Eek?

I'm turning 17 soon?

I don't feel grown up.

Flashing.

Flashing. 

Flashing.

What do I want? 

Flowers, stars and cupcakes, please. 

Oh and books. Lots and lots of books please. And albums too.

1. Perks of Being A Wallflower
2. The Fault In Our Stars
3. Lungs - Florence + The Machine
4. Ceremonials - Florence + The Machine
5. Mylo Xyloto - Coldplay
6. X&Y - Coldplay
7. Night Visions - Imagine Dragons
8. Born to Die - Lana Del Rey
9. Radiohead (All their albums, actually)
10. I'm getting greedy. I should stop.

Wishlist. Here it is.

Stealing photos from Tumblr again, Noel? 

16-Going-On-17 Angel

I have a crappy blog template, I know.

I feel sad because my blog isn't 'cool' or 'hi-tech' enough.

Hmm.

But my words matter.

After SPM. After.

Criss-Cross Lost Angel

The Midterm Essay:

FASHION

     I stepped out on the runway, slightly dazzled by the spotlight. All along the side of the runway, people were clapping and smiling and throwing flowers in my direction. I was close to tears, disbelieving. After all my years of hard work, I have finally made my dreams come true. 

    It all started when I was around 5  years of age. My grandfather was a tailor. I would be the busybody in his shop and help him when he was working. The amount of curiosity and fascination I had for that feet powered sewing machine! I would sit by his side, peering with awe and wonder as my grandfather created beautiful pieces of clothing for men right before my very eyes. When the shop closed, he would teach me how to use the sewing machine, how to draw the design for basic clothing and how to sew with a thread and needle.

    I guess it started to grow onto me. Of course, it helped too, when I received my first electric sewing machine when I was eight years old. I would shut myself in my room and experiment on different kinds of material - laces, velvets, cotton, satin - and make clothes for myself. Mother didn't need to buy me any of those pretty party dresses young girls threw tantrums for. I would see them, draw out the designs out on a piece of paper and sew it myself. Afterwards, I would put it on and twirl around in it for my grandfather to comment. He was always supportive of my interest in sewing and he would constantly supply me with meters and meters of cloth for me to make all my own clothes. 

    As I grew older, I grew out of all the pink satin ribbons and frilly dresses. I started to collect magazines from all around. I would sometimes starve myself at school just so I could save up my money to buy the next issue of Vogue or Neon. Mother was terribly upset when she found out that I used up all my money on "worthless" magazines, because we were not very wealthy but my passion for fashion and designing was burning fiercely. Instead of buying the magazines, I would rummage through the recycled papers at the recycling center just to get my hands on these discarded magazines. I would then tear out the pages with those pin-thin models wearing clothes that inspire me and I would fill my walls with these pages. 

    At school, I excelled in Art and I was taken by my Art teacher as her special 'pet'. My friends at school would tease me but I appreciated Miss Anne's guidance. She would teach me all I had to know about Art and Fashion and the beautiful connection between. I would spend countless hours in the Art room, flipping through historical fashion books and having discussions about the latest fashions. She became more than a teacher to me, she became my best friend. 

    My most exciting and fascinating memory with Miss Anne was when we sneaked in together to a fashion show at the National Fashion Expo in Kuala Lumpur Convention Centre. My favourite designer, Marc Jacobs, was holding a fashion show there and I desperately wanted to go. Miss Anne reassured me that I would get to watch it and we set off to the bustling venue. We dressed up as extravagant ladies and managed to bypass all the security guards. Everything was extremely surreal. 

    As we stepped inside the hall, I was utterly gobsmacked. The show had just started and the music was pumping everywhere. The models dressed in the most beautiful and chique designs were sashaying down the runway, bursting with elegance and poise. Light bulbs flashed everywhere as photographers tried to capture a perfect shot of those intricate designs. But the focus was not entirely on the runway itself. Below the runway, the audience were a feast on the eyes too. All of them were dressed magnificently in the latest fashions and some designers themselves were lounging on the seats casually. I was absolutely awestruck. 

    After this absolutely thrilling and eye-opening experience, I told myself that I must achieve and be the best designer anyone has ever seen. As the great American writer James Huneker said: 'All men of action are dreamers.', I set my goal and worked hard to achieve it. Along the way there were many hardships but with the help of some beautiful and gold hearted people, my problems were easily conquered. Without the guidance and support of some people like grandfather, Miss Anne and even my mother, I would have not had the strength to pull through and grabbed at my dreams.

    And now, as I take another bow at my first ever fashion show, after receiving the 'Designer of the Year' award, I know that fashion is my sanctuary and it will never die. Which is why our dreams and passions should never die too. Let your wildest dreams and passions burn as bright as the sun, work very hard for it, and one day you will reap what you sow. I took my final bow with tears in my eyes and new ideas for my next clothing line, forming in my head....

 

Hi guys! So I'm still on Phantom Mode, so yeah. I'm sure I wont get a chance to post anymore seeing as my Trials are coming up. 

I wanted to share my essay with you guys mainly because I thought... Nah, who am I joking. I WANTED TO SHOW OFF MY ESSAY HERE BECAUSE I THINK IT'S A REALLY NICE ESSAY OKAY. 

I actually got 47/50 for my essay. I was really happy but I guess teacher didn't give me full marks for some reason. So I went and asked teacher. Here's how the conversation went. 

Teacher: Yes Noel, how can I help you?

Me: Hi teacher, I wanted to ask you for any comments. 

Teacher: Actually there is no further comments, Noel. Your essay was basically perfect. 

Me: *gushes slightly* Oh no teacher. I was just asking you for your opinions. 

Teacher: *flips paper to the back* I wanted to give you 49/50 because you deserved it. But I had to put 47/50 because there's always 'room for improvement'. 

Me: Err. 

Yeah well. I don't know what I'm trying to portray either.

So did you like my essay? *Feels shy and insecure all of a sudden* I actually wanted to talk about source of inspiration. 

We got to choose form 5 questions. One of them, the most popular one was complete-the-essay: "I couldn't believe what I saw......" Most of my friends chose that. Then there were the factual essay, which Wai Jin chose (he got the same marks as me in the end but he had so much grammar mistakes sorry and his essay was super boring sorry). I was actually already planning to write the one-word-essay and imagine the amount of joy when I found out it was: Fashion.

I guess I got inspiration from my grandfather. He really is a tailor. He's 80 something and going strong, still making clothes for gentlemen. Though my deepest regret is probably that I never did learn sewing form him. I was also inspired by all those fashion posts I see on tumblr. Also form America's Next Top Model (I'm not joking). Also, I'm inspired by some of my favourite writers - Cathy Cassidy and Jacqueline Wilson - who always include friendly and nice art teachers in their novels. 

Did I just do an 'Acknowledgements'? I think I just did. Fine, I'll do a dedication too. 

This essay is for my Grandfather. He's an amazing man.

I have to make something clear. I don't know Art. Well, I can't draw, and I don't know how to design either. Whatever I wrote above was purely fiction, except for my grandfather. Though I didn't twirl around in a dress for him either :p sorry. 

And I think my ending was a bit too forced. And slightly sloppy. Sorry. This was done in an 1 hour 45 minute time frame. Well, minus out the Section A. Less than that. So I can't really be blamed, right? 

And I would really like to hear honest opinions about this. So please, if you're reading this just leave a comment, alright? 

I'm working on my book-review thing. I really want to make it happen. I've been practicing hahaha. But of course, everything is strictly after SPM. However, I seriously need to makeover my blog (again). So let's keep our fingers crossed, eh?

Okay. The night is late. 

 

I need to remember this. 

17 days till I turn 17. Help. 

I guess I'm only really good at writing. 

Fashionista Angel

It's One of Those Nights.

Again. Noel, Laptop, Internet, 2.25 am.

We have a bit of a habit growing here. 

It's those nights, when you feel emotional all of a sudden for no particular reason.

Sadness washes over you

Like waves beating 

To and fro

To and fro

To and fro

It throws. 

I don't want to think. I want to immobilize my brain with pretty pictures, meaningless sitcoms and just food that stays in your everywhere. 

You know that feeling, when you have a million thoughts zipping across your mind, but you cannot even grasp one thought to be put in paper? 

Yes. Exactly. 

I feel like a failure. Perhaps I am. 

What is this... Work hard? To exert a certain amount of force and energy and patience and time and space and matter and E=mc^2.

I'm not gonna try to even grasp a thought. I'm gonna just open my hands, and catch whatever fleeting thought that decides to humor me. 

I've made new friends. Surprisingly. These friends I made. They're... Different. Perhaps living next to a New Village all my life has exposed me to people. But with this Journalist thing, I'm exposed to a whole new level of people. I'm not saying they're higher up, they're richer, they're better. All I'm saying is that they're more... Intelligent.

Do you realize how frustrating it is, for me. To turn on my social networks, and have it choked, yes choked with brainless updates. People updating their statuses, just for the sake of updating their statuses. People taking a photo of basically nothing, or people taking a photo of themselves, adding a meaningful caption that has nothing to do with anything, spamming instagram 'just so they can'. I'm sick of it. (Let us leave twitter out of this.) The thing is, you can't unsubscribe or unfollow them because you are meant to be their 'friends' and you're supposed to be 'nice'. 

But, making new friends. English speaking friends. PJ people. Educated people with their own opinions. I can assure you, conversations with them are much more interesting than just posting-a-pretty-photo-of-yourself-with-an-extremely-deep-out-of-context-quote-and-expecting-people-to-call-you-pretty-just-because-you're-pretty. These new friends actually use their brains before they speak and give good suggestions. Which is a relief. 

Who am I to say this? Well, to be honest, I am usually impulsive and hyperactive when around strangers, but I know how to differentiate serious matters and fun matters. I can sober up and be serious too. I find such joy conversing with them. Not that my usual friends aren't good enough. Just that it's a breath of fresh air. My mother used to say: 'You're just a PJ person born near a New Village.'

Your thoughts are leading you nowhere. 

Then there is me. My body. 

NOEL IS FATFATFATFATFATFATFATFATFATFATFATFAT

out of shape

I eat too much. I don't eat healthy enough. I don't exercise. I exercise the wrong things. 

FAT THIGHS.

NON-EXISTENT WAIST.

ROUND FACE.

DOUBLE CHIN.

BUTTERFLY SLEEVES.

PROTRUDING TUMMY.

UGLY UGLY UGLY UGLY UGLY UGLY UGLY UGLY UGLY

I wasn't supposed to roam free. Lock me up. Starve me. 

Cry alone. 

Then there is inside of me. My soul. My faith. 

Confirmation is coming. I passed. A relief. But I expected it. But of course it took my by surprise too. Which makes this statement redundant. I'm redundant. 

No you're  redundant.

I can't wait for camp. Not just the people. But to be with God. To inch closer and closer to Him. I want to wrap myself at His feet. Listen to His aura. Sing with His angels. 

Sometimes, He may be the one who keeps me sane. 

I don't fight with you. Even though I want to. There are always a hundred million things I could shout back at you but I don't. I was taught not to. But I can't hide my tears. The tears always come. They're always there. 

I'm about to turn 17 in less than a month and I feel that I am still a child. Incapable of things. I don't know how to cook, how to drive to the city, how to purchase groceries. I am a robot, programmed to do what my master wishes. 

Brother is leaving in September. I wish him all the best. Personally I want him to leave. So he will come back, a better man. But the Parents are worried that when he leaves the house will be in shambles. 

The second child is useless. And ornament. Makes a mess, never cleans it.

I'm trapped in my own bubble

Pop

and I'll crash land

to reality

where it might kill me

once and for all

I don't like it, when people question about what I write here. Even my parents. I can't explain. All I will say is: 'I don't know.' Shrug. Smile it off. 

Everything is here. My thoughts. Directly translated into this mass of words on whatever my current background is. 

I don't beautify my thoughts. I'm not even trying to be subtle here. 

If you know where to look, you will find it.

I will continue to write regardless of what direction I pursue. 

Art cannot be contained.

I do not claim to be an artist. Just perhaps an imaginative, fierce child with a strong pen in her hands. 

I actually do want to keep a journal. Writing all my thoughts, recording, testing. But. I can't. I wont. I don't. 

Don't ask me why, I don't have an answer.

I want 33333 views. I want it. Not because I'm an attention wh*re, or anything. But I want to see, if people actually want to read what I have to say. Even if they're just uninteresting photos and things. 

Nobody wants to read this pathetic thing you idiot.

Hmm. Well. Seems like it's not going to come true. 

To make things clear a bit. This is not a post. This is a phantom. I can delete this anytime I want. I don't care. 

This generation is all about ME ME ME ME ME & I I I I I. 

I truly agree.

I tire of myself. 

Farewell once again. 

It was coincidence that brought us together. And it is fate that will draw us apart. 

It's not up to me to bring me back. It's you. 33333 views. Almost there but not quite there. 

Silly child.

Watch out for the stars. Cause I'm still roaming amongst them. 

Noel. Laptop. Internet. Sleep. 3.29a.m.

Lost Angel