Sunday, July 31, 2011

amazing grace

Dear Lord Jesus,
Thank You.
For loving me for me. And for letting me know this, every single day.

And, even with my last glass of port to punctuate the end of a few hours of reading, for having me know one thing quite clearly-
That I might have questions about the person I am, about the truth of it and what my sexuality means. That I might often ask and try to dissect, but when I come up empty-handed, I know that you know who I am, inside and out. And that you've given me someone who loves me regardless.

That churches can preach and hate can spread, but I know You, and who You are and what You stand for.
I've walked with you long enough to know that who I am doesn't change what I mean to you. I know for certain that I don't love You any less, that I am not wrong, that there are kinks that I fiddle with every so often but it's okay.

Because You know me. And I am Yours.
And that's enough for me.

Friday, July 29, 2011

Remember, when we said it was magic?

One moment, you were a complete stranger.
And the next, you were standing there, loving me.
And I couldn't help loving you too.


I woke up from a dream where I was taking a break in the middle of teaching.
I get really edgy when I can't fully sit and bask in my morning routine. My morning routine of Cereal + Yoghurt + Greys' Anatomy. It upsets me.
Almost the way it used to upset me when I couldn't run.

I haven't been running.
I haven't run in about a month. Maybe more.
And I'm upset.
I'm upset because it's easier to be upset about it than put on my fucking shoes and fucking go run.
But I'm also upset because of how easy habits start out. How it always feels like as a person, I need a crutch, despite hating routines. Something to keep hanging on to throughout the day.
A run. Or even two, at some point. The ability to get away.
There was once it was the bottle. You know, at eight, nine in the morning. Or half two in the afternoon right after work.
It's been smokes before too. Though those were just infinitely easier to get my hands on. You tend to look less crazy if you're lighting up, as opposed to swigging from a bottle. Or opening the front door for your ex-boyfriend with a glass of red liquid. I've always picked looking less crazy, believe it or not.
Once, it was Muay Thai. I missed it, when I stopped. I miss it now.

Now, it's my breakfast routine.

I think what irks me is also how, just as easy as it is to start a habit or a routine, it's sometimes pretty easy to stop it. Most times anyway. Can't say that about the smokes.
The truth is, we don't really need a crutch. It's just comfortable with one.
Very comfortable.

Thursday, July 28, 2011

It's nicer here, where I am.

It's quarter past twelve.
I ought to be getting out of the house. I really really should.
But oh, I don't know. It sorta feels really nice just staying put here.
I don't really want to do anything very much today.
I don't really want to do anything very much.


This is what I love about you (I could start lots of entries like this, and this is just one) -
That it's okay to come home and sit on the couch and just, just be. Not talk, not think, not even have the volume on the telly up.
That it's okay to feel like crying sometimes, and that I can call you and have you say, "Baby, how 'bout you just come home?" And I get to curl up with you and cry until I'm done.
That there are days that you call me after throwing in the towel at work, and I say, "So I'm making chocolates today," and you come home and we spend the afternoon sculpting chocolates.

That when you pull me tight to you, curl yourself around me and say, "You're with me now," it feels like I'm in the safest place in the world.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011


"All I know is that I was drowning, and you were a breath of fresh air."

I can't do it. I haven't been able to do it these few days, I just can't.
I'm a mess, and all I'm doing is trying to get away from myself.

"Just, come home tonight okay?" You say.
Come home- to dinner, to telly, to sitting on the couch, to lying in your lap.
To being safe. To you.

So I do. And watch as you save me.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

I am

This is what I love about being an actor-
That when it's my turn, I block everything else out, and become someone else entirely.
Even if it's only for as long as the play lasts

light through half-drawn orange curtains

Here's the thing, when you come up in a conversation, I can still laugh and take the jokes and make them. And I can say that it wasn't that bad, that you weren't that bad, and mean it. Because most of me doesn't believe you're like that.
There's a lot of things I associate with you, with your name- both good and bad, and neither more overwhelming than the other.
And my friends, my best friends in the whole wide world, they say what they do and I don't blame them for it. And I laugh and say, "it wasn't so bad." And they go, "Really now."
When I'm thinking about it like that, it doesn't feel like it was. It's like a broken circuit. I don't know how else to put it. All the things I think about in relation to you, they'll add up and I'll say, "You live and learn." Or, just like the line one of us said just now, "I've been through the worst."
Basically, what I'm trying to say is, you can come up, you do sometimes. It never feels like a big deal.

Then some nights, I'm a mess. I need to find corners and I can't. The light's too bright. I need to hide, I need to hide.
And I'm crying and crying and I hate that I am. I can't see past this blur, and everything that skims across my skin makes me want to scream and I want it to stop. I want it to stop. I want it to stop.
The blanket's too close to me, but then I'm too cold. I don't know what to do anymore.
I just want it to stop, all of it.
And I think-
this is what you left me with.

Here's the thing,
when you come up in a conversation...

Monday, July 25, 2011


They're not labelled, some of them.
Because it's not something you're planning on taking off the shelf for future reference, not something you're planning on taking out to look at, deal with or understand.
Not something you're planning on taking off the shelf at all, period.

It's taped shut with white. Mostly because its hoping to sit there and be forgotten. Mostly because you want it to blend in and look safe and not ever see a need to reach for that box.
No one reaches for the box with white tape. Boxes with white tape get forgotten.

But then it falls open as you're reaching for something else. Catches you off-guard and sends you into a panic.

This box, it falls open at my feet and I'm not ready to deal with it. Not ready to look at all the stuff that I've haphazardly crammed in, spilling out over my toes burning in to me like acid. Like acid.

The worst part is, I can't see myself but I can feel it happening to me.
All over again.

And it creeps up on me, it smiles.
And it won't leave me alone.

These boxes, this box-
The white tape isn't enough to keep it shut.
It's like it's mine, the pain.
I keep wishing it was.

Saturday, July 23, 2011

Higgley Piggley Bumble Bee

Won't you say your name for me,
What's your name?

"So tell me about your week sweetheart"

He always talks about his toys, his race cars, his lightning McQueen and his green Lamborghini. He always tells me he lost one of his cars, and that mommy would go look for it. Most times, he'd be reunited with his cars, but sometimes it wouldn't be such a happy ending.

"This morning, I played-" he begins, as he always does.
"Mm, did you?"
"Yes. And then we went to the hospital."
"The hospital?"
"For mommy."
Notice how he didn't say they brought/picked up mommy.
"Oh no, is Mommy alright?"
"So what's happening at the hospital sweetheart?"
"Mommy, she said, because we're going to buy a new baby."
"Really?! And tell me about this baby, will it be a boy or a girl?"
"It will be a baby!" He replies, puzzled by my bizarre question.

So they will buy a new baby, and Javed, who I still call Baby, will be an older brother.

Friday, July 22, 2011


Maybe it's-
Age, work, different interests?

It's evening. Friday evening.
And I am content here, where I am. Time to myself while I wait for dinner with mommy.

I'm reading a book.
A book about theatre games for young performers. So that I can generate more ideas for my Theatre Sports program on Saturdays, and the Actors' Training I do on Fridays, and the classes that happen on Mondays and Tuesdays, and.
There's an and in that sentence. There's an and there because this makes up who I am, what I am becoming and who I will be. There's no shame in that.
Nothing wrong with staying up til three in the morning finishing up a script, or entering a theatre and knowing that actors are positioned in that precise point because that's where the light is (because I've used the same stage, with the same light too), or watching a play and trying to figure how to adapt their scene transitions for use in the pieces I work on.

I guess maybe I'm resentful.
That we can be in such close proximity, and yet still feel pretty far off.

More than that though, maybe I'm just a little bit sad.


"Is it worth it?" She asks me
"Every single day."

Weekday mornings

Cereal and yoghurt, Greys Anatomy, and my black furry kitten.
Of course, the rain outside helps too.

So, all that's missing,
Is you(:

Can't stop thinking bout you now

You make the simplest days wonderfully beautiful

when the lights are low, and the world is asleep
crawl, crawl into bed with me
and kiss me awake

Thursday, July 21, 2011


So, as with all devised pieces where you start off with a whole bunch of actors improvising,
you need to finally sit down, and write the script.
Some things stay, and some things go. And some things, will be left with spaces for actors to fill.

I've got just about 5 sessions left with the kids before they perform.
Way to go hey?
5 sessions to block the entire script, and have everything in place and sorted. Fingers crossed.

I actually didn't mean to stay up writing. I told Victor that I was going to watch a chick flick (27 dresses), dye my hair and go to bed.
I didn't finish watching that chick flick. I think I've watched it before. And clearly it didn't leave an impression on me. And I'd hate to waste my life. Twice over.

Now, I will go to bed and wake up to tomorrow.
My yummy, yummy tomorrow which I'll spend cuddled up in bed watching movies before our night out. I'm quite looking forward to Vanessa's play.
I will check out Scene transitions! I'm a bit stuck there right now:/

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Like a soundtrack on repeat

Brown hair falling over your eyes,
The way I'd tuck it behind your ear.
The silk of your shoulders, dip of your back
Fingertips running over lips

"Unravels me in seconds, with the quietest kiss" is how the song goes.
And so it goes, so it goes.

Cos I, love the way you call me baby

We're okay, and then we're not, and then-

Bottom line?
It's getting late, but I love you.
And there's always tomorrow.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Free as a jailbird

It's six minutes to five on a Tuesday afternoon.
I love days that I have to myself. I haven't had one of those for a while. Mostly, I'm just really relieved that we didn't have to do any shows this week.
Because, well. It takes two hours one way to get there, to do a two hour show.

My voice has been pretty scratched up of recent.
And when my voice goes, it's pretty much downhill from there. There's no way in hell that my voice will go and leave the rest of me intact.
Honestly? It sucks.

So I've downed panadols and spent the day in bed for the most part.
I had a To Do list today:
Buy new sheets
Swap Erika's toothpaste
Pick up concealer
Lunch with Engie
And okay, I was a bit like, gawd, I'll have to run errands on my free day but, I didn't mind doing it, because I'd still be on my own. I was also going to have lunch with a friend. But clearly that didn't work out.
I've spent most of my day in bed today. I've been only slightly groggy, and I've had to cancel my evening lesson.

Maybe it's a good thing that I ended up being forced to stay home.
Because if I was well, I would've had to be out and stuff. But at the same time, I'd much rather being home and not feeling this sickly and icky.
I still have things to do. And I'm annoyed that I can't. Maybe if I left the house I'd find I'm in better shape than I thought.
Then again,
I'd much rather get the being sick completely over and done with.
It's a bloody waste of time, is what I think.

And if I'm not any better soon, then I'll be remarkably annoyed.

I've got a script to write anyways.

Monday, July 18, 2011

Please leave a message after the beep

I don't know how to reply you.
I don't know what to say. Not just on the phone, right then. But in general. What am I supposed to say?

But I replied you. Well, I tried. In order. In some kind of formula that had itself in my head.
Verbal response to Line 1 - the urge to cry + Verbal response to Line 2 - the urge to cry - the reason it makes you want to cry = Answer

I don't know how to take it. I don't understand. Not that I don't understand what you're saying, but I don't understand what you mean to say.
It makes me wonder if you second-guess the person that I am, if I'm real. Then I start trying to dissect and understand what it is about me.
"I didn't say it was a bad thing," you say. Well okay, then what is it that you were trying to say? I worry that I'm sounding too defensive here. I sort of think I am.

I'm trying to stop, to think and ask myself if I'm reading too much into what you've said, trying to find double-meanings that might not actually be there.
Except, it doesn't feel like I'm doing that. It doesn't feel like I'm looking for double-meanings. Not really, I don't think.

You said what you did.
And now I'm just wondering what you meant by all of it.
But mostly, I'm just struck by this feeling of not knowing what to say to you.
Not right now at least.

Forever & Evers

It's like that, isn't it?

When we're far away, we think about what we're missing out on. Not so much the parties and booze. The littler things, like sitting in the playground.

That old essay, on yellowing paper, written in the hand of fifteen year old me, it's tucked away somewhere. I don't have a boyfriend anymore, or want two dogs, two cats and five children.
I really don't want a boyfriend or five children. Or dogs. And I think we're quite happy with just one cat. But I've still got you guys. Even though we're sort of all over the place, checking out the world, and having to decide on what to eat based on price.

I like that we've still got each other.
And I want what I wrote about then, and what happens/is happening now.
I think we'll spend the rest of our lives like that-
always clambering onto the next plane back to each other.

Sunday, July 17, 2011

The morning will come

"I thought you said you can't spend the whole night cuddled up, that you get claustro. You lie."
"And I thought you said you don't cuddle, ever."

You're the perfectest, most beautiful thing in the world to wake up to on a Sunday morning.
I lie.
To wake up to, period.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

For always.

I want to fly over to you right now.
Drop everything, cancel shows and classes and just fly over to you right now, so that I can wrap you up and tell you it's going to be okay. You're going to be okay.

I hate that I can't. It's immensely frustrating.
And I'm sorry, and it might not seem like very much because of the whole ocean thing that's hanging out between us but-
I'm around for you. And you're going to be okay.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Expiration Dates

"Because you see," I say, crossing my legs under the breakfast table, "every relationship has an expiration date. Not like, in this sad way, just. It does."
It was the first time we were hanging out. Somehow we'd gotten to talking about my best friend being my sperm donor and my views on non-marriage and all the rest of it.

And then here we are, now.
We've talked about my moving. About staying and going. Sort of about where we want to be. But there are also things within that that I'm afraid to ask about. Or I don't know how.

I decided to stay five more years. Because I could, because it made sense to, because, honestly, you're here. And I'd like to be where you are.
But I'll be honest with you, I don't think I could live here for the rest of my life. I don't know how.

You can though. And that's not wrong.

Tonight, tonight you asked me if my five-years was meant for this place, or for us.
And I told you, honestly, that it was for this place.
And it's nice, sure it is- that I haven't given us a 5 year limit or anything.
But I don't know how to answer all the other questions creeping up on me now.

One of those days I find myself wishing

On a list of things Amie's daughter can do, I found
5. Apologize and ask what she can do to make it better

That caught me a bit. Well I'm sure it's hardly special or unique but-

She does that too.
And I found myself thinking, that if our daughter did that,
I'd know exactly where she got it from.

Tuesday Afternoons

It's the middle of the day.
The streets are empty and the neighbour's sprinklers are on. Eight doors down the 11 year old Golden Retriever barks incessantly at a squirrel sitting on his wall.

She's standing in the driveway, fiddling with her car keys. Inside, she hears the refrigerator door being opened and shut, and the sound of a wooden step stool being dragged painfully across the kitchen floor. Her blackberry gives a short, sharp ring and she looks down at the calendar reminder.
"Tomorrow: Office- Meeting. 3-5pm." It says.
She dismisses the alert and glances at the keys in her hand.

Turning, she picks up the small pink backpack from the doorstep. She pushes open the front door and leaves the backpack just inside.
"C'mon kitten," she yells, "finish your juice. Car ride."
And they both clamber in and buckle up, even though they'd just gotten home ten minutes ago.

It's quiet, when the car pulls into the graveled carpark.
"Mommy," the little girl says, passing her the ringing cellphone. She takes the phone, switches it off, and chucks it into the backseat.
"How bout just you and me today hon?"

It's just about four now. She's got the little one in her arms as they walk through the place, right to the other end. It's a large space with a white fence. The sand inside is soft and has tiny bits of colour mixed into it. There are a few lessons going on within the space.

They stand on the outside, their eyes scanning.
"There!" The little one yells, before clapping both her tiny hands over her mouth, giggling.
"Whoops, no yelling." She whispers loudly. She points to the far corner where a young boy is precariously balanced on a dun pony, taking instructions from someone in a cap and shades.
"I win." "This time, anyway." She replies, kissing the little girl's forehead.
"I picked out that cap for her you know, " she says, looking up, her arms around the other's neck.
"Did you?"
"Yep, it says 'Love all' on the back, you know, where the strap is."

And they stand there, in comfortable silence, watching the one in the cap and shades,
who's gotten both their hearts.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Who are you?!

That was uncalled for.

What? Just, what?! Hold up, wait, wait. WHAT?!
It was rude, it was unbelievable.
If you're asking me if I'm upset, yes I am. For some reason, it gets me. A lot, okay?

Because if it were anyone of my best friends, that wouldn't have happened. It wouldn't.If it were any single one of them, male or female. Somehow I know it. And here's the thing, I. Don't. Understand.
And I hated that I had to feel that, be that upset, and almost justify my reasons. When I would have done it for anyone.

When did you get like this?
When did you because so impossibly, utterly, unbelievably self-absorbed?!
GOD. I don't fucking know you. I don't.

All you do is talk about yourself. All.the.time.
You throw tempers, when it even appears like we might not want to listen to you. Well here's news, MAYBE WE DON'T.
Because after a while, it gets to the point of INDULGENCE. That's what it's called- Indulgent.

But you refuse to read people, refuse to pause for a fucking second to think that maybe, just maybe, other people at the dinner table have a life too. Have work, have school, have things that they've come from. And all they want to do is sit at this table and talk about other things rather than hear you go on about YOU.

I can't believe the type of person you've become.
I don't understand you, I don't know you.
And honest to fucking God, I don't always like being around you very much.

I'm so, so, SO FUCKING claustrophobic.
I cannot breathe.

Yes, you're great. Yes, we can talk and all sometimes.
But it's so much easier when I don't have to deal with this so much.

Because frankly, I'm fucking tired.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011


"How do people do that?"
"Do what?"
"Wear their hearts on their sleeves"
"You mean, love?"
"No, I mean. Wear their hearts on their sleeves. Fall in, fall out, and have the audacity to call it love."
"How do you know it's not love?"
"How do they know it is? And if you're not sure, don't call it something it might damn well not be."

Ms Robinson, what did you do after your diagnosis?

That's funny. haha.
Like, "hahahaha"-type of funny.

You've got a problem, my dear.
Well there's you, for starters. And we tried and then that was the problem.
And you were trying to get out.

It wasn't okay to stop trying, who the fuck said it'd be?

Suck it up and do something. Or something's going to be done, and then you might just find yourself in messes you can't quite get out of.

Grey's: Season 1, episode 9.

“In 1900, the average life span for a U.S. citizen was 47,” Mr. Quirk said. “Now we’re living so much longer, ‘until death do us part’ is twice as challenging.”

My family finally moved in on Sunday.
So, July 11th 2011, Monday morning, my mother wakes up. She smiles at me while I'm fixing up my cereal and yoghurt.
"There's something liberating about waking up in your own house- On your old wedding anniversary."
"Wow. Gawd, that's bizarre!"
"It's like," she continues, smiling, "I get my freedom back."

They would've been married 24 years now.
They've been split up for twelve, divorced for nine.
But they're happy. And so am I.

Image courtesy of LebianDad's-
one of my favourite bloggers for a few years now (Yes, even before Rebecca Woolf)

So, June 24th it was. And news has it that, after the initial, "OMG. YAY! EQUALITY OF MARRIAGE!" people have looked at each other and just gone, "Oh crap."
Because suddenly, everyone's asking, "So when's the big day?" or "Can I be bridesmaid?"

No prize for guessing where this blogpost is going.

I've spent my morning reading. And apparently, lots of marriages these days are open. In their vows, they leave out "fidelity" and "monogamy". No, I don't quite understand that. But all the same, I think people are entitled to do whatever it is they want to do.
I guess, what I'm just wondering is, in this day and age with grey areas and lines drawn in sand, what's the difference between Being In A Relationship and Just Seeing Each Other?
What sets a couple who's living together apart from one that's married? Filing taxes together, medical insurance, is that it?

I don't believe in letting society define things for us either, but I'm just trying to see the logic and sense behind some people and their choices. Then again, maybe it'll just be one of those things that I just don't get.

This whole Open Marriage concept, according to word on the street, is pretty common in gay marriages and in fact, started off in a lot of gay marriages. Although plenty of heterosexual marriages are like that too. And I'm just sorta wondering if maybe, it's just yet another reason for people to go "tut tut" at.

Suddenly, everything about Marriage seems warped and changed and tailored to fit.
I always thought the essence of it was well, sappy as it sounds, love and commitment. Suddenly there are pre-nups and open marriages and/or two gay people getting themselves into a heterosexual marriage so that they can please families and just. wow.
When did it get like that?
When did Marriage involve more than just two people and what they had?

Because when you think about it, you've got the lawyers and the family members and counsellors and the pastors and priests and
that's a whole lot of people, don't you think?
I'm not saying that engaged couples shouldn't talk to, um, whoever it is people think they should talk to. I think it's responsible, in fact. But all of it just seems so mindblowingly messy.

I don't know what makes most people get married these days, or want to. I don't know what makes someone say Yes when the question's been popped.
On my coffee-sipping, people-watching days, I wonder about things like that.
If that man in the elevator, at the urging of his friend, is really going to keep his fiancee in the dark about staying out late for drinks.
If the girl at Fish and Co. said Yes when her boyfriend proposed in front of the entire restaurant because, she didn't want to embarrass him.
If that guy at the Jewelers' picked out that 33-karat diamond ring because his girlfriend gave him a 5-year deadline.
If the middle-aged woman on the train, with a ring on her finger, is only counting down the days til her children are old enough and working so that she can finally file for divorce. Not because she's seeing someone else, but because all she wants to do, is breathe.

I don't want to be bound by laws and writing and pre-written vows that I can find on Google. I don't want to be talked in or out of something either, or take "precautions" because "it'll keep you safe."
Because I've always hated feeling like I'm trying too hard. The concept of trying annoys me- makes me feel like it can just as easily fail. And most things do.

Maybe some get married because they realize they could wake up to this same person for the rest of my life. Or maybe it happens because she's the first person who peels his prawns. Or maybe it's because he's really good with children.
Or maybe it's a lot simpler-
Maybe it's how she distracts me while she cleans up my cuts. Or leaves notes on my fresh clothes for me to find.

Whatever it is, when one finally decides that something's worth trying, I don't see why we shouldn't try for all we're worth,
and then some more.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Lazy Sundays

Gawd I love lazy Sundays-

We ended off our Saturday night date by going shopping. And sure, it was shopping at Raffles City's Marketplace, as opposed to NTUC extra, but still. I'm not complaining. Erika got to pick the cereal and the yoghurt and (Bird you're gonna love this) the box of granola. Which I'd never have picked up on my own but which isn't half bad! Paid for our 40ish-dollar groceries and 9:07pm we find ourselves in a cab heading for home.

We got home, put away our goodies, showered and tucked ourselves in. Time check? Yep, you got it. Quarter past ten.

No actually, you ought to know that we don't always pass on church. But we opted for a lazy Sunday this time.
The Little Creature came by to join us for breakfast, bringing Erika strawberries for her strawberry mush to go with my maple pancakes. And yes, we introduced Janice to the joy and wonder of cereal and yoghurt.

Cereal-yoghurt + Maple Pancakes with strawb-mush and granola + Fresh Vanilla Coffee...
What's not to love about lazy Sundays?
Especially when you get to crawl back into bed after for a nap(:


Saturday, July 9, 2011

If our lives were a collection of notes and post-its

"Hello, I have clean laundry inside me. Please, could you hang them out to dry? They make my insides feel funny.
Love, the washing machine"

"Cat's been fed. Make sure you feed yourself too?"

"I hope you had fun today. I certainly did!
((: "

"Hey babe, finished the juice, sorry. I'll pick some up on the way home though."

"Things we're missing:
Clean laundry
Loo rolls
Jafa cakes
Evenings in playgrounds with Sandwiches.
What's your take on Friday night?
Love, me"

"Mommy called and asked if we'll be free for dinner and movie next week. You up for it?"

"I left breakfast for you in the fridge."

"Morning sweetheart, I hope you managed to sleep in. Come home for dinner?"

"So, just in case you were wondering, I love you.

So I dare you to let me be your,

Your one and only.

Thursday, July 7, 2011

Have I mentioned how I love my life?

No pressure to wake up, let's start with that. And I always get to find a Good Morning text waiting for me on my cell.
My duvet is nice and comfy and I can lose myself in it.
Then I roll out and stick my feeties into nice warm brown fluffy slippers.

I think breakfasts play a huge part in making one's day-
Yesterday and today, it's been cornflakes with strawberry yoghurt and a dash of honey. A concoction that has me smiling just at the thought of it.
The first time I saw it, the scene looked like this:
We've woken up at 7am at Sam and Michelle's. Jacquin's watching telly and I'm on the adjacent couch, still in my jammies.
Erika comes over with her bowl of breakfast and something unrecognizable. Like, it looks like cornflakes but it sure as hell isn't milk in there.
"Try!" She says. And I'm totally like, "whaaat, naw it's okay." Eventually I do have a mouthful and it's a bit odd the first time round but it's not so bad.
So she goes off to make me my own bowl and gasp! Puts honey in it for me(((:
Yes I know, I am spoilt rotten.

So this breakfast has followed me back to the Spore. And I settle myself in front of Maxine, with a glass bowl of that and watch (yes, C, watching something?!)
An episode of Greys'.
And that makes me super happy too!

I think mornings are the loveliest part of a day. And they can make or break it. So they need to be set up nicely.
If mornings are always spent rushing around, the rest of the day always feels like that. Plus, for some reason, an early morning takes more of a toll than a late night. (Then again, late means working til 9pm, not sleeping at 3am after partying)

So yes, that's been my life of recent. And it's been awfully nice and productive.

This working a couple of hours a day, gotta love it. And doing what I love no less. Yum!

So it's half past ten in the morning. I've got a couple of hours before I've to leave. Think I'll pop into Fairprice and pick me up a nice coffee along the way. I've got tomorrow morning to pack and clean anyways.


Wednesday, July 6, 2011

While it lasted

I've found myself missing some place new.
Like I said, not a huge fan of missing places/people/things.

Tuesday, July 5, 2011


So I came pack to mom's/the family's ( I always catch myself saying my parents' place. It's weird) to do laundry and pick up what I thought was my last load of clothes. No such luck. It won't fit into the tiny suitcase.

Anyway, while waiting for the machine to sing its song, I found a couple of things I needed to handwash anyway. By a couple I mean two pieces cos it's a pair of lace, pull-up stockings. And they look very nice. I mean. I thought that even when I bought it so.
It snagged on the hanger though. I fucking hate when that happens. Goddamit. These thirty dollar pieces of sheer delicates and they snag and have these lines and shit on them.

So anyway, I'm hanging these lacey black things up, and I'm just thinking- when in the world am I going to wear them again?
They're the type that's worn to be discovered. They're not just black stockings. The lace pull up stops mid-thigh and if you've got garters to keep them up that'd be added hotness.
Like I said, they're worn to be discovered. Not just to feel nice in and go out, underneath jeans or a skirt and then come home alone to.
Not that my life is really that sad but I catch myself thinking,
When will I find an occasion to wear these again? Already, I look at my hooker heels and try to find ways of wearing them without looking like a stripper.

And that, my dears, is how I realize that I am slowly, but surely, growing old.

And while we're on that, it gets a bit tiring doing that anyway. Dressing up. Or dressing up to dress down.
I've rather been missing our curling up on couches, snuggled under some pashmina-type throws with my feet tucked under her, or my head in her lap while a movie plays on telly. (I'm always the one that needs the volume up. Always. Gawd. It's my family's fault, I swear.)
So yes, I'd much rather have time for that than trying to keep my boobs from spilling out of my bustier or trying to pair hooker heels with jeans so I look just a tad less skanky.

I want to read. Do laundry. Meet mommy up for breakfast (like this morning). Sip my morning coffee and stare out my window. Vacuum. Call her at lunch to ask what she feels like for dinner. Pretend that I'm a master chef, when I'm actually just good at googling. (Oh google, my friend)
Crawl into bed at ten, but stay up til two just, talking and talking and talking.


Sometimes, I think I've delayed packing my last lot of clothes into that tiny grey suitcase in my room because, that would mean taking out stuff that's still in it.
And it's the last bit of Perth still tucked away into the corners of that suitcase that I want to keep.

I don't like this-
It's yet another place to like, miss, look at and smile. And I'm getting too old for wishes.

Monday, July 4, 2011

Can you tell?

That I want to make it better.

on the edge of ice-cold waters

Can't say I know much about what's been going on.
I don't get it.
My days start off comfortable and content, and then on occasion, I'm hit by some less-than-nice feeling. And unlocking the door to my dark, empty apartment doesn't help much.

Generally speaking, it's been productive. All in all, things have been nice. I find that I can breathe. And I like that.
But there's been something bubbling beneath the surface- and we haven't talked about it.
I don't know what it is, or how to start it, or what might set it off. But I've been looking for triggers to pull because more often than not, it feels like we're running in circles.

I've found myself happy, this weekend. But I've also found myself sad. And I can't seem to explain the crying messes that I become.

Maybe I've been looking for afternoons in the park, or evenings in playgrounds. Maybe I've been waiting for things to quieten down so that I can talk.
Maybe I've always done that and that's just going about it all wrong.

You've got a point-
we do always seem to end up here. and no, I don't like it anymore than you do, believe me.

You're not the only one, you know.
I'm tired too.

Sunday, July 3, 2011

Fourteen years old

Here's some things I learnt-
Some people can't fall asleep with company. But it's pretty something when they find someone they can fall asleep with.

That goes for a lot of things, really. Cuddling, running, writing, crying.

A lot of times, I find that I'm running from myself.

It's chilly, when you step out into the night air and pull a front door shut behind you, and head for home.

People are capable of saying very, very, very, pretty things.
None of which they mean.

It's been years, and dial tones still make me sad.
I've never been so stuck with words in my life. Never thought, "So then, why don't I just talk about it?" And then replied myself with, "I don't know how."

In terms of mood, feels like I've been swinging back and forth a whole lot. I don't understand it.

I'm bordering on tears.

I don't know where I am or what this is.

Dear Whoever You Are,
Find me and call me your beloved.
Find me.
Find me.

I've been catching myself spinning.
And tearing.
And not knowing what in fuck's name's happening.
Nothing new there though

Take it all

Go on and take it all,
Take it all with you
Don't look back, at this crumbling fool.