Dare me.

"Every day, start again."

So much respect for 'Da Hulk', I've watched this 12 minutes long video more than 5 times now. That's how much respect I have for him. How many human being can grow like him? How many human being can lift weights, and bend iron like he can? How many human being, if granted that they ever reached his physique, can still remain humble and keep their feet firmly planted on ground?

Wait for me big man, I'll be a skinny ass little hulk as compared to you one day. I'll be bigger, better, full of inks, and I'll try to bend iron like you one day. One day, I'll be successful.

Day 7. Belly getting a little out of control.

On a side note, I've been taking mass gainer every damn day, thrice to four times, each day. And I've only just gained 0.7kg. It's the worst diet I've ever put myself through, that I'm so disciplined about. I've never been more proud of myself than I am today. But sometimes I still wonder why I put myself through all these bullshit.

Haven.
Ig: emnism

The irony of me supporting Liverpool is that I always walk alone. & also, human beings are weird as fuck. It's like two different people cross paths, talk for a whole lot like they mean the world to each other, and one fine day just fall right apart. Tomorrows without them seem so hard to come, yet the endless amount of yesterdays spent with each other don't seem to matter anymore. People, weird fucking ass creatures.

Read this beautifully written article about loving someone.

If you love some, don't write about them.

Shuttershock

"I guess it started when I began writing my novel. I almost tweeted about it, actually. "I'm going to write a novel to help cope with the feelings I have for a boy." I deleted it immediately, due to the amount of embarrassment I felt for myself in the dreadful milliseconds the thought was a fully constructed sentence in my mind.

Somehow the idea for the novel derived from the entirety of this man. He mentioned something to me once in a text message, and without noticing exactly what I was doing, I was taking his small notion and turning it into an entire novel. I turned his 20 words into approximately 100,000 in no time, creating a lovely world for us to sink into cozily where no one could disturb us. It was nice at first, as all escapes are, but the addiction comes soon after.

The world became a lovely place to settle. Once the plot was constructed, and the setting was generalized enough to find my city somewhere in the pages, well, then all I had left were the characters that were so easily created. If all else failed that day, I had my writing to be with. And something about it always feels real; you can feel the emotion, the integrity, the love, the moments, even if they're just "made up."

This is how writes go crazy. Our fictional characters are not fictional, and I call bullshit to anyone who claims they actually created a character out of thin air. We can't draw lines as writers. We melt our fictional worlds with our reality and get lost in a sort of writer's purgatory, and that's why we get so hurt by who we love. It's always more to us.

Remember that time in the coffee shop? That's four pages, three years of thought, 1458 words. Remember that time we kissed on the bed when we were both really drunk at that party? That's eight pages, seven years of thought, more words than I can count.

So there you can find yourself, in my countless words and countless word documents, young and thriving in my memories where I can potentially keep you forever. The writing remains to stem from somewhere deeper than fiction." 

- Chelsea Moudry 

"I can turn you into poetry, but I cannot make you love me."

"I can't begin to imagine what it feels like to be wanted. // The concept of being needed is way beyond my comprehension."


Dare me. One day, I'll succeed. 

Commitment VS Obligation

An orientation program talk I attended this week.

http://themetapicture.com/moms-who-else/

An old lady picks up carton boxes to earn some money for meals. A curious reporter approached the old lady one day and asked if he could capture her usual day down on film. She kindly allowed him to. Waking up at 5 in the morning, she goes about the neighborhood looking for discarded carton boxes along the corridors and on the streets. She ends her morning at 10 by selling away the boxes she has managed to gather, and earned herself a few bucks. She used the money she has earned, and buys a packet of rice and two plasters(a.k.a adhesive bandages). The curious reporter asked her "What are the plasters for?", she said "Oh, I need them.", and they head back to her house. 

She lives in a simple two room flat. And just as she opened the front door, two men, lying on a mattress on the floor, came into view. They entered the flat, and the old lady puts down the packet of rice and went into the kitchen. The two men grabbed the food and began gobbling it down. The reporter, shocked at what he had just witnessed, asked the old lady "They just ate the rice, what are you going to have for lunch??". The old lady smiled and said "Oh, no worries, I have mine right here." and she lifts up the cover of the wok, and what appears to be leftovers from a few days back fouled the entire kitchen. The reporter, disgusted by the sight of the food, continued filming as the old lady has her lunch. 

After lunch, the old lady approached the two men lying on the floor with the two plasters. The reporter asked "Who are they?", "They're my sons" the old lady replied. She peels off a worn off plaster from one of the men's arm, and applies the new plaster onto a wound. She applied the old and used plaster onto herself. The reporter, touched by the loving mother of two, observed that the old lady has an old bandage, torn and tattered and dyed in a color of dirty yellow, wrapped around her forehead, stopped filming. 

This was a story one of the instructors told us during the orientation program.

The question thrown to us was "How many of you are committed to taking care of your parents?". Majority, if not all, of us in the auditorium raised up our hands without hesitation. The instructor chuckled.
"Put your hands down" he said.
I was bemused by his snark dismissal at our answers.

"None of you are committed to your parents until the day they're bedridden. All of you are OBLIGED to take good care of them and care for them because of their actions." he continued.

"Obliged??" I questioned him in my head. It is most certainly not an obligation for me to take care of my parents, I was adamant about that. But what he said next got me and every single soul in the auditorium stumped and wondering to ourselves.

"Until the day your parents are bedridden, and when you have to turn them around every 10 - 30 minutes, then you can say that you're committed to caring and loving your parents. Otherwise, you're just obliged to taking care of them because they have raised you up. They have brought you into this world and cared for you until you are old enough to work and feed yourself. It's an obligation to take care of them, because it's the only socially acceptable action every child is obliged to do."

That was it, every thing I thought was right, was wrong. I've never gave that topic that much of a thought, because I thought I was committed all these while. I sincerely hope I'm committed to taking care of my parents. What good would I be if I grow up and becomes rich and powerful, but I throw my parents into an old folks home?

Commitment or Obligation? Your actions, your answers.

The view from the back of the van. A view that has my childhood written all over it. I miss being a kid.

Accomplishment or failure. POP LO

I present to you..... 1, check, 1.



The trained...... SOLDIERS.

3rd Sergeant Afiq, Recruit Pow Eamon, 3rd Sergeant Ryan, 3rd Sergeant ENRIQUE.

The long overdue parade is finally done and over with. The jockey caps, some floating along the river, but mostly back with their owners. 17 weeks is over.

Transforming from this:

To this.

The journey from becoming a civilian, to a trained soldier, took 17 weeks. 17 long, hellish weeks. What's worse was that we were in NINJA coy(company in short). 

Before I enlisted, I knew nothing about Tekong. I knew nothing about Ninja, Kestrel, or what so ever. I just knew that it was an island far away from home. I wanted to give up so many times, because it was that grueling, for me at least. Ninja's standard was, as they say, "up there". I was never proud to be a Ninja, because I hated it there. But my views and perspective changed when my time was nearing as a Ninja recruit. 

A medal for coming in second for frisbee on games' day. And the small cookie is for getting a Silver for IPPT.

The honor was mine when we were given the games' day shirt.

Best damn shirt in BMTC.

I felt the chill, the need to do well for Ninja. And when we cheered, together as a company, everything changed. I was suddenly proud to be a Ninja recruit. We represented one of, if not, the top company in BMTC, we were indeed, "up there". 

I did myself proud, I maintained my silver for my IPPT, and got myself a medal to bring home. A proof, if you will, to show that my time inside Tekong wasn't wasted. But I somehow got myself injured during the last week in Tekong. I went to the medical center, and I was deemed unfit for the 24KM route march, and the Graduation Parade. I thought, "That's it, game over". 17 weeks have just gone to waste in one trip to the medical center. I talked every commanders. I spoke to my Platoon commander, my Platoon sergeants, my Company's officer in command, my Company's sergeant major, I asked to see the school's Company Officer. But to no avail. I gave up, I had to. But I did get to throw my jockey cap when I booked out with 18 others on Friday morning, while the main body of the company prepared for their 24km route march. 

This journey has been one hell of a ride. Ups and downs came day in, day out. First, I got bald for the first time. Then, I got myself my first girlfriend. Then I did my max repetition for pullups, 19, and got my first silver for IPPT. I made friends, and enemies. Almost got in fights, and ate food that was not meant to be eaten. I went through rain and shine, in the jungle, and in the camp. I shed blood, sweat and tears, and got my heart broken when I lost my first girlfriend. Shot live rounds, threw a grenade, dug my own grave, pooped in the wild, went 6 days without brushing my teeth and showering, and learnt more stuffs than I ever did in school. 

The two jokers in my bunk. Recruit Ong Jia Sheng, and Recruit Zulfaiz

Recruit Tay Yong Sheng. Finally got to take a photo with this bugger. REGULAR LO!

2nd Lieutenant Daryl. My Platoon's commander. Can you believe he's only 20?

Recruit Ong. Buddies for 17 weeks, can't believe time flew past so quickly. An honor to be his buddy.

Recruit Man Yong and Recruit Jing Yuan at the bottom. Crazy ass bunkmates I will never forget.

Never thought I will ever say this, but damn am I going to miss all of them. The tekan sessions, a.k.a punishments, the marching sessions, meals at the cook house, creeping around doing restricted stuffs like buying drinks, making fools out of ourselves, and of course the field camp. I'm so going to miss, sleeping on the upper bunk of the bed on the second floor, the sea breeze, the ultimate pitch black sky filled with stars and a big bright moon, the scorching hot sun shining down on us mercilessly as training carries on, the taunts each company does to each other, and all of the songs we echo daily without fail. 

For now, I will take my long awaited week long break, and hope for the best. 

Tough days don't last, tough men do.

Duty, Honor, Country, Ninja Company.

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Waking up.

Good day to all of you.

I'm awake, after 15 weeks. Yes, I've been asleep all these while.
The past fifteen weeks have been the most perfect dream I have ever had in my entire life. I got into a relationship with a wonderful girl. I made new friends, physically and mentally better myself through all the trainings I got in camp, became a better person, and got some allowance from the government for serving the nation.

It was a dream that lasted only fifteen weeks because I woke up on 180912. I became single all over again on that fateful date. You're probably wondering what the hell, right? If not, okay.
Um, I have no idea. I'm in the same shoes as you, wondering what went wrong, and if all of it was a joke. What started out so dreamy, a start that was so perfect I couldn't ask for more, ended silently. Ended so cold and so sudden, it caught me off guard.

I don't really have much to say, but I know I'm a little thankful for the past fifteen weeks. Thankful for all of the memories made, the firsts, the lasts, and thankful for just being able to experience what it was like to be in a relationship. What is was like to actually fall in love, and also to fall out of it, for real.

For now, I'm thankful that my BMT phase is coming to an end. I'm glad that I've overcame everything, the route marches, the trainings, the punishments, the disappointments, my own limits and every other thing else which includes the heartache. I'm thankful for my family because they helped me get through the tough times. What i'm not thankful for is my own birthday, and all the other celebratory events that are coming up. It was supposed to be tickets for two, it was.

I leave the relationship with regrets, having not done more. But I take the failure as a push, to get myself back on track in life.

Yes, that's an fbt I'm wearing. What I'm trying to show is the amount of sweat that my shirt was soaked in.

Personal best, yes PERSONAL. Most of you are better than me, but I'm glad I ran for 6km without stopping.

Targeting a 10 klick run next weekend. Time to physically enhance myself.

Moving on with life.

TUMBLR IMAGES:

http://sluttiest-virgin.tumblr.com/post/19276780823/brutaltits-tumblr-com

http://m-orphine.tumblr.com/post/29661177507

http://fyeahtattoos.com/post/4858670512/i-got-this-tattoo-july-17th-2010-at-the

http://www.flickr.com/photos/cinnay/6948780646/in/photostream

http://weheartit.com/entry/32856940#

Lessons in life.

If anyone of you whom used to be a part of my life is reading this, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I never thought this day would come as quickly as it did.

Did really mundane stuffs like strolling in the park in simple attire, to sitting down on the bench and just chatting. From star gazing, to people watching, everything was much more enjoyable than it ever was before. Hours passed like minutes, time flew past without realization.

To use your words 'It's hard to find someone with so much in common as you.. And that feeling when you do'. And to that, I nod my head umpteen times in agreement. Every story has a beginning, I don't know where my story is at right now. But every single one of you have taught me different things, in different ways. But they are all lessons I appreciate. I never thought I would say this so quickly, but I believe I've finally moved a step up on the ladder. I used to say you were the ultimate one I wanna be with in the end. Guess life has it's ways of proving me wrong.

I just know that June 2012 has been quite a special one for me. And 300612 was the pinnacle of the year. Appreciation comes in different forms, mine is to share with anyone and everyone reading this little space of mine, my feelings and thoughts.

Yesterday still feels like a dream to me.

Main point is that every second spent with K is time well spent and enjoyable. Kinda takes my mind off of the army stuffs, like as if I was a civilian again. But sadly, time waits for nobody and I'm heading back to camp tomorrow. So, goodbye for now.

Sisters, 7th JUNE. Time flies whether you're having fun or not.

Perfect relationships.

We got a lot of great feedback about our wedding day, but one little detail of our ceremony that got quite a few really positive reactions was the wine and love letter box ritual. This was one ritual I had never heard of before our officiant mentioned it. However, as soon as she explained it to Michael and I, we were sold.

Here's how it works: Prior to the wedding, you gather a strong wooden box, a bottle of wine and two glasses. Then, also before the ceremony, you both sit down separately and write love notes to each other, explaining the feelings on the eve of your wedding day. Each letter then gets sealed in its own envelope. You do not read you beau's letter.

Then, at some point during the ceremony, your officiant explains the process, and the two of you seal the box by taking turns hammering in one nail at a time (what other excuse do you have to use a hammer during your wedding?!) until the box is closed.

You don't open the box until your 10th anniversary (or really whatever anniversary you choose), UNLESS you hit a rough patch in your marriage before then. Either way, on the day that you open the box, you both read the letters and drink the wine, remembering how you both felt just days before your wedding day. 

 -via Nicole at theplungeproject.com

This post was actually inspired by American Sitcoms. I'm a huge fan of American Sitcoms. The Big Bang Theory, Two and A Half Men, How I Met Your Mother, and recently, Friends. They're all really great, and I always have so much to think about after watching them.

I've been single for my entire life, so I have no clue what it's like to be in a relationship. And I always have the same question in mind, why does a couple fight? Okay, maybe once every three months or so might be a reasonable amount to me. But as far as the people around me are concerned, couples fight CONSTANTLY. Over the littlest thing, they squabble. It's hurting no one but themselves, and why go through that?

It might sound really dumb, but can't they do this: Think of the past when your other half was the person of your dreams. Now that you have them, you take them for granted. I say, hold them tight and never let them go. They were your stars, before you two got together, they were the best thing that you could ever get. 


I've always thought of my future relationship to be a, call me delusional, 'quarrel-free' one. Because I'm a thinker, and I always think of what happens before, during and after a particular moment. It's the ego that holds all of us back. Don't you agree? I say, bear no grudges in a relationship, and always think of the reasons why you fell in love with your other half. Be forgiving, and be honest. Oh, and don't do stupid things, because.. duh! it's a STUPID thing.

I leave you with a HILARIOUS video of Barberella interviewing Rihanna. And a new word I learned the other day.



- Grotesquely:
1.Characterized by ludicrous or incongruous distortion, as of appearance or manner.
2. Outlandish or bizarre, as in character or appearance.
Use it in a sentence (Phoebe Buffay in Friends Season 3 Episode 10): Their corpses grotesquely dressed in like tinsel and twinkle lights(Referring to Christmas trees). 
Source: http://www.thefreedictionary.com/grotesquely

Next time you can go up to a person with too much make up, and say "Hey, your face is grotesquely made up with layers of pink and purple powder.".

Ugly the cat.

You have probably read this before on Facebook, or some other websites. But it's so touching, it's worth a re-read. 

Fan page on Facebook

Official website

Everyone in the apartment complex I lived in knew who Ugly was. Ugly was the resident tomcat.

Ugly loved three things in this world: fighting, eating garbage, and shall we say, love. The combination of these things combined with a life spent outside had their effect on Ugly.
To start with, he had only one eye, and where the other should have been was a gaping hole. He was also missing his ear on the same side, his left foot has appeared to have been badly broken at one time, and had healed at an unnatural angel, making him look like he was always turning the corner.His tail has long since been lost, leaving only the smallest stub, which he would constantly jerk and twitch. Ugly would have been a dark gray tabby striped-type, except for the sores covering his head, neck and even his shoulders with thick, yellowing scabs.

Every time someone saw Ugly, there was the same reaction. "That's one UGLY cat!!".All the children were warned not to touch him, the adults threw rocks at him, hosed him down, squirted him when he tried to come in their homes, or shut his paws in the door when he would not leave. 

Ugly always had the same reaction. If you turned the hose on him, he would stand there, getting soaked until you gave up and quit. If you threw things at him, he would curl his lanky body around feet in forgiveness. Whenever he spied children, he would come running meowing frantically and bump his head against their hands, begging for their love. If you ever picked him up, he would immediately begin sucking on your shirt, earring, whatever he could find. 

One day, Ugly shared his love with the neighbors' huskies. They did not respond kindly, and Ugly was badly mauled. From my apartment, I could hear his screams, and I tried to rush to his aid. By the time I got to where he was laying, it was apparent Ugly's sad life was almost at an end. 

Ugly lay in a wet circle, his back legs and lower back twisted grossly out of shape, a gaping tear in the white strip of fur that ran down his front. As I picked him up and tried to carry him home, I could hear him wheezing and gasping, and could feel him struggling. I must be hurting him terribly, I thought. 

Then I felt a familiar tugging, sucking sensation on my ear – Ugly, in so much pain, suffering and obviously dying was trying to suckle my ear. I pulled him closer to me, and he bumped the palm of my hand with his head, then he turned his one golden eye towards me, and I could hear the distinct sound of purring. Even in the greatest pain, that ugly battered-scarred cat was asking only for a little affection, perhaps some compassion.

At that moment, I thought Ugly was the most beautiful, loving creature I had ever seen. Never once did he try to bite or scratch me, or even try to get away from me, or struggle in any way. Ugly just looked up at me, completely trusting in me to relive his pain.

Ugly died in my arms before I could get inside, but I sat and held him for a long time afterwards, thinking about how one scarred, deformed little stray could so alter my opinion about what it means to have true pureness of spirit, to love so totally and truly. Ugly taught me more about giving and compassion than a thousand books, lectures, or talk show specials ever could, and for that I will always be thankful. He had been scarred on the outside, but I was scarred on the inside, and it was time for me to move on and learn to love truly and deeply. To give my total to those I cared for.

Many people want to be richer, more successful, well liked, beautiful, but for me, I will always try to be Ugly.

The father I never had.

This is a story about the father I never had. It's really simple, but all too complicating to be explained in a few thousand words. The amount of hurt and disappointment throughout the years can never be written down or explained to you if you have never been through it. It all started yesterday night.

  It wasn't a competition, but it soon became a conversation that seemed as if it was. A night out with two friends became a 'therapy session'. As we sat down at a MacDonald's Restaurant, the word 'dad' soon became our topic of discussion. What started out as brief descriptions of how useless our dads were, became excruciatingly explicit detailed happenings of our lives with them. But among us was my friend, lets call him 'J', whom, have never experienced a bad night with his family couldn't understand a word we said because it was never part of his life. As my second friend, let's call him 'H', poured out his heart to us, I was awed at how he has managed to give me the impression that his life was never a troubled one. 

  My dad's drunken nights and H's dad's abusive actions were shared and discussed lengthily. For every disappointing actions my dad did, H came up with a better and more jaw dropping story of his dad's action. I wasn't backing down either, upping the tempo of the stories by adding older and clearer details of my dad's crazy actions. As the stories came pouring out like water out of a running tap, both of us came to the same exact point of asking our parents to get divorced. The words continued to jump out of our mouths as the food got gobbled up. A full stop soon came as our stories ended. It was surprising how our lives, seemingly similar, turned out to be so different. I told J that he was lucky to have such a sober minded family as we got off our seats, and hopped into the car and drove off to our next destination. 

The sequel to the first reason for this post happened just a couple of hours ago.
My dad was high on beer again, and he called back home to ask if we wanted dinner. To cut short the conversation I had with him, he didn't want me to get a hold of his location, but wouldn't tell me what he could get for me at where he was at. And when I told him of the food I wanted, he claimed that it was too much of a hassle because it wasn't sold at the location he was at. So, to make his life easier, I told him to get me a packet of flat rice noodles. After shouting into the phone for three times, he hung up on me because he 'couldn't hear me'. I know this is a really pathetic reason to get so upset with your parent. But it's not just this instance that caused me to curse at will, in front of my very demure mother, with vulgarities that were not tolerated in this household. It's his actions and his words that made me disappointed and angry at the same time.

These were my initial reactions, "Fuck you man, do what you wanna do".

  My mother was clearly upset at my sudden outburst at my dad. She never encouraged us to get mad or cuss at my dad behind his back, and she's always asked us to treat him with utmost respect despite of all his wrongdoings. I needed to post this up, I thought to myself. -Because I had just finished reading a paragraph in "I'm Sorry You Felt This Way". It was about the author's own invention of the dad she wanted to be the child of. 

  I thought about stuffs, and went back down to confront my mother. My first words to her were "What are your reasons to not agreeing to divorce him?", I didn't even address him as dad or father as I normally would. We chatted and she told some stories. She gave reasons and she gave examples. And finally, I was convinced. She said,

Her mom, my grandmother, used to be worse than my dad. She would drink and get drunk, throw fits and chided my grandfather, whom I've never met before, till no end. My mom, like me, said she wanted to have nothing to do with my grandmother. But after my mother got married and had my sisters, my grandmother changed for the better. Way better than she ever was. She did some stuffs that are better left unsaid on this blog, that made my mother forgave her every actions for they were in the past. There's no point bearing grudges because you might live to regret them one day. Don't let your anger make you do stuffs that you might come to regret when you're older. 

It was actually the story of my mom and my grandmother that moved me. Made me change my perspective of things and how to deal with them. Before you do something, think of the future and picture it.

-Is what you're doing going to change the looks of your own future? Are you sure you're okay to live that life? These are the questions, find the answers yourself.

The father I've invented for myself. 
  
  The father I've invented for myself is sitting at the dining table, shirtless, with a cup of hot coffee. He reads the newspaper as the rest of the family crawls their way down early in the morning. Warm milo and coffee prepared for us, he comments on the news article he has just finished. 
  It's 6pm of 2000, and he drives into my school in his van. I hopped into his van and he greets me with a smile. He traded a few words with the disciplinary master while I gazed upon the orange sky. He drives us home, and talks to me about sports. 
  Upon reaching the doors of my home, he says, go take a shower and come down for dinner, in the mildest tone. 

I thought this post was a little too serious, lighten up a little with EMT.

Land of Smiles, Thailand; Money, Root of all evil.

The holiday was coming to an end, it was our final day in Thailand.

Before heading out to the streets for the final time, we took photographs, lots of it. 

Waiting, like a boss (not), for the familia to get ready.

Family shot #1

Family shot #2

How the view is like in the morning

Mom and pops

Sis(Alice), with the parents.

Sis(Audrey), with the parents.

Out we went, by cab, to Chatuchak. It was freakin huge, and the things were freaking cheap too. We didn't have enough time to buy the things that we wanted to, because my dad was rushing us to get back to the hotel. I swear he can be quite a bitch at times, with the amount of times that he had complained of backaches and how we were not going to get a cab back to the hotel in time. And all these while, he kept telling us of how he was tough and so on and so forth. 

Okay, I'm going to show you guys a footage I shot while I was in the market. It's of two HUGE dogs kept in tiny ass cages that were for sale. I wanted to set them free so badly. My heart ached the whole time we were at that section of the market. So many animals were for sale and they were kept, in huge quantities, in small cages. 

Money make people do inhumane stuffs. Like stuffing 25 chinchillas into a cage meant for ONE hamster. It's the first time I've witnessed such things, therefore I was rather appalled. How can anyone bear to keep any creature in such horrible conditions and not feel a thing? My dad was petting the dog in the cage, and a guy stopped him. He said and I quote "Don't touch him, he will get affectionate.". My dad sighed so many times when we were there. Money make people do inhumane stuffs, therefore it's the root of all evil. 

After finishing up our final purchases of the trip, we took a cab, that we got under 3 minutes, back to the hotel. Went down to have lunch at the restaurant.

Coconut drink

Audrey's ... glass noodles.

Mom's tom yum soup

My beef burger

Alice's fish n chips

Pop's steak

Soft shell crab

The only significant thing I bought for myself, a pair of fake shades.

Nothing much happened that day. Oh, plane rides at night can be pretty scary and boring because you can't see anything out the window. So that's pretty much it for the Thailand trip. It was one hell of a holiday. One I will never forget anytime soon.

Was trying to get a shot of the view outside. Instead, I got this shot. Quite artistic I must say. 

Thank you Bangkok, kapunka. 

Related posts:
Land of Smiles, Thailand; Breaking the chain, Day 1
Land of Smiles, Thailand; Good and Bad, Day 2