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thanks to the great efforts of a handful of my classmates from our hy4227 history module "sources of singaporean history", our short story assignments made it into print! *。ヾ(｡>ｖ<｡)ﾉﾞ*。

the book is available online for reading here : 1927 Singapore

my short story can be found here : Chapter 10. Printed in Black & White

I think it's awesome that my classmates managed to secure funding as part of some kind of SG50 grant to put this into print. it's quite surreal seeing something I wrote in an actual book! /also anthologies ftw cos I think that's my preferred format for writing 'more serious' stuff LOL.

I shall just leave the author's note here as a little tidbit into the premise of the story —

This story was constructed from mainly my own sources and individual topic research into The Straits Times as well as 1927 advertisements. My textual analysis of the various kinds of advertising made me wonder about the fluidity of identity and purpose (the unreliable “4711” narrator), and that “the observer by the mere action of observing influences the experiment”. The latter idea comes out in the ending of the story. Interesting anecdotes told by classmates made their way into this story as well, and especially Clement Xiao’s detailed presentation on the tram system.

all that fanfic-ing paid off academically! ෆ⃛(ٛ⌯ॢ˃ ɪ ˂ٛ⌯ॢ)

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that's what makes it all more worth it don't you think?
the fact that you need to make a choice
and 'suffer' to enjoy its beauty

The great revelation had never come. The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark.

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Spain accepts America's invitation and will grace the event marking America's coming into the world albeit the confusion of why it's on 22nd Jan and not 4th July

LOL ILU ANTONIO (￣∇￣)ゞ

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@W. 'korean music is like junk food. you love to consume it but you can get totally overwhelmed by its epic unhealthy-ness.'

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The romanticised version: think British (aristocrat) reading (his thick classics) in his quite nicely furbished apartment (house) sitting by the glow of the lamp, a cup of tea placed delicately on the table next to his chair. soft background music optional.

I'm probably the highly unromantic Singaporean version: sitting in my canteen, accompanied by a cup of teh in a plastic cup, reading up on my Japanese Studies research topic while listening to Bonamana on my iTouch.

Yeah. That's what I thought |:

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should i follow through on my most random, insane urge to go join england & spain for their jogging session in the morning? (god i don't even know what time they're running and i take like whuuuut 1.5hours to reach their house)

it's 3am now by the way.

edit: 'cos sometimes.. i just really want to be that person people write about and even i dream about at times. the one who shows up at your workplace unexpected and totally out of the blue. just to see you flabbergasted, just to make you smile. you know, just to prove that it's not all fantasy and well, hey there alfred, all your hero talk is probably rubbing off on me.

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we kiss, we fuck, we make up
(i think i heard this in a song once)

we laugh, we cry, we dance
under a moonless sky with chilling hands

we sit on sidewalks, watching cars go by (and making sure we can avoid any that come our way)
while we wait for the sun to rise and the stars to sleep

we have mini-picnics during our lunch breaks
(well okay, i bring you lunch and we eat together on the floor of your cubicle. you hate the walls around you and can't wait to get fired. so we eat less-than-perfect homemade sandwiches to save up for the days in between that and your/our next job)

we ride horses, go on a safari and travel to worlds unknown
(we go on the carousel, go to the zoo, go to little corners no one visits, tucked away in their own time and space)

we don't live a perfect life (we're both stuck in places/worlds we'd like to be bigger, we're both misfits in an oddly packed society, we're both too young for all this people snide)

but we'll do what we've always done, tumble and stumble and get up and run again, run to places where we're free and alone, share kisses and scars under the sun, until the world ends or our lives end, we'll be bruised and battered but we'll go hand in hand with our heads held high.

(this is love, a few say

nah, it's just two people trying to figure out how to live with smiles on their faces, we say)

Labels: ★, writings