The big 3-6

It's been three years since we first started off. At times I'm surprised that I managed to commit to a commitment as great as this. Who would have thought that I, the one with the attention span of a 5 year old, ever indecisive and keeper of flighty interests would end up with you, calm, stable headstrong you.

I'm not one for bold grand gestures, and so I shall dedicate this entry to you, to us.

Sometimes three words mean more than a litany of nonsensical blabber and I will try my bestest to keep this as concise as three years worth of memories will allow.

For all the ups and down, peaks and valleys :

You Were There

For all the times we fought and argued:

We Grew Up

For all the times you were there when I needed someone to vent out my frustrations :

I Calmed Down

For when doubts and insecurities became my shaky foothold :

They Faded Off

For every smile, laugh, tear and sigh :

So Worth It

For the knowledge that being together really, actually means :

We're Never Alone

For the memory of all our firsts :

Precious Priceless Special

For all the years passed, today and the days ahead :

One Four Three !! :P

For this special day, the last three words :

Happy 36th Hon !

Note to self

I have got to learn to be numb and not let maliciousness and cunning people rule my life. I know I'll realize one day you're not worth my time, thoughts nor feelings. And in that knowledge I shall cocoon myself in the accompanying blissful numbness.

*inserts cheery note here

So alright, I know I promised some of you that I'll be optimistic and all sunshiny and rainbows, but as much as I try to keep to my promises I can't today. Shucks, I was supposed to blog about the 'big' 21st.... maybe later when I've procured some pictures so I don't subject people to my torturous verbal diarrhea..

It is only in the faraway realm of dreams that I stand up and tell you I'm not a worthless pawn to be bartered and used in that game you insist on playing.

It hurts, that thing you do. It hurts even more knowing that I allow you to. That I inadvertently put the weapon in your hand and thought you how to aim. My cowardice at not telling you to stop disgusts even me. But I can't and never will because I admit I'm weak. I sought sanctity in delusion. Over and over again denial became my confidante and best friend. Over and over again, I thought, it isn't true. You wouldn't do that, not you. But your lies confirmed the many truths.

I'm torn asunder at the realization that I still want to defend you. That I'm too weak to even face up to the truth and continue life as I should be doing. I thought you changed. You bring out things in me that I'm not proud of, I never want to be you but it hurts to be myself, defenseless against the hurt you continually inflict. Why is it that people can never accept me for who I am and try to change me into something that makes THEM feel better and me feel like crap. The million dollar question here is....I don't give a damn about the others but how could you???

I never trust easily but I trusted you. I don't know now if that makes you or me the greater fool. I thought that you would come to my defense but you teamed up with them. They needn't have done anything because what you did hurt more than anything they could have said or done.

In my self delusional theory of sanity, as long as I keep busy, keep running, I garner a slight reprieve. I know you'll soon catch me but today I shall write the things I'll never say whilst the hurt in me continues its blazing path of destruction.

Blue Jeans

“Why are you dressed like that?”

A question that very often precedes an exaggerated rolling of eyes, and a flippant “please..it’s fashion!”. Ever since body hugging tank tops, low cut tops, short skirts and sheer material decided to make my closet their home, I failed to get the approval of one man….my dad.

Growing up, my father was very protective of me. At times I found his over-protectiveness suffocating but as I grew older especially now when I travel around the big city alone, I realize I miss having a strong hand to hold on to. I know now that it must have been hard for him. To see the little girl dolled up in dresses with bow sashes and Mary Janes the size of his palm doing playful little pirouettes grow up into a young girl pirouetting in little black dresses and stilettos.

They say that in order to measure a man’s undying love, the ultimate test begins with an S and ends with a G. S-H-O-P-P-I-N-G. Whilst most men go weak at the knees at the mere whisper of the S word, one of the memories I have of my father is that of him taking me shopping for a new pair of jeans. It was the first I ever picked out on my own. And I remember my father waiting patiently for me whilst I tried on pair after pair after pair. You see, at 15, you just had to get the perfect pair of jeans and although time trickled away, my father’s patience never wavered. As I type this, I look up, and the pair of blue jeans hanging behind the door catches my eye, the one that still fits after all these years, is the greatest evidence of my father’s patience and dedication.

A memory nags at the back of my mind. It is one of him passing me a birthday present and if I had not been so eager to find out if my wish had been gift wrapped with a big bow on top, his words, “Don’t grow up too fast alright?” would have sunk in. Now, even as I approach one of those major milestones in my life, I know a part of me will always remain as …. daddy’s little girl.

Happy Father's Day Daddy !

Eye opener

Love is not blind, it simply enables one to see things others fail to see - Anon

They were sitting across from me. If one would warrant a guess, this would be their first time on the LRT. So there they were, two very impressionable young girls accompanied by an elder sister and her boyfriend. Giggles and laughs punctuating fresh enthusiasm, innocence and simple awe at grandeur of the big city. It was a scene to be had in every nook and corner of the city if one looked hard enough, but the difference here was that both girls were visually impaired.

As much as I know how rude it was to stare, I couldn’t stop stealing glances at them. The way they had so much to laugh at. The way they found light and goodness and joy in darkness. It was hard describing what I felt the entire journey back home after that. I’ll be turning 21 really soon and as each day passes I find myself feeling weary and tired. Jaded and old. I’ve forgotten what it felt like to be touched. And in that 30 minute ride, I found myself remembering.

It wasn’t lewd the way the guy couldn’t keep his hands off his girlfriend. The way he just had to reach out and tuck in that stray lock of hair. The protective nature that becomes instinctive. And in that one moment when he reached out and ran a finger down the youngest girl’s cheek, when she looked up and bestowed the most brilliant smile ever upon a loved one whose face would forever remain a stranger’s, I was touched. Could it be that in our quest to see more, experience more, gain more, reach more, we’ve forgotten to stop and live in the moment?

It made me feel ungrateful, the way they seem to have nothing and feel as if they have everything, but I have everything in comparison but feel as if I have nothing. Ironic, how it took a person who could not see to make me see.

The Actress

To err, is human

She epitomizes wit and intelligence. She dazzles all who know her and awe those who observe from afar. She exudes charisma and charm. She's confident, never cocky. Reticent, never distant. 

She keeps up the act. After all, years of experience has finessed her skills, enhanced her talents, a master in her trade of illusion and disillusionment. As long as there are others around, an eye, the lens of a camera, she smiles, that brilliant flash of white teeth. 

Her world a mirage and dream for envious outsiders, morphs into living nightmares the moment the curtain closes. Shadows haunt her days, lurking around corners, creeping out unbidden. Her friends, her foes, all meld into a jumbled unidentifiable blur of strangers. The world at her feet, the risk of trust misplaced remains unaffordable. 

The mirror her only confidante, she sees perspective in the world weary eyes that gaze steadily back at her. An accomplished actress never fractures under stress. She lives up to self imposed expectations too high to imagine. But the eyes in the mirror are feeble barriers to the reservoir of incipient tears. Tired of all the back-biting, backstabbing and polished trickery of others in her trade the dam threatens to break. White knuckles hover over nails biting into tender flesh as she keeps a tight restraint on emotions. Breaking down is unthinkable. Not now. Not when the end is near. 

But it gets unbearable with each passing second. A tiny drop of blood escaping from lips bitten in restraint preceeds the first tear drop. As it trickles down her smooth cheeks, cracking the carefully applied layer of foundation it opens up a chasm deep within her soul. As silent sobs rack her slender frame all the pain and misery imprisoned in her heart escapes through the gateway of torrid tears. 

Never one to leave a job unfinished, she pulls in that rigid control, stopping the floods. With a less than steady hand, she touches up her makeup, eliminating all traces of the tracks those tears left behind. After all, her investment in her large vestige of maquillage will cover all flaws and imperfections, the stain in her heart a minor irritant to the unsuspecting onlooker. She arranges the folds of her skirts, forces the confidence in her walk, pastes on a practiced smile and tilts her chin up to an angle of cheeky rebellion. Head lifted high, she enters the stage again. After all, the show, must go on. 

Sick

The Duchess was a movie depicting very aptly the times and attributes of an era not yet forgotten. Sadly to say the portrayal of the influence of power and money is one not so foreign in today’s world. How often do we hear or read about people caught in unfortunate circumstances simply because they’re crushed under the heel of someone of greater import.

I spent a lot of my younger more dreamier days reading periodical romances. How lost I would get once absorbed into the glittering world of tinkling jewels and balls and beautiful satin silk dresses with long lace trains trailing the ground. Of dashing gentlemen and coquettish young girls eager to impress. Even then I realized that beyond the sparkling world of wealth and power lurked darkness that would make any decent human being sick to the stomachs. Nestled within the crusty pages of history are lesser told stories of the strife that blighted certain groups and communities. Of the degradation of women into being mere objects instead of the human beings they are. Of children traded around and young girls being put on the market like pieces of meat.

Little has changed despite all the revolution and technological advances we’ve made. We still read of domestic abuse everyday. It makes me sick to think of the many young children out there being deprived of a better life. Food, clothes, education. It is sad that some children learn how to avoid the backhand of drunkard fathers before they learn that hugs do exist. And when they grow up and develop a convoluted perception of how people should be treated, when their sense of right and wrong is all screwed up, when the world is harsh on their wrong ways and misunderstanding, who can we really blame but ourselves?

The number of young girls being exploited everyday continues to escalate and there is naught one can do to make things better. It’s an ill-suppressed rage I feel for these people. A frustration that bubbles beneath the surface when I see young girls being shoved around by bullies bigger, meaner, shallower than them. Stories of husbands beating up wives, fathers raping daughters, uncles and relatives taking advantage of the weak and helpless never get as much coverage as the latest political scandal or the latest fashion launch. These are the real life stories that nobody is brave enough to face up to. An ongoing war that nobody bothers to pick up the weapons for. True tales of desperation and need and yet we have people who make a big deal out of appearing at a function in the wrong ball gown.

When the protector becomes the perpetrator what can a helpless bystander do?

I will be right back

I promise

Right now, I'm nose deep in way too much stuff and anything I blog about is going to come out sounding inane and after reading it all of you are going to boycott me for wasting your time.....

So, I promise very soon to come out with something more thought provoking, heart warming and much more.....human.

*fingers crossed

Do remember to check back and find out if I keep to my promises......

Toodles