Update consisting of small bytes

I've finally remembered I own a blog- and to those who actually follow this old thing, I'm sorry for the lack of updates! For those precious few old friends who've been waiting for an update, I'm just letting you know now that you are always welcome to spam me in any form of correspondence- may it be email, Facebook, sms, Whatsapp, Line, Skype, owl, rat messengers (although I don't fancy rats), smoke signal, or even give me a surprise visit by swooping down at my doorstep on a broom at 8am in the morning (sorry, I'm not connected to the Floo network)- I can not stress this enough- please come and spam me even if we weren't the closest of friends during school! I've lost contact with practically everyone and I would love to regain those traces of mutual companionship again. In fact, the only parts of those arduous train trips which I enjoy are those random moments I get to reconnect with old friends that so happen to be on the same train ride (and within range of vision and hence, can be spotted and chatted to).

This cycle of forgetting and remembering would normally be followed by a scourging; rereading past posts oftentimes come across (to me, at least) as whiny and childish. But I'll refrain from deleting anything- at least this time! The old me and the current me is the same and I suppose if you've put up with my rambling this far, you'll get through the rest of my klutzy writing.

Summing up the gap between last post and now, I'm still forever known as the girl without transport, blurry and inattentive (especially in the mornings- probably explains why I'm not currently close to anyone in school as insomnia problems have since doubled), stressed over studies,and all around pro-shapeshifter (no I'm not kidding). Some things just never change, do they?

I guess the biggest difference between now and then is that I've matured- both physically and mentally. I've overcame many doubts, learnt to stand up (more) for myself, been through friend crisis moments, a break up, sexually harassed (a tale for another time), and heartbreak over personal expectations. But I guess I shouldn't complain too much- friends come and go, expectations get broken, and we're never always at our best. As for physically, I guess the best example would be:

Credits to my babe Isabella Tan. Please do check out her Facebook page! She's nothing short of amazing. (Yes, I'm shamelessly advertising for her just because I can.)

And the best comment I've heard/read in relation to this picture is:

Personally I think the change is 95% because I've stopped wearing over-sized t-shirts and beach shorts and not due to any actual physical change (taking off the glasses help too, though I don't wear contacts often because they hurt my eyes)- but I'm not going to complain if people say I look better.

I'll post more pictures soon ❤ 
Also promising more updates and a blog revamp in the near future, summer would officially start at on Wednesday, 11.05am :)

Waiting alongside railway tracks

Scrambling off the bus and walking the short 50-ish meters to the entrance of the train station, I primly stride to the waiting area for the next train, along with various other people eager to be on their way. A combination of luck (fast bus+late train) would see me deliriously happy to be back home more than 20 minutes earlier from my normal routine.

There has always been something shockingly tranquil yet heavily overlapped with shades of varying expressions; mostly boredom underlined by anxiety. I had the odd occasion to bring my camera to school, and just because I could, I took a few pictures while waiting for the next train/KTM to arrive.

 Repetition makes us less attentive.

This is how I see the world when I'm tired and detached; blurred. 

Not an unusual facial expression to have while waiting for the KTM.

I always wondered how they listened to music with layers of cloth blocking the sound waves; higher volume I suppose?

I don't see many happy faces; the KTM is always late.

I wonder if little kids feel threatened; them being at this height.

Finally.

The initial rush of getting into the train. 

You don't know the meaning of the word 'squashed' until you've sat on the KTM during peak hours.

Not surprisingly, what most people do on the KTM is play with their phones/electronic devices. The odd student can be seen studying (or in my case, attempting to study).

This is my first time trying out my new camera; I've been too busy to fiddle around with it. 

The doors are closing; till I have more time and something relatively interesting to write about, the doors will remain closed. 

'Photoshop'- Define it please

"Don't always believe her pictures, they're all Photoshop-ed"; it is phrases like these which leave me more than a little irked- careless, dismissal comments thrown into the air like scrunched up paper balls into the waste paper basket. Please, can you define the term 'Photoshop'? If it means opening the program and using it to make adjustments to your pictures, then what so different about using any other picture-editing program? There are millions and billions of pictures on the internet; and at least three quarters of then have went through post-processing.

Admit it, who can resist using a photo-editing tool to AT LEAST remove the blemishes off our faces, or to tweak the colours (yes, using filters count) to improve the general outlook of the picture?

Yes, I use Photoshop. But it doesn't necessarily mean that I manipulate my pictures to alter the structure of my face and body. Now that you mention it, there are built-in functions within many (other) photo-editing programs to enlarge your eyes and to make the people in the picture seem thinner (by 'squeezing' the photos sideways).

This post does not intend to cause harm or provoke an argument. I am aware of the fact that 'Photoshop' is mainly used as a term to indicate a deliberate change in the picture compared to the original copy. I just dislike the many assumption made regarding Photoshop users.

Just my two cents regarding this matter.

Decisions

Waiting in line with countless other weary faces, I unceremoniously dump my everyday luggage onto the much trampled on tiled floor,  feeling the palpable monotony of waiting for the ever-late vehicle and the overall dull atmosphere of creeping loneliness drenching my spirit. Finally a steady flash of light originating from the tear in the wall at the far end of the tunnel increases in density, rushing us by as it finally rolled into place with a slight rumble. Hurriedly, blurred faces push and scramble into the vehicle, dashing with little haste of seeming rude to get hold of a seat. The less fortunate stand cramped in what area was left.


I would sometimes close my eyes and take a deep breath, chest steadily expanding outwards as I erase everything else from existence; allowing myself the temporary bliss only ignorance can provide for a brief fraction of a second before releasing my breath. As my chest heave downwards, the jumble of mixed emotions constantly looming at the edge of my consciousness slides heavily onto me. Fatigue and exhaustion the main cause of worry.

It makes me wonder sometimes, about everybody else, especially the ones around me while I travel.


Days, weeks, months of travelling made the ardor of travelling blurred, insignificant, and all together too tedious of a regime to give much thought to. But in moments, people in the crowd stand out; like a splashes of colour in a black and white photograph. That old Malay lady with the crinkled face and haggard expression; sneaking peeks at me while I scribbled onto my chemistry homework sheet whilst using my pink Biology folder as a solid surface, balancing it precariously on top of a nearby seat as a make-shift table while jerking along with the movements of the vehicle. That pretty Indian girl with the soft curls and dreamy eyes staring at some far-away object longingly, books and folders laid on her lap as she spaced out from the rest of the world. A tired old man, bent with age presumably precipitated by the curse of addiction to cigarettes as he gave me a tired albeit genuine smile while offering his seat to me. Or perhaps that little girl in a school uniform, fidgeting as she nodded off into slumber and looking terrified after realizing she missed her stop upon waking up.

What would I know? The stories behind the blurred faces and the ongoing hardships of every individual on the vehicle. Things rush us by, and rarely do we stop to ponder on the workings of everyday life. It seems so much more simple; hearing their stories and parting carefree advice. But honestly, what would we know?! Unless we've been through it before, we can never really understand, can we?

I'm so tired of explaining myself. I'm both physically and mentally worn out as a compilation of many factors.

Did I make the correct decision?