here's to wondering about the future.

and wondering about love.

or feeling His presence in the most unlikely places

or seeing His creation blossom beautifully

and feeling like you're uniquely His,

knowing that He misses you, His child.

wanting you to grow up

spend time with Him

because He loves you.

i'm sorry that i had any doubt of Your love. 

and so i asked Him if there was anything for me to do,

and He said,

yes, my child. I've not forgotten you.

"Fingers slip inside the box and he pulls one out, tearing the wrapping off. I watch him dip the thin biscuit finger into his cup and stir it around for a brief moment, wondering why the movement has me so transfixed. The biscuit travels to his mouth  and he sucks the liquid off it before he lets his teeth find the hard edge to snap, and my breathing stumbles. My eyes are stuck to his. I hate the taste of those spice biscuits, but I want the one he has in his mouth more than I've wanted anything all day." -With Intent, Zebbie

Top-notch giggle-inducing material and you know it!

Woke up at five this morning, just couldn't go back to sleep. My hair has stopped smelling like yesterday's barbecue and for that, I'm eternally grateful to herbal essence, water and my water heater. And soap, of course.

Oh my gosh, I'm going to hyperventilate. She's got something called Cold Turkey. I'm jumping up and down. Oh gosh, oh gosh. I'm about to implode.

Please stay far away from me. I've got a crick in my neck now. now now now..... zzz.

COLDTURKEY!!!! XD

ARGH OMG(: HEEHEEHEEHEEHEE.

This is the dream I had last night. It appeared to me as one continuous long dream, but now as I awake, it feels fragmented, somehow disjointed. Recurring things in each sequence are scary.

There is a dream before this one, but I am unable to recall it. But here is how it goes:

I am in a chalet, dressed in a black tank top, short shorts and over the tank top, my black jacket. I am amidst some friends, and though I recognised them in the dream, I am unable to name them out now. It is not a typical chalet, it rather looks like the dining area of my house. I am conscious of my dress, absolutely despising the shorts and wishing to go home to change. My father's sent me here, but it's only something I'm conscious about in my head, as though some narrator is telling me all this but I can't seem to remember the actual instance of sitting in his car being driven over. It is strange.

The scene cuts to a bedroom in the chalet. It is cold. We are eating some sort of fondue with fruits. It is hugely messy (and again, I am unable to recall great parts of this. Somehow, my memory's starting to dilute the dream with other parts of my actual memories from yesterday). Somehow, I go home. There is a car, an ang moh couple, the car is full. Somehow, I arrive home (but I am not sure how), and arrive at the living room.

It is not my house, but somehow I acknowlege it as my house. The inside is dim, there is only one solitary light suspended from above the dining table. It is rather like one of those houses in CSI before a murder takes place. It is fuzzy, full of static noise, and I feel like I am an omniscient narrator who is watching from above. I see my mother first of all, and she is arguing with a strange, old (but not old that he is the fraile sort) caucasian man. The next scene is blurred, I cannot see this part of the dream, but the next thing I know, I'm back in my body, and am striking him with some sort of metal instrument to stoke coals. I hit him once, hard, and suddenly, there is this terrible noise. It is loud, though indescribable and rather vague in my memory. Suddenly, there are sirens and flashing blue and red lights. My mother is next to me, I can feel it, and out of fear that I have committed some grevious mistake, I run. (though I never see myself running out of the house).

I leave the house, and I'm running through several roads that somehow look a combination of those at katong, joo chiat, and geylang. I am running furiously, still decked out in my black sweater, my tank top, though my shorts have now been replaced with something more comfortable. I run endlessly, the cops are not anywhere near me. I am exceedingly fearful, and in my hand I am still clutching the metal stoke. Somehow, I end up alongside a geylang street, where there are so many men who look dangerous, lecherous, and altogether dubious that I, again, feel fright of a different sort. I turn back and begin to run home.

I turn a corner and somehow, the sky goes from pitch black to sunny brightness. I am walking along Carpmael road, it leads to my house. There is a police car that drives past, and again I am filled with fear. I brush my fringe over my eyes, hoping they will not spot me, and indeed, they do not. I sigh, walk slowly past the road and by a car in which there is a black man with shifty eyes. He looks up, around, then at my house and looks back down again. He is watching me, I can tell. He is looking out for me. I hide behind a pillar on route my house, and I notice when he looks up and is unable to find me, he becomes worried. I slip out from behind the pillar and his eyes meet mine, chilling to the bone. I drop the stoke, raise my hands and indicate that I am willing to turn myself in. He asks me to prostrate myself on the floor, and that I do. A few meters away, a black girl is also doing the same thing, and she is arrested by a cop.

I see the jingle of chains that indicate a handcuff, but somehow I am not arrested. I suddenly come face to face wtih my mother (who oddly does not look like my mother). I hug her and ask if my sister is dead (which is strange because I do not have a sister), and she tells me that she is dead, warning me not to tell my father because he does not know yet. I nod and see my father at a distance. The place is swarming with people I know.

We are led by two white police officers into a MacDonalds (the American kind, where it is nice and beautiful). There are a few people who look startled as we walk in, and there are seats that have been reserved for us with green, crossed paper. The police chase some people who have been sitting in these seats off, and offer us a seat. We sit. I see, among the many people, my cousins from next door and the man I have struck. He is up and well, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

The police questions one person, my cousin. They ask him what his connection with the crime is, etc. I can't remember. Next thing I know, I'm sitting with my cousins, making mini pizzas with spaghetti toppings with our hands. We're happy and laughing. We make some light talk when the police cop asks, "Who would like to go next?" and I realise he's interviewing us right in the middle of MacDonalds. I volunteer, when suddenly a flash back occurs to me in the CSI style, where it is hazy and dimmed down. I see myself striking the man with the stoke. It is strange.

The police cop asks again. "Who would like to go next?"

The dream ends.

Strange? It was so vivid, which is weird since I don't usually have vivid dreams.

Any idea what it means? Hmmm.