7/4 (shoreline)

Here, dotty-dotty-dotty, heeeeere dotty-dotty!

**WARNING: Author’s brain is too scattered for constructed sentences at the moment. Brain’s Editor deeply apologises for this inconvenience. Have a nice day.**

• So here’s the 411, yo: starting August 28, I will be living and working for 6 to 24 months/indefinitely (or Until-I-Freak-The-Fuck-Out-Really) in and around London, England or as I like to call it, The Second Most Expensive City IN THE WORLD. Ex-cel-lent.
  
  
• It’s all about the accent, honestly.
  
  
• And the curry.
  
  
• So far, three options present themselves before me: Option A is still impending what they refer to as the "third phase: face-to-face interview" (and as I am still physically an entire ocean away, this is rather complicated, you understand, and requires from me nothing but utmost patience. Something that I OBVIOUSLY have in boundless amount! [insert maniacal laugh]); Option B lies in the hands of a friend of E, who owns a catering business for which years of [*cough*questionable*cough*] waiting & customer service skills will come in mighty handy for preventing yours truly from slaughtering lovely Londoneers and causing a most unfortunate diplomatic rift between Canadia & her Surrogate Mumsy *toes crossed*; and finally Option C (or commonly knwon as My Best Bet) would see me gathering numerous carton boxes and seeking out for the driest and well-lit corner in town. Any help will be deeply appreciated here.
  


• No matter which option will befall upon my frighteningly delusional little self, opportunities to, in no particular order, travel cheaply, submerge in Art, culture (which may or may not include sampling some good’ol English beer out of rubbish bins) and other conducts of subversive depravity international kinship will highly be welcomed.
  


• Should Option B prevail (somehow outbidding Option C’s glamorous notes), I’ve also been keenly looking into several places where I can crash me bum. The problem here is, since my employment is far from anything as being settled (even though I am due to depart in FIVE DAYS), it’s a little senseless to select a specific area now, innit? I mean, it isn’t exactly cheap to travel through six goddamn bloody zones in The Second Most Expensive City IN THE WORLD, izzit? And what of the appeal and safety of a neighborhood fit for a paranoid young lass? How can one choose between the attractive eclecticism of the West End versus the once-'dodgy'-now-'up-and-coming'/cheap-housing-market of the East End? And what makes me think I can ever live with complete strangers? Will they like me? Will I kill them? Is it bad etiquette to lift up the mattress looking for bedbugs?
  


• I have been swaying between complete & utter excitement and complete & utter despair. Between being unbearably joyful and terrified out of my fucking tits. In the space of an hour. I am bloody EXHAUSTED!
  


• OHMYGODIAMLEAVINGINFIVEFACKINGDAYS!!!![ad infinitum]
  


• I started to pack last night. Chaos ensued. Tearful trailer included [but not excluded to (I’ll spare you the really ugly bits)]: “GAH! Where did all these things come from?!”, “How am I supposed to fit MY LIVELIHOOD in a 28” by 18” bag!?”, “How am I supposed to CARRY and DRAG this bag anyway?!!”, “...Will my [color-coordinated!] wardrobe suffice?”, “I am SUCH a fucking princess!!”, and, of course, the always delightful “What IN HELL are you THINKING?! Are you COMPLETELY. MAD?!” It's Rated G for Goddiddlydamned Slappable.



• ...Maybe this is not the best time to be coming off Mr. Effexor after all….
  


• I need to see my shrink.
  


• I don’t have time to read blogs anymore. (And the fact that I am putting this into account means that I am officially a dork. Break out the champagne!)
  


• Speaking of blogs, it always surprises me that anyone would read these little neurotic meanderings of mine, let alone give a rat’s ass to comment. But to all the actual three of yous (yes, yes, you over there *waves*), it still makes me all warm and fuzzy in the weirdest of ways for every email, every word and advice and virtual pats-in-the-back, every colon and bracket and parenthesis (or rather :)], yeah? Am I 'in' yet?) during this most crazy of times. I am truly and humbly grateful. And despite being scared shitless, I am still going through with it because somewhere inside my brain jumping and screaming in a [miraculously] higher than my screeching pitch is a little girl who knows there won't be any regrets.* And isn’t that all what one can hope for?

So there.

And remember, any further questions, suggestions and well-wishes can always be replaced by loving monetary donations instead.

Bwahahahahahahaha! I kid, I kiiiid!! (But not really.)




* Is it me or does that sentence sound weird? Brain? Hullo?...

a time to be so small

I am freaking out.
I am in a frenzy.
Way over my head.




After thinking about, planning and dreaming and hoping for this project to come along for well over two years, it is finally hitting me. How unbearably overwhelming it all is. Running away to a country where you know no-one and no-one knows you. Where there isn’t a net – financial or otherwise – you can fall on should something go haywire. Which it always does. As Life tends to do. And this terrifyingly enticing unknown that attracted you, that you learned in and out, now suddenly feels different.

Bare.
Void.
Cold.

It’s the complete and utter blackness of jumping into something you had invested so much – everything – in and have no control over. Because no matter how many books you read, how many links you clicked, how many people you asked, or listened, there is this breathless ball embedded in your chest that knows it was all useless, you are taking a leap into the ocean without ever touching water while learning to swim from a picture. Rien que pour un chant de sirènes.... And then there’s the loneliness. That you crave. That you fear. That engulfs you. And though you’ve always been happiest on your own, there’s a fine balance between choosing its path and having its shadow hover above you that still escapes your grasp.



I am freaking out.
I am going by ear.
Tyring not to drown.

god put a smile upon your face

I GOT MY VISA!!

*does a happy dance*




[n.b.: ...to Mark Ronson, of course. Join me?]

no i in threesome

Well. As I am patiently waiting for my visa (and trying not to freak out even though I am leaving in TWO BLEEDING WEEKS!), and steadily worrying about my life, the cows in Surrey, all the shitty flooding going on and the general plight of this doomed planet we’re all cohabiting without losing the thinly spread hope that has kept me relatively sane thus far, I suppose I could occupy my mind by, say, reading for the 43rd time all the packets and packages and pamphlets about London, returning emails regarding a place to live, sending some work-related letters, seeing my shrink and 328 other things I need to do, but with my visa nowhere to be seen, you see, I’d just hate to start doing all of the above and then, by some inexplicable universal hateful chance, have it REFUSED (!!!) and everything done will be in vain, you see, and it’ll just send me tumbling down even deeper in a downward spiral of utter and complete dungshite. YOU SEE!? It’s logical, really.

*takes her first sip of coffee in three weeks*



Oh sweet Mother of Pearl!…












Okay. Where was I? Ah yes, borderline panic attacks and pessimistic self-fulfilling prophecies. Right-o.

So, what better way, I figured on this lovely Saturday morning, to relieve my nerves than by making A List of My Top Girl Crushes: An Ascension to Lady-Love, because, well, desperate times call for frivolously vain lesbianic love. *cheers*

1. Victoria Beckham. Alas, no, you are not misreading the title, this is not another recent stress-reducing list of mine – I absolutely adore her. My beloved sister actually recorded her one hour special and forced me to watch it the other day (which also goes to show that there is no girly love more precious than sisterly love), and for that I am forever grateful as I am now completely smitten with the boppy-headed doll! Oh, I think she is hilariously majah! On top of being my favorite Spice Girl (shush!), being more quiet and 'demure' than the others, y'see, one quick look at the royal tabloid couple and you just know that Posh here is the brain behind the squeaking walking hunky chunk of manwhore that is the Becks. *drools* Oh if only all tabloid tartlets were to be a quarter as funny & brill as Mrs. Beckham, the world would sleep a lot better. Or, you know, laugh a bit more about its warped ridiculousness. Hear! hear!




2. I confess: if I were indeed of homosexual tendencies, this is the exact type of woman I’d be drawn to.
   
   
   Tall, lean, androgynous-looking, elegantly statuesque, beautifully odd features, Cate Blanchett inspires nothing but awe and strength to me. And she looks like the type who'd be a great hoot to get drunk with. Which would help with the tending toward the homosexual pole.
   
   Hypothetically speaking.
   
   
   
3. Christina Ricci.
   
   
   
   Surreal face, manga eyes and Wednesday Adams. Enough said.
   
   
   
4. There’s something extremely refreshing about Juliette Binoche that, through her forty-something years, still comes off as cool, sensual, naturally and effortlessly stunning. For the life of me, I just can’t think of anything sexier than a French woman comfortable in her own skin, can you?
   
   
   
   
   
   
5. 
   
   Ah yes, a French woman with an impeccable English accent. *swoons*
   
   I actually wasn't a huge fan of Charlotte Gainsbourg growing up as the parts she played in her childhood were usually of bratty whiny country girls who annoyed the daylights out of my budding tits. It’s only when I saw her in 21 grams that I realized (a) 'wow! she’s all grown up now!' (b) 'wow! she can speak English really well!', and (c) 'wow! she has such a pretty soft voice!' A wow-trifecta, one cd and Gondry film later, I was completely taken. Also, she’s exactly how I imagined one of my all time favorite fictional characters to look like.
   
   
   
6. Kate Winslet.
   
   Forget the wonderful acting skills, riot laugh, fabulous curves and sexy voice (everything I imagine The Perfect English Woman to look and sound like), her mere presence in The Holiday keeping me from stabbing my eyes with a turkey fork is enough to win my undying devotion. No no, here's to you, Miss Winslet!
   
   
   
7. Felicity Kerri Russell.
   
   
   
   Oh alright, so my high school days were basically comprised of naval-gazing, looking like a nerd, [unsuccessfully] ignoring boys, make-up experimentations, bad music and 'Felicity'. I’d like to say that I’ve grown out of all that, into a wiser woman with noble taste, but who am I kidding? I had peeked. *cries desperately* Still, Kerri Russell remains one of the most incredibly beautiful people in my book, and am always a little taken aback whenever I catch a glimpse of her anywhere and looking out for movies [except for Mission: Impossible 3 – I pretend that never happened] where she might appear.
   
   Just like an old high school crush you never really got over…. *sighs*
   



8. Jennifer Connelly, or as I like to call her, My Imaginary Self. You see, when I was but a wee child, being the typically vain second born that I was/am, I used to imagine what I’d like to look like when I grow up (what? Didn’t you do that? Isn't this crush a little narcisstic then?) – dark hair, green eyes, angular lines (never mind I am of perfectly round Asian face). When much later I saw Labyrinth, I suddenly exclaimed, wide-eyed, 'Why, that's ME!' The thought that my mind was powerful enough to actually dream her into life quickly crossed my mind but when a castle made entirely of chocolate with a fudge fountain didn't appear before me, well, let's just say that my innocence died in the same beat.
   
   But yeah. She's shockingly beautiful. What else is there to say? Huh? What just happened? Where am I? What-the-who-the-eh?
   
   Carry on.




9. Audrey Tautou.
   
   
   
   Like 94% of people on planet Earth, I have fallen whimsically head over arse for Mademoiselle Tautou after viewing Le Fabuleux Destin d’Amélie Poulain. And if she’s good enough to become Coco Chanel, then really, why should I even bother arguing with the remaining cold heartless 6%? Sweet little garçonne, there is a spunky attitude in her that makes you wish you were somehow a really persuasive lesbian or a dashing manboy, non?
   
   Un peu beaucoup?
   Moi non plus.
   
   If Jennifer Connelly was who I wanted to look like when I was a kid, Audrey Tautou is who I'd wish to be when I was a teenager. Adorable face, sweet little accent, reservedly cheeky and comparisons with The Hepburn (my, I would've died!). And I've always dreamed to have my hair cut really really short like that (damn you perfectly round balloon face!)...




10. And now, for my ultimate female-love, step aside Zhang Ziyi and other frail waif-figured flighty faery femmelettes of the Far East, for here I present to you what a WOomAnn looks like:
    
    
    
    
    
    Huzzah!
    
    
    FINALLY an Asian woman with shoulders AND bosoms AND hips! And just look at that face, will you?! So gorgeous... Sorrowful, fierce, soft, strong, sweet and vixen, she can give it all! Convincingly. And – egad! – not a forceful thought to hide her 42 years, Miz Gong Li is a femme fatale par excellence. Surely not the kind who would take 'no' with a passing nod, no sir!
    
    Nor is she the type would calmly stand four weeks of waiting for a visa without marching into the governmental bureau in the most curve-hugging qipao there is and demand, all cross-legged, her way into the country, with no trail of doubt about her dubious past as a possible whore and/or spy.
    
    
    Really, what's not to completely love about that?
    
    
    That is all.

*does a swinging nervous dance*