Hello twenty-year-old self with a strange kitty dream
In a few months times i will be officially an adult. Well, i haven't been writing in my livejournal for the last few years for a few reasons:
1. I've got a moleskin diary now which i carry if my bag can accomodate
2. I finished Confessions of a Shopaholic (Please don't judge me, i can count the number of chick flicks i read- 3? One Day, Pride & Prejudice -at least in Austen's time, P.s. I love you and i had to read something to neutralize 1Q84) and i came to a conclusion that if my life is a book, it would make a poor literature book (even though i've always envisioned it to be a heart-wrenching tragedy). I'm reaching the point. Like a chick flick book, i've too many twists and turns in a day or a week that i can't elaborate in the most floral and vivid language due to the sheer number of events. Sounds like an excuse but a valid one nonetheless.
3. Literal reflections are replaced with weekly jogs during A Levels, vivid dreams (throughout the last few years) and talking with my loved ones.
I had a queer dream last night. It was about a cat, a man and me (And because i said 'a man' you know this man is not going to be significant, well as compared to 'the man'). A man kidnapped this beautiful persian cat with a snowy coat. Somehow, the cage containing the cat miraculously leaped off the back of the truck as though it had a mind of its own. The cat survived and i found the cat. When i took the cat out of the cage, it resembled nothing more than a shriveled piece of wood- except it was still breathing. Over minutes, the cat shed its velvet pearl fur to just a layer of tanned skin. I was taken aback - even though i was dreaming. Like an obedient and meek slave, i brought the cat water and food. Dreams don't make sense because i brought the kitten uncooked alphabet pasta in water. The kitten slurped the water and food anyway. In my mind, i was telling myself that i should have brought him those rainbow-coloured meat flakes. After that, i was helping the kitten trim its nails. And i woke up. End of story.
1. I've got a moleskin diary now which i carry if my bag can accomodate
2. I finished Confessions of a Shopaholic (Please don't judge me, i can count the number of chick flicks i read- 3? One Day, Pride & Prejudice -at least in Austen's time, P.s. I love you and i had to read something to neutralize 1Q84) and i came to a conclusion that if my life is a book, it would make a poor literature book (even though i've always envisioned it to be a heart-wrenching tragedy). I'm reaching the point. Like a chick flick book, i've too many twists and turns in a day or a week that i can't elaborate in the most floral and vivid language due to the sheer number of events. Sounds like an excuse but a valid one nonetheless.
3. Literal reflections are replaced with weekly jogs during A Levels, vivid dreams (throughout the last few years) and talking with my loved ones.
I had a queer dream last night. It was about a cat, a man and me (And because i said 'a man' you know this man is not going to be significant, well as compared to 'the man'). A man kidnapped this beautiful persian cat with a snowy coat. Somehow, the cage containing the cat miraculously leaped off the back of the truck as though it had a mind of its own. The cat survived and i found the cat. When i took the cat out of the cage, it resembled nothing more than a shriveled piece of wood- except it was still breathing. Over minutes, the cat shed its velvet pearl fur to just a layer of tanned skin. I was taken aback - even though i was dreaming. Like an obedient and meek slave, i brought the cat water and food. Dreams don't make sense because i brought the kitten uncooked alphabet pasta in water. The kitten slurped the water and food anyway. In my mind, i was telling myself that i should have brought him those rainbow-coloured meat flakes. After that, i was helping the kitten trim its nails. And i woke up. End of story.