Monthly Archives: May 2007

Things I think are realllyyy funny that you might not.

1. Language barriers.

This morning I said to my ang moh dog- Wei she me ni zai zhe’er?
He looked at me rather blankly. Really my dog (omg I typed god at first) inspires me to speak Chinese.

Michael (my lil bro who is also very ang moh because of my mom’s home schooling) likes to call my name- Jie Grace, Jie Grace, Jie Grace (ad nauseum).
Sometimes I get a bit fed up and say “SIMI!”
He looks at me blankly and I’m grinning like siao so I guess it really does serve its purpose.
My mom would KILL me if she found out man.

2. Cold Jokes (which are TOTALLY FUNNY!)

Qn: What’s a Tim plus another Tim
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(wait for it)
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TIM SUM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
YAYYY MUAHAHHAHAAHA.

3. He said, she said.

He said: Actually being a litigator might be pretty fun
She said: Well, you could always cross examine me
He said: Why, because I am a cunning linguist?

4. At the Beach

Girl 1: Hey that beach patrol guy is too hot to be beach patrol!
Girl 2: Can he please patrol my area?

*giggle*

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Bleahhh.

GSS SUCKS. Give me FashBash anytime over racks and racks of nothing to wear. It’s just disgusting the way they display all these dull misshapen things in the largest possible sizes that no one’s going to buy/wear. Seriously, bin it and burn it. All the stuff I like are NOT ON SALE- the greatest hocuspocus of the GSS. Pretend there’s a sale and then make you buy non-sale items. Wth.

Still, it sucks being poor.

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Mykonos (Day 1)

The past few days have been so tiring emotionally…so these are as much for me as they are for you. Something lovely to look at. I loved Greece…

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Where we stayed in Mykonos- Mama’s Pension. Slightly secluded, but charming.

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Stove on the breakfast terrace

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Every day was cloudless and perfect

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The balconies were like altars to the sun, laden with voluptuous blooms

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Little Venice, as it is called.

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Sun salutation! (who knew Tim did yoga….)

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Skipping stones off the pier

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Even I can’t believe I was there…but here is photographic proof.

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Me and my red scooter.

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His name is Rug.

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Cowboys at our favourite creperie

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Behind the Scenes

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Gorgeous alfresco places everywhere

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the bluueees

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There was inspiration at every turn

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yay

Today was such a good day. I love you girls!!!!!!!! See ya on wednesday okay???

*muahmuahmuah*

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The Day It Stormed

On the ferries I listened to the anguished cry of the wind and thought I heard also the baleful song of the sirens, luring unsuspecting sailors to their briny graves or sometimes, hauling the prime catch onto arid islands, feeding them with dew from the lilies that grew between the rock, mating with them, (scales iridescent, tails lashing) and then leaving them for dead.

The storm knocked on our door. Politely at first and then, with increasing insistence and urgency until finally, it flung itself against the hinges in desperation; but still, we would not open it.

He lay curled and contented as a mung bean beneath the heaping sheets. Blind in the loamy darkness, as yet unchristened by moisture and light, he pulled me silently into the secret soil, into the heart of his somnolence. When we finally sprouted, unfolding leaves like new wings, the air was so milky with rain and cloud we thought we had simply entered a new subterranean strata.

As light spilled onto my lap, I started, surprised as a cat I once saw which darted from the sudden brightness onto a windowsill and then glanced back warily, eyes flashing.

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Mykonos Day Three

I’ve always loved the wind- she is to me a person and a she and is really, the most intriging person I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. Her many faces have never ceased to delight, fascinate and rouse me. She is a seasoned traveller, she is tender as a lover, harsh as a tyrant. She is playful and coquettish one moment, toying with some errant strands of hair, the next, filled with incendiary rage, tearing down upon you. She is above all, mercurial. This trip to Greece somehow gave me some insight into her and perhaps quickened by her hand upon my heart, I seized my pen every now and then to jot down a few sentences…I guess I sketched with words things I saw, or felt, that would be a shame to leave to the decay of memory. The previous post was one such sketch and I have a few more so I’ll post them up here in the days to come. And then photos- and maybe you’ll see some spark of what inspired me…but my photographic skills are really not up to scratch yet…I can’t capture to my satisfaction the entirety of a moment…good photographers can I believe. Tim noticed that I use a lot of personification. I don’t think it’s just a favourite literary device of mine. I’ve always strongly believed that the seemingly inanimate things around me are in fact alive and have personalities. The elements for example are people to me. Nature is a person- I have an odd habit of holding a branch or twig when I go tramping about bits of greenery, it’s like holding nature’s hand. So anyway…this is what I wrote on our third day in Mykonos. The wind went kinda ballistic that day.

We stood with the shadows of gulls flying across our faces while they screamed overhead, floating on the wind, slipping between her many arms, their wings tipped with light and dripping with the sun like Icarus.

The ride home was nothing short of perilous. We hovered like gulls on the teeth of a cliff, clinging and sliding on the fingertips of a callous wind. We wrestled and strained under her muscular arm which slowly but surely advanced upon us and ultimately flicked us, blithely, as you would an unsolicited fly. When finally we reached safe harbour, we collapsed in the wild shade, the roar of wind and sea still ringing in our ears.

Sometimes she keened piteously, or moaned hollowly, or roared in an inebriated rage, rattling a dozen invisible windowsills, tearing off clothespegs which had, a second ago, clung feebly to some brazen white sheets which flapped, panted and twisted in a strange salacious dance.

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Memories of Greece

By the Acropolis, Nigerians hawk fake Louis Vuitton alongside sticks of incense and patchouli. By the city beaches, dust blows from the highway and sand blows from the shore, scouring the fading graffitied walls. Amidst the pound and swerve of rapid feet and a spinning ball, dust rears in clouds, drifting over the sun-slick bodies sprawled supine on the sand, carrying in its heady mix of tanning oils and cigarette smoke, whiffs of psychotropic aromas. I click incessantly on a camera, striving to freeze those bodies in a tableau of sun, sand and dust, a few wasted shots and then- a perfect one- their torsos curve seal-like, glistening ochre, arched, elegant and strong as a splay of graffiti.

In Mykonos windswept and sunsoaked, the wind lords it over the waves, who creep, suppressed, to gasp upon the shore. The Med has been stained with blue food colouring by an overzealous hand. Beach bunnies tiptoe gingerly into the ice-cold sea.

At the Old Port there was a girl whose hair writhed about her alive like tentacles, burnished and haloed by the sun, a golden Medusa.

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