Ikea love <3

I had an epiphany today.

I am destined to have a future home filled with colours, disco balls and quirky knick-knacks that might not necessarily complement each other, but will end up doing so out of my sheer force of will.

I am also destined to own an Ikea house.

Ikea, that glorious glorious place filled with furniture packed flat for convenience and encouraging generations to learn how to use a hammer, rooms filled with dream houses and interiors for anybody and everybody, cheap everything so that impulse buys will never hurt until you realise that small new shelf you bought doesn’t fit anywhere because your home is already crammed with Ikea impulse buys.

And the fooooood.

The cake.

Oh my gosh.  The meatballs.

And if I could have those in my Ikea sourced dining room before going to my Ikea decorated bathroom to brush my teeth and get ready to go to bed in my Ikea furnished bedroom… some may call this plebeian, but if getting an entire room decked out for less than $1000 but looking like it cost ten times that amount, then I embrace my plebeian-ness.

Because, as one of my friends said,  We love our bread, we love our butter, but most of all…

We love Ikea.


Keep feeding my ego!

Ego.  Something healthy when small but substantial because it gives one self-confidence, but not healthy the minute it grows past a certain point because it will not stop inflating and will make one’s head grow to epic proportions. Fed by: Affirmation from other people.  Otherwise known as praise, admiration, showering of affection, even the invocation of envy in other people.

I recently started a new job as a Christmas casual, and  a few shifts into this new job, the founder of the entire company was apparently going to visit, and so I was rostered on to make the shop look amazing.  Someone significant at head office dropped by to help and make sure that everything followed protocol.

They loved me.

Having this company VIP look at you straight in the eye at the end of your shift and say that you were amazing?  That you picked things up so fast and got things done super efficiently?  That your customer service was awesome and they just don’t stop talking about just how great you were?

It felt so good.

Embarrassing, for sure.  I mean, how do you react?  How many thank you-s can you even say without sounding like a broken record?


Vomiting Kaonashi | Ginnunga, deviantART

But danggggggggggg.  I wanted to bask in more of their praise and know and hear that I am fabulous.  My ego has been fed, and it wants more.   Even if it means becoming insufferable and self-righteous and arrogant.  Once I get to that stage, I’m sure someone will cut me down and leave me vomiting up all my ego like Kaonashi and wriggling from humiliation.

But until then, feed my ego!  Say I’m great!  Say you love me!  Because #flawless.

On Raging

Sometimes, you just have to rage.

For sure, sometimes rage is justified, like that time when some random in class starts going on about how your motherland is basically all about that propaganda lyf and what he says just gets worse and worse and at some point could probably be counted as racial hate in a way and you get all worked up because you’re getting personally offended because they’re insulting your roots even though you insult your roots yourself 90% of the time but it’s different when some outsider is doing it and it’s just like YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT YOU’RE SAYING YOU’RE MAKING IT ALL UP NOW STOP JUST STOP A;DLFKJAL;KDFJ

And so on.

But most of the time, that rage is uncalled for. Like when your mum decides to clean out your room and chuck half of what she call ‘rubbish’. Or when a friend is being stupid and not seeing sense and you have had enough about just how blind and immature they’re acting so you get all angry and immature too.

And sometimes, you get inexplicably angry explaining things to people -coughdadscough- who are just missing the point.

Today, my dad decided to ask if it was possible to memorise twenty minutes worth of music to play and perform. Concert pianists memorise hours of music, so of course it’s possible.  Personally, I have strong aural and muscle memory, and I began to elaborate how it’s hard for me to change things once I’ve committed it to memory because I essentially have to record over the permanent track in my head every single time I play.

And then he had the bright idea that it was the best type of memory, because then it meant that as long as I heard things a certain way, I would be able to produce it exactly as how I hear it. Fair enough, because it’s true… but it’s not possible for someone to learn just from hearing things. It means you have no foundation. You can’t read music, you can’t fix yourself, you have no basis for anything you do or anything you play apart from what you hear.

“But that’s a good thing! If I give you a track of a world famous concert pianist, then you’d become them too! And you would be perfect!”


Dancers can’t just watch other dancers and copy to become great without knowing the basic moves or without training their flexibility and coordination. Builders can’t just look at a house and copy it to build solid architectural monuments without knowing what tools or materials they need. Singers can’t copy Beyoncé without technique and not ruin their voice forever.

Besides, every player has their own nuances, their own take on pieces.  To be successful, you need to find a personal balance between interpretation and staying true to the music.  You can’t just copy someone’s style.  It just doesn’t work.

And so the more we argued, the more I didn’t get why he didn’t just understand. In the end, I just stood up and left the room.

Looking back on it, it was probably the mature thing to stay calm and rationally present my arguments.

But sometimes, you just have to rage.


Yesterday was Halloween. People running around in costumes going to parties, kids going trick-or-treating in suburban streets, adults avoiding these trick-or-treating kids by pretending they are away… another year, another Halloween.

Yesterday was Halloween. Yesterday marked the end of a chapter in my life. Yesterday, for the last time I sung as a part of the UTS Glee Club at a society End-Of-Semester concert.

I know it’s not like I’m never going to see them again, and it’s not like I’m never going to sing or perform with them again, but… being friends with them and singing with them is just not the same as being part of the society as a student and working on songs every week. Added to the fact that I’ve been part of the Glee Club since I started uni four years ago (with a semester or so of absence in the middle somewhere), not having Glee in my life. it’s not going to be the same.

I’m going to miss going into the Theatre Lounge to practice. I’m going to miss getting relocated to the Harry Heath room and waiting until the last possible moment to get out and let EGG take over. I’m going to miss warm ups, non-stop jamming, working on one song and then talking for the next hour, seeing people come week in week out, catching up with members who can only make a few weeks a semester…

Most of all, I’m going to miss the people. Those who have only been here for a semester or two, those who have been here since the beginning, those who have graduated and still come back, all of me loves all of you.

Glee, it’s been fun <3


First. And hopefully not last.

How was this blog even born?

Because I’m lazy and FB is nope.

I mean, at the beginning, I already wanted to start a blog for Japan Travels 2015, but motivation never worked until I started going on cosplay shoots and I wanted to share the photos… but not on Facebook or share on a cospage. Because cospages seem so pro. And I’m not pro at all. I’m just a girl who happens to like sewing and dressing up as anime characters.

Hence the blog.

And then it’s getting closer to the date for actually submitting my application for my exchange to Japan, and things are getting real, and so this happened.

What will I do on this blog?

And who am I?
That is a secret I will never tell… here. You can, however, check out the About page instead.

That is all.