tight tweeds and secret needs

It’s headache buying a pair of flats. At least to me, since I live in high heels all the time, unless I’m barefooted.

So I dedicated one hour on Monday to hunt for a pair of flats. It’s quite an arduous task, worse than mastering a piece by Chopin, because. . I probably need Flats For Dummies.

Finally, after shortlisting a few pairs mentally, I walked into this new store known as Trois + Inch. I found a few really pretty pairs and finally decided on a brilliant flowered pair with the prettiest prints on the back of the sole. (It’s okay, I look at the backs of my soles)

Later on after my stomach lurching looking the Ridiculous shoes offered in Bebé– God, do I love Ridiculous WhamBamSlam shoes (okay, sometimes words fail to articulate I just grunt and warble)– I decided to get myself a pair of silver shoes. It’s like ZipMeUpFeet! As usual, I went off to Zara. I love their printed dresses. And got a bit busy in the changing room . .

So I’ve test-driven the silver heels already. Up and down a few steep slopes. Comfort level? 8.5/10. Lovely.

*******

I never knew it was so difficult to decide what to pack. I.e. To Pack Light. That’s my main concern. It’s a bitch to lug around truckloads of stuff, esp when you’re considering snow which means coats. So I spent a bit of time drawing out mood boards for stuff to wear. I swear it sucks to plan what to wear, it’s the hardest thing in the world because I’m so used to just about throwing on anything. Before long it was time to leave for the day again. Got on my colorful culottes that I picked up at the jumble– I love culottes since you can sit like a gangster in them, and yet they;re still so flowy. Kinda like gaucho pants.

Colors seem to be the recurrent theme these days

top Zara; culottes vintage; earrings Accessorize; hairband some random store; shoes VNC; belt Aldo

Silver silver silver shoes. . zip up thy feet

The prettiest cut-outs embellished with bright beads.

P.S. I secretly wish they were higher. If only I had my custom shoe couturier. Heaven.

top Mango; capris Zara; shoes Charles & Keith; earrings Live (@ Perth); ring Aldo

*******

Yup, my brain’s officially fried. I’ve been up in a fix trying to re-allocate my tutoring duties to my friend for some of my students and then I’ve been also thinking. . hmm, for six days whilst I’d be spending more than a grand she’ll be earning the one grand I could have earned. Haha. Over here, the best way to make a fast(er) buck is to tutor students. Depending on your experience, expertise, connections, recommendations, etcetera, you can make anything from between thirty to fifty an hour per student. Which is way better than say, data entry or working as a cashier. Our wages here for part-time jobs are pathetic. Like six to eight bucks an hour. Impossible to survive.

So tutoring’s the job of choice for supporting myself. I suppose I’ve been pretty lucky, given pretty good assignments. It’s not all that easy, having to explain stuff and having to cultivate a certain level of otherwise-nonexistent patience, but I suppose, how else do I pay the bills and still have money to go about my lifestyle. Honestly speaking, I think it is no excuse for a person my age to be saddled with debt, because I see some of my peers going down that path and it scares me. Not in debt because of financial doldrums for necessary stuff, but because the allure of spending on an unaffordable fast life got the better of them. I can sometimes understand why alot of people mistakenly think I’m in debt– I swear it’s insulting– because I’m the one with the shiny new stuff and the gazillions of shoes, but it’s also got to do with money management. For starters, I have not taken handouts from my folks for years even though it’s pretty much the norm. I pay my share of money for the household because I feel it’s only right– it’d be insane if I kept buying shoes and not lift a finger for finances at home, wouldn’t it?

But it’s when emergencies happen, like laptops crashing and vet bills for my pets and stuff like that that make me thankful for having work. Earlier this year when I started having a chronic outbreak of acne again, this time being one that could not be solved by normal antibiotics nor strong creams, what with nodules and comedones and pus-filled huge tumor-like acnes, I was downcast. Sure, some people have bitterly pointed out that I spent thousands on my face, calling me high-maintenance and all; but I could bitterly point out, too, that I worked for the money. And at least I had the money. Otherwise I would quietly resort to other treatments with high downtime and medications like Accutane with a lot of side effects that would render my eyes and my already dry-lips dehydrated beyond recognition. Essentially, I still think it’s important to manage your money, before it takes control of you. In all seriousness, even if I do splurge on dresses that set me back by a few hundred bucks, even if I love to eat, and even if I buy eyeglasses that cost me more than six hundred bucks because I’m a thousand-degrees myopic, I still buy my fifty-cents clothes. I still buy cheap books to read. My friend said, it’s unnecessary to worry if you might be a snob because a snob would never bother worrying that. So I’ve learnt to put whoever who moans bitterly as simply idiots barking away. I’ve made my sacrifices like rushing back from school to teach, teaching for six hours straight on and being so hungry I could faint later, and cutting back on entertainment. It’s fine with me. I’m learning my own lessons, and at least I’m working for my money and my stuff. I’m not taking handouts and being bitter at how supposedly ‘little money’ I have. Sometimes I could slap some of these people. Eight hundred bucks per month for food alone from parental handouts is not little. You didn’t even have to lift a finger for that money, whilst you groan about it. Stupid idiots, anyhows.

Enough of that sombre note, though. Sometimes I get a bit pissed off at such people. These are my own justifications and my own reasons, much as I am aware.

And I’m kinda sure that I don’t exactly look like a tutor, dressing a bit crazy but sure as hell beats wearing bermudas and tees to teach, right? Hah. I remember how some of my students’ friends would ask them, “Are you sure that’s your tutor, not some model” and I burst out laughing. So anyways, this was the same outfit for the entire day– I didn’t do my usual thing of changing (my excuse to justify wearing all my clothes). Some friends remarked jokingly that I looked a little like I was in PJs–I really wasn’t, this time– and then when another unanimously said, “I’m guessing you pulled out these clothes thinking you wanna get some sleep, huh?” as he topped it up with a big wink, I realized, shit. Everytime I go to the skin doc’s I need to wait for the numbing cream to settle in. So I fall asleep on the surgical bed there. Perhaps I really am dressing in the mornings thinking I’m going off to sleep.

And after today’s six-hours of teaching, I’m bushed.

*******

I suppose this is going to be one hell of a blardy long post. I haven’t gone through my Shoe ones so they’ll have to wait. .

So as I was confirming my travel visa I opened my passport and burst out laughing. I swear I always laugh at myself, it’s the first thing I do when I look at the mirror in the morning. Helps to cultivate a good sense of absurdity.

I remember hurriedly shooting a photo for my passport since the old one (circa twelve-years old) was expiring. And then this came out.

It bloody looked like a combination between a mug shot and an obituary shot. Worse was how my friends said it looked good. Men are blind, I swear. At least the girls said I looked more like a vampiress. That, I could agree with.

I’ve known men who’ve been fascinated with my face. Because they claim it changes everyday, coupled with my dress sense which mutates everyday. I never really knew my face changed that much, until I realized that there are people who complete do not recognize me after a week, because they say I look completely different. About three days a week I get people on the streets trying to guess my ethnicity– at first I thought it was a dumb pickup line then I realized that apart from the small percentage who are doing that, it really wasn’t. People– including those I know– give me all sorts of strange combinations of bloodlines which are ludicrous, once I made a list of those they guessed and thought that if that were true, I’d be the hawtest thing that ever walked upon this earth.

One of my gurlfriends has concluded that there are days I wake up looking Chinese because the shopkeeper speaks to me in Mandarin, and there are days I wake up looking a bit mixed, that same shopkeeper starts fumbling with me in English it’s a bit ridiculous. This gurlfriend’s Arab-Malay and she, too, has got a gazillion faces, so she understands where I come from. We who suffer from facial identity disorder. I even got emails from my coursemates (complete strangers) asking me, “Oh God, you are CHINESE!?” and I was definitely more than amused. Seriously, I never knew people emailed others such questions. What took the cake was when one of my student’s father asked her, “Just how many tutors do you have” and she replied, “Daddy it’s the same one all the time“. And he asked, “Why does she look like ten different people“.

Then those who love to snap my photos kept pointing it out to me, one even took three months’ worth of my faces and compiled it into a five-hundred face montage (I’m not kidding) just to prove his point and I was convinced. Having my MacBook makes things no better. Sometimes I play in front of Photobooth, a bit curious at just the numbers of faces I come up with, and then make them into Postcards (figuratively speaking, for myself, and for. . .).

Select faces in the past six months from Photobooth:

It’s part-Narcissist (in my defense my middle name, as I like to joke, is Narcissa), and part-exploration; but as a friend with a MacBook too realized, heck, he loves playing and discovering new faces too. He’s British and so far I’ve seen all sorts of faces in him. Like Greek, Chinese, and then it spans to different eras like the 20s and the 30s. So much for his inane fascination with my faces till he realized. . he’s got a million too. My main justification is, if a man fourteen years older than me can have fun snapping his face all the time, so can I. Hah. It’s harmless fun, I reckon.

The week’s ended. I hope I survive this week. Gonna be one hell of an insane marathon, before I fly off, since I have received a few work assignments. To top it off, I think I’m gonna be dead next semester given the non-school workload, brain research, graduation project and all. God bless my soul. I’m gonna be working like a bastard again, just like the way I did last year, the way I swore I would never repeat. My stomach’s a bit queasy thinking about it.

So one of the little delights/treats is to pop into a shop if only for a while, since I shop pretty fast, and don’t normally try on my clothes. I found this pretty sheath dress hanging on the racks in Mango, and knew I had to have it. With the prettiest flowers in outline, it’s got an old-fashioned twist that warmed my heart instantly. With only five minutes to spare, I took a deep breath, found the smallest size and paid for it.

Somehow the dress gives me The Chinese Girl look, which I do like.

Love the jade earrings. They’re so heavy I only dare to wear them when I’m going out for four hours or less.

dress: Penelope and Monica Cruz for Mango

shoes: VNC

belt: Aldo

handbag: my grandmother’s

earrings: unknown (gift)

ring: unknown (gift)

So I was off a little while to watch my age change to one of symmetry. 22.

It’s pretty fun to count my age every year. 07 + 07 + 08= 22. The last one, being the year. That way, even if I’m amnesic or suffer from dementia, I’ll never forget my age. Lol. Talk about age haunting one.

The long and short of it all is, I’ve eaten so much these past few days I might never want to eat again.

ssss. . finding this snake ring was an affirmation I need to learn Parseltongue. FYI, I adore snakes. They’re gorgeous. But then again, my friends say I adore every animal alive. Especially human ones.

that which I call The Nun Top. Somehow it makes me feel like a nun. I also have a ridiculously short dress. Oh well, maybe it’s this wicked Nunnish repressed thang. Ho ho ho.

Pulled out my mom’s gorgeous crepe-like skirt. It’s also probably in its thirties. Older than me too. Everybody’s older than me. It just struck me that with the exception of my secondary school mates whom I’m close to, everybody else in my life is way older than me, making feel immensely juvenile.

Narcissa’s my middle name

shirt: Gemini

skirt: Vivace (my mom’s)

citrine earrings: vintage

peeptoes: Pazzion

ring: Aldo

clutch: Perlini’s

Food: one of my greatest passions in life

now now, what do I eat?

I tend to take a quick bunch of snaps before leaving home ever since I’ve learnt to dress and makeup in under 20 minutes, which includes choosing clothes and ironing them if needed. Just in case I tend to look idiotic posing in public. So now I have a hard time deciding which set of photos is better, I’m thinking I’ll just post them in different chapters.

yup, remembering that I have my espadrilles means I have to wear them

the blend of colors in a withering hibiscus is so stunning, it reminds me of the ombre effect

so prior to that I was supposed to be nice and domestic and sweep up the dried leaves in my porch, which explains looking at the withered hibiscus.

I love the stunning bright colors of the dress. The best bit is that I got it for a mere ten bucks. It’s so simple and wearable; and I keep having to remind myself to buy more wearable and simple dresses.

dress: Cotton On

necklaces: Forever 21; Aldo

espadrilles: Bett’s (@ Perth)

handbag: NineWest

ring: Mango

shades: Mango

earrings: vintage

Que es tus flores favoritas? What are your favorite flowers? I tend to like asking questions in Spanish, no idea just why. Roses are beautiful. See them cut by the dozens, gathered up in bouquets, to be given to many a lover. Sometimes they are dumped by the woman who doesn’t want anyone to see them, sometimes the girl who has just received her first stalk from a guy dries the flowers to immortalize them, if even symbolically. Sometimes she puts them into a vase and admires them. Just as the many rows of magnolias, daisies, roses, carnations and the like are place into the cut crystal vases at many a table, sometimes impervious to the attention of the diners. But flowers, they beautify a place. They signify life, for the female or the hermaphrodite flower contains the ovaries and the ovules, which translates to a fruit– new life– or new flowers. My take is that flowers look best in fields. Where they are left to grow, sometimes lovingly pruned, but they are admired whilst their roots are still within the soil, where the bees and butterflies are free to pollinate them naturally, and when the wind blows pollen grains from flower to flower.

Roses, tulips, carnations, gerberras– they are lovely. Immensely beautiful. But somehow, they require the tender loving care of somebody with at least a few iotas of the figurative green fingers. Otherwise, they wilt and they die. And that is why I always love them when rooted in the soil. Or fallen flowers who have completed their course. They go back into the soil, forming nutrients for new life as well. But my favorite flowers are the wildest and the hardiest ones. The wildflowers, as they are called. I resonate best with them. Best left that way resilient, needing little precious effort, and blowing in the wind. Beyond the tiny wildflowers, the loud and proud Tiger Lilies that thrive in the wild, the hardy bright Heliconias and the vibrant flowers of the ginger family. The Little Gem is also one of these hardy flowers I adore, especially in the purple shade. .

Technically it’s summer here year-long, but there are the rainy days and the colder days. The June sun is especially scorching. Which means less fabrics, and more color. Time to wear another dress I designed myself, I thought. I found a bird’s nest nestled in one of the lower shrub-like plants. And the flowers were blooming, the purple in the dress was apt. The design for the fabric is similar to my Wildcard dress, which too, was another of my creations. Wildcard’s a blue-based theme. You know, I wish I knew how to sew, meaning I wish I had the patience to sew properly, and I wish I had a sewing machine. Darn, I’m an expert at textile hunting. . somebody hand me a machine. For starters, I’d modify my mother’s wardrobe of stuff she doesn’t wear any longer. It’s like opening a treasure chest, but she’s way taller than I am, me being the In House Midget. Bleah. Everytime she tells me of the stuff she had before she moved from her kampung house to the flat, and the stuff she threw away, I lament and sigh loudly. How could she. It’s brutal. And she laughs, “I never knew I’d ever have a daughter like you”.

Some quick snaps in the sun room. .

The obscene obsession with taking my own face continues. .

Playing with fabric and light. . Everytime I play with light textures, I invariably think of The Unbearable Lightness of Being. It’s one of the most haunting books I’ve ever read, somewhere in the league of L’etranger and Como Agua Para Chocolate.

Today might be the day I’ve worn the least number of items. A mere four.

Big, long, colorful earrings and floral-adorned shoes.

The nestlings have flown away.

I sit and wait, and contemplate, borrowing Robbie William’s lines, if even for a moment.

halter dress: self-designed

shoes: VNC

bracelet: vintage

earrings: Accessorize

I love this short dress that I call Coloriot. I picked it up for fifty-cents and I absolutely adore it. Because it’s loose and comfortable, and can apparently be worn in different ways. For instance, one morning I awoke and decided I’d wear a tee over it and tougher-looking shoes to create this look.

Previously, I’d bought my Evil Barbie pumps. Prior to that, I’d already bought a clutch to match it, since there was the storyboard of looks in my mind all mapped out. Two weeks ago, I found a pink belt in Aldo to match it. And voila!

Previously, I never matched my accessories, going for an uber-mish-mash Devil-may-care look. It must have been the influence of Agathe of Stylebytes that got me hooked onto that style. Ahh well, I lament the fact that she no longer blogs.

Somehow, I think the haphazard back of a lorry would be an awesome place to pose.

dress: secondhand

clutch: Aldo

shoes: Delicious

belt: Aldo

ring: Forever 21

necklace: Diva

Because sunny days mean bright colors. I totally dig the polka-dotted pumps with silver heels.

top: Topshop

culottes: M&S (my mother’s)

belt: Zara

earrings: vintage

necklace: vintage

shoes: Delicious

Au contraire to the day before, I decided to give The Outfit a colorful devil-may-care spin with a Geek-meets-cartoon style. .

The tee’s actually something I wear at home quite often, to laze around in. And then to complete the geeky look, I threw in an old digital watch with rubber straps that has since stopped. My grandmother bought it for my cousins and myself a good many years ago.

The scarf is actually remnant material from the dress I slashed the other day in order to shorten it.

In the name of a clashing geeky look, I wore my pumps with candy-colored striped socks.

tee: from some night bazaar (from Gran)

skirt: Arithalia

pumps: Heatwave

socks: some small neighborhood shop

bangles: Aldo; Ms Selfridge

digital watch: (from Gran)

shades: Mango

belt: vintage

scarf: remnant cloth from an M&S dress

My mother has truckloads of clothes. Unfortunately, she’s way taller than me; me being the inhouse midget at about 5′ 6″. Bleah. Therefore, I took this old dress of her’s and slashed the bottom before hemming it up. I swear it sucks to painstakingly hand-sew but a sewing machine costs an arm and a leg.

She’s got tons more clothes I’m going to slash, for the perfect retro-esque look. Or maybe I might give up and end up carting the pile to the tailor’s.

dress: M&S

watch: Alba (My brother’s)

shoes: Pazzion

ring: Mango

necklace: Sportsgirl; vintage

belt: Mango