Ho, mum signed me up for True Yoga cos its really cheap -.- This is actually the most quoted statement of women of all times, maybe up or down one place by “ …for your own good” , the “if-nots” or perhaps seconded only by “go and study”. Darn those women, lucky I’m not one yet, phew. Ah, please distance yourself from me.


So this yoga thing. Uh-huh. Sounds suspicious, like a scarlet toadstool in a field of edible mushrooms. You see, she got me this 3-year membership, hoho and I can go there whenever I like for courses from yoga to dance. I’ll just have to stroll in when my legs feel like steering itself to pacific plaza and ta, wherever you please. Ah so you’ve got the catch, where will their revenue come from? Well, ask the devil, I think that only tai-tais can afford this life-style, not that its costly but its terribly time-consuming. Like today, it was really fine. Let me go on to my itinerary for the day.


Breakfast was a bit too innovative when mum decided to outsource us to delifrance, a pseudo French affair that’s sadly yes, not French. Went there years ago and the first thing that left us mocking was the lack of Delifrance in France. How annoying. Not exactly.

Oh well, the thing was, there was no one there at 8am in the morning so the waiter was awfully particular about our dining to the extent of gross harassment. He was all, oh shyte, I think they need another set of cutlery, its stained will mayo. Oh my, the bowl is stained with soup. -.- like its not? Soup dish should be stained with soup if its used to contain soup unless you lick it– like Enning. Hee, my joke, pardon. Perhaps I’ll have to practise the art of eating without cutlery to have perfect dining etiquette (I wonder how) or maybe I’ll be this wonderful inventor who employed the idea of non-stick pans to non-stick cutleries, how cool. And I’ll go, few years back, this particular waiter at this particular…

That’s just how my morning went. Things always happen to me. Now, I arrived at True Yoga, for classical dance which was actually Indian Dance. Have I aged? Or am I psycho-ing people in a really sad way? So I was leaning the counter with this lady abducting my E-z link card for pawns lest I make away with precious towels (I look like I’m terribly in need of one) Okay and it looks like she failed her math. Class, 2007-1992=? To which, she answered 18 and by that, I aged 3 years. What a feat.


So I was in this class of un-beginners and I, the noob was feeling extremely like an oyster without a shell. At those moments, what do you do? Find someone more inferior than you. Aha and I did just that. I strod over to this awkward Indian girl who looked sec 1 and talked, awkwardly. And the cardiac failure came when she suddenly turned 19 and transferred to NIE. My, what a topsy-turvy world this is. Alice in Alice in Wonderland. I like Mad Hatter Best. Ah and I found myself to be rather talented in learning new stuff. Hoho, I successfully masked myself—the new comer. They thought I came months ago, again, shows how random I can get. Sigh.

Ah, and I’ve got a new bag and bottle. Yes I know, again. This time, my dad decided to dump my old bag because it was a bit screwd at the front. You see, he armed himself with a microscope and just happen to use my bag as a specimen. Sadly, he came face to face with this tiny hole, the size of chromosomes in a cell and labeled it as a horrible defect. And there goes his Dutch courage. Gal, would you kindly help me place your bag in that bin over there, yes, that’s right. Go get another one this afternoon. Nooooo.

And so, after waiting for my mum to finish her class, it was 3+. Refer to the clock, it was 8am paragraphs ago, so you know. Aha, and mum claimed to see Sports Connection in Bugis, the place where I usually get my bags but as for Bugis, I’m not sure. Not been there often, orchard is where I’m always shipped to. So I blindly followed although this ominous feeling escalated in me…until it appeared that there is no such thing in Bugis. Bleh, a mirage, both literally and figuratively. True Yoga provided everything, even candles on every table in the waiting room, but not water! Darn, I always thought I don’t need them.


Ah, so we phoned dad, the street directory and detoured to Funan Centre, the place alleged to have that outlet. After bitten by a snake in the last paragraph, it was justified to be afraid of a harmless rope (poorly translated Chinese idiom, bear with me) But then again, my fear was unfounded since I picked up a nice bag down there, thanks dad, for dumping my old bunk. What a Geography student am I.


It’s a terrible day, and you think my complaint is stupid. Now, what if I add that I’ve been lugging a wheelbarrow of pigs all along the journey? Brother up the stairs and down, brother round and round the double marathon, across the triple marathon, the gazillion marathons and emerged a hero! I love my brother, he’s the ultimate test of your patience, the official indicator of your reaction time, usually tested by letting him loose in your room.


Anyhow or other, I should be contented lest people hate me for it. Have a nice day.