Monthly Archives: September 2013

Back to School in London

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That’s my week in short. Sorry that the image quality isn’t very good  😦 But if you happen to be reading this, hope you’re having a lovely Friday 😉

“柔らかな風に包まれながら
サヨナラの数をかぞえたよ
届かない空に手を伸ばしたら
春の陽ざしの中で 綺麗な花が咲いた”

“As I was embraced by the gentle wind

I counted all my goodbyes 

As I reached up to a far away sky

In the spring, a tiny flower bloomed”

~ A town nearing spring, 40mp feat. Gumi

*Jonathan Wolff, an introduction to political philosophy

A Quiet Seaside Town

 

 

 

 

I’m not sure whether it’s delayed fatigue from a packed schedule, or just my introverted side showing more as a grow older, but I crave quietness a lot more now a days. Hastings was lovely. I wish I were a little braver and stronger, so that I could run away to places like these on my own sometime.

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もしも、今隕石が降ってきてるとしても

私は気がつくこともできず

天国行きで

まあいっか、それもありかな

Let’s say, if right now,a meteorite came down

Even then, I probably wouldn’t be able to notice it

As I go up to heaven

Well, yeah, something like that. 

~ Perfect Day, Supercell 

A Bunny in England

Hello, I’m Bun. This is me with Nanou. Nanou has a lot of hair, and is always smiling.

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We arrived in this city about a week ago. Since then, we’ve been living in a tiny apartment beside a Scandinavian cafe. Like most of the cafes here, it has a blackboard outside. English blackboards have a lot of character.

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It’s daytime here when night falls back at home. And while me and Nanou can rest in bed all day, our family has been pretty busy running errands. So our big sister has been walking around with a dazed look in her eyes.

It’s also really cold and it rains a lot, which is why big sister wears 3 layers of clothes every day, and coughs a lot.

Well, now that I think about it, the coughing is probably because of cafe breakfasts and cream teas.

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She doesn’t like shopping much, but gets dragged along by mummy anyway.

But she likes plays and musicals, and managed to watch two.

For the most part, she enjoys sweets, tea and a good book.

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To get away from the chaos of the city, we decided to go to Hastings for a short trip.

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It’s really pretty here

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We went up a hill

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And walked along a shingle shore

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I think big sister looks less dazed now. She looks happy when the wind blows and wears less layers, and doesn’t cough so much (though she still sounds froggy). 

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Photo courtesy of mummy

And soon, school will start.

Stay tuned! 

❤ Bun

A train of thought on the airplane: Five stops

We touched down in London Heathrow Airport yesterday.

Between the frantic packing and hurried goodbyes of pre-depature, and the chaos of Heathrow upon arrival, I had 14 hours of quiet time on the plane. The mellow light and constant humming of the engines makes the mind rather hazy, and the whole atmosphere seemed rather melancholic. (Watching an unexpectedly morbid Japanese movie didn’t help much).

I felt a familiar pang inside. One that had caused me many restless nights and anxious days. The one that I first felt when leaving suddenly became real.

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What makes goodbyes so hard? Is it the fear of missing out? Or the fear that things will never be the same again? The fear of loneliness?

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In my clouded mind, I remembered one big sister from my part-time job, looking at me with a half affectionate and half exasperated smile as I struggled to tell her about how I felt in broken Mandarin, and telling me, that life is like that – we keep moving forward. We say goodbye, and keep on going.

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I’m probably a little bit too attached to my friends (including dog and sister) – is what I thought, there on the plane. I hold on to them a little bit too tightly, for security’s sake.

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It’s probably about time I came back to walking my own path. Perhaps soon I’ll get used to the rhythm of this city, and find some things to treasure here. Perhaps somewhere along the way, I’ll discover where my heart can really come home to. Perhaps, that place is not somewhere here in the visible world.

Ah, the train of thought is threatening to run off the tracks now.

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For now, I’m thankful – thankful that I have something that makes saying goodbye so hard. Thankful I have a path to walk on, and people who will walk it with me.

And amidst all the loneliness and confusion of a 14 hour flight from Singapore to London, sometimes being thankful is about the very best a girl can do.

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Bun sits beside my Singapore Sling. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When packing…

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I wonder why things disappear the moment you need them.photo-9

I agonize over what is necessary and what is not

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I constantly feel that the amount of Japanese stationary I’ve bought is not enough.

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I remember someone telling me the important things to pack are the unimportant things. Like your favourite snacks. And your toys. But every time I see how the space in my suitcase is depleting I crumble a little inside.

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And I have panic attacks when I realise there’s still more to be put in. Even if its just a bunch of hairpins.

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Or medicine.

In helplessness I yield to fate and decide that if some item does not appear in time to be squashed into my suitcase, it that it simply was not meant to be.

After all, the truth is there’s plenty of stuff in the suitcase I can live without.

And learning to live without

Is probably part of what going overseas is all about.

(Rhyme unintended)

The Contradictions of Ports

I like being near the port, because seeing huge ships push their way towards the horizon makes me feel like I’m really small, living on the edge of a world of turbulent waters under a mighty sky. It’s somehow an very contradictory place – where the force of the city’s ambition and the power of the sky and sea meet. And one is not sure whether it is possible to admire the grace of the ships and wonder at the sunset both at once, without letting the appreciation for one nullify respect for the other.

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Today’s outing to West Coast Park is probably the last in a series of pre-departure outings I’ve been going to over the past two weeks. It was deeply satisfying (: 

Lessons from growing up with friends

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In my free pockets of time, I’ve been writing some farewell letters to good friends. I think I’m doing it just as much for my own comfort as I am for theirs.

I’ve always been blessed with really adorable, sweet, kind and sensible friends. In writing, I take time to remember these good people in my life. It brings me back to my roots, and helps me remember the lessons I’ve learnt growing up.

It helps me remember never to kill a mockingbird, and that most people are real nice when you finally see them.

It helps me realise that clothes and image don’t matter, but your commitment to be the better person does. And that at the end of the day, what you achieve is not as important as whether you’ve done your best.

It helps me remember that the truth is it is better to give than to receive.

It makes me believe that you really don’t need things or boys to feel good about yourself. You just need to grow, learn, laugh and love.

It’s been said that mistakes are the best teachers, because they make us hurt. But good things and good people passing through our lives can be good teachers too. Except sometimes, amidst the increasing demands and pressures of an adult life just beginning, it takes a bit of work to remember. But boy, is it important.

“All I really need is a song in my heart, and love in my family”

~All I Really Need, Raffi

To be Loved by a dog

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8 good years I have lived with this fellow. Until today, I still wonder at the fact that this beautiful, shy creature is actually my own. It is a wonder that grows in the quiet moments, when I come down the stairs at midnight and he watches me from across the room, and ever so tentatively he comes towards me, ears back and head low, and when I bend down and open my arms he melts into a ball at my feet. It’s a wonder that grows when we walk side by side on the street, leashless, and he walks in sync with me, guided only by my voice. It grows when I bid him sit and wait while I go into a store, and he listens to me and waits patiently, just because. It grows when I examine God’s handiwork – the velvet tips of his ears, his shining eyes, delicate paws and smiling face, and am blown away again by the fact that this is a real, living, breathing creature. As real and alive as myself, and yet so much not like myself, and yet loves me – loves me in a way only animals can love.

I’ll miss this old fellow like crazy.