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♥ precious.
la bella vita;

Cara

loves: black and white photography. poetry. vintage stores. thunderstorms. good ambience. fairytales. disneyworld. black kohl and fuschia lipstick. red and purple skittles. turquoise beads. icing but not cakes. might-have-beens. the dandy warhols. within temptation. automatic loveletter. mediaeval baebes. troy. interview with a vampire. the oc. making 11:11 wishes. purple glitter. mermaids. my-little-ponies. magic.

expertise: melodramaticks. eyeliner. laughing. goodbyes. hanging in there.

♥ music on, world off.
shh.

soundtrack to life.

♥ scream(?).
live.

♥ past .
instant time travel

December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
August 2008
September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
May 2009
June 2009
July 2009
August 2009
September 2009
October 2009
November 2009
December 2009
January 2010
February 2010

♥ adieu .
set them free

AMANDA
ANDRE
ASH
DEB
ELEMM
07IP04!
08IP04!
JOSH
KAT
LISA
QIU
RENJEAN


♥ credits .
thankyouverymuch

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Sunday, September 6, 2009
hello, old friend. 3:41 AM





I'm sitting here with a hot frothy cup of mocha and listening to Andy William's Autumn Leaves.


If there's one song that reminds me and will always remind me of my grandpa- it's this one.
His voice: rich, golden, baritone. Whenever he sings this song, I close my eyes and feel myself bathed in the era-glow of tophats and jukeboxes on streetcorners and beautiful people on beautiful avenues.
As much as I love him and want him to stay, I know that one day he'll have to go, and when that time comes- this is the song I will listen to whenever I miss him. Which will be a lot.


Today I went to town for the first time in over a month.
I haven't been out to Orchard since coming back from IGGY, and I was getting half-anxious that maybe I'd just lost the desire to shop.
Today was clarification: it's still there.
I went out to get powder and Mummy's birthday present.
Ended up getting foundation, a biker jacket, and two tops I'll probably never wear.
Hey- it's not my fault there wasn't anything for Mum there.


Church was fun, too.
I hadn't seen everyone in- what, a month? More?
Lounged around in Heartfriends after service and discussed what names we all look like.
Apparently I look like a Sasha/Antoinette/Giselle. Deb's a Silver. Manda's an Audrey Marie. Conan is...Conan.
Moses is Hong Kiet hahah.


Aaron: What about me what about me?
Manda: You look like a.....Ronald.
Aaron: *mortification*


...Am now typing out notes on Gorby. Glasnost, perestroika, ho.
Oh, and.
I am so gonna fail Lit. My Engrish ees getting badder.


Cara: (in class) ... Ah well. It's not going to make any much difference.
Cara: *realizes*
Cara: Oh no! My English is degrading!
Cara: *realizes*
Cara: *wail*


...I'm sorry, Whitby.
Speaking of Whitby. The DWL gave him his WhitBritLit pack the other day. I hauled everyone out of their seats and we all marched up to the front of the class, upon which Lisa and Amrit handed him the Pack, and I pulled out the Union Jack card with a flourish.
Cue for Whitby to turn a beautiful shade of fuschia-pink, which he always does when he's agitated/excited/maaad/embarrassed/very happy/but I think he might just have been embarrassed.


"...You all think I'm just so daamn British, don't you?"


He opened the Pack and pulled out item after item (traditional English mustard, Crabtree&Evelyn jam and honey, teabags, etc...) and turned progressively pinker with each one.
Then he pulled out the bar of Cadbury's and pondered it for a moment, before turning to us and going, half-hopefully, "...Was this made in England, then?"
Me: "...Um. No. Made in Malaysia."
Whitby: *headdesk*
Me: "...But on the bright side! It's Halal!"


Viva la DWL.
Team Garter FTW.


Oh, and speaking of Brits.


Game Day. 
Go, TRUFC!
...Alchester, you can go and die kthx. Though the TRUFC guys'll probably give you a hand with that.


...Okay.
Stop digressing, Cara. Time to focus on the Other White Man instead of the one over there in the UK.


Mmk, Gorbachev.
Here I come.