back in chicago

lounging on abbi's pretty green chaise. housed in north park avenue in old town CHICAGO!

textile mosaic memory from bethlehem

Holmes!!!



mr beans















and his daytime friend






















words from abbi's kitchen. i hear the el go by. it's rush hour now.

autumn in chicago

exactly four years ago, i packed my bags and took off to chicago. i was fresh faced, invincible and excited. it's now autumn agn in chi-town. and as i pack my bags to visit the windy city by the lakes - i wonder where is that girl?
let me retrace my steps. i'm likely to get lost agn.
or maybe not.
there's abbi (or holmes!!), mr bean and an indie grocery shop at lincoln park run by a dear friend. and if ceteris paribus really exists... there's yakzies and duffy's for my drinks and wings, my lovely lovely tiramisu at BUCCA, and crepes along clarke street...the Nine West factory outlet at the corner of diversey and clake...manager goes by the name of omniscience!!! cinnamon rolls at ann sather (the branch at belmont). the art institute at the tail end of the mag mile. i'll finally have my drink at the signature room at the top of the hancock. great sale items at filene's basement. cool, quirky accessories at anthropology. that homeless man outside market place. ordering starbucks coffee in a venti size. visiting my first rented apt at 2828 pinegrove. i really liked that place. yellow and white vintagey looking building. that familiar sound of the el screeching by. and the cool wind on my face.

home sweet home

i like how i painted the walls with my own hands. and chose the colour green for the frames. i like how my anthropolgie scarf hangs on my mirror and how my clothes are strewn on my bench. i like how the lights are warm and how the burning lavender scents my room.my room. home sweet home. i like how the books on my shelves are familiar. and placed according to topics i like. history. lit and sociology. one shelf is painted green. one inherited and one for my magazines. home sweet home. that little mosiac table top i made has tiles displaced.but that's okay. home sweet home.

my prescribed world

if this picture seems a little blur it's cos my stay in Jakarta has also been likewise. i'm here in the city for only 2 days but i hardly got to see anything...it was office and hotel and hotel basically.

it's a pity though. i'm off now. maybe next time.

Jakarta Calling New York City

on your left is mm kay. "my mentor" kay.
others call her debbie10k.
here i am stuck in a very nice hotel in jakarta on a fri nite. and there she is at home at a very nice serviced apt in NYC on a fri morning. she's having breakfast. i'm having dinner.

but come sep 22....NYC here i come!!! yay!

*pictures still taken with my nokia. dun you love what it can do? :)

lovely strange day

at the jakarta airport. the last four bags came from behind the rubber curtain flaps...wobbling on the belt. then the last baggage board came around and confirmed my greatest fear - my luggage was lost. my first time in jakarta and he was already playing hard to get.

about 90 mins later, my trusty old bag came along. my body was tired. and my mind thinking disparate thoughts. i'll just list down my lovely strange day

1. woke up couldn't find my pass port
2. found it 5 mins later - in the bag i brought to bintan last
3. went to work. someone cracks a joke. i laugh. or try to. i just don't get it.
4. had a conversation that was weird. feels like parallel universes surround me, either that or i'm autistic
5. went to the airport checked in early
6. bought merlion macadamia chocs and cookies > never knew they existed. i'm sorry for the insincere gifts. but excuse me, i'm tired
7. exit the shop and bump into agent steve
8. he brings me to the PPS lounge. it's an entire universe out there. from shower rooms, internet booths to choice of perrier or evian
9. get on plane and meet ceo from interview 2 days back
10. get off the plane. luggage mia
11. wait 90 mins...made 2 new friends. lisa - indonesian chinese tai tai who just spent 2 days shopping in singapore. first she apologises on behalf of her country to this first time visitor...who cornily thinks hey isn't life better minus the baggage. she asked me to join her for a McDonald's dinner. declined and feigned anxiety; and nameless new airport employee. she works at the lost and found. she is kind. she lent me a nokia charger so i could sms my bitchin' back to singapore..abt lost luggage and arse luck. she gave me aqua branded mineral water too.
12. mr x from the later flight caught up with me
13. bag arrives
14. had interesting arts/literature/docu production/travel conversation with mr x
15. just before the hotel lobby. the car pulls over to get triple checked by security. i feel like i'm checking into prison.
16. got to hotel. impressed. hooked up my laptop. am surprised it works. actually works.
16. met malcy for dinner. so funny that we're both in town at the same time
17. hot bath.
18. thinking random thoughts
19. my stories are swimming
20. it's time to sleep

boring blog: today's topic> i'm shoe lady for the day

a friend told me yesterday that my blog was rather boring!!!! : ) i'm BORIIIIIINNNNNG.

well - how did that happen? why do i feel compelled to be unboring. all those times when i walked into a room and everybody walked out i thought it was maybe just my bo problem. and so the bo-ring problem unravels now. suddenly everythg about life is crytsal clear.

but just to be sure. i asked my MAGIC 8 ball - a gift from a colleague - "am i a boring person?"

its answer? "of course!" ha ha. i believe i was framed.

PS> my conclusion about sharing boring details as i told a friend recently is borne out of the need to work through some form of existential angst. i share boring details to mark my existence just as a dog pees to mark his territory > my other friends says HE THinks he just read someone else makingthe same point just before i made mine...so maybe i am boring. hahahahah> but i swear - the first time i heard about the boring details sharing/existentialism crap was when it came rightout from my mouth. honest to god.

anyways... for those who'd like moreboring details about my life... and thoughts> i bought four pairs of shoes today. really wished i had a digital camera - so i could take pictures of my new collection. and post them here. but i shall make do and give the visuals through my words.

first pair: country road summer blue asperadilles?is that how you spell it? i'mqte sure i'm wrong abt the sp.
second pair: black cocktail shoes with pointy points
third pair: a purple classic
fourth pair: an everyday black slinky chic.

p.s. the magic eight ball shot was taken with my nokia phone camera. i'm praying that someone would buy me a digital camera soon. anyone? i'm sending my wish out into the universe now..........

blue skies in the morning sun

something in the early morning breeze woke me up that day to take in this pretty shot

a memory as i recall it

Come undone. She whispers to herself as she looks into the oval shaped mirror hanging just above her vanity table. With her left pinky finger she extends her lashes but they resist her gestures. they remain stubborn, straight and asian. The reflection stops at her collarbone...her head tips downward as she examines with scowling eyes the body she has come to own.

She outstretches her right hand, her palm flapped up towards her. Her fingers have never looked good. They were short and stubby. The little fine strands of hair sprinkled on the lower part of each finger have always annoyed her. The snapshot of her extended hand suddenly reminds her of tea outings with her dad as a kid. Mainly because during these family trips out to the coffee shops, she was always fixated with having her gaze planted on her dad’s bronzy hands on the handle of his teacup. The adoration didn’t just stem from the fact that fathers are kings in Chinese households…she wanted to be like her dad. With each sip of his tea, she timed hers. Experience told her that father’s last sip also meant the end of the tea session Her father was pretty abrupt in his movements. The moment the clear-glassed teacup is placed on the table with nothing left in it – he would stand up and leave without a word. The rest would just have to follow. Whether or not there’s any tea left in their cups. As a kid…she sensed and respected such power. And so the image of watching her father’s hands on the teacup has always been a fond childhood memory. She’s always gathered that she could have only taken in such an experience as child of about 5 or 6 ‘cos at that age when seated on a stool at the hawker center table, her eye level space of vision was right smack cup-on-table level…making possible the sociological observations of her dad’s drinking habits and the world that revolved around it.