Every semester, I fall into this ritual of blogging when assignments and finals are a day away, tempers are high and any less than 3 cups of coffee means you're not doing it right

(now I mostly just go on DotA and distract myself with buying wards and stacking camps)

Also, it keeps my mind off things.

I like having an outlet I can go to instead of sitting around for hours examining my feelings and beating myself up over.... stuff

Tip to cheer yourself up : 

1. Wake up one morning to the fattest birds and squirrels scuttling around the backyard

2. Buy a bunch of cheap bananas and bread (check the clearance shelf) and scatter bits of them on the ground

3. Make sure it's the right amount of distance from the window you'll be peeking from

4. Wait 30 minutes to 2 hours

(at one point there was at least 6 squirrels, but I couldn't get all of them in a picture)

I wish I could feed squirrels everyday....

I'm trying to make sense of things now,

So let me try this.

If it's 4 hours and 46 minutes in to Friday,
How much time do I have left?

If I eat a bar of Kit Kat every night before bed,
How many inches will be added to the circumference of my thighs by graduation day?

Now the tough part,

If I don't know how I feel,
How do I,

maybe I should start blogging again. 

who knows, it could lead to something besides me bottling up all my feelings and spewing it all out in the form of scaling acid. 

I'm so different now. That's all.

I'd never been good at taking in the big picture, which is fairly important when it comes to law assignments, I kinda grab different minor points and try to piece it all together without taking a step back to figure if it works.

feels like life.

perhaps

perhaps, when you first start a relationship with someone, you disregard the unsettling feeling the proximity between them and your heart brings, or the unfamiliarity your heart is trained to be wary of, you let them ease pieces of themselves into your heart even though sides scrape against each other and a portion of them are arranged in twisted angles, but you barely notice because with them, the process feels almost seamless in the beginning,

days, weeks, months of them, their good morning and good night texts, dinner dates and the view of the sunrise from beaches and highways, half-carried out plans and abandoned tv shows, and your heart kinda swallows up all these pieces and they're planted so inherently in you, they no longer pose as foreign objects.

and then when you leave, they leave, the pieces can't stay because they really are fuelled by consistency on both sides, so they just leave gaping holes all over your heart.

boo-hoo.

i can't sleep.

HMD

21 years ago, I had a crew cut and drooled perpetually.

I think that's all I have to say before this heads for the slippery slope of another cliche Happy Mother's Day post.

(she takes orders for roasted turkeys every Christmas, pastries too)

See, at least this post serves a purpose.

'What we would do without them, really.'

没人能把谁的幸福没收

 ：）

I could be that girl

I could be that girl, leaning eagerly over the dinner table at some fancy place, leaving my bite-sized appetisers untouched, and dainty silverware untainted for a recollection of your day, injected with puns and one-liner jokes

I could also be that girl, thankful for the flickering candlelight casting dancing shadows over both our faces, to conceal the slightest discomfort on mine, the itch to bring up an argument, so that if I time it just right, it all goes undetected.

I could be that girl, nodding to your enthusiasm after a midnight movie, beaming at you from my cup of hot chocolate before bedtime, sending you goodnight kisses from the front gate

I could also be that girl, at every other 2am and the hours after, telling myself that if sleep doesn't arrive, there's always daylight I can rely on.

I also could have saved on 17 ringgit,  500 calories and be asleep but they clearly missed out on my demand for a decaf (likewise my mind on self-control)

I wish I could write anonymously, or under a pseudonym, but then my article would probably drown under the other 900 '50 Things You Realise At The Age of 21' pieces on Elite Daily or Thoughtcatalog. That is even if I make it to that and don't end up answering to 'What's the best washing liquid out there??' on the 'Housekeeping Agonies Ask Aunt Annie' section of dusty magazines you find in the waiting room at the doctor's.

I think I should start a new Tumblr account.

Maybe there you'll know.

(JK. I have Land Law Assignment)

*,*

Do you like how everything is so prettily filtered on (most) Instagram accounts?

That a bruised knee and spilled bowl of cereal comes off as amusing with the addition of a witty caption and a few emoticons, that the picture of that couple with their fingers intertwined and looking into each other's eye adoringly almost like they're making a silent pact to be branded Couple Of The Year was posted when arguments were at the highest peak and it was done almost out of desperation to mitigate the anger, that the plate of French Toast doused in honey, glazed with cinnamon, adorned with strawberries sliced at a perfect angle never ever tastes quite as good and even if it does no one can quite handle that diabetic-inducing dish all on their own, that the tightest clique of friends only look up from their phones long enough at lunch dates to arrange themselves for a group photo,

What if, your words are exactly that. 

Pastries and sandwiches thrown haphazardly on a plate because it was my first meal of the day, bad picture but good day. 

So, I'd been listening to The Script's Six Degrees of Separation a lot.

I'm not highly sensitive (quite the contradictory actually lol)

Yes blue skies are a good sign if you plan on going for a hike, fluffy clouds, maybe not, oh really that wisp of cloud with a slightly red tinge in the far distance conjures up feelings of melancholy in you, does it remind you of that painting by that great Frenchman uh huh, if you're about to cry over some cloud, can we do it in Starbucks where it's air-conditioned??

JK.

But really, I wish I could be more appreciative over artwork (I will never spend on pieces with 5 digit price tags nopes I'm getting Instagram posts blown up along with captions and likes) and music (300 times on replay on Spotify and I wouldn't be able to identify the song or artist on the radio a few hours later)

(I think haikus are adorable though does that count)

(is it even legal to describe haikus as adorable?)

Anyway, had this particular song in my phone since I last synced it with iTunes (year 2013) and it never left a lasting impression until the past week.

Tone down the desperation here by a few degrees and maybe it's slightly relatable.

I think the word 'desperation' comes up at least 8 times here and I bet it's only because it rhymes with separation.  *moment of clarity

We all know what The Scripts are getting at, the broken-hearted, slowly but surely dying a painful heartbreak.

I don't know, if I were 17 again I'd roll my eyes and scorn and throw up a bit.

Maybe now, I have the tiniest bit of respect to not do so.

So I wrote this post because I spent quite a bit of my time analysing the lyrics to a song instead of articles related to my Criminal Law assignment.

if my assignment group mates happen to stumble upon this post I'm struggling 

JK.

Getting there. 

some sunset.

I sometimes think that the magnitude of my problems is so huge, even when it subsidies it should leave a deafening silence, a wasteland of rubble, barely any survivors, you know, on par with the aftermath of any natural disaster. Because that's how bad I regard them to be.

(my mum has mastered the perfect expression of a cross between amusement and indifference ever since I had panic attacks about my weight at the age of 12 - I was a few dress sizes below a UK 0 after ice-cream for dinner, and dinner was 3 times a night then and I was convinced that I was obese based on this ill-founded belief that the circumference of my thighs shouldn't increase from the age of 8 onwards)

(now I could substitute every meal for carrot sticks and I still balloon up enough to fit into clothes on the discount rack)

(and we allllll know what's left on the discount rack)

Or even if not to that exaggerated extent, I have expectations for the world to be slightly different, not the same traffic standstill in Subang (definitely not the 'WHY ISN'T LIFE STOPPING I AM DYING HERE' sort i envision), the exact same cats planting themselves at your front gate and greeting you with the same furious glares, the same struggle to strategically plant myself in a corner of the university's lift to avoid being smothered by backpacks and armpits.

I like to think that if your problems aren't so terrible as to sway the outside world even by the tiniest bit (humour me and pretend that this makes sense because my next line will blow you away)

it shouldn't stop you from picking yourself up and moving on.

If that isn't mind-blowing I hope the unfiltered picture below is

I once said 'I don't think I'd ever fully appreciated a sunrise because sunsets are all that matter, and it's a relief that the day is about to end'

(say it in this annoying squeaky humorous tone and it isn't even dark at all)

I'm getting through this phase.

:)

Got my double eyelid surgery for my left eye. When I'm done with law school I'll take on the right eye.

(shamelessly left this picture unfiltered)

i had one chipped nail

A week ago, I chipped a thumbnail when I was tearing at a clove of garlic. (Peeling would appear to be the more appropriate word but it was a battle between my fingernails clawing away at these seemingly thin layers of garlic skin, next time I'll consider googling tips on chopping up garlic)

It was a white jagged line, running dangerously close to the part where your thumb ends, and where your skin is most delicate and tender to touch.

I left it (to fate)(like how I do to too many things)

3 days later, I caught it on a loose thread from a top I was wearing. Then it was a folded edge from a a piece of paper. Then it got snared in the mess my bag contains when I was rummaging for my keys.

It split, halfway across my thumbnail. Still intact, but enough to make me wince and reach for a pair of nail clippers and snip at tiny bits of it half-heartedly.

I even have a grainy, badly taken picture for your viewing pleasure.

Earlier tonight, I was jabbing at a roll of toilet tissue and the remains of the jutted bit snapped and I had a bloodied thumb for the rest of the night.

So relieved now that it's (almost) all gone.

This is the story of the chipped nail I got rid of.

learn about anger

You should learn about anger,

That it starts off with you seething, and if you allow it enough time, it heats up to the right temperature, enough to leave you boiling, and all these words, settled at the bottom, heavy with hurt, they start bubbling right to the surface.

You should learn about anger,

That it starts off with you placed against a wall, watching a steel block inching towards you, and when the pressure builds up just right, adrenaline kicks in and you find yourself with the triple the strength to push away and break free

You should learn about anger,

That usually, when it ends, sadness and loneliness takes it's place.

__________________________________________________

Do I no longer know my worth.

This is one of those 17 year old moments when you clasp your hands to you face and dramatically exclaim that your life is ruined except that it isn't a joke anymore.

I cried. I cried so much. But I always do.

We talked. We talked a little. Like we sometimes do when troubles loom ahead of us. 

You left. You left too much behind. A wake of disaster the aftermath of an earthquake. 

So it does hurt as much as they say it does. 

i sincerely hope

I sincerely hope, for all relationships to start out as a tangled mess, a ball of wool all tightly intertwined and knotted, then, with a decent amount of time, a pair of patient hands, little sacrifices here and there, it would slowly unravel to form greater things.

I sincerely hope for this instead of the other way round.

The fact that I am (or my bf) is doing my personal statement a day before the deadline when I had a 3 months break = my personal statement. 

Jk. Or maybe not.

did she or did you

Did your mum ever warn you against plastering your bedroom wall with photographs?
She saw it coming didn't she, that you would one day decide to tear them down and when you do, and the little rectangular marks the tape leaves behind would always serve as an indication that the past cannot be scraped off

Did your mum ever warn you against slouching, did she gently nudge you in your side to stand upright with your shoulders rolled back instead?
Likewise, didn't she hammer in you this set of principles and prodded at you to always stand up for them

Did your mum ever warn you against smoking and too many McDonald's meal sets while counting on her fingers the various heart diseases they could bring?
Was that why she did all she could to shield you from heartbreaks and disappointments, she knew didn't she that the heart was just as susceptible to them as over processed meat and tobacco smoke

Did you listen.

(I haven't been writing for a while because my semester break (over the span of 3 months) has reduced my level of intelligence from 'barely coping with law school' to 'cashew nuts are good let's watch TV and have cashew nuts errrrrrrday hello there is that a slice of cake i see yum yum' and all that has to change now)

(Classes started today but I booked my flight ticket a little late)

I need to do better.

this makes me sad

a year ago.

A year ago, on the 13th of February, I was an hour (plus) late for a date.

Our (and also my) first date (in my life)

I think I'll stop right here.

Because a high degree of guilt is an inborn trait of mine, that night, I became his girlfriend to compensate for making him wait for an hour (plus) at a McDonald's Drive Thru. (you can only make a sundae cone last so long)

JK.

But he did send me this

Also, a year ago, he requested for a blog post about our date.

I said okay but I never did get around to it. Because that is the sort of person I am.

I think I'll stop right here too.

Happy One Year my favourite person and best friend.

most of the time it's a struggle to not give up on everything.

most of the time I want to stay in and sleep for a week straight but I can't even manage 3 hours of uninterrupted sleep.

most of the time I wish-

for things I'll never get.

my personal statement

for the past hour, my fingers have been lingering over the keyboard, occasionally clicking sounds can be heard, they start off hesitantly, pauses between words such as 'ambitious' 'career' and 'thought-provoking'', then forcefully as the delete button is punched at repeatedly

I cannot make myself accommodate such words to so effortlessly frame a lie depicting the person I am not.

I cannot do this personal statement.

If I didn't have an audience to impress, my personal statement would be a compilation of my daily tweets and a couple of my blog posts

- etc :

 1. I just really need a degree. After all I am in my second year and I am paying my fees and a string of Bs is decent right??? You have to take me in! *voice escalates 5 pitches higher
(me arguing on a case)

2. I wanted to write for a living. I suppose it was the peak of my unrealistic phase of attempting to be ambitious before settling for law. Of course I was 10 and into Enid Blyton.
(me on my ambition(s))

3. I wouldn't claim to be highly interested in politics but I would say a good 50% of my Facebook/Twitter friends are judging by the amount of 'Results from Anwar's case' and Sedition charges' posts I have to wade through on my newsfeed. Occasionally I click on them and skim through the contents. Admittedly only if more than 50 people share the same post and I resort to doing it out of curiosity.
(me if they insist on inquiring into my involvement in politics)

4. I do sympathise with the oppressed and victims of injustice. But really, last semester I had to draft an employment contract and brief a case on behalf of a disgruntled ex-employee and still, I stay silent when I don't get paid months after a job.
(me if they question me on my stand in fighting for women/children rights)

This personal statement will get me places.

I get so frustrated nowadays. Sometimes it happens between a 'Hi' and 'How are you'.

Maybe I'm just really bored with everything around me.

I'm only at page109/1318 of Murakami's 1Q84.

I should start writing better pieces instead of updating this whiny 12 year old's diary of a blog.

5

here are a few of my greatest feats today :

1. washed my hair under 25 minutes

(Truth - I was aiming for 45 minutes because I had nothing to do for the rest of the day but you can only shampoo and condition your hair along to Iggy's Work for so long before your arms start aching)

2. finished about 750ml of soy milk at 10pm

(Truth - It's 1am now and I finished the entire carton, thats 1litre which only sounds slightly more comforting than 1000ml)

3. am at episode 48 of The Empress of China

(Truth - I'm starting to have dreams in which everyone has porcelain like features and are dressed in robes and are adorned with head ornaments)

4. ate 4 bars of chocolate

(Truth - I don't even regret my actions)

5. managed 2 minutes of The Bold & The Bootiful Workout! by blogilates before shuddering and collapsing onto the couch

(Truth ^)


well that's it. I think 5 is a good number to stop at. No one adds 6 or 9 items to a list. The thought of it makes me twitch. Lists should always end at 5 or 10 or 20.

(Truth - 5 is all I have)

I think I'll start on my UCAS application and get my driving license sometime this week.

(Truth - Right now I have my hair pushed back, a face mask on, and am seated in a fairly unflattering position that manages to enhance both my double chin and the size of my thighs) 

Yes goodnight.

in real life

In real life, I am barely 5 feet 1. And I place much emphasis on the 1.

In real life, I have unruly hair that requires frequent wash & blow visits at the saloon.

In real life, I slur my words and my voice escalates to a higher pitch when I get excited.

In real life, I get excited a lot.

In real life, I would dash across a street oblivious of incoming vehicles to pet a puppy.

In real life, I squeal 'omg shit' a lot.

In real life, I spend 10 frustrated minutes jamming a key in the wrong direction before unlocking a door

In real life, I have an affinity for starting my sentences with 'hey do you wanna know about' and trail off with 'oh never mind's.

Would you like me in real life

I like cake.

Griffiths Cafe Pastries Project : Michelle's Kitchen 

Hello there. So I am no baker. Neither can I tell the difference between self-rising and all-purpose flour (even when the packaging is labelled with capitalised letters) But if there’s one thing I’m sure of is the making of a good dessert (Thank you Mum for the many years of cake tasting and cookie batter eating opportunities you granted to me) (Also I wake up to the smell of freshly baked pastries almost everyday)

No I’m not Michelle. (very obviously obvious*) and I don’t own a kitchen (yet or anytime soon). 

*sorry if my grammar made you cringe I really had to make a point

That’s all my Mum. I would sit her down for an interview but it’s 2.15AM now and the only time my Mum is awake at 2.15AM is because she has cakes/pies to be baked. Not even kidding. 

So for every dig you take into that slice of cake with your fork, every mouthful of the perfect balance of sweetness = pure passion 

(lol)

At this point I should be in shame of the addition of 'can't make a cake without making a wrong calculation of the weight of butter needed' to my long list of Melisa's incapabilities.

Don't worry. If you order a cake, I won't be making any measurements.

I just take a lot of photos. and blog. and eat a lot of cake.

 Mum and Holland Pie 

(if you noticed I don't do food descriptions because it's something I can't manage well usually I end up listing all the ingredients, etc upon biting into this pie you will discover blueberries, almonds, cream cheese...)

my Mum shouldn't know about the use of her photo on my social media accounts in fact she shouldn't know about any of my social media accounts kidding 

maybe I aspire to convert everyone into having a 80% cake diet.

I can tell that it's working.

Louie who once claimed ' Who would eat cake, cake is horrible, cake is not food' (yes till today I gasp in horror) had cake cravings a couple of days ago. 

There he was sitting on the couch, casually looking up and saying 'I feel like having cake'

*shiny eyes

*rubs hand in glee

Yes anyway. 

to join our cult

In case you happen to have such cravings *intense stare

contact us! 

Social Platforms :

Instagram @ michellekitchen_gf

Facebook Page @ http://www.facebook.com/michellekitchengf

Email @ michellekitchengf@outlook.com

Contact Number @ +60198188438

Goodnight ! 

*more intense staring

#AppreciationPost1

Once, in the midst of a conversation in the car,  Louie swivelled around -

(yes he manages to spin around in the driver's seat the same way one would in an office chair, also he is equipped with the talent of multitasking, etc - scrolling through Facebook, pinching both my cheeks, rapping to some nigger song, reading song lyrics, checking Waze and ignoring me, all while manoeuvring through a collection of vehicles, portholes and traffic lights)

(I might be exaggerating I might not be)

(He drives me everywhere since I have yet to attain the minimum degree of skills required to handle a car on my own on roads beyond the boundaries of my neighbourhood without being a liability to everyone else)

(in other words, I can't drive)

- and said : 'Do you know what you're really really really good at?' -

(he doesn't usually use a word thrice in a row so he must have really wanted to make a point)

- Me : '*rearranges facial expression to portray the right amount of abashment and delight in anticipation for the flow of compliments* Mhmmmmmm?'

Him : 'You're really really really good at......................... Instagram'

(I still find this amusing 4-5 months later)

I mostly Instagram the better bits of my life, on good hair days, pricey brunches, planned celebrations, array of cakes on display, smiley faces. Sometimes they're filtered so prettily, with all the right setting and lighting, perfect balance of contrasts of colours, they feel so irrelevant. 

The thing about you, is that in no way do I discount our downs. I can't add a fancily named filter to distract away from the flaws or blur out the blemishes. Can't crop out that bit you don't want in your picture. You just learn to stop emphasising on them and start accepting it all.

and it's not hard to do so when the ups outweighs everything else, and it's you.

p/s: this is from the girl who was adamant about turning into a spinster with 50 dogs because 'the whole relationship thing is a lie' and 'what is love if it's not cake'

You're so much better than cake and quesadillas *,*

Also you're my #AppreciationPost1

Hehehehehe. Sorry for the online PDA!