I realise I've been posting quite some lazy posts these days (Big pictures, little words) much like the nursery pop-out books we love to shamelessly abuse.

Do I have an explanation?

No.

... But I do have a picture unabashly stolen from some clever person's site and pasted into this post without his or her prior knowledge whatsoever to my thieving online atrocity.

Someone stab that insolent shroom please.

My room is in a perpetual state of utter mess.
No matter how many times I clean up (not too often), the moat of haphazard papers and plastic bags of all origins just mysteriously grow out of the marble flooring like happy mushrooms, much to the chagrin of my mum.

This uncontrolled growth pattern has spurred my dad to get me yet another Toyogo cupboard which will be installed today and subsequently neglected.

Doing some self-reflection, I realise I don't want the mess to go away.

It must be some unconcious state of mind that prevents my hands from organizing my things into neat systematized blocks. Some part of me cries out for a rich and colourful pool of mess at the foot of my bed.

You see, in a mess, you can't find your things easily.
And therein lies the inexplicable wonder of being surprised by your mess. Because you never know where exactly your thing is in a mess pile, there is always a chance that you can't find it. And then there is a chance that you can. It's a surprise. It's also the joy of sieving through a sea of rubbish in search of that lost coin.

I'm very protective of my mess.
I give specific instructions to everyone in my family not to touch my mess. Don't clean it. Don't rearrange it. Don't do anything to it. Because everything is in its proper place.


Or maybe I'm just plain lazy.

I've had enough this time ,
Give me back my boots you swine
It's your fault you hate me .


† camera obscura

These pictures just breaks my heart .





Rolling Homes: Handmade Houses on Wheels by Jane Lidz

Sitting in the back of the trunk, with a guitar and a dog, and the whole forest listening to you . Going wherever, whenever .
Going away, away, away from here .

Other than being an astronaut - my other wish ... ... really .... is living in a book shop.


1974 way home( wine book Cafe)

I should go back to Hong Kong one day.
Visit my cousins in Kowloon.
Sleep in that ultra-tiny hostel room.
Buy 50 packets of Old Wives Biscuits.

And visit this fabulous cafe.

Afterschool Cafe & Design

Nervous ... Nervous ... Nervous ....
Glad it came out ok.

A bag of stunned ping pong balls patiently awaiting impending doom.

Well, if this doesn't look like a spanking awesome shop I'd love to bury my poor sore stressed-laden head into.

Strangelets at Amoy Street.