EM

Flight Dreams

2012-02-10T21:48:00.000+08:00

Back then I believed I was determined to lead a life my parents would be proud of;

I would attain a degree, a job, remain a Christian, marry a nice boy

Then I discovered a part of me that rose up in a hundred bedrooms that eventually looked like each other.
I began to understand myself for the first time

I remember I was catapulted from that claustrophobic room of my parents' dream of my future

I don't know why the pain comes back

Which was why I knew then to pull up the blanket of dreams over my head

I would fly off balconies, jump off the tops of flats and swim through air for hours in my sleep

A girl who wants to escape from herself, and the stifling confines of conformist societal expectations.
She seeks for liberation through dreams.

Note: This was inspired by the poem Flight Dreams by Cyril Wong

2012-02-07T00:10:00.003+08:00

Look who greeted me outside my room this morning! :)

2012-02-03T01:56:00.004+08:00

There are so many other things I should be doing but right now I can't even begin to bring myself to look at the growing stack of readings, let alone touch them.

A friend from hall once said, " You know, you wee kim wee people seem to be the only ones who love their school so much and get so animated talking about the mods they're taking. While everyone else- the engineering people, the business people, the chemistry people are always endlessly complaining about their course."

It's times like this which help to remind me what I'm doing all this for. Not for the sake of getting a good G.P.A, or the degree, but because I genuinely enjoy what I'm doing in wkw. Increasingly, it's getting so much harder to keep my head above the water. And the very notion of graded work robs learning of any joy whatsoever. :(

persevere em

2012-02-01T01:13:00.001+08:00

These snatched minutes of conversation aren't enough, will never be enough, but that's all I'm ever going to get so I should learn to be content with what brief fragments I have

2012-01-23T13:53:00.001+08:00

every time our paths cross i tell myself ' i feel nothing i feel nothing'

on most days i actually believe it.

2012-01-21T22:58:00.003+08:00

happy chinese new year everyone

Of barcodes and keys

2012-01-21T22:36:00.001+08:00

A photo-shoot done in 2011

Obscured's launch

2012-01-11T22:21:00.000+08:00

Obscured.sg - Coming Soon... from Obscured SG on Vimeo.

Obscured.sg will be up soon!! Do check it out, you'll be astounded by the sheer amount of local talent there is in singapore :)

2012-01-08T23:13:00.001+08:00

But what if I don't want to remember

2012-01-08T23:06:00.000+08:00

Spent a very happy afternoon wandering around Tanjong Pagar and stumbling upon this cafe called Group Therapy :)

Short flight of stairs to get to the cafe

Toffee latte laced with rum and vanilla

2012-01-05T23:02:00.001+08:00

Increasingly I find that I'm growing more incoherent in my head and on paper. Over time, the deluge of words, thoughts, have become thick and sluggish. Slowly choking up. Till I am rendered an almost-mute, barely inarticulate, spending my days in so much silence. It becomes easier to express my life in photos instead.
Raise my eye to the viewfinder.
Aim.
Click.
Shoot.
As if an inanimate object has the ability to wholly surmise what I see, what I think, what I feel.

2012-01-02T22:05:00.002+08:00

One of the most profoundly disturbing movies I have ever watched, but it's worth it

12 AM film stills- Day 1

2012-01-01T16:28:00.000+08:00

2011-12-31T22:49:00.001+08:00

12am - Day 1 (Behind the Scenes) from Ansen.G on Vimeo.

( Filmed by Tanya Lee/ Toh Ee Ming)

[12am update]: 1 (scene) down, 7 more to go.

2011-12-31T11:56:00.000+08:00

Ashort paragraph to sum up my year:

Totalliberation. Read and bought many books. Listened to great music.Wrote. Watched films. Traveled from Jan to April. Picked upphotography (and now I simply cannot imagine life without a camera.) Went to gigs, a Broadway musical, art festivals. Explored SG. Startof university life at my dream school. Lost some old friends. Gainednew ones. Struggled to find my place. Slept at unhealthy hours inhall. Learnt French. ( J'aime beaucoup le francais! ) Learnt to playthe guitar. Felt alive again. Told a friend something I should havesaid a long time ago. Moved on (still trying to). Began to understandthat loneliness and being alone were two entirely separate things.Grew comfortable with a solitary existence.

2011has given me so much happiness.

Asalways, my hope for the new year is summed up by this quote by NeilGaiman, “ May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams andgood madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone whothinks you're wonderful, and don't forget to make some art- write, ordraw, or build or live only as you can. And I hope, somewhere, in thenext year, you surprise yourself. ”

“ Ifeel old. But not very wise”- Jenny from An Education.

2011-12-29T22:10:00.000+08:00

What comes to mind when watching War Horse is the story of Black Beauty,albeit a tougher, grittier version of the children's classic.

DreamWorks'picture War Horse is inspired by the Tony award-winning stageadaptation, and the original novel by Michael Morpurgo.

Setin the small town of Devon, England, the film begins with aremarkable friendship that develops between a boy Albert Narracott(Jeremy Irvine) and his horse Joey. They are forced to part becauseof the war.

Thefilm trots on leisurely at first, but picks up considerably as thefilm traces Joey's tumultuous odyssey during World War 1. Through theeyes of Joey, we encounter different people; from the Britishcalvary, German soldiers, to a French farmer and his granddaughter.The episodic-like transition from owner to owner provides welcomerelief to the otherwise weighty narrative.

Meanwhile,Albert enlists in the army in search of his equine friend. Thisgesture evokes his words, trembling with emotion, in the earlierfarewell scene, “Whereveryou are, I will find you.”

Itis as much a tale about the extraordinary bond between man and beastas it is an epic narration about the universal suffering during theGreat War, made apparent in the stark image of hundreds of corpses ofmen and horses strewn about the battlefield. Yet amid the carnage,hope and tenacity still prevails.

Theclimatic scene of a distraught Joey ensnared in barbed wire isquietly chilling. Diffusingthe tension somewhat is the droll exchange between the British andGerman soldier when they help free Joey. It is at once darklyhumorous and sobering, speaking volumes about the pointlessness ofwar. The usual finger-pointing is largely absent in the film.Instead, it focuses on the shared humanity of both sides. Thankfullythe film does not wallow in over-sentimentality/ stoop to shamelessemotional manipulation.

Nevermind that Joey's quest to be reunited with his owner seems a tadincredible, but who cares really, when you've got such alovingly-crafted tale.

Onceagain, director Steven Spielburg has taken the reins to weave apowerfully moving story reminiscent of past films like Saving PrivateRyan and Schindler's List. Together with long-time collaboratorsJanuszKamiński( Director of Photography) and JohnWilliams( Music composer), the master storyteller has created anold-fashioned classic that will resonate with both the old and young. A word of warning, however, the two and a half hour epic might leavesome restless.

WarHorse is easily one of the most gorgeously cinematic filmsSpielburg has done, no mean feat considering that most of the filmwas shot without CGI effects. Expect to see sweeping, dramaticlandscapes of the Dartmoor countryside. Even themost hardened of cynics will be teary-eyed at the breathtaking andpoignant ending scene.

Already,War Horse is a contender for the next year's Golden Globe Award forBest Picture of the Year, and has 7 Critics' Choice Awardnominations.

Notableperformances include doggedly stubborn Ted Narracott (Peter Mullan)and his formidable wife Rosie ( Emily Watson). NewcomerJeremy Irvine's unflagging belief in his 'miracle horse' may strikeas absurd, but his youthful optimism is still wonderfully compelling.Theappearances of the precocious Emilie ( Celine Buckens) and her stoic,doting grandfather (Niels Arestrup) lend a breath of fresh air to thesombre tale. The Reader's Michael Gross gets asmall but memorable role as German soldier Gunther who escapes toprotect his brother at the risk of being caught and killed.

“Apromise', he explains.

Ifanything, the film is about a solemnpromise between boy and horse, between men and brothers alike. It'sone dark horse, for sure.

Forgotten

2011-12-27T09:57:00.004+08:00

2011-12-24T14:22:00.001+08:00

I admit, I've had my fair share of theatre offerings. But not one of those productions had as muchheart, courage and brains as Wicked

The Grammy Award-winning Broadwaymusical pays homage to the children's classic The Wizard of Oz. Ittells of the unlikely schoolyard friendship between two girls whogrow up to be Glinda the Good and the Wicked Witch of the West.

The sheer scale of Wicked had mefloored, from the set design, lighting, costumes to the choreography,music, and acting. It was a glorious Technicolour extravaganza thattreated theatre-goers to a visually spectacular feast.

No expenses were spared with EugeneLee's stage design, which was a architectural masterpiece in itself.The elaborate and marvelous set designs were reminiscent of thefantastic worlds of Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory and Alice inWonderland. Before the show even began, I was already awestruck bythe stage centre piece, an enormous Time dragon. The musical was inconstant motion throughout, with the perpetual whirring of the giantlevers and gears to signal the changes in location. In just a matter of seconds seconds, the audience was transported from the gilt-edged, glitteringEmerald City to the dark fortress of Elphaba's citadel.

With a staggering 350 set ofcomplicated costumes designed by Susan Hilferty, live music suppliedby 14 musicians, flying monkeys and broomsticks, a sinister talkingpuppet head and levitating witch, Wicked was a musical executed tonear perfection. It was difficult to fathom the sheer amount oftechnical wizardry involved.

Casting wise, my only regret is that Idid not get the chance to see Kirsten Chenoweth play Glinda, or Adam Lambert/ Aaron Tevit play the dashing Fiyero. Nevertheless, theAustralian cast did not disappoint.

Playing the privileged Glinda, SusieMathers was in full-blown blonde airhead mode. Her vivacious,larger-than-life persona commanded attention, with her uninhibitedprancing onstage like a hyperactive fluffy pink bunny on steroids,her breathless giggling and girlish squealing, and her eye-roll-inducing yet delightful mishmash of words.

I was hugely entertained when she sang“Popular', in a misguided but well-intentioned attempt to mouldElphaba into someone popular. “ Just not quite as popular as me,”she trilled merrily, all wide-eyed innocence. Personally I felt shewas hamming it up a little too much, till her performance hovereddangerously close to being a caricature of the typical insufferablyperky cheerleader. But somehow she sidestepped that trap nimbly,managing to win the audience over with her boundless enthusiasm, andscoring the most titters (and even guffaws) from the audience thatnight.

While Glinda's appearances functionedas comic relief, Elphaba's (Jemma Rix) scenes were often lengthy andemotional. Yet Jemma Rix held her own in such a challenging role. Hersteely gaze, feisty spirit, candour and witty retorts made for anequally memorable delivery. Her powerful vocals surged into anexhilarated, triumphant crescendo in her 'Defying Gravity' solo,making evident her proud defiance in the face of such moralcorruption. There was no question about which song was the crowd'sfavourite that night.

I felt that the first act was moreenjoyable, as too much was going on in the second half. It dwelled onmore weighty issues like moral ambiguity, standing up for one'sbeliefs, friendship, love, betrayal and loss, but without comingacross as being too preachy.

It is nearly impossible to find faultwith the musical Wicked. Without a doubt, it is one of the mostimaginative musicals in Broadway. In the words of the Wizard, “Believe me, it's hard to resist, because it's wonderful, it feelswonderful”.

2011-12-22T12:14:00.002+08:00

      and these lines tell the truth
   these city veins answer all you do
   so could you keep me in the pulses
   could you keep me in the sound

  I couldn't stop myself from grinning like an idiot the moment the tickets were handed to me over the counter^^

2011-12-19T23:16:00.000+08:00

I wanted you to care enough to break the silence but you didn't. No oneever does. I am nothing to you.

Thebest course of action would be to just walk away.

and i said i know it well

2011-12-17T23:55:00.000+08:00

cold, rainy saturday night in december
i'm safely ensconced in the tiny attic,
strumming to the likes of bon iver and ' first day of my life'

close my eyes and lean back against the wall

as my voice floats upwards, a distorted aria

play until my fingers have lost all feeling
till the metal strings cut deep into my flesh

nearly-frayed skin

find myself fighting back tears

is this what brokenness feels

2011-12-16T14:14:00.003+08:00

2011-12-14T17:31:00.002+08:00

Red Dot Design Museum at Tanjong Pagar

2011-12-13T01:11:00.003+08:00

2011-12-07T21:39:00.001+08:00

past few days of my holiday:

playing with my lil brother

found this second-hand copy while rummaging around sultana bookstore at peace centre!

the view from outside my house

2011-12-04T20:35:00.001+08:00

In my head I'd imagine how our days would play out, perfectly idyllic and unapologetic

we'd linger over cake and warm coffee in tiny cafes tucked away in shophouses, giddy with excitement on having stumbled upon another gem. we'd traverse the streets, wanting to document every single beautiful thing, seeing the city for so much that it could be and more. at night we'd sit by the river dangling our legs over the black waters eating ice cream that we bought on a whim from the pushcart uncle. and of course, we'd wander around bookstores, greeting the books like old friends, picking up our favorite copies and quoting passages to each other because only words can affect us so profoundly. i'd look right into your eyes, without any trace of fear, which is something i can't do with anyone else. you'd see into the very core of me, and your quiet understanding would be enough, would make me somehow whole

that is, if i even find you at all

2011-12-01T23:11:00.001+08:00

Long due pictures from wkw theme week and halloween ^^

Credit to school photogs

ah lian bee hoon

2011-11-30T02:23:00.001+08:00

Put a few words together prettily and it’s possible
to fall in love.
Move your hand slightly and I'm yours. Or gone.
And think of what can be done with flowers
or paint. I take back
what I said in my message yesterday,
the one saying I had printed and folded each message from you
into a boat, and now had a fleet of origami ships on my desk,
all of them sinking, none of them, I said,
seaworthy. That was mean.
If I think of them differently- not as vessels,
not as anything that might save a life -
but as smooth stone or carved chess pieces,
something I might hold to comfort me,
something I might put in my mouth,
then perhaps I can continue to pass the time this way.
The way I want you
Just a detail, just a thing that can be carried.

Via Missy-maire montgomery

2011-11-20T15:39:00.000+08:00

A beautiful song by the very talented Joel Tan. He'll be featured in obscured.sg when the site is up soon!

2011-11-13T12:49:00.001+08:00

It's Thursday, 10th November and I thought of you from Ivan Tan on Vimeo.

(A film made by one of my wkw seniors, ivan tan, whose other works can be found here )

Because once in a while, something rare and precious comes along. His work takes something from you, yet it gives you something in return too. it touches something raw, something buried deep down inside, and you're at a loss for words, unable to explain to yourself, or anyone else for that matter, why you're left feeling this way.

again and again, i find myself so completely blown away

2011-11-09T22:30:00.000+08:00

" Tomorrow will be a better day"

I just have to keep telling myself this, even though all i feel like doing is crawling into bed and listening to music and letting myself drift away from the confines of these walls

2011-11-03T01:15:00.001+08:00

Quotes from Sylvia Plath's journal, which I've been rereading:

" How can I tell him that my happiness streams from having wrenched a piece of my life, a piece of hurt and beauty, and transformed it into typewritten words on paper? How can he know that I am justifying my life, my keen emotion, my feeling, by turning it into print?"

" Yet I liked him too much--- way too much, and I ripped him out of my heart so it wouldn't get to hurt me more than it did."

" Come here, he said," he said. " I'll whisper something: I like you, but not too much. I don't want to like anybody too much." Then it hit me and I just blurted, " I like people too much or not at all. I've got to go down deep, to fall into people, to really know them." He was definite, " Nobody knows me." That was it; the end. "Goodbye for good then," I said.

2011-10-31T00:13:00.001+08:00

Extract from Ceriph:

You're talking like you're in a sci-fi movie mash-up, she deadpans
But we are the stuff of movies, I say.
I don't want to be in a movie with you.
Why not?
I can't act.
Then be in a life with me.
You want me to date you?
I hate the word date. I would never want to date you.
What do you want from me?
Do you believe me now, when I said I was the one for you?
I don't know yet.
Is this not proof enough for you?
It's awesome, but I don't see how it's proof.
I can accept that.
I'm not saying it isn't proof.
Are you trying to run away from me?
I only want to care about myself.
I can live with that for now.
What I'm trying to say is I could care about you but I'm afraid to.
Have you cared about anyone else in your whole life?
No.
Then that's already good enough for me.

2011-10-27T19:29:00.002+08:00

This was a brochure done by my group for our advertising project.
It makes me happy everytime I look at it ^^

2011-10-24T00:41:00.003+08:00

A few months back, I remember thinking to myself, how easy it is to lose myself in this, it's as natural as breathing. There was no fear. But now it seems as if I'm about to be proved wrong. Once again, I find myself, slipping, helpless, I haven't done so in years, and I'm not prepared for what it might cost me.

i can't help it, i really can't

2011-10-15T17:57:00.001+08:00

Friday night:

I am sitting high up on the concrete steps with G, with a cup of ice-cold beer in my hand, feeling the notes of music pierce right through me, the amplified reverberations from the electric guitars sending shock waves into the very core of my being. The night air is saturated with sound, the atmosphere is charged with electricity and heightened energy, it's like a thick dense blanket enveloping me in a warm embrace. I am watching the people around me get up impulsively to dance, they move forward to join the sweaty mass of bodies at the mosh pit where they can scream the lyrics out and thrash their heads in utter disregard and jump around together in an alcohol-fueled frenzy of reckless abandon, without any inhibitions. I am in love with all of this, this is amazing, this is what being young is all about, this is passion, this is what it feels like to be alive and conscious of it like never before, to have the blood rushing in my ears, to feel my heartbeat accelerating in time to the music, to have my nerves tingling, sweat pouring down my neck, to have to yell out loud just so I can be heard over the music. Experiences like this are so hard to come by.

And then, afterwards:

We are sitting at a tiny coffee shop at Serangoon, sharing a plate of prata and teh-tarik. It's close to midnight, but most of the tables are still filled with people having supper. We talk against the indistinct, comforting chatter in the background, the whooshing sound of the cars speeding by on the main road, the sound of hot oil sizzling, the weary-sounding voices of the indian stallholders as they take orders. We talk about everything- about her internship, about university life and newfound friends, about God and faith, about music, about believing in ourselves, about our dreams, about our secondary school days and how we've changed, about the unknown possibilities of what the future holds, about identity and self-expression, about true love and the idea of soul mates...There is no awkwardness between us, and I love how comfortable I can be around her. It's like a ritual, these late-night hour long conversations where we never run out of things to say. This friendship- it anchors me, tethers me down, and for that, I am eternally grateful

2011-10-06T20:27:00.002+08:00

I've been watching your world from afar
I've been trying to be where you are
And I've been secretly falling apart
Unseen

To me, you're strange and you're beautiful
You'd be so perfect with me
But you just can't see
You turn every head but you don't see me

I'll put a spell on you
You fall asleep
And I put a spell on you
And when I wake you I'll be the first thing you see
And you'll realise that you love me

Sometimes the last thing you want comes in first
Sometimes the first thing you want never comes
But I know that waiting is all you can do
Sometimes

I'll put a spell on you
You fall asleep
I'll put a spell on you
And when I wake you I'll be the first thing you see
And you'll realise that you love me

The Bucket List

2011-10-04T21:22:00.000+08:00

Basically, a bucket list is a list of things to you want to do beforeyou die, whether is lying on the rooftop, having a food fight,starting a band, seeing the Northern Lights, meeting someone famous, going on a roadtrip/ backpacking, flying in a hot air balloon,sleeping in a haunted house, being kissed in the rain ... etc

To take part in this project, all you have to do is

- Write your bucket list on a piece of nice paper/postcard(please do try to decorate and personalize it)

- Scan the paper/take a picture of it and email it to me at insanity_rules92@hotmail.com

- I will then post it up on my blog for others to view

* Submissions can be made anonymously if you wish to do so

It's as simple as that!

Last words:

Do it for yourself, so you can remind yourself to always live in themoment, without any regrets. ( Cliche as I may sound) Because life issuch a fragile thing, and it is all too easy to let it slip by.

Inspired by the movie The Bucket List, PostSecret and CommunityEpisode 3

(+)

2011-10-03T00:25:00.002+08:00

What I got for myself over the weekend ( which made me a very happy girl)

2011-10-03T00:12:00.002+08:00

Books Actually, No. 9 Yong Siak Road S168645

Cyril Wong's poetry!

This cat suddenly appeared on top of the books and obligingly posed for the camera:)

2011-09-30T21:31:00.002+08:00

Fujifilm Finepix x100

Lusting after it...

2011-09-25T20:57:00.002+08:00

2011-09-25T15:31:00.002+08:00

Ranking Sports and Music store, Block 231 Bain Street #03-47
Bras Brasah Complex

2011-09-24T13:56:00.002+08:00

NTU campus

2011-09-21T00:15:00.001+08:00

still trying to find my place here

2011-09-16T12:08:00.002+08:00

Something akin to happiness closed itself around me like a vice
till i couldn't breathe
and then i remembered
it didn't mean anything

2011-09-16T11:56:00.000+08:00

Tim Burton's first ever stop motion video.Brilliance

2011-09-14T22:07:00.002+08:00

There are days that go by when suddenly I stop and realize that the thought of it hasen't crossed my mind at all, not even once, and I think to myself, just maybe

EL& EC / September 11 / Stop Motion Video

2011-09-11T11:58:00.003+08:00

This was taken from beyondthepencil.blogspot.com

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer:
[Read the following lines to understand the last segment of the video]

“…Finally, I found the pictures of the falling body.

Was it Dad?

Maybe.

Whoever it was, it was somebody.

I ripped the pages out of the book. I reversed the order, so that the last one was first, and the first was last.

When I flipped through them, it looked like the man was floating up through the sky.

And if I’d had more pictures, he woud’ve flown through a window, back into the building, and the smoke would’ve poured into the hole that the plane was about to come out of.

Dad would’ve left his messages backward, until the machine was empty, and the plane would’ve flown backward away from him, all the way to Boston.

He would’ve taken the elevator to the street and pressed the button for the top floor.

He would’ve walked backward to the subway, and the subway would’ve gone backward through the tunnel, back to our stop.

Dad would’ve gone backward through the turnstile, then swiped his Metrocard backward, then walked home backward as he read the New York Times from right to left.

He would’ve spit coffee back into his mug, unbrushed his teeth and put hair on his face with a razor.

He would’ve gotten back into bed, the alarm would’ve rung backward, he would’ve dreamt backward.

Then he would’ve gotten up again at the end of the night before the worst day.

He would’ve walked backward to my room, whistling “I Am the Walrus” backward.

He would’ve gotten into bed with me.

We would’ve looked at the stars on my ceiling, which would’ve pulled back their light from our eyes.

I’d have said “Nothing” backward.

He’d have said “Yeah, buddy?” backward.

I’d have said “Dad?” backward, which would have sounded the same as “Dad” forward.

He would’ve told me the story of the Sixth Borough, from the voice in the can at the end to the beginning, from “I love you” to “Once upon a time…”

We would have been safe.”

2011-09-06T18:09:00.000+08:00

I have fallen completely head over heels in love with this film

Voyage Night Festival 2011

2011-09-05T00:38:00.001+08:00

This was a visual and sound-based interactive project, called Lyrical Perspective by 1024 Architecture. It totally blew me away

I don't take credit for the video- it was taken off youtube

( Didn't manage to catch the display on my camera)

Curiosities by Alain Benini

The Cloud- Le Nuage by Superbien

Lampounettes by Tilt

Green Invaders by Yves Caizergues

2011-08-30T15:17:00.002+08:00

Because I haven't felt this way for the longest time.

Even it was just for a fraction of a second

2011-08-28T23:09:00.000+08:00

I knew there would be no turning back, but still some inner voice continued to urge me on. It felt a little like pulling the trigger on myself.

What was said next would have carved me open in the past, but now, strangely the words seem to have little effect on me. But I would be lying if I said I wasn't affected. One isn't invincible, after all. A dullness began to set in, heavy as lead. It was a thick numbing sensation I carried around, a feeling buried so deep inside it was easy to pretend it didn't exist.

2011-08-14T23:41:00.008+08:00

Nowadays it's so rare to have a chance to sit down properly and savor a moment of peace and quiet, to simply be with myself and seek solace in the empty pages of my notebook, while being accompanied by the music of Rachael Yamagata. Already, I feel the heaviness lifting and leaving my bones. But so many distractions are crowding into my mind, threatening to pull me away from this moment, and I have to fight against my worries and unwanted diversions, and force myself to focus on this one thing.

Two weeks into university life and I'm still not quite sure what to make of it. Change has always been disconcerting for me, even more so now that so much is happening all at once, and so quickly too. Things seem to be in a constant state of flux, paradoxical as that may sound. Amidst all this change, it is so easy to get caught up in this whole new life, so much so that I almost begin to forget about this other life I've led, and neglect the people that I've left behind. In the empty moments, sometimes I find myself floundering, feeling so lost. Like something cut adrift, rootless, a piece of tumbleweed drifting along the shore.

I feel like I'm standing on the cusp of something, something so significant and monumental, as I embark on this brand new phase in my life, and honestly, I don't know where all this will lead me.

2011-08-12T16:27:00.002+08:00

The notion of traveling, the moving away from the east to the west, the physical movement away from the familiar faces, the familiar places. The train is hurtling forward at breakneck speed, all other sounds are drowned out and you can only hear the low roar tightening around you, the inhuman screeching of metal against metal tracks, like a vicious assault pounding against your eardrums. The scenery is flying by so quickly your mind can barely register it, as the train emerges from the stifling claustrophobia of the subway tunnels of the city ( they bear such an uncanny resemblance to ancient catacombs), then it rises to streak past the open air MRT stations along the green line, past the rows of colorful HDB flats silhouetted against the gradually darkening skies. The motion of the train seems to be the only sure thing. As the train judders to a halt at Boon Lay, you take a tentative step out of the train carriage and onto the platform and stand there, a lone figure motionless in this relentless ebb and flow of people rushing by. And in that moment, you feel the vastness of space, expanding, widening all around you, enormous in its aspect, and you're reminded, once again, of how utterly alone you are in all of this.

Nobody said it was easy, no one said it would be this hard

Priscilla Ahn - "Wallflower" (Live)

2011-08-11T23:42:00.003+08:00

I'm not here, no one sees me

2011-08-11T22:55:00.001+08:00

2011-08-07T14:17:00.000+08:00

The Tin Tin Shop at 56 Pagoda Street, S(059215), Chinatown

2011-07-31T14:39:00.003+08:00

Littered with Books at 20 Duxton Road S(089586)

One weekend, G and I stumbled into this gem of a bookshop while wandering about Tanjong Pagar. It was tucked away in one of the many conserved shophouses lined along Duxton Road. The moment I entered the store, I found myself thinking, so rarely do I step into someplace new and feel almost instantly at home.

Unlike the sprawling labyrinth of large bookstores like Kinokuniya and Page One, Littered with Books is tiny in comparison, but makes up for it by exuding so much warmth that you will feel as if you're browsing from the comfort of your own cozy living room. Of course, it isn't as well stocked as the other bookstores, but it does boast a pretty extensive collection of titles, ranging from classics, culinary books, crime, contemporary literature, fantasy, sci-fi, to philosophy books. To those who are quick to dismiss the notion of a thriving reading culture in Singapore, or who bemoan the lack of quirky, independently run bookstores, I say, you haven't been looking closely enough.

2011-07-28T13:19:00.005+08:00

A publication of creative works by Singaporeans

Even the simplest of things like the act of opening up carefully wrapped brown paper packages and thumbing through a newly bought book has the capacity to fill me with so much happiness

Heathers(1989)

2011-07-25T21:59:00.001+08:00

2011-07-24T13:29:00.000+08:00

And it's just another story caught up in another photograph I found
When I look back on my ordinary, ordinary life
I see so much magic though I missed it at the time
-Jamie Cullum

2011-07-20T13:00:00.001+08:00

   The mind
   is everything in a world
   upon which you can leave
   no shadow.

As in any mind
a choice remains-
a mad range of choices. The past

opening up behind you,
the future shut-
a bolted window before you.'

- Cyril Wong

Mint Museum of Toys

2011-07-19T13:03:00.006+08:00

2011-07-17T15:58:00.002+08:00

"A Measured Distance Away"-HD from A N S E N.G O H on Vimeo.

Words can't even begin to describe how I felt upon watching this.

2011-07-17T13:43:00.002+08:00

You said, ' I'm scared'.
And then everything changed.

The old fear surfacing yet again, rising in waves, choking black whirlpools brimming with dread and regret , and you felt lost like a child. It spreads like a slow poison, tainting your every waking moment. Such a burden would too great to bear, it would be nearly incomprehensible ( Is it possible to run from the truth forever?) Rising tentatively upwards are the distended cadences of your prayers, as they ascend to meet the indifferent night skies.

Hesitation cuts into my side like a knife, and my thoughts are thrown into disarray, like a flurry of birds’ wings beating soundlessly in the air. I struggle to find something to say, in the hopes of bringing some semblance of comfort. But for once, I find myself faltering. All that comes to mind is ' please. no. no’, an inconsequential refrain, a pointless plea with the God I sometimes don't even believe is there. How foolish- as if my words could somehow dissipate the fear, could reach deep inside of you and still the churning red rivers flowing within the network of veins.

And so, helpless, I can only watch, and wait.

Mirrormask

2011-07-09T16:14:00.000+08:00

Took these off the Mirrormask book/screeenplay.
Two words to describe Neil Gaiman and Dave McKean...Pure genius.

2011-07-08T11:03:00.000+08:00

"The modern city hardly knows pure darkness or pure silence anymore, nor does it know the effect of a single small light or that of a lonely distant shout." - Johan Huizinga

2011-07-07T16:42:00.001+08:00

2011-07-07T14:17:00.000+08:00

A treasure trove for designers tucked away at the fourth floor of Bras Brasah Complex

Be With Me by Eric Khoo

2011-07-02T13:47:00.001+08:00

2011-06-29T11:00:00.000+08:00

2011-06-28T17:01:00.000+08:00

The Birdsong Trilogy

2011-06-26T15:00:00.002+08:00

A film by the talented Royston Tan.

For the first time in my life, yesterday I found myself watching a film alone at Sinema Old School.

Passion

Betrayal

Forgiveness

2011-06-23T15:40:00.002+08:00

2011-06-20T23:25:00.037+08:00

All it took were a few paltry sentences, and just like that, you were floating. For the longest time now, you hadn't let yourself feel entirely happy. So much had to remain unsaid, unacknowledged, but somehow you could feel its tangible presence hovering in the spaces between your words, the feelings trapped permanently inside of you like a caged hummingbird. And so you told yourself, no one could ever quite compare.

" I've thought myself out of happiness a million times, but never once into it''- Jonathan Safran Foer

Our Last Days As Children

2011-06-20T13:22:00.002+08:00

Even as you watch this, time is pulling you forward, like a parent tugging insistently at his reluctant child...

FILMED AND PRODUCED by ANSEN.GOH
WORDS by EM
SPECIAL THANKS to VIVIAN NG.

Music: Kyte-Boundaries

Sandcastle

2011-06-20T13:10:00.000+08:00

Watched this a few days ago.

Singapore Biennale 2011

2011-06-14T12:33:00.002+08:00

My favourite exhibition, by far

All photos credited to Asyraf

Subject 5: Ansen

2011-06-13T21:08:00.005+08:00

Quotes Ansen, " I want to be a serial killer" - something I never knew about him @_@

To view this project 'Redefining Familiarity', please click here

2011-06-11T16:14:00.006+08:00

2011-06-10T11:08:00.014+08:00

This was a handmade Christmas gift by an old friend

And in exchange, I gave this

Happiness is a warm gun

2011-06-04T17:32:00.006+08:00

So... Last night, I went to watch The Observatory, a local alt-rock band, do covers of songs from the Beatles' White Album at the Festival Village, Esplanade Park. My favourite songs had to be ' Blackbird', ' Dear Prudence', ' I'm so tired', and ' While my guitar gently weeps'. The Observatory's take on the songs was probably twice as edgy as the original but their versions worked surprisingly well. The entire experience was really intense ( but in a good way), almost religiously cathartic even.

There were these two old guys in front of me doing a mild form of head-banging and they kept exchanging glances and grinning appreciatively at each other. ( haha) I guess that's what happens when you listen to good music, it makes you want to lose yourself so completely in it, to surrender yourself to the ecstasy of blissful oblivion.

A feeling of pure, unadulterated joy swept over me as the band continued to expertly weave a dizzying tapestry of music. At the end of a 45 minute set, they built up towards a blitzkrieg of sound, surging towards a frenzied crescendo, everything colliding into a perfect whole, imploding the senses, till waves of sound poured into my head, into my skin, over and over... Heartbeat accelerating, every atom of my body humming, nerve ends tingling with the sheer euphoria of listening to Beatles music being played live, I remember wanting so much to wrap that sensation around myself, to be surrounded by the wide expanse of inky black sky and grass and sharing that wonderful and intimate experience with total strangers, to remain in the here and now, feeling so much with every fibre of my being, thinking how amazing it was to be alive right then.

2011-06-03T14:20:00.001+08:00

Always, that feeling of wanting, of being of want of something, but never knowing what exactly you were yearning for. ( "Desire is always cruel'') Insidious, surreptitious, it is burrowing its way into your skin, crawling into the network of blood vessels, its sharp hooks latching onto the lining of the walls, feeding off on the fear, the hidden insecurities and inadequacies, the misplaced hopes and unanswered prayers, the buried memories and repressed emotions. It waits, biding its time. Waiting for that split second of hesitation, that moment of weakness, and then, like a predator sensing the opportune moment to pounce on its prey- it strikes.

2011-06-02T00:02:00.002+08:00

A drawing done for N's birthday in 2008.

England Literature trip 2006

2011-05-31T17:42:00.006+08:00

Most of the pictures were taken with a film camera, and as you can tell, my photography skills were really horrible back in Sec 2.

Candy shop at Grasmere!

We were taken on a ghost tour around York

Trinity College in Cambridge

The boats were named after characters in Shakespeare's plays

The view from one of the towers at Warwick Castle

At Jane Austen centre in Bath

The Stonehenge

The Big Ben. Apparently big ben refers to the bell

London eye

The infamous Tower of London

This was where Richard the Third killed the 2 young princes for the throne

We were chasing the guards at the Buckingham Palace

The gates of Globe Theatre

Unsung Heroes

2011-05-30T12:48:00.005+08:00

At first glance, you are presented with a snapshot of Singapore, encapsulated neatly into a glossy Kodak photograph. Certain phrases leap to your mind as you stand gazing from afar- emerging Asian city running as if on clockwork, seemingly self sufficient. Gleaming, polished to a shine. First world city, buzzing metropolis, accolades aplenty.

But what often goes unnoticed are the unembellished close ups of the heartlands, of the people engaged in the humblest occupations. These scenes play out quietly like a series of little vignettes.

Spare him a cursory glance, and you will see the man behind the wheel. As seconds pass, his face slides quickly out of the fraying hem of your consciousness, elusive as a dream, so that he remains invisible, faceless. There is the jarring sound of EZ-link cards being tapped, and they beep a shrill greeting. Without this form of acknowledgement, he could cease to exist altogether. Oblivious commuters file past him indifferently, ears stuffed up with tiny wires, eyes fixated on tiny screens that capture their attention. Like a modern-day harbinger of journeys, he carries them to their destinations, constantly in motion, and their fates entirely within his control.

Amid the lunchtime frenzy at the hawker centre, no one pays attention to the misshapen, heavily bent back of a woman. No one witnesses the mottled, liver-spotted hand, gnarled like the bark of an ancient, weathered tree, betraying a slight tremor. Stiffly, painstakingly, she shuffles slowly around, picking up after stranger. The future stretches out bleakly before her, and she catches a glimpse of an endless terrain of oil-spattered tables strewn haphazardly with the remains of leftovers and fish bones. Like intertwined lovers, the dirtied cutlery lie partially drowned in bowls of soup. Her days will be defined by the unhurried movement of the mop moving back and forth, on the floors caked eternally with grime. An imperceptible sigh escapes from her lips. The sound lingers, suspended momentarily in the air but still, it remains unheard.

Advancing into the neighborhoods is the masked, gloved army of trash collectors. They heave bloated black bags into the cavernous gaping jaws of the truck, like a peace offering. They are suffused permanently with the noxious stench of garbage, every single day.

Our foreign counterparts, taking on the jobs that we so love to shun. All over the island, they are loading cargo unto containers, building our future homes, shaping the physical landscape, toiling on the sun-drenched earth. And the entire time, we are sitting in our ivory towers, in our comfortable offices, air conditioners blasting in full force. From a high vantage point, it is deceptively easy to disregard their contributions, to deem ourselves as superior. We regard them warily, some of us not even bothering to disguise the resentment. Muttering darkly among ourselves, we are seized with the irrational fear of being pushed out of our homes, of our country being overrun by these new inhabitants. We keep wanting to distance ourselves, when already, their imprints are everywhere.

Perhaps one day this picture-perfect image of Singapore and the unvarnished reality will finally align.

Photo credited to Ansen

2011-05-29T15:09:00.000+08:00

" Click-click. Clip-Clip. Tick-tick. Snip-snip.. And it goes on and on. I could smash the measured clicking sound that haunts me-draining away life, and dreams, and idle reveries. Hard, sharp ticks. I hate them. Measuring through infinite space, cogs and wheels. Can you understand? Somone, somewhere, can you understand me a little, love me a little? For all my despair, for all my ideals, for all that- I love life. But it is hard, and I have so much-so very much to learn-"

- Sylvia Plath

2011-05-29T14:36:00.000+08:00

The following artworks were designed by by Eeshaun, who happens to be one of my favourite local illustrators.You can view the complete collection of his kooky lookinng works here

Toby's Dessert Asylum at Parkway Parade Shopping Centre.

Limited edition Red Army camera

Project Nippon is organised by ActuallyActually, a local fashion boutique to raise funds for the Japanese Earthquake victims

Khong Guan biscuit lamp

National Day Fun tote bag

16" Black Nosed Tofu

'Your Vote Is Our Secret' artwork

The Bird Who Was Afraid Of Heights children's book

Some old pictures I dug out

2011-05-28T20:10:00.000+08:00

My sis and I

My sixteen year old dad

Mother doesn't get it by Cyril Wong

2011-05-28T16:32:00.000+08:00

I don't know why I don't know love.

I don't know why my sister sleeps with white men and likes it.

I don't know why I don't like sex.

I don't know why I turned into my mother no matter how hard I resisted.

I don't know why my son does not look at me in the eye anymore.

I don't know why my daughter used to bring home other girls dressed as boys.

I don't know why my daughter likes men now and the men are never Chinese.

I don't know why I believe in God even though He does little to make me happy. I don't know why I can say such things and still believe I will go to heaven.

I don't know why I keep waking up in the middle of the night after dreaming of lying at the bottom of a pool.

I don't know why even as there is no light in dreams I can feel I'm not alone and that something is waiting to hold me down to drown.

I don't know why my husband loves to mop the floor to a meaningless shine.

I don't know why the self is a shadow I keep trying to pin down to point in one direction.

I don't know why this home is where my heart is no longer.

I don't know why my body shrinks with age but my loneliness never does.

I don't know why my children watch me with their father's hollowed eyes.

I don't know why I keep telling my son I will kill myself if he refuses to marry.

I don't know why I never kill myself.

I don't know why it is precisely these moments when I am almost sure I am happy that doubt pours inside me like a cloud of mosquitoes through the grate of a roadside drain I saw in India and could not stop staring.

I don't know why I can almost forget my pain when I am at my busiest and most distracted.

I don't know why I still believe the dream of the happy life will surely fit itself back inside my body tighter like a screw tomorrow.

I don't know why the pain comes back.

Landing by Cyril Wong

2011-05-27T16:36:00.000+08:00

What death may be: a slow, close-to-weightless
tilt, like a burgeoning foetus turning
slightly in the womb. The engine starts a low
growl like a stomach, the aircraft hungry to
land, to devour the space between its
falling body and the ground, followed by
the slow lick of its wheels against the runway's
belly: pressing down, then skating forward,
only to decelerate, a sensual slow-mo,
and the plane makes a sound
like the hugest sigh of relief.

The seatbelt sign blinks off for the final time.
We rise up from our seats like souls
from bodies, leaving bulky hand luggage
in the overhead compartments, then
begin a tense line down the aisle, awkwardly
smiling at each other, remaining few minutes
alive with all kinds of ambivalences,
or simply relief at having arrived, at long last,
in that no-time zone of a country
without a name except the ones we give it;
weeping, laughing, both at once

Flipped

2011-05-27T15:06:00.241+08:00

I've lost count of how many mindless, bland movies Hollywood has been churning out, in the hope that the audience will be so distracted by the action and special effects and fail to notice the weak plot and lacklustre acting. You don't need big budget movies to win people over. Sometimes even the simplest of movies can be the most sincere , as proven by the film Flipped.

While the theme of first love centres as part of main plot, Rob Reiner ( also director of The Bucket List) deftly tackled other issues with aplomb- typically weighty like honesty, courage, coming of age, prejudice, familial relationships. In less capable hands, it would have easily come across as tired, and the audience would have steered well clear of such cliches. But with Reiner's skillful execution, coupled with the authentic acting and gorgeous cinematography , it translated into a film that was poignant and irresistibly heartwarming. Of course it helped that there was a great soundtrack, which paid tribute to the era of oldies like The Chiffons and The Everly Brothers, against the backdrop of 1960s American suburbia.

Anchoring the film were the commendable performances of the two young actors who played Julianna Baker (Madeline Carroll) and Bryce Loski.( Callan McAuliffe). Truly, they were a joy to watch. I particularly liked the portrayal of Juli. Carroll took the character and made it her own, managing to strike a delicate balance between wide-eyed innocence and yet displaying a maturity beyond her years.

The supporting cast and vivid characterization strengthened the story further, injecting candor and giving depth and providing substance to the film. For all his snide comments and condescending attitude, Bryce's father( played by Anthony Edwards) still came across as someone the audience could relate to. Likewise, the family confrontation scenes were emotionally charged and it left me almost in tears. I can say, without a shadow of a doubt, that Flipped is a film worth watching.

2011-05-27T13:53:00.001+08:00

"I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life."

- The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

2011-05-26T17:58:00.010+08:00

As I listened to her talk, I felt a sense of admiration for this friend of mine, who had shown me that there was nothing wrong with daring to dream big, ludicrous or impractical as it might seem, and who had taught me to look at life and see all the possibilities it had to offer. Hearing her talk about her aspirations made me take good, long, hard look at myself.

All my life, people would ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I would tell them,without hesitation, ' I want to be a journalist', not realizing that I had been limiting myself. Other than journalism, I hadn't the faintest idea how to go about pursuing other choices. I'd entertained some options, but being a pragmatic Singaporean, I dismissed those thoughts, knowing that it would be nearly impossible to succeed.

But now I tell myself, to hell with it, who cares what people think? I don't want my idea of success and a good life to be defined by just these symbols of status- having a stable job, a relatively high income, marriage and 2 kids, owning a car and living on private property, being wealthy enough to take my family to the country club or splurge at the shopping mall every weekend. Surely there is more to life than material comforts? I find it scary how many Singaporeans work are contented with living in stifling conformity. And the thought of being trapped in a rut but not being able to do anything about it, or being just another disillusioned office drone in this rat race is simply terrifying.

Pursue what you love and don't be too quick to write it off, you never know until you've tried :)

What I would like to do in my life

Be a respected journalist at the Straits Times, columnist and critic. Or be a feature/lifestyle writer, reviewing movies, films, plays, music , travel , books, places.

Be a photographer and take pictures which go beyond surface beauty, pictures that tell a story and are able to move people

Write a play

Write a book and be as good as these literary geniuses - Neil Gaiman, Jonathan Safran Foer, Haruki Murakami

Write poetry like Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton, Cyril Wong

Be involved in the theatre scene, whether it is production, lighting, props and wardrobe, acting

Sing and write songs

Direct films like Royston Tan, Eric Khoo, Tim Burton

Travel the world to places like India, Spain, Egypt, Africa, Rio de Janeiro, Italy, Japan, England, Germany, Mexico, America, Tibet, Dubai

Open/work at a cafe like Food For Thought

2011-05-26T16:22:00.002+08:00

Behind the Arts House

2011-05-26T16:06:00.004+08:00

I watched them laugh and converse effortlessly with one another, so comfortable in their own skin, and the entire time I was thinking, what is wrong with me. It was a feeling I couldn't quite shake off, this peculiar sensation of ghostliness, of being an outsider. I hovered at the margins, never quite belonging, always gazing in, wondering what was it that made me so different from everyone else. Many times, I felt like an impostor masquerading as a real, live, normal human being, mirroring the gestures of those around me, hoping that no one would discover it was all a farce. When people talked I withdrew into myself, finding it difficult to even look at them in the eyes. It was as if I wasn't even there, just invisible, like a ghost drifting about, observing what went on with a gentle indifference, sometimes with an almost clinical detachment. I sometimes suspected that I was dead inside, impossible as that may sound. Perhaps some part of me had been lost along the way. It seemed to be the only explanation for the perpetual numbness I carried around.

Putting these thoughts into words turns out to be harder than I thought. Perhaps a quote will succinctly capture what I'm struggling to say.

" It was a source of both terror and comfort to me that I often remained invisible-incompletely and minimally existent, in fact, it seemed to me that I made no impact on the world, and that in exchange I was privileged to watch it unawares." - Housekeeping

2011-05-24T13:55:00.002+08:00

I found this when I was scrolling through my text messages from 2009.

I asked, " Do you ever feel like running away, but you don't know where you're running to?"

and you said" Every day of my life."

Singapore Arts Festival: Filem Filem event

2011-05-22T16:21:00.009+08:00

I was lucky enough to watch at the main stage

Sitting on the wooden steps with my arms wrapped around my knees, waiting for the film to start, surrounded by fellow film buffs, and I was overcome with a sudden bout of giddy happiness.

The theme of the festival was ' I want to Remember', so the event was supposed to evoke a sense of nostalgia and give people the chance to reminisce about the good ol' times. The older generation was probably transported to the Singapore of the1960s-1980s, where outdoor screenings were a weekly affair, and entire families would gather round on the grass or perch themselves on wooden stools and snack on peanuts stuffed in paper cones, and the coolies and samsui women would go around hawking their wares before the show.

The audience sat in half-darkness, reveling in the near-perfect tranquility, partly hypnotized by the soothing sounds of the singing cicadas, the delicate rustling of the trees in the slight breeze, the gentle lapping of the Singapore river. While it was definitely a novel and refreshing experience, what stood out more was how evocative it was. One will find one's senses titillated as the night unfolds. There was no place I'd rather be, and I pitied the masses of people in the air -conditioned shopping malls, who were throwing away their hard earned cash on material things that would never fully satisfy them, and not knowing what they were missing out on.

It was a little surreal, trying to reclaim a tiny fragment of the past, when in fact the simple, rustic charm of the venue was framed against the backdrop of the urban cityscape, against the towering skyscrapers, incandescent as they loomed in the distance, dazzling us with the powerful artificial light, the very epitome of modernity.

The juxtaposition of the two places served as a reminder that while progress was inevitable, and though Singapore is now known as a vibrant, cosmopolitan city, we can look back and still find traces of the sleepy fishing village it once was in the post colonial era.

Some of the following films screened at the Festival Village.

I found this surprisingly catchy and heartwarming. ( But I found the drag queen a little out of place though) Until now, I still find myself humming to the tune and feeling cheerful.

An extract of the film Lighthouse by Anthony Chen.

2011-05-22T13:30:00.004+08:00

Phil Collins - The Meaning of Style (2011) from Jose Da Silva on Vimeo.

I watched the full version of this during the Singapore Biennial 2011 at Old Kalling Airport. Often, many people have misconceptions/ preconceived notions about the skinhead subculture. After Phil Collins spent time with the skinheads in Penang and Kuala Lumpur, the end result was an astonishingly enchanting gem of a film, and it transformed my perspective of this misunderstood culture.