#english classes in singapore

[kiyaonline]

English classes in singapore | kiya learning

English classes in Singapore help students to get accustomed to the language and grammar of the subject. Join Kiya Learning English classes in Singapore.

[classesbykiyaonline]

English classes in singapore | kiya learning

English classes in Singapore help students to get accustomed to the language and grammar of the subject. Join Kiya Learning English classes in Singapore.

[onlinekiya]

English classes in singapore | kiya learning

English classes in Singapore help students to get accustomed to the language and grammar of the subject. Join Kiya Learning English classes in Singapore.

[kiya-123]

English classes in singapore | kiya learning

Become a master of English with Kiya Learning. We provide phonics classes, English spoken, and many more for your children. We offer online 1:1 English classes in singapore by our expert teachers.

[creativelear]

Primary 3 English Enrichment Class Singapore

At Creative Learning, we offer top-notch Primary 3 English Enrichment Class in Singapore. Our experienced teachers use creative methods to help students excel in their English skills. Enroll your child today!

[writeedgesg]

In this infographic highlights how online English classes are changing the way kids learn by offering personalized instruction, flexible scheduling, and access to resources from anywhere in the world.

[creativelearningblog]

Primary 1 English Enrichment Class and Best English Class For Primary 1 - Creative Learning

In Washington, DC A nonprofit organisation, Creative Learning, Since its creation in 1977, Creative Learning has supported communities, non-governmental organisations, and educational institutions both at home and abroad in their efforts to bring about change that has a significant long-term social impact.

The potential of regional organisations to improve the lives of local citizens everywhere is strengthened by Creative Learning's focus on areas where there are pressing human needs. Establishing people-to-people partnerships is a particularly effective way for us to uphold human rights, advance social and economic development, and foster peace.

A new teaching and learning methodology (TLM) named "Creative Learning" was created by APCL with the goal of fostering an individual's creativity. Every child is creative from birth, according to the school. Development of the child's intrinsic learning processes is the system's primary goal. It makes an effort to cultivate seven fundamental skills known as Core Creative Competencies (C3): focus, power of observation, memory, thinking, imagination, emotional control, and communication/expression power. ([4] Although it incorporates them into contemporary educational systems, the system is founded on conventional Yogic cultural practises.

Click Here: Best Primary English tuition centre in Singapore

Every child receives individualised instruction according to his or her personality, family, and social surroundings. The contents are regularly adjusted to the child's strengths by using monitoring and evaluation.

Offering English enrichment classes and writing programmes for primary school pupils makes Creative Edge Learning proud. All of our students will leave our English and creative writing sessions with the necessary information and abilities to succeed in Singaporean examinations creative writing classes for primary schoo, Singapore . Additionally, in a collaborative and dynamic learning atmosphere, our professors will share advice on how to improve both analytical and creative thinking. Your child gradually learns and masters the language and writing skills through a continuous progression across the six primary school levels.

Your child gradually learns and masters the language and writing skills through a continuous progression across the six primary school levels.

Our programmes assist your kid in learning at every stage of their primary education, from being eager learners in the lower primary years to independent learning in the middle primary years to finally mastering the language in the upper primary years.

Why is creative learning important?

Learning experiences that are imaginative elicit strong student engagement. Learners retain information longer and develop their understanding when they actively participate in the process. However, that is only the beginning. The benefits of creative learning go far beyond that.

It encourages creative problem-solving.

Learning activities that are creative alter how students approach issues. They develop greater creativity and innovation, as well as an improved ability to manage uncertainty. Creative learners begin imagining alternatives or possibilities from several angles. They can anticipate and overcome challenges thanks to this change in perspective.

Strengthens critical thinking.

Students put up original solutions and ideas. The process is then improved by reviewing how well they've implemented them.

encourages taking risks Learners who engage in creative learning run the risk of failing. They have the option to make judgments, some of which may unavoidably fail to produce answers. However, engaging in creative learning gives students a setting where they can experiment and discover new things. Gaining confidence in "failure" enables students to take more risks while feeling less anxious.

It creates an attitude of curiosity. Unconventional approaches to education are creative. Unusual teaching methods stimulate interest in the subject and the learning process in students and encourage learning in general. Curiousity, conversation, and fascinating discoveries are all fostered by creative learning.

Boosts one's sense of assurance.

Confidence-building learning strategies are creative. As a result? Lessons learned are more likely to be applied by students.

For more info click here: Primary Composition Writing Classes

[knowledgenook]

English Classes in Singapore: Enhance your English language skills with comprehensive English classes offered in Singapore. From grammar and vocabulary to reading and writing, our classes cater to learners of all levels, providing a supportive environment to improve fluency and proficiency.

[creativelearning95]

english enrichment class for primary singapore

Elevate your child's English proficiency with our expert-led Primary English Enrichment Classes in Singapore at Creative Learning. Tailored curriculum and supportive environment ensure academic success. Enroll now for effective language mastery!

[languageintplaza]

English Classes for Adults Singapore – Why This Course Is Important For Adults Adults who are still not familiar with the English language will always face tough challenges both in personal and professional life. There is no age bar to learn a new thing but most of these adults are either working hard or invested in other businesses. For these reasons, these people hardly have any time to learn something new. Their struggle is understandable and for that reason, several language schools especially our school of language international have come up with a unique English course. This one is for the adults only, every single lesson is meant to gear up their English vocabulary, conversational English, and written English.

[rakeshraseo321]

PSLE English Tuition

Are you searching for the best English tuition for PSLE? Look no further than EduEdge, a renowned educational center trusted by parents and students alike. Our dedicated team of experienced tutors specializes in providing good PSLE English tuition, helping students enhance their language skills, grammar, and writing techniques. With a structured curriculum tailored to the PSLE syllabus, we ensure that students receive focused guidance and comprehensive preparation for the English examination. Join EduEdge and witness your child’s progress in language proficiency and confidence skyrocket to new heights.

[sharplearners]

[mitskicain]

navi | m.list

. ⁺ . ✦ ‘sayang’ is a double-edged sword — kuroo x reader

© mitskicain all rights reserved. the modification, translation, and plagiarism of my work is strictly prohibited.

synopsis: based on the headcanon of a half-Indonesian kuroo. in which he learns that the language is full of contradictions.

content warnings: ANGST, mentions of bullying, homesickness

word count: 3.5k

· · ─────── ·{ ✐ᝰ.ᐟ}· ─────── · ·

Sayang. A two syllable word that was the unofficial translation of love in the Indonesian language. Technically love was ‘cinta’, but you didn’t like how it felt in your mouth—bulky and awkward—too big for anything. You liked the way ‘sayang’ sounded better, the way it rolled off the tongue so easily—fleeting, almost carelessly. Sayang.

Aku sayang kamu. I love you.

Your mother called you sayang. You recalled running up to her after school, her arms outstretched and wide open, waiting to wrap around you. The sweet scent of her skin that was like honeysuckle and summer, the warmth of her smile—beaming at you from the driver’s seat as you babbled about your day. She would call you that term of endearment whenever she had the chance.

Sayang, come down for dinner. Sayang, it’s time to wake up. Sayang, have fun at school!

Indonesian was your mother tongue. The first language you had learned how to speak. In a way, your entire childhood was defined by it. There were things in your everyday vocabulary that didn’t make sense, or were different when translated. In that way, you always felt like there was something missing when you spoke English or Japanese. When you left Jakarta during the 1998 riots, your mother, alongside a handful of other families, managed to escape from the fiery wrath of the protestors, sought asylum from any other country that was willing to take you. Some of your friends moved to Singapore, others, Malaysia, or Taiwan—for you it was Japan, a country that once had colonized yours but was now your saving grace. With only two suitcases to your name and your mother’s limited Japanese learnt during her high-school years, the two of you tried to make home in the foreign country. You were starting all over again. Language. School. Friends. It would prove to be difficult.

Japanese kids were mean. Not beating-you-up kind of mean, but snickering-behind-your-back mean. Back home, they would say things to your face, pick fights and shouting matches with you, but here, they talked about you in hushed whispers and lingering gazes. It was in the sharpie doodles on your school shoes and the scattered laughter that echoed whenever you slipped up when you read aloud for the class. You were still bad at Japanese—the language a tangle of syllables in your mouth. Your mother told you that it was because your tongue was just used to speaking Indonesian. You thought it was because Japan was foreign to you, in the bad way. In the way that your body silently rebelled against it by fixing your jaw in ways so you couldn’t say things right—so that years later, even after you became fluent, the trace of your mother tongue still lingered.

That was the first thing that Kuroo Tetsuro pointed out. You talk funny, were his first words to you—finger pointed straight between your eyes. A rage bubbled in your chest at the mention of it. It was something that you were insecure about, something you felt the need to hide. You didn’t even know you were muttering to yourself when you played in the playground’s sandbox until he pointed it out to you, and you hated that, and you made sure to let him know how much you did—through a mash of fists and bruises and a black eye (his, not yours).

Your mother made you apologize—the Japanese way—kneeling, on the floor. You were red hot and flushed, humiliated for having done so. Not for beating up the kid but rather for having been caught, and having to apologize. Why should you? He started it. He was making fun of you. “You talk funny,” psh, he looked funny. His sharp cat-like eyes and almost permanent bed head—how could his parents let him out of the house looking like that? Someone might mistake him for a stray.

That apology was how you found out Kuroo was a little bit like you—half-Indonesian, from his mothers side. The tiny Indonesian population in Japan meant that whoever was from the motherland clung together like thieves at sea. Maybe it was because of familiarity, maybe because of homesickness. In a way, all they had left of their home country was each other, speaking the same language, knowing the same songs, the same streets—sometimes even the same people. For them, this was the closest thing to coming home. This was how you eventually became friends with Kuroo, after years and years of living down the street and your mother inviting him over and attending the same school and making the two of you befriend the other.

It was rough at first. You refused to speak Japanese around him, fearing the same insult would come and jab at you when you would. Despite his mother’s nationality, he was never able to understand or speak the language that you did—part of himself almost denying that part of him after his mother left. Maybe that was his way of getting revenge, refusing to acknowledge his mother’s culture, her homeland.

The two of you would pass the time playing congklak, the Indonesian version of the mancala. You practiced counting this way, dropping the shells in each divot one by one—starting again if there were any remaining. He babbled on about TV shows he watched, or mangas he read, trying to make a point about how Japanese he was, how un-Indonesian, and by extension, how unlike his mother. Sometimes you would watch Ikkyu-san together. Sometimes he would flip through the comics you had brought over—Mahabhrata and Gundala and Bobo. You remember the look on his face as he traced over the pages, his nose scrunched in confusion.

“It’s too confusing, all these words look foreign to me,” he would say, putting them back on the shelf.

“So what?” You shot back, “I had to do the same thing when I came here. Kanji still looks like scribbles to me.”

There was no mashing of fists or sound of crying this time, just a mutual understanding of the others’ struggle. You watched him swallow the lump in his throat and pick up the book again, finger tracing the sentences, sounding out the words—like a child learning how to read for the first time. You sighed, defeated, and sat down next to him, trying to teach him. He was a persistent child, often needing to get his way regardless of whatever circumstances but here he was—docile, obedient. Something between the two of you shifted.

Kuroo began to grow out of his shell in middle school; making new friends on the volleyball team and tagging along during their after-practice escapades, oftentimes raiding the local convenience store for all the goodies. Sometimes you would come with, slipping into the background of conversations and keeping to yourself. You still didn’t like talking in front of anyone—so you kept your lips pressed together and our gaze downcast, a faraway look in your eyes. Of course, this caught the attention of some of his teammates.

“Is she mute?” One of them had asked, hands shoved in his pockets, walking a few steps ahead of you. Despite you hanging back, you could still hear him, but then again, it wasn’t like he made any attempt to speak quietly either. Or maybe he thought that you were also deaf.

“Dude,” he sounds, offended for you, “she’s right here.”

“So? It’s not like she ever says anything. It’s like she’s deaf, or mute—or both.”

Kuroo frowns at this statement. At home, he sits across from you, pencil tapping against the pages of his ignored math homework. You look up at him with your eyebrow cocked, as if, beckoning for him to spit it out already.

“Would it kill you to make some friends?” He asks, words sharp and unforgiving. Your shoulders slump at the question, and you give him a deadpan look before returning your attention to your assignment, already miles ahead of him.

“I don’t need them,” you mumble, “too much of a hassle.”

“How do you survive without them? Like seriously, nobody to lean on?”

“That’s how I like it.”

He grumbles inaudibly under his breath at your response, a mixture of frustration and annoyance echoing through his voice. He chews on his bottom lip before speaking up again, this time, rather boldly.

“You’re not alone.” You look up at him, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. He thumps his chest with his right hand almost solemnly, like making an oath. “You have me. I’m your friend. I’m here for you.”

Your eyes widen in shock, a blush creeping up to your cheeks. You press your lips into a thin line, not knowing what else to say. Instead, you nod your head in acknowledgement, and return your attention back to your homework. When you are done with the practice questions, you flip over your notebook so that he can copy your answers.

The first time he called you ‘sayang’ was in the spring of your freshman year. He said it after having heard your mother say that as she bid you goodbye for school. He had let it slip, almost by accident, as he repeated the word over and over in his mind as the two of you walked—sounding it out, feeling the weight of it in his mouth. He liked the way it rolled across his tongue, and something about it—the curve of the letters when spelled out, the softness of it seemed so you. When you had heard it, you stopped, the hair on the back of your neck raising as you looked back at him, almost incredulously. He stares back, puzzled at your reaction. This was the first time he had ever seen your reserved demeanor crack.

“What? What did I do?” He asked, genuine concern evident in his voice.

“What did you say?”

“What, ‘sayang’?” His hands move up to straighten his tie, suddenly nervous. “I’m sorry, was that a bad word?”

“No, it’s..” your voice trails off, cheeks reddening. You turn around and stomp forward, hands tight around the straps of your backpack. “Forget it. Don’t call me that.”

He stays at his place on the street, feet glued to the pavement, wondering what he had done wrong. The guilt creeps in, and in an attempt to absolve it, he hands you a steaming hot pork bun in between classes, even though the heat burns his skin and his fingertips are still red at the end of the school day. It’s something he’s willing to do for your forgiveness. Over the years he will find that he’s willing to do a lot for it, actually. Later, over dinner, he finds out through your mother that it's actually a term of endearment, something close to ‘my love’. The two of you exchanged awkward, embarrassed glances across the table.

The second time he called you ‘sayang’, it was by accident again—spoken absentmindedly as he thanked you for explaining the assignment. Thank you sayang, he said, before realizing and slapping his mouth with his hand. You looked at him with an equal amount of shock and horror. You excused yourself to the bathroom to compose yourself, and when you returned, the two of you acted like it had never happened. He wanted to apologize, but apologizing would mean having to explain himself, and that explanation would mean having to tell you that he had tried learning Indonesian and thought of calling you ‘sayang’ the same way they did in your mother’s sinetrons (Indonesian soap operas).

And you weren’t sure the exact moment that things had changed for the two of you. Before, it was a co-existence, the understanding that you existed in each other's worlds and just that. Now, it had warped into an odd and unfamiliar shape. He was running up to you in the hall, babbling on and on about every single thing—he was more Kuroo than he ever was before around you. And you couldn’t help but notice how much bolder and brighter he seemed. In the mornings on the walk to school, next to you, smiling through his stories of his strange dreams—you couldn’t help but notice that his eyes were actually hazel and not brown, and for a moment, before your consciousness kicked in, you thought he looked beautiful.

The third time he called you ‘sayang’, it was on purpose. No longer a freudian slip or accident, but deliberately—with intention.

The two of you were in the infirmary—you, pressing an ice pack to his swollen cheek, and him, wincing at the sharp sensation. A fight had broken out. It was his friend, that same friend, calling you mute again, but this time Kuroo wasn’t as forgiving. There was the mashing of fists and bruises and a black eye again. His, not yours. Just like when you were kids the first time you met on the playground.

“You didn’t have to do that for me,” you speak up, finding some strength in the words. A rage bubbled in your stomach. You couldn’t make up whether you were upset at him or for him. He reaches out to touch the skin of your wrist, the first time he had ever done anything of the sort, and tries his best to keep his swollen eye open. The red will turn ugly and purple within a matter of hours.

“I wanted to,” he says softly, almost like a whisper, voice hoarse from yelling. “They don’t get to do that. Not to you.”

Your expression is almost pained, torn between screaming at him for his showmanship or kissing him for it. You couldn’t decide.

“Still,” you sound, “you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” he repeats, this time, even softer. His other hand plucks out the second button from his uniform, his chest peeking through. He removes the ice pack and slips the button in between where your hand and his cheek meet. It’s still tender and aching, but the skin of his neck, where your pinkie finger grazed over, was so warm and inviting—so soft it seemed like a shame not to touch. You run your thumb over his jaw, tracing over the shape of it, and he winces. Still, he grabs your wrist and presses your hand against his cheek even harder, turning his head to plant a kiss on the skin of your palm.

You didn’t know your hands could ever feel like that. It was as if there were a hundred million nerves that you didn’t know previously existed, and now, suddenly all firing. It was almost too much.

“Sayang,” he mumbles into your hand, lips tracing on your skin—you don’t pull away. You are mesmerized, struck. How you went so long without having reached out for him you wouldn’t know. Again he calls you sayang, whispering it with his eyes closed, almost like a prayer. You bite your lip.

“Yes?” You answer.

His eyes flutter open, a small look of shock painted that is immediately replaced with relief, and then—a grin splitting his face, lips stretched as far as they could with the swelling. His hands wound tightly around yours, and again, that feeling of electricity, soaring right through you.

“You answered,” he says, almost breathlessly.

“You called,” you reply.

It would take 2 weeks for the black eye to heal completely, but even less time for him to slowly integrate ‘sayang’ into his everyday vocabulary. The word that once seemed awkward and bulky now slid off smoothly from his mouth every chance he got. He liked it. Liked the way it felt rolling off his tongue, liked the way you looked every time he did, but most importantly—he liked how nobody else (apart from your mother) called you that. Like an exclusive nickname, but thousand-fold. He tried learning Indonesian again, as an easy way to impress you. Selamat pagi (good morning). Terima kasih (thank you). Cantik (beautiful). On your birthday, he had prepared and memorized a little speech in your mother tongue. You laughed when he said ‘aku cinta kamu’. You tell him nobody says ‘I love you’ like that.

“They only use ‘aku sayang kamu’”, you explain.

“Why not ‘cinta’?” He pouts, flustered at his mistake. “Cinta also means love, right?”

“Cinta and sayang are different,” you explain, cutting into the cake your mother had baked: pandan with coconut and brown sugar frosting. She searched for the ingredients for weeks.

“Cinta is a declaration. Sayang is a promise,” you place the slice of cake on his plate, pushing it towards him, “sayang is the promise of loving someone no matter what—whether that love is reciprocated, whether it is burdensome.”

He shoves his mouth full in an attempt to soothe his embarrassment. The cake is fragrant and light, a foreign medley of flavors on his tongue. He looks over in your direction, happily digging into the treat, and worries that no matter how much he tries to learn about your culture, there will always be a divide—some unabridged gap he will never be able to cross. When the two of you join a cultural exchange trip to Indonesia in the summer before your senior year, he witnesses firsthand how you spring back to life—like a wilting plant finally being watered.

The two of you ravage through the city, attending bustling night markets and festivals. He watches in shock as you devour heaps of sambal with your food. You bargain with a lady for a fair price on batik, a souvenir and reminder of Indonesia that you wanted him to have. You wear these in weddings, you tell him. His mind wanders to you wearing white, walking down the aisle. You run up and down beaches, drink out of coconuts, plumeria flower tucked behind your ear, and chat with the locals—relieved to finally be surrounded by people who looked and talked like you. He watches you throw your head back laughing, and feels his heart ache. You had been homesick all this time. Trapped in a foreign country and forced to abandon your culture for his, living in a society that merely tolerated her identity, never embracing it. His home was not yours, this he now understood.

So when you told him that you were going to move back for college he wasn’t surprised. The country had recovered from the bloodbath of ‘98 and was now brimming with potential for growth. Even Forbes had called it the tiger of Southeast Asia. Some of your friends were also returning. It was a land of undiscovered opportunity.

“I have to go back,” you explained to him. “In Indonesia, I can be somebody; here, I am always second-class.”

And it stung, because he knew you were right, and he knew that it was cruel to make you stay—like keeping a butterfly in a jar. When he sends you off, he can’t help but think of his mother. That was one of the things the two of you had in common: the both of you leaving him. However, this time he doesn’t cry or scream or beg the way he did. He lets you go, maybe even with a little bit of grace, and he does so because cinta and sayang meant different things and he meant the latter.

“Aku sayang kamu,” he tells you as he waves you off. I love you. I love you enough to let you go.

When the two of you meet again, it will be years later and you will be older. You will be dressed in white and he will be in his batik that you had gotten for him all those years ago. He will stand, awestruck, as you walk down the aisle—not towards him, but towards somebody else, and his heart will ache in the way that it did only for you.

Sayang, he will think, but not in the affectionate way. In the way that implies unbelievable loss.

Sayang. A two-syllable word that’s used to convey both love and loss in the Indonesian language. It was strange, the way something could mean the exact opposite of itself, but Indonesian was strange like that. A language that was filled with metaphors and contradictions. One that is hard to forget, and even harder to unlearn. Each word carried a weight, a duality that made almost every conversation a dance between clarity and ambiguity. It was as if the language itself knew that life was never just one thing; it was a series of paradoxes, constantly contradicting itself, where joy and sorrow often walked hand in hand.

Its counterpart definition implied grief. You used it when talking about missed opportunities, or something that goes wrong when you wish it hadn’t. It almost means: what a shame. It was just one of those things that can’t be translated just as is, because the definition was so much deeper. The same way its first definition meant to love someone unconditionally, the second meant to describe the heartache that lingers in the face of loss, a longing that never quite fades. A word that blended affection and regret all in one and could only be understood by someone who felt both at once.

He felt it then, watching you get married to somebody else.

Sayang sekali, he says.

I love you, and also, what a waste.

· · ─────── ·{ ✐ᝰ.ᐟ}· ─────── · ·

author’s note: my debut entry in the haikyuu fandom and its angst 😭😭 aNYWAYS WHERE ARE THE KUROO FANS MAKE SOME NOISE 🫵🫵🗣️🗣️‼️‼️ huge shoutout to @zumicho for having to hear me ramble on and on abt the fic and take forever to write it but it’s finally here !!!! and I’m so excited to share more w u guys aaaa I hope you guys like it 🥰🥰💥💥💥💥

[santanasaintmendes]

singapore lovin’ had me a blast 

part2! to the cosmic girl records

¡Cosmic Girl Records!

summary: going to Singapore to support your boyfriend, stealing Alex’s girlfriend and beefing with lando, nothing’s changed really 

olliebearman x reader & platonic!grid x reader

fc!: gorgeous girls and couples on pinterest all credits go to rightful owners of the photos used below 

a/n: also the timeline and the whole universe in what these smau’s are based in are very different to irl, ollie’s in f1 already and he drives for ferrari, lewis is still in mercedes because it made more sense kind of? I’ll fill in the gaps as we go lol

disclaimer!: there may be some sensitive jokes that may be hurtful to some people, they are all there just for the humour and to make the story more enjoyable, please don’t come after me 😭

also i’m sorry for the english and french slander against lando and pierre it’s purely for humour😔 please don’t take the comments to heart

a/n: the lovely @yawn-zi gave me the courage to post the second part to the cosmic girl records, i hope you didn’t get in trouble for laughing during portuguese class! and a big thank you to @nichmeddarso who rebloged part1 with all those tags it was greatly appreciated!

here you go, enjoy!

liked by landonorris, olliebearman, georgerussell64, lilymhe, alex_albon and 3,849,383 others

unfortunatelyy/n: next stop, Singapore! btw, the sunset was a paid actor ❤️

tagged olliebearman 

view 2,473,282 comments 

 landonorris: for anyone who asks, it was traumatising sitting next to the two of them on the flight

|

 unfortunatelyy/n: so bitter damn 

|

 landonorris: BECAUSE WE MISSED OUR PLANE 

|

 unfortunatelyy/n: NOT MY FAULT 

|

 landonorris: IT WAS MOST DEFINITELY YOUR FAULT 

|

 unfortunatelyy/n: OKAY I’M SORRY I LEFT MY PASSPORT IN THE TAXI BUT STILL 

|

 landonorris: mhm, sure 

|

 unfortunatelyy/n: “mHm sUrE” 🇬🇧🤓☕

|

 landonorris: DIE.

|

 user1: NAH SHE DID HIM SO DIRTY 

user7: always count on y/n to keep an aesthetically pleasing instagram page 

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

 olliebearman: you wouldn’t be able to guess how many times she made me retake that first pic 

|

 landonorris: i can 🙄

|

 unfortunatelyy/n: BOTH OF YOU SHUSH 

 user2: does she actually have a job or does she just follow ollie around 😐

|

 user3: yes she has a job???

|

 user4: it's called taking a vacation, google it?

 lilymhe: can’t wait to see you soon bb 🥰

| 

 alex_albon: you have a boyfriend???? me??

|

 unfortunatelyy/n: @alex_albon stop being so delusional you sound crazy 

|

 alex_albon: @lilymhe are you really going to let her bully me 😰

|

 lilymhe: . . .

|

 alex_albon: 😦

|

 unfortunatelyy/n: the man was too stunned to speak 😱

|

 alex_albon: 🖕

 user5: it’s not a y/n insta post without y/n and lily terrorising alex in the comments section 

|

 user6: and y/n and lando bickering like the 5 year olds that they are 

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, georgerussell64, charles_leclerc, olliebearman and 4,489,383 others 

unfortunatelyy/n: some sightseeing and exploring before the weekend with my wifey and . . .  boyfriend?

tagged olliebearman and lilymhe 

view 3,682,838 comments 

 user1: Ollie’s officially the third wheel now 😔

|

 user11: a moment of silence for another fallen soldier 🫡

i

user2: HELP THE FIRST AND SECOND PIC HAVE ME ROLLING ON THE GROUND 

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

 lilymhe: loved exploring with you. . . and your friend Steve!

|

 user3: HELP

|

 unfortunatelyy/n: it’s okay! he won’t be a problem after this weekend 😃

|

 olliebearman: 😦

|

 user4: homie’s traumatised 

 alex_albon: . . . it’s okay really. I’m fine. I’m fine.

| 

 user5: not alex going through all 5 stages of grief 

liked by unfortunatelyy/n 

|

 user6: I can’t tell which one he’s up to 

|

 user5: . . . neither can i. 

 user7: she’s STUNNING, Ollie better sleep with one eye open tonight 

|

 olliebearman: 😰

 user8: ollie on any of y/n’s insta posts after reading the comments: 😮😰😔

|

 user10: literally anyone really 😭

 alex_albon: @charles_leclerc @georgerussell64 when does it end 😭 please, i’m a desperate man 

|

 georgerussell64: we lied 😔

| 

charles_leclerc: it never does. 

 user9: where’s lando, it’s not a y/n post without him commenting something absurd 

|

 landonorris: i have been summoned. 

| 

 user9: WHAT DID I DO 😰

 landonorris: oh so now you have a boyfriend AND a wife? 🤨

|

 unfortunatelyy/n: i thought i could finally post something without you attacking me in my comments section. I WAS WRONG. 

|

 landonorris: 🤷‍♂️

liked by olliebearman, landonorris, lilymhe, georgerussell64, charles_leclerc and 5,728,282 others 

unfortunatelyy/n: as long as i'm with you, I've got a smile on my face 

tagged olliebearman 

view 4,282,992 comments 

olliebearman: ❤️

liked by unfortunatelyy/n 

user3: couple goals fr 

 user5: THE FIRST PIC I CAN’T DECIDE WHO DO WE THINK WON GUYS 

|

 user6: y/n, duh. 

|

 olliebearman: unfortunately, that is correct 😔

 unfortunatelyy/n: that’s me flipping off lando in the distance in the second pic by the way 

|

 landonorris: i should be getting paid for taking all these yucky photos of you guys and this is how you repay me?

|

 unfortunatelyy/n: guys what do we think? Has being single finally hit him?

|

 landonorris: that’s it, i’ve had enough, i’m releasing THE video 

|

 unfortunatelyy/n: OH YOU WOULDN’T DARE

|

 landonorris: oh yes I would, watch me. 

 user1: HELP WHAT ARE THE CHILDREN TALKING ABOUT 

|

 user9: IDK BUT I CAN’T TELL IF THEY’RE JOKING OR NOT 

user10: this turned into a war zone so quickly 

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, carlossainz55, pierregasly, danielricciardo and 11,749,383 others

unfortunatelyy/n: and due to personal reasons, a human by the name of Lando Norris shan't be getting mentioned in any future posts, so enjoy ✨

tagged landonorris 

view 12,483,372 comments 

user1: SHE DID NOT HOLD BACK

user2: he’s such an icon fr 

user3: he’s never beating the babygirl allegations after this i'm afraid 😔

user4: “thank you y/n” they all said in unison 

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

 landonorris: I SAID I WAS SORRY LIKE 50 TIMES WHAT MORE DO U WANT 

|

 unfortunatelyy/n: i only accept apologies in cash 

|

 landonorris: well damn no apology for you then 

|

 unfortunatelyy/n: YOU’RE LITERALLY A MILLIONAIRE??? |

 landonorris: and your point?

|

 unfortunatelyy/n: i hope you accidentally get a fish burger next time you go for takeout 

|

 user10: oop she really went there 

|

 unfortunatelyy/n: and i hope you realise after it’s too late 

|

 landonorris: GASP. HOW DARE YOU

|

 unfortunatelyy/n: 😃

 carlossainz55: *saves photos to camera roll 

|

 landonorris: wow. 

|

 carlossainz55: for memories, you know?

|

 landonorris: “fOr mEmOriEs yOu kNoW?” SHUT UP YOU MUPPET, YOU’RE REALLY NO HELP YOU KNOW

|

 carlossainz55: so aggressive geez 

user5: lando’s fighting for his life in the comments section

 pierregasly: lando in the third pic: UWU

|

 landonorris: I- SHUT UP YOU FRENCH HO HO HO BAGUETTE BABY MAN

| 

 user8: absolutely violated 

unfortunatelyy/n: i’ve sworn to secrecy but since SOMEONE CAN’T KEEP A SECRET, i guess I can’t too. The second pic is me when i forced lando to cook fish for me, hence the disgusted face. it’s safe to say he did not talk to me for 6 months straight after 

|

 user6: Y/N, professional exposer 

|

 landonorris: HOW COULD YOU, YOU PINKY SWEARED I HATE YOU

|

 carlossainz55: @unfortunatelyy/n: teach me your ways 🙏

|

 unfortunatelyy/n: a magician never reveals their secrets, but i’m no magician so sure 

|

 user 7: HELP STOP EXPOSING LANDO 

|

 unfortunatelyy/n: never 😤

| 

 landonorris: 😭

liked by olliebearman, kimi.antonelli, charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc and 7,483,832 others 

unfortunatelyy/n: always and forever proud of you 🐻

tagged olliebearman 

view 6,382,392 comments 

 olliebearman: oh so that’s why you wanted that photo ☹️

|

 unfortunatelyy/n: sorry love! ❤️

user1: as i clicked into the notification, i thought “at last, a normal sensible post from y/n” i have never been more wrong, WHAT IS THAT SECOND PHOTO Y/N

liked by unfortunatelyy/n 

user2: a relationship like theirs, it's a need not a want 

user3: from spilling pasta on her to becoming her man, talk about upgrades 😌

 kimi.antonelli: @unfortunatelyy/n what about the photo I sent for your post

|

 olliebearman: WHAT PHOTO 

|

 kimi.antonelli: . . . there’s no photo i have no idea what you’re talking about there’s no photo ahaha

|

 arthur_leclerc: @unfortunatelyy/n what about MY photo of Ollie

|

 dinobeganovic_: @unfortunatelyy/n and mine?

|

 maya_weug: @unfortunatelyy/n mine?

|

 olliebearman: Y/N ANSWER THEM WHAT PHOTOS 

|

 unfortunatelyy/n: . . . there’s no photos are you crazy ahahah

|

 user4: the gaslighting goes hard 😭

a/n: thank you everyone for the love that part 1 got! I really appreciated all the likes and reblogs that the post got, i hope you enjoyed part 2 to the cosmic girl records universe. This part was a bit shorter than the first and I have 3 more parts that i’m working on that should be out soon. Thank you and bye for now! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

also should i make a tag list for the series? 🤔

[creativelear]

Join the Best Primary English Classes in Singapore | Creative Learning

Experience Top-Quality Primary English Classes in Singapore with Creative Learning. Our Expert Teachers and Engaging Curriculum Will Help Your Child Excel in English. Enroll Now!