because bali is in 2 weeks and i cant wait to be “home”
I miss my 35mms.
As much as i love the iphone.
It can never quite replace the feeling i get from good ol’ film.
This time, i’m taking u with me.
I never understood the concept of birthdays. Why do we celebrate this day and felt that it’s OUR day. We didn’t do no shit, we didn’t choose to be created and we certainly didn’t do nothing worth celebrating.
Shouldn’t it be a day of celebrations for your folks instead? I mean, they did the work, she put up with u for 9 agonising months, she pushed u out, he probably slept 3-4 hours a day juggling between us uncontrollable brats, work, diaper money and what nots.
And us, we receive presents, eat cake and drink champagne as our parents stood by the side and watch. I don’t deserve to be Batman. Next year, let me be Robin.
Happy birthday of me.
a brief note for my next year self.
if u’re feeling scared.
u’re doing something right.
brace yourself 27y/o clay.
it’s gon be a hell of a ride.
and just fucking go.
everything will eventually be ok.
its bout time, we need to book those bali tickets soon.
SO U’RE TELLING ME THAT MEG IS/WAS MILA KUNIS?!!?!
5’10” Squid Lid Quad - Olive Surfboards by Blake Sinclair
Can u see the huge “CLAY” word written on this awesome board?
I do. And it’s calling me too in the sweetest voice one can imagine.
Growing up in Macau, our family ate well. Hell, every other family ate well. We had the best dim sums from gas operated pushcarts, the freshest curbside dai pai dong seafoods, real street food on sticks cups & bags, exotic chinese cooking from every provinces of China, legit artisanal homemade snacks sold from hole in a wall, and of course my grandmother, uncle, aunty, 2nd-aunty, 3rd-aunty, 4th-uncle’s incredible cooking.
When we immigrated to Singapore, it was the end of my little culinary adventure. There were no dubious food on sticks, hot plate camel’s hump and everything was dead when we bought them. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that the food is terrible in this part of the world. I love bak chor mee as much as i love the Spice Girls (i really really really love them zigazig ha). It’s just a different scene.
I have no kin here, my folks were always away and working. Our dining table once sat my mom’s signature coca-cola wings and chicken feet porridge with mushroom and peanuts, was replaced by lunch and dinner money. To make matters worst, we lived in a neighborhood so damn secluded the nearest place to eat was 5km away. Out of desperation and curiosity, i made spag bol (with the help of step by step instructions on the jar). That was when i dipped my fingers into cooking. I was 12, i was hungry and i was happy i never had to eat another tray of microwaved rubbish ever again.
Fast forward a decade, all grown up. I spend most of my weekends in the kitchen or playing judge in my own game of Grocery Beauty Pageant. When i travel, i eat as much local street food as i can stomach and take home new ideas to fuse into my own cooking. I love food that’s simple, straight forward, no nonsense and interesting. And that too, is my approach to cooking. I’m no Iron, Master or Top chef, really. Just a home cook making happy meals—sometimes, sometimes not inspired by a clown.
Love, joy, peace & chicke wings.