sophia and theoria

monk-ey transcendence

Got plan?

Me: So do you have a plan?
John: Yes, but I can’t tell you. If I tell you, I’ll have to kiiiiilllll youuuuuu…
Me: Haa ha… So, really got or not?
John: Oh no… this is the result of watching too much Oprah.
Me: Oi, I only watch snippets of Oprah at your place!
John: Yeah, must not let you watch too much Oprah here…
Me: I don’t even watch Oprah at my place.
John: Too much Oprah is not good…
Me: The guy on Oprah say every guy has a plan.
John: Too. Much. Oprah.
Me: …

captain wildchild and the silly switch

Hanoi. Hong Kong. Taipei. Hanoi. Taipei. Hong Kong. Iran. Bali. Hong Kong. Jeju. Hong Kong. Kathmandu.

Wah. It’s been seven fierce months. I’ve never worked so hard in my life. I’ve never been more comfortable being off the social radar. I’ve never been more determined to rest, play or be lazy. I’ve never been happier just loving and being loved. I’ve never been more at peace with myself and who I’m growing into. I’ve never been more amazed.

There was a documentary I watched about people with memory loss which struck me that it’d be a death sentence to lose one’s memories or the ability to build new ones. Far worse than losing a limb, sight or speech, imagine being in a state of fugue or not being able to imagine the future. This profound consequence of being a lost or lesser person just by losing one’s narrative history left me completely floored.

Supra went home today, armed with soya bean ice cream in hand, a new haircut and defense against Seunggi-stealers. As I walked back in the afternoon drizzle enveloped in sentimental warmth, I told myself that I need to make more trips home to lepak with Atah and Mama, and call the two chikoras more often.

The hours seem to pass so slowly until the beloved blanket monster is home again. Reading, writing and waiting in the light of the genius lamp… Wicked, aight…

heya Dr Love

Dear The Other Sheepgirl,

There are lots of Malibans and Munchies on the regular snack counter next to where you used to sit. Just as the Maliban supply is back, you’re gone. I used to be able to hear you and Holly Moses exploding in laughter from the writer’s room and giggle. Miss our morning pantry chats and your Skype messages about lunch reminders, new indie music, the oily boy saga, and great creative juice-on-the-net finds. Even Holly Moses’ is uninspired to send her hilarious YouTube gems…

We are the miss you lah. Lots.

Hope you had a lovely birthday and having an exciting time over there! Find a cosy place to call home-away-from-home, make new fab friends and discover yummy makan places hehe… ohhh and study diligently! We shall come visit you sometime soon

Till then, fare thee well!

Lotsa love,
Sheepgirl

sticky date

pudding for Christmas

where my heart begins

toffee eyes
sweet with intensity
wine red lips
with hints of bubblegum
and orchid
shower affections
that taste of tangerine
and feel like fireworks

mugs of coffee
two-thirds and full
fan whirring with the traffic below
our hearts speaking
awoken in warmth
softness
depth
a pause
let’s breathe

I am beloved
rhythm of a poem
the Lord is gracious
precious meaning
Your name is where my heart begins

mai tai magic

in his hands

We sat at a quaint little bar at the edge of the sprawling market. A much loved music collection line the shelves behind the counter, framed by a wallpaper of intriguing faces… sips of cultural anthropology in an indolent afternoon. Thought bubbles wreathed with grins and smiles filled the air as reggae and classic rock songs weaved the afternoon light into the deepest vaults of our memories.