Dancing to the backdrop of a slow descending grey


Found this picture which reminds me of how I was when I was young (but obviously this kid is so much cuter, thinner, and prettier than I was), in leotards + black tights and pink  ballet shoes, (ribbons/bows in my hair because mummy loves them on my hair), stretching in chinese dance class.

I miss being 4 years old, stumbling my way through basics, with all the other kids. I miss the days my mom/dad used to take me to classes on Sundays and seeing their faces the moment I emerge from the cherrywood classroom, tired and sometimes upset at not being as good as the best, attributed to being less flexible. My parents would say it’s okay, try harder, practice more.

I miss the insomniac days when I would stay up till 3+ in the morning because I was too nervous about performing to the crowd, and my mum would sit me down, ask if I even want to perform (I remember her scoldings, that I shouldn’t even want to perform if I get so high-strung).

I miss my dance performances in Victoria and Kallang theatre, (once, we danced to super high pitched music, and we all played the role of ducklings that turned to swans in the pond…oldest and best dance memory). Mummy did my makeup, hair and everything, saying I had to look perfect for the stage. I’d tear and squirm away as she tried to draw my eyeliner. (Then I reflect on how she always says I have too much makeup on these days…who made me this way??)

Most of all, I miss being a kid and being extremely excited about sharing my dancing experience with my parents. They don’t seem to understand; they tried their best to make it to shows in the past, but I know that they would rather I stayed in chinese dance or something more traditional and down to earth, less in-your-face.

I really appreciate my parents for everything, even if I don’t say it.
Sometimes I wish that the best and lingering image they have of me isn’t the horrid teenager I was or the daughter who treats her home like just another hotel room, but the pure and innocent 4 year old struggling through dance class.

carcassonne & citadel

When I get a 3-day-off,
I’m catching the next flight to Paris.
After being home for 2 whole days, it’s too hot and stuffy.


Perks of being sick consists of reading in bed all day and night.
I’m barely three-quarters through the 700-page novel,
and already am a newly converted Kate Mosse fan.

Kate Mosse’s Citadel painted this mysterious, though time-slip fictional, picture of Carcassonne,
complete with a load of other names I can’t for the life of me pronounce
(Languedoc, l’Oredora, Audric Baillard, Raoul Pelletier).
That aside, it’s the passionate bittersweet victory that consumes me,
the miniscule triumph of small-town Parisians/French against the all-engulfing Hitler and Nazi German,
complete with a supernatural ghost army summoned by the monk’s heretical Codex verses.
Intertwined with love-at-first-sight and war memoirs we’d never get tired of hearing.
A real lose-yourself tale to remind the modern man of ancient struggles and courage.

keeping passion at bay (or surrendering blindly to it)

“Passion makes a person stop eating, sleeping, working, feeling at peace.
A lot of people are frightened because, when it appears,
it demolishes all the old things it finds in its path.

No one wants their life thrown into chaos.
That is why a lot of people keep that threat under control,
and are somehow capable of sustaining a house or a structure that is already rotten.
They are the engineers of the superseded.

Other people think exactly the opposite:
they surrender themselves without a second thought,
hoping to find in passion the solutions to all their problems.
They make the other person responsible for their happiness
and blame them for their possible unhappiness.
They are either euphoric because something marvelous has happened
or depressed because something unexpected has just ruined everything.

Keeping passion at bay or surrendering blindly to it –
which of these two attitudes is the least destructive?

I don’t know.”
― Paulo Coelho,
Eleven Minutes

the modern gothic

sagrada familia
The Basílica y Templo Expiatorio de la Sagrada Familia
(Basilica and Expiatory Church of the Holy Family),
better known as Sagrada Familia.

sagrada 2
Roman Catholic church in Barcelona, Catalonia.
Magnum opus of Antoni Gaudi,
God’s Architect.


Viewing it from different compass points gives you a distinct feel of the buildings’ elements,
its Nativity Façade (east), Passion Façade (west), Glory Façade (south)

Probably every girl who has ever read Dracula in all its glory
would appreciate gothic buildings from its finer days.
Transylvanian castles, anyone?


take a holiday from reality whenever you like

“Actual happiness always looks pretty squalid
in comparison with the overcompensations for misery.
And, of course, stability isn’t nearly so spectacular as instability.
And being contented has none of the glamour of a good fight against misfortune,
none of the picturesqueness of a struggle with temptation,
or a fatal overthrow by passion or doubt.
Happiness is never grand.”

― Aldous HuxleyBrave New World


fragile things

“She seems so cool, so focused, so quiet,
yet her eyes remain fixed upon the horizon.
You think you know all there is to know about her immediately upon meeting her,
but everything you think you know is wrong.
Passion flows through her like a river of blood.



She only looked away for a moment, and the mask slipped, and you fell.
All your tomorrows start here.”

– Neil Gaiman