The certainty to life is knowing it will never be certain.

I have said so many "certain"s in my head that now the word runs a strange course on my tongue. Certain certain certain. My point is I think I am dying and nothing any doctor says is making me feel better.

But I suppose if I were to die young, as long as I don't feel it and have the people I love around me, I wouldn't mind. Or maybe I can die in a gigantic car crash all by myself.

Oh well.

My cousin is a gifted photographer.

I am not the best with posing. I am frigid and cold and lifeless. Also maybe because the cool schtick I'm going for isn't exactly well pulled off. But the point is - she saves the photo with her magic touch and I bless is afterward with generous Photoscaping.

Man what a A team.

Review: Arton Hotel

For about $100, me and my boyfriend booked a attic room at Arton Boutique Hotel.

The entrance area is really small actually. It consists of a small kitchenette, a fancy toilet (with the rain-shower thing) and an exit to the balcony. Right to the balcony is a relatively steep flight of steps that leads up to the attic.

Now I know I would die to be an American and holy shit for a minute I was living out my fantasies of hiding out in an attic. If I could I would have filled the walls with quotes and writings but of course my artistic tendencies are not welcome here. SUE ME.









The stay was immensely comfortable.

The only thing I care about when it comes to boutique hotels is the bed and the balcony, for the two single reasons of having good sleep and kickass photos to make everyone in my Instagram timeline jealous.

Arton did 2 of 2, but my heart remains Parc Sovereign's. Which was, incidentally, directly opposite us so believe me, I had to dramatically wipe a tear away every single time I went to the balcony for a breather.

I would love to come back though.

Location is great, we rode out to get supper at Little India because I was craving masala as usual and it was only a 15 min journey away. I found a little floral shop below the hotel and managed to get more pretty photos to piss everyone in my Instagram timeline off hahah. Score!

We had breakfast along one of the cafes along Jalan Besar. Chye Seng Huat Hardware happened to be open so we dropped in. And my god did the place look good! If only it tasted as good as it looked!

Never going back to that overpriced industrial hole.

To 19 year old Nicole,

Did you expect the life you have today?

2012 was a bad year for us. It was a mess of bad decisions and misplaced priorities. We lost many people and never thought we can one day get on our feet again. If I had to choose, I would say 2012 was a life-changing year for both of us, don't you think?

It was the year you lost your best friend, your closest childhood friend and a man you once thought the world of. It was the year you realize some decisions can never be truly reversed and that not every effort returns results.

2012 was a year of darkness and pain and frankly, from the way I saw it, I truly believed that I would never be happy again, that I will never amount to anything worthwhile.

And yet here we are, 2 years on.



You finally got the job you dreamed of since you were 6- to write for a newspaper. As if that's not already the silver lining on your every cloud, you are also the web content editor, a position you envied in your old happy days at TheSmartLocal.

Work wise, it worked out beautifully, didn't it? You are writing for a living and loving what you do. In fact, this is a Saturday and you are still browsing Weekender, wondering how else you can try to boost its readership.

But everything else.. I don't know.

I am scared to read I wrote this for you any further. I am reading "on love" and I have become so cynical that every line in it makes me want to throw up. I headed over to "on loss" and suddenly everything is top notch and heartachingly perfect again.

What a funny world it is.

Took me long enough to realize that holy shit my cousin is queen of photography.

The key to not being sad hearing a song is not listening too closely to the lyrics.
The key to not being sad writing a poem is not reading too in-between the lines.
The key to not being sad reminiscing a memory is not thinking past the parts that matter.

Since you left, I have listened to music with my mind occupied and I have read poems with my heart elsewhere and I have thought of you while doing Maths.

Last week I made a conscious decision and effort. I told myself I'll go swim, and I surprisingly managed to get there. I tread with my toes lightly into the water. The chill crawled up my legs slowly, dying to enter my spine. And I stepped out immediately as if I've been scalded by fire.

It is funny, isn't it? 

I wanted to tell you this is an analogy - an analogy of how I never do anything too intently now because everything is you.

And yet all I could think of is;

Had I submerged myself, I would finally be able to hear everything and see nothing.
Had I submerged myself, my mind would have went into a helpless limbo, a limbo where thoughts of you finally manage to crush past the locked door to my conscious begging to be released.

Had I submerged myself,
I would have never wanted to resurface again.