Dear whomsoever it may concern,

I’ve often heard that the best things in life cannot be kept. They must be passed on to another, one who needs it more than you do now.

There is never any doubt that the best things in life come and go; and yet we make absolute fools of ourselves, trying to hold onto that which was never ours to possess. The best things in life, they are borrowed.

They are borrowed until the need for them has passed and all that remains is an illusion of dependency and need; and the truth of love.

Love; a passionate, gentle and magical force that blooms from necessities placed deceivingly plain in our paths by something far beyond our comprehension.

Love, not the best things in life, makes a fool out of us; fools, whom we either laugh at in the mirror, not bitterly but fondly, or fools, who stare back at us through shards of shattered glass on the floor.

We have borrowed and made our own wonderful ‘thing’ and now we must return that which we borrowed in the first place. Over time, the borrowing and the returning become easier. Our own wonderful little things come into view much more rapidly than what we are letting go of.

Somehow, we know that things, good or bad, the best ones or the worst ones, happen so we can learn.

It’s all very difficult, but each time it becomes an easier kind of difficult. Eventually we smile.


Whomsoever it may concern, you have been a best thing in my life. I wish I could keep you. But since I can’t, I hope to borrow you again some day. 🙂


When I was silly.

Don’t we often feel the urge to do something completely spontaneous? Like perhaps, put on a little yellow dress and swirl about under the afternoon sun or rush into the MRT without a clue as to where you’re headed?

Maybe because the comfort of our routines make us numb, like too much medication or even too much cotton candy.

I set out to college today expecting… well, the expected. And I kind of got just that. And then on my way back, the sun decided “This girl, she’s had way too much ‘routine'”.

Peeking Sun

So there I was walking back to the MRT station, thinking of the warm bed that awaited my return, when the Sun peeked down at me from between the trees and said “You’re quite silly, you know, thinking of bed and all that sort of thing, on a wonderful day like this!”

“Enough! No more cosy little beds or blankets for you! Follow me, little one, for I can show you a world only few others have seen before.” “And today”, it said, “Today is a day for a most powerful sort of magic to be found. You shall be the one to do the finding.”

(Yes, when She talks, she talks funny. Of course, if you haven’t already guessed, She  happens to be Nature. )

You must note, here, that a wonderful place to see the sun and to follow its path happens to be Clark Quay. You can choose to follow the Sun in the sky (if you do not mind becoming blind after a while, that is) or you can settle for its gentler reflection on the surface of the water.

So I hopped onto the MRT at Little India and hopped off at Clark Quay.

I chose at first to follow it’s reflection. Broken bits of sunshine glistened on the surface of the water, like puzzle pieces, setting the river on peaceful fire. And buildings shrank in awe of that fire, to become little reflections flickering in the little puddles.

Little Structures.

While I stared at the fiery magic that engulfed the water, a pigeon happened to walk by. On seeing me stare so intently at the water, she laughed and said, “Silly girl. There are wonders all around you. One cannot hope to truly experience if one stares in just one direction. No, if magic must be experienced, it must be experienced in all directions of its existence.”

My new friend, the pigeon.

And with that the pigeon walked a bit further before spreading her wings and soaring off into the sky.

I watched her climb higher into what I can only describe as a twister of light, clouds and sunshine in the sky.

They say that magic can be found… if you follow the sun. 🙂

The Twister in the sky.

How to spend your birthday alone.

HaaaEEEE! 🙂

Today is my birthday and, unfortunately for me, I am alone. And as sad as this sounds, noh, it’s actually not very sad; i.e once you get past the fact that it’s an unfortunate or depressing thing to be alone.

It was depressing at first. Really. I had only the voices of my friends and family to cheer me up, no birthday presents sent from far away, no surprises at my doorstep, no birthday cake.

But the thing is once your done dwelling on the negative and the unfairness, you realize that the lack of justice in the world gives rise to many many wonderful opportunities*. And by the time you’re done with the day, you’ve found the superhero in you and justice prevails.

Sure, it was the people, the presents, the surprises, the things people did to make you happy that kept you happy and made you feel a little more special than usual. But deep down you know that every birthday you’ve spent on this earth was a gift in itself and, even if some birthdays seemed like a struggle, it was always YOU that made you feel more than special. YOU woke up in the morning with a smile on your face, YOU shivered in delight as you walked down the stairs, YOU conjured up that glow inside of yourself every birthday and YOU, my friend, wished on the stars with the confirmed notion that those wishes would really come true. A lot of people said they wouldn’t but YOU believed in the magic of birthdays, YOU BELIEVED.

And it didn’t take anyone but yourself to do it.

Birthdays are the most magical and special days of people’s lives. Every birthday is a reminder that you’re alive. You have the chance to smell the sky (even if it does smell of excess oil and chinese food courts) and bathe yourself in sunshine. You have the chance to feel, to express and to experience the beauty of life around you. It’s a day to be thankful, because no matter how deep a gutter you’re in, you’re still alive and that gives you the chance to do what you need to do, to say what you need to say, to feel what you need to feel and to find happiness. It gives you a chance to be ALIVE.

It wasn’t so bad, this birthday. My friend told me, even before the day began, that this would be a learning experience.

Nope, I didn’t learn how to spend a birthday ALONE. I was surrounded by life. Even if the birthday wishes came from the internet and from phone calls, they still came. Even though the surprises and the presents were blogs and videos, they came. They weren’t physical objects I could touch but they touched me. They made me smile, laugh and giggle. They picked me up.

I didn’t learn to spend a birthday alone because I learnt how to spend a birthday differently. Differently from most normal birthdays.

The other thing that made my day by the way, was the fact that I visited the zoo, yes on my own. I GOT A FREE PASS! BECAUSE IT WAS MY BIRTHDAY! AND A BADGE! AND FREE ICE-CREAM AND DISCOUNT IN THE ZOO SHOP( which I didn’t use :p).


Wild Birthday Badge!

Thank you, Krishna. For the blog, for the time, for the artwork, for you. For being my PORILLA BEAR. 🙂

Thank you Annie, for being the irritating bugger that you were last night and picking me up. Thanks for being a bit of a jackass and you are getting yourself beaten up by a little girl when I visit in December. Be prepared. 😉

*Yes, Annie, I stole that line from our inboxes. BECAUSE I LIKED IT. Because I have ownership over it. Pooh.

Thank you Ankur, Arshiii (SHA SHA), Kiki and Annie, for the video. YES IT MADE ME LAUGH MY FACE OFF XD.


Happy Birthday to me! 🙂

And anyone else who’s birthday it is! 🙂


It’s blue and vast and it separates us.

Phone calls used to end with smiles. They used to end with smiles.

They used to end with us holding our phones against our chests and smiling. There would be days when those smiles would fade into laughter at silly yet meaningful conversations which would then fade into deep thoughts and … smiles.

Life never stopped moving. The funny little roller-coasters on which we were seated met somewhere along the way, shared tracks and moved along together. We stretched out our hands slowly and tentatively to embrace something new, something we knew existed but had never experienced. Perhaps, something we might have expected or hoped for. Or wished for?

The tracks took us up, took us down and took us in little hoops too. Along the way, we were joined by other roller-coasters and those that were already with us slowed down and sped up. We went this way and that way and as long as we were on the same tracks we always knew how to find each other. When the sun set into a roller-coaster low, we would raise the tracks to the sky, with what magic we possessed together. It’s a powerful kind of magic. The kind that lone stars shine for. The kind that makes the light around the moon do funny things. The kind that makes the wind soft and warm. The kind of magic… that sets your roller coaster aglow.

And when the tracks dived into water we were two specks floating in it. “You’re that speck in the water and I’m that speck in the water… we’ll always be together.”

And then life moved on, onto new tracks. Two separate tracks. Your hand seems very far away now. And it has become harder to find you in this new mess.

We call it distance. The volume of water has suddenly increased. I find myself slowly drowning.

When the sun sets on a roller-coaster low, there isn’t enough magic in me to raise up the tracks into the sky, nor enough strength to hold myself above the surface. When I try, somewhere along the way the pillars break and it seems harder now to lift them back up again. I’m only one, a little one.

There are times when we still reach out, shout over the noise of our roller-coaster wheels against the tracks and perhaps there is a chance of a smile. But friction and speed pull us further away. There is frustration in your voice and hopelessness in mine.

Touching your hand would make it all better. It would set the tracks aglow and we’d raise them up higher to the stars.

The little pond has grown into an ocean and the two specks, though still connected, find themselves floating away.

Phone calls, now, don’t always end in smiles.

And I almost never see your smiling face.

I cannot touch your hand.

You and Me.

Little India.


Less words, more pics.

My class. Class AAT1A.


Little birds.

Shy ones.



And just as we were leaving, magic happened.

Magic golden sunshine.

PS. I got a new cammy, 😉 Promise to upload some pics soon. 🙂

Bai now. 🙂

Arab Street.


Only one way up.

I really do wish I could say that! And I really do wish I was chillin’ in Hawaii rather than working 22 hours a day in Singapore. Oh, when I say working, I don’t mean that I’m employed. Nope, I work for free, for my own benefit. In fact, I pay to work. Epic, isn’t it?

Ah, the life of a college student. To be more precise (as Thomson and Thompson would say) the life of an Arts student.

But I do feel proud of being able to call myself an Arts student. 🙂 But I’ straying from the main topic, aren’t I? The main topic being… *dun dun duuuhhnn* Arab Street in Singapore.

For those expecting a factual description or an emotional ‘oh-fak-I-was-so-wowed’, I’m sorry.

Yes, I was wowed. But that is besides the point.

There was only one thing that made any sense to me on that day. Everything else is, quite honestly, a (as the singaporeans say) BLUR. OMG lah! Everything so BLUR!

The one thing I constantly do on visiting a new place is to breathe in the air, the sights, the sounds and try to dissolve myself into the story of the location. When you visit Arab Street, however, you realize that you cannot drown yourself in a single story that makes that place. You cannot breathe in a single smell or one sound. There are a multitude of sounds and sights that do not make any sense put together. Rather, they strive to be heard or seen or EXPERIENCED over one another. Arab Street is a vast sea of stories, of emotions, of guttural languages and smooth dialects,  of smells that scream mixes of cultures that can and cannot be identified and of sights that implore at passerby’s to contemplate the extent of its antiquity.

Arab Street is like one of those albums that ,when heard continuously, does not make any sense whatsoever. You cannot listen to one song and believe you know what comes next, or even claim that they are connected.

Arab Street was a realization. There in those cramped little streets, hundreds of people with dreams were looking upward. They had their own stories to tell. Some stories that held them down, some that set them free. There, in a small part of an island country, hundreds of people were all looking upward toward something more, or something better.

I am one of those gazzilion people around the world who claims to look up. Because I want something more than just me? Because I want something more than what I already have? Because I dream?

But I’ve realized something. Looking up only pulled my head deep into the clouds. And yet I can’t look down, lest in doing so I might just end up pulling myself to place where there is no hope.

So shall I look forward? Straight ahead? I am one of a gazzilion people. But I look ahead.

And in doing so will I light up the world with the tiny little pieces of me(art) that I leave behind? I know I have all the potential to be anywhere I want to be.

I’ve lost you, haven’t I? 😉