Last week, I was out running in a light drizzle, because Alyx and I were getting restless at home after patiently sitting through quite a few wet days.

Whilst running, I saw him.

Him being this rather over-weight man I often see on my runs around this particular neighbour I favour for my bi-weekly excursions with Alyx, dressed in his usual baggy black shorts and white cotton tee. His shirt was drenched with moisture, and it wasn't from the rain - his face and his hair was wet from a copious amount of sweat.

For every few steps I lightly jogged, he painfully plodded forward. His entire bulk heaved and jiggled as he continued his slow progress up the hill I was sprinting up with my hyperactive pooch, and his expression was set in grim concentration.

I felt fucking gratified when I realised that on each of my past few runs, I had seen him around, pushing himself towards a healthier lifestyle. I almost wanted to give him a thumbs-up, if just to acknowledge the effort.

That got me thinking, though, about how, maybe fifteen years ago, I would probably have been one of those insensitive teenagers, jeering at the whale attempting to exercise. I know that if I had witnessed his efforts as an eight-year-old, I'd have laughed out loud at the fatty's jiggles.

The source of that nasty, unsympathetic arrogance? Probably my friends and cousins, and maybe even parents.

So what started out as a really heart-warming moment of appreciation for the fact people like this man are actually making so much effort to better their state of health, became this rather vehement notion brewing in my head - I think for our society to change for the better, for people to be more open to other people's plight, and react with empathy... all that has to begin with baby steps.

Baby steps such as teaching your children not to laugh at others who are unhealthy, weak, or just disadvantaged, one way or another. Baby steps such as learning not to partake in poking fun at others. Seems like not a very big deal, jokes about fat people, about members of the opposite gender, about people who somehow don't conform to the norm, about people who aren't naturally gifted in one aspect or another...

I think we can start doing our bit for humanity, just by being a little bit more conscious about the things we do or say on a daily basis.

We could all start practising a little kindness and acceptance.



I like how your cool, calm decisiveness brings order to my uncollected mess of assorted thoughts and notions, leaping out at random from my unruly mind, without much system of organisation.

You make me slow down and stop to put it all in some semblance of order. You ask thoughtful questions and throw me a little when I am mid-way through a babbling stream-of-consciousness commentary.

I like this discipline you instill to my mind.



Dumping this link here to peruse later. I've too many links elsewhere, might get lost with everything else. These look like a lot of fun... aside from the things I do outdoors, I love these full-body-type exercises.



There are shadow figures everywhere in this room.

They sit next to me. They're on the wall. A few blend into the textured fabric of the drapes. Others crawl across my ceiling.

They whisper. They tell me tales I am yet able to decipher. I will understand, one day.

I do not fear them.

Sleeplessness has revealed them to me, the crawling creatures inside my head.

For the first time in a long while, I am not afraid.

They were never quite the monsters I imagined them to be, just pieces of myself projected so, and then cruelly suppressed by my inability then to accept them.

Word-smith, my wicked one... when you broke me open with your kisses, and put me back together with your caresses, you somehow drew my stories out of me.



I guess you could say I did a not-very-nice thing today. I made a phone call that I would not advise an earlier incarnation of myself to make, and I learnt things that might have made me flip when I was a little more volatile.

I guess sometimes some hard truths are necessary. Today, maybe even that moment of vindictive schadenfreude was some sort of healing pill. Felt like a cyst-full of poison got lanced and drained. In paying penance to me, you made me bear a cross I never wanted.

I'm gonna stop here now, before I get maudlin on all this sentimentality I'm still awash in.

Been a good run, this decade-long life lesson. If anything, it's given me some certainty.

I want less of hatred, more of love in my life. Even fleeting affection; even momentary kindness; even a smile across the room from a stranger - those are the things I want to dwell in.

Giving myself a time-frame to leave this place. I feel like I'm done here, somehow. Suddenly seems so clear I've been living in a puddle I was trying so desperately to love, hoping upon hope, for it to love me back, when I really needed an ocean to contain all of I am.

A third of 2014 has passed us by already. Let the rest of it be better. Let the rest of my life be on my own terms, now.



For my birthday, I got myself something I've been meaning to cross of my to-do list in the past couple of years, just that I keep getting distracted by the idea of installing metal in other bits of me to remember to carry through with it:

Yeah, a second tongue piercing in front of the original, which I actually got repierced further back for this purpose but kept postponing on getting the next one for various reasons.

I guess most of the main piercings on my piercing bucket list have been crossed off. And if anyone wants to ask why, which is a perfectly legitimate question - well, I just wanted this one, and all the other ones I have on me currently. They're all very discreet, which is how I like them. Something about wearing them without them attracting much notice brings me some measure of satisfaction.

I guess, I like feeling like I can pull this off...

... whilst feeling a little bit punk-rock chick, inconspicuously. =P

Also, I've always like the look and the idea of these titanium adornments. I don't think I'll ever "grow out of this phase", but if I do, they're always easily removable.

Anyway, it's been a week in, and it's healing nicely, despite the little bit of fiasco I had with ripping it a little whilst eating an apple. Mouth wounds heal extraordinarily fast, and tongue piercings take all of a week or two before healing up so there's been minimal pain, if a bit of slurring due to the swelling (easily remedied with anti-inflammatories).

Here's another picture, bottom view of my piercings:

This was taken on day two after piercing and my tongue was still swollen. The longer bar in front (providing some allowance for swelling) will be switched to the back after things have healed up, for comfort. It's currently a little too long, and I can feel it against my bottom gum sometimes.

Only thing now is that some people probably think I'm suffering Tourrette's. It does take awhile to get used to the new stud (occluding the palate is a little different with a new little object in the way), plus the reduced movement during the swelling/healing period probably leads to a little muscle weakness, and enunciating certain words after healing is sometimes a little hard. I've to learn how to pronounce some things again.

Whilst out jogging yesterday, some passer-bys might have heard me practising saying these words as I ran past them:

"Management... situation... juice, juice, juice... SHIT SHIT SHIT."



The month of March has been a rather drama-filled one, with the biggest issue making the news being the disappearance of flight MH370. There's been a lot of other things happening in my country, the same old, same old string of political farces, appearances of coconut-toting practitioners of magic, and other assorted news.

And there's been the brief happy week I took off to celebrate my birthday, which was good, in the company of my sister, friends, and a man I think I probably would've really liked, nay, I already really do like, if not for various circumstances that makes it seem like pretty much a geographical impossibility.

Then there's the other disappearance a few days ago, three days after my birthday, that has left nothing but a stain on my past few days.

They all call you a criminal, and that is a fair term, considering what you have done, again. I won't judge you too harshly, maybe I have had too much insight of your troubled mind to be as cruel as to omit the fact you probably had your own very warped reasons.

They call me a fool for worrying about you, about your whereabouts, if you have a roof over your head, if there's food in your belly, if you are alright.

You've been living a lie, I know that, but part of that lie was always me.

Despite being wanting of so many things, despite it being the most irresponsible way to blow the money you didn't have, you made it a point to occasionally drop off the things you thought I might need, the things I might want.

My furry companion you gave to me, knowing you couldn't provide me any better. You made effort to do those little things you thought might please me. You sent me money you couldn't afford, because you cared more for my happiness than maybe your own.

And that doesn't redeem you for the mistakes you just made. But it does make me privy to another side of you, the one that loved me.

I'm sorry I wasn't a better friend to you. I was moving on, as you wished me to.

And I just want to say, despite all the shit you've done, despite everything you've torn up and destroyed in your madness...

Thank you for showing me, even for a moment, that there was something good inside of you, that cared.

I'm a cynical person, and I've lost so much already, so I cannot pretend that a part of me thinks that you've already done something so stupid that I'll never see you again.

Maybe you'll read this, maybe you won't. I'm just so sorry it all turned out this way.