Mot, Myself and Me Mot: means witty saying. Short for Mote (speck of dust), reverse of Tom (Cruise), which is in turn short for Tomato. Ashlee Simpson, Big Fish, Just Shoot Me, Red, Tomato, Blueberry Cheesecake, Rockstar
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from exit to exit CREATEUR ALLEY Alan Cheng Chai Jun Yi JonK Nash Zee Breakfast! Snee Navjote We Spank Shirin Christine Shumin Jean Trixia Victor Kenny Liyana Jo Jun Sheng Ajit Shib Yam Alps Mike Aparna Sarah Stef Jasmine Shimin Reuben Ziing Yesterdays January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 November 2005 December 2005 January 2006 February 2006 March 2006 April 2006 May 2006 June 2006 July 2006 August 2006 September 2006 October 2006 December 2006 January 2007 March 2007 December 2007 January 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 July 2008 October 2008 October 2009
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
in another life strange how it feels like more than a year, when it has really only been months. maybe that's how we sometimes kid ourselves into thinking that eternity is something measurable, containable, or even possible. i have such a warped relationship with time. i spend it, yet i hate to. i love it, yet i waste it too. i sense it so well, but i always count it wrong. and i am always pining for more, even though i'm only heading for less. my life since october has spiralled off in so many different directions that i feel overwhelmed just thinking about it. in a feeble attempt to sum it up there are three main milestones i should mention: the end of army (although, not really), the stint with the paper, and my ticket to california. in october all of the above were just hopes, dreams, possibilities, prayers and musings of the future. but they have all happened, and curiously, i absolutely believe in them. i do not think that i might be hallucinating. i do not fear that this might be some cruel, tasteless joke. i am sitting here blogging on a mac for the very first time. i am breathing the dry chill of the night. i am hearing the sprinklers go off at this odd hour of night, drenching the grass with cold, cold, man-made rain. i am postponing, almost rejecting sleep. i am living it. and i know it. i love it. but my adolescent pang of melancholy has followed me all the way here. at night i start to ponder, almost too much. i read and see what my friends have for their lives, and i am filled with both hope and sadness at once. i hope for a life that can be just as exciting, just as diverse, and not so predictable. i hope for something that is not my own, nothing that i have tasted before, nothing that i have to be responsible for. but when i think of how none of that is possible, and it digs itself a hollow in me. i have always loved acting, not for the limelight, but for the chance to be someone else. to be someone i am not, and have everyone else see that i am. for this same reason i hate to be characterized. i keep thinking that maybe, just maybe one day i will be spectacular in a different way, so why stop me now? why make me believe that this is who i am and stop me from becoming someone that i will be? in another life i will be a star. i will be everything that's good in me, and i will be adored and envied, and there will be nothing bad to remind me that i am anything lesser. in another life i will be better. i really do believe that.
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