Conversations with my 13 year-old self

I'm not one to talk about work; the fact that 10 hours of each day, and possibly more once in a while, is utterly wasted does not leave me with much to speak about pleasantly. And while it may be that I do not have anything particularly exciting to regale anyone with, simply conversing about everything else is enough for me. Just as it was this evening, over dinner at the Empire cafe and drinks and TeaDot, both at Illuma. So this, in addition to my visits to Tampines 1 and Orchard Central, I've at least set foot into all the newly opened malls of note. There is a very perceivable upgrade that these new malls bring, from the minimalism of restroom interiors to sheer size and open space, that makes me think the country is palpably changing its details to better fit its First World status.

I have finally managed to finish George Orwell's Why I Write, and it is both a poignant lament of the direction in which language is headed as well as a justified, opinionated cross-examination of war-time England which I find I'm able to appreciate being a history student studying that exact period in depth. When I finish the current Adiga text, I would have read a total of 4 actual texts this year, and including the war novel at the end of last year, it is an all-time high of 5 lit-worthy works. Appalling by most lit students' standards, but hey, way better than not having read anything of such standards apart from the 15 I read during my IB days.