oh no. 11th sept was anni of confirmation. shucks. totally forgot. happy anni loggers -.-
anyways, went threading at little india with mag today! (: the place she previously went to at tekka mall closed down so we walked to the next building and chanced upon this advert of some dinghy place. cuz its on the second floor of some shophse. went anyway, and surprise surprise. hur. turned out not bad la. so boys and girls, nv judge a book by its cover.
after tt, walked to bugis to do some shopping. yay!! i bought a really nice tee!! mag bought the shirt which says sunday and she was thinking of buying all 7 days. bonkers or what lah?! must be all the stress. hur. poor girl.
these are the cupcakes sherry and i baked tt day. got hole not cuz someone took a bite k. its to show tt the filling is chocolate. and the [strawberry] jam is home-made (:
k, toodles yall. got 3 movies i borrowed from vid-ezy to watch!! yay!!
i think i made a mistake
just got home from a play. the jeweler's shop. quite like it. tho its kinda deep. pple were just talking, reflecting and making u think the whole time. ohwells. written by pope john paul 2 what.
gen: if a mood were to represent you, what would it be?
von: hur. melancholy
anyways, msning with gen now. she telling me abt stefan and andrew which happened to be the names of characters in the play. some coincidence there. hur. k, meeting xiuhui and elene tml. woots. prog's back!!
gahhhh... i've got a cough. bad bad cough. i'ld rather sneeze and have never-ending flow of mucus den this stupid cough. i bet nobody gets it as bad as me. cuz every time the dust gets in, den the fits start. like my whole trachea is paralysed and cant get the freaking particle out except by coughing. rawr.
nah, lyrics to the song tt kept playing during the play.
some say love, it is a river that drowns the tender reed
some say love, it is a razor that leaves your soul to bleed
some say love, it is a hunger, an endless aching need
i say love, it is a flower, and you it's only seed
it's the heart, afraid of breaking, that never learns to dance
it's the dream, afraid of waking, that never takes a chance
it's the one who won't be taken, who cannot seem to give
and the soul, afraid of dying, that never learns to live
when the night has been too lonely, and the road has been too long,
and you think that love is only for the lucky and the strong,
just remember in the winter far beneath the bitter snows,
lies the seed, that with the sun's love, in the spring becomes The Rose
The Rose by Bette Midler
nineteen twenties.heartfelt piece of short film.
be patient and wait for the [frikin] loading