Singapore, heard that?

Why, at about this time of year is there one solitary fly that refuses to die or be downed? No amount of swiping and splatting seems to phase it. Each time you fight the battle, you try hitting it with all your available weaponry: journals, jacket, towel, magazines, bare hands, books (particlularly: Story of O by Pauline Reage) This huge, juicy, black fly comes to buzz around your head; the fly with the secret of eternal life, perhaps. Sometimes, it'll bring along a good friend or two, in hope to feast on some delicious fruits rotting in my room. Maybe I should name It as Itty, please don't ask why (maybe it's a children's thing) but Itty is alive and well and buzzing around here like a very annoying old friend.

Wishing I were in Paris for Fafi's Colette show.

Its really funny how insecure people turns out to be the most arrogant.

Here's some girlie goodnesss:

Someday, when I have my own apartment, I really need to fill one room with all the design pieces and things I've been longing for. The girly, vintage, flowery stuff within my own living space.

A Book

There is no frigate like a book

To take us lands away,

Nor any coursers like a page

Of prancing poetry.

This traverse may the poorest take

Without oppress of toll;

How frugal is the chariot

That bears a human soul!

~ Emily Dickinson~

*ahem, may I add that books do furnish a room too!*

You try to be strong, to be patient, to take the zen view that worrying it will do no good anyway.

You try to take the advice of your lecturers, your college mates, your friends, fellow pianists, your housemates, your psychopharmocologist, that the best thing you can do now is to block it out and just work: Work on your next recital and dissertation. Work on your garden. Take up a new hobby. {Blogging, anyone?} Take up smoking.

~A Google-Junky who's lost her way.~

"As we grow up, we learn that even the one person
that wasn't supposed to ever let you down probably will.
You will have your heart broken probably more than once
and it's harder every time.
You'll break hearts too,
so remember how it felt when yours was broken.
You'll fight with your best friend.
You'll blame a new love for things an old one did.
You'll cry because time is passing too fast,
and you'll eventually lose someone you love.
So take too many pictures,
laugh too much,
and love like you've never been hurt
because every sixty seconds you spend upset
is a minute of happiness you'll never get back."

I won't ever stray because this is Heaven to me.

Summer break, finally. Home of food's greatest, here I come!

Haji Lane, Singapore

"If you're sick of battling the damn Orchard Road crowds, head over to the Arab Street area.For those in the know, this neighborhood is a treasure trove of eclectic finds from design studios and fashion boutiques to eateries and shisha joints. With the crazy artwork/graffiti that adorns the walls and the mish-mash of shops, everything about Haji Lane and its surrounding streets screams quirkiness and uber cool underground style."

"Art is lie which makes us realize the truth."

~Pablo Picasso~

Art is an ever-controversial term. The beauty of the word itself is that though it cannot be defined in a universal sense, it's meaning is no less important. Not only is the definition of art ever evolving, it will always have it’s own definition to the artist, the critic and most importantly the viewer. Picasso states that art deceives the viewer into believing that a particular image is reality; however, what I find is that artists are creating as a perceived reality.

Modern art, beginning with the Impressionist movement and those pioneers who began to interpret their own realities ever to subtly as the way light might move across the canvas. To the Expressionist and Post-Modern art of later years go even further to deceive the viewer. Yet what is really being portrayed is not necessarily reality. The interpretation and personal perception of that reality is what finds its way upon the medium. As such, this acuity plays a significant role in what we as individual viewers are attracted to - the most intriguing and fascinating pieces are those that force the viewer to alter their perception of their own reality and ask questions: What does this piece mean to me? How does it affect me and my own life?

One of the pieces that I personally find moving is Chagall’s Three Candles. It has created a separate plane in my own mind where floating lovers, joined in a lifetime union. It speaks of hopes and endless dreams.

What is your favorite piece of art? What does it whisper to you and what reality (surreal or otherwise) does it impress upon you?

Gonna pack up all my cares and woe,

Here I go singin' low,

Bye bye blackbird.

Where somebody waits for me,

Sugar is sweet, so is he,

Bye bye blackbird.

No one here can love and understand me,

Oh what hard luck stories, they all hand me.

So make my bed and light the light,

I'll arrive late tonight,

Blackbird, bye bye.

I'm gonna pack up all my cares and woe,

Here I go singin' low,

Bye bye blackbird.

Where somebody waits for me,

Sugar's sweet, so is he,

Bye bye blackbird.

No one here can love and understand me,

Oh what hard luck stories, they all hand me.

So make my bed, light the light,

I'll arrive late tonight,

Blackbird, bye bye.

Great, I muse. Just great.

Now is a pitstop for me to refuel and reflect - before rejoining the mad rush of the race. Of course the constant skirmishes take a toll. There is the sheer exhaustion of it all. When sometimes I dearly wish I had time enough and breath, to sit and be still, to un-think and un-feel, to Zen. I haven't melted off into the sunset with Prince Charming. It is my time to capture the moment, to feel inspired, to think foolish thoughts and dream imprudent dreams. I am storing up nuggets in my life-bank, stashing away as much as I can for the rainy days I see ahead. And if I suffer, for now I prefer to do so in silence. So a moratorium on the personal affairs of Molly for now.

I cdnuolt blveiee taht I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrd waht I was rdanieg.

The pheonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid.

Aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy

It deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are.

The olny iprmoatnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be in the rghit pclae.

The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit a porbelm.

Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlefBut the wrod as a wlohe. Amzanig huh?

Yaeh and I awlyas tghuhot slpeling was ipmorantt.

If we could stay animals, we would.

Each day, we would eat, sleep, hunt, play, and fornicate.

Instead, we must be human animals, with worries, responsibilities, and formality.

So the counter begins anew today. 1 day.

I hope those animals find their way to bed before one day becomes too many again.

seen on the streets of Istanbul, Turkey - Wooster Collective

Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine

There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed

Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;

And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,

Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:

I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat,

Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay;

Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet;

But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,

When I awoke and found the dawn was gray:

I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind,

Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng,

Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind;

But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,

Yea, all the time, because the dance was long:

I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,

But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,

Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine;

And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,

Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire:

I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

~Ernest Dowson~