For some strange reason, I took out my luggage from the box, laid it on the floor, and unzipped it.

The smell. The once familiar smell of my room in Lufbra.
The winter wear, the many many pairs of stockings that I forgot about, the railcard.

That was when I realised I really miss those days of exchange in the UK.
The initial stage of fear and lost.
Walking on ice with clothes that were unable to keep me warm for 40 mins, just to buy bed sheets.
Waking up at 3am to use the hair dryer to warm myself up on the first winter night.
The apprehension that came with meeting new people.
The first and (I think) only call made back home.
The joy of receiving emails back from home.
The excitment of travelling in Italy. Think hot Italian men.
Museum hopping. And the picnics!
The long nights at Gatwick airport.
The musicals in London.
The crazy kick-ass trip to Amsterdam with shoe.
Our first live sex show– with some crazy tourist.
The man who went “oh baby, you’re so sweet” and scared the shit out of me. (Mind you, I almost ran, and he had the cheek to follow me)
Fashion week in London.
Fire alarms being set off very regularly.
The satisfaction after the first Chinese meal. It was Roasted duck and char siew rice! And freaking good milk tea too!
Visiting shoe, who would cook awesome food for me!
The dinners at Butler.
Eve, my German roomie, who puts up with the long time I spend in the shower, my shoes, and my always-bursting wardrobe.
The winds that caused me to have red and swollen eyes.
The sainsbury’s. Pure indulgence!
The crazy people at Student’s union during clubbing nights.
The pure bliss of putting on socks, getting buried under the duvet and falling asleep.
The freezing trip to the Isle of Skye. Where we kinda gave half way and went shopping at the supermarket instead.
The well-planned shopping itinery in Edinburgh.
The roadtrips around the UK.
Noodle Bar.
Trying to squeeze all my clothes into the luggage.
Watching my plane fly off without me. Thanks to the massive jam on the motorway.

With all these random memories, I zipped up the luggage hoping these memories stay close to me for many more years to come.



I’m so addicted to this good song..
So much, that I wake up to it.

And I’m bias. Cos I think Ne-yo is freaking hot.

He makes the hair of my back stand up…

Pure Bliss

Here I am at 9.18 in the morning, lying in bed when everyone else has left for work/school.

Tucked under the warm duvet.
The warm sunshine.
Blasting sappy old love songs.
Mindless blog surfing.

Moments like these makes me one easily happy girl.
But I shall go for my jog now.

Psst. I know it’s strange for me to be under a duvet when the sun is up, but I’m strange like that– I love being under my duvet, gives me a (false) sense of security.

Postsecret Sunday

Since we’re not going to have any sort of “ending”, with no beginning to begin with…

(Food) porn

“If the casserole is missionary style, foodporn takes its devotees into the foodie kama sutra.”

The Skinny Gourmet

 (credits to

Oh, good food porn always puts me in the mood. For food.

Some equate good food to sex. Well, I’m not able to justify that ( just yet) but yes, food porn is a good source of visual orgasm. But I’m hoping good food doesn’t equate to sex..

Not hard to tell, I’m particularly attracted to desserts more than anything else. Just like how I’m attracted to stilettos, blazers, stockings, make-up, good music, red roses, eye-cream, all-things-Italian, bad-boy-charm with good hearts beneath, sideburns and tight asses.

Psst. Roll over the photos for the names of the respective (food) porn material

Random ramblings/ and so/

And so, I lugged the guitar all the way to town, hoping to have it restringed. Turns out, the strings are still in a tip-top condition.
Waving long nails goodbye and keeping my fingers crossed, hoping the second time wonder will work its charm.

And so, I found out that I can ease into the whole blood-red lips thing.

And so, after getting busy in the kitchen- chopping vegs, making sauces, boiling and mixing- preparing tomorrow’s lunch for mummy for over an hour, I decide that cooking is highly therapeutic.

And so, I realised that I’ve moved on from getting confused at crossroads. Though I’m not sure if it’s the correct move to make in the long run, life’s too short for regrets, isn’t it?

And I still (not so) secretly crave for a tattoo.

When sleeping is not a luxury/edited/

“Once a good girl goes bad, she gone forever.
Don’t be the reason.”.. this song is stuck in my head

I should stop sleeping so much. For the more I sleep, the weirder my dreams become.
Dreamt of receiving a note asking, ” Why are you so aloof and cold?”


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