everyone keeps going on about how i should never do things that i will regret later on, but...how will i know that i will regret it since i am obviously not professor trelawney?!
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Sometimes you wake up. Sometimes the fall kills you.
sometimes, when you fall, you fly.
12 April 2012 @ 10:33 pm
nah, a little doodling from yesterday! i give up, drawing is not my talent! (although i did see some pretty awesome drawings/designs on tumblr, perhaps i would try them after exams! in fact, i love drawings of...birdcages! so vintage, i havent tried any myself, but maybe i would.)
a picture taken from one of my notebooks (i think?) which i edited and all! i feel like eating pancakes all of a sudden, i know its not sunday today, but i always imagined that everyone always eats pancakes on sundays only! okay i dont know, i have tuition on sunday mornings. perhaps i should try photography next!
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packed + cleaned my room and arranged all my study materials today. for the past year or so, i sort of forgot my macbook was actually white, but now its clean again (:
10 April 2012 @ 12:58 am
me: oh shit i just realised that the best group presentation will be selected by the audience, not prof!
cherie: oh no, then how! i think im going to be boring!
esther: im going to bring beer for the entire LT tmr, they will HAVE to vote for us!
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i need to be appreciative for all the small little things that make my days awesome <3
cherie: oh no, then how! i think im going to be boring!
esther: im going to bring beer for the entire LT tmr, they will HAVE to vote for us!
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i need to be appreciative for all the small little things that make my days awesome <3
06 April 2012 @ 02:12 pm
i dont always use instagram, but here's a pretty picture for one of the best nights i had in a long time. food exploring + squatting by the road to eat ice cream <3 i think its heartening and yet slightly daunting to know someone for so long, and for that person to know you for so long too. its like...you have a part of me with you (no, not like a horcrux) and this makes me feel vulnerable and safe at the same time? vulnerable because i know you can leave and disappear anytime, and safe because i know you wont. am i making sense? okay nevermind.
recently i've been missing some people whom i used to be really close to. i kept thinking about where it all went wrong, how can we go from meeting daily to...not meeting at all? should i have tried harder? is it too late for me to try now? what if you are not missing me at all? or what if...you know that im missing you, but you dont care?
relationships can be so fleeting and fragile sometimes. next time, i will leave before i get left behind.
06 April 2012 @ 01:54 am
23 March 2012 @ 08:14 pm
was supposed to stay home and chiong finish all the work that i have, but look what i ended up doing! ): i know most people doodle for fun/because they are bored, but...i get so stressed while drawing! someone once commented about how careful i am when i draw, but really, i am just really scared to go wrong. even if theres no right or wrong? even if im just drawing on some rough paper, i will practice on another rough paper first before actually starting, and even then my strokes are very careful and...slow. how to be a nathanhartono like that?
okay, i really do enjoy drawing even if im not good at it, i just like to use that particular black pen of mine! when i learn how to use photoshop i will rule the world with it.
move on to photography! my dad has tons of photography books that ive always been dying to read, but i guess i just never got down to doing it ): well, if i dont get an internship this summer i will pick up photography, for real okay! anyway i discovered a new function in my phone's camera, so i was playing around a litte bit!
the two things that im currently addicted to <3
okay, abrupt end, have to finish my part of the ge3239 report now! why do most people start blaming the government for things that nobody can control?!
26 February 2012 @ 01:28 pm
"I have the choice of being constantly active and happy or introspectively passive and sad. Or I can go mad by ricocheting in between." ~Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath.
thats about...pretty much how i should feel. or how im feeling now. or how i want to feel. even though i have yet to find the things that make me happy, at least i now know that i dont want to be sad, and really, since it is obviously none of my business, then there is no reason for me to get involved. or get angry. or get all disappointed.
on a lighter (perhaps my brother would think otherwise though!) note, my brother thinks there is a bomb in our house because he heard this unknown buzzing sound late last night, which miraculously disappeared when i went to investigate with him HAHAHA
"THE MICROWAVE IS GOING TO EXPLODE!!!!"
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perhaps i should go take a quick nap, didnt manage to sleep all the way till 5am and I DIDNT FINISH MY READINGS!
thats about...pretty much how i should feel. or how im feeling now. or how i want to feel. even though i have yet to find the things that make me happy, at least i now know that i dont want to be sad, and really, since it is obviously none of my business, then there is no reason for me to get involved. or get angry. or get all disappointed.
on a lighter (perhaps my brother would think otherwise though!) note, my brother thinks there is a bomb in our house because he heard this unknown buzzing sound late last night, which miraculously disappeared when i went to investigate with him HAHAHA
"THE MICROWAVE IS GOING TO EXPLODE!!!!"
-
perhaps i should go take a quick nap, didnt manage to sleep all the way till 5am and I DIDNT FINISH MY READINGS!
24 February 2012 @ 05:12 pm
reblogged a really cute picture from tumblr earlier on, so i decided to do one on my own too :D the lion is not very cute, next time then i draw cuter ones okay! i also want to have a talent/pick up a new hobby! (not that i actually know what my old hobby was, i guess i never actually had one?) i always do these kind of things (drawing, tumblr-ing, blogging, sleeping) when i actually have REAL WORK to do -.- (i'm very inspired by nathanhartono's tumblr haha)
i used to like writing letters + making stuff for people in the past, and i guess i still like to do it now, just that now i have no one to write to anymore.
things WILL get better, i just know it (: everyone thinks i talk a lot (i myself also think so haha) but i dont usually let down all my defenses and share what i am really feeling or going through with others, so yes, thank goodness for fantastic friends <3
21 February 2012 @ 09:31 pm
“Girls are taught a lot of stuff growing up. If a guy punches you, he likes you. Never try to trim your own bangs and someday you will meet a wonderful guy and get your very own happy ending. Every movie we see, every story we're told implores us to wait for it, the third act twist, the unexpected declaration of love, the exception to the rule. But sometimes we're so focused on finding our happy ending we don't learn how to read the signs. How to tell from the ones who want us and the ones who don't, the ones who will stay and the ones who will leave. And maybe a happy ending doesn't include a guy, maybe... it's you, on your own, picking up the pieces and starting over, freeing yourself up for something better in the future. Maybe the happy ending is... just... moving on. Or maybe the happy ending is this, knowing after all the unreturned phone calls, broken-hearts, through the blunders and misread signals, through all the pain and embarrassment...you never gave up hope.”
― He's Just Not That Into You
― He's Just Not That Into You
20 February 2012 @ 01:25 am
THE PILLOWMAN
Once upon a time there was a man, who did not look like normal men. He was about nine feet tall and he was all made up of these fluffy pink pillows: his arms where pillows and his legs where pillows and his body was a pillow; his fingers where tiny little pillows, even his head was a pillow, a big round pillow. His head was a circular pillow. And on his head he had two button eyes and a big smiley mouth which was always smiling, so you could always see his teeth, which were also pillows. Little white pillows. Well the Pillowman had to look like this, he had to look soft and safe, because of his job, because his job was a very sad and a very difficult one. Whenever a man or a lady was very very sad because they’d had a dreadful and hard life and they just wanted to end it all, they just wanted to take their own lives and take all the pain away, well, just as they where about to do it, by razor, or by bullet, or by gas or…Yes.
By whatever preferred method of suicide – ‘preferred’s probably the wrong word, but anyway, just as that person was about to do it, the Pillowman would go to them, and sit with them, and gently hold them, and he’d say, ‘Hold on a minute,’ and time would slow strangely, and as time slowed, the Pillowman would go back in time to when that man or that lady was just a little boy or a little girl, to when the life of horror they were to lead hadn’t quite yet begun, and the Pillowman’s job was to get that child to kill themselves, and so avoid the years of pain that would just end up in the same place for them anyway: facing an oven, facing a shotgun, facing a lake.
‘But I’ve never heard of a small child killing themselves,’ you might say. Well, the Pillowman would always suggest they do it in away that would just look like a tragic accident: he’d show them the bottle of pills that looked just like sweeties; he’d show them the place on the river where the ice was too thin; he’d show them the parked cars that it was very dangerous to dart out between; he’d show them the plastic bag with no breathing holes, and exactly how to tighten it. Because mummies and daddies always find it easier to come to terms with a five-year-old lost in a tragic accident than they do with a five-year-old who has seen how shitty life is and taken action to avoid it. Now, not all the children would go along with the Pillowman. There was one little girl, a happy little thing, who just wouldn’t believe the Pillowman when he told her that life could be awful and her life would be, and she sent him away, and he went away crying, crying big gloopy tears that made puddles this big, and the next night there was another knock on her bedroom door, and she said, ‘Go away, Pillowman. I’ve told you, I’m happy. I’ve always been happy and I’ll always be happy.’ But it wasn’t the Pillowman. It was another man. And her mummy wasn’t home, and she soon became very very sad, and as she sat in front of the oven when she was twenty-one she said to the Pillowman, ‘Why didn’t you tried to convince me?’ And the Pillowman said, ‘I tried to convince you, but you where just too happy.’ And as she turned on the gas as high as it would go she said, ‘But I’ve never been happy. I’ve never been happy.’
Well…the end of the Pillowman…the end of the Pillowman…See, when the Pillowmanwas successful in his work, a little child would die horrifically. And when the Pillowman was unsuccessful, a little child would have a horrific life, grow into an adult who’d also have a horrific life, and then die horrifically. So, the Pillowman, as big as he was and as fluffy as he was, he’d just go around crying all day long, his house’d be just puddles everywhere, so he decided to do just one final job and that’d be it. So he went to this place beside this pretty stream that he remembered from a time before… And he brought a little can of petrol with him, and there was this old weeping willow tree there,and he went under it and he sat and he waited there a while, and there were all this little toys under there and…there was a little caravan nearby, and the Pillowman heard the door open and little footsteps come out, and he heard a little boy’s voice say, ‘I’m just going to play, Mum,’ and the Mum said, ‘Well don’t be late for your tea, son.’ ‘I won’t be, Mum.’ And the Pillowman heard the little footsteps get closer and the branches of the willow tree parted and it wasn’t a little boy at all, it was a little Pillowboy, and they both played with the toys for a while…
And the Pillowman told him all about his sad job and the dead kids and all of that type of stuff, and the little Pillowboy understood instantly ‘cos he was such a happy little fella and all he ever wanted to do was to be able to help people, and he poured the can of petrol all over himself and his smiley mouth was still smiling, and the Pillowman, through his gloopy tears, said, ‘Thank you,’ to the Pillowboy, and the Pillowboy said ‘That’s alright, would you tell my mummy I won’t be having my tea tonight,‘ and the Pillowman said, ‘Yes, I will,’ Lying, and the Pillowboy struck a match, and the Pillowman sat there watching him burn, and as the Pillowman gently started to fade away, the last thing he saw was the Pillowboy’s happy smiley mouth as it slowly melted away, stinking into nothingness.
That was the last thing he saw. The last thing he heard was something he hadn’t even contemplated. The last thing he heard was the screams of the hundred thousand children he’d helped to commit suicide coming back to life and going on to lead the cold, wretched lives that where destined to them because he hadn’t been around to prevent them, right on up t the screams of their sad self-inflected deaths, which this time, of course, would be conducted entirely alone.
Once upon a time there was a man, who did not look like normal men. He was about nine feet tall and he was all made up of these fluffy pink pillows: his arms where pillows and his legs where pillows and his body was a pillow; his fingers where tiny little pillows, even his head was a pillow, a big round pillow. His head was a circular pillow. And on his head he had two button eyes and a big smiley mouth which was always smiling, so you could always see his teeth, which were also pillows. Little white pillows. Well the Pillowman had to look like this, he had to look soft and safe, because of his job, because his job was a very sad and a very difficult one. Whenever a man or a lady was very very sad because they’d had a dreadful and hard life and they just wanted to end it all, they just wanted to take their own lives and take all the pain away, well, just as they where about to do it, by razor, or by bullet, or by gas or…Yes.
By whatever preferred method of suicide – ‘preferred’s probably the wrong word, but anyway, just as that person was about to do it, the Pillowman would go to them, and sit with them, and gently hold them, and he’d say, ‘Hold on a minute,’ and time would slow strangely, and as time slowed, the Pillowman would go back in time to when that man or that lady was just a little boy or a little girl, to when the life of horror they were to lead hadn’t quite yet begun, and the Pillowman’s job was to get that child to kill themselves, and so avoid the years of pain that would just end up in the same place for them anyway: facing an oven, facing a shotgun, facing a lake.
‘But I’ve never heard of a small child killing themselves,’ you might say. Well, the Pillowman would always suggest they do it in away that would just look like a tragic accident: he’d show them the bottle of pills that looked just like sweeties; he’d show them the place on the river where the ice was too thin; he’d show them the parked cars that it was very dangerous to dart out between; he’d show them the plastic bag with no breathing holes, and exactly how to tighten it. Because mummies and daddies always find it easier to come to terms with a five-year-old lost in a tragic accident than they do with a five-year-old who has seen how shitty life is and taken action to avoid it. Now, not all the children would go along with the Pillowman. There was one little girl, a happy little thing, who just wouldn’t believe the Pillowman when he told her that life could be awful and her life would be, and she sent him away, and he went away crying, crying big gloopy tears that made puddles this big, and the next night there was another knock on her bedroom door, and she said, ‘Go away, Pillowman. I’ve told you, I’m happy. I’ve always been happy and I’ll always be happy.’ But it wasn’t the Pillowman. It was another man. And her mummy wasn’t home, and she soon became very very sad, and as she sat in front of the oven when she was twenty-one she said to the Pillowman, ‘Why didn’t you tried to convince me?’ And the Pillowman said, ‘I tried to convince you, but you where just too happy.’ And as she turned on the gas as high as it would go she said, ‘But I’ve never been happy. I’ve never been happy.’
Well…the end of the Pillowman…the end of the Pillowman…See, when the Pillowmanwas successful in his work, a little child would die horrifically. And when the Pillowman was unsuccessful, a little child would have a horrific life, grow into an adult who’d also have a horrific life, and then die horrifically. So, the Pillowman, as big as he was and as fluffy as he was, he’d just go around crying all day long, his house’d be just puddles everywhere, so he decided to do just one final job and that’d be it. So he went to this place beside this pretty stream that he remembered from a time before… And he brought a little can of petrol with him, and there was this old weeping willow tree there,and he went under it and he sat and he waited there a while, and there were all this little toys under there and…there was a little caravan nearby, and the Pillowman heard the door open and little footsteps come out, and he heard a little boy’s voice say, ‘I’m just going to play, Mum,’ and the Mum said, ‘Well don’t be late for your tea, son.’ ‘I won’t be, Mum.’ And the Pillowman heard the little footsteps get closer and the branches of the willow tree parted and it wasn’t a little boy at all, it was a little Pillowboy, and they both played with the toys for a while…
And the Pillowman told him all about his sad job and the dead kids and all of that type of stuff, and the little Pillowboy understood instantly ‘cos he was such a happy little fella and all he ever wanted to do was to be able to help people, and he poured the can of petrol all over himself and his smiley mouth was still smiling, and the Pillowman, through his gloopy tears, said, ‘Thank you,’ to the Pillowboy, and the Pillowboy said ‘That’s alright, would you tell my mummy I won’t be having my tea tonight,‘ and the Pillowman said, ‘Yes, I will,’ Lying, and the Pillowboy struck a match, and the Pillowman sat there watching him burn, and as the Pillowman gently started to fade away, the last thing he saw was the Pillowboy’s happy smiley mouth as it slowly melted away, stinking into nothingness.
That was the last thing he saw. The last thing he heard was something he hadn’t even contemplated. The last thing he heard was the screams of the hundred thousand children he’d helped to commit suicide coming back to life and going on to lead the cold, wretched lives that where destined to them because he hadn’t been around to prevent them, right on up t the screams of their sad self-inflected deaths, which this time, of course, would be conducted entirely alone.
