Month: June 2017

Be brave.

Harper looks me in the eye. Really looks me, then walks off towards the display cakes. I blink a couple of times, trying to get my bearings before following her line of sight – a Mississippi Baked Cheesecake topped with chocolate cream rosettes. It doesn’t matter that it was sprinkled with peanuts (of which I am deathly allergic too). When Harper’s eyes find such gleam, you cannot escape from it.

One of Harper’s favourite excuses to eat this cheesecake is when one of her family members, who is ambivalent to decision-making and tastes, celebrates their birthday. Unfortunately for her, it was not this day.

We went home with a three-tiered Black Forest cake, chicken ribs, and a sour face. Sulking, I blasted the Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack to amuse myself.

“Jack Sparrow would have wanted that cheesecake.”

Captain,” I correct her. And she blows raspberries at me. Harper’s sort of stuck in a limbo at the moment. She aches for her newly acquired camera to arrive, and she aches, physically, between her left shoulder and neck. She says it’s always been like this. I turn down the volume and I pinch a chicken rib from the set.

“I can’t wait to see the stars!”

And it’s true. Harper’s travelling to New Zealand close to the end of this year. Her soul sister is traversing half the world just to do so. She didn’t have many options earlier this year when her focus had been to look for jobs and the variety of weddings she’s been to. But, she thinks, it’s been a rewarding, selfless, human-sensory-explorative half a year. She’s ready to divest into late-spring and no care.

“Be brave,” she tells me once, when I wouldn’t budge into trying that mint chocolate chip ice cream at the chocolatier. She tried it, despised it, and flaunts it.

She says, “At least I tried it.”

And she’s right. She really is.


Anniversary countdowns and exorbitant buys.

I’m excited to my bones for this wintery month of June. Summer, for those who live in the hemisphere that still refuses to measure in metres.

Work has been loaded with luncheons here and there and call me nasty, but I’m starting to understand why the term “food snob” was purposed. Perhaps, it’s to limit the collateral damage, but mostly because the food in this city, this gorgeous, luminous, effervescent city is just unparalleled. Nevertheless, I still enjoy a fusion Chinese night out with my fam and a half.

The rollercoaster ride of reaching three months at work is at its peak now that we’re halfway through 2017. To be more specific (alluding to my topic sentence above), June went on a metropolitan train ride to the likes of SoHo or the Emporium armed with recyclable shopping bags and a thirst for the adventurous efrits.

Firstly, my parents’ wedding anniversary is finally on countdown. They are booked for the wondrous, unexpected glory of New Zealand, a southern journey closest to our penguin pals down in the whitest south. Us begotten children o’ theirs have ramped up their sojourn with as much luxury as we can afford between a university student, two full-timers with bills to pay, and one with a monthly Netflix subscription.

Let’s just say we told them to pack heavy and to pack in style. *insert wink face*

To the personal creative, I, the filmmaker, finally bought myself a cinema camera worth all that marketing collateral changes and in-house designing with my very limited eye sight. It’s the perfect time to bust out the cinematic perspective of two odysseys ahead: 1. An all-expenses paid photoshoot slash hike come July, and 2. My own New Zealand trip with my “Denmarkian” upon thine end of her Masters exchange in November.

All day I’ve been thinking up of brewing tea and never getting around to it as I launched tab after tabs of research into the best lens for a dandy Blackmagic, ready to unleash the Patty Jenkins in me.

Sure, it seems costly to an Adidas shoe-buyer, but I’m a future-thinker gal. I invest on solid certainties only. i.e. I don’t buy books if I won’t re-read them again. And that’s a guarantee.

Suffice it to say, I have not been this excited for exorbitant purchases for a while now. Sending my parents off has always been my dream, and something I’ve worked very hard towards. I am enraptured for them as I peruse the bookings we made, and the places they will visit. They deserve much more, but this is a start.

I am also keeping myself accountable for all such spendings by creating an excel spreadsheet, and if my glasses don’t say otherwise, I am really feeling the “adult” in me butterfly-ing.

But hey, I love new chapters. Especially in my own book.

I wish

I wish the ocean chose me.

Or the sea, the river, the pantheon in its destruction.

I wish they stretched long, structured, crumbling limbs and I saw the stars reflected by the waters, the ripples pooling beneath my teeth.

I wish the constellations chose me, the stars chose me, the wind, the Sun, Spring, chose me.

If I were to be chosen,

I want to be chosen by the earth, by the universe, by the melted snow, and the dying flowers, and the cascading brush of ice and deep, coldest waters.

I wish the tallest mountain chose me. Or the regime of stalks and wheat, of rice-steps, and hawks in mid-flight.

I wish the winds chose me. And the bright, luminous cascades of the ethereal, burgeoning of life, and sound, and music, chasing me, hounding me. The invisible, and the real.

I wish,

I wish,

I wish…