Jurong island and temporary IDs

No one ever looks good in their identification cards, or maybe it’s just me.

Since I was little, I’ve been plain unlucky with these things (photo taking and anything that had to do with pictoral identification). I was either having the common cold in all my swollen eyes and runny nose glory, or my parents would choose to cut my hair short a week before the photo taking. No chance of escape there. My hair would probably still be in shock a good three weeks after the haircut and refuse to grow.

So now I’ve grown up. I don’t wear a uniform anymore. My shirts are a little more than above the knee (but I’m not a slut) and I have flowers and ribbions in my hair. I should  somewhat decent half the time right?

Think again.

I had to exchange a my hideous pink ID at the customs of Jurong Island recently. If anyone doesn’t know what that is, it’s the industrial area of Singapore. We had to change passes because they had to make sure we weren’t trying to make the place explode. It was the oil tanking area I was going to anyway.


I had exchanged passes quite a few times since the start of my internship so I was expecting this time to be no different. Boy, was I wrong. It was as good as getting a passport made. They made me scan my thumbprints, hand over my IC and even took a picture.

I don’t trust you not to laugh, but here’s how my card looked like:


Are you done laughing? Okay.

It’s worst than those ‘deer caught in the headlights’ pictures isn’t it? It’s so bad the first time I saw it I actaully laughed out loud and shoved it into my supervisor’s face and she started laughing as well. Gosh, seriously.

That’s not even the worst part. The worst part is that I had tried to smile and look what happened. Look what I turned into.

A spastic looking dumb fuck.

On the plus side, at least it was entertaining and brightened a few people’s day. Like the checkpoint officer that giggled at the photograph. SIGH.

In any case, when you’re feeling ugly and socially awkward, remember that there’s always me to welcome you to the club of downright awkward. Or you could just come to tumblr. I’m just one of the many representatives.

My situation quite reminds me of Charming Junkie’s Naka:


With the exception that I’m not a model, have a tsundare boy secretly loving me and a family with a really cute mother and sister.

Oh well, I’ll deal with it.



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