Grandpa, please wait for me to come back.

I want you to be happier. 

The song lyrics keep lingering on my head. I listened to this song last Friday night. When Bastille sang: “Lately, I have been thinking, I want you to be happier“, the very first sentence and I could not hold back my tears.

The truth is I love my parents, my brother, my little family so much. The truth is I miss my grandparents so much. The truth is I want to talk to my grandfather again because I know I could never have the chance to see him again the next minute. The truth is I forgave him. The truth is I want my time back when I was a little child, 5 years old, and you were holding me in your arms, and I would forget everything, every single fight but you, your stories and I would do anything to take back those 10 years of hatred and tears. Grandpa, I miss you so much and I wish I could see your smile and hear your voice. I wish I could tell you that I don’t hate you even when you made my mom sad and cry.

I know he is going to die soon. My Grandpa is going to leave me. And I haven’t told him that I am sorry, that now I want to forget and forgive, that I behaved like a spoiled, self-righteous child.

The truth is I was running away like a coward when I knew I could not handle my emotions.

And leave everyone behind.

And I wish I have the courage to tell my father and my mother that I wish they could be happier. I love them so much.

Dad, I am growing up, and I will be happier every single minute. I will love myself more and more, and I will treasure every opportunity. Dad, I argue with you all the time when I felt like I was right and you were wrong, but never ever have I wanted to make you sad and disappointed.

Mom, I slammed the door a thousand times, but never in my life have I meant to break your heart.

Grandpa, can you wait for me come back

and be hugged by you?

She was there.

She is sitting there, paper scattered all over the table. I have never seen such a beautiful foreign girl.

She looks confused. What is wrong? I can help her.

I saw her eyes. They are not black.

She is looking this way. Quick, type something on your computer.

She has black hair like most Asian girls. Someone is calling.

Some things must be bothering her. She has damn pretty rosy lips.

I don’t know

Not the right time, David. Bro really knows how to disturb. Alright, I am coming bro.

I will go up the stair, and then take the turn to see her up there one more time.

How long is she gonna be there?

Interesting girl.


Not Black eyes


Rosy Lips


Goodbye pretty.

He was there.

He is sitting there. He looks curious. What is he doing? I don’t know. All I want to do is finishing my paperwork. Study, study, study. Wait, what is the difference between Amphibolite and Diorite?

His straight nose. He has a pretty face. I wonder what colours of his eyes are. What am I thinking?

Do I have to finish all the Review paper for GEO class? I am hungry though.

Maybe just this paper. Done and I will free myself from this place. I will not approach him.

He has a phone call. Who is he talking to? Is that his girlfriend? He is looking this way. Quick. Turn your eyes.

I just want to know his eyes’ colour. Wait, what?

He is collecting his stuff

Is he going to leave?

But what is his eyes’ colour?

How do I look right now?

Maybe I just pretend like I see him when I look up. And smile naturally.

Be confident.

I am going to faint in like 10 minutes if I don’t have sugar right now.

Ok, so what is the plan?

He is on his phone again. I wish he could hear my thoughts. He seems to be pretty busy so far.

He is leaving for sure this time. He is going to leave, officially.

Wait, do something. No, do something. No, don’t do anything. Don’t be crazy.

No, be crazy. Wait, what are you going to say? “Excuse me, can I ask what colour your eyes are?”


Quit it. STOP.

The last two questions and I can be back to my room.  Make sure I won’t miss the Open lab day. Not really confident with rocks.


Jasmine – bitter, sweet, and sour.

Last night I had a nightmare. Fantasies come when I consume artificial sugar before bedtime, and though admitting that keeping my own “nightmare journal” sounds alluring and entertaining, I would not consider that as an option as most of those bad dreams exhausted me – physically, and emotionally.

Last night I cried as loud as I wanted and as hard as I could. I had this quench for throwing the most fined piece of glass into the front wall and tearing the most precious shred of silk so that all the noises stop and watch my rages. Why would I be so childlike? I felt like a child, fell like a child, cried like a child, laughed like a child. Why can’t I forget like a child?

I am in a place to which I know I do not belong. What do I want? More specifically, what am I chasing after? I am greedy and acquisitive, but all I have are dreams miserably, unfortunately, insisting on abiding and lingering on my weary heart. I guess I had had no other choices when I made that decision, but I do not regret. I am here, sun or snows, love or hate, with or without.

I love being naked.

When I see the glittering diamonds, exceptionally exquisite pieces of jewellery, and elegant fashions, my heart is consumed with abundant satisfaction and happiness. I don’t need much. I want a home for my own with a beautiful view above all and a mug of hot milk every night. A man, there is, and it would be perfect. I love the tidiness and the impression of having things placed in order. I love fined music, playing Don’t know why by Adreinne Hindmarsh when taking a bath. And I thirst for clean air more than anything else. I love fragrances, but “pumpkin and applesmell like a dead flower pinched off, and artificially imitated autumn perfumes remind me of undernourished singers with their unctuous voices in those dimming Alibaba rotten nightclubs.

Oh, you have no idea how I hate being a critic. Existing means kindness and available generosity, but growing up means being selfish and true to yourself. When you are too generous, and you give away too frequently, doesn’t mean you have a lot. It just says that you have nothing.

Franch looks beautiful. When I bought Essentially French by Josephine Ryan 29.95$, I felt like I had already possessed the essence of Province and Lion and all the fairy tails in this cruel world. I placed it on my desk, making sure it caught my eyes.

I am a confident, lively, fun girl, but damn it advertising. I am sick of advertising in this foreign place just like how I am so fed up with sights of oversized burgers and fried chickens. The fact that people here don’t have fishes is so pathetic. My little hometown has nothing, but I can have seafood three times a week. True happiness.

Buddies, what do you want, I don’t give a damn.



Love this smell, and having a fucking subtle taste makes this significantly better. 






Some corners, and a wish.

I was pondering and wondering and continuing to hesitate over what to write and sporadically assaulted my mind on choosing a topic while not making any further excuses for not putting anything on papers. I also constantly questioned myself about all the changes I had been going through but none of them appeared on my blog lately. Is it true that I no longer care for the changes of trees and leaves falling down when it apparently would soon come to the end of the March? Is it true that I no longer care, that I am turning distant and detached? Lately I recognized me talking on my own – out loud from time to time; at other times it was merely voiced in my head, and there also giggles and humming, seemingly frantic kitchen-performances and astounding songs composed by randomly picking on sentences from my Written Test ( friends also got a free ticket to my not-likely-a-debut singing stage, in which, of course, I carried out my own songs ) . I found it both entertaining and, as for myself, a surprisingly substantial sign of intelligence.

I am quite a funny girl, and I am prone to metamorphosis. I am a frank girl and I was a boldface lier. But trust when I said it is both heavenly and adventitiously downhill when I execute the dishonest side rather than choosing a blatantly obnoxious truth, just to mentally squeaking and specifically twisting your guts.

I love fashions but disguise my own like a 17th-century holier-than-thou wizard. I do have a taste, and I love twinkling, slashy, shiny things. A girl that invents jokes in her mind and fancies diamonds – I am pretty sure that I am enough. Candidly, and genuinely enough.

Of all the things and above all the might, the sun has shone – pristine and crispy.

One of my mates told me: “…don’t worry. The sun will still be there for you to take all those pictures.” It’s true, but maybe, it will never be the same. For me.

For anyone else.

There are some kinds of pressure, and there are some types of lush. There are plural and singular. There are this and that. There is you and there is me.

But if I could have a wish, and if I could have my wish came true. In all possibility, I wish…

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Knock on wood, please!

!5 March.18

-Simply Complex-

-“Hey! Hold it tight. I am afraid that it is going to pour out.”

-“You are keeping the bottle, I am carrying the funnel. There is nothing to worry, sis!”

And I laughed. This is so simple and this simple thing made me laugh for the first time tonight. And this simple thing belongs to my little brother.

Sometimes I don’t know how he does it, finding the simple thing, making it beautiful. I can think very deep, he is able to see wide. And when I told him that I had never seen anyone with so much unexpected giving-joy, he told me that he was an angel of giving-happiness, unhesitantly. Right away.

September 9th.

Our Family had breakfast in a nearby West Lake restaurant. Dad was determined to take me to one of his favourite teahouses to have a sip of fresh Lotus tea. This was an amazing experience on a whimsically tenebrous Sunday morning.


My brother finds things in their inexplicably subtle simplicity.


And that’s how he is our Angel


Giving Joy.

A schlock of Caricature thing.

Honestly, sometimes I do irrationally ridiculous things


Mawkish Raconteur.

but none ever questioned that



’cause they think I am a sincere little girl

with a small spunky moment of time



Pharisaic, self-righteous all the time, people are

obsessed with their sickening sanctimonious smile


Silent Poltergeist

deads then reincarnated

in lust with rotten souls.

A pool concierge

dreams of chimerical girls



But I

completely honest

all the time.



Green everywhere


-T   I   R   E   D   O   F   T   H   I   S-