this ride home

So, on this particular plane ride home, I decided to start a series of appreciation posts. 

No time constraints, no limitations on the number of posts, no specifically required content because I shrivel at the thought of deadlines (I have enough of them in law school on a regular day I sit in a corner 3 times a day and wilt in a highly unappealing manner) 

Also, I like to stave off work because I indulge in the thrills and adrenaline rushes from scrambling to hand in an assignment due in 5 minutes (truth)

So, appreciation posts they are. 

They'll be 

1. Detailed. Eg : An entire post wouldn't be dedicated to 'food' but 'Raja Uda Tomyam Noodles' / 'ItemC4 from Zhia's Kitchen'

2. Done in no particular order. Eg : #Appreciationpost1 wouldn't necessarily be of more importance than #Appreciationpost58 (assuming I even hit that number)

I ran out of things to add. 

I'd been home the entire day.

Nothing. Just. (probably against his will) promoting   Louie Ong's blog.

He definitely rocks this blogsphere/blogmosphere (???) more than I do.

 Hahahahahahahahahahahaha.

 Nothing. I need new glasses that's all. 

Ok. I'm dealing with my assignment(s) (?????) tomorrow.

Why am I so lost.

Need to get my sh_t together.

(?)

I wonder where I'm going with this blog.

This space, no longer has the need to be filled with over-edited pictures because Instagram caters for that department.

 I don't do reviews. Not on cafes, not on the RM2 latte I had at Thirdwave a week ago, or the Porky Pancake I had for brunch today (honey and bacon who knew right?).

I struggle to search for adjectives because, food is, well food.

Shocker coming from me because I used to come off as a food enthusiastic.

Maybe hostel life has weaned me off the idea of the need for 2 proper meals in a day and eating has transpired to survival? I don't know really. I still like waking up to freshly baked pies everyday, pasta cooked al dente and a constant supply of greek yogurt at home. But here, living on my own I also like picking out groceries and coming up with dishes (that ideally takes under 15 minutes, requires minimum usage of dishware and ingredients - to every student out there the microwave is your saving grace the trick is to drink an extra liter of water to cancel out all the radiation).

right.

I don't do 'daily life' too. It's so........mundane. And if I did, I would inevitably have to insert my opinions on places I go to which I don't like doing.

Eg : Today I went to map's. Everything had bits/slices of bacon in it. It was good. Price was decent.

Eg : Yesterday I forgot what I did. But I broke a plate by bending it. I wish someone was there to witness it.

I could do 'About Me' posts. But there's only so much I'm revealing here (which happens to be a whole lot more than what normal standards deem appropriate)

If you have read every word, I feel obligated to reward you with a picture of my Porky Pancakes.

(at this point I have been distractedly scrolling through my photo gallery and have since then abandoned this post for 40 minutes)

(I HAVE SO MANY PICTURES OF FOOD???)

(no really it's more alarming than gratifying)

(this post is gravitating towards being Melisa's meals centered)

Also rewarding you with a picture of the sunset. Haven't seen pretty skies in awhile now. 

My point here is, like this blog, I'm not quite sure where I'm going in life. 

But it's okay. 

Maybe that explains the look of exasperation I constantly have. 

can we not talk about feelings.

The ability, to snap your fingers, and have your feelings stripped away, might be a superhero power on it's own.

You would have no qualms addressing a crowd of strangers. Hindrance that settled around you in a cloud of fear and anxiety, for your chances of happiness being squandered, it dissipates. You do the things they have long held you back from. You say the things you think fitting.

This facade you put on, it could quell panic, it could soothe the distressed, it could eliminate grief, no emotional interference on your own part, a perfectly mastered mask, facial muscles in place to comfort, to appease.

This elimination of feelings, it might work.

Sometimes, I feel, so much, almost as if every cell, every nerve, thrives on emotions. Excitement channeled fervently through my bloodstream, an increase in heartbeat fueled by laughter, relishing in affection.

Then there's the surge of white-hot anger burning through my veins, the acidic taste of bitterness on my tongue, the swell at the back of my throat only distress can bring about.

I wonder if one day, these feelings, at the intensity they billow out, would send my body into a muddle, and it decides it no longer has the mechanism, no longer wants to process, all my complications no longer has any alternatives, but to shut them all out.

I wonder if I'll like it that way.

-my 4am thoughts.

your words.

Words,

you fancy them up like a newborn baby girl in a bonnet adorned with lace and ribbons, she chuckles, you look at her, your heart swells and spills over, and you want to hold her in your arms and wish the best for her.

Words,

you inject this thrill into them, like a toddler the very first time he experiences rain, the magical appearance of droplets of water, the very first time he learns how to crawl, and it irrevocably changes him and it's all he wants to do

Words,

you tire them out, a high schooler who knows she doesn't quite fit in, and when she tries, a tight silence places a noose around her neck, every try is a struggle, every struggle brings about clenches stronger than the last, so she stops.

Words,

you fritter them away, a college student who doesn't quite know what he wants, he goes through life, he does what's required, he says the right things, but he doesn't feel.

I'll tell you this.

Words, are words, so much they can do.

Either the world. Or close to nothing.

my day.

I don't blog about 'my day'. I don't even recall the events in a day during Skype calls. I just don't.

Its 4pm. My feet is propped up on a pillow. Vampire Weekend is on replay. Air-con and the rain caters for the perfect nap.

I'm blogging about my day.

10.20 am: Jolts awake from a succession of nightmares. 5 to be precise.

10.26am: Tweets about nightmare

11.40am: Realizes I don't have a blazer. My formal blouse needs to be ironed. Zipper on my skirt doesn't work. And class is in 20 minutes.

12.01pm: Leaves the house.

12:02pm: Regrets.

12:03pm: Returns and switches from heels to flip flops. Stuffs heels into paper bag.

12:07pm: Walks across campus. Heat is unbearable. Sweats profusely. About 60 students clamoring outside a lecture hall. They take up the entire walkway. Explodes on the inside. Perspires on the outside.

12:08pm: Decides to avoid students. Uses the stairs.

12.10pm: Reaches 4th floor. Block D. Realizes class has always been in Block E.

12.11pm: Gives up. Squeezes past students. Waits for lift.

12:14pm: Waits for lift. Many other students waiting for lift. Sweat trickling down my forehead.

12:15pm: Grabs tissues from the restroom.

12:16pm: Waits for lift.

12:20pm: Reaches class. Realizes the dress code is smart casual. Not white blouse tucked in pencil skirt and killer heels formal.

1:32pm: Heads off for interview with accreditation board.

1:40pm: Sees everyone in casual clothes.

2:07pm: Dean starts ........................................ talking

2:17pm: Tweets about my unwashed hair.

2:20pm: Thunder starts rumbling in the distance.

2:22pm: Finds out I'm not needed for the interview.

2:23pm: Rushes off.

2:24pm: In the lift. Prays for the rain to hold off till I get home.

2:25pm: Attempts to run in heels. On an uneven pavement. Trips in the most horribly embarrassing manner.

2:26pm: Changes from heels to flip flops. Heels has these tiny straps with buckles.

2:30pm: So far 782541 people have witnessed me in my appalling state. Still attempting to remove heels while standing upright.

2:31pm: Ignores throbbing ankle and bleeding knee. And that my skirt has shifted into this weird position. And that half of my hair has escaped from the bun and covers half my face.

2:32pm: Hobbles home.

2:33pm: It rains. So heavily.

2:35pm: I get home

This is why 'my day' does not make it as blogging material.

My anger lasted till 4pm. I'm okay now. I had fried chicken. Hahahahaha. And my boyfriend Skyped me. Which is better than fried chicken. I just had to mention fried chicken first.

Sometimes, my dad looks at me scuttling around panicking and knocking over stationary items shakes his head and tells me I remind him of a cartoon character.

I laughed so hard at this.

Sorry. I'm not very interesting. I think I used to be slightly more than I am now.

Bye!

with age comes.

An upset,

5 year old you would scoop chocolate ice-cream out of the tub by the fistful and out of spite, leave smears on the couch.

11 year old you would throw tantrums, and you would make certain that with the severity of their outrageousness, for ripples of tremors to run through the house in a way even slammed doors, raised voices and a thunderstorm combined wouldn't achieve.

14 year old you would reciprocate by throwing up a middle finger and cast baleful glares while uttering profanities under your breath. 

16 year old you would sit, tight-lipped and unrelenting, radiating disapproval while conjuring up walls, solid and unforgiving for all it's transparency, the perfect barricade against justifications.

20 year old you cries effortlessly. 

I like being 20.