How nice if my dream job is to be a toilet cleaner

As if there is another reason to hate the country that I grew up in, that is, a drought in the availability of my dream career!

I'm thinking how nice if my dream career is to be an accountant or sales engineer. Or even garbage collector. Come to think of it, even toilet cleaners have better opportunities at getting a job than me.

You know I'm desperate enough when...

(i) I went to find out if they were hiring at the company where I did my internship. No, you did not read wrong, it's the place that I swore never to set foot in ever again. But, I quickly reconciliated myself to the fact that I don't have much of a choice!

(ii) I started telling people that I wanna work for free.

Usually, the person's response is a long silence at the end of the phone, before they start thinking that I'm a mad person and should get my brain checked or something. Seriously, money is over-rated in this society can?

Before you idiots start saying about how I don't have to worry about money yadda yadda bullshite, just smack yourself or something. Because I've been getting ZERO allowance and I couldn't care less. My choice of luxury food is KFC, my kind of branded is shirts going for $10 at pasar malam. Actually, come to think of it, I haven't gone shopping for the past few months, or is it, years? And KFC is what I said it was, a luxury, not something I can afford on my whim and fancy.

So, I can't stand motherfuckers out there who think as though there is an ATM machine in my house i.e. My Dad that I can withdraw money from as and when I like. I've been jobless for weeks now, and if money really mattered so much to me, I could have just stuck to my job and come out more than a thousand dollars richer.

Why should I? I will never let myself become a slave to money, like everyone else out there. If I really can't find my dream job, I think I will rather remain jobless.

Blurring the lines between a reporter and a fan

During the course of my duty, I am often like a deer caught in the headlights. While it is my job to ensure that I collect enough information to write an article, I often find myself losing it and turning into this enthusiastic aficionado, chasing my idols around with the fervent attitude of a young teenage devotee fan.

True, I'm young, and I still get lured by the beautiful package of those singers, being churned out in rapid mode in a mercantile assembly-line fashion.

I think it's common knowledge that most of our favourite singers or actors are 'packaged products' that exist for the purpose of commercial success, very much the same like a drink or merchandise goods. The motive behind an artiste is to milk as much ker-ching ker-ching as possible out of a transitory, ephemeral career.

Alas, many of us are often blinded by the superficiality of this industry. Our idols are merely packaged with great efficacy to target a certain group (mostly teenagers). Simply put, they are not what they are made out to be.

But, many of those delusional (or should I say, impressionable) teenage fans get siphoned into the management company's drastic efforts to portray a certain kind of image for the star. What you see is merely a caricature of the company's packaging efforts, not the real personality that lurks behind the face that you've come to be so familiar with.

For example, the idol market may be lacking of a cutie pop princess, so out pops Cyndi Wang.

Back to my topic. Because I'm a both a reporter and a fan at the same time, I get to see the side that no one does. Because I'm a reporter, I get access to otherwise restricted areas. But, because I'm a fan at the same time, I get to see the other side of the celeb that no one else does.

Before I go on, let me just list out the various reasons why other netizens don't get to see this side of famous people.

(i) No media gets to see it.

Note: There are exceptional cases, but those are usually artistes well-known for their short fuse and non-media friendly antics.

::ONE:: Because they are mostly oldies who don't give a damn about the star they are photographing. It's merely a job for them to pay the bills. Yes, there are some youngsters among the sea of reporters too. But, their level of enthusiasm is no match for mine. (Ha!)

::TWO:: They are the media. Most celebs are intelligent enough to know which side of their bread is buttered. In front of the media, most celebs are patient, friendly, humorous and very, very obliging.

Many celebs resort to chicanery in de rigueur fashion for the sake of building up a good reputation and ensuring that more moolah keep flowing in. Hence, they adopt a sense of perfunctory courtesy and ingratiate themselves with the media, taking on a friendly and sweet (for females) or charming (for males) affectation.

In the hodge-podge, heterogenous world of celebritydom, they are really all facsimile replicas of each other in the friendliness department. They feel incumbent to be on their best behaviour at all times in front of the media.

Unless you are talking to Shu Qi (good luck to you), who famously rebutted the Hong Kong media in a recent inerview with angry retorts like, 'I have no idea what you are talking about! I'm not answering your question!' Otherwise, chances are the fawning artiste will answer all your questions with a cogenial smile plastered across their faces, like as though they are contesting to be the next Miss Universe or Star Search champion. It's a different story altogether when the camera lights have dimmed.

(ii) No fan clubs get to see it.

Again, they are the fan club. Most celebs know better than to get on the bad side of their most devoted supporters. And, since the club manager has the ability to recruit members in support of the celeb, they can avail themselves of their status and power to do just the opposite.

(iii) No fans get to see it.

They don't have access to certain places.

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In case, anyone thinks that getting into this line, means getting bedazzled by the glamour of this industry, it's far from it. Yes, you get privileges here and there, especially if you are way high above in the corporate ladder.

For a start, office-goers have to report for duty at the office at 9am everyday. For me? I report for work at the cinema theatre for a preview screening at 9am in the morning. I am always late always try my best to be on time but somehow, something more important that requires my urgent attention never fails to crop up like catching my favourite show on TV. So, you see, not my fault.

Before I even began writing, I was contemplating whether it was only right that I wrote favourably about the movie since I got free tickets. But, very quickly, I made a stand to write honestly. In the end, one reader commented on the movie as 'crap' after I slammed it oh-so-badly in my review. Oops. I guess the pen works wonders in the entertainment biz. But, the movie honestly sucks. So, you see, not my fault.

Having said that, more often than not, your heart grows cold from the realities of this industry. Standing on a vantage point, having been both a reporter and a fan, I've seen the truest colours of some celebs. The feeling I get is often disillusionment. Simply because these celebs are very different from what you (and once upon a time, me) thought they were!

I'm not naming any names here, but let's just say the cutest and most friendliest stars may turn out to be the coldest bitches in the industry.

The celeb who may smile and chat amicably with fans on stage, may also be the very first to snub the very same fans when they get off stage.

A smiling face is always the most unpredictable.

I wonder if all stars who get elevated into a level of prominence, power and fame, start to think they are of a superior fabric to others.

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Ok, I'm just going to cite one experience of a fortuitous encounter with a celeb where I hit her the wrong way. It's a rather long-winded, drawn-out personal account.

This celeb has always had a healthy image portrayed by the media. She appears to be friendly, cheerful and a very, very sweet and nice girl overall. She also happens to be a very famous figure in the entertainment circles.

During her short jaunt in Singapore, she had many promotional activities to carry out. I was present at all her activities. This meant that I had to follow her around relentlessly the entire day. And, while she gets to sit in her limousine or whatever she sits in, and gets chaffeured around, and spent slots in between media and public appearances sitting around letting the make-up artiste apply war paint on her face, I was in my sweaty garb, taking public transport and chasing her all around town.

Because I see her like 24/7, the empirical impression she gave me was less of the friendly and sweet artiste, and more of the proud, haughty and arrogant stuck-up artiste, with an astronomical ego and cavalier attitude the size of ten elephants. And five monkeys. Heck, even my friend who had only seen her for a few hours also came out feeling the exact same way.

There were fleeting moments in between when I caught the hoity-toity pursued lips aka Meryl Steep in The Devil Wears Prada, I-am-better-than-any-of-you-here look. She was hyprocritical and superficial, but did anyone see that? No. All they cared about was her plastic, make-up pretty and uber gorgeous face.

Which, to tell the truth, is really pedestrian under all that make-up. Sad to say there are so few natural beauties around in the entertainment industry. And, yet, they think the sky of their looks.

That's what happens when you give someone too much fame and money. It corrupts their moral well-being, inflates their confidence level to one of superior hubris, and turns them into someone else altogether.

And, worse thing is, we all netizens are the ones that lavish them with immoderate amounts of adulation, thereby placing them on an invisible pedestral way high above us in the human pecking order.

This is also probably why some artiste can afford to have caviar flown in every weekend to apply on their hair. Yes, you read right, Catherine Zeta Jones has $400 worth of caviar flown in from Iran every weekend to wash her hair with.

Rarely can you find an amalgamation of a famous and rich person, complete with a wealthy personality. Such is the dearth of nice and famous people in the industry.

Usually, any protrayal of such are popular fallacies that people entertain sans questioning minds, which shouldn't be the case, but look how hard The Boy Who Said The Earth Was Round had to convince people whom all blindly believed that the earth took on the form of a square.

In short, celebritydom is a veritable minefield for cockiness and arrogance to breed rapidly like rabies.

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Well, during one of said artiste events, I approached her and asked her for her autograph. Her manager or personal assistant rejected my request on her behalf, and said, 'Laterrr, alright? Because she has other events to rush to...'

Note: The management always say 'Later, ok?' as a tactic to brush off persistent flies fans. Even if the artiste is on her way to boarding the next flight to Taiwan, the assistant will still go, 'Later, ok?' Like as though the fans are going to morph into one of the employees who check your boarding pass or welcome you into the plane. Or hop into the same plane together with the artiste(s).

As I don't take 'No' for an answer without trying my doggedly persistent best, I looked for the next opportunity to approach the artiste once again. I always believe you can learn so much from an artiste just by asking him or her for an autograph during a private event, i.e. non-autograph signings events.

So, she attended the next event. And, when she stood up to leave, I rushed forward once again. 'Can I have your autograph, please?' I asked her once again very politely. This time there was no personal assistant or management staff in sight, within a 100-cm radius. Just me and her. She could scribble her signature for me, or she could reject.

Guess what she choose to did?

She looked flustered. There was no one to help her brush me off this time. And, so she said, without looking at me in the eye, 'Er...(looks around)....I still have (stuttering)...I still have another event to rush to' before pointing in another direction. Then, she proceeded to look around, as though willing her personal assistant to hurry up or for one of the staff to give her directions and whisk her off to the next event.

The time that she took to reject my request? She could have signed two or three autographs for me.

I was waiting, and so was she. She had successfully created an emotionally hobbled situation for the both of us. I was waiting for her to sign, and she was waiting for something else to happen so she didn't have to sign. It became pretty obvious that she didn't want to help me sign an autograph. I thought back about her meeting with the media, and how she had quickly acceded to their request to sign on the big promotional board behind her.

She could have been all alone in an empty room with me, and I could have asked her to sign on my T-shirt, and she'd probably look around all flustered before coming up with a moronic excuse like, 'Oh, I am very busy right now, I have to dig my nose.' And, then, she'll stick a finger up her nose, and I will be like 'Ewwww' and she will feel so proud of herself because by now I wouldn't want her signature anymore.

Seriously, she acted as though signing an autograph for me was such a massive, herculean task. But, okay, fine maybe she was being professional and I choose to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Well, I sat back down to my seat in consternation. And, before I knew it, there was a flurry of activity. First, she was whisked out of the room, and next a bunch of people toting huge cameras rushed up in a maniacal frenzy after her.

Not wanting to miss out on any action, of course, I quickly got up from my seat and followed them, not realizing that I wasn't supposed to.

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I don't remember for how long we trailed behind her, before we finally reached another room. I stopped hurriedly in my tracks, as the artiste I was following stopped abruptedly, and was just standing inches before me. The next thing I knew, a very angry-looking manager was shouting at the top of her voice to a staff.

'WHO ARE ALL THESE PEOPLE FOLLOWING US? ARE THEY FROM THE MEDIA OR ARE THEY FANS? IF THEY ARE FANS, WHY ARE THEY FOLLOWING US AROUND?!! CAN YOU PLEASE ASK THEM TO STOP, BECAUSE IT IS VERY DISTRACTING FOR ALL OF US!

WE ARE TRYING TO WORK AROUND HERE!'

The staff took all of this in quietly, and then he approached the whole bunch of us. Instinctively, I reached for my media pass and held it before me. One by one, the others left (apparently, they were all fans!), until there was only me and my friend left standing there.

And, then, it suddenly dawned on me! The whole bunch of people that had got up and left were all members of her fan club! The media don't give a damn about following the stars around. Had I crossed my line as a reporter then? Was I being unprofessional?

At first, that was what I felt. A sting of compunction hit me, and that feeling debilitated me to a nervous little twit who was caught red-handed by mum for stealing cookies from the cookies jar. My intestines wound up into a nervous bound, and for a while, my eyes darted to the nearest exit and I contemplated scurrying out.

With only me and my friend left standing there, the manager then turned her blinding attention towards us.

'Who are these people? Are they from the media or are they fans?'

As part of my response, I held up my media pass. By this time, I was too stunned to say a word.

'If you are from the media, can you please get back to where you belong?!" The manager barked at me,

'We are trying to work around here!'

Lacking the authority to argue, I quickly acquiesced to her request. But, not before mentally giving the manager a big fat ZERO for her EQ-ness, or lack thereof.

I had to pass through said artiste on route to getting to my seat. And, everything happened so quickly, that I didn't have time to react. As I whisked past the artiste, she remarked loudly,

'She's not even from the media!'

Ok, alright, I lied. She was actually speaking in soft whispers that so gently caressed the air and floated over to my eardrums through airborne waves. But, with the surroundings as silent as a tombstone, she might as well have been screaming at the top of her lungs, and holding pots and pans and clanking them against each other clamorously, all the while yelling with carte blanche, 'SHE'S NOT EVEN FROM THE MEDIA! SHE'S NOT EVEN FROM THE MEDIA!'

Let's just for a second ignore the tone in which she used to say that offending statement. Yes, it's only one sentence, but it's a gratuitous remark nonetheless, and it incurred my ire. You can assimilate a truckload of collateral meanings from that alone. Let's dissect what she means from the brevity of that one inflammatory remark alone.

::ONE:: She was trying to chase me out.

::TWO:: She knew I was a fan. Is that the way to treat your fan? Clearly, to her, she didn't see any commercial benefit by just that very one fan. She didn't see the need to treat me nicely and politely, because she didn't see any return benefits for her, in terms of dollars and cents. So, a puny existence like me doesn't matter. It's been said that if you want to judge, judge people by how they treat those who can do them absolutely no good. I don't even wish to add on the fact, that I've been following her around the entire day, and the way she saw it fit to return the favour was by attempting to chase me out of an event?

Oh, she remembers me. Judging by how I've approached her twice during her events for her autograph, she quickly assumed that I wasn't part of the media. Simply because members of the press wouldn't give a damn about approaching the artiste for an autograph, unless you are talking a one-to-one interview.

All they care about are getting a few snapshots of the artistes during media events, during which the artistes are mostly on their best behaviour, and the next day in the entertainment pages you get superficial shite like, 'XXX was so obliging and answered all the media queries with a sweet, saccharine smile.' And, readers take in all that shite unquestioningly.

It's always occured to me how local media reports are so surprisingly devoid of any dirt, everything seems oh-so-perfect about the artistes being reported.

Sometimes, of course, you can't afford to be honest when writing an editorial piece. But, other times, it is the fans who refuse to believe that the person they idolise is really just a piece of good-looking trash. So, whatever good that is reported gets devoured devilishly by the fans. What about whatever bad that gets reported?

The fans pen a long letter to the media in question, lambasting the media's bias-ness towards so-and-so artiste, and then what do they do?! They threaten to boycott the magazine or publication!

Seriously, if I was the top management of the publication, would I rather my reporters report truthfully about the artiste and risk suffering a loss, and multiple rejected copies sent back to my department unit, or would I rather paint a colourful picture of the artiste, and the fans will still mechanically, without reason or visceral instinct, swallow everything whole?

Case in reference: Cyndi Wang, who did her promotions for her first few albums in Singapore. The media had several reports on her diva attitude and called her unfriendly, impolite, and nothing like the cute and friendly girl as protrayed in her album image.

Angry fans lashed out at the harbingers, and encouraged readers to boycott the magazine.

Just. Because. They. Didn't. Carry. Favourable. Reports. On. Their. Favourite. Idol(s).

Guess which side I choose to slant to in my postmortem report? Well, for that answer, read on..

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When I told my friend who was a fan of said artiste regarding this matter, her response was, 'Why did you tell me about this?! You've just tainted my perfect image of her!"

You see what I mean? Often, fans only hear what they want to hear about their favourite idols. They take everything negative about that artiste with a pinch of salt, and magnify everything positive about the artiste.

Every sacrilegious picture you taint of their idols is always about you being a jealous asshole who can't stand witnessing a fellow human being made good, and always never ever about you being professional in your work ethics and honest enough to tell the truth. Until it comes to a point where dishing the dirt about artistes is sacrosanct, a shaky ground to trespass upon.

Of course, there is another angle to this. In which, dirt dished out on artistes get devoured maniacally by the public, as people all enjoy reading controversies, but there are multifarious angles to any one issue, so that's another story altogether.

But back to the story. The manager's reply to that, was 'Oh, but she's holding the media pass.' Hah! Take that, you bitch.

My impression of her swan-dived overnight. I turned from one of her biggest aficionados to someone who despised and condemened her greatly. I began feeling a great deal of antipathy towards her. Of course, as I've been supporting her for SO MANY YEARS, I can't just kick off that habit of liking her, but, I'm trying.

Oh, did I also mention that she held a fans gathering during her stay in Singapore? During the fans gathering, she was such a loveable creature, that I would have loved her to bits! If I hadn't known better, that is. She was polite, friendly, obliging (took photos with her fans), sweet. In short, she was everything you ever wanted in an artiste. In short, she was everything the media reported her to be.

I was part of that media.

要是再给我演一次，我不想演回我自己的角色

喜节渲染的气氛
让我快喘不过气来
身边吵杂的声音
无法掩盖我内心的寂寞

我问自己，还能多久？
还能多久我将会向死神投降
变成它手下的俘虏。。。

我其实不想输给我内心的恶魔
只是它的催眠我慢慢失去了抵抗力
而脸颊上不停流的泪水
我真的无法再骗自己下去
明天会更好的

因为我的明天会跟今天一样
像失去光彩的彩虹
少了七种色彩鲜艳的颜色
它还有存在下去的意义吗？

我讨厌不说话的我，
离群的我，
不善于沟通的我，
寂寞的我，
哭泣的我，
好想消失在这世上的我。

我厌恶自己的存在，
无法接受这样的我。

在这种细节的气氛下，
我变成了我自己的悲剧。

而谁将会在我死前的那一刻改写我的剧本？

Cut the sacarsm! ...and I'm forced to blog because 20 07 2007 is such a nice date

I've always been a straight-talking kind of fellow, and not many people can swallow my brand of sacarsm or blatant honesty.

In the beginning, I thought it was okay to be honest, even though there are some lines that you should never cross as a decent human being. For example, criticisms on one's looks because 'hey, I can't help the way I look, unless I go for plastic surgery, can I?'

But, usually if friends ask for my opinion, I will just dish out the dirt straight in their face. The end formula of it all is a disgruntled friend hurt by my brand of honesty that even I am rendered hapless to, a victim of my own personality. Heck, my straightforwardness has even reduced a friend of mine into tears.

My friend's take is that as a friend, you will put across the same meaning in as nice a manner as possible. What she actually means, is that because the other party is a friend, you should first lay out your words carefully in your mind, sprinkle a thin layer of sugar on it, paint another layer of chocolate coating as a further sweetener, then wrap up your words in a chiffon pink ribbon, before allowing those words to leap out of your mouth freely.

In her own words, a stranger wouldn't hesitate to tell you, 'You look fat in that dress.' But a friend will put it across like this, 'That dress doesn't look very nice on you, maybe you should try something else."

If you ask me? Whether it's a stranger or my best best friend in the whole wide universe, it's still, 'You look fat in that dress.'

That's why please don't go shopping with me! At the end of your shopping jaunt, you will either feel like a fat, unattractive pig or you will feel like committing suicide. Either way, it's not very nutritional for one's self-esteem.

But, now honesty has become my albatross, I don't know what I should or should not say anymore. I don't know whether being frank necessary entails some sore feelings, I don't know if a namby-pamby white lie is always better than saying it like it is.

Is it ok to be a pseudo-liar? Is honesty not always the best policy? Is honesty not viewed as an asset that is embraced hearteningly by fellow human beings, but as a detestable liability that should be stomped and trampled on until it has died a slow, suffocating death? Do we want to snuff out the Honesty in us, silencing it? Or do we want to issue it the license to speak? Most of all, why do the people today have so fragile egos that have to be tenderly caressed, instead of being challenged?

So, anyway, some years back, I went K-box with this friend of mine whom I weren't very close to. Halfway, she asked me, 'Is my singing really very bad?' Now, she was looking at me with these innocent, puppy eyes. Earnest expression. To tell the truth or not? Up till then, my ears wasn't feeling very comfortable, but I wasn't exactly a singing sensation myself, so what right do I have to criticize others? Besides, I wasn't even that close to her in the first place, so I should probably reserve my truest comments to those who are more liable to swallow it.

'Yes, your singing is really awful.'

The words left my mouth even before I could strangle my throat and die from suffocation. Did I regret it immediately after the words left my mouth? Yes and No. Yes because I realized how deep an impact my words had left on the listener, and could very well from then on, be the very reason that she never opens her mouth to sing in front of a living person ever again. Of course, it wasn't that serious, she could always sing to her soft toy bear at home, but yes, her self-esteem was pulled down by a few notches.

No because it felt good to tell the truth, and I've always thought that if there is one thing good that comes out of criticism: my demoralization probably enhanced her determination to improve her singing abilities, so maybe she can prove me wrong, and one day become the next Stephanie Sun, and when she goes on stage to receive her award, she would do a Jolin Tsai and mention me in her speech, 'Many years ago, someone told me that my singing was awful. I would like to thank all my detractors because they only served to make me work harder.'

So, I always sought comfort in this little thought of mine. Inside of me, the guilt just continued eating into me like a ravenous monster with an insatiable appetite, and it didn't make matters any better when I knew that my little comment had really affected her.

So, one day, I went up to her and tried to say as casually as I could, 'Hey, did what I say last time affect you?'

She shook her head and said, 'No.'

'Really?'

'No.' Her expression was sombre, but she shook her head vigorously, 'No.'

'Er....so do you still remember what I said?'

'Yes.' Her expression remained the same. If she felt any anger, her expression didn't betray any such feelings arousing within her.

'So, what did I say?' God, this was even worse than stuffing myself silly and sitting on the couch watching TV for hours. The guilty feelings were much more intensified, and it was kinda a hard-stopping moment as I waited breathlessly for her answer.

'You said my singing sucks.' The words came out faster than I expected, but still the nonchalent look remained, before she shrugged and walked away.

Excuse me, how do you spell L-I-A-R?

So, while I was doing my internship, one day, my colleague approached me and asked me to go for a roadshow to help out for the second time. Disgruntled with being treated like cheap labour, I didn't have any motivation in me urging me to take up the offer. But, come on, I was only an intern and she was of a much higher corporate position as me. On top of that, I still had my grades to consider, I didn't want my A to be reduced to a B, or a B to a C. So, as much as I hated to go, I couldn't reject the task she had assigned me to. And, for what reason? Just based on a weak excuse like 'I don't feel like going'? Hah, as if I had better things to do stuck in the office, staring at the computer screen and feigning interest in pretense work. In short, deep down inside, I knew I couldn't and wouldn't say 'No'.

'No, I don't think I want to go. Besides the last time I helped out at the roadshow, I just ended up standing around doing nothing half of the time because you people have actually hired so many part-timers that we interns didn't even need to be there in the first place. I'd rather stay in the office.'

Now, I wasn't really a fan of the way this lady looked at me, when I had concluded my speech. Shock, realization and annoyance struggled for dominance on her face all at the same time. What? Had I said something wrong? Did I not conform to society rules where those at the bottomless pit of the corporate ladder had to do without questions asked and without any display of displeasure as long as the person who asked is someone of a higher status than you?

I say bullshit, this is not my boss, why should I listen to her? Even if it was my boss, would I have listened? I guess not. More practically, this isn't the person who is grading me, and I suspect have no influence whatsoever on my grades, so I saw it fitting enough that even though I was just an intern, we were of the same status. She could do no good to me and I could do no bad to her, or the other way round. We both had nothing to lose. At least, that's how I saw it.

In the end? The other intern did what she was told and helped out at the roadshow. Me? I stayed in the office, staring at the computer screen and feigning interest in pretense work.

Hey, at least there was aircon.

the great wall of china wasn't built overnight, baby

HJ: 'Hey, did you know that a girl's menstrual cycle lasts 21 days, and then stops for a week?'

smartyypants: 'Gosh!!! You serious anot?!! I thought it's 7 days, and then it stops for 21 days, no meh?!'

HJ: 'NO! You bleed for 21 days, then stop for 7 days, and then the cycle continues again...(Hiya, like that also don't know ah! *shakes head*)'

smartyypants: '*Ponders on the meaning of life*'

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We've come a long way since that conversation over the phone one late night past eleven. Of course, we are no longer the innocent, uninformed kid bordering on teenage-hood. And, of course, the both of us now know that a girl's menstrual cycle lasts a total of 7 days or lesser, and NOT, like what my friend told me - 28 days.

I've only met HJ once since we graduated from primary school eight years ago. It was at a bus stop near my house, she was studying at the school just a bus stop away from where I lived. We said hello and she asked me if I still lived at the same place. And I said yes. Our total conversation lasted less than 5 minutes. And then we said our goodbyes. It bothered me how our close friendship had dawdled to just mere friendly chit-chat akin to the small talk you have with a stranger at a party. And, I never saw her again, until last Friday, six years later, over a reunion dinner.

We've come a long way since our most significant growing stages of our lives, where we would discuss that first peek of hair sprouting out from our underarms, that first trickle of blood down under that wasn't some skin abrasion due to careless scraping because we fell down on the hard ground, giggle over our transformation from kids to teenagers.

I get the same reaction when I meet HJ for the first time in six (if you count the 5-min bus-stop encounter) or eight years, the same kind of mind erection when I meet up with someone after a lengthy time lapse: Boy, have they all grown up! It seems like I'm the only one who hasn't changed a bit. I'm still the geeky, nerdy kid whom everyone tagged the '4-Eyed Chicken'. It's like I went into a self-enforced coma, and when I woke up, everyone around me had successfully transisted from that awkward growing phrase into a full-fledged young adolescent. I'm the only constant that remains.

One thing I remember most about HJ is that - how do I put this across in a nice way? - her male hormones tend to over-exceed her feminine ones. There was always something manly about her, despite her small, petite frame. Sure, she would hug girlfriends in a welcoming embrace, but the way she talked, her hand gesticulations - they were all so masculine.

And, while she used to deck out in shoddy, boyish clothing, she now dons a figure-hugging, short flowery dress, complete with a fashion statement I term the peek-a-boo bra strap.

Told you I'm the one that never ever changes. Ten years ago, nerdy dressing. Ten years later, still nerdy dressing. Only worse.

Over cheap food and drinks, we started talking about the bar saga sometime back. You know, the one where a lady past the age of 35 was rejected entry into a club?

HJ:'And the bouncer even told the lady that this was not an old folk's home?! What the hell! Can you imagine if we were her age, and tried entering the club and kena rejected?'

smartyypants: 'But, this is an ageist society mah.'

HJ: 'Yeah, I know, but you don't have to re-inforce the fact that this is an aesthetically-driven and ageist society, where people judge you by your appearances.'

After this topic ended, another friend of mine, Xian, started talking about how ugly this particular actor is, and I was like -

'Oh! You are re-inforcing the aesthetically-driven society!'

Seriously, how the fuck does one not be judged by the way you look or dress? It's impossible, one's impression of another is formed within two minutes of meeting each other. And, to top that up, my friend HJ was not practising what she preached.

When we were queuing up for our food, she said,

HJ: 'I have this friend who has a boyfriend. Who looks OK in photographs but in real life, he's like DAMN UGLY. I'm so worried for my friend.'

smartyypants: 'Why are you worried?'

HJ: Because my friend is like REALLY REALLY PREETTYYY? *sighs in exasperation

And, just minutes later, she was saying about how we shouldn't 're-inforce this aesthestically-driven society.'

Hello?! We all have our way of discriminating others. Maybe the club looks down on OLD people, but what about yourself? You look down on UGLY people. Does that make you any better than that club that denied entry for that woman, and said that she could enter, but there were no free drinks for her. Because, they are selling meat have a business to run and a business target audience and proposition to adhere to.

Here's my take on the whole saga: I personally don't promote such blatant discrimination, especially when it is used on women and not men. (to this, I say, men are like wine - they grow more tasteful with age, can't say the same for women. And, also, of course, of the aged-old sexist notion that a rich, old man can bag a sexy, young chick. As long as he got the moolah, baby) But, I have to agree with what the club did. (Note: NOT with the way the matter was handled - like saying they are not running a charity organisation etc etc.)

Why do I say this? I think it's just pure business. In the same way, that Louis Vuittion or say, some high-end brand offer snotty services to people who look like they can't afford the exorbitant goods in there.

The only reason why this case was being magnified is because of its high visibility. After all, why would people demand for little kids to be banned from cinema theatres? Isn't that the same as banning women above 35 for free flow of drinks on a Ladies' Night?

Oh, because little kids are such a nuisance, and you don't want to waste your S$7.50 hearing to a bunch of kids screaming and doing everything else except watching the movie in peace.

In the same vein of argument, the managers also have a business to run, and therefore they don't want to waste their drinks on a bunch of women whom they don't see any return benefits simply because old women do not have the same bountiful attractiveness quotient as say, someone in their 20's, to attract lustful male predators customers out there.

Of course, there are some exceptions. There are some women in their 30s or 40s who look way much more fabulous than say, an overweight, pimply 26-year-old lady.

I think that the reason behind the general public outrage is that clubs are objectifying women. Should it be any surprise that Ladies' Night is just another business model for clubs to avail women of their sexual attractiveness and use it as human bait to lure male customers?

There are discrimination everywhere in Singapore. Based on looks, size, appearance, social standing, financial reputation, everything. So, why should one cry foul on discrimination based upon one's age, and then turn round and say that they will never ever support so-and-so singer or actor because he looks fugly? Why create double standards, is what I want to ask?

The very same person that stomps around, lamenting this blatant display of age discrimination, penning a long complaint letter on an online forum, is probably just another statistic in a bunch of Singaporeans who discriminate people based on their race and religion, or looks and appearance, or both.

Of course, people are most probably arguing based on IDEALS, not reality or what is taking place in actuality. In an ideal world, one would not be judged or treated unfairly just because one is overweight. But, we must also understand that as individuals, we are also partly contributing to the discrimination. We look at someone fat and we think it's because the other party can't control his or her food intake, or is just plain lazy to simply work out. What if it runs in the genes? Have you ever thought about that?

And, even more obvious, as human beings, we can't possibly be perfect in every sense of the word. So why not stop going around preaching on the vantage point of the hill-top that you stand on called moral high ground, when you yourself is not practising what you preach? Hypocrite behaviour.

Oh, sorry, for a while I got carried away and forgot this was supposed to be a blog entry on a girls-night-out-reunion-dinner.

HJ, I feel, is not your average Singaporean. She studies in the US and her wild antics is not exactly the common local flavour. In fact, if we were speaking about flavour, hers is definitely not boring, old vanilla. Probably some wild-mixed flavour, like raspberry peanut. She speaks with an accent, albeit on vocals leaning towards a male whose voice has just broken.

She works as a relief teacher for the intellectually diabled kids. She's a teacher, yes. She has to teach. No. Instead, she doubles-up as babysitter or nanny, meaning she has to toilet-train them.

'Oh, that sounds exciting. So, what do you have to do?' I asked.

'Hit them when they are noisy? And ask them to keep quiet?' Xian quips.

'Hit them?! More like stopping them from hitting me!' HJ slashes out, before the three of us broke into giggly laughter.

So, I found out that she actually has to change underwear for the kids when they URINE or SHIT in their pants.

10 days of relief teaching, in which HJ has to do anything and everything but teach, and she can earn enough for a trip to Perth Australia. 'My Dad pays half of the fare, and I stay at a friend's house, simple.' She said when I asked her how she had enough money to fund her trips overseas. So, you see, she's very independent that way, a fancy-free, foot-loose teenager that has the mindset of an adult.

After the meet-up, I suddenly had a desperate longing for a meeting with real friends. I don't know how to put this across - but by, real friends I mean those that you can drop out of contact with for like 3 whole months, but when you meet up with them, it felt just like yesterday the both of you have seen each other.

I did feel this way when I met up with HJ and Xian, as we quickly found common topics to bitch and gossip about. But, real friends are those whom you know will still be there, by your side, at the end of the day.

I can't say the same thing for both my primary school friends. Sure, they were those whom I were the closest to, who shared every minutiae detail of my life with, but those were in the past. Somehow, I realized I (or, rather, we), missed the boat when we failed to keep in contact the very moment we graduated eight years ago, and all those lost moments? All I can say is that a lost friendship can't be rebuilt overnight chatting about age discrimination and My Girl.

Let's just say there were pockets of moments in between conversations that I wished I was somewhere else.

Call me gorgeous...and all the things she left unsaid

Hello, dear readers, I would like to tell all of you a little story. A story about a gorgeous babe, with a personality leaving much to be desired. But, in this looks-centric society, it doesn't really matter. Or does it?

what she said: Went clubbing with the gals yesterday, this guy totally tried to hook me up. I just gave him my best, uninterested look.

what she left unsaid: So, I was on my way to clubbing with this bunch of friends when this man whistled at me and called me, 'Hey, gorgeous.' I just totally ignored him, why should I even bother, when I have like - what? a million guys chasing after me! (laughs) - he's totally not worth it, average-looking, nondescript gentlemen.

what she said: Oh, and did I tell you about that time when I was working as a customer service officer and all these random dudes tried hooking up with me because *shy laugh* I don't know! Seriously, I don't know. I'm not even as pretty or as thin or have such big boobs intelligent brains. So, seriously. I don't know what all these guys see in me too! Hahaha...

what she left unsaid: I AM SO DAMN GORGEOUS. DAMN IT. GOD MUST HAVE SPENT DECADES MORE TIME ON ME. Which, explains really, why there are so many ugly people around on this earth. God must have expended all His time and effort on me. Hahaha...

what she said: Met up with my friend Charles today. He brought a friend along, who said I looked pretty, haha.

what she left unsaid: Oh, and did I mention that time that someone called me pretty? What about gorgeous? Beautiful? Appealing? Bewitching? Charming? Classy? Cute? Dazzling? Divine? Elegant? Exquisite? Good-looking? Gorgeous? Lovely? Magnificent? Marvellous? Pretty? Radiant? Ravishing? Dashing? Stunning? Resplendent? Splendid? Statuesque? Stunning? Sublime? Superb?
LIKE DUH. I'M LIKE GOD'S GIFT TO MEN, THE MOST GORGEOUS BABE EVER TO WALK THIS PLANET. WORSHIP ME, YOU ALL NETIZENS.

*Cue shy laughter* Ahh, no of course not. I did NOT just go to dictionary.com, cut and copied that whole chunk of text you see above. I have much more brains than THAT. That, as in yes, I actually did cut and copied all those flowery words above, but no, I'm not going to tell you. *Sticks out tongue and do an act-cute pose*

what she said: Nothing mildly exciting happened today, really. Sian...But, wait a while, before I get on to that, did I mention about that HUNK i bumped into while clubbing at Zouk last night? Oh my fucking god, he has like what the most amazing blue eyes EVER, crystal-clear deep blue sea colour. SWOONS.

what she left unsaid: ONLY SUCH GORGEOUS MALES DESERVE TO BE SEEN WITH A STUNNING WOMAN LIKE ME.

what she said: I received a bunch of roses today at my workplace. It says 'Secret Admirer' on the card attached to the flowers, but I already know who the sender is. Some guys just don't get the message, do they?

what she left unsaid: Oh, *nervous laughter* and just in case anyone of you are interested to know, JJR is like SO totally INTO me. LIKE DUH. I'M THE MOST GORGEOUS WOMAN ON THIS EARTH, DIDN'T YOU ALREADY KNOW. Ohhhh Plllleeeaassseeeee.....Why don't he go look into the mirror or something???!!! Such a fugly guy...who even have the audacity to try wooing a gorgeous babe like me.

And, there you have it, dear readers. A story about a gorgeous babe, with a personality leaving much to be desired. But, in this looks-centric society, it doesn't really matter. Or does it?

Studying in Australia: A Friend's Perspective

I've been in Australia for less than two weeks, and my school semester hasn't officially started. All I do the whole day long is to stare at the computer screen and 'Appear Offline' on MSN .

Orientation starts tomorrow and a few days back, I went to have a look at my school campus. The exteriors of the building are fugly, I think they are either trying to re-construct or preserve the old heritage look of the building. smartyypants' school, which is just a stone's throw away from where I live, looks so much way better than mine.

I'm planning on getting a job here soon, but there is one criteria though, students are only allowed to work for 20 hours per week.

In Australia, the various conglomerates such as FairPrice, Cold Storage and Harvey Norman mail discount coupons over to respective houses. The folks over here fork out that precious consumer dollar for discounted items. And, you thought Singaporeans were the only bunch of kiasu fellows to have laid their footprints on Planet Earth.

Because daily consumption goods like bread and donuts cannot be kept for a day beyond, such items are heavily discounted towards the end of the day. My guardian only buys groceries after 7pm because the prices go down by 75% when dusk falls. I think she is such a cheapskate thrifty person.

Because there is a time disparity of 2 hours, 8.30pm in Singapore is equivalent to 10.30pm in Australia. Once, I was chatting with smartyypants on MSN when I asked her to go and have her dinner. To my awed surprise, she duely informed me that it was only 5.30pm and in Singapore, no one eats dinner at 5.30pm, except morons like myself . It then dawned on my forgetful self that SG's time is two hours lagging behind Australia.

When I first came to the hostel, I thought it was alright for me to sleep-in. You know, like what I'm so used to back in SG? I used to chat with smartyypants on the phone till 2am in the morning and it has become my nocturnal creature habit to call smartyypants past 12 midnight. I do that all the time. Sometimes, smartyypants get so fed up with me for disturbing her sleep that when she picks up the phone, I hear her yelling at the other end.

So, back to the topic at hand. When I first came here, I slept in till 11.30am. Before I came to this hostel, everyone would wake up punctually at 9.30am for breakfast. Hence, I cast my negative demonstration, and soon, everyone started following suit. You see, the whole bunch of us sleep together in the same room. They would wake up at 9.30am, see the lazy pig (read: myself) still sleeping in and promptly place their heads back on the comfort sanctuaries of their pillows. And, very soon, nobody wakes up. The bastards.

Well, one day, my guardian comes in and see the whole bunch of us lazy asses still sleeping, and well, you know, the rest is history. Therefore, I usually bid adieu to smartyypants at 8.30pm so I can get my ass on the bed.

Also, as anyone who is close to me can testify to: I am such a lazy pig when it comes to typing and sms-ing. It is as though I am an old woman suffering from arthirtis, and have problems getting my fingers to do some keyboard-exercising.

Hence, I like to call smartyypants all the way from Australia because I'm so damn lazy to even type I think it is more personal that way, and then I yell at smartyypants when she doesn't pick up the phone because she just wasted my moo-lah. Yes, you heard it right, even if the other party doesn't pick up the call, I still have to fork out that extra money when it comes to phone-billing time.

Another thing so amazing about this scenic, beautiful country is how independent the disabled people are. I was taking public transport the other day when a wheelchair-bound dude boarded the bus and this other guy kinda tripped upon him, which in turn kinda incurred the wrath of the dude. Until, that is, he found that the guy who had tripped over him was a blind person. Then, they started chatting with each other. Amazing how bonds are forged so quickly.

If you ask me, I don't see such behaviour taking place anytime in SG. The uptight people here would probably just bundle their facial features up into a scowl, and walk away quickly. But, that's not really their fault, it's because this is such a fast-paced society.

Over here, everything is so laid-back. You can just sit back and smell the flowers.

smartyypants asked me a very strange question just now. 'Did anyone throw orange juice or water bottles at you?' Really. I wonder how her brillant brain came up with such a disarming question.

And, so I answered her dumb question with, 'No, never, and I've never seen anyone being thrown at with water bottles or orange juice before.'

Well, then smartyypants got all excited and started hopping around the room in exhilaration when I duely informed her that they have bubble tea over here in Melbourne. But, it is like mind-blowing expensive, it costs AUS$3.50/cup (S$4.27), and I know for sure bubble-tea addict smartyypants will blow a large hole in her dad's pocket with her hapless addiction.

Alright, enough ranting. I shall leave all you dear readers with a picture I took from Port Melbourne. I've never seen so many starfish in my life, it totally took my breath away.

(Studying in Australia: A Friend's Perspective; As told by friend to smartyypants, fictional excepts not included)

My Last Day at Work

Doncha wish that you were my colleague?

Last Day At Work: I bought all these little sugar babies for my fellow colleagues. Imagine my surprise when I had random dudes coming up to me to thank me for the cakes. I had intially only given the cakes to a few colleagues whom I've worked closely with, but the cakes ended up in a merry-go-round in the office.

I realized that I should really open up my eyes wide the next time round. This random dude came up to me in the office and started talking to me. I didn't want to be rude, so I had to restrain myself from asking, 'Excuse me, but who are you?'

I succeeded, and ended up staring at her with the most clueless eyes and blank stare you've ever seen.

Then, when I took the lift down from my workplace, two random colleagues started talking to me. Most importantly, they knew my name and they knew that I worked in the same office as them. Can you imagine my upmost surprise when they called my name and started talking to me? I just had to act normal, pretend that I actually knew who they were, and talked back to them.

I'm looking around for another job right now. Keeping in mind, the realization that 'Sometimes, you don't need to be the best. All you need is recognition.' And, of course, the right contacts.

My friend once told me that her teacher says it is not about how good you are, but rather, who you know, that will bring you far. I have already expanded my network base, been casting my net as far as I can. Money is not a criterion for me, I'll willing to work for free or an internship pay. Just got in touch with someone from CNA. Hope we can work something out.

How I Spent My Day Today

1:30PM: Checked application status online. Approved!

1:31PM: Ran to colleague and told her I got in! She told me to start arranging lodging. I replied that I was going to go there to see the accomodation first. Talked abit, then hurriedly went back to my computer in exhilaration.

1:35PM: Realized that application was approved for Feb 2008, instead of July 2007.

1:36PM: Shouted to colleague that application for July intake wasn't successful. Wept silently.

1:37PM: Called up my agent aka middle man. DO officer wasn't in. Complained to poor receptionist that picked up the phone that hello? my application was for July 2007, not freaking Feb 2008, I'm not freaking going to waste half a year. Wept silently.

1:47PM: Hung up the phone after receptionist promised to revert my message to my DO officer. Started cursing under my breath and silently asking whether the freaking DO officer can afford to pay me back half a year of my life gone wasted under his hands. Wept silently.

2:15PM: Stared at 'YEAR 2008, SEM 1' on my computer screen.

2:16PM: Refreshed the page and stared at 'YEAR 2008, SEM 1' again.

2:17PM: Refreshed the page again. Then wept silently.

2:30PM: First time since lunch I got back to work. Wept silently.

3:41PM: Picked up phone. Realized got more than 10 missed calls. One from my friend who is flying to Australia today. One from my sis saying my officer called. And, the last from my officer.
3:42PM: Returned the call. Officer not in, asked to call back later.

3:43PM: Looked at missed calls and found one missed voicemail. Lady speaking on the other end left a voice mail saying that she is calling on behalf of my DO officer, and that my application for July intake has been unsuccessful.

3:45PM: Call up the officer that left the voice message. Not in! Asked to call back later. Meanwhile, wept silently.

3:47PM: Started banging around files on my workdesk angrily while at work. No mood to work. Wept silently.

3:48PM: Started comforting myself. Begin surfing the net for temporary jobs that will last me till next year. Wept silently.

4:00PM: Stared at 'YEAR 2008, SEM 1' on my computer screen.

4:01PM: Refresh.

4:02PM: Refresh again.

4:03PM: Refresh again.

4:04PM: Refresh again.

4:05PM: Refresh again.

4:06PM: Refresh again. Wept silently.

4:07PM: Phone rings. I had made bloody sure to put my phone to anti-silent mode, and picked the loudest ring tone.

4:08PM: Woman officer tells me that the Uni has rejected my application for the July 2007 intake. Wept silently.

THE NEXT ONE IS A CLASSIC. PLEASE DO NOT GO FOR ANY TOILET BREAKS AT THIS MOMENT.

4:09PM: Woman officer tells me that the Uni has rejected my application for the July 2007 intake BECAUSE THERE IS NO JULY INTAKE AT ALL!!!!

4:17PM: Happy. Go back to work. =)))

Untitled

I quit my job today.

It was kind of a last minute thing. I only gave myself less than a few hours in the morning to think. On impulse, I handed in my resignation letter and informed my boss that this week will be my last.

I'm not even working for money! I don't know why I let myself continued so long...Sick and tired...!

(Correction: I'm only working for money, which means this job is practically useless to me, no meaning at all!)

On a separate note, my application to Uni has seen a further delay. And, you thought things couldn't get any worse, they do, all the problems just multiply like pests on a wet, rainy day. They pile up and up and before you know it, they are this gargantuan, insurmountable task, an emotional and physically tiring hill to mount.

I suddenly get the feeling that I'm never gonna go.

On Suicide

Suicide is a illness. It is not a sin.

I went to a Catholic church recently.

The pastor over there gave a talk on suicide.

And, that is what he said: 'Suicide is a illness. It is not a sin.' That's not to say that anyone of you out there reading this should go out and commit a 'illness'.

Anyway, he likened suicide to 'emotional stroke'. According to him, suicide comes about as a last straw for the person when he or she as reached their wits' ends. Sometimes, it may be as simple as a loss of a relationship.

He then added on that for those of us who have lost a friend due to suicide, not to blame themselves for the misfortune, as the person commiting the act had deliberately chosen a right time and place where no one was around to commit the act. So, instead of thinking what could have been, such as 'Could I have shown him more love and concern?', accept that fact.

According to him, he said that the amount of love and concern that is lavished on one person, has no consequence whatsoever on a person's well-being or mental state of mind. Meaning that one could have been the recipient of much TLC, but still has suicidal thoughts on their minds.

He then went on to read out the letters of people's prayers.

According to my friend, there are many whom wrote in saying that this weekly church session has saved them from the evil claws of Death or Depression. There are one a many who have found renewed hope and vigour for life after attending the session every week. Then, there are those who might not even have been alive by now, had they not attended the weekly sessions.

So, anyway, the pastor read out one of the thanksgiving letters, which went something like this.

"Dear Mother (Mary),

My husband and I have been married for a long time and we have been trying for a child, only to be met with failed attempts and much disappointment. During one of my prayer sessions here, I prayed to you to bless us with a child. And, true enough, after some time, my husband and my attempts at trying for a child were successful and I became pregnant. I hope you will continue to bless me and my child, and I pray for a smooth delivery.

Your dearest daughter,

XXX"

Donut Factory @ Raffles City

12.06 PM

I reached Donut Factory @ Raffles City Shopping Centre on a Saturday afternoon. When it comes to Donut Factory, the first thing you notice is not the small shop front, but the long snaking queue.

After hearing so many reports on how the queue is painstakingly long, I was surprised to see that the queue, was in fact, unexpectedly short. Being a weekend, teenagers and secondary school students dominated the queue. There was hardly a single working adult in sight. What more on a weekday, where adults have only one hour of lunch break to spare? Would the queue have been much more shorter?

Therefore, I was curious indeed to see why people had queued SEVEN to FIVE hours just to buy donuts. Was the long waiting a thing of the past, was the fad dying a slow painful death, like the bubble tea craze?

As you probably already know, when Donut Factory first started up, the media quickly picked on it and slowly deviously exploited the donut craze, devoting pages after pages of column inches to these sugary babies.

Anyway, if you ever make the trip down, don't be like my hygiene-conscious friend, who refused to sit down on the floor. It can get very tiring, so feel free to sit down as everyone else is doing so.

Of course, there were a few lone ones who stood all the way, but unless you are the dirt-conscious type who is afraid of sitting down where thousands of the soles of shoes and heels have trodden upon, my suggestion is not to.

Also, I spotted many in the queue sporting PSPs, Gameboys, magazines etc. These people sure came well-equipped, but what beats a real-life breathing human being aka your companion to make donut queuing a more tolerable social activity?

12.30 PM

Donut Factory finally opens and there is a sudden rush forward. Before I went to Donut Factory, I've read many food reviews on how the sugary smell of the donuts surge forward to greet you amiacably while you queue (im)patiently for your turn.

Well, they were half right, the smell of creamy sugar rushed forward - but, wait a minute - it isn't coming from Donut Factory. Instead, the sweet creamy smell is coming from Donut Factory's (drum roll) neighbour, Beard Papa!

13:35 PM

After feeling kind of frustrated that the queue wasn't even that long in the first place, so why the hell was the queue moving so slowly? I went to the front of the queue to investigate.

The numbers of service staff were sufficient enough and they were all very efficient. Behind the kitchen, you can see the chef hard at work, needling a sizeable amount of dough. The donuts were churned out at the speed of a bullet train in an assembly-line fashion.

So, my questions again is this: What was holding up the queue?

Alas! It was not the quantity of people that contributed to the long waiting times. It was the quantity of donuts that each individual bought!

One group (two guys, one girl) of grown-ups bought TWELVE freaking boxes of donuts. Again and again, the boxes were folded, the donuts were chosen, and the boxes were placed aside. Multiply that by twelve times. The queue did not move for a good ten to fifteen minutes.

Assuming that every other person takes that amount of time before they whisk off with their donuts purchase, that would mean that only a meagre amount of SIX people would be served in one hour.

A-ha! smartyypants has solved the mystery of the long queues!

More pictures of the mouth-salivating donuts:

14:00 PM

We finally got our donuts, after a painstakingly long queuing process for a good two hours.

(From Top Left) Apple Cinnamon, Blueberry Glazed, White Strawberry Heart, Strawberry White Chocolate

(From Middle Left) Kaya White Chocolate, Double Chocolate, Orange White Chocolate, Glazed

(From Bottom Left) Dark Chocolate, Raspberry, Peanut Dark Chocolate, Hazelnut Milk Chocolate

The sublime donuts which my teeth sink into with guilty indulgence, injected with generous fillings such as strawberry jam and thick chocolate syrup, ozzing forward with unbirdled abundance, thereby giving you an euphoria rush. These sweet little things are enveloped within a crusty, flaky outer layer. Hungry, yet?