SCUBA Diving is God's gift to humankind
Mood:  energetic
Topic: Life in Aussie

My first dive trip in Victoria, Australia. Two months ago I did a couple of dives in Byron Bay, NSW. On both occasions I realised how incompetent a diver I am. Underwater I seem to loose control of my body and get thrown around by the elements. It's embarrassing. I'm clumsy on land and now I realised I'm clumsy underwater too.

Diving in temperate water is far more stressful than on tropical water. The good news is, however, when one is battling with the 20kg worth of equipments I'm not having to fight off mossies trying to take advantage of my temporary distraction.

Back to square on
Mood:  sad
Topic: Life in Aussie

Ben came back and left within a month again. This time, he didn't leave for a holiday but left me for good.

It had been a challenging time. I was moving into a new house, work was challenging and Ben's departure was adrupt, callous and cold. I tried every cliche trick in the book and not only did he not change his mind I only succeeded in driving him away further. It's perhaps not safe to be publishing such intimate thoughts online but I almost feel that life cannot get much worse at this stage. Except that I know once I've said it out loud it will definately worsen.

In the end I don't even know if having Ben back is a good or bad thing. Most of it is not for me to decide anyway, so I take this opportunity to mope in melanchony. What is life when it is always mundane or pleasent? Sadness is but part of life and I might as well make the best of it to milk some creativity from the depression.

Computer, Guitar and a piece of Charcoal
Mood:  chillin'
Topic: Life in Aussie
Spending so many nights alne and feeling so happy about it. It's strangely reminiscience of weeks and weeks of time alone at home those years in London, yet I feel so comfortable in my own small little space with Bento the guitar, Dellwyn the computer and that piece of charcoal I used to practise drawing my left hand with my right..

Can't believe that's how I used to feel
Mood:  incredulous
Topic: Life in Aussie

Each time I log into this blog - which had been fairly infrequently in the past few years, I felt a sudden jolt of nostalgia, often of an intense feeling that I no longer remember. It's frightening how forgetful one can be, nonetheless there is something so endearing about being reunited with a sweet emotion, no matter how old.

Mood:  sad
Ben left this morning for South America. He'll be back 6 1/2 weeks later in the afternoon of Christmas eve. I am sad...:(

Ugly Ching Yin who doesnE?t wear Prada
Mood:  party time!

Right, I realised this isn’t the most elegant of all titles. The image I was trying to illustrate was one of an ordinary girl with the imperfect body, runaway hair, creased clothes and smudgy make-up in the middle of one of the most fashionable crowds in Australia, held by one of the most prominent fashion names in the world – Vogue. In other words, I was the real life super un-Vogue ‘ugly betty’ in a scene of the movie ‘The Devil Wears Prada’. I assure you, the actual story is far less elegant than the title.

 

The story began many years ago when I was undergoing my quarter life crisis somewhere in the highlands of Peru. How exactly did I – one who is born with permanent-bad-hair-days and blessed with an acute sense of what is most unfashionable actually dreamt of creating a fashion statement with furniture. It must have something to do with the oxygen level in Cusco, or I was simply blinded by a distorted vision of myself.

 

Nonetheless, years later my dream of that beautiful shop had turned into a reality. One fine day some 2 months after our shop had seen the light of Melbourne, I received an invitation to a Vogue Living 40^th birthday bash. It was a pure coincidence that their birthday bash was on the day of my 29^th birthday; however, it was not by chance that I received such an invite. Finally I know that $8,400 + GST we pay them every two months is sufficient for the director of our company to earn a place on their precious guest list – one that must be guarded by the Schwarzenegger of all bouncers.

 

Which much difficulty I managed to make my way to B2 studios – a chic photography studio somewhere in Alexandria, Sydney where the party was held. When the taxi driver dropped me off in this quiet lane beneath the dark shadows of many industrial buildings, I felt a cold draft sweep through my bared calf – god knows how long it had been since I wore a dress – and felt a deep ominous chill. I meandered through the many shiny cars parked in infinite rows between myself and that flicker of light in the far distant made distinct by a faint thumping sound of funky music. I took a long, thoughtful breathe and prayed that I will survive, then dragged my sorry feet in very cheap shoes across the tarmac and into fashion hell.

 

I managed to spend 20 seconds in B2 studios before I felt like turning back and going home. There must be around 500 people in the room, which makes 500 people I did not know. In my desperate attempt to look a little engaged, I whipped out my mobile phone and began sending frantic text messages to everyone I knew, just so that I could look as though I had a sense of purpose in this big wide world of 7 foot tall men in gigantic yellow cloaks. While I do not think that only ugly people can be executives, some of these people are so good looking I swore Vogue must have hired them to be there just to make their party look trendier. I suddenly felt very short, very fat, very ugly and above all, very alone.

 

When I was done sending text messages, I noticed a bar at the end of the room and decided the next best thing to do with my lonely hands was to hold a drink. Squeezing pass many tightly-knitted cliques who appeared to be engaged in deep conversation on world poverty (poor sods deprived of Gucci handbags and LV suitcases), I landed myself in front of the fluorescent bar and picked up a bottle of very expensive looking fizzy water. I held the bottle with one hand, and the straw in the other, giving the outsider an illusion of a woman with very busy hands. I then found a corner and decidedly that I will stand there for the next 20 minutes and stared at very colourful shoes.

 

This routine continued for more or less 45 minutes. Three drinks, 2 oysters and 5 corners later, I found myself in the middle of the floor between these intense cliques that cross-bred with the high-pitched introduction of ‘Ooo how nice to see you here!’ inevitably followed by two very exaggerated air-kisses. So far, I had been diligently ignored by everyone including the finger food guys who must have decided I was too rotund to require more grub. Then this middle age man in a jacket that I thought look as though was worn inside out (though I suppose it must have been a fashion thing) stormed towards my direction, caught a glance of my meek and pathetic looking face and commanded to me, ‘Smile!’ (Note that he said that without a smile). My face promptly creased into a cheesy smile and I decided that I could not possibly feel more uncomfortable, shameless or miserable and thus should speak to the person right next to me.

 

Lo and behold, the two girls next to me were from Space Furniture – our neighbours in Melbourne and one of the biggest furniture players in Australia. They could pronounce neither my name nor the name of our business, though that did not seem to interest them too much. These wonderful girls took pity on me and decided to take me under their wings, bringing me to the cheese tables and introducing me to more people who could pronounce neither my name nor the name of our shop. I lasted a further 15 minutes with these beautifully dressed girls all 1 foot taller than myself and concluded that no one in that party will possibly go home that evening with the words ‘Ching Yin’ or ‘QIAO’ as a new addition to their vocabulary. With that, I threw in the towel and slipped away from the limelight of the party praying that no one would notice that I had left.

Old Pictures
Mood:  down
Topic: Life in Aussie

This is a society that commercialises nostalgia and mocks those who cannot let go. I’d say, screw them all who forgets, for I always remember! Today, I chanced upon some old pictures. Alas as I deliberate those precious images of my faded memory – no I do not wish to envy the shadow of my past, but my oh my how great it felt when I was there and when I did what I did.

 

My shop in Melbourne is a few weeks shy of its grand opening. This grand plan scheme I had in Zanzibar some 5 years combined with its conception in Cuzco 3 years back is about to be realised. No doubt I am thrilled that my bright ideas are finally going to see the light of the world, but the thought about being forever bounded to this business suddenly makes me feel like a swinging bachelor the night before his wedding, “I am f**ked; what have I done; what do I do now?”

40 hours in Slovenia
Mood:  a-ok
Topic: Eastern Europe

Admittedly it was a cheap stint. As a desperate attempt to fit in one extra country into this trip, given that upon my shop opening in August I will probably be chained to Melbourne till the business makes its first profit, I decided to stay one day in Piran, Slovenia (cty no. 59) on my way to Croatia (cty no. 60!!)

Had I understood the bus route correctly, I would have stayed in Slovenia for a total of 25 hours. The first 24 hours had been fabulous. I started my bus trip from Trieste, Italy on a coach 99% full of old ladies. After spending 4 full days in the Milan fair where people can be rude and (understandably so) very weary of us Chinese, these old friendly ladies were a welcoming change. I was sure that most of them didn't know each other but they greeted everyone like they were old mates and chatted animatedly throughout the duration of their journey.

I crossed the Slovenian border around 4pm Monday afternoon. The landscape was gorgeous and very soothing to an ultra tensed mind. Lush green vegetation covering dramatic cliffs overlooking the deep blue Mediterranean sea. I passed through Koper, two other little towns - Potorez (a Slovenian equivalent of the overpriced, overcrowded touristy Nice in France), then arriving at Piran. This adorable little town captured my heart instantly. The town was shaped like the curved fin of a dolphin, a tiny fort situated at the tip. The town centred around a church on a hill with white washed walls towering above the main Piazza, the oval shaped Tartinjev Trg. There was a very quiet, yet warm and friendly atmosphere about the town. I spent most of my time there staring at the ocean, wandering around the cobblestone streets taking pictures and I bought the most expensive packet of salt ever. Apparently Piran was based on 3 'S's. Sailing, Sea and Salt. They had 700 years of experience in refining salt from the sea. The packet that I bought was the "crème de la crème" of salts, the first layer of salt flower that blooms as the water evaporate from the sea water. Sounds very tasty and pretty does it not? It cost me €5.77 for a mere 250g. I tasted a pinch of it after I made the purchase. It tasted… well… salty.

It was around 4.25pm the following day when things went pear shaped. With my 12 kg worth of bags I waited at the bus stop for the bus that 3 different sources (albeit semi-reliable ones) had confirmed existed on a daily basis between Piran and Rovinj, Croatia (where I've booked and paid a deposit for the next 3 nights). When no such bus arrived, I decided to have a chat with the next bus driver I saw, who pointed me to an information board nearby. I was horrified to find out that the 4.25pm bus exists daily only between the 1st June and 15th Oct. Thinking that it may be a good idea to try my luck at Koper (it wasn't), the industrial town 1 hour away given that it had a larger bus terminal and a higher chance, I hopped onto the next bus there, arriving in Koper at 5.30pm. The lady behind the counter without the slightest hint of sympathy, pointed out that there were no more buses to Croatia. She stabbed her finger to a vague direction indicating a hotel that exists near the station.

200 metres and a major highway crossing later, I saw an old beaten up sign point to a motel 500 metres away. I followed the arrow and 500 metres later I saw another beaten up sign for a hotel yet another 500 metres away. It was so much that my bags were by then weighing heavily on my shoulders that was bothering me, but that the signpost was pointing at an unlikely zone of industrial buildings and old houses that looked uninhabited.

Unwilling to make my way back to the bus station I decided to brave my way through the next 500 m, only to find several crumbling "motel" signs, many car manufacturing plants, no reception for any accommodation of any sort, and not a single soul in sight. Yet I trekked around the buildings unrelentlessly until I saw a sign behind what looked like someone's backyard which had a picture of a bed and an arrow directed to a door. Desperate and tired I was capable of trying anything. I hammered away at the door until two maniac looking dogs were about to tear down the door and a bewildered lady emerge from her room.

Fortunately she had a free room, for a bargain of €20. It had a large balcony, kitchen and even satellite TV! I spent about 1 hour channel surfing before collapsing into an intense sleep of 11 hours catching up not only on the fatigue of the day but also from the 4 intensive days in Milan.

I took the first bus to Croatia the following day. The bus ride was nice but I had to retrace my route back to 5 kms from Piran(!). I exited Slovenia at 8am, 40 hours later from entering the country. After 5 long, weary but scenic bus ride, here I am in Rovinj, gorgeous city on the Istria peninsula of Croatia.

If I had to name 3 things I want to remember of Slovenia, it will be the beautiful city of Piran, the lovely Val hostel in Piran and that very expensive packet of salt I bought., As for the bad bits, it is best forgotten =)

A week of indulgence
Mood:  lazy
Topic: Singapore

I spent a total of 8 days doing nearly absolutely nothing else apart from eat, sleep, watching TV and reading trashy literature. The only deviations are occasion visits to homes of friends and relatives, or gatherings which can only imply more eating.

It didn't feel too good at the beginning. In fact, after over-indulging myself in junk food, I felt like my body was screaming for me to stop. I felt sick and nauseous most of the time and had little appetite. By the third day I couldn't bring myself to eat anything but steamed vegetables (of course that wasn't all I ate).

On the other hand, by stubbornly refusing to use my brain for an extended period of time had brought surprising bliss to my mental health. After a month of extreme ups and downs in my love life and travels, I had lost the capacity to function in my usual aggressive self. Only with a full 8 days of serious retardant could I suppress my depressive mood enough for my true self to resurface.

Chinese New Year - Year of Pig
Mood:  celebratory
Topic: Singapore

Today is the third day of the year of the pig. The year of the golden pig, as a matter of fact, the year that my brother will be having his first child.

Last Thursday I returned to Singapore after a short trip to Melbourne. Given recent events in Australia, I am very glad to be back home.Since touch down, I've been trying my best to do nothing, think about nothing and eat a lot of things. This kind of life is good for retarding the brain and healing the soul.. or perhaps I'm not really healing my soul but just escaping for as long as it is humanly possible.

Nearly everyone asked about my love life. Last year my brother got married and now that they are expecting their first child, the couple had done nearly everything gossip-worthy. This year everyone's attention is on me, undivided. There is no more fingers to point. Yet strangely enough I responded to them with a sense of abandonment - telling them everything they want to hear but nothing that is really true. There is a strange pleasure in lying - doing something that is not 'right' and rebelling against my usual instinct of a goody goody.

A!Guatemala No Mala!
Mood:  a-ok
Topic: Latin America

That plane was by far the worst aircraft I had ever been on. But when that Cubana flight landed effortlessly onto the tarmac of Guatemala City airport, I applauded heartily for I was chuffed to be out of Cuba and thrilled to be in Guatemala.

 

The first thing that struck me about Guatemala was the abundance of advertising. Suddenly, I was overwhelmed by billboards, posters, stickers, bus advertisements. It struck me that for the past two weeks in Cuba there was a near total absence of it, leaving behind a vacuum at the part at the back of our head that is used to ignoring adverts. The second thing that struck me was that for the first time for a long time people on the streets were chatting to me because they were genuinely interested in a conversation as opposed to wanting to make a fast buck off ignorant foreigners.

 

Lake Atitlan was our first stop. Through a sequence of chicken buses (the nickname given for the local bus transport) we attempted to make our way to our secluded lodge in Santa Cruz. It didn’t take us very long to realise two universal truths about Guatemalan bus drivers. The first was that all of them had death wishes – in one of our bus rides that was meandering through some seriously winding road, the manic driver tried to overtake another fast vehicle on a blind curve. The second truth was their unrelenting optimism in the number of passengers that can be fitted into their vehicle. Now I can say I’ve once been squashed into a mini-van happily sped across a highway, holding together 29 adult passengers.

 

We spent 3 nights in Lake Atitlan, from Christmas Eve till Boxing Day. Situated amongst the highlands of Guatemala, Lake Atitlan is the second largest lake in the country. The locals there don the traditional Guatemalan clothes and their street market lifestyle still evident in the sprawl of food stalls across all town centres. The atmosphere was chilled and relaxed, good food was plentiful. The air was cool and the scenery was good. Lake Atitlan was pleasurable.

 

The Guatemalans in general are kind people, and given that a good proportion of them are farmers who you’d expect to have an affinity with soil, it was disturbing to see how they are unaware of the damages colourful plastic garbage is doing to their land. Everyone – young, old, male of female litters. I cannot bear to think the amount of trash that now clung to the depth of the lake.

 

Antigua is a nice colonial city. I have been to a fair number of colonial cities in this world to say that they look more or less the same (thanks to colonisation!). Nonetheless, I enjoyed the views of the numerous volcanoes that surrounds the old capital of Guatemala.

 

Rio Dulce means Sweet River. The water from the river comes from the largest lake in Guatemala – Lake Izabal, and flows onwards to the Caribbean Sea. Surrounding the few bodies of water is tropical rain forest. Parked along the river is a large number of yachts and boats from various rich men’s land. We spent New Year Eve there and while our lodge did not organise any parties, we managed to watch a lavish display of fireworks from other loges and the Rio Dulce town.

 

Flores is a little town in the midst of yet another lake (Lake Peten) of Guatemala. Tourist use the pleasant little town as a stopping point for Tikal – my favourite Mayan Ruins by far. Apparently one episode of Star Wars (a 1980s older one) was filmed there. Standing on top of one of the pyramids confronted with the spectacular view, it is not hard to imagine why George Lucas was inspired to include this ancient ruin in his blockbuster. Tikal was at its height in the Maya Classic Period, approximately 200 AD to 850 AD. Soon after no new major monuments were built, some of the palaces of the elite were burned. The population gradually declined until the site was abandoned, estimated to be the end of the 10th century. A lot of speculation was made regarding why this amazing civilisation went into oblivion, but there are little evidence that supports any hypothesis. I read a decent amount of books regarding the Mayan history – yet nothing beats visiting the site in person.

 

Guatemala is nice – I enjoyed it. It is not a dangerous place nor are the people poor and desperate, I was thankful my personal experienced differed from rumours I’ve heard about the country. People are gentle and friendly – they cook really well too. Given the chance I will still go back to that part of the world, perhaps spend more time exploring the Mayan sites and research for I am truly fascinated by this extraordinary civilisation.

Cubanisimo
Mood:  incredulous
Topic: Latin America

Where or how do I even begin about Cuba? As a child I had more than a fair share of exposure to communism lifestyle, through the colour media of Hong Kong movies, stories from my father who read intently about the political life of Chairman Mao’s political life, and even more tales from my mother the ‘accidental’ communist who literally danced to the tune of communist China. I remember China in those days where they had local currencies and tourist money, and days when mainland Chinese rarely have the opportunity to venture overseas. My communism experience continues in my grown-up travel days, through visits of many ex-communist states such as Russia, the Balkans state and the Czech Republic. I even read a number of books loosely related to socialist Cuba before my visit to this surreal society. But nothing really prepares one for Cuba.

 

 

Geographically speaking, Cuba is gorgeous. For its sub-tropical climate, the country boasts a surprisingly varied terrain. On the west of the country, there are the ‘mogotes’, of limestone hills comparable with Guilin in China and Halong bay in Vietnam. The beaches are beautiful, as one would expect of a country in the middle of the Caribbean. The hilly land surrounding Trinidad provides a spectacular backdrop for the sugar mills, one the industries that brought in the influx of Africans and made the Spanish rich. In the ‘winter’ months, the temperature lowers as a result of cold fronts arriving from the north, making the climate far more pleasant than the typically burning hot tropics.

 

 

Cuba may be one last true communist state in the world. China is one imperialist in a communist skin. North Korea is really a military/ dictator/ semi-out-of-this-world country. Eastern Europe had all but wave Marxism goodbye. I must show my respect to the leaders of Cuba, giving their people the highest literacy rate in the world, and the most comprehensive healthcare system that looks after each and every Cuban. Nonetheless, looking at some rich fat Cubans with handy-cams and mobile phones fancier than mine, it became apparent to us that in this communist state, everyone is equal, but some are more equal than others.

 

In terms of skin colour, Cuba is probably the 2^nd most diverse country in the world, behind only Brazil due to the absence of native Cuban Indians. We saw a man who has charcoal black skin and hair, but clear grey-blue eyes. The effect was quite stunning.

 

 

As far as the tourist industry is concerned, granted they had opened up their country to tourism since the 90s and had been eager to draw big bucks from the despised Imperialists, the service is shite, food is horrible and everyone in the trade tries relentlessly and systematically to rip you off. The farmers and people from the country side are by far the better people – I suppose that is because Marxism, in the first place, was designed with an inclination to the working class and people who work the earth for a living. We visited Havana for the Mojitos and Daiquiris (my conclusion is I’ve had better Mojitos in London), Viñales for the mogotes, Maria La Gorda for the diving and accidentally got eaten alive by the sand flies. Santa Clara for its numerous ChÄ“ shrines, Trinidad for the sugar mills, steam trains and music scene. We reluctantly stayed in Valadero because Cubana screwed up our exiting flight and we had to stay in Cuba for 3 days longer than expect.

 

There are great musicians, if you look hard and long enough. Unfortunately there are far more lousy musicians who like to provide unsolicited service (i.e. stick their guitars in your face and sing in a half-hearted unprofessional manner) and demand for a big tip later.

 

 

And yes, Cuba is like a time capsule. Walking through magnificent old buildings that are also magnificently run-down, it sometimes feels as though that the whole city had been abandoned for decades. Buildings that are refurbished for tourism sits oddly next to one that hadn’t had any paint job done for 4-5 decades. The old American cars emits more than just style but also a prolific amount of nasty fumes. There are rows of buildings in Havana facing the coast, and if that was a ‘normal’ capitalist country the houses would have long be converted to beach front lifestyle houses, if not, cafes and restaurants. Yet they sit there, unloved and falling apart.

 

 

At the end of the two weeks there, we were all but cigar + rum + salsa + Che-ed out. Unless one is prepared to venture totally out of the tourist sights, live and sleep with the real Cubans, one will find him/herself trapped in a Disney-fied version of what Cuba ought to be. We enjoyed the stay there. I personally will not choose to go back, though I strongly recommend people to visit before Mr F-C kicks the bucket.

The Longest Journey Ever
Mood:  down
Topic: Latin America

It was around 7am Cancun, Mexican Time (equivalent to 9pm same day in Singapore time) on the 5^{th of} January 2007 when I checked out of our little wooden hut overlooking the Caribbean Sea. The day before, the last day of my vacation, I had an exceptionally relaxing day, diving in the cenotes (underground fresh water caves), visiting the Tulum Mayan ruins, swimming in the sea with Ben, having a glorious Argentinean grill dinner together and finally obtaining a good looking Mexican hat as my only souvenir for the trip. I thought I was well prepared for the long journey home, but little did I expect that I will only emerge out of the aircraft onto Singapore Changi airport some 41 hours later, 2pm on the 7th January. It was the longest journey I’ve ever took in my life (not including the 4 days train ride Trans-Siberia, since the train ride was a joy itself). And it was pretty bad.

The original plan was straightforward - 3 flights in total. I was to take a 2 ½ hours flight from Cancun to Mexico City, staying 1 hour in transit then boarding a 4 hours flight into Los Angeles. I was to have 4 ½ hours transit in Los Angeles, plenty of time to deal with the ACOWAHPPMS (American Customs Officers Who All Have Permanent PMS), pick up my bag then re-check in for my 8pm flight from L.A back to Singapore.

What really happened was as follows: the Cancun flight left Cancun 20 minutes late. When we touched down in Mexico City, I had a bad feeling that things are not going to be good, and was hoping to get off the flight ASAP. Unfortunately, the blasted airport couldn’t get their buses together in time, and held half of the passengers on the aircraft for 30 minutes. When I finally got out of the plane, it was already some 50 minutes passed the boarding time. The boarding gate turned out to be half way around the massive terminal, and Mexico City, at 2,200m above sea level is not one place that is conducive for sprinting. Around 8 of us were meant to be on that same flight, and we ran into the boarding gate just in time for the ground staff to tell us that it was too late to board, and we watched with our horror, the aircraft departing without us. We have missed the damn flight because there weren’t enough buses in the airport.

The Mexicans obviously thought all of us fat gringos (the Latin American term for foreigners) needed more exercise, so they sent the few of us on a running regime around the airport for about 20 minutes to get our flights re-booked. We managed to get booked onto the next flight, some 3 hours later, which would have meant I will be missing my connecting flight from Los Angeles to Singapore. And as if that slap in the face wasn’t sufficient, the replacement flight was delayed by nearly 30 minutes.

Upon touch down, all of us take eternity to make our ways through the ACOWAHPPMS and onward to our baggage carousel. When one thinks that things couldn’t get worse, it will. Mexicana lost our luggage. Every single piece of it.

Of course the Singapore Airline flight had taken off Los Angeles without me. I was stupendously lucky enough to get onto a standby ticket for a flight that takes off to Singapore that same evening. The flight that connects in Taipei was suppose to take 18 ½ hours including stopover time. Eventually, due to strong currents and busy airports, it took over 21 hours.

I arrived in Singapore 41 hours later from the start of my journey totally shattered. My back was aching, I hadn’t slept much, my legs were sore from the long hours of flight and I had been marinating in dried sweat for around 35 hours from the free mini-marathon compliments of Mexicana. It was a horrific journey. Around 25 hours into the journey I remember feeling incredibly frustrated, angry and desperate to take it out with on someone close by with my bare teeth and fists, but thankfully I was sane enough to realise that I was on the flight by the sheer goodwill of Singapore Airline, and things could really have been far worse. Anyway, now that I am home, and some 2 days later, my lost backpack appears to have arrived in Changi Airport. Thank goodness the bitter after taste is almost all gone now.

These are the bad bits. Once the pictures are out, I'll write about the good bits on Cuba, Guatemala, Honduras and Mexico.

The moment of truth
Mood:  celebratory
Topic: Life in Aussie

The moment of truth was finally revealed yesterday, or should I say, what was in theory the closest to what I'll ever be able to call 'a moment'. I suppose a definately 'yes' or 'no' on major decisions seldom appear in its purest form, more like 'yes, but only if...'.

Nonetheless, I should count my lucky stars and be happy aboutthe outcome. Finally I can go abouts pursuing my dream, or in fact, lead a stable life as opposed to one that is permanently on transition.

Last few days of silence
Mood:  don't ask
Topic: Life in Aussie

The moment of truth is about to come. Without realising it, I've waited nearly 2 years for some kind of recognition or status. I've tried nearly every avenue that I had concieved of, most of it hits dead end or merely diminished into nothingness. While I am terrified to know the truth, for it may be negative once more. But in a sense I crave for an answer so badly.

Already 18 months have passed since staying in this cold damn apartment. Even though only days more before I move out, I feel that I cannot take this solitute much longer. Each day is a battle with insanity. If I hadn't wait long enough, I don't want to wait anymore.