In the way that we're constantly moving,

reminds me of home

I like this, this whole time on my hands thing.

It isn't half bad I think.

I'm listening to songs on repeat, hanging out with JessC (by that I mean trying out new songs on her),

writing.

Or maybe I'm reading and I think I'm writing when I'm actually not.

That's a thought. No, no, I do actually believe I've been writing.

Half awake this morning, I found myself reaching for her, and realized my bed didn't have anyone else in it besides myself.

):

I've had breakfast with Greys' Anatomy and finished off the cup of coffee I made. I might go get myself another cup, it's pretty damn good coffee, you must know.

Of course, this morning being the morning that it is, I'm working my coffee machine with my bed hair and smudged eyeliner while still in my oversized tee that's falling off my shoulders and I'm thinking,

"I want to make her coffee in the mornings."

I'll trade you kisses for the bits of yourself that you've left with me

Traces of you on my skin

The way you breathe my name
And let me melt into you

The animals were gone

Cos waking up without you is like drinking from an empty cup

Only sometimes,

I stop for a minute or so, and kind of wonder how important I am to you.

Secret-

I should've told you, when I could,

instead of biting my lip and burying my nose into your hair.

Because that's all I wanted to do-

Tell you over and over and over again.

Coming in one week late

SO

Guess who I got to dress up for a Masquerade Ball?

(:

They said Black-tie and yeah sure, skinny ties look cute and all but I sorta thought...

hmmm. Bow tie. And suspenders.

And a mask.

Well the mask would come later.

End product!

Why hello, cutie(:

Clearly I love playing dress up.

A day in the life of an actor

That's time I won't get back.
For some reason, this is affecting me a bit more than usual.
This sucks

shades.

They're arranged according to shades, going from light to dark and then fading into the next colour. Sharpened to a point, and all at the exact same length, the collection stretches from one end of the table to the other.

She's on the far side of the room, closest to the window, bending down so that she is eye-level with the colour pencils on the table's surface. The door opens and another steps in. She watches the girl for a while, as she darts from one spot to the next adjusting the colour pencils by infinitesimal degrees.

"What's wrong?"

The girl barely looks up from the dark shade of red she's got her index finger on.

"Nothing."

"Nothing or nothing you want to tell me?"

She stops. She pulls a colour pencil out of the entire spectrum of colours in front of her.

"I don't know, you know. It's like, it's supposed to be red, but it's not. It's more like a brown. And it's not maroon. It's not...I don't know. I've got all the shades of red here, and all the shades of brown and this is in between."

The other girl waits, her arms folded and her legs crossed at the ankles.

She stops staring at the colour pencil in her hand and looks up at the other.

"I don't know."

"You don't seem like you want me here very much so, I'm just going to go."

She looks down at the dark shade of red again. Or brown. She can't quite make up her mind.

"I'd actually like to stay but, y'know." The other says, shrugging, before backing out the room.

If you wanted to stay, do something, do anything, make something right, talk, figure something out, try, anything,

if you wanted to, you would.

You would, and you would've done it.

It's a palate of colours, bleeding into each other almost. There are spritzes and dashes, intensity that soars and dips.

There's also an empty space.

It used to be a dark shade of red. Or brown.

We couldn't make up our minds.

Sugar

The taste of you left on my lips

Smitten

(:

----

There was a conversation this afternoon that left me sort of a little bit sad. But I suppose there're just some things that will come by and I will not be able to do much else besides absolutely nothing.

I love you.
And a lot of times I wish that were the only thing that matters.

Mentor

"Hey Charis," she says as I'm climbing out the car right after hugging her, "you're very precious to me."
Her words catch me off guard, I'm smiling, but I feel like I'm about to cry too.
"Thank you. Am I really? How's that?" I reply, reaching for my bag in the back.
"I just, realize things sometimes. I want to watch you grow."

"I'm really lucky to have you," I say as I wave goodbye.

Some people have talked about an appeal to Emotion, an insincerity. How the proof is in the money they pay you, because it's the most tangible.
But it's not like that, not always. I understand fully, an appeal to emotion and some people being like that. I do know, but it doesn't always hold true.
Some people really are honest and good, some people really do just want the best for you.

The proof is in the pudding-
You'll see it in full clarity in the quality of production at these people's hands.
And if the proof is also in the money, then I have nothing to say because I've nothing to complain about.

Maybe you don't think so but everytime I think about it, I do think,
"Truly, I'm lucky to have her."

I just realized

what I like the most about you,

and why.

And why I'm in love with you

Somehow I know, I've been waiting my whole life to see

You standing there

You are the girl that's been running around in my-
Head, I finally found you
I've been dreaming about you
You are the girl that's been running around in my dreams

Way past 11:11 now

I wish you kissed me. Like you said you'd been wanting to all day. I think a little part of me held on to that. I wanted to kiss you too.

I wish tonight didn't go the way it did. I wish it hadn't ended up like that. I wish I hadn't had to tell you what happened.
That being said I've been told countless times that there are just some things we can keep to ourselves, there are things the other doesn't need to know. I know this. I've kept things from people before, consciously and subconsciously. I'm not sure if I wish I was less honest with you, but I do wish being honest didn't always make me feel like this at the end of it.

I wish I could promise you that something like this won't ever happen again. I wish I could promise you to be hyper aware of my behaviour/vibes/WHATEVER so that I know exactly what I am or am not doing. Then I can promise not to ever behave as such and will not ever find myself in a situation of any kind.

I wish your words didn't hurt me as much as they did.

I wish my cab had crashed.

I wish this was easier on you.

I wish I wasn't crying myself to sleep. Because it's been a while since I've done that and I've never actually been a huge fan of it.

I wish you kissed me.
Correction, I wish I didn't wish so much that you'd kissed me tonight.
I wouldn't have either.

Truth or dare?

To be completely honest-
I'd actually been looking forward to tonight- both dinner (which went brilliantly) and after.

I said in this case, you can't just blame one person.
Because to be fair, I might've done something to perpetuate it and not even known. Also because people can, have, and often will shove people off, regardless, and I don't know how to do it like that.

I know you weren't mad at me. But some of the things you said stung. Wow. Like, ouch.
I am aware, of course, of how much cleaner she was/is and how I come with my own station wagon of things to deal with. But, wow.
Then again, you're not the first today. Not that I'm giving out prizes.

The best thing that could've happened to me on my way home, would have been for my cab driver to swing round the corner so wildly that he was unable to avoid the oncoming car crashing into us.
But dammit, I'm out of wishes today.

It's back to work tomorrow.
For once, I'm not all hopped up.

This will be an interesting week-
It's barely started and I already feel empty.

The hangover

"You're worth so much more than that" is something that I can say, that I have, that I've told people.
Reverse the roles and I'd want to walk down this path where you find out why, put things to words and understand yourself. Or try to.

But then, I find myself in these situations and I'm just.
I don't know. I don't even know.

I just don't like how it makes me feel in the morning.
And my mirror doesn't know what to say to me.

Sunday, September 11th 2011
2pm

Enough

Okay you know what. This is motherfucking stupid. I'm not even at the fucking party yet. I fucking wanna go home. Now. What the fuck.

too tired for my own good

want you here to cuddle up with.

You.

Woke up this morning and thought, something's missing.

I've been up

Drawing. Looking. Searching.
I hope it makes sense in the morning.
And I hope it's enough

I think it's time to sleep now.

You're magic

How, how is it you know how to fix me before I've started falling apart?

All that's missing now

His name is Wallaby Joe.
I want you to meet him. You'd have liked him.
And he'd have loved you,
With your brown eyes and contagious laughter.

Wallaby Joe has moved homes. And the home he's in is nicer. He's happier where he is now, you can tell.
I want you to meet him.
But you're made up.
And you're not here.

Half three in the afternoon

Sometimes,
I wonder if we get sad because we're already sad but we've been blocking it out.
Or because there's some kind of trigger, something that slights you, so you hang on to a more plausible reason to be sad.
To something that can tell you why you're falling apart from the inside out.

A poem-
It starts off with a number. You begin writing about something, that shapes itself around something else. Your words do that because it knows you better than you, and you could've started writing about cat and dogs and squirrels and rabbits when actually all you wanted to talk about was that snail you passed on the pavement, on your way to the grocers', and how you didn't pick it up even though you always always pick up snails and put them back on the grass. And how, when you walked back the same way you'd found it was already dead. And how it made you stop and stare and not know what to do.
Then.
Then you're done with the poem and you look back and hardly know where it came from, even though, actually, honestly, some part of you does.
And you hate the honesty in it.
But you love the honesty in it.

Who do you like? >:]

This girl I hang out with a lot.

I can't promise I won't lie, but I'll give you a good something to read(:

In your opinion, what makes a girl 'hot'?

Personality. and brains.

I can't promise I won't lie, but I'll give you a good something to read(:

What are your pet peeves?

I can't think, off the top of my head but here's one- finding statements on Formspring that go "pass this on" or "ask your followers". Does that even look like a question?! Sorry I sound so angsty.

I can't promise I won't lie, but I'll give you a good something to read(:

Would you rather be a peanut or a walnut?

A peanut! Then I can hurl myself at people who're allergic to me. More people seem allergic to peanuts as opposed to walnuts.

I can't promise I won't lie, but I'll give you a good something to read(:

What's your favorite saying?

"They spoil every romance by trying to make it last forever."

I can't promise I won't lie, but I'll give you a good something to read(:

Feels like home

"I like mornings like this," you say as I shift myself closer.

And I've always been scared, but I want to promise you things.

So many things.

That I'll wake you up for work, and on time.

That I'll sort out the sheets in the morning, because I actually like doing it.

That I'll pick up the juice and yoghurt, when we're running low.

That you can come home to me.

Humph

Here's the problem with having the same shampoo as your girlfriend:
When you're in the shower, and shampooing, it kinda makes turns you into a shmuck.
And, you need to get over the fact that you will not have a kiss waiting for you when you hop outta the show.

This is retarded.
):

Here's a secret for tonight:

I still want you

You're butterflies on my skin

So I officially spent the best part of my Wednesday (and by best part I do mean a few hours) stuck on someone's Tumblr.

He is FTM, and gawd he's cute.

Who writes now and then, has pictures, is in love with himself (or so it seems) but on some level, there's this bit about him that just, doesn't seem so bad.

No, I do not, and will not follow him because frankly, I don't want to have porn on my dashboard. I did my fair share of yelping, cringing and hurriedly scrolling through gifs today.

People are interesting. And people like this person I've come across, just remind me how interesting I find people. I don't know what it was for sure that had me continuing to read despite my distaste for most of the content.

Strange.

In any case, I'm off it now.

I sorta wanted to talk about it though. Maybe because of all this talk about violent sex.

I get it. As in, I get why people would, and people getting off on pain.

I get that it takes a whole lot of trust. I get that sometimes people are caught in that in-between, that line drawn in sand between way too far and you're pushing it. I know of people crossing those lines because they want to, and some who want to always be pushing boundaries, but don't really want them to be crossed.

But I also know that it takes a whole lot more trust to let someone to love you.

"Please sir, may I have some more?"

I took this picture because I told her she looks like a character straight out of Oliver Twist.
And that she looks like she's been starved and needs to be fed.

OMGAHH.
Cutest, most adorable thing in the world!

Except, she straightened up for the picture and looked less orphan-like. I also asked her for big sad eyes, except she couldn't consciously do it):

So. If I ever need to apply for bursaries or financial help for the kids, we know who's gonna go down for the interviews(:
TEE HEE

Your voice

Was the soundtrack of my Summer

Dear you,
Don't know what you did, but I think I'm pretty in love with you.
Love, me

Pulling faces on a late Saturday afternoon

Without even realizing it actually.
Honestly, I felt bad. Because I didn't mean to:/

"She's precious." Mommy tells me.

(:
"Yes(: yes she is."

The weekend

Is finally here.
We just got home from Delia's where we were stuffed to the brim with really good food(:
Omnomnom

Now, to bed.

Favourite thing in the world, falling asleep to you

Expiration date

I'm always afraid of wanting too much.
Often, I'm happy where I am, and I can stay put. The problem comes with looking for what comes next.

-------------------
Sometimes, I don't get people.
"I'm not the marrying sort, I don't think. I can't see myself in it." I'd say. And I get this look. This, 'Oh child, aren't you too young to make hasty decisions like that?' -type of look.
Or this, 'Now now, don't speak too early.'- type of look.
And then at some point, for whatever reason, I get to thinking,
"Hmm, maybe I could..." But oh, people people, don't hurt yourself as you make a break for it now.
Good God, what is it that people want? I seem to be at the perfect age to be answering these questions wrongly.


I'll just put things into perspective for myself though-
1) Do I want to get married right now?
Hell no. No, I don't. No. No.
2) Do I want to eventually?
Uh, honest to God, I really don't know. Not at this point. I'm definitely not saying that I won't ever. But it depends on a whole lot of things.
3) What about The Girlfriend?
I am very happy and I feel like I can do this for quite a while- living, being and being able to be, while with each other. We both do. But I don't know about anything else.

Sometimes, like today, I am randomly struck by our expiration date. We never said we'd be forever, and I like that we agree on things like that.
Maybe I wasn't prepared for your reply being that sharp. I suppose I'm just used to having responses like that come from me instead of the other round. So perhaps I'm a tad taken aback.

In regards to weddings and proposals and the patterns on our paper doilies, we'll leave that to Future Charis.
Because honest to God, I'm perfectly fine with what I've got right now.



Besides,
I've got Bird.
And we're just thinking of Buttons and Timo being our witnesses.
I might not get to have kids, but we'll make do with the furry ones.

Tell me sweet little lies

I never blamed you.

Some people, they start talking about faults, they start blaming. But it wasn't wrong, it never was. I was happy, and I thought, I'm going to do this.

And I was, all by myself.

Then I thought, y'know, it might be nice for you to know. Not because I wanted help, not because I wasn't sure what to do. I knew exactly what I was going to do. And I knew who I'd go to, I just needed to be honest and work up the guts.

I decided I'd tell you, because maybe you'd like to know.

I never blamed you.

Not then, and not now.

Sometimes, you just know.

You just know that you can, and you go for it. You don't have any idea how you're going to do it, but you know you can.

You know with every iota of your being.

I knew.

I knew before the truth stared me in the face, and I knew that I could, I swear to God. I knew, and so I wanted to. I wanted to so, so much. I'd never thought about anything else; There wasn't any other option. Not because I was blind to it, but because I couldn't have it any other way.

If you're standing in between, that's not your fault. And if you're not sure or you simply don't know, then that's not wrong, and it's not anybody's fault either. Because they can't tell you what to feel. They can't tell you what you do or don't know.

But I wasn't standing in between. You have to know.

I had decided, before I'd even told you. I had decided, and I was so, so, impossibly happy.

I knew I could. And I was going to. I wasn't undecided. I wasn't sure about how I was going to start.

But I knew that I could.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry that it sounds like I'm angry, like it's your fault, like I'm blaming you.

I'm not, please don't think that.

I think I'm angry at myself, for not being as grounded as I thought I was. For not being able to hang on tight, and fight harder for what I wanted.

And fight harder after that.

I never told you how to feel. I never told you whether or not you could. I never tried to convince you.

Sometimes, I just sorta wish you'd done the same for me.

Contact Improv

So we had a conversation about how T's friend from work couldn't believe that we were together. The conversation went a little like-
"Oh so, who's Charis, where's she from?"
"Actually, she's my girlfriend."
"What? Really? But I couldn't tell!"
For some reason this has gotten me all interested, my first question to T being,
"You don't mind that it's like that do you? Cos I certainly don't!"
We're on the same page with that so(:

Which in itself is kind of funny. This conversation was sparked off by talking about certain boyfriend (or well, significant others) and how they behave with their girlfriends, so on and so forth. Because there are a good many who like to show off their girlfriends and there are girlfriends who like to be shown off. And I do think, when they find each other and float each other's boats, then it's all well and good.

We were talking about how we couldn't quite stand being perpetually wrapped around each other at parties or social gatherings and what-have-yous. We don't mind sitting with each other, but we generally like having conversations with other people.
Which brings me to what I find funny- that I am, and always have been, the very affectionate sort. And preeeetty open about it too. Even with people I'm not actually with, but am close to, which often makes for very confused on-lookers.
I think it's funny considering how affectionate I am that I am generally irked by having someone perpetually wrapped around me, or vice versa. Especially when we're hanging out with people and/or attending events or gatherings together.
I mean, for crying out loud, the world can SO tell you wanted me in the splash zone while you were peeing. Might as well do a little circle round me too. Ugh.

I mentioned how I'd hate for someone to go, "Oh I expect they're together because you sorta can't tell who's hand is whose."
People, people.
This is not contact improv.
But in any case, they make for interesting watching every so often.

I guess I'm just glad that I don't get that. That I don't feel obliged to sit beside my girlfriend all the time. Or like, that if I walked away for a bit, she'd call me up looking for me. Or that if she walked off, she'd be upset if I didn't notice and didn't come looking for her.
It's not that we're hiding, or not open. It's just, you don't have to be wrapped up in each other all the time, you know?

So yeah, I thought it funny and actually liked that Steph couldn't tell we were together, and actually said she's never have known otherwise.

I quite like being able to move my own limbs about. And of course, I'll still sneak you peeled prawns and all the bits of pork that get piled onto my plate. And it's nice to reach for the other under the table and say, "Go home?" And climb into the car together after, and go home to being clean and snuggling up. Don't get me wrong, I like that very much.

But in the meantime, there's no need to pee on each other to keep everyone else away.

The way you say good morning

Your fingers graze the small of my back as you brush past me. It's barely a second, but you've sent shivers up my spine and left me in a three-second daze.

Girl, you're more than anything I could've ever dreamt of wanting.

-------------------

I like the way this week's been looking, it's been pretty balanced I'd say. Balance is always nice.

I'm back from this morning's Volunteering and lunch with Engie.

I can't wait for this weekend. I could do with snuggling up and stealing good morning kisses.

(:

Soundtrack

I guess I really have been quite out of it. But there's no point sulking now, or feeling sorry for myself.
The point is just to get back to it. Just, pick up where I left off. Focus on the shit that I want, even when it sounds painful.
After all, I've got the channels to it. Don't I?

Prayers

She gets to the side of the road, steps off the kerb and stands. Her bare feet flat against the black heated surface.
Then, quietly, she starts praying. She doesn't have her hands clasped and her eyes aren't closed, but she's praying.
And she's saying that one line over, and over, and over again-
"Please let the next one hit me. Please."

Soon after Christmas

I hate being dependant.
In fact, out of all the things I'd hate for myself, being dependant comes in at the top.

So it scares me to ask-
Please tell me that I won't be left alone with me. Just this week. That I'm not falling apart as much as I think I already am.
Please tell me.
Because I've done it so long by myself, I don't know it I've got enough of me left anymore.
Because,
I think I need you.

Starting Point

Like habits, routines.

All it takes is that first step and enough of you to not go crazy about it. Except most times, you lose yourself to too much, get sick of it and call it quits.

Until.

Here, I will find a starting point.

I finally went back to Muay Thai. Except I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry because Wrapping my hands, something that used to be second-freaking-nature to me, I couldn't do it.

I hated that moment. The moment that I started and realized, "Nope, this isn't really right."

It took me that whole hour and a half to find that I'd found me. The one I'd left behind somewhere amongst the punching bags and gloves.

I also started on a Meisner class. I've missed repetition. And maybe I'm paying $400 just to be in the company of people who will learn it so that I will find someone I can do it with.

Maybe I'm going for all the wrong reasons.

Because, it sure as hell feels like I am.

I walk in, and yes, I'm looking to learn, but more than that, I'm looking to experience. Except, I can never re-experience. I can't go into that class and be looking for Alexis, for Summer, for Ina, for all those classmates I left behind at The Acting Corp. Because they're not there.

"Come up for a demo." He says. And I do.

The first person I ever did repetition with, was Steve. He's tall, with dark hair. Lanky, he played volleyball- lived in Hawaii for a while with his team, just playing. They were on telly all the time.

We were second up, maybe third.

"Cute smile," he begins.

Except we're stopped and I don't repeat it. Because I've stopped smiling by then. He didn't take me in fresh, he remembered the smile and then brought it up.

He'd thought about it before which goes against living in each moment.

I go up for this demo. And I think about Steve. I think about that tiny theatre space on the first floor of the building- the space I came into every morning of the week for Daily Actors' Workout.

But this isn't it. The activity is the same. Well, similar. The people are different. The environment's different. I am different.

And on a weird level, I feel like a shadow of myself.

I miss what I had at Actors' Boot Camp.

When I left, I thought, it'd be fun to go into repetition with a whole bunch of new people. It didn't matter much that i wasn't coming back for BC II with the same classmates. I wanted more. I wanted different.

Except.

I don't know if I'll get that. I don't know if I'll ever go back for BC II.

All I know is that I've started a class. And I want to learn, I want to see what's new and what's different.

But it's difficult when I'm half turned and wanting one of my classmates to read me. Read me, or try to. Here let me lay myself out open. No wait, I shan't. Because somehow, I don't really trust you. I don't feel like I can come here and open up.

Repetition is about being truthful-

Well here it is. I don't know if I actually want to be in that class right now.

It's been one class, just one. But I'm not riveted. I'm not captivated. I'm not gripped.

And I'm thinking, I could've used that money for Muay Thai.

But maybe, maybe, maybe, it'll get better.

Because I do want to learn. I do want to practice.

And I want to stop getting frustrated, and not even know what at.

______________________________________________

On a completely different note.

Jerry's party last night was nice. We had nice beehoon and chilli that he made himself. and I had three spritzers, and a few conversations with a few different people.

Got to chatting with Ethel and her boyfriend (who as it turns out, I've met before and is the older brother of someone I've worked with back in Y2Y- never good with names, only faces). Chatting with them was nice, albeit just about very general things.

I hope Jerry had fun, importantly. He did a lot of the running around and serving food.

After cake, we came home together, Nick being nice enough to drop us off at the main road, which made things infinitely easier.

So we got home, chatted with mommy for a bit, and I crawled into bed after her.

I made breakfast this morning, for all four of us. And that was nice.

All Sunday mornings should be like this.

We just need to work that into managing to get to church (and on time too), or we won't be a particularly good example for our kids):

The thought of the coming week is cheering me up considerably, after my rant-and-rave about the Meisner class.

I will go for a run tonight.

I've got a tattoo waiting for me.

Halfway home

I could get used to this-
Crawl into bed while sleep, laced with the smell of you, slips itself around me.

Photograph

That sits in your wallet
Fitted comfortably into the first pocket, so that everytime it flips open,
The world gets to ask,
"My, who's that?" "Don't you two look cute?" "How long has it been already?"

It's pressed up and stained with the breath of the different countries you've been to, smells faintly like a collective of all your scents.

Curled at the edges, it helps you remember the first night of your first too-long vacation apart.
It is bordered by streams of time- some spent fretting, others crying, others smiling shyly.




1) Don't fix things because you should, but because you want to.
2) Taking out that photograph doesn't erase all the memories it comes with. Hastily slotting in a new picture will only have you noticing the traces of ink the last one left behind on the inside of that wallet's window- traces that will now leak into or fall against your new photograph.
3) Sometimes people leave pictures in there. Just to watch it fade into the window, bleed into the rest of you. So that the picture can cry itself into a murky blur of happy colours, and you can pretend to forget.
4) You don't need to keep the picture to remember, and you don't need to chuck it to forget.

5) You. You're the picture in my wallet. The question tucked into smiles, and answers tucked into history.
You're where I come from, where I've been and where I'll go.

Focus Walk

Find a point of focus
Walk towards that point of focus, do not let your eyes stray at any time or leave that point.
Walk heel to toe, feel your feet against the floor. Breathe.
Be aware of your breathing, take note when it changes or when it doesn't.
Be aware of your body, which part you lead with. Think about why.
Don't let your focus shift.
Keep your eyes on that point of focus, and when you reach that point of focus, turn sharply and find your next point of focus and walk towards that point.
It is important to keep everything else in your peripherals and not be distracted.
Get in touch with yourself as you walk- heel to toe, heel to toe.

If someone comes into your path, slow down, halt, let the person pass but do not take your eyes off your focus point. Continue toward that point when the person has passed you by.
When you have reached that focus point, turn and find a new focus point.



When you have reached that focus point, turn and find a new focus point.


When you have reached that focus point, turn and find a new focus point.

When you have reached that focus point, turn and find a new focus point.
---------------------

When the rest of the world doesn't make sense, I go back to the theatre.
I go back to what I know, what I do best. I go back to what is my home, go over basic rules and concepts that I know better than myself, movements that are muscle memory.
I reach for what flows in my veins, dances with my shadows, laces my breath.

And I go back into the space.
Mostly this space, (more than the boxing ring)
until the world is a blur and I am centred again.

Mirrored walls, springboard floors

I'm a performer, my love, a performer.
And so I take these things;
The things I don't know how to deal with, I take these things that hurt, the moments when you say things that stun me, or catch me off-guard. I take thoughts that I can't put into place, and the senselessness of waves of feelings. I take them and I stow them away.
And then one day, a character will come along. This character will talk different and think different from me, but there will be strands of myself inside that I find. This character will be thrust into my arms and I will crawl into its skin. And I will open up my box, and use myself for him/her.
And I will use myself to forget.

I'm a performer my love, a performer.
A storyteller, a creator of images woven together by people, a director of words that spill out on cue.
Just as much as I can put in, I can take out.
Some stories do with movement, with imagery, with pregnant pauses and the sound of heartbeats.
And some stories do with masks, and the cutting monotony of a voice, detached.
I am made up of both.

I can swear to you that I am real. Although I shouldn't be surprised if you choose to believe otherwise.

Some stories I don't know how to tell. Some collections of emotions, I didn't put away with labels on them. Because in those frames of time, it was exactly who I was- without the need for explanations and justifications.
So I can talk to you, I'd like to. And I don't mind you knowing me.
What I need now, to learn to deal with, are reactions and tones and opinions and disdain,
from an audience I never rehearsed for.

Truth or Dare

Maybe one day she'll love me in all the ways I could never bring myself to

Dear Bird,

for some reason, when you left this times, it sorta felt like you really left.

Also because my Whatsapp's being a bitch.

But, yeah.

):

Love,

C

Public Holidays

"What groceries do you need?"

It's 9.30 in the morning,

"Weren't we doing shopping together babe? Where are you?"

"Well, I'm here. So I'll just get what we need."

"But weren't we supposed to...I'll come over?"

"No, you should stay in bed and sleep in. And you can tell me what you need."

And I thought I'd been spoilt enough yesterday.

We spent this morning horizontal, mostly. Aside from listening to my mother's late party night that we weren't a part of (because we're not cool, and we go to sleep early), but which we also didn't need to clean up either.

We had cereal, curled up and ate seaweed while watching Greys'. Gawd, gotta love that show.

Cuddled up, talked, cuddled some more, talked some more.

She's finally made up with Buttons. No, we didn't bribe her. Just because you feed them a couple of times or give them treats doesn't make them like you. Doesn't work like that.

Even though a treat was involved.

Uhm yes.

So, I think she might be edging her way towards Buttons' good side.

I think Public Holidays should be spent exactly like that.

Just, curled up under the duvet and talking about everything and nothing at the same time.

It should be spent sedentary, with lots of junk food.

And then, at then end of the day, it'd be nice to crawl into bed together and figure, even though there's work in the morning,

it can't be so bad.

You should come home tonight

Hey remember that time,

when you said you loved me?

how's this for shocking?

So I was in line at the box office the other day, and a bunch of rowdy white kids scrambled to a counter and did their picking and choosing. The girlfriend pointed out one of the boys who she knew, and, as we stepped up to the front of the line, they even said hello to each other.

Then,

as we stepped up to the counter and were trying to pick seats, someone in that group of boys yelled, "Lesbians!" at us. Pretty fucking loudly too.

It's not every day that shit like that happens to me. Especially not, well, on this side of town I guess. I've always been the protective sort, and so, if that happened a few years back if I was say, out with Bird or Vicky or just, well anyone, I'd probably have turned to look at those kids. Said something maybe. Yelled back. Or grabbed the girl beside me and kissed her and flipped them off. Except now that it pretty much feels like it's thrown directly at me, and the person I'm out with, I instead, flinch. And turn back to the screen and let her pick the seats.

And then, we walk away.

Just, absolutely

Spoilt.

So my first ever pair of Aldo heels were laid to rest in the bin of a toilet in Takashimaya.

These 5.5inch heels that cost me a bit over ninety dollars at half price, lasted me four years. Four lovely years.

I feel a little bit bad that I didn't give them a more decent burial.

SO.

We set off in search of replacement heels.

I just needed something simple and black and that I can last in. Pretty much like how I can easily last more than 12 hours in those five and a half inch heels. That very first pair I got. Mind you, we're talking catwalks, prints, shows, weddings. They've been to them all.

All my other shoes, gorgeous as they are, haven't worked as brilliantly in my favour.

Well we walked into Aldo.

As one would have to do.

And I picked something up from the Sale section but I was very torn between that pair, and a new arrival that cost quite a bit more and looked delish.

I, however, much as I am in love with Aldos, honestly didn't feel like paying $179 for the New Arrival. So I tried very, very very hard to talk myself out of it (even though Erika was saying I should totally go for it) and the other pair was nice and in fact, more practical.

So I'd more or less settled on the pair except...

She decided I wouldn't have to choose

So uh.

I think my girlfriend sorta spoils me rotten.

Like. There is just no...other...way...to put it.

Yep. Spoilt.
I'm sorry, could you not see the gorgeous new babies?

Yep.

Just.

Spoilt.

Already do

Want you to make me feel-
like I'm the only girl in the world
Like I'm the only one that you'll ever love

Just like that-

They went from "I love you" to "I'm tired."

I've never felt like you need to be right beside someone to know what's going on. But by that same token, you can be right beside them, and not know what's going on either.

This is what I like:
That I know how to make your coffee just right
That you have a way of making me believe you

I feel like sitting and crying

Over absolutely nothing, might I add.

Well maybe it isn't absolutely nothing.

Do you know what I do? When I start feeling shitty, or just a wee bit more emotional than usual, I go to ICal.

And I count.

Just so that, you know, I know for sure whether I'm upset because something is upsetting or because my monthly lady friend's popping by for a visit.

I've got work in just a bit though.

And I'm really looking forward to it. I'm looking forward to it because it's constant and makes sense and constantly makes sense.

Last night's conversation was an eye-opener, to say the least.

uhm, yes. The collection of conversations I had.

But you know what?

I've got work.

And all through the weekend. And all I can say about that is, I am impossibly, impossibly grateful.

Everything else will fix itself.

Just one mis-step

This is what it feels like:
Like you get to purge all the evil out of you. Like it leaves a fiery, burning trail behind as it comes out.
Like you're clean. And safe.

Unless of course, the point is to not do that.
Unless of course, you feel like you need to stop yourself before you really achieve what you need/ want to.
Unless of course, you catch yourself somewhere in between.

When that happens, you just end up feeling like absolute shit.

What it takes to quit

Here's the thing about quitting, about saying "I don't want to do this anymore", about declaring your lifestyle is different, about referring to your issues in past-tense:
You can't go back.

You can't have just a sliver of a taste of what it was because it's really hard to not slip up after that. In other words, it's easier to keep taking yourself further and further away and not look back.
Except.
Except most times you do.

Most times, I do. Even when I'm trying hard not to. Even when I come away from countless situations safe, and my banner still waving, I come away from a fair share where I can't say the same thing.

I wonder what it is.
It can't always just be a chemical thing, the way something reacts with your body. Because it's not always chemical.

Sometimes it takes a lot more than self-control and discipline.
The problem is, I don't know what else it'll take.

And,
Simply put,
I'm afraid.

The bite of morning

Enya reminds me of my Aunt's place in West Covina. It's like a half hour drive from San Gabriel where the rest of the family live, and she hates the drive up, especially at night.
To say it's "up in the mountains" would sound super far away and fairytale-like, but I don't know how else to put it.

It's colder, because it's just that bit higher. The drive is peaceful and quiet. Not always literally. I mean, when you look out the window at what you're passing by.

And when we wake up before the sun, scrambling for our clothes and waiting for each other to finish in the shower before setting off for Vegas, she's got Enya on the CD Player making me feel like I'm on a mountain, which I am,
and like I'll step out into the bite of LA's winter morning, which I do.

and you'll see me waiting for you, on the corner of the street

I want it to be you,

for a really long time.

I want it to be you

Pat on the back

Wow Charis, good going! Good job right there, I mean, making the end of the day worse for her and two days in a row?

You're a dream. A motherfucking dream.

Good job.

Stepping into the Everyday

Okay so that's weird. The two-liner that was posted a few posts down, at 3:17am apparently, I didn't post that.

I mean.

I've written it and posted it before. But I don't know what it's doing popping up now, a few months late.

How bizarre.

My blog reblogs itself.

Bird's left.

I had some alone-time at the airport.

I'm glad I had some alone time. Even though she told me to come home, and I sorta misread that and missed out on coming home and cuddling up. Because alone time is good.

I think I might be weaning myself off this breakfast and grey's thing in the mornings. I appreciate it more when it's a few times a week versus every weekday morning.

I need to leave for work soon.

For some reason, this morning feels like stepping out of an escape and stepping back into the world. But it also feels like I'm stepping back into my world because it's easier to hide like that.

And it is.

The teacher in charge said it was a beautiful script.

And today will be the last chance I've got to do as many full runs as I can.

We're complete. They just need to be ready for Monday's performance.

Problem 1: Woke up

This is what it feels like-

A tangle of vines, thick and heavy, pushing their way up through your chest, scratching at your insides, filling your lungs and trying to claw their way up your throat.

This what it feels like-

Like you're leaning back and dizzy, and something's being sucked out of you.

Like you, are being sucked out of you.

This is what it feels like-

Like random spots on your body hurt for no reason. And you can press and poke, searching for the source, but you'll only get close enough and never spot on.

This is what it feels like-

Like you should know. You should know what's going on with yourself, you should know what's causing you to feel this way. You should know. Except you don't. And that pisses you off more than anything.

I can put it down to hormones. That might be the easiest thing to blame right now.

Or the month that we're in right now.

Or the book. Yes, maybe it's Jodi Picoult. But it's the most unexpected things making me tear up.

Or that one of my best friends just left tonight and another will leave tomorrow on the red eye.

Or that for some reason or other, as the day wore on, I ended up feeling emptied out and shitty. Just, shitty.

Like, I'm-doing-something-wrong- shitty plus I-don't-know-what-to-do- shitty, with a bit of I'm-all-wrong-right-now- shitty sprinkled on top of that.

So we cut the call, and I'm lying there, tears burning my eyes and cutting into my skin.

And here's the thing, I don't know why.

And because I don't know, I can't fix it, or try to.

I've got a vague sense of what it might be, but then, me being me, I don't like feeling like it's mapped out. Like there are patterns, even though there always are.

And for the most part, right now it seems like just a tiny bit of this tangle of feelings.

This is what it feels like-

Like I'm falling through coloured leaves. Like I'm falling through time and space. Like I'm falling. And I'm just waiting and waiting and fucking waiting, to hit concrete. To fall against something, to hear myself break, to feel something, even if it's pain.

Except I'm not. I'm just falling, and backwards at that.

And it feels like the world is slipping away from me.

Off-day

We were in town, on a weekday, when the sun was still up.
I ran errands, I was productive and I tried a new type of bubble tea that tasted like yakult thanks to my odd concoction.

I'm very tired and can't wait to go home and sleep. I'm on my way to the airport now though. I hate not being able to say goodbye.

And, for some reason or other, I've grown incredibly sad as the day's worn on.

but then there's you.

and everything's perfect.

until you're here with me

It's three in the morning. Twenty past, to be specific.

I've got work tomorrow, the internet doesn't have me captured, and I'm actually pretty tired.

I should get to bed.

Really, I should.

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.

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.

12:08noon

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.

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.

Content

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.

Safe

"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.

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...

Boxes

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.

Higgley Piggley Bumble Bee

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

"Javed"
"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?"
"Yes!"
"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.

Aeroplanes

Maybe it's-
What?
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.

Stay

"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

Scripted

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:/

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.

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.

pfshhh

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Conversation

"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.

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.

So,
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(:

<3