Northern beauty at a glance

STOP AND STARE

(blessed I was with such picturesque view for my academic years in England - its the place where I realised my dreams and fell in love. I lived my life out of a postcard here)

I am afterall, just a sunflower

They say God won't give you more than you can handle, but I've got a question: Why would God let you suffer in the first place?

They also say you get over your grieft, but you don't really, not ever. It comes back sometimes. My recovery plan is not foolproof exactly. This is one of the reasons I never try to rob a bank, as tempting as it is. simply because I know I lack precision in concocting a flawless plan - im a bad planner. horrible at organising. terrible at running a choreography. i am bound to stuff up. get caught. thrown into jail. and have my very nicely done orthodontic teeth fall out. something i cannot live with.

I am not as tough as i try to portray. beneath the twinkling eyes, the sheepish smile, the cracklines - is a heart that melts easily. a heart that is squeeshy, soft like a marshmellow. this is why i know right from the start i have little hope at becoming a family lawyer. lack the strength to live through my own trauma what more the melotrauma of others. it will be too heart wrenching. too much drama to take. too many litres of tears to collect.

I used to make bargains with myself. I'd say I can handle the problem, as long as - fill in the blanks here. as long as i can grow. as long as i am not dead. as long as i still get to keep my sparkly orthodontic teeth. as long as my hair doesnt drop. I gave myself a million offers to stay on, push through, triump over it. and then there are the times, behind close down, you will hear my sniffling under my duvet. refusing to give in. stubborn. angry. and most of all, disappointed.

He came along and kept my life grounded. Gave me a thrillion reasons to climb the mountains. Push an inhaler to me palms when im running short of breath. Wrap his arms around me when it got too cold. the smallest thing stop sending me spiralling downwards for he taught me to look beyond the stormy clouds and catch a glimpse of the rainbow. Even after conquering my butterflies, my fears, my mountain...I still like to tell Him - God, next time, I wish you don't trust me so much to handle things. I am afterall, just a sunflower gasping along a winter day.

Goodbye is the hardest word to say

As I pack my bag to leave for England one more time, I am making sure I am packing light. Vowing not to bring my whole room along this time round. Lifting up my luggage to check the weight, my heart felt heavy. Laden with bittersweet memories of 2 months of love, happiness and laughters.

England and I share a love-hate relationship. I love it for its erratic weather and British accent but I hated it for its gloominess and 5 0'clock shops-closing culture. For the duration I was there, I carve a niche at making sure I was never bored, never trapped in a state of loneliness and I filled every waking second with something that will leave memories for me. I blended after awhile, carmouflouge in my posh British accent, suede ballerina flats, UGG boots, leggings, neat winter coats and perfunctory air kisses. The one thing that stood at glaringly against the dark winter days was my yellow skin. I was 10 shades fairer than I was here in the tropical island but I remained unmistakeably yellow. Nevertheless, I taught myself to love England. To focus on the goodness it has to offer. To look for the silver lining. I fell in love after awhile. I was then adamant that I really wanted to stay. Yellow or not, I found reasons to stay.

In early autumn, I boarded an Arabic airline to begin my 30000km home. leaving behind the pompous yellow British wannabe brat behind. Having set my heart that the island has nothing great to offer besides heavenly food, I was reluctant to board my plane. Upon arrival, I was greeted with heavy rainstorms. I was blown away. A shower of heavenly blessings to come home to. Look under every stone, you find a reason to stay. Look inside my heart, you find every reason to smile. Look closely and you will find glittering tears wetting my cheeks. I became once again, attached to home. i was glad to be coming home again. To be among the seas of yellow and not glow like a firefly in the dark.

I came unexpecting anything. barely even hoping. not close to wishing. Then somebody bends, unexpectedly. The sun still rises and sets. but the tale is turning to a fairytale. Finally, I found a place I truly belong. I am blessed to have found you guys, to have found the missing pieces of my heart and most of all, to have found myself again.

Home is truly where the heart is. No matter how far I have gone, how much I have seen, how many I have met, I am finally home. And again, goodbye comes. the solemn promise of a reunion.

A saturday night fever

Saturday night with fellow rudolphians

Why don't they have Hot sizzling Greek man plata on the menu?

Jun-nie-nie - magician in a making

Can you spot the difference?

We believe we can fly!

Wait!! I havent position myself properly on the pole yet

I came first!! take your hands of my girl!
Cupcake like me are freshly made!

Someday my prince will come...

Someone recently said that "Prince Charmings are a dying breed."How true.

I doubt I am the only one who nods in agreement. Prince Charmings are indeed a dying breed, and Princess Charmings as well for that matter. Princes or Princesses presupposes honesty, nobility, selflessness, and love unconditionally – regal behavior on some scale superior to that of the common man.

As for myself, I hardly feel “regal” these days nor “princessy” for that matter. I am fresh out of nobility, no longer care for selflessness, and cannot love in spite of the consequences. Not so long ago that would have been a terribly vindictive thing to say but now this is the simple truth that permeates this lifetime. The real world has no place for Princes.

Difficult to accept I know but for most, whatever princely spirits that laid embedded within us departed along with our youth and our naivety. Do truly pristine people, clear of the tarnishing glaze of history, still exist? Unlikely. True, you will find plenty of them among the youthful but at that age it is difficult to distinguish them from the naïve. I used to find that a difficult statement to swallow simply because of the implications that it meant for myself. Coming to terms with one’s own deficiencies is a difficult thing to bear - especially if that thing is your own arrogance in believing in your own self-superiority. I certainly am not above being naïve. Rather, looking back I would say that I was more naïve than most.

Sounding more vindictive, I know. But to that response I would reply, “such are the simple truths of our times.” It is easy to dispel such statements as the salted words of jaded old men when you are, in fact, one of the naïve. It is so easy to believe in inherent benevolence and moral righteousness when one has not fully experienced malice and injustice. You can make lemonade out of lemons, but what if the world doesn’t even care enough to give you lemons to begin with?We have all lied and have been lied to, cheated and have been cheated on, betrayed and betrayed, and overall mistreated.

Can you truly lament the passing of Princes? Or Princesses for that matter? Are we even deserving of their presence?

Indeed, sometimes I feel as if we do not. One has to merely glance at the recent headlines. Myanmar, Sudan, Iraq, Afaghanistan. We are all casualties of each other – spoiled fruit from the passage of time and mutual neglect.

These words may ring true to you, or they may seem alien and oblique. Worry not, they are merely words. Words are only so good to describe but do so little to help you experience. Naivety is just that – the inability to fully comprehend words of wisdom because of the lack of experience. Words can be so unfulfilling as they may describe but do so little to help you feel what they hope to describe. Words can only communicate so much as to relive memories but are ineffective in instilling new ones. For those of you who have been where I have been, seen what I have witnessed, and experienced what I have felt, I hope these words help you remember.We are all prisoners of our own memories.

The abused will not be so willing to trust again, the misled will not be so willing to believe, and most of all, the broken hearted will not love quite so deeply. Memories are a gilded cage, they protect us from that which would harm us but at the same time they keep us from experiencing that which can only be gained from being vulnerable. Love isn’t love if you can’t accept it or give it freely and openly. Walls keep so much harm from getting in but also keeps you from getting out. Living behind a wall is no way to survive. Being angry all the time is no way to live.

If anything, graduating from college, leaving an old relationship, and severing ties with my past life have taught me to believe in humanity even more. How so you may ask? Simple. We are all kindred souls, each and every one of our lives echo each other’s experiences – beauty, love, faith, wretchedness, spite, and loneliness. I have, in so many short months learned that each and every one of us lives with memories – connections to the past and cages from the future.

Everyone around you lives with something deep in their lives that they are trying to get over. In short, everyone is trying to cope. There are no princes or princesses because there are no perfect people. Everyone has lost and everyone remembers. Those hurdles, be they bumps, hills, or mountains, are owned by and real to the person who faces them. It’s hard being a believer all the time and it takes far more courage even still to be a believer knowing that there is nothing left to believe in.

Keep believing. Tomorrow is not so scary. Tomorrow begins with today. In fact, it starts now, at exactly 12.01 a.m.

The lies others tell us

like little birds, it's the little lies that peck and nip at us. little lies imperceptibly erode and tatter the tensile fabric of trust.

they do not hurt as much as they irk. but little lies are also the tiny shards of shattered glass that pepper a broken path, making the simple act of barefoot travel an arduous task that gradually wears and tears at the soul until treading on the path becomes too painful to bear. alas, over time, it's the little lies that really hurt.

Its the little lies that stays enacted in our memories, in our dreams and in our lives.

The shrapnel embeds deep in our hearts, unable to be remove, leaving us a scar that haunts for as long as we breathe.

like little birds, fluttering and frolicking, it's the little lies that embellish our lives. they add interest to anecdotes, punctuate our punch lines.

we smile. we cherish. it's these little lies that season our taste and sweeten our penchant for life. i suppose, in the end, we all desire to be a little hurt.

-0--0--0--0--0--0--0--0--0--0--

she had tears in her eyes. despite a valiant effort to disguise them with a fleeting smile, the shimmer of lights in the distance revealed her most genuine emotions. the corners of her eyes were the Judas of her cheerful demeanor.

you can always rely on the eyes. i wanted to smile back at her. i stood watching myself.

It was as if my soul was transported out of my body and there was two of me. I wanted to embrace her with hearty guffaws, but the gradual accumulation of tiny crystals of heartache along her eyelid bore a weighty awkwardness.

it was a turgid moment. one where the slightest stimulus could tip the scales into a catharsis of pleasure or of pain. of all things, the tipping point was "the chicken song." and that was enough.

instinctively, she tucked her hands into her arms and bravely flapped the "chicken dance" - all whilst tears streamed down her cheeks from very puffy eyes. it was a bittersweet symphony of movement. and the only thing we both could do in that moment was laugh the heartache away...the heartache that all the lies has brought...

Autumn in my heart

Dusk falls a little earlier these days. the nights grow a little colder, a little longer. i find myself alone more often these days. it doesn't matter if i'm walking alone, or if i'm with him. or even if i'm in a room crowded with the company of others. for loneliness is a state of mind, a room without windows and doors.

it's a place you simply wake up in. the dark bourbon walls. the ashen concrete floors. the cold, crisp, yet stale air. many fall into despair upon no exit in sight. but not me. this is a familiar place. i've been here before. and you must simply wait it out.

There he was, slumped down amid the spent cigarettes of casual conversations strewn across the cold concrete. the last of their lives spent waning out in the cold - petering, puttering until the last glow of warmth and hope gradually fades into the bleak darkness.
He light another up. then look at them. for a moment, he thinks they look forlorn. he thinks of the hundreds of leaves dried inside. the tanned hands who plucked the leaves from the days they sprang from branches. the days they reached out towards the warmth of the sun, dreaming of days when they might become plants on their own - replete with flowers, buds, and leaves of their own.

certainly they did not imagine a life rolled in a thin sheet of plain white paper, waiting to be smelt into elements of carbon and ash. were their sun-filled dreams still cured inside them. did these pipe dreams sublimate themselves into feelings of the sanguine and sublime? the happy leaf? the magic leaf?
***
He is traveling between worlds when i find him. he is redolent of bourbon and cigarettes, lying in bed, sojourning planar dimensions where the meta meets the physical. I nestles myself into my nook where his shoulder meets his arm. I whispers inaudible words into his ear when he is asleep, spilling secrets of sorrow and of pain.

He was not able to respond. i realize that he can't respond. i realize that he is observing himself. some call this lucid dreaming, but he can't bring himself close enough to make out what i am saying with any clarity.

then he realize i am upset. he can tell when i am unhappy. and suddenly, he feel my tears come trickling down his arm. I never look at him. I feel cold. he is alone. i am alone.
yet, I continues to cling on, desperately trying to console my soul with some kind, any kind of warmth.

gradually, my breathing slows. the tears dry. and I continue to cling, vainly clinging to the vestiges of what we didn't have, what we wouldn't have. but, at least we still had that, right? at least we still have that.
because now, the night is a little colder, a little longer. and dusk just falls a little earlier.

Relentless pursue for happiness

Being an unemployed couch potato for 2 months counting has seen me made an identation on my mother's favourite couch. Everday after plonking my perky butt on it for hours while channel surfing, i rise up to see a beautiful butt-made sinking hole in it. Probably right before I return to England, I should try to fluff it up a little or glue my dog onto it so mummy dearest will not have to tear her hair out when she sees it. I have made myself useful despite the draught period of loafing. Having stayed home most of the days when my friends are too busy working to come out to play with me, I have watched and watched almost all the programmes on Astro. I am awe by the creativity of Astro to repeat their shows over and over again. So if I miss the first half of CSI today, I can still catch it somewhat later and if I miss that hot hunk on Heroes, I can wait for the next replay. I was awe-struck until week 4. I have a short attention span. By then, my patience was wearing thin. I started to indulge in a new activity. Running. Come to think of it, that would've been an overstatement. I would say, I found skipping?

So there I was one day...one fine sunny day out in the Park doing my skip, hop, walk or whatever you like to call it as long as it doesnt involve pushing my heart beat to more than a 120 beats per minute.

I was whistling along, looking, checking out potential victims to prey on, simply just enjoying my time of solitude when the Banker came striding along side me. 'Oh God, you scared the fuck out of me' was my opening line. Tactful and graceful. 'Oh God, I'm surprise to see you here!' was he retaliating line.

This lovely, Charming and witty conversation, reminiscent of Spencer Tracy and Katherine Hepburn's finer moments of verbal sparing, was cut short by the realisation that he was looking at me extremely oddly. I had become used to not meeting anyone good looking for my standard in the Park that I had forgotten there was a possibility of meeting a minority bunch of hot guys out there who would might chat me up in the Park and find my attire of a leggings and tutu an odd choice of walking/jogging/running attire. Oh well, it was too late to change now.

"Hello" I said brightly. "Have have you been?". I was determined to be more polite and to have a proper conversation with said potential victim. 'Fine. What about yourself? I haven't seen you since..." and he trailed off searching his brains for the date we last saw each other. "Ya, it has been awhile huh?" I replied, searching my brains too for when I last remembered him being so good looking. Then we started on a long catching up conversation. going up and down hills. exhausting ourselves physically and dehydrating every ounce of liquid in our body. I was most quiet when we climbed up the hills with me looking like a fish out of water struggling to breathe and catch my breath. I almost died halfway and yet he was still rambling about his life. Ignorant pretty face. At that moment, I mentally reminded myself to push him down the hill when we are going down later.

I tried so hard to focus on his chiselled features, but my vision was too blur from lack of oxygen in my brains. I blinked at him rapidly, much in the manner of an extremely shocked fish or an undercover spy who had to convey a National Security Message through morse code prior to imminent execution. I was also sweating profusely which made me look I just dived into an ocean and emerged sexily like those baywatch babes.

So after an hour of dragging uncooperative limbs up and down hill, I finally secured a date with the banker. Now I will have to look up the web for a plastic surgeon who can make me look like Kate Moss. No worries, pending I still have one day to go. Hopefully he won't take my for buffet and make me try and stuff every dish laid out otherwise I would just have to practice looking pretty when I throw up my food all over his face. Though in history it has never been reported of any such cases guaranteeing a second date or I could simply just opt to dress in a very sexy mermaid suit....either way, instinct tells me there will never be a second date with the banker.

The thicker the hotter!

I have been suffering from a migraine that has been threatening to split my head the past week. Believe me, its not nice to have to attempt to string coherent thoughts together. I am blaming the changing weather and the pollution. The fact that I should be sleeping eight hours a night instead of six is not relevant. The two hours were well-spent drooling over hot Taiwanese drama actors. I must have some kind of skewed perception of good-looking as I now think thick eyebrows are hot on a guy. Maybe this migraine is affecting me more than I think.

So if we put together a list of 'Junnie's Idea of Hotness' this is what we will get:-
1. Bushy eyebrows, preferably without the long trailing ends seen on Chinese kung fu movies masters. Mono brows are also not acceptable.
2. Glasses. Yes, I think geeks are hot ala the geek in Ugly Betty.
3. Pink shirts. My brothers are adverse to wearing said colour even though it brightens their complexions. If it works for women, it should work for men.
4. Brains. I like guys who are able to give me their two cents worth with style.
5. 6-pack. I am not talking about beer but abs. *drool*
6. Height. As the only person who is short in my family is the Fifth Sibling, I would prefer a guy who is tall so that he doesn't feel intimidated by my family.
7. Long eyelashes because mine are short. If he likes me enough I may get to harvest them for fake lashes hehe...
8. Strong and firm hands. I am a sucker for manly hands. No callouses please, exfoliate and moisturise before application.
9. Body hair in the right places would be okay. I would feel weird if a guy had smoother legs than I do.

This is obviously a very short list of superficial attributes and is no way an indicator of personality and now that I look at it; put together would make a very weird looking individual...I think I need new glasses or keep at the dramas to alter my perception of male beauty.

It all comes down to M - for maturity

Involvement with people is always a very delicate thing....It requires real maturity to get involved and not get all messed up. It involves a sacrifice of time and an investment of emotions. I am most naive when it comes to matters of the heart. My heart leaps first before consulting my rational and intelligence. Therefore more often than not, landing me in a deep pool of tears. People don't realise what they are getting into until they are waist deep in the relationship and its too difficult to wade themselves out.

When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving much advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing, and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares. When we honestly ask ourselves again, shouldnt that be the characteristics too, of the person you are in a relationship with? Your significant other half? Or are relationships so superficial that the only ingredient require is the mushy fuzzy feeling that keeps your head so light that you seem to be on cloud nine all the time? It must have been dinosaur years since I have dated that the only thing that hold my hand now are cobwebs. So please enlighten me...

I value the ones who allow me to be myself and yet love me with all his heart. Giving me the freedom to express my sillyness. to crack lame jokes laugh with me. someone who will take car rides with me and enjoy each minute. Someone who will ride with me on the bus and savour each second. We cannot tell the precise minute when the sparkle came but I can tell you the happiness shouldnt dry out and like drop by drop filling a vessel, our relationship should always be bursting with tears of joy. I want to look deeper, pass the pretty face, pass the stylo milo hair, pass the charming smile. I want insight, sense and courage. Even if silence does come between us, we will still be so comfortable hanging out in it.

Maturity in a love relationship is everything! First it is the ability to base a decision about a love relationship on the big picture - the long haul. In general, it means being able to pass up the fun for the moment and select the course of action which will pay off later. Maturity is the ability to stick with a project or a situation until it is finished. It means doing whatever it takes to make the relationship be one you are proud to be in. The adult who is constantly changing jobs, relationships, and friends, is in a word. . . immature. They cannot stick it out because they have not grown up. Everything seems to turn sour after a while.

The world is filled with people who can't be counted on, people who never seem to come through in the clutches, people who break promises and substitute alibis for performance. They make excuses. They show up late - or not at all. They are confused and disorganized. Their lives are a chaotic maze of unfinished business and uncommitted relationships. Oh, what a tangled web we weave.

Mature love offers us our most profound opportunity for regaining wholeness - not because our partners will fill all of our emptiness, but because we can use the embrace of a loving relationship to nurture ourselves toward greater maturation and ripening.

If you find yourself stuck in a mudful of immaturities...just call out - Lord, I need a lifeline! This is my SOS call. :) Be Blessed.

Thought for the day

Let me lean on Your grace as I serve this thought on Your throne. For You know, what's best for me. In my intense time of depression and brokenness, You were there hugging me, comforting me, consoling me. You've been most faithful. Now, let me not lose faith that You will bring me through the storm and grant me the serenity in my heart to forgive...