stop. take a listen.

goodbyes are overrated.

0 notes

Whatever grandiose images, perceptions and ideas at the start. They don’t really matter now.  The tried and tested - overrated. Sometimes, taking the unorthodox road leads you to where you envisioned yourself ending up in the first place.  Anchoring your memories with unique, outlandish places and adventures. Stand-alones which shine brightly on their own.  Being sedentary for too long at a place merely normalizes the garish into the everyday.  So I say, thank you very much.  But it is time to go. 

Whatever grandiose images, perceptions and ideas at the start.

They don’t really matter now. 

The tried and tested - overrated.

Sometimes, taking the unorthodox road leads you to where you envisioned yourself ending up in the first place. 

Anchoring your memories with unique, outlandish places and adventures. Stand-alones which shine brightly on their own. 

Being sedentary for too long at a place merely normalizes the garish into the everyday. 

So I say, thank you very much. 

But it is time to go. 

0 notes

d-11

These, are the streets of New York. 

Pretty exquisite aye? The other day whilst waiting for my bus back to rural, pastoral Connecticut, I realised I had plenty of time to kill. 

So that was when the inner voyeur within me decided to take over for some good ole-fashioned people watching, and I parked myself within a little nook amidst the hustle and bustle of NYC. 

Somewhere along the corner of 47th and Broadway, an old and presumably homeless (I say presumably homeless, because he had a very scruffy looking beard, and a huge sign that said “I need a place to stay”) man was busking and belting out his very own, unique rendition of Michael Buble’s “Home”. 

I sat, listened and ruminated. 

Okay. 

Enough emo nemo crap.

Four months on, and the US of A has been nothing short of kind to me, save for the extremely blah-ish weather of late.

Extremely biting and windy mornings followed by sweltering heat of the afternoon sun. In short, hot cold, hot cold.

You think Katy Perry issit?

-.-

Seriously.

Also, another thing that peeves me would be the lack of decent Chinese food around here. 

Isn’t it striking how a country such as America - with all its cosmopolitan power, coupled with the fact that the Chinese being the largest percentage of Asian Americans here - is unable to come up with stir fry that is none too excessively salted nor overly greasy?

Fuck. Typing the above conjured up images of the mass-produced Panda Express take outs (the americanised fast food version of Chinese food), and I miss my hawker centres all of a sudden.

BUT. Like most of my study abroad friends here, I have learnt not to approach food with a king’s taste buds. Life’s happier that way, aye?

Heh heh. 

However, amidst the random and occasional cravings for homegrown, authentic chinese food, I have (and am continuing to) sought solace in what I’d like to call local, American food. 

This my friends, is a philly cheese steak!  

They have these thinly sliced slabs of beef grilled to perfection. Stuffed within 6 inches of fluffy french loaf. Drizzled with plenty of mustard and ketchup on top. Pretty simple formula actually. The beef is so tender it melts together with the bread the instant it lands in your mouth.

Fucking orgasmic. 

I got this one off Genos in Philly, one of the supposed original eateries peddling cheese steaks as far as 50 years back. 

****

Self-taken shot whilst waiting to get into the Liberty Bell Tower in Philly. I reckon the sun makes me look bright and cheery aye? Need to get my tan back soon though.

Okay. Shall go off to bed dreaming about my Lorong 27 prawn meeee. 

byeeeeee