Books that I need to get:

1) The Tiny Book of Tiny Stories Vol.1 - Joseph Gordon Levitt
2)  Malay Sketches - Alfian Sa'at
3) The Virgin Suicides - Jeffrey Eugenides
4) 我的路 Vol. 1 - 寂地
5) 找到这颗星星 - 卤猫
6) Amazing Everything - Scott C.
7) Anything by Oliver Jeffers

Oh, and Steven Brust's Hawk will only be out 2014?! That's infernal ages more. I shall hate it, knowing that I'd have waited 3 years for a book only to finish it in 5 hours. At least this beats the time frame between Issola and Dzur - half a decade for a book 1/10 the size of a Harry Potter novel is just plain evil. Maybe it's in all writers to be a bit evil. After all, writing is an impossibly painful job, all you do is stare at a piece of paper until your forehead bleeds. The same could be said for designers. And artists. And musicians. And painters. Isn't that's why it's called pain-ting? Who said that? I forgot. Some artist illustrator, I think. Someone who said that creators must suffer for their work. That must mean all the books and all the pieces of art I've ever enjoyed and hated must have been pieces of invisible blood and broken bones of their authors. And every act of consuming these goods are an act of cannibalism. I've been eating the ghosts of authors' past.

Oh look, I'm an adult.

When did that happen? And how do I make it stop?

It was my first time applying eyeliner to my own eyes with my own hands.
What can I say? I stabbed my eye into perfection - then broke down and cried blood.

Oh vanity, you liar. The next time I see a woman with beautifully kohled eyes I will know that she had suffered for her trade - the trade of being a woman.

I bought a squeegee lately.
There was no reason to buy it except that I've never bought one before and now I have one.
Cleaning windows is no fun, but I love the excuse of sitting at the ledge of my window - mist spray in one hand, squeegee in the other - and look all tough and professional like I know the secret art of squeegee cleaning.
You know how sometimes you stare at those uncles at the gas station and think to yourself, "Hey, cleaning cars with a squeegee actually looks like too much fun. "
No? Never? I can't be the only one.

Insignificant snack fact:
ValuDollar's Fudgee Bar Choco Blast is really good!

Who would've thought some $2.50, no-name, dirt cheap, rubbish looking packaging chocolate bar can taste nigh near Betty Crocker's products? When I first chanced upon it, it was just that: chance. I was stocking up on cheapo junk food and decided to give it a shot along with imitation Hello Pandas and Apollo wafers and 40cents cup noodles (that tasted exactly like 40cents cup noodles, don't buy). The choco bar is surprisingly dense and heavy - not those fluffy chiffon species that offer you expensive air - but rich cakey and filled with thick fudge.

It comes in 6 in a box that comes out to 40cents a piece. I've paid twice more for lesser products in the school's vending machine. Also, I realised toasting it for 2 mins creates a nice crust at the top that turns a choco bar into a brownie hybrid.
Serve with ice cream for maximum satisfaction at minimum price.

I realised something about my life in education.

If there were only 3 things I remember from poly it's this:

Copy shamelessly
Teachers are merciless
Friends are important

If there are 3 things from uni, it's this:
Bullshitting is mandatory 
Self-indulgence is ok
Friends are important

My last post was last year.
Yes, it's been a long time made longer by the fact that it's my final semester in ADM. Also, blogger has made resizing photos really difficult so I have to blah blah blah and tumblr is sucking all my waking hours blah blah excuses excuses.
Bottomline, you'd probably see me more on tumblr than anywhere else. And if you do read any future blogger post, it'll probably have crap photos or none at all (like this one).

After working for a spell at IE S'pore, I got my money and blew it all on books.
I suddenly have a great obession with books.
Big fat beautiful hardcover books that smell like heaven and read like a dream.
Picture books too. Big floppy picture books that stain your fingers with the colour bleeding from its pages. And poetry books. When the hell did I ever start liking poetry books anyway? I used to hate them with a vengence - now I'm collecting them like a deranged squirrel hoarding her literary walnuts.
Nevermind that I probably won't have the cabinet space to fit in all these books. Who needs a cabinet for books anyway? I pile them up reverently on the floor, at the foot of my bed so I have instant access to them anytime any day and in any lazy sleeping position. Books are democratic. I shouldn't have to walk up to some prissy cabinet and and fumble a book out only to have to ease it into its tight corner back again. Communist cabinet!!

Yeah, and this is how I end my first post of this new year.