I am a story teller.

My feelings had been excruciatingly mishandled, more likely due to a combination of hypersensitivity on my part and the inability to concoct self-comforting excuses for others than genuine malice on the other's part, so I went running, in the hopes that my salty tears would blend into dripping perspiration. Never mind that I still had eyeliner and mascara on, never mind that I was probably rape bait with so much skin on display, never mind that I wasn't carrying anything with me except for the clothes on my back. I could get panda eyes for all I care (which I didn't, amazingly); I could be raped and left ravaged in a back alley (I actually emerged unscathed); I could suffer a cardiac arrest and not be able to contact anyone (didn't happen, too).

I pounded the road, each footstep placed in front of the other in quickening succession. I was breathing so hard I could barely let out a choked gasp, let alone sob my heart out. I channelled my grievous hurt into running as fast as I could, and guess what? I probably ran my fastest, at under 25 minutes for 5.5km. I'm not sure of the exact time, but I clearly remember the clock striking 9 at my house when I finished one 550m loop, and when I had stepped into the house again, it was 9:25pm. Taking into account the time I take to walk out of the door, put on my shoes, walk through the driveway, exit the gate, enter the gate, walk through the driveway, remove my shoes, and enter the door, I probably achieved an unprecedented speed.

Yes, I must learn to be:

1. Less sensitive and/or
2. Better at coming up with excuses for other people's behaviour

I wish I knew how. You know, the more you push people away, you'll live to rue the day when people stop trying to get to know you.

*********

I saw a missed call on my phone. That's strange, I thought. It's been a long time since anybody called me, much less a missed call. I dialled the number back, thinking to myself how unlikely someone will respond: it's always like that. People never answer their phones when you call them back. Makes you wonder how badly they wanted to speak to you in the first place, huh? A voice sounded, and I awoke from my cynical reverie.

"Err, who's this?"

"It's Kay!"

"Kay?" My exclamatory echo wasn't one of puzzlement; it was one of bewilderment. I meant it as a "Kay?!" but it probably came out as a "Kay?", which led her to respond:

"Ya, Kay from Dunman High?"

I knew who Kay was, I know who Kay is. Kay? When was the last time I spoke to her? Probably in 2005? Kay, the girl who very sweetly wrote a thank-you note to express her gratitude for borrowing my nail varnish remover? (which I didn't respond to in kind, 'cos I found these things awkward and vaguely pretentious, but in retrospect, I really should have just to be polite - but then she would've responded out of politeness too, and we'd develop a friendship purely out of politeness - how sad) And didn't her number just recently join the ranks of the deleted, thinking her to be one of those people I'll never contact again, ever? (It's surprisingly easy to delete numbers/MSN contacts. There are so many random people who I never talk to. I tell myself I'm waiting for them to talk to me.) Kay?!

Well, she didn't call to just "catch up", or some such phoney nonsense. Apparently she's doing a project on interesting bloggers, and decided to call on me. One of my first thoughts was: "Shit, my secondary schoolmates still read my blog." Well, isn't it flattering? At least ONE person thinks I'm an interesting blogger, that I can be sure of. Hah. When a blogger starts to write sentimental poetry... you know she's scraping the bottom of the barrel. Ok I've just spent the last ten minutes writing a lengthy tirade about my poem's form, but I have decided against it. STOP ME BEFORE I ANALYSE MY OWN POETRY.

So I agreed to help her out, and yep. That's that. The main purpose of me relating this incident is just to show how engaging a story-teller I can be. Hah.

********

I got my cousin to come over to bake today, and this is our loot!

I'm proudest of the cheesecake. It's so pretty! But no pictures of it, because a whole cheesecake looks boring. She took it home, so yea, none of those. You should ask me to make cheesecakes for you. I'm getting good at it. :D


Black Bottom Cupcakes! Cream cheese filling atop a chocolate cupcake. Good stuff. Moist cupcake. I like cream cheese.


White Chocolate Chip Macadamia Nut Cookie! Good stuff. Crispy on the edges, chewy in the centre. Light, not cloyingly buttery/oily/sweet. I decided to toast the macadamias before baking to give it an extra crunch, but they got charred in the toaster. -.-


Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Cheesecake Bars! Not so good stuff. Too much chocolate chips. Sweet until want to puke. And the cookie dough isn't meant to be like that. But the texture of the cookie dough was strangely off. Meh. Shall not attempt this again.


Whoopie Pie! Mini moist chocolate cakes with filling in between. I was too lazy to make the filling, so I just used whipped cream.

We also made strawberry shortcakes, as per my cousin's request, but I thought they weren't photogenic, and I don't love strawberry shortcake anyway, so yea, no pics of that. Speaking of strawberries, I saw a box of 24 strawberries being sold for 19 bucks at Taka's Cold Storage. That's insane. But they looked so delectably red and juicy. I was quite tempted, even though I don't love strawberries. Some other day, perhaps. Here's a random tip I picked up about buying strawberries: if you can't smell them, they're not worth buying.

End of food talk!

*********

This is the cutest thing I've seen in a long time.


An elephant paperclip. It's so adorable. And so pointless.


This is another cute and pointless thing I own; one of the rare cute and pointless things I own. It's no higher than my thumb, and it's a bu dao weng. I suddenly forgot the English name for it. Dammit.