Rng says: hey your dp looks super pleased with itself
* says: haha cos its cute and it knows it XXD
Rng says: not true. some (most?) cute people who know that they’re cute are super irritating
* says: hahaha well yeah but this is an image of a crepe. how irritating can it get?
<– the dp in contention.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
I’ve acutally a ton of stuff to do (but I keep being sidelined by gmarket?!?! D:) Anyhow, I had this super strange dream the other day and until now I still can’t figure out why I did such a stupid thing in the dream.
Okay, it starts off with me being in this friend’s house. I have no idea who this person is, how I came to exist in his house and also no idea why I am so scared of his mum (who is also a complete stranger, who I seemed to be my acquaintance in the dream?). Probably because she is (was?) very strict and shrewish in the dream, but that’s for later.
So, I enter this house, and I just start doing normal hello-there-how-are-you things you do when you visit someone at home. I believe it was either the holidays or some weekend. Anyway, we were just sitting on the couch and eating some baked stuff when we heard a key scrape in the huge brass lock. Suddenly, it was OMG-catastrophe-mode and I ran around in a flurry to find a place to hide. It was paramount that his mum did not find me in the house (and I have no idea why either). So, I did the most stupid thing and just hid in the storeroom. Problem was, it was quite sparse and there was nothing for me to hide in (the shelves were all open shelves) or behind. So, (and this is the stupid thing I was talking about), I grabbed a random bunch of pillows from the corner of the storeroom and made a layer of cushion carpet above myself, and lay flat on the ground. Basically the idea was to integrate myself into the pile of cushions.
Anyway, I lay in a supine position for an excruciatingly long time, and all I remember was being so afraid that his mum would hear my heart beating from the storeroom because it was so loud. (This is so espionage, no?) Following that, I was rescued by the fact that she decided to take a bath, and that left me free to escape.
I have no idea what took me so long to disentangle myself from the store room, but by the time I dashed out of the back door, I could hear her stirring in the kitchen (nearby). So, what I did was to prey on this unsuspecting old lady who was innocently sitting on a park bench right outside her front door, which shared the same landing as the backdoor I just leapt out of. As calmly as I could, I sat next to her, stared up with earnest eyes and grasped her knobbly fingers in my two hands and started to enquire about her health.
Mere seconds after I did that, the mother opened the backdoor and saw me. Of course, I tried my best to feign surprise, but she still looked dubious. She asked me what I was doing here, and I blatantly lied that the old lady I was talking to is my grandmother’s sister. As to what inspired me to say that, I have no inkling at all. It seemed to work, and she walked away and left me alone.
What struck me the most was not this seemingly disjointed sequence of events, but the fact that this someone-chasing-me-type-of-dream has now metamorphazied from one where there was a clear distinction between the baddies chasing me (those men in black with Smith-esque concealed speakers, guns, the works) and the good guys (mostly, me). They were functionalized, and I saw them only as people trying to exterminate my precious life. This time round, the enemy hits shockingly close to home and is actually an acquaintance of mine (my friend’s mother!?) and the terror I felt was electrifying – more so than I was chased by men in black.
I have no idea what to make of this dream and shall come to a conclusion after much rumination. (after exams) Alternatively, someone could help me interpret my dreams 
Monday, October 19, 2009
Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of withering, of tarnishing.
- Anais Nin
