let lemons be angry

I have had four hours of sleep in the last two days, am one quarter through studying for a test and five assignments behind time, and i have a pauseless day tomorrow. And all I can do in this semi-swimming state is blog, and wonder about a new heaven and new earth in which all of people's trauma and heartache won't matter anymore because we won't need husbands or wives anymore in heaven. Apparently anyway.

I don't really believe that actually. But oh well. It's hard not to think about it when everybody you meet tells you about sad hearts. It's the obsession of every corridor, while I am much too busy to kick up a grand fuss.

And of course at this point I have to talk about painting, because painting class is my only escape from everything in the world. Painting on haji lane is just one of the many adventures that comes with being in joan's class. The colors of the walls and the strangely warm sunlight makes it look like bits of spain, pieces of greek sky, anything but singapore. Buttery air and fruity shisha smoke, rugs and dirty cushions, men walking slowly in their tapered jeans and converses, girls playing the mod game, a very slow stir in time, an even slower stir in thought. It's all a great pretense, but we love just that now don't we? The pretense. The act.