I suspect that I've learnt to love.
Now teach me discipline, that I might love freely.

Om.
Alongside all this, I want to be in tropical singapore, clad in white cotten capri pants and a white lycra spaghetti top, doing yoga and being pretentious somewhere in raffles city. Afterwhich, me and my chic clique (if you please) will head over to the long-bar for martinis and shallow conversation. And even though I cab home, I would only afford to have thoughts that are three-inches deep to spare my bewildered self the pain of my sorry existance.

I think I'll stop at yoga. And coffee.

The moment behind the lense


Is still trying to die.