i swear i did not intend to see anything. all i was trying to find was my past 21 sketchings of the 21days after we ended, which i drew one everyday. alas, i couldnt find it. and my itchy hand found the gold book of memories.

i just opened, and saw the letters from yimei. all of them. darth vader, o levels, the cannot be opened till someday, and the fat think ones. i swear i heard you once again. your voice, you. it felt as if we never missed talking for the past 2years. or three. its sad, how we were once the best of friends, the closest senior and junior can be. and now, i dont even know where you are. or how are you. i read through abit, and i wonder. how was it that i had such a wonderful person in my life.

and here comes the worst part. my itchy hands managed to put all the letters back into the slot, but had to fumble with the two heart shaped unopened papers. i swore i knew i should never have touched it, much less open it. but the moment the first word came to sight, i quivered. and i cried. i really did not want to. but when someone who you loved so deep, and loved you as well, has left you with nothing but her own hand written letters, it isnt something within your control.

the first letter was sweet. if it was music, beethovan would have sounded like a blasting trumpet in a symphony compared to it. memoriable letter were always about something significant in the relationship. 1 month, 2 months or so. but this, was day 102 of it. no, 102 doesnt mean anything, for everyone who's wondering. but thats it. this is it. of all letters, ever. the most memoriable of all, would be a letter with no significance to it. it was sent from love. everyday was a special day. day 102. just like any other. the day with you.

yes, i have to stop my tears from ruining the paper.

the second, was our 4th month. i realised, where my love for red come from. i realised, that after two years. i have been using the same password over and over again. today, after looking through those precious words. i was enlightened of where the origin of my password was. it was all that simple.

i loved every kiss and every hug too.
and no, you're still beautiful. ever.

rest assured, these very words will follow me to my grave. i'll put my life on the line for these 2 paper hearts, anytime. even if i were to choose the last molecule of oxygen or a last glance at the letter, it wouldnt be a tough choice to make. with the last breath, i'll only hold regret. with a last look, i'll die contented.


then they say love is blind. i say, god is blind. i'll never forgive him for taking our eyes off each other.



argh. why does it have to happen now.


'when you have something that you dont want to lose, it's a matter of whether you can just take that one step, even if you look pathetic, perhaps.'

those who say they'll do it they next time are idiots. those who say theyll do it tomorrow are idiots too. if you dont do it the moment you think of it, you'll get nowhere.'

dont let yourself regret. if you keep thinking there's a tomorrow, you'll suffer from it."




things you really appreciate learning from dramas.


if only you bothered finding the lyrics. you will never know.


第一次是意外. 第二次是偶然. 第三次是命中注定...

for translations, highlight. [the first may be an accident, the second is unexpected, but the third is fated]





i love proposal daisakusen. it really relates perfectly. and it it such a nicenicenice show. sweared`


SUPER RANDOM. but. i just thought. if only i could trade an exam for an iphone. aiee-fonnee. aiee-fonnee.

and then another exam for my hedgehog. eh hehehe.

and the last exam.. hmm. a wonderful day in the sea, wakeboarding, and getting my long-lost beautiful tan back? a teenee weeeniiee bit of shaping up would also work out fine :p

oh oh oh! then i would like another exam PLEASEEE! :D:D:DDD for this, one scandal would do. hahah. loveeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!


uh, life would seem too complete if all those were to happen. man, pop goes the dream.







met mentals. had loads of fun :) :) :)

projs are not driving me crazy. i have already passed beyond the meter of craziness some time ago.

fatedtoloveyou rocks like noneofyoueffingbusinesscosidontcareifyoulikeitornotbutitownsanyshitinsideoutupsidedown.

so yeah.



hmm. what was i supposed to do for mmr this weekend :/ darn. slipped out of the atmosphere within my neurotical cells in overdrive.


welcome back. my dad's a fucking ass again.

wonder how many times have i repeated this line.

everyone can stop being such a chickenshit about my hair. here's the story. i went to trim the edges. cos they were thick alr. the edges only. and i got shaven. so a frustrated me decided that a colour will help. and guess what, it did not. so there.

20more days and i'll make it better. promise.


finished nodame cantabile. oh well. dont know dont know dont know what is going on.

sigh.ponder.frustrate.anger.simmer.smile.forget.laugh.walkout.


just a quick side stand on the roadtrip called life.

wedding survivor by some Julia London or something[hell, i dont remember names well] is a perfect book. it has lifted my spirits and hope. loved it, and i never wished the story ended. if you hear me and love sqinting at printed letters on a thick stash of printed sheets as much as i do[which is pretty little :/ ], then go grab it cos it wont be a waste of time or effort anyhows.

finished hotaru no hikari, liar game. now watching nodame cantabile. gna update >> soon.

to watch list: papa to musume no nanokakan, sushi oji!,proposal daisakusen


piece out.


hello. life's just as normal. nothing's changed. its as before...

fucked up. dont understand why my parents dont want me to take my driving lisence. what what what is their problem. [fyi, the tone of which i'm typing this is pissed or angry, but desperate and like, hopeless. i've given up argueing with my bowl of rice. the rice wont talk back] dont they realise that they have practically decided what i can or cannot do for every single thing in my life? for others its not much of an issue. but what? even this is like, woah. a big issue. helloforgoodnesssake. me here wants to die early. can you grant me that. its not even a big issue in the 1st place. you are BLOODY BLOWING EVERYTHING UP. THATS YOUR PROBLEM. fuck, i am not your little kid. you have never treated me like one, only restrained and caged me as one. if u really treated me as your child, why an arguement for every meal? if i want to eat this, is it that hard not to cook it? oh wait. who siad you needed to cook it. you wouldnt even let ME cook a nice dinner for myself. if i were your child, would you ever doubt me if i said that i really forgot to wash the dishes? i really forgot, damned it. do i even look like i wanna argue with you? where's the excitement? what do i get other than restrictions, childish attitude and threats from you? benefits? no, i dont see any. so why the fuck would you even think i would ever consider considering wanting to do something against your highness's liking?


fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk.


HAHAHAH. re read my previous post. i couldnt even make out half of what i was talking. so tada. off to 'drafts' it went.


got my hair new streaks of colour. like it, but hated the hair cut. its like, shrubs. again.

anyways, i borrowed a book. and its surprisingly nice. hahah. thats why i always feel that. getting nice books is some sort of affinity. i mean, billions of books. so happen, the book is in english. so happen, its in asia, singapore. so happen, its in a library, not a shop. so happen, its in the very library you visit. so happen, its not on loan the day you are there. so happen, its on the shelf you're glancing at. so happen, it caught your eye. and, you reached for it.

dont you feel its too much of a coincedence? its like, finding THAT toothpick u used last year along the beach. kay, crappy example, but yeah.

and thats too many so happens. HAHAHA.


ohwells, lalalalaa. god knows how i'm feeling right nowwwww.





not mine. but rather, from a forum one would least expect such nice things from[ppf]. here it goes.


Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. It was a cowboy's life, a life for someone who wanted no boss. What I didn't realize was that it was also a ministry. Because I drove the night shift, my cab became a moving confessional. Passengers climbed in, sat behind me in total anonymity, and told me about their lives.

I encountered people whose lives amazed me, ennobled me, made me laugh and weep. But none touched me more than a woman I picked up late one August night. I was responding to a call from a small brick four-plex in a quiet part of town. I assumed I was being sent to pick up some partiers, or someone who had just had a fight with a lover, or a worker heading to an early shift at some factory for the industrial part of town.

When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself.

So I walked to the door and knocked. "Just a minute", answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness. "It's nothing", I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated". "Oh, you're such a good boy", she said.

When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?" "It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly. "Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice".

I looked in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were glistening. "I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long." I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What route would you like me to take?" I asked. For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now." We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair. "How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse. "Nothing," I said. "You have to make a living," she answered. "There are other passengers," I responded. Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly. "You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you." I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light.

Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life. I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life. We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware – beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID...BUT THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.


touched~


for dma proj. pls do not look at them :x









forwarded mails honestly SUCK. big time. unfotunately, in a basket of rotten apples, there are the odd ones out too. and they come once in a long while, and are the best they can get.

[please click on them and preview the larger image]


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

tell me you did not cry.


The lift door opened. “Turn left, turn left”, I thought to myself as I glanced up at the directory above head. My eyes were twitching; my mind was in a whirl. Damn, I could not remember where it was. Block four? Or was it eight? Is it level six? Which ward was it? I was flustered under a thick, green fleece hoodie, in a non air-conditioned pathway, desperate and confused. Beds, wards, patients and nurses were everywhere. And they all had one thing similar – unfamiliarity. “Ward 22 seems there”, as I read off another directory. I flipped left and right, in and around the ward. No, that’s the toilet next to it alright. And the ward was completely filled with strangers. I gave up, and headed back towards the exit. “Can’t believe I got it wrong.” Boy, did I say that a second too fast. The corridor to my left was ward twenty-six, and there stood familiar faces. Only that I’ve never seen them buried and drowned in tissue papers and a flush of tears.

I prodded in the direction, and the greeting made of echoes of whims and whispers grew real. I took a step in, and saw 5 beds. All aged, bald, pale and everything you would expect. But hey, no. He is like that. It was what, less than two months of any first definitive symptom. The sixth bed had curtains drawn. I pulled open. There lay, with a oxygen bag attached, and needles strewn in and out like his blood vessels were more external than under the skin. Eye close, mouth agape. I was frowning so hard, controlling every muscle on my face. I was not intending to lose to this. I looked at him, stared straight in the eye. Respond, you idiot. Stare back, and shout, as if I was demeaning you. “Big brother, he’s come to see you. See, everyone’s here already. You don’t need to be scared, don’t need to worry. Everyone’s here for you, with you.” My aunt assured him. I lost it.

I cringed and did not know how to respond to someone who was not responding. I grabbed his arm, and squeezed a bit. I stuttered, and just kept making squeezes, as if trying to wake him up from his sleep. “Move. Wiggle. Cough. Whatever. Just do something.” persisted inside me. But no matter what I do, or what I say, he gave only that calmed expression with not a single movement. ”What the hell are you doing up there. Would you like to do your stuff now and help in this very situation? Did you not say miracles do happen?” I was like a single fish, out in the open sea, lost from the school. When everything around you only builds up your fear and hopelessness, you would not even know if you should react, much less how. I was motioned to leave. I drew the curtain, and walked out.

I stood by the door. Television dramas? I’ve completed almost a dozen series. Tearful ones? I’ve got a handful to recommend. But this was not any drama. It was there, in front me of. It was it. My cousin offered a tissue. There was no talking; only gasps of air in between each wipe and burst. I stood there for an hour or so, but it felt as if night should have fallen. Time ticked slowly. I then headed to the toilet. Locking up the cubicle, alone from the rest of the world, I whimpered out loud. I leaned into a corner and just wept senselessly. The tissue was soon no different as if it was dipped in a bucket of water. How do I put this. Yes, he was not my closest relative, but it was pain. Apparently, that situation is always sad. No matter what.

I winded down. I believed, “Mr. planner, I thank you for all the memories I have had. Even though it was few and far between, what can I ask for, since you’ve already given me the best you can give. All I hope is that thing will go well, and dear god, according to your plan.”

I signed out.

in memory of my uncle. xie xie ni. 020708.


its almost 1am. in half an hour, i've finished a HUGE bag of chips, a few slices of cheese, some ba kwa, a row of arnott's caramel-filled chocolate biscuits, the big packet of crazy babies[with juice!] and a cup if ice lemon tea, ribena and jolly shandy.

utterly sinful. my body's seem to be going fat, snacking at night. please, no. there's land training tmr. better work it out. ah.

oh, i totally love my tan now. hahaha. love it love it love it.

hanayoridango[season2]-ed. 1st kissed-ed yty. all almost halfway through. absolute boyfriend is almost over. fine, its actually aired finish alr. jus thtat english subs are slower. whattheshitman. the 1st drama i followed from the moment it showed till the end. aww. whatta emotional moment.

its damn nice please. dont know why the idiotic ratings are low.

and i'm in love with ONE jap song. god damn nice. listening to it makes me forget worries and stupid matters. somehow, this sad song makes me lose my senses. relieves me a lil.

oh welllsss. baby boy~



its good to feel like this. to lose yourself. to not know who you are, to live the moment. love そばにいるね.