The time has come.

Have been waiting for this day for quite a while.

Happy birthday, Doc.

And thanks for the surreal memories.

Okay, besides that, I just have this penchant for the date 9th September.

No particular reason. No idea why either.

***

I finally finished my Jeffery Deaver, and was bored enough to venture to Jurong Point to get more reads to tide my weekend over.

As I emerged from the MRT, I couldn’t help but darted my head in all directions, just to see if I would notice any weird carriers with human parts in them.

We can never be too complacent now, can we?

Darn, my paranoia couldn’t help but act up after reading about the ghastly news earlier this noon.

For once, I picked a genre of books I had never attempted - Chick literature.

With the recommendation from Jane Doe, I bought the best seller by Sophie Kinsella.

Still, I found it hard to resist the temptation of yet another thriller, and succumbed to John Harvey, as I tried to get myself acquainted with a wider variety of authors.

Thus far, Jeffery Deaver had done enough to make an impression.

Coincidentally, the television aired The Bone Collector just last week. I had overlooked that he was the one who wrote the Lincoln Rhyme series.

I had an insatiable urge to shop for stuffs to pamper myself, but after darting in and out almost all the shops in the huge mall, I only managed to get 2 books, and cans of stewed tomatoes for the kitchen.

That’s all.

That’s sad.

No perfume, no skincare, no clothes, no accessories, no food, no nothing!

Dad called to asked me out for dinner since he would be flying off to Indonesia, thus he picked me up from where I was before I did anymore damage to my assets.

Wait a minute. What assets? Duh.

Quaintly enough, I met Jim and the Prudential guys again at Jurong Point, just like how I bumped into them on Monday when I was buying books, too.

Gee, they are all around, aren’t they?

***

So, 9th September.

Birthday of cute doc.

A severed head was found at Orchard MRT.

River Valley announced it would offer Integrated Programme next year.

Bulk of my foul memories were from there.

And my 599th post.

What else?

Hmm.

Ever since this blog started 3 years ago, many had speculated the reason behind why I refused to reveal my face, and chose to distort my pictures instead.

Some of the speculations:

Why? Got cleft lip is it?

Why? Think you very pretty? Some sort of celebrity huh?

Why? Wanna publicity stunt to keep the air of mystery so will keep your readers gripped to your blog huh?

Why? Owe loanshark money huh?

Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?!

Alright.

Lemme clear it up once and for all.

I didn’t grow up with abundant confidence, and it was purely inferiority complex and insecurity that made me hide behind the warped pictures, though I had wanted to share moments of my life with whoever reading.

Try growing up with people telling you that you are ugly all the time, and that could make comments on the exterior, a tad sensitive.

I don’t like the comments on the way I look, thus I didn’t want to subject myself to it, knowing how harsh people words are behind the shields of ‘anonymous’ or unestablished identities.

Hence, when the pictures of mine in that nursey uniform was free-for-all to see on the Newpaper site, it wasn’t quite pleasant, but there’s nothing much I could do about it.

I learnt to take it in my stride.

I used to be so anal about my friends posting my pictures on their site/friendster/wherever that I would make a big fuss till I made them promise to get it covered or some sort.

I particularly hated it when people would come up to me and tell me smirkly, ‘Oh! I managed to get your picture. HURHURHUR.‘

Declaration of victory? I silently cursed that they would go to hell and wondered what’s the freaking big deal.

More often than not, the critiques would go on behind and go ‘Chey…. I still thought what..‘

I silently cursed somemore that they would start balding, get horrible body ordours, and their genitals will rot. Badly.

It took me a relatively long time to come to terms with myself throughout my growing years, till this very day.

Which sadly, I still have quite a journey to venture before I could spare more grace for myself.

Nonetheless, I had made myself pals whom I love, and had accepted me for the flawed being I am.

And I slowly grew comfortable with myself.

I thus decided, that, whatever I blog, is for myself, and for them.

Once again, thank you, you peepz.

Quite some time back, I decided it doesn’t matter to me anymore.

Okay, fine, just a little.

I know it’s just human curiosity.

But seriously, there isn’t a ravishing beauty beneath those masks.

I mean, if you twirl Patricia Mok’s picture and leave the eyes visible, most probably you would get a very pretty picture, too.

All there is, is just an insecure being, that’s all.

Some time last year, someone sent me a very interesting collage of pictures.

This was most interesting cos he could have photoshopped 2 pictures, one with top half of my face, another with bottom half of my face, but he didn’t.

He chose to use the cubes at the side.

I thought the effect was pretty cool, and kept it till today.

I shall end the suspense.

Wassup everybody.

Nice meeting you, finally.

No more hiding.

So, lemme brief ya why the choice of this picture amongst all others.

I don’t want you guys to think that I mislead you guys into thinking I am some sort of gorgeous being, you see.

So, no photoshop, no makeup, no smile, no lippy even.

Very recent picture, taken just a couple of weeks ago.

Well, beside the bare hint of eyeliner, this is pretty much Ting in nude.

I am as imperfect as it can get. As plain as Jane.

If you think I have naturally rosy cheeks, it is just because they are hyper-sensitive, and break out in rash ever so often(like now *pouts*).

My lips are thick, but chapped. Pale, when there is no lipstick/gloss to illuminate them to their ’suck-cock’ effects.

My brows weren’t shaped then, so a tad untidy.

My nose. Argh. Don’t let me go on how I hate the fact that it’s flat and small.

And the result of my clumsiness.

The distinct scar that I kinda like.

The indentation that found its way to my chin when I rolled down the stairs when I was a 4 year-old kid?

I still very much have the memories of that very day.

I had to make things worse by falling down the stairs again on a bus, when I was 8,or 9, or 10.

I am a klutz all along. *sulks*

So yeap. No one can accuse me for cheating/misleading/’bruffing’ with such a choice of picture, alright.

In fact, I feel a tad pressurised to be blogging this now, and I have no idea why. *Jitters*

Ah.

My first exposé.

Just like that.

And now, the growing years.

I think I was a gorgeous baby. But something changed along the way. *Laughs*

If you don’t think the above is cute, something is very wrong with you.

I think that was my last trace of feminity before something went haywire with my hormones in primary school.

Ha.

Ting, Primary 4, aged 10, in Hong Kong.

Aged 12. Skinny as a bamboo.

Yes, the famous pictures from Adelaide, as I proceed on to secondary 1.

If you hang out with me these days, and find my dress sense an embarrassment.. let’s just say it’s in the blood, all along.

Then, in secondary 4, I decided that if I couldn’t be pretty, I might as well sulk my days away.

Yes, I am the one 2nd from left.

Quite cool huh.

The rebel in me acted up at the end of secondary 4.

Gee, I looked like a butch, yes I know.

But I liked the hairstyle, and am tempted to cut my hair short, again.

I am incredibly lazy. Hence, some days I went to school without gelling my crew cut.

And I didn’t even care! Happily allow myself to be snapped at my worst.

Then the hair continued growing. This was me towards the end of secondary 4, when I returned to primary school to visit my ex-teachers.

Then, I bade Singapore goodbye.

London beckoned.

The picture I took for my bus pass couple of months after I settled down there.

It was one of the only pictures my ex-boyfriend, yes, that puppy love(long-distance one somemore), had of me.

Yah, I know, very sweet. Stop telling me that cos I can’t look that sweet now.

Alas! I ate a tad too much, and went through a 2nd bout of puberty.

Thunder thighs bloomed and pimples brewed.

The hair touched my shoulders.

And, the fats on my face piled on too. Muahahaha.

Tiffany and I, back then.

Celest and I, back then.

Sam, Tiffany, Celest, Me and Yaolong(my primary school friend who ended up with Celest when they met in England!) last November.

My schoolmates from Cambridge Tutors College.

Celest is from Taiwan. Tiffany is from JB, working in Singapore, and Sam, from KL, currently working in Guangzhou.

And here, Tiffany and I, on my birthday this year.

Yesh, sod it. I gained blardy loads of lard.

When I returned from UK, I was darn fair. I even crashed Hwachong’s orientation in 2000.

Took a picture with my secondary 4 classmate when he dropped by to play mahjong sometime then.

Later that year, I started teaching in Jurong West Primary School. The stint lasted a year.

Then, I rebonded my hair for the first time.

Don’t start. I know. Freaking sad that my trim waist no longer exists.

That was the last photographs of me, before I got my braces on.

I lost a tremendous amount of weight due to the painful metals.

And my hair was once THAT long.

Alright.

Squatting in the middle of nowhere at Yishun dam with my braces on. Heh.

This is how I would look over a squatting toilet, too.


This was taken sometime before my braces were off, when Philip took me to Marina South to ride the KTM200, illegally.

Shhhh.

Hehe.

Look at the freaking, blardy, nahbehly flat tummy!

Lord! What did I do to be so fat these days?!

Okay, fine. I know, I ate a tad too much.

%@#^$!#$!#$!#! *grumble grumble curse curse*

I was almost 2-dimensional!

Tummitrim would pay me anytime to advertise for them!

What else.

When the braces are taken off, with spectacles, in casuals, makeupless, and severe sleep deprivation on our way up to KL for Church camp.

GOSH! I was once THAT slim.

Look at the tummy! No fats! Except for the protruding pelvic bones.

Now?

Ah well.

Enough of nightmare materials.

And quaintly, the time is 9.49pm.

So hello fellow mortals out there.

Once again, it has been a pleasure.

I ain’t sure if the feelings are mutual though.

Do say hi the next time you see me on the streets.

9th September.

A breakthrough.

Sorry for the disappointment, darlings.

Gee, what did I say about kooky posts eh?

Whee.