1) Who’s That Chick? - Rihanna
2) Psychobabble - Frou Frou
3) Art House Director - Broken Social Scene
4) Science of Fear - Temper Trap
5) Marry the Night - Lady Gaga (I’M A WARRIOR QUEEN LIVE PASSIONATELY TONIGHTTTT)
6) Black Coffee - All Saints
7) Don’t Blame Yourself - Andrew Belle (a possible nod to Aaron *cough*)
8) Pity and Fear - Death Cab for Cutie
9) Love on Top - Beyonce
10) Porcelain Heart - Nicola Roberts
Sorry assignments (and new tv shows) had me trapped last week!
Evidently since my parents are paying an obscene amount of money for me to go to school here, they think it’s important and I’ve been brought up in a culture where it’s necessary to share the same sentiment; to be on a paper chase since entering primary school; to be constantly reminded that, despite what the self-help books in the shoddy part of the library say, a degree is the most crucial asset if you want to survive in the non-design industries of Singapore. I say this with a tinge of bitterness because I actually do really want this degree (or I won’t have bothered coming here at all) but I hate that it’s a standard requirement back home.
Also one last thing I hate about Singapore education: everyone says it’s okay to get a B or a C but you know they’re lying to your face because they’re relieved you didn’t get the A. People want As all the time and I know this since I will never settle for less than an A. I know it’s a very Singaporean mindset and it’s one that might eventually kill me ._. Still, it is the most glorious feeling to get your grades back and see an A scribbled on the edge of the paper. So AZN lor but w/e, bitches better recognize there is a brilliant mind underneath all these oppressive layers of hijab LOL
Boo, this is no fun to do during Ramadhan because I often eat very little.
But anyway:
What I really wished I ate:
1. HAIR ON THE BATHROOM TILES. HAIR ON THE KITCHEN FLOOR. HAIR ON MY FRICKIN’ CARPET. I guess this only applies to _______. I love her but girl just has terrible, terrible hair that drops everywhere. And she doesn’t bother to pick them up and throw em in the bin. I have to do it for her.
If you’re thinking “For f-’s sake Ilyana, it’s just HAIR, stop whining and sweep it away”, then you must be a guy or a very bald girl. Honey, a thousand strands of hair on your bathroom floor is the most disgusting sight (even if they’re your own). It’s almost like a horror movie’s come to life; you have to step on it while you brush your teeth and some of it coils around your toes. I don’t need to tell you how great that feels.
2. When non-designers tell me, “Why does your website look so simple?”. Do you know how much time and pixels went into making this website? Do you know how many forking layers of beautifully balanced and manipulated graphics went into this simple background? Of course not, you aren’t anal. Therefore, you can never be a designer (I think 3 years of design school hell has entitled me to a certain level of arrogance to say this so psht).
3. “OMG! You take great photos, what camera do you use?!?!” I don’t hate people who ask me this question but I’m just waiting for someone to ask me instead, “Can you give me some tips on how to improve on my photography?”. People need to understand that getting an expensive camera doesn’t guarantee a good photo. If you don’t understand the (breakable) laws and basics of good photography, then not even a $2,500 DSLR can help you.
4. Being late. I’m usually tolerant of friends who can’t help being late e.g. missed a tram, woke up late bla bla - just as long as they give me a head’s up they’re going to be x minutes late. But for god’s sake, don’t do it all the time.
5. People who feel completely helpless when not in a relationship. Please grow a spine. Or read my blog for self-empowerment.
Dude, half of my shiz is mainstream LOL. I don’t understand why people get so anti-mainstream music sometimes. HELLO, all your indie bands will eventually become mainstream k so shut up and admit you cried listening to Adele.
Cos everyday I’m shufflin’
Dear Ex-boyfriend,
Our break-up has given me immeasurable joy and happiness. My only wish is that I didn’t have to go through 5 months of hell, crying and wondering if I hadn’t done this or said that, that we would still be together. But I suppose there is no shortcut to getting over someone you thought you’d spend your entire life with. I’m glad we made the mistake thinking we were right for each other; I was yours at 14, you were mine at 17 but time is not always a gentle river and by 20, you probably noticed I wasn’t the same person anymore. I didn’t apologise for changing then and I still won’t now. But if I could go back to the measure of time where you loved me once, I’d like to say I did love you too.
7am: Alarm rings. I wake up feeling well-rested but groan when I see the time. I’ve completely missed my 5am breakfast. And I’m starving.
7.30am: After some serious huddling beneath my bed covers + snuggie, I decide to finally do some work. It’s been an entire weekend of SLACK for me so in order to appease my guilty conscience, I read the readings for this week’s TV & Pop Culture.
9am: Finish reading, ugh SO SIAN K. I take a one hour break and read 9gag.com.
10am: Still reading 9gag.com with some YouTube videos on the side. Doing work is no longer on my mind’s horizon. Still starving and totally chewing myself out for not eating the amazingly creamy lasagne I’d made the night before.
10.30am: Amy calls me to whine about not being able to get out of bed. Tell me about it. We make plans to skip the two hour TV screening today (It’s reality tv week and bitch plz, I don’t need to watch episodes of Big Brother + Wife Swap).
11am: I start feeling guilty again and begin doing research for my Asian PR forking 2000 word essay. God, my life sucks.
1pm: YAY MY BFF IS BACK ONLINE! Research takes a standstill (obvsly, hello must catch up right.)
2pm: Aaron’s gone out for lunch or something so I’m back doing research. WHO THE HELL WRITES AN ENTIRE THESIS IN COURIER??!? Times New Roman, I hate but I can deal. But COURIER?! FFFFFFFFFUUUU.
4pm: Time to walk to school for my lecture. It’s 17 degrees out, hell yes wb my magnificent sun. Just for comparison, last week the average temperature was 8 degrees plus rain - my asian skin just wanted to flake off and turn to cold ash ._. I’m also wearing my electric orange turban to show how bloody happy I am winter’s been banished back to the arctic.
5:40pm: Stupid lecture ends early, thank fork. I am losing my patience with my lecturer. The subject is interesting but she doesn’t do it any justice. My blood sugar levels are pretty low at this point and I’m dying for a cup of bubble tea. I redeem my membership points at Chatime and get a large sized cup of strawberry pulp milk tea for free, score! (yes, there is a difference between your standard strawberry milk tea and the pulp variety - strawberry pulp milk tea is a lot milkier)
6.30pm:
Finally had my lasagne for dinner. Told you it was amazing XD
Day 3: A book you love.
After the Park, a poem from Vanishing Point by Felicity Plunkett.
Things fade and fail, but not the dream – Gwen Harwood
Noon emptied the park like a death.
Vanished skies swung crying.
The last woman, lingering,
I pushed the beads of a plastic abacus:
counted my losses. At night
my dreams rolled back to taste your trace
and I sailed their upswing
woke to the jolt of their stop:
salt mornings; hope’s flaking away.
But what if it were not
too late? What if, as you turned
and left our accidental meeting –
our unrehearsed universe
pressed between pages of unwritten notes –
I called your name?
Felicity Plunkett’s first book, Vanishing Point, seizes the temporality of dreams and feelings, and molds it in a compelling way that extends its transience.
Vanishing Point is split into three sections, each exploring themes of life, death and the body that revolves around the idea of ‘flakes’. With this idea of flakes, Plunkett emphasizes the fragility of her poems and immerses the reader with the different connotations behind the word. Flakes are often thought of as trivial; one might think of flaking paint, the sloughing of skin or bits of a whole. But the word also evokes strong actions: to break into flakes, to fall into flakes and to form into flakes. Vanishing Point builds up a steady progression into womanhood, detailing the experiences of a woman in love, in pregnancy and in marriage. Plunkett weaves a darkness within these commonly celebrated feminine moments by exploring themes of violence, life, death and the body.
Our dreams come in waves, moving us to aspire for greater things and yet, they are short-lived and vanish quickly from our memories. The first section “Flakes of a Dream”, gestures towards the mourning of the dream. Plunkett’s poems echo a sense of violence and an inner struggle with the limited capabilities of the self as one may observe in “After the Park”, where the speaker chases after traces of a dream in order to relive it one last time.
Plunkett has stated that she is always inspired by the ways in which life begins and ends, focusing on the perceived strength and fragility of the human body. Her habit of note-taking details, or “little flakes” as she calls them, of things that she finds interesting, is the driving force behind her writing process in Vanishing Point. She says, “Odd things influence me – an offhand comment, a row of surgical instruments laid out, and music”. Indeed, a sense of bizarreness and mystery pervades Plunkett’s poetry and she portrays this oddness beautifully using an array of subjects and themes in Vanishing Point.
Note: I cheated and ripped this off a book review I had to do for Poetry last semester but hey, I honestly loved this book - it is extremely beautiful and gave me immense inspiration for my own poetry.
k I know everyone’s seen this photo from tea noir but w/e.
Day 2: Something you strongly believe in
I feel like I’ve been the worst muslim this year ugh but one thing hasn’t changed: I still stand by my decision to don the hijab. I’ve just realised that it’s been 10 years since I’ve made that decision to break my status quo. The first few years were marked by uncertainty, when I found out (the hard way) that as I covered my hair, the opportune doors that would eventually lead to self-discovery were being masked as well. That sounds a little silly but having the hijab on meant that some things became off-limits to me. But I’m not going to dwell on the past. Beyond any religion, a person’s identity, transforming under irregular conditions, is fixed on him managing the line between white and grey. It has been difficult playing swords with my limited knowledge of Islam but I’ve never once allowed my personality to be compromised by my hijab.
Rather, the hijab has become an extension of it; an awkward one at the start but it has slowly transitioned to be what I want it to be. Kay, that’s just crazy talk. The hijab is obviously a piece of cloth but I think mine has a personal history imbued on it now. People think you have to change who you essentially are as a person when you wear the hijab but that’s not true. It might add something to your consciousness but you are what you are and a piece of cloth is not going to take that away from you.
Know what I like and dislike.
Because if I like you just as much, I would be furiously uncovering your favourite movies, music, food, the little things that make you tick. Plus points if you can do the above with stealth and surprise me with your extensive research.
Have an opinion.
I’m a girl. I’m genetically required to make an issue out of everything I see, read or hear about. I like conversations over coffee and hearing what you have to say, regardless of whether you agree with me or not, is a less overt way for me to determine if you do indeed have a brain.
Be a gentleman.
But not because you want to get in my pants.
Dream a little (big).
Tell me your dreams, even if none of them have truly taken shape. Your dreams; your ceaseless enthusiasm for the things you hope to attain and the life stories you unravel will give me a clearer picture of the sort of person you are.
Cook.
I LOVE food. Love, in caps. This means, you would probably spend half your time fighting for my attention whenever I’m near food (i.e. 24/7) so a man who can cook is a man after my own heart ;p
