supporter not so much asked politely than demanded. The crowd seemed to nod in unison. She gave a half-smile to the child.

“I’ll do my best, young one,” she replied calmly. The minstrel’s mind raced. Dragons and giants as the main characters? But I’ve only done stories that had humans as the stars of the show! Dragons and giants are there only to be clobbered and made into mincemeat!

This thought was very true. Many myths and legends we hear today consist of humans outwitting other humans, or of humans discovering hidden lands and treasures, or humans treating monster slaying as a kind of early-morning workout. Monsters didn’t have much going for them then. Being a man-eating one was the worst job you could get. Still, she couldn’t possibly back out now. She had a reputation to maintain. Up until now, her career was good and blemish free, and she wanted it to stay like that forever.

The minstrel cleared her throat nervously. Everyone in the pub stopped breathing at that moment.

“Once upon a time, there was a man,” she racked her mind for ideas, “who ate and ate so much, everyone thought he was a giant, even his own mother.”

“That can’t be right!” the giant-supporter piped, “A man who became a giant just by eating too much isn’t really a giant at all!”

The minstrel let out a little sigh. Children believed in vampires, werewolves, basilisks, dragons, giants and even Father Christmas and the Tooth Fairy. They couldn’t accept the hard facts of life.

“All right, you have a point there. From the beginning again, then,” she saw the doubtful looks on the audience faces. She saw Mrs. Truepenny, who smiled at her uncertainly. She was going to lose the magic soon.

“In the far away lands of Reptilia, there lived a dragon, who ambushed humans and any creature there was for a meal. The dragon was young and agile and full of vigour,” she licked her lips. Things felt like they were going her way. The crowd was listening intently.

“He had shiny red scales and sharp white teeth and claws that could rip you apart in a heartbeat. His cave was filled with a dazzling array of skulls and bones that were picked clean of flesh. It was a nightmare of a cave.”

“But where there are people, there are treasures, and soon the cavern where he lived was stuffed full of gleaming be-jewelled crowns and necklaces and rings and bracelets, and golden foreign coins that shone as brightly as the sun when it saw light.”

“Soon enough, the cave was the target of notorious bandits trying to test out their skills and chivalrous knights, who came to claim what was rightfully theirs. Occasionally, there was the fool who tried to prove his worth to his friends or a single lovely dame, but they didn’t make much of a meal for the dragon.”

The minstrel paused. She realised she hadn’t mentioned the giant yet. The giant-loving one looked at her expectantly.

“The dragon treated the intruders with disdain and irritation, but he saw an upside to this situation. He didn’t need to go out hunting anymore. He just had to wait in the cave for a bandit, a knight or a fool. Or anyone else actually. As the days went by, he grew bigger and became ever more foul-tempered.”

The giant-supporter gave her a look that, roughly translated, means “I know that’s just another word for ‘ate and ate so much’. How original. And where’s my giant?!” The minstrel continued unabated.

“Then, one day, under the cloak of nightfall, a huge and fearsome giant came to the carven. He was eying the treasure and had his heart set on the ruby and sapphire encrusted crown, the gold chain with a sparkling emerald of the greenest green and a handful of sun-coloured gold. Giants, as we all know, love such precious items. They are practically connoisseurs in treasure appraisal. Even better than goldsmiths, I gather.”

She heard the room gasp. It’s doesn’t hurt to add an element of realism to any story.

“Very quietly, the giant sneaked into the cave. He decided not to alert the dragon to his presence by shouting out fie-fi-fo-fums,” she added quickly before the child could say anything about giants’ custom of booming fie-fi-fo-fums to announce their arrival**.

“He carefully inched past the enormous slumbering dragon. The dragon snored loud enough to mask the heavy footfalls of the giant. Then there was a sound. The sound of a thousand coins sliding off one another.”

“The dragon woke up and saw a giant holding a ruby and sapphire crown.”

This was the Moment. The Great Confrontation. The Clash of the Beasts. She could see the mounting anticipation. The proverbial pin-drop might be heard in the room, but there wasn’t any space for a pin to drop safely without hurting someone and starting a good ‘ol bar fight.

She took in a deep breath and continued, “The dragon snarled, ‘Welcome to my humble abode.’.”

“I thought dragons would say somethin’ more sin-is-ter,” dragon-lover said, “if they could talk, that is.”

“It would be a funny world if dragons could talk,” the other child, who had previously been too preoccupied with other details in the story to notice this fact, “and giants don’t have to sneak around like a burglar. They just charge in and take what they want, dragon or no dragon.”

“I don’t understand why so many knights were eaten for dinner. And breakfast and lunch too. I mean if they just work together or somethin’ they might defeat the dragon,” someone else said.

“But that won’t make much sense now, would it? I mean there’s usually only one noble knight to defeat the terrible dragon,” yet another countered.

“What really I don’t understand is, must all dragons be mean and frightening?” dragon-lover said.

“All RIGHT!! I don’t want to hear a word of your squabbling anymore! You sort out the story by yourselves!” the minstrel left in a huff. The children jumped at the sudden change. The audience at the back of the tavern parted automatically, as if not wanting get caught in the typhoon that swept past.

“Should’ve stuck to humans,” someone muttered.

She turned sharply towards them. She had the hearing of an owl when the occasion called for it. It’s not worth it, she thought, no matter how ungrateful and critical they are. With a swish of a skirt, she turned back and walked off.

The audience breathed again. Someone muttered about ingrates stalking off and taking their money without a proper ending to the story, some mothers hit their children on the ear for their impolite behaviour. Adults started ordering drinks at the bar, while some of them were shouting incoherently, very much under the influence of alcohol. Business as usual for Mr. and Mrs. Truepenny, as it has always been.

What of the minstrel then, you ask. Let’s just say that she went off to another town, taking care to avoiding giants and dragons along the way, while at the same time she honed and practised her craft. She gained considerable recognition in the region and the stories she told passed down from generation to generation, long after her death. The stories changed as the years went by, as stories often do.

What if she didn’t avoid them, her bogeymen? There were two ways she could go. One was that she would forever lie in infamy of having told less than satisfactory stories about dragons and giants, but be remembered for her courage in trying. The other was that she practised her storytelling of dragons and giants so well that she gained fame and recognition for being such a versatile performer, but as these things usually go, she would soon be engulfed in her work and shortly after pass away, escorted by a multitude of people who knew her only by name. She earned fame, yes, but what a lonely way to die.

Maybe the choice she made wasn’t really a bad one after all.

*Source from The Ultimate Index to the Best and Most Amazing Adventures that You, the Everyman Traveller, Can Experience for Less Than 2 Crowns a Day. The keen observer would note the overuse of synonyms for “tranquil”. The editors of the Index recognised that as both a threat and a plea for help.
**Which really tells you about the intelligence of most giants.

2007-02-27T17:25:00.000+08:00

The first instalment of this (whatever "this" means) series can be found in the post before this one. Read that before you read this. Or either way, it doesn't really matter.

The Events that followed in the Wellings’ Mansion at Saints’ Street

If you would, for a while, imagine someone who could do everything and anything for you-- provided that the price was right, of course—and that there always was a hundred percent success rate for all the assignments that were given to him, and as a parting gift, he would leave a bit of the victim on your doorstep, like a segment of a finger or a whole thumb perhaps, and that was in his opinion, a humorous joke, to be taken lightly and at the expense of his then employer.

That person is Grae. In other words, myself. I, like many people, have my own pet peeves.

Walking down the streets, or anywhere else actually, is a chore I would heartily avoid doing. However, because some basic items for survival can only be obtained by entering a concrete room they call a shop, in which you painstakingly select the foodstuffs and things, and then persuade the unknowing fool into letting you have the items for free and failing which, pay him or her the exact amount needed and at the same time make a mental note to give that person a nightmare they can’t wake up from the very next day.

I can not afford hiring extra assistance, not because I’m a stingy old fart, but I’m an old fart who can’t help but know what you are thinking of right now. All the thoughts of everyone and everything I can hear, like the murmurings of a thousand-strong church choir, only less melodic. Every now and then a voice rises from the crowd and usually it harbours murderous intent. I try to reserve this ability for unsavoury characters who are marked as my prey. But you have to admit, it is a very handy tool. Come to think of it, I don’t think I look old enough to be described as an old fart either.

Right now, I’m walking along Saints’ Street, feet gliding silently on the pavement, like any law-abiding citizen in this homely city where unforgiving acts of atrocities are looked upon with disdain and disgust. What I’m about to do next would leave a very bad taste in the residents of morally-upright Saint’s Street, like a cheesecake made without following the recipe right down to the very last letter.

“Welcome to Wellings’…residences. This is Ambery Mreen. How may I help… you?” a female voice said over the speaker. The voice had a stop-start feel to it, best described as an obstinate old car trying its best to travel more than a few kilometers before finally deciding to give up once and for all but found itself in the way of oncoming traffic hungry for a meal of obstinate, old and petrified cars.

“Hello. My name is Grae, Mr. Grae. May I speak to the owner of this residence, Mr. Wellings?” I replied.

“Oh I’m sorry. No one is…home now,” Ms. Mreen had begun to stutter like an old engine. Dear Mr. Wellings won’t let me in that easily, not after running away with his tail between his legs yesterday, accompanied with his cowardly chauffer. What a fine pair they made.

“Tell him to open this gate and welcome me in graciously as he would with any other honourable guest, or he will have to face dire consequences, which may involve someone’s limb and a dagger. And I know you are lying, Miss Ambery Mreen. The secretary, if I’m not mistaken?” I replied. Threats had to be as smooth as silk in order to have any effect on the person.

There was a brief pause. The tension in the opposite end of the receiver was enough to make anyone snap.

She breathed in slowly and spoke with difficulty, “All right. Mr. Wellings is on his way.”

That was probably the most fluent sentence I’ve heard from her.

The gate folded in in itself soundlessly to reveal an opening large enough for a vehicle, like a Chrysler perhaps, to pass through. The enigmatic Ambery Mreen makes her first appearance. She was knotty and awkward, in the very sense of the word. Such people were very easily worried, and right now she was worried about her own safety, in particular her arms and legs.

“I don’t suppose Mr. Wellings sent you down here to do such a menial task,” I started.

“Ah, today’s Sabbath day. How rude of me to visit on a Sunday, when everyone should be at home resting. Servants and housemaids in particular, they deserve it for an honest week’s worth of work. But yet here I am and here you are. Not quite making good conversation on a lovely day like this, but it’s still better than no company at all. ”

She stared. It was a good impersonation of a goldfish.

“Ha…how did you know…?” she was duly impressed.

I smiled vaguely, the kind of smile that says nothing and reveals none. She was even more disconcerted than she already was. Primal fear had started to become horrified adulation.

From the outside, the sprawling mansion was impressive enough, with white roses trailing and twining all over the trellis near the main gate. The trellis itself seemed to sag from the weight of the rose vines. The building was painted in a respectable shade of white and the simplicity of the house’s architecture was only matched by its size. The place seemed easy enough to navigate about, but that was until you counted the number of windows the mansion had.

I was led to the main entrance, where a double door stood. The doors were already opened. From the patio I could see some chairs and tables were strewn on the perfectly manicured turf in a perfectly manicured garden. The garden had a clinical feel about it, though. It was cared for physically but the vegetation didn’t seem to bloom and shine like the rose-covered trellis at the main entrance.

“Please come in, Mr Grae. Mr. Wellings will be with you shortly,” Ms. Mreen said and started to leave. There were sounds of expensive shoes clicking on the polished marble floor and guns clicking into place.

“I’m afraid that won’t be necessary, Ms. Mreen. Your employer has already decided to greet me with his selection of trusted bodyguards. Is this how you welcome visitors, Mister Wellings? I’m sure your mother won’t be very proud of you when she sees this,” I turned towards him and smirked. The old fool tried to regain his composure after that slight.

“You weren’t supposed to be here, the likes of you, staining these halls with yer…yer filth. Aren’t you supposed to do a job? If it’s money yer after I’ll only give to you after it’s done,” Mr. Wellings spat.

Getting bolder now, aren’t we?

He froze. His bodyguards-- an euphemism for goons-- inched forward, unsure of what happened to Wellings.

This won’t end nicely if I have to force out information from you, you know. It was your fault in the first place, hurrying away like that. Not being a responsible employer at all.

He was sweating profusely. If you imagined Wellings to be an ice block—an enormous one at that—he would look as if he was melting in a pot of boiling water.

I walked casually towards one of the goons who stood protectively near Wellings. He hesitated. He didn’t know what to make of this sudden approach. Big and beefy but had no brains to speak of.

“Nice shiny gun there,” I spoke with feigned interest, “not very pleasant to have it stuck in your head though.”

“What’cher saying?” he felt affronted yet fearful. He raised the gun to my head and then did the stupid thing by trying to pull the trigger to my head. I smiled.

There was a huge bang, like a single gunshot being fired.

Which was then followed by a high-pitched shriek and the sound of someone running into a host of furniture before finally getting out of the hall.

This was what happened:

By an amazing sleight of hand I twisted the metal load from his chunky fingers. Chunky fingers, being huge and clumsy and chunky, accidentally pulled the trigger and it ricocheted off an ornate pillar and zoomed past happily into an antique vase, the kind that you found in auction houses going for oh, a few hundred thousand dollars or so.

There was a magnificent crash of a few hundred thousand dollars worth of vase becoming worthless shards of porcelain.

At that point, the correct word to say is “oops”.

“Oops?” he said with uncertainty. He stared dumbly at the space that the vase once stood. Such people were a waste of my time and talent.

When Mount Vesuvius erupted and obliterated Pompeii, it must have looked exactly like Mr. Wellings. His entire round little head was so red it seemed to contain lava.

“GET ‘IM!” he screamed, with spittle flying all over the place.

Humph. Spotted that from a mile away. Gun in hand, I ran out of the hall through the main entrance, and shot randomly at the goons. I knew enough about guns to operate them, but not enough to maintain them or even aim the nozzle at my targets accurately. My modus operandi was something sharper and more metallic than a bullet can ever hope to be.

My six rounds were up. I threw the gun at the face of the goon who said oops. It hit him squarely on the nose. Some shots were fired in my general direction. I dodged easily.

“OW!” he howled as blood spurted out of his nostrils like water out of a fountain or a tap that was left open on full blast. It was a combination of the two, actually.

My co-star was about to make its debut in Wellings’ mansion, starting with Goon Number One. He was running straight at me, like an enraged bull. I drew the dagger out from the pocket of my coat and threw it, like how one would throw darts in a bar, only with more practice. Twenty-two years, in fact.

It went straight and true through his neck. He fell with a dull thud. There, minimum fuss and maximum gore. Blood was seeping into the turf. I pity the people who had to clean up the mess. I retrieved the bloodied dagger from the corpse. Bullets were fired again. My attention was turned to Goon Number Two.

This time I dashed towards him. There was a good one and a half meter distance between us, and he fired round after round at me. I ducked and came for him at the side. I grabbed his right arm, the one that was clutching the gun, drew him nearer with a jerk and drove the dagger into his stomach. I twisted my dagger ninety degrees clockwise and ran it up his oesophagus. He had been sliced open like a pig at a butcher’s. I hadn’t bothered hanging his body up on a hook, though.

One more goon left, then. I looked around, but there wasn’t anyone else alive nearby.

“Step away from the corpse,” someone said. It was cold and nasal, and it took the form of a skinny pile of bones, barely filling out its suit. The “it” in question was a boy, barely fifteen years of age, holding the gun easily with one hand. He stood near the rose-covered trellis.

"Ah, the trellis. I knew there was something wrong with it," I said amiably and smiled.

I stepped off the turf and onto the pathway. This boy was going to give me the information I needed from Mister Wellings, who by then had most definitely escaped. He lowered his gun but didn’t put it away.

“I have no wish to harm you. If you would just follow me, you would see why Wellings was so reluctant to give you what you came for,” he was surprisingly calm. He could have a good future in Hollywood if he was able to fool me.

“All right then,” I smiled, “something tells me you can be trusted. For now.”

He looked at me skeptically.

“It would be a funny world if someone like you trusts anybody,” he countered. I gave him a half smile. Without me noticing, he had already put the gun inside his jacket.

RAH!! I had a good time writing up this second instalment of er, Mr. Grae's adventure in the case of the man in the photo. Ah. Um. Okay. So, comments, please!

2007-02-20T17:02:00.000+08:00

Another Kind of Unpleasant

Welcome to my place, stranger. Why, you look rather nervous, and dare I say it, scared. Well it’s not that I mind much, but I find it rather amusing-- the stuttering speech and unsteady walk, although I hope you don’t take offence at my remark, not that you are going to, from the looks of it. Ha ha. I know I may look rather intimidating, like most hired help of my sort, but I don’t harm my prospective employers. Why? I felt that was a rather rhetorical question. If I were to kill you, there won’t be any bacon now, won’t there? My reputation will be tarnished. I am a professional, you know and all professionals have some kind of “code of honour”.

Tense now, aren’t we? My, my, what sweaty palms you have. Have you seen a doctor about it? Maybe after this job you won’t have any spare change to see one, ha ha.

“Mister Wellings? Are you all right, sir?” a nervous little voice filled with bravado came out from the opposite wall of the room, where the door stood. Humph, typical of such people, hired to be worried over their employers, so their bosses feel that someone cares if they live or die. Pathetic creatures, all of them.

Your chauffer, Mister Wellings? Hope you won’t go too soon without giving me a job.

“I’m okay. Jim. Just…just give me a couple more minutes,” the stammery fool replied. He still doesn’t trust me. Tsk.

“Here…here’s the deal. You ki…no, take…take out this guy for me now, will you?” he stabbed at the photograph which he had produced from a crusty old envelope. The envelope was stained with sweat and the smell of fear.

I waited for the important part of his speech.

“I’ll give you half of the payment ‘ere, and you tell no one about who got you to do this job, okay?” the fool in the plaid suit said. I nodded and managed a half smile. At least this is one rich plaid-suited fool. It’s been a long time since I’ve earned 5-digits for a single job.

“Your next appointment’ due, sir,” the witless voice came again.

“Sorry got to go now,” he hurried off without another word. Rats. Not enough time to get more information out of him. The door closed hurriedly behind him and the sound of a Chrysler taking off followed shortly after.

Like all good professionals and old hands in this line of work I had to do my research. You don’t want to waste your hard work on the wrong guy, after all. No money in that. The employers won’t cover the extra cost. Had I taken a good look at Plaid-Suit Wellings’ mind, my homework wouldn’t have taken this long. The fool’s mind was too preoccupied with the possibility of me snuffing out his life to think about this rival of his. Lucky for me photographs are the truest form of memory and are without bias. A quick run through should do the trick, since it’s a recent photo.

Well, my oh my. What have we here? Apparently to-be-killed’s a sergeant who’s been in the army for at least 2 years. That’s odd. If he’s still in there, why does ‘ol Wellie-boy think he’s a threat?

Unless he’s out and alive, of course. A boy who entered the army for 2 short years and then rose to the rank of Sergeant won’t be easy to deal with.

It seems like there’s more work that needs to be done. A trip to Mister Wellings’ would sort that out nicely.

This one needs to be serialized—3 to 4 parts, at the very least. I hope I can continue this story (about the not very pleasant and not very scrupulous protagonist, whose name I have yet to reveal) if I’m not already bored with it, that is. Ha ha.

The inpiration of this story came from reading about Mr Croup and Mr Vandemar, characters from Mr Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere novel, and also from Fragile Things Mr Smith, all cruel and unfathomable in their own right, because you'll never know if they will slice you into thin, thread-like pieces once you turn your back against them. This story isn't half as good as Mr Neil Gaiman's though. Check out his work if you (GASP!) haven't. Click. On. That. Link. NOW.

Ah, the wonders of peer pressure.

2007-02-19T21:42:00.000+08:00

Happy Chinese New Year~!!!!!

Yes I know it's a bit late. Still.

Angbaos, goodies, and bubblies not included as per normal.

2007-02-17T12:46:00.000+08:00

This might be a little late, but I think it is still relevant till today.

Postscript: St Valentine’s Day

Of all the days in the calendar, I, like most Singletons who can’t quite revel in their Singleton-dom, newfound or not, this particular day takes the cake and what the heck, the whole party as well– complete with bubblies to drown your sorrows (and with the correct execution, the host as well).

Now, don’t get me wrong here. I love receiving flowers and chocolates and sweet treats as much as the next dame, but sometimes I feel that Saint Valentine, wherever he may be, likes to torture singletons by making them remember those painful memories of unreciprocated love, happier moments with lovers and their eventual separation. Which makes me wonder what sort of saint he is.

Like most people without a partner, other half, boyfriend, girlfriend, husband, wife, emotional punching-bag (oh, you can just feel the cynicism coming on from a mile away, don’t you? And what do mean by “other half”? You mean you don’t feel “whole” by yourself? Are you lacking in body parts?), I hate the 14th of February with a vengeance. If it wasn’t for the countless and excessively HORRIBLE experiences with that four-letter word, I wouldn’t be the Grouchy Grinch who Attempted to Steal St Valentine’s Day and Chuck It in the Deepest Darkest Corners of the Human Mind, and Conveniently Forget about It till the End of Time or When Armageddon Comes and Blow Us All Till Kingdom Come.

You see, I looked forward to celebrating Valentine’s Day with a special someone before I came to know about heartbreak and humiliation.

I can hear the Ha-ha-ha Oh Really(s) from here. But I digress.

People say that first loves are hard to forget. That was 9 years ago. Come to think of it, it was more like sibling love than love between two people. I was very young, after all. Still that single experience left a deep impression on me. Ever since then, in those whom I have had feelings for had a shadow of him, or so I thought.

All those feelings were of the one-way street variety. This may explain quite a few things, like my pessimism about love and for a short period of time, extreme doubt in the intelligence of boys. A lesson I’ve learnt is that love won’t let you forget and like a jilted lover, will come back with a vengeance the more you resist it. Love condemns you to never stop caring for the people that you had loved.

This, I believe, is the curse that love sets upon humans, and St Valentine’s Day is the cruel prank that is played on us with relish.

All right, all right. I admit that I had used the term “postscript” incorrectly, because there is no story here with the title St Valentine’s Day. *Shock. Horror*. But since Valentine’s Day is over (for this year at least), I thought Postscript: St Valentine’s Day is a suitable title for this um, essay about Valentine’s Day. I hope I haven’t you nightmares about love *smiles*.

2007-02-15T21:30:00.000+08:00

And once again, this proves that dragons can be defeated.

The exams are finally over.

NYAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!

Slacking Plan Number 1: Go out.

Slacking Plan Number 2: Celebrate Chinese New Year.

Slacking Plan Number 3: Go to Kinokuniya aka Kingdom of Heaven for Comic Books.

Slacking Plan Number 4: Buy Mayday's new album, Wei Ai Er Shen.

Slacking Plan Number Infinity: Sleep, eat, watch TV, surf the Intermanet from morning till noon and laze around without gulit.

Gotta go slack now.

2007-02-08T20:14:00.000+08:00

I have come to a revelating revelation of stunning and show-stopping degrees.

The author of the Soil Science notes is of British origin.

This might be a sign of cellulolistic indigestion caused by the consumption and ingestion of too much cellulose of tree or plant origin, of which having undergone several processes, may not be white in colour.

I have to stress that I am not, not really insane, just the opposite.

2007-02-02T12:55:00.000+08:00

I haven't been blogging for the past few days because I just didn't feel "up for it", which may be, for some of you, a pseudoneum of synonym for sloth and abject laziness.

Okay. Now for the Truth.

I had been poxed by chickens at approximately the same time I had written the last post. Apparenty I had angered some chickens along the way, what with wolfing down their (freshly-cooked) carcasses and gobbling up their yummylicious eggs without even saying a muffled* thank you to them.

And now they have taken revenge.

I felt horrible for five days, not because of the guilt-ridden feelings about those chickens, but those terrible, itchy red sores and plasma-filled blisters suddenly popping up all over like toadstools after a bout of rain. I still shudder at the memory (shudders)**.

And so we've come to the moral of the story-- eat chickens mercilessly, but before you decapitate them into small, tiny, bite-sized portions, please do remember to thank them.

Farewell and I bid you good bye. For now.

*Because of the chicken-related food, of course.
**But i still wish them on my enemies and those who displease me.
"BEWARE, BEWARE OF THE POX!!"

2007-01-27T22:18:00.000+08:00

Gah. I'm down with fever. Hope it's not the Curse/Pox of the Chickens, which managed to plague my brother.

G'bye, for now.

No colours. I'm not pleased.

2007-01-23T19:48:00.000+08:00

Want MORE stories? Here's one:

The Sob Story to End All Sob Stories to End All Sob Stories

"I don't need to redeem myself from yooooooooooooooooou!!" he cried, as he fell from a cliff. He was aware (or perhaps unaware, but judging from the length of the "you" and the amount of surprise in his tone of voice he was, quite certainly, unaware), about the huge drop below him. He will get to meet the ground at a very personal level though.

"NOOOOO!!" she finally realised that she didn't hate him after all. At least not enough to kill him. Paralyse, maybe, but not kill him.

She hammered the floor as she cried these heart-breaking words, "My plan! My plan! MY BEAUTIFULLY PERFECT PLAN TO PARALYSE YOOOOOOOOOOOOU!!"

Whatever plans she had in store for him had gone up in smoke. Or in a glorious splattering of bloody entrails, innards and mush mixed in the sandy, rock-hard rocky surface of the Departing Drop. The locals called it, simply, the DD.

Stress makes you kill. And write heart-wrenching very short short stories.

2007-01-19T00:14:00.000+08:00

Walk with Me, Please

There are some things in life that you can't forget. There are some of those things that you can remember, although minor details have long been forgotten. Then there are those that you remember all the time, without fail and as clear as rain.

This particular story hovers in the middle of the last two categories, as memories often do as they age.

It was raining. Raining heavily, like huge tears falling from the sky, splattering all over the concrete. You won't be wrong to think that the sky was throwing a tantrum.

That was four years ago.

We were having our folkdance lesson, or what I would call (soon enough) the Twenty Minutes of Ridicule. Unfortunately, I was paired with someone whom I had, at that time, liked (He wasn't much, come to think of it. I just thought he was a nice person, as simple as that). Then comes the inevitable question-- why would that be a tragedy? Under normal circumstances, one would be so delighted that she almost faints and feels like someone's dribbling a basketball in her heart, so swooned with pure happiness.

Ha. Happiness. Ever since the start of my life there in that school my life had been far from smooth sailing. It was as if I was riding through a tropical storm everyday, day in day out. Classmates and schoolmates laughing unkindly behind my back and in front of me. Boys especially. Almost always the boys.

"Are you a boy or a girl?!" the dance teacher boomed. I had, once again, got the steps wrong. I sometimes suspect that was the reason why I put ballet behind me forever, and not because I had to move house as I have often told others. I could see that the instructor was very displeased. Annoyed. Angry. How many times do we have to go through this?! Turn here, not there! He goes there, while you go here! Are you a boy or a girl?!

I was fully aware of the sniggering that was going on around me which then, in no time, exploded into vulgar laughter. Some were rolling on the floor, scarcely trying to conceal their laughter.

Man, they called me, all because I had the word "Man" in my name and was prone to outlandish behaviour, big gestures and everything. Altogether very unladylike indeed. Three teachers saw and knew what was going on, but I knew that they couldn't stop the teasing. The shiny title of Prefect wasn't going to stop it, of course.

I just laughed. Go with the flow. Suck it up, for now. You could always cry later. There's this boy beside you, you know, and he wouldn't dare, or wouldn't care, to look at you. I would rather he laugh than remain expressionless. Humiliation I could take, but not indifference.

After the lesson, I picked up my bags and ran straight to the classroom, willing myself not to cry until I got there.

It was empty,of course. That had been the last period for the day.

I cried. Shortly after my close friend and ally came and she willingly took the role of comforter-cum-tissue-dispensing machine. She was the sort of person whom everybody likes but doesn't care to please everyone. Why she had bothered to befriend me I have no idea. Looking back, it seemed so terribly unlikely that a friendship had been forged between us. Sometimes I wondered if I was imagining it.

Then I did the silly thing of standing in the rain and getting drenched because I thought it would make me feel better.

The sky obliged by making it rain heavier.

Gah, finally, the one I had struggled with myself to write about, but finally it's here. I hope you liked it.

2007-01-15T09:49:00.000+08:00

Everything's buzzing by in a whirl these few days and everyone's just so busy-- busy with projects, presentations (I have three coming up, one of which I haven't even started on) and the Ngee Ann open house.

~Cue music, jingle, back-up dancers and fireworks~

~Cue blatant and intrusive advertisement~

Did I say "open house"? Of course I did. Visit us at Ngee Ann Poly from this Thursday to Saturday, 11am- 7pm. And don't forget to visit the School of Life Sciences and Chemical Technology (LSCT). More specifically, don't forget to visit the Horticulture and Landscape Management (HLM) booth.

Understood? Good.

~End advertisement, and remember to pay the back-up dancers. Yes, YOU. What, you think they work for free?~

The next story would be coming up later this week, before the weekends (if we are lucky). I have a story in mind, but you wouldn't want me to spoil your fun, would you? So be patient and wait.

That is all.

2007-01-06T16:34:00.000+08:00

This is the first story of the year and I believe first stories shouldn't be about little girls threatening to stab, burn or blow up little boys' hearts. So, enjoy~!!

Keep Walking

She strolled down the street, face smiling slightly, making contented thump-thump noises as she went along. The lane she was walking on wasn't a very remarkable one. In fact, it was highly unremarkable. It would be an insult to call it dull, but it wasn't very interesting. It was just a lane filled with antique shops. Maybe the shops themselves were antiques.

The lady you saw seemed to be glad about something. She wasn't gloating, no, and she didn't look like she was bubbling with pure euphoria either, or bursting with wanton elation. She was just, just that, that h-word.

Yes, happy. That's right. Happy.

And she should be, too.

She's looking at a televison set, the kind that was black and had a fourteen-inch screen--not a plasma or a flat-screen, but those that were found in the days of yore. You can still find them if you looked hard enough and went to the right places.

The right places.

She remembered how she loved that particular telly. She had saved for almost two years just to get it. She remembered saying that she would bring it everywhere with her if she just had the strength.

"Why don't you just buy a cheaper one?" a friend once asked her. Not just any one would do, she had told her friend. That was the one she had liked. And what she wants, she gets.

She grinned, lips curling gently, and she remembered those times. Remembered the time she almost starved to death, only to be saved by her neighbour whom she though was going to rob her, the time she took up three jobs just to pay off the installments, the time she almost buried her cat, thinking it was dead, the time...

Ah, memories. Memories of the people and things that kept her going.

That's why she was so happy, skipping along Memory Lane.

I came across the phrase "wanton elation" through a chain-letter and it has been stuck in my mind since.

I hope you had pleasant memories in 2006 and have better, if not equally lovely, memories in 2007.

2007-01-01T00:08:00.000+08:00

A HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ONE AND ALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ring-a-ding-ding, ring-a-ling-ling!!!!

>=DD

Champange, bubblies, booze and taxi fares not included.

2006-12-24T16:13:00.000+08:00

Bah!!! It seems like I can't add a label to the sidebar (I'm still using the old Blogger template).

Which means you will have to look for the labels carefully on each post. Talk about user-hostileness.

Oh well.

And season's greetings to all-- human, animal, robotic or alien*!!

*Speaking of which, Douglas Adams' The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy is a must read.

2006-12-24T15:47:00.000+08:00

Greetings, fellow readers!

And now an important announcement: I will be out of here from tomorrow onwards, till Saturday. A Christmas holiday, of sorts.

So. If you miss this space*, feel free to check out the archives. I've dug/filtered out some better ones for your reading (dis)pleasure.

So long, and fare well.

Till then.

*You can't possibly be missing me, right?

2006-12-19T12:25:00.000+08:00

Annnnd it's raining again!!!!

Liquid snow, the perfect replacement to solid snow!!* From what I gather**, it's total mayhem on the roads this morning. The roads of Singapore have become a huge wading pool for children, mynahs, crows, sparrows, pigeons, herons, egrets, orioles, ducks (yes, we do have ducks of the non-roasted, non-dunked-in-soy-sauce and all in all non-cooked variety), swans and squirrels. And varoius insects and denizens of this country which I have yet to mention.

It almost feels like Christmas again, but I'm not sure about the swimming animals, children and insects though. Hmmhmmm. Every year I talk about wanting to go caroling during Christmas, but it seems like I always can't gather enough troops just to sing in the streets. One person doesn't count as a chorus, no?

Oh yes. The Singapore Garden Festival which I went to yesterday.

One word. Fantastico.

You can find all the details and more at the Singapore Garden Festival's website. If you don't have enough time to see everything and don't plan to buy a two-day pass, level 6 is an absolute MUST SEE.

I left feeling very inspired, enlightened and humbled.

Ah. If you want to, you can visit me at NP's booth on level 4, between 6-9p.m. on 23 December 2006.

That is all.

*It's only one state away!!! Absolutely amazing!!!!
**The trusty radio--your friend for life, as long as there's enough electricity

2006-12-15T14:26:00.000+08:00

Add this to your list of 1001 reasons not to do bad things, including breaking promises =D .

The Promise Ring

"I told you I would keep my promise. So there, promise kept and unbroken," he said. He thought he sounded confident.

"A gift of a promise is ever so fragile. How can I ascertain that you have done what I had told you to do?" the girl said. The boy shuffled his feet.

"Oh yes. How could I have forgotten? The ring. The promise ring. You have it on you, no?" she asked. She held out her hand for the ring.

"Here. It's one and whole and um.. unbroken," the boy added the word unbroken as if to comfort himself. The girl looked at him, unsure of what she had seen and heard. Nevertheless, she began to inspect the ring. It looked like it had been formed from a single thread of sunlight, possibly lighter than air--but the meaning it held was far older than the first tales and fables and legends and myths told. Some might even say that it was older than time itself.

The ring started to crumble. The circle of light had split into thousands of of little fragments, shining and dancing in the palm of her hand. She looked up at him sharply. Her gentle eyes turned cold.

"Unbroken, eh? Let's see if your heart remains one and whole when I'm through with you!" she screeched.

The boy was done for, of course.

Just another story to while away your time and mine =) .

2006-12-14T12:54:00.000+08:00

A Day Out of the House and Back Again

I went out with NB the other day and the day started out like all other days in sunny, sunny Singapore (i.e. searingly, mind-bogglingly and insanely hot). We went to Ben and Jerry's, got an ice-cream each and made ourselves comfortable on the couch-esque seating.

Ker-splash and drip-drip.

"Oh shit," someone said.

My innate sense of hearing and unsurpassed emotional intelligence* told me that something was wrong somewhere. And someone thought she had screwed up big time.

"Sorry!" the waitress apologised. In a rare show of magmanity and kindness**, I forgave her for the little slip up. The casualties: my brown pants and my beloved green and yellow suede Converses.

Little did I know, the events that followed after our gallivanting in a certain huge shopping mall would be er.. even more amusing.

I got back home, tired from our little adventure and was looking forward to a nice, warm bath.

But there was this teeny-weeny problem.

I couldn't turn on the lights in the living room. In fact, I couldn't turn on anything that did not have battries in them. It was a blackout then. Me against the darkness. And no one else was home yet.

I climbed on a stool and in the process, nearly commited suicide***.

Flicked on the magic blue switch and everthing was back to normal (in a manner of speaking).

The aforementioned bath was taken and

"RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIP!!" went the shower curtain.

"Ah," I went, cringing ever so slightly.

And the best has yet to come.

My parents came back home****.

After two years in the possession of my family, the televison decided to act like it was possessed by forces or beings unseen. The volume kept going to zero (it wanted to treat us to a silent movie, I suppose). I increased the volume a little and it decided to give us a free rock concert. In fact, it roused the deep slumber of me father. Which is quite an achievement.

I made a mental note to scream "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooo!!!" a la Luke Skywalker.

I couldn't wait for day to end =D .

*Legend or myth, who knows??!!!
**Again, legend or myth?!
***A 50cm drop can cause crippling.
****Nothing bad happened to me. Really!!

2006-12-13T22:06:00.000+08:00

Rah!! Now's the time to (properly) usher in the holiday season!!! And to mark this occasion, you (yes, you!!) have a choice of previously forgotten tales to read.

The Day I Shirked Household Responsibilities: Lots of gore involved.
A Day Out of the House and Back Again: A blackout, rip, splash, a near tumble and a wonky televison set.

Two measly choices. Choose wisely, my friends!!!

2006-12-11T11:37:00.000+08:00

I found his blog.

Apparently it was a "couple blog".

Ouch.

Nail-in-the-foot-owie ow OW*.

Why put myself through all the misery? Simply because I like eavsdropping on others, spying on others, looking over your shoulder--

But I hate it when others do the same to me.

Bleah.

*Talk about curiosity killed the cat. Ha!

2006-12-01T16:54:00.000+08:00

The clouds made me understand the saying "building castles in the sky". Salty sea air, green waters and lovely rustic atmosphere-- all this and more, at Pulau Ubin.

Yesterday, the HLM classes went to P. Ubin for an Environmental Science lesson.

It made me wake up to some facts, actually*.

Most Singaporeans don't know that they could have seen crystal clear waters right at their doorstep instead of jetting off (and spending thousands of moolah) to the Maldives. But of course, we can't see such wonders now because of the word "development". Apparently, during the 70s, dolphins and sea turtles** were not uncommon in Ubin's waters.

My classmates and I sat on a pick-up. It was great fun. The wind in your hair, rain on your face (not me, but I'm speaking for the unfortunate few who sat in the front).

And did I mention about the spanking new resort there? It looks great, like the ones in the now-defunct Costa Sands Resort in East Coast Park, only posher (they use desalinated water, damn expensive desalinated water)?

If I had to sum up the trip to Pulau Ubin in four words, it would be this:

It was simply wonderful =) .

*Being able to catch stingrays at P. Ubin not withstanding (stingrays are yummy yum yum. Especially barbequed ones =D .)

**You listening to this, huh, xL??!!! I didn't know you had relatives there.

2006-11-18T15:44:00.000+08:00

Woot. It has been a long time since I last posted.

Hmm hmm hmm. What to write?

Oh! I know! I have finished 3 out of 4 Landscape Design assignments!! Of which 1 received rave reviews!! Huzzah!!!

And. Err. Life's good, slowly getting used to the presence of me classmates ( "What?! So long?!!!", you say. That's why I said "slowly" and not "quickly").

Um. That's all folks!!

2006-11-07T21:13:00.000+08:00

Caught in her own web of deceit and distrust, she went back home eventually. The days that followed would not be any easier. It was very much like dodgeball actually. Or playing hide-and-seek. Except there wasn't as much seeking as hiding.

Argh. I'm dog-tired. Here I am typing crap like this.

Ahhhhhhhhh.

3 drawing assignments to do-- Texture studies, lettering and drawing trees in plan view.

1 down, 2 more to go.

Bam.

Snore.

2006-10-25T21:47:00.000+08:00

A rose's flowers are prettier than its leaves, but those leaves last longer. In the end people will still prefer a rose flower to that of rose leaves, but the fact that leaves can last for four seasons and its flowers last only a fortnight or less is good enough consolation for me* .

But still..

Karma karma karma karma karma ka-milliaaaaah!!!!!**

Beware, beware!! Beware of the Fates!!

*May I also add that roses, no matter how beautiful, will cut if not handled properly.

**Or something like that. I'm not too sure if the lyrics go like that. And I couldn't resist, so stop rolling your eyeballs.

2006-10-22T17:12:00.000+08:00

School started in full swing last Monday and boy, was it hectic! So many classes, 8a.m. to 5p.m.,
just like working hours. But come this Monday (which is to say tommorrow), it'll be much much more relaxing. I'll only have classes in the afternoon (yAy~!!!), I'll have Thursday off (no classes on Thursday on even weeks) and on most days there will be no morning classes.

But there's a catch.

On odd weeks, I'll be "working" eight to five*.

Oh yes. And I had just spent $136.30 on drafting equipment** for my landscape design classes, of which 96.405% was sponsored by me Mummy (the remaining 3.595% was sponsored by me Papa). Conclusion: I should take care and love me drafting equipment, as it was paid for (and hopefully made) with love.

On a completely irrelevant note, the poem below was written by me (yes!! me!!).

Till we meet again~!!!!

*BOOOO~!!!!!! >=(

**21 Copic Markers!!!!!!! WoOoOoOoOoOoOoHoOoOoOoOo~~~!!!!!!!!!!!!

2006-10-21T15:32:00.000+08:00

Thoughts of You and Probably Me

You held her delicate hands.
Her face blushing,
you professed your love for her.

Wonder now,
what were the thoughts
that screamed through your mind
when you said those words to her?

Wonder now,
is this true?

A Bird flew into the rose bush.

Wonder now,
where is she?

It was trapped.

Wonder now,
was she just a victim of circumstances?

No where to rest,
as everywhere was covered in thorns.

Wonder now,
is this really the choice you made
without regrets?

It will die among the roses,
or find its way back home.

Wonder now,
what decision did she make?

Like all animals,
it had needed
to want to survive.

The journey will be hard,
but it'll
be able
to sing
once more.

2006-10-13T13:23:00.000+08:00

As the logo says.

Enter, enter~!!! I know some pepole here have finished their exams, so if you have nothing to do, type 99 words of horror!!! The deadline's 25 October, if I'm not mistaken. There's still enough time, so go!!

Clicky on the logo for more info =D.

Here's my (lousy) submission:

They Are Actually Waiting For You

"Tick-tock, tick-tock! The witches come at--" she stopped in mid-sentence.

Silence. Following soon after that was the soft drip-driping of crimson liquid on the forest floor.

"Ugh. Crap! My costume's ruined," she whined. A patch of bright-red Cherryade stained her gown. She turned around and saw her companion's face turn pale. Then he collapsed, cold and unmoving.

He was quite dead.

"What's happening?!" she was, obviously, very scared.

"Well, you did want to see a witch in action, no?" I said. She stood there, petrified. Just like the forefathers before her.

"I shall need payment, then."

2006-10-06T14:50:00.000+08:00

This is just rambling, so don't worry. Too much.

There was a possibility that it had slowly faded away into the abyss, from this corner to the next. What I'm sure is that it is gone forever and will never ever come back again. And I don't think you know what "it" is-- not in this context, anyway.

Over time, memories of the things that we have gone through don't seem quite like what actually happened. We only remember what we want to remember, or we are just getting old-- senile, if you insist.

Teenage angst is okay, as long as you don't smother others with it. I still need my eyes and ears to last me through my lifetime.

You know, I don't have to listen to you and your problems. But because you are my friend, I'll make an exception. More than just one, if you really need it.

Fantasizing is wonderful. When you stop make-believing and start disbelieving, it is not a sign of maturity but is akin to giving up hope on life.

As you can see, this post is a random smattering of thoughts, strung together on a single thread.

Suddenly I feel like I'm being interroagated.

2006-10-04T12:27:00.000+08:00

Hey hey heeeeeeeeeey, everyone. As you can see, I've changed my screen name to The Cracklepuffen Aya Soya Douya, a rather long and pretentious name. I've considered several other names like Aya Mooga Jooga Hooga Jaaga Crackle Poufen the First, but as you can see, it's just a little too much of a mouthful.

Why the sudden name change, you may ask. Number one, because I can, two, I have just realised that the blogosphere is a very good place to give yourself a long and pretentious name without worrying if anyone would spell it wrongly or make fun of it because it's supposed to be funny in the first place* and three, I have thusly run out of content** to put in this blog.

Oh yes. Here's to an early, happy, fire-and-knife-disaster-free and accident-free Mid-Autumn Festival.

Cheers~!!!

*Supposed to be, but if you didn't find The Cracklepuffen Aya Soya Douya the least bit chuckle-inducing, then eh, hmm...you should finish this sentence for me, as I can't think of any witty comebacks for the moment.

**Either that or I have run out of excess brain juice. Hardy har har.

2006-09-29T20:37:00.000+08:00

"
Those three words
Said too much
But not enough

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me
And just forget the world
"
Chasing Cars
~Snow Patrol

I hope you won't say no.

2006-09-29T13:52:00.000+08:00

Ello everyone. Sorry for such a long break in between postings. I was trying to post pictures on the blog but I couldn't >=( . Pity though, I thought I could post some sketches on the blog *sigh* .

Anyway, nothing new here (besides "gorging" meself with mooncakes) , just waiting for 16 October 2006 to arrive and my eternal boredom shall be over.

yAy for school~!!!!! >=D

And a very belated good luck to all who are having exams now, or in the near future =D

2006-09-15T12:14:00.000+08:00

Nice rainy weather today.

I don't know about you, but I kinda like wet weather better than sunny weather. Maybe it's the cosy feeling you get when you stay indoors and watch the rain outside falling, pitter-pattering on the roads and giving the bulidings a good wash.

And the occasional flash of lightning followed by the low growl of thunder.

Weather aside, it's that time of the year again.

Yes. EXAM RESULTS!!!!!!!!!

*DRUM ROLL*

Chemistry: A+
Plant Taxonomy: AD (YEA!!!)
Plan Anatomy and Morphology: B
IT Applications: B+ (miracle no. 1)
Digital Graphic Applications: B+ (miracle no. 2)
Creative Thinking Skills: B+

GPA: 3.6047 (B+ average)

WOOT~!!!!!!! Pop the champange, everyone~~!!!!!

>=DD

~Edit~
I don't know what's the maximum GPA you can get.
AD (Distinction) is the highest grade one can get for that subject i.e. higher than A+.

2006-09-12T21:47:00.000+08:00

yAy!!!! I FINALLY changed the time settings on the postings and Spam Box!!!!!

Hurrah!!! Hurraaaaaaaaaah~~~!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

>=DD

~Aya's Online, a Great Way to Spam~

2006-09-12T12:30:00.000+08:00

I would like to say that eating 90g of jellybeans in one go can cause numbness of the tounge.

Yikes.

2006-09-07T16:03:00.000+08:00

I had a haircut. It was shorter than what I had in mind, but I quite like it actually. I had forgotten how cooling the wind is when it gently strokes your scalp.

And the trip to JB was fantastico!! We (i.e. my father) ended up buying more food then expected. The long list of food includes mooncakes (I know it's still too early, but we couldn't help ourselves ^-^'') , dates, hot-cross buns, chocolate chip buns, hotel bread (don't ask), walnut and rasin bread, six cans of coffee, kueh bahulu (yummy!!), peanut butter and green tea (...).

I love saikyo gintara cod fish and unagi~~!!!!!!

I have expensive taste, I know =D .

2006-09-05T10:20:00.000+08:00

The Night of a Thousand Turtles and The Morning of 2 Humongous Sneezes

Well, not exactly a thousand per se, but the number of turtles appearing on me MSN Messenger contact list have steadily increased from 3 to 8 as of 10.45pm. I did a turtle count with the Monkee, and she says she has 33 (33!!! OMD, 33!!!! TURTLE INVASION CODE RED!!!!!).

This ranks among the highest in my list of man-made phenomena, whose ranking is as follows:

1. Why people pass chain letters in SMSes or E-mail form,

2. The fact that Singapore has a declining birth rate, but there are still a gazillion condominiums waiting to be built on our land-scarce hometown,

3. The Turtle Invasion in memory of Crocrodile Hunter Steve Irwin (refer to top),

4. Government bashing, the why-did-we-vote-for-them-in-the-first-place syndrome,

5. Why people buy stuff they can't afford,

6. Why there are canned sardines and tuna, but not any other fish (Ayam Brand's Salmon Spread may be counted as another variety of canned fish, but you don't see other brands making the same stuff, do you?),

7. Why there are a few out of place default emoticons in MSN Messenger (eg. don't (pl) and (ll) mean the same thing? And the variety of animal emoticons is astonishing. There are 7).

8. The success of blogging as opposed to traditional forms of diary-making, for example keeping a diary or journal,

9. How I managed to sneeze everytime I wake up in the morning although the mattress is supposed to be anti dust mite, and

10. The Dance of the Jellyfish.

That's all for today! Buh-bye~~!!!!!!!!!!

2006-09-04T12:19:00.000+08:00

I have no idea what to do during the holidays.

Help me.

Argh.

Spamming again. Heh.

Someone should write a book titled Death by Boredom. But I'm not gonna be the one to write it, because I'll be dead by the time it's published.

Buh-byeee~~!!!

2006-09-02T22:06:00.000+08:00

Random spam-post:

I have just included a cbox (yesterday)!! yAy!!

And I want to reassure everyone that I'm okay. Thank you =D.

Split personalities, haha <=D.

Tata~!!

2006-09-02T14:23:00.000+08:00

Hello.

For your information, I'm okay.

Good bye.

2006-08-31T19:30:00.000+08:00

Sometimes I wonder if I can live alone as a hermit for the rest of me life.

Apparently, I can. Especially if I continue to erase people from my past like how I am doing it now.

Erase erase erase, until it's as clean as a piece of blank paper.

I like escapism too. Running away from problems is much more easier than facing them.

It's too hard, just push it away.

SHOVE

I used to have a very bad temper. But because of my escapism tactics, it has decreased drastically.

Talk about a double edged-sword, eh?

Sigh, I want to change, but can't be bothered to and don't know how to go about doing so.

Another mystery of the universe--

Humans.

2006-08-30T12:52:00.000+08:00

I feel a little emotionally taxed these few days. Funny, no, since I'm still having vacation (an authentic vacation, even) and really away from schoolwork. However, it takes very little to mess with my mind lately.

Goodness, I feel like I'm in a daze sometimes. In any moving vehicle I would just stare out onto the streets, scaring a few pedestrians who thought they have just seen a zombie. In broad daylight, no less. Now not only do zombies look vaguely like humans, they can roam this Earth in the day. What is the world coming to?

Anyway, a few days ago Nude Bear and I have coined a few phrases to do with exclamations of surprise, shock, disappointment and anger.

First up: Oh mian, Oh noodles, OND
This actually means the same as "Oh man", or "Oh crappastic shit" or just simply "Oh shit". "Oh mian" randomly pooped up in my mind one fine day and I found it similar-sounding to the word "man". "Mian" actually means "noodles" in Chinese. Many thanks to Nude Bear who expaned the phrase to "Oh noodles" and "OND" ("OND" is an abbreviation of the phrase "Oh noodles").

Secondly: Oh my President, Oh my Omniscent President, OMP, OMOP
These phrases were met with opposition (i.e. me) at first, but since The Mindless Lamers Guild/Association/Corporation/Inc./Company/Society/Group/Any One/All of the Above does condone freedom of speech even though The Mindless Lamers Guild/Association/Corporation/Inc./Company/Society/Group/Any One/All of the Above is an autocratic Guild/Association/Corporation/Inc./Company/Society/Group/Any One/All of the Above, I will let this pass. If you really must know, these phrases were coined by Nude Bear. The usage is the same as "Oh mian", "Oh noodles" and "OND", which in turn have similar usage to "Oh crap", "Oh crappastic shit" and "Oh shit".

Enjoy using them, readers~!!

2006-08-30T11:43:00.000+08:00

To whom it may concern,

Although I doubt that you will be able to read this, but I'll write this anyway, to maintain whatever silver of sanity in me ( which is, unfortunately, not much, hence the italicised silver).

Whatever that needs to be said, will be written here.

The Agony whose name is Wait, Waiting, or anything that means having to spend a long time until Something Happens or Someone Comes Along

I've been thinking. A lot. More than usual, which can be harmful to someone so dim-witted like myself (read: brain haemorrage, possibility of concussion leading to coma).

I have noticed the messages, the website's white flowers and purple font. The gray background. In case if you were wondering, it was those messages that got me thinking. I hoped it was me.

I still do.

I am a less than fantastic person, with a less than wonderful personality. What would you say if that happy-happy parsonaliteh I sported was just putting on a face?

I feel sad. I can't do anything like what you did for me. Hopeless might be the correct word. It was until the end of that project did I know that I have nothing to talk to you about ever again. So the end-of-project part was not really fufiling*, eh? I only realised that a few days after the project ended.

Crap. Am I crappastically stupid or what? Not only am I slow, I feel like I'm typing gibberish for the past half hour or so. Gibberish that few or not-so-few people understand.

So yes, I've been waiting. A long time. If three months is considered long. Well in La La Land three months is long. Agonisingly long.

That said, even if it isn't me, forgive me for my big-headedness and exteremely thick hide. And I sincerely wish you the best of luck in whatever you do.

*As in happy-happy fufiling. Happily-ever-after-FINALLY-end-of-frustrating-project fufiling.

2006-08-26T20:41:00.000+08:00

Yes, this blog is officially OPEN!!!!!!! Bring out the party poppers and confetti, everyone!!!! wOoT!!!!

And yes, my exams are finally over. Bliss, peace and eternal happiness-- until 15 September, that is. Haha. But the holidays have just begun!

And so ends my incoherent post for today.

Who cares! I'm bursting with joy anyway!

2006-08-18T02:51:00.000+08:00

Hello everyone.

The process of eating books is a long and painful one, since our body does not contain the enzymes to break down cellulose i.e. wait for updates later this year, when the blog opens officially. Sorry for the wait, dear readers.

Oh noes. I'm posting crap.

2006-07-27T17:15:00.000+08:00

Welcome welcome, one and all to my lair. It doesn't look like much, as it is still under construction. Look out for updates later this year~~!!!!!

For now, I will rant about my workload.

ARGH, PROJECTSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!

That's all for today, folks!