I find good hygiene very attractive. I love the smell of soap, hand wash, shampoo, shower gel, laundry detergent, toothpaste and all things clean.

beam me up, hottie

I dreamed that the world was flooding. Some areas were wiped out by water and others by sand. People ran from all directions, fleeing the flood. RD had already escaped and was calling us from 'the other side.' He told his family and me to go up to the highest level of the Centre Point Tower, where he would rescue us. We got into the glass elevator and saw people drowning below us. The water, now turned into a speeding train, circled the tower and eventually crashed into it. Glass shattered and the lift exploded, throwing us into a deep pool—imagine falling into the ocean with dead bodies in it, like in the last scene of Titanic. All of a sudden, we were beamed up and landed in a room that looked like the Star Trek ship.

It was terrifying watching everyone trip over each other, trying to run away from the flood, and seeing people drown from the glass elevator. It looked and felt so real!

his smile

Smiles. Warm, genuine smiles.

Nothing beats the flash of pearly whites. It's like when a flashbulb from a camera brightens up a dark place before a photo is taken.

I haven't seen that smile in 5 days.

Another 16 days to go.

bad haircut

RD and I usually spend Saturdays together, but he was off all day getting his diving certification, leaving me wondering what to do with myself. Normally, I'm not this attached to my boyfriend, but it was one of those days.

So, I took my 5-year-old cousin Alex to my friend's shop opening, then we wandered around until I decided to get a haircut. I often cut my hair out of sheer boredom. Feeling particularly nonchalant this afternoon, I told the hairdresser to do whatever she thought best. Big mistake. Now I have more layers than a wedding cake, and it looks almost like a mullet.

We've all had that salon experience where we leave feeling less than fabulous. I remember being 8 years old when my mother forced me to get a haircut. I squirmed and cried as the stylist snipped away. I made such an impression that, 18 years later, the hairdresser still tells me that story whenever I see her.

I’m starting to understand why my dog, Chino, hates haircuts. He never gets a say in the length and always ends up sulking for hours afterward. His first haircut was a disaster. When I picked him up, my fluffy puppy looked like a drowned rat. I wanted to cry but held it together for his sake. I kept repeating his name to make sure he was really mine. His face looked ridiculous, with his big nose even more noticeable. He literally looked pathetic. When we got home, he ran under the bed and refused to come out until dinner. I think he was too embarrassed to face Sox and the other neighbourhood dogs. OK, maybe I'm being a bit dramatic, but still.

Maybe I should hang out with Chino for the rest of the day, because at least he could relate and sympathise with me.

If anyone wants me, I'll be under the bed.

beauty is only skin deep

Being a lady, I was taught to take care of my skin, but being lazy, I neglected this duty until recently. I didn't know the difference between cleansing and toning; I thought washing my face with water was good enough. It turns out there is a lot you can do to maintain your skin and other features of your body.

Over the past decades, there has been significant growth in the variety of beauty products and treatments. These range from anti-wrinkle creams to exercise equipment and health resorts. Where once only the rich and famous could afford the luxury of masseurs and the occasional weekend at a day spa, it has now become common practice for many more to take advantage of these services.

Despite the claims of advertisements and marketing campaigns, the truth is that people still age and die. The aging process is inevitable, yet most of us deny it by finding ways to keep ourselves young, fresh, and vibrant. Perhaps there is nothing wrong with maintaining our looks or wanting the sustainability of youth when we're in our late fifties or early sixties. However, we need to question our priorities—is it that important to have an outer shell that masks the truth that the inner self has indeed aged?

Have we become so worried about superficial appearance that we are no longer concerned with the inner self? Are we obsessed with making impressions through visual indicators rather than by how we relate to each other and the values that underpin our character?

Jesus didn't judge a person's outward appearance; he looked beyond that and cared about their inner being, the ideals, and beliefs that drove them. A physically attractive person isn't necessarily beautiful if they are driven by selfish greed and egotism. Jesus warns us about the deception of exterior appearances and reminds us to concentrate on people's actions, which demonstrate their true character and motivations. 

In talking about the teachers of law at the time, Jesus wrote:

"Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You clean the outside of the cup and dish, but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence. Blind Pharisee! First clean the inside of the cup and dish, and then the outside also will be clean.

"Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of dead men's bones and everything unclean. In the same way, on the outside you appear to people as righteous but on the inside you are full of hypocrisy and wickedness." Matthew 23: 25-28

If anyone ever told you that Christianity is a walk in the park, a bed of roses, or an easy and fun lifestyle, they were lying to you. Yes, it has its perks, and yes, we have the joy of the Lord, but sometimes it's tougher than sitting through a reality TV show. As I grow stronger in Christ and discover how corrupt my flesh is, the harder this walk becomes. It tears me apart inside when I succumb to temptations. I feel guilt and shame, vowing to turn over a new leaf and repent, but do I? Nope, I just keep walking, sometimes even strolling. I constantly run into a brick wall and reject God's rules. It's a vicious cycle, as I surrender to God and get back on the straight and narrow, then stumble and fall again.

My non-Christian friends like to tease me about being a Christian, and even though I have no issues or embarrassment about identifying myself as one, I find myself having to apologise—not for being Christian (please put your stones down)—but for being a poor reflection of such a magnificent God. Living out our Christian faith just for show is like applying beauty treatments on the outside only. When we are clean on the inside, our outward appearance of beauty and purity won't be a facade, and our actions will echo both the inner and outer quality of our life and the beliefs that drive us.

anchor of hope

I once read somewhere that hope is an important element of life; with it, we're able to keep moving forward. This made me question where hope comes from. Where could I find hope to keep me going? I was confused for a while about life, questioning my existence, and I knew there had to be something, someone greater than life itself to guide me, to let me invest all my faith and trust in.

I know I'm not perfect and I often felt that I needed some sort of anchor to stop me from wandering off. I needed to be kicked back in line. An anchor is used to attach ships to the bottom at a specific point. It stops the ship from drifting with the tide and protects it when there is a strong wind. The purpose of the anchor is to hold the boat so that it faces into the wind and prevents it from toppling over. During a storm, the anchor is laid out and trails behind the ship to prevent it from turning side on.

Throughout life, you will be challenged with many hardships. Similar to the boat, you need a firm anchorage to stop you from drifting with the tide or sinking in a storm. Drifting on the tide is nearly unnoticeable. One moment everything is nice and dandy, secure and safe, but before you know it, you've drifted away from where you were.

Temptations cross your path, and you start to bend the rules to rationalise your actions. You slowly shift away from right living. Each small drift may seem insignificant, but collectively it has a huge impact on your life. The temptations may come from friends or family, so you must have a strong anchor to resist the pressure to validate and compromise your standards.

Storms are those times in your life when unexpected and tragic events occur. Without a firm anchor and hope for the future, you're incapable of riding out the storm. You feel depressed, irritated, jealous, bitter, resentful, and vindictive. These are circumstances beyond your control, real catastrophes or critical situations. Tough times never last, but tough people do.

While the ship has an anchor, I have God. My hope is anchored in God, because through Him I can ride the storms of life, the unpredictable gusts, the changing wind direction, and the flow of life. "But the eyes of the LORD are on those who fear him, on those whose hope is in his unfailing love, to deliver them from death and keep them alive in famine." Psalm 33:18-19.

tense

Somewhere between 6 and 7 in the morning, amidst blind grabbing for my mobile phone and repeatedly silencing the snooze button, I tossed and turned amid erratic dreams of those who once were. I remembered the people who left me behind, or rather those I left behind and couldn't retrieve. It still hurts when I poke at the memory. The cavity between my ribs when I roused was a painful awakening because I thought I was over it. It only took an innocent conversation with some girlfriends about emotional baggage for the nostalgia to rudely interrupt my subconscious once again.

I dreaded the lonely car ride to work this morning, as it would have given me too much time to over-analyse my dreams and drive me to insanity. I asked RD to accompany me and, because of his loving nature and observant trait, he must have sensed the urgency and desperation in my voice and agreed without questioning. I appreciated the gesture, knowing it would be an inconvenience for him since he had to take the train to the city from my office due to the terrible peak-hour traffic.

Our drive was lovely. We talked about our dreams, and he lightened my mood by recalling the nightmare he had about his battle with two giant spiders. I confided in him, and he gave me his philosophy on dealing with past issues. At one of the traffic lights, he leaned over and kissed me mid-sentence. I didn't expect the display of affection and melted when he pulled me in for a hug, whispering sweet nothings in my ear. His romantic stunt really made my day, and I can still feel the warmth of his hug. I love hugs. I can't think of anything more comforting than a timely, firm bear hug from someone who genuinely cares. Sometimes, when we're fighting and no words of affirmation are convincing enough, a hug can win the hardest argument.

As RD weaved through the busy traffic, I gazed blankly out the window, feeling the sad residue from my dream and being choked by my thoughts of the past. I felt someone's warm hand pressed on mine, and when I turned to my right, I saw my handsome present and future smiling back at me.

photo album

While going through my photos archive for Caz's wedding slide show, I stumbled across this webcam photo of little Shirley!

I also discovered some horrific photos from High School, someone should have told me to pluck my eyebrows, seriously.

the escen

August was all about getting my ducks in a row, drawing up plans for the months ahead. September and October are when those ducks (hopefully) start marching in formation. There have been some new developments that I haven't shared on my blog because, let's face it, sometimes sharing isn't really caring. I usually avoid turning my blog into a play-by-play report, but I need to timestamp a few events for future reference.

I moved to the Inner West temporarily to see if I could hack it away from home. Spoiler alert: I couldn't. After seven weeks, I was back home with my family (pets included), boyfriend, and friends. I realised I had plenty of freedom, privacy, and independence at home, and the only perk of living away was being closer to work. I rented a furnished resort apartment, but thanks to the chilly weather, I didn't enjoy the facilities. Not that it mattered much since I don't play tennis, swim like a rock, and break out in hives at the thought of exercise. The sauna, though, I genuinely missed out on. Kat helped me move out, and we took a grand tour of the resort, pretending we were on a luxury holiday.

In other news, I bought my first investment property. I expected some fanfare when the settlement happened, but all I got was a phone call from my solicitor saying, "Congratulations, the settlement was completed at 2:30pm." No flowers, no fanfare, just a 30-year mortgage and a sobering look at my financial statements.

The whole process wrapped up in less than a month, and I've learned that it's not what you know, but who you know. I was blessed with a team of professionals who charged me mates' rates and pulled a few all-nighters to make the transaction smooth. Good help is hard to buy, but with strong friendships and trust, you can earn it.

shirley

I used to babysit my niece, Shirley, during school holidays because her parents thought my folks would enjoy having a kid around. What they didn't consider was that the assigned babysitter was an 18-year-old who had just finished the HSC and was eager to enjoy her newfound freedom. Perhaps my parents were fully aware and used babysitting as a clever form of house arrest.

Desperate to quit my unpaid babysitting gig, I tried to make her miserable enough to want to leave. I gave her chores, hoping she'd hate staying with us and beg to go home. I even blocked her on MSN because her phonetic shorthand texts and fluorescent fonts were driving me nuts. Once, I came home to find she’d ransacked my precious sticker collection, sticking them heartlessly all over my desk. The final straw was when she dropped my pet rabbit down the stairs, breaking his spine, and he had to be put down. I got in trouble for locking her out of my room after she woke me up every morning by banging on the door. Thankfully, I had conditioned myself to sleep through it.

When Shirl started primary school, we actually became friends. She helped me get ready for dates by curling or braiding my hair, tying complicated laces, and giving my outfit a once-over. Her creativity made my bedroom cozy, and she was handy in the kitchen, cutting up watermelon on hot summer days. I tricked her into cleaning the house with false promises of shopping trips. When I renovated my bedroom, she was my little handyman, assembling furniture with ease and showcasing freakish strength in heavy lifting. Some may call it child labor; I prefer ‘personal development.’ She matured quickly thanks to my rigorous training. My niece is smart, almost as smart as me. I sometimes see a young me in her (minus the handy work, creativity, and strength...).

It almost seemed like she was the babysitter. You see, a good child minder allows the kid plenty of freedom and encourages them to be independent. I just took this method to a whole new level. My babysitting career ended when Shirl started high school, and her visits dwindled and eventually stopped altogether. I took her off my block list and was disappointed by the absence of her eager messages. Whenever I invited her over, she was busy and preferred hanging out with friends. Ouch. My little girl was growing up.

Shirley is now 15 years old and taller than me. She visited last Friday night, and I asked her to sleep over. To my surprise, she agreed, and I knew this was my chance to win her back. I pulled out all the stops: I let her hug my hot water bottle, let her pick a DVD for us to watch, and took her shopping in Paddington. We had Japanese in the city, and I bought her whatever drinks and snacks she wanted. I was at her mercy.

We reminisced about the past and laughed about how we used to fight and slam doors in each other’s faces. She asked about my current love life, and I was pleased to hear she still hated boys. I made a mental note to ask her again next year. She showed me her Myspace page, and I made fun of her unoriginal teeny-bopper pouty-lipped pose. I'm glad we're friends again. Last night, she sewed the missing buttons back onto my coat. It feels like old times.

brighter than sunshine

Bike riding has always been one of my favourite activities. In Kindergarten, I taught myself to ride a bicycle without training wheels. Training wheels were for pansies—I was a daredevil and born to ride.

Flashback to that particular day when RD and I raced around Bicentennial Park on our bikes. After a couple of hours, we took a break and sat under the bridge by the lake to chat and duck-gaze. I remember feeling a sense of calm and tranquility as I watched the water move evenly. The ducks appeared to be napping in a sitting position while still floating leisurely around the pond.

I could hear the pigeons flapping their wings nearby and the scampering of tiny insects. I could smell the fresh grass and the new mud just below us. But mostly, my senses were overwhelmed by the warmth of the sun as it tickled and kissed my skin. It was a memorable afternoon and one of our best dates. I remember how it suddenly rained as we ran hand in hand to his car, laughing like two kids at Disney World. That memory of us still makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. There’s just something innocently sweet about someone holding my hand while I'm running, especially when it's someone I love.

writing about writing

Like the majority, I suffer from a few pet peeves. I don't like bad quality photos. Come on people, welcome to the modern world of digital cameras. I don't like the sound of my alarm. I don't like it when other people touch my hands (except for RD). Tuna is gross, snobby people are just insecure, and bad writing really bothers me.

It could be that I am one of the few people who actually get an unpleasant physical reaction from bad writing, but I have valid reasons to justify this pet peeve. When it comes to writing, especially self-reflective writing, we should invest time and thought into our pieces. Personal blogs are this millennium's online journals. They are more than a means of communication; they are reflections of life, works of art, and can hold sentimental value. Blogs are egocentric and self-centered to the author, and thus it would contradict the whole purpose if we didn't take pride in our blogging.

Maybe I'm too critical.

I can't paint or draw (even my stick people are unrecognisable), nor can I sing or play an instrument. I'm a terrible photographer (with a face like this, I belong in front of the camera, not behind it—just kidding!) and I'm far from crafty. I can't create anything with my bare hands, like sculpting, sewing, or any other needlework. I can't quite pinpoint where my creativity lies. Are creative people likely to express themselves in a variety of methods, or generally latch onto one definitive medium? Maybe everybody has a passion that burns inside of them, causing them to reach out through whatever mode of expression they can find.

For me, it is writing.

results

After weeks of crispy cool, yet sunny weather, it started to rain yesterday and continued pouring today. The temperature suddenly dropped about 15 degrees, like the stock market, and the feelings of winter hit hard. It's cruelly cold and damp, against a heavy blanket of grey sky. The weather was fitting as I waited for my uni results. Before the start of the first semester, I was motivated to get Distinctions and High Distinctions. However, after the mid-semester assessments and how tragically they all went, I lost the drive to aim for anything more than a Pass. Starting my essays a few hours before they were due and cramming for final exams overnight was not a smart move. Naturally, I dreaded my final grades, but I was pleasantly surprised when I saw my transcript today. Praise God! I’m so relieved!

spark

I'm a proponent of human chemistry, deeming it a key ingredient for any healthy relationship. If you've ever experienced that famous feeling we tag as chemistry, you know it's a tingly and powerful emotion. Chemistry is the undeniable current of electricity between two people; it creates a spark that identifies a connection between them. Chemistry can bond people emotionally, intellectually, or romantically. You're incredibly blessed if you can find all three forms in one person.

Sometimes, people can misinterpret friendliness for chemistry. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I'll label myself as friendly to make my next point. On more than one occasion, boys have mistaken my friendship bracelets for commitment rings. My fellow females can relate to this sticky situation and know that it only goes sour if not handled with care. It's always safe to apologise for leading someone on and politely tell them you don't feel that way about them. There's no room for confusion, and you're actually assuming some responsibility for accidentally captivating him with your charming personality.

It annoys me when a person freaks out because someone is interested in them. Girls who cannot handle attention do not deserve it. Take it easy, sister. He is just asking you out to lunch, not proposing marriage. A socially intelligent girl will convert a romance mix-up into a pleasant friendship. If the guy is truly unbearable, she should just file him under the "not my type" category rather than damaging his reputation by sharing the "bad pick-up" story with others. Above all, we should remain civil. Whether or not we have chemistry with someone, they still deserve acknowledgment and respect.