It is very true when they say that if you can drive in Ho Chi Minh, you can drive anywhere in the world. It is also true that crossing the road here is an art that must be perfected by tiger courage aided by a can of 333 Bia.

But for all the mad bustle on the roads (and the incessant and needless honking), I find that the Vietnamese people have a very quiet, gentle air about them. They sit on the side streets people-watching, chatting to each other in a sing-song lilt, smiling shyly when you catch their gaze. It’s a contradictory city, quite like Bangkok. I suspect that might be why I like it so much.


An inordinate amount of time has passed since we left Raffles Junior College and I’ve been nursing the urge to revisit Ghim Moh and Holland Village for a while. I think it’s got a lot to do with having been away in London for the last two years and the indelible quarter-life crisis we’re all facing now.

So we got all nostalgic, pointing out the old food haunts that we ate at every single day when we were 17, mourning the joints that are no longer there. We talked and laughed about climbing school gates, the crazy things we used to do in our container classrooms, exceptionally goofy incidents that have (unfortunately for the perpetuators in question) gone down in history… But beneath it all, I felt a strange pang of sadness I couldn’t quite explain. It’s like a part of our lives that we desperately want to get back, a harkening to simpler days. But we can only look back at it all, in gentle retrospect, as best we can.

[Images via The Atlantic]


The resilience, courage and beauty of the Japanese people have emerged – whole – through the devastation.

You can contribute to the rescue efforts by making a donation to the Red Cross.

And remember to keep on praying for Japan.



Because I seem to be in a bit of a writing dry spell right now, all I want to is take pictures. Look at pictures. Lust over pictures. Nick pictures. Take some more pictures.


Another blog. Not getting rid of this one. Hopefully sooner rather than later, this writer’s block will lift its damned self and I’ll start wordifying it up again.

Meet Me At The Corner: Behati Prinsloo and Jamie Strachan; shot by Jay Rodan and Kayt Jones for i-D.

I’m almost a year late in discovering this, but it’s too magical to not share.

I remember the corner.
The corner of your color, the corner of your smile.
The corner where we kissed.
The street corners turning into the corners of the corridor.
Into the corners of the room where we lay.
The corners of your mouth, of your eyes.
The corners of words we didn’t finish.
The corner of your name.
On the corner where we parted.
I remember the corner.



[via Vogue Italia]


Shot by Vincent Peters for the May ’11 issue of Italian Vogue, Ann Ward looks absolutely ethereal.

She almost looks like a siren, wilting in the dry heat while waiting for the next unsuspecting sailor to come her way. Half woman, half bird. She’s so pensive, she’s so elusive, she’s so willowy, she’s so out-of-body. She’s so, pretty. So very pretty.





[Image via Pink Kitten]


I die. I seriously die.

Jeffrey Campbell should be notified of the existence of his biggest fan, ever. And quite possibly, the only person who sweeps the shelves clean of pastel pink JCs. I want to sweep her shelves clean.

But she doesn’t have to worry; I’ll leave the pastel pink pairs behind.






Ne me quitte pas. Je suis ici, maintenant.



Écrin Archives, Rockstar by Soon Lee.

I hope my grandmothers don’t mind, but I think I’m going monotone for the Lunar New Year.






Did you hear? We threw them mortar boards up in the air, and we graduated.