Tuesday, November 4, 2008
2 weeks
Today I was supposed to tell him this:
" Dear P, you have the biggest and meanest laugh i have ever heard. It is so hearty. Yet, everytime I am around you, I feel that you have this sorrow. It makes me want to reach out to you and give you a very big hug. It makes me want to make it better for you. From the very first day.
Maybe God said I should be your angel. Maybe 2 weeks of hugging will cure your sorrow. Maybe just 2 weeks with me."
Course, how do you say something like that? Course I was way too tongue tied. Course upon one sway vibe, i was convinced enough to regress.
Sigh. Too fuckin chicken shit to live.
" Dear P, you have the biggest and meanest laugh i have ever heard. It is so hearty. Yet, everytime I am around you, I feel that you have this sorrow. It makes me want to reach out to you and give you a very big hug. It makes me want to make it better for you. From the very first day.
Maybe God said I should be your angel. Maybe 2 weeks of hugging will cure your sorrow. Maybe just 2 weeks with me."
Course, how do you say something like that? Course I was way too tongue tied. Course upon one sway vibe, i was convinced enough to regress.
Sigh. Too fuckin chicken shit to live.
Everyday I'm Hustlin
Goodbyes are never easy, save for the times you just can't wait to get out of that awkward situation. Evasive eyes and shifty feet make for very very quick exits.
As my ex-boss would quip, to every proper English school teacher's daughter, even the bad feeling byes must seem good. Even riddance is good!
And yes, just in case you did catch my quick thrown in, yes, i did say ex.
So i quit my job. The job I always thought was my dream, the one i saw when i closed my eyes and imagined. And yet in a day filled with goodbyes (which I must admit i avoided like the plague) , never did i really once feel all that good.
Don't get me wrong, long ago it was decided that there was little room for any kind of regret whatsoever. But I guess after you have given so much to the war, the irony is that it becomes hard to sleep without the sounds of the guns.
Where the struggle has taken its toll on the sunshine of your glow, why does liberation bring forth renewed emptiness?
Maybe we complain about the dirty rat race, but secretly shudder to leave the cage, content to circle within the boundaries of bottle- neck familiarity.
It truly is a big big world where the power to roam free draws in its counterpart of uncertainty.
The toss up. The neccessary statistician in all of us, always weighing the pros and cons.
For tonight, I think i will celebrate choice despite the risks it brings.
Maybe tomorrow I will celebrate the power of my liberation despite the doors that have already been closed.
Perhaps bye is good for on we move.
As my ex-boss would quip, to every proper English school teacher's daughter, even the bad feeling byes must seem good. Even riddance is good!
And yes, just in case you did catch my quick thrown in, yes, i did say ex.
So i quit my job. The job I always thought was my dream, the one i saw when i closed my eyes and imagined. And yet in a day filled with goodbyes (which I must admit i avoided like the plague) , never did i really once feel all that good.
Don't get me wrong, long ago it was decided that there was little room for any kind of regret whatsoever. But I guess after you have given so much to the war, the irony is that it becomes hard to sleep without the sounds of the guns.
Where the struggle has taken its toll on the sunshine of your glow, why does liberation bring forth renewed emptiness?
Maybe we complain about the dirty rat race, but secretly shudder to leave the cage, content to circle within the boundaries of bottle- neck familiarity.
It truly is a big big world where the power to roam free draws in its counterpart of uncertainty.
The toss up. The neccessary statistician in all of us, always weighing the pros and cons.
For tonight, I think i will celebrate choice despite the risks it brings.
Maybe tomorrow I will celebrate the power of my liberation despite the doors that have already been closed.
Perhaps bye is good for on we move.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Some girls aspire to appear on the cover of Vogue. Some girls will burn their best friends for a shot on Forbes top 100 list. Some girls believe that tupperware is enough to warrant a fetish. Some strokes suit some folks.
All women are different. But dare i commit that all women (and men quite frankly, even though most of the time it IS hard to believe) ALL women desire to fall in love, even if they won't admit it. Being in love of course is very different from lov-ing.
Puppy love is really where it starts. Where that intense rush called "catch me I'm falling" (thank you boyz 2 men) really sinks its teeth. And before you know it. You're addicted. It's really not your fault. Can anything feel better? What else should compel a girl to rip off her clothes and allow her peeing device to interact with someone else's peeing device? Okay. Never mind. Dont answer that, especially after tupperware fetish.
Anyways. The academics claim that we, like all other creatures on this earth, strive toward an ultimate fulfilment only to be found in procreation. Survival of the fittest has rendered the laws of attraction to go beyond the mere scope of physicality, despite the true nature of the reproduction act. So why not fall in love with the new microwavable "glad-tainer" happily prolonging the macaroni and cheese casserole in your fridge for tomorrow's lunch and not about to displace itself. You don't eat, you don't live. One has to admit, "Glad-tainer''s qualities are beckoning.
Qualities! We fall in love with qualities. That nose, those eyes, that exquisite taste in cars and sometimes even just that plain good heart. Not all of us have checklists at the forefront of our consciousness. Yet we constanty seem to be running through personal preferences.
So what makes you tick?
Some grave reflection has enlightened me on the exemplary qualities that make up my Starbucks concoction of a dreamlover:
Firstly, since physical appearance is the first point of contention. You would walk down the street and not notice him, the preference lately seems to sway towards short, fat and physically as unhealthy as possible.
Secondly, he is a man in a position of power, ever so ready to teach me a thing or three, thus furthering my stubborn insecurities pertaining to the bottomless goal of perfection.
Thirdly it is his dark cancerian nature, which almost instantaneously homes me in and gnaws at my desire to soothe all his sapping insecurities. Your rock of gibraltar? Please. Allow me.
And fourth and finest, his exceptionally stunted attention span. Where all the right was bestowed on him to squander his loving affections on me one day, and Mr Scrooge them for the rest of the 364 days. Christmas does only come once a year.
So as you probably have already thoughtfully concluded. I fall in love with men who usually fail to fall back in love with me. Which is really quite awesome, because it just means that tomorrow I get to wake up and dream about love all over again. Dear covergirl, you tell me whose smiling now?
All women are different. But dare i commit that all women (and men quite frankly, even though most of the time it IS hard to believe) ALL women desire to fall in love, even if they won't admit it. Being in love of course is very different from lov-ing.
Puppy love is really where it starts. Where that intense rush called "catch me I'm falling" (thank you boyz 2 men) really sinks its teeth. And before you know it. You're addicted. It's really not your fault. Can anything feel better? What else should compel a girl to rip off her clothes and allow her peeing device to interact with someone else's peeing device? Okay. Never mind. Dont answer that, especially after tupperware fetish.
Anyways. The academics claim that we, like all other creatures on this earth, strive toward an ultimate fulfilment only to be found in procreation. Survival of the fittest has rendered the laws of attraction to go beyond the mere scope of physicality, despite the true nature of the reproduction act. So why not fall in love with the new microwavable "glad-tainer" happily prolonging the macaroni and cheese casserole in your fridge for tomorrow's lunch and not about to displace itself. You don't eat, you don't live. One has to admit, "Glad-tainer''s qualities are beckoning.
Qualities! We fall in love with qualities. That nose, those eyes, that exquisite taste in cars and sometimes even just that plain good heart. Not all of us have checklists at the forefront of our consciousness. Yet we constanty seem to be running through personal preferences.
So what makes you tick?
Some grave reflection has enlightened me on the exemplary qualities that make up my Starbucks concoction of a dreamlover:
Firstly, since physical appearance is the first point of contention. You would walk down the street and not notice him, the preference lately seems to sway towards short, fat and physically as unhealthy as possible.
Secondly, he is a man in a position of power, ever so ready to teach me a thing or three, thus furthering my stubborn insecurities pertaining to the bottomless goal of perfection.
Thirdly it is his dark cancerian nature, which almost instantaneously homes me in and gnaws at my desire to soothe all his sapping insecurities. Your rock of gibraltar? Please. Allow me.
And fourth and finest, his exceptionally stunted attention span. Where all the right was bestowed on him to squander his loving affections on me one day, and Mr Scrooge them for the rest of the 364 days. Christmas does only come once a year.
So as you probably have already thoughtfully concluded. I fall in love with men who usually fail to fall back in love with me. Which is really quite awesome, because it just means that tomorrow I get to wake up and dream about love all over again. Dear covergirl, you tell me whose smiling now?
Monday, September 8, 2008
Zing me in the morning
its official.
i have become an OL O ah. Proclaimed in the famed Hong Kong way, slang marang. Office Lady ah.
Yup. Rushing to my desk at 9 am. popping vitamin c, berrocca and whatever other kinds of drugs you think are "good" for you but really just get you through the day psychologically, as your ancient laptop chokes to start-up in the morning (cue the windows anthem)
Worrying about secretary spread as you insert potato chip after potato chip (hand carried from Italy but of course, by your devilishly skinny colleague after her insane buying trip last week, oh darling)- but still you shove on because somehow it momentarily takes the strain off the slew of commands your female boss just hurled in your direction, before she marches off to some 4 hour luncheon, which you can but only thank your lucky stars for.
To be continued...
i have become an OL O ah. Proclaimed in the famed Hong Kong way, slang marang. Office Lady ah.
Yup. Rushing to my desk at 9 am. popping vitamin c, berrocca and whatever other kinds of drugs you think are "good" for you but really just get you through the day psychologically, as your ancient laptop chokes to start-up in the morning (cue the windows anthem)
Worrying about secretary spread as you insert potato chip after potato chip (hand carried from Italy but of course, by your devilishly skinny colleague after her insane buying trip last week, oh darling)- but still you shove on because somehow it momentarily takes the strain off the slew of commands your female boss just hurled in your direction, before she marches off to some 4 hour luncheon, which you can but only thank your lucky stars for.
To be continued...
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
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