Saturday, October 30
Treat or trick !
from my pumpkin-in-apple powerbook dressup here in the S'goon Garden Way Coffee Bean. Scary Halloween fellas.
May the ghost be with you.
from my pumpkin-in-apple powerbook dressup here in the S'goon Garden Way Coffee Bean. Scary Halloween fellas.
May the ghost be with you.
Thursday, October 28
Werewolfing on a Red Moon's Night
Finally at 9.15pm, dark shades began to eat away at the pale moon. Almost with clockwork precision, Lecter began to howl and it wasn't just any ordinary howl .. it was a series of long "Ah wooooooooooo woo woo"s ... totally unlike any I've heard from him before.
The first howl took everyone by surprise ( including me ). The second howl elicited laughter from everyone. The third howl made my cheeks burst into redness with embarrassment. The fourth howl began to get eerie as he perched himself on the bench and began to howl again and again and again at the eclipsing moon.
Eventually, I had to leave because he won't stop howling. He was beginning to become a nuisance plus I was afraid he would transform and eat the astronomers alive.
There was a lunar eclipse today. To view this spectacle of nature, I brought Lecter to this open spot near the apartment, where there were a bunch of amateur astronomers with their telescopes.
Finally at 9.15pm, dark shades began to eat away at the pale moon. Almost with clockwork precision, Lecter began to howl and it wasn't just any ordinary howl .. it was a series of long "Ah wooooooooooo woo woo"s ... totally unlike any I've heard from him before.
The first howl took everyone by surprise ( including me ). The second howl elicited laughter from everyone. The third howl made my cheeks burst into redness with embarrassment. The fourth howl began to get eerie as he perched himself on the bench and began to howl again and again and again at the eclipsing moon.
Eventually, I had to leave because he won't stop howling. He was beginning to become a nuisance plus I was afraid he would transform and eat the astronomers alive.
For everything else, there is ...
On the sidetrack, the advertising team that did the taglines for MasterCard more than hit the nail on the head; they practically pioneered a whole new advertising concept known as the 'For everything else, there is ...' concept. I have not seen any other advert taglines being used as widely and effectively, and as versatilely as these few lines.
Yea I know this is old news but I'm still tickled by this, the advert I mean.
tho it was, and still is, utterly embarrassing for our national champion to hog this kinda headlines overseas.
On the sidetrack, the advertising team that did the taglines for MasterCard more than hit the nail on the head; they practically pioneered a whole new advertising concept known as the 'For everything else, there is ...' concept. I have not seen any other advert taglines being used as widely and effectively, and as versatilely as these few lines.
Wednesday, October 27
The Halloween Before Christmas
So just now, for the last two hours, I had been trying to supa glue back on broken ear. And I realized, sometimes fixing it okay the first time round might also be the best time for you to stop trying to 'fix it better'.
I did managed to get the ear back on but the broken line was rather obvious. So I took it off and did it again. I repeated the procedure a couple more times, determined to make my pumpkin-nosed ghost dog look as perfect as it could be.
But it didn't. With each time I took it off and tried to glue it back on again, a layer of glue would attach itself to the broken ends. I tried to wash away the glue. It didn't help. Scrape it away. Minimum improvement. Soon it was not about masking the line into invisibility, but to have the ear back on Zero without it looking like an alien piece of antenna sticking out of him. In the end, Operation Zero became a Michael Jackson surgery improvement scenario.
The more I tried to better it, the worse it became.
And now, as I sit here typing this, the pumpkin-nose is sitting on the table staring sadly back at me.
Lonely with just one flying ear.
First night in HK. I stumbled upon that mini Heeren in Mongkok and got me two different sets of The Nightmare Before Christmas toys. They were still the best finds of my trip. When I returned to my room that night, eagerly and gingerly opening up my christmas of toys, I found that Zero came in two pieces instead of one; one of its ears was broken off. At the risk of sounding a little exaggerated, I was really upset. Of all pieces, my favorite piece of the set had to be broken.
So just now, for the last two hours, I had been trying to supa glue back on broken ear. And I realized, sometimes fixing it okay the first time round might also be the best time for you to stop trying to 'fix it better'.
I did managed to get the ear back on but the broken line was rather obvious. So I took it off and did it again. I repeated the procedure a couple more times, determined to make my pumpkin-nosed ghost dog look as perfect as it could be.
But it didn't. With each time I took it off and tried to glue it back on again, a layer of glue would attach itself to the broken ends. I tried to wash away the glue. It didn't help. Scrape it away. Minimum improvement. Soon it was not about masking the line into invisibility, but to have the ear back on Zero without it looking like an alien piece of antenna sticking out of him. In the end, Operation Zero became a Michael Jackson surgery improvement scenario.
The more I tried to better it, the worse it became.
And now, as I sit here typing this, the pumpkin-nose is sitting on the table staring sadly back at me.
Lonely with just one flying ear.
Of the little black one
Borders is unusually lay back today. Probably coz it's a weekday (and dinner time now too), and exam period for the students (luck, Derrick).
I appreciate such moments of the day/year where there are no hustle and jostle of people way more beautiful than me, and I can get seats without even actively looking for one. Being here alone in a corner of the Big Peaceful Bookstore with my overloaded canvas bag reminds me tremendously of my Borders times back in Tally/KW/NYC/etc.
Then, driving down to the Borders and/or Barnes and Noble was a thrice-weekly affair. We could run out of groceries and had to survive on chips and leftover rubbish but we could not miss the opportunities to get lost amongst the collections of new books, magazines, soundtracks, puppies calendars and good-to-look-at-only gifts.
Back then I would also be with my overloaded denim bag. Only those times, it was occupied by a very tiny black fur ball in perpetual hibernation. Occasionally the little one would wake up and peer out of the bag so that you saw a pair of small furry ears, half-opened sleepy eyes and a tiny stubby nose just staring blankly back at you. He didn't know it, but he melted many hearts and brightened many others' days, when he yawned like a little tiger showing off its rows of baby teeth, stood precariously at the edge of the armchair whenever he thought I went too far, and walked unsteadily in the winter winds outside the Bookstores. But mostly he made people laugh just by being himself, even when he was just sleeping in my lap or standing on the pavements in his small knitted tees.
Those were the happy times. and coz of that, so is now, just sitting here in Borders again, and thinking of him.
Here I am, sitting alone on a bench in the kids' section in Borders, typing on my powerbook. I was looking for the book "Photography" by London and Upton, whose price tag would inevitably cave out my already hollow pocket. Fortunately or unfortunately the book is currently out of stock so my pocket will live to see another day.
Borders is unusually lay back today. Probably coz it's a weekday (and dinner time now too), and exam period for the students (luck, Derrick).
I appreciate such moments of the day/year where there are no hustle and jostle of people way more beautiful than me, and I can get seats without even actively looking for one. Being here alone in a corner of the Big Peaceful Bookstore with my overloaded canvas bag reminds me tremendously of my Borders times back in Tally/KW/NYC/etc.
Then, driving down to the Borders and/or Barnes and Noble was a thrice-weekly affair. We could run out of groceries and had to survive on chips and leftover rubbish but we could not miss the opportunities to get lost amongst the collections of new books, magazines, soundtracks, puppies calendars and good-to-look-at-only gifts.
Back then I would also be with my overloaded denim bag. Only those times, it was occupied by a very tiny black fur ball in perpetual hibernation. Occasionally the little one would wake up and peer out of the bag so that you saw a pair of small furry ears, half-opened sleepy eyes and a tiny stubby nose just staring blankly back at you. He didn't know it, but he melted many hearts and brightened many others' days, when he yawned like a little tiger showing off its rows of baby teeth, stood precariously at the edge of the armchair whenever he thought I went too far, and walked unsteadily in the winter winds outside the Bookstores. But mostly he made people laugh just by being himself, even when he was just sleeping in my lap or standing on the pavements in his small knitted tees.
Those were the happy times. and coz of that, so is now, just sitting here in Borders again, and thinking of him.
Tuesday, October 26
Exactly 10 days ago in Macau
From my impression it's not anything like the VisitMacau ads on TVMobile; it's kinda slow and a little boring on the little island ... or maybe I was there at the wrong season, or coz I was without a very well-planned itinerary of some sorts. Maybe.
*
edit:
here you go, babe.
went Macau, to Stanley Ho's Casinos, to its trademark Ruins of St. Paul's, thru the winding streets down a gradual slope to the Leal Senado Square, then into a cab to the jetty for our hour-long TurboJet ride back to HK, stopping by the tallest bronze standing statue of Guan Yin[Goddess of Mercy] in the world en route.
From my impression it's not anything like the VisitMacau ads on TVMobile; it's kinda slow and a little boring on the little island ... or maybe I was there at the wrong season, or coz I was without a very well-planned itinerary of some sorts. Maybe.
no photographing in Stanley Ho's territories
Ruins of St. Paul's
The Macanese are fortunate that, unlike so many other Asian metropolises, their city never suffered the destruction of war or natural disaster. Traditionally neutral, Macau avoided the devastation wrought on so many Asian cities during World War II. And by good fortune Macau has never suffered much serious damage from fire, typhoon or earthquake. Consequently a wealth of historic cathedrals, temples, mansions, government buildings and shophouses make up Macau's attractive half-European, half-Cantonese old town center.
Given Macau's relatively blessed existence, I find it ironic that the enclave's most well known building is a cathedral gutted by fire during a typhoon. In 1835 the hilltop St. Paul's Cathedral went up in flames, the conflagration fanned by howling storm winds. Today only the elaborate facade of the cathedral remains at the top of a wide flight of stone steps. I found the effect slightly eerie, for as I walked up the stairs I could see open sky through the empty door and window frames. These openings almost looked like portals to heaven. The ruins of St. Paul's remain Macau's most famous landmark. Featured in every tourist brochure and even on the five-pataca coin, the cathedral serves as a symbol of the long Portuguese presence in Macau. -- Macau: East Meets West in 6.5 Square Miles
From the other side of the facade
Those winding narrow roads of shops to Senado Square, where I sampled Macau's famous hot almond biscuit, and didn't like it.
As strange as it may sound, a Portuguese Christian lady designed this Chinese Buddhist goddess statue. Perhaps that's why you have visitors asking whether this is the Virgin Mary or the Guan Yin.
Good ol' TurboJet, without which it might take more than an hour to get back to bustling HK.
*
edit:
here you go, babe.
shades of yellow, or of grey ?
Monday, October 25
The Fat Post
You head to Hong Kong where you become an XS instantly !
I am surprised that clothes sizes are 'bigger' than those in Singapore. You wouldn't guess that by looking at the women walking on the streets. At least seven out of ten are extremely slim. Then, if you are not 'slim' enough there are always the pharmacies, with more than a hundred slimming products, all claiming guaranteed results. Or if budget allows, the slimming centers. It is highly likely that one of them would be endorsed by one of your favorite celebrity since most of them carry big names from the entertainment industry on their advertising boards.
Anyway, that's HK and I'm back in a different place. The few slimming products on shelves here are dubious [personal biased opinion] and slimming centers, expensive and useless [again, personal biased opinion]. and so, I look for the silver lining in being, and growing, fat: I now have a reason to change my wardrobe. [Justification for the reason will be cast aside and never be allowed as long as I remain or continue to grow fat.]
Only. People around me have this weird thinking that, if I get new fitting clothes that might, well, actually make me look better as I grow fatter, I would only continue to remain or grow fat, since I would be very comfortable in my clothes and thus have no desires to slim down.
So with this skewed perspective, I am currently forced to squeeze into my S-M sizes clothes as best as I can, and try to breathe thru my arse so that the buttons on my jeans can survive to see another day.
This is disastrous.
What happens when one grows from a comfortable size S to a tight S to a just right M to a too snug M ?
You head to Hong Kong where you become an XS instantly !
I am surprised that clothes sizes are 'bigger' than those in Singapore. You wouldn't guess that by looking at the women walking on the streets. At least seven out of ten are extremely slim. Then, if you are not 'slim' enough there are always the pharmacies, with more than a hundred slimming products, all claiming guaranteed results. Or if budget allows, the slimming centers. It is highly likely that one of them would be endorsed by one of your favorite celebrity since most of them carry big names from the entertainment industry on their advertising boards.
Anyway, that's HK and I'm back in a different place. The few slimming products on shelves here are dubious [personal biased opinion] and slimming centers, expensive and useless [again, personal biased opinion]. and so, I look for the silver lining in being, and growing, fat: I now have a reason to change my wardrobe. [Justification for the reason will be cast aside and never be allowed as long as I remain or continue to grow fat.]
Only. People around me have this weird thinking that, if I get new fitting clothes that might, well, actually make me look better as I grow fatter, I would only continue to remain or grow fat, since I would be very comfortable in my clothes and thus have no desires to slim down.
So with this skewed perspective, I am currently forced to squeeze into my S-M sizes clothes as best as I can, and try to breathe thru my arse so that the buttons on my jeans can survive to see another day.
This is disastrous.
Saturday, October 23
Putting the F back in Fun
But those were not the dark lords of the scary shit. The scariest thing happened as I grew older-- unconsciously I made the choice to no longer partake in heart-attack spills, gradually. I knew horror stuff scared the piss out of me, so I stopped going for any. I hated the way my heart dropped all the way to my feet and beyond just before guts-wrenching mountain-plunging rides so I made sure I was never in queue for one.
And so my life was peaceful. No horror, no dark shadows, no jump-out-of-nowhere scares, no nightmares, no falling dreams, no ups and no downs.
It was all flatly peaceful.
Then the unpredictability of human nature had to take over. After years of gradual shift away from the things that shortened my life by cutting away corners of my heart, out of nowhere and inspired by nothing, I began to wonder when I stopped taking the fun little risks in life. When I began to trade blood-pumping thrills for cloaked stagnancy. When I began to stop living life like I used to; getting on the little bumps riding on them falling off them getting bruised laughed at self for getting bruised and then climbing back on again.
There was last year when I didn't take the Aerosmith rides in MGM coz I was scared. This year when I squeezed my eyes shut for ninety percent of the time in the Haunted House for both times in Orlando and Tokyo coz I was an idiot. Last week when I didn't finish the walk in Ridley's Believe Or Not coz my guts left me right outside the horror chamber. And the time when I griped Lyc's arm so tightly while watching The Third Eye that she swore off watching anything remotely supernatural with me.
As I got flooded by those memories I began to feel sorry for myself for being a Melvin Udall ("as good as it gets") and wrapping up my glass heart in so thick a bubblewrap that I had difficulty feeling for many other things. Regrets are the nastiest little termites that gnaw you empty inside and make you feel like a hollow idiot. Now that I'm way past my 20, scared-free[almost] for the past few years, and having tasted both heart-gripping times and assumed peacefulness I begin to feel strangely tempted to be more adventurous again, to be the girl who screamed her lungs and kidneys and all the little intestines out, strapped in the seat of a roller-coaster gone mad. and complete eerie dimly-lit walks where stuff jumped out at you and dropped right on your head, and hollow screams filled the air.
Coz I rather my life shortened by the scares, then live a long one with a chestful of regrets.
Em.. just one request ? -- for your hand to hold mine, and your chest to bury my head into for all those rides and walks and shows. It's never over comforting to have someone walk thru stuff with you.
When I was young I liked to take on those little side tackles of life. I liked to scare myself watching those horror movies and taking those plunging rides. It was fun and even tho I was piss scared before and during the rides, I pretended that I wasn't and took them on as gamely as my brave facade allowed me to, sometimes even going for seconds, and *gasp!* thirds and fourths. Even tho the horror shows turned me into the biggest scaredy cat when going to toilets alone dead in the nights and had me rush thru my baths like my butt was on fire. Then there were those haunting nightmares for several nights in a row before the intensity trailed off into a pitter patter of unidentified dark shadows making cameo appearances in other mosaic dreams.
But those were not the dark lords of the scary shit. The scariest thing happened as I grew older-- unconsciously I made the choice to no longer partake in heart-attack spills, gradually. I knew horror stuff scared the piss out of me, so I stopped going for any. I hated the way my heart dropped all the way to my feet and beyond just before guts-wrenching mountain-plunging rides so I made sure I was never in queue for one.
And so my life was peaceful. No horror, no dark shadows, no jump-out-of-nowhere scares, no nightmares, no falling dreams, no ups and no downs.
It was all flatly peaceful.
Then the unpredictability of human nature had to take over. After years of gradual shift away from the things that shortened my life by cutting away corners of my heart, out of nowhere and inspired by nothing, I began to wonder when I stopped taking the fun little risks in life. When I began to trade blood-pumping thrills for cloaked stagnancy. When I began to stop living life like I used to; getting on the little bumps riding on them falling off them getting bruised laughed at self for getting bruised and then climbing back on again.
There was last year when I didn't take the Aerosmith rides in MGM coz I was scared. This year when I squeezed my eyes shut for ninety percent of the time in the Haunted House for both times in Orlando and Tokyo coz I was an idiot. Last week when I didn't finish the walk in Ridley's Believe Or Not coz my guts left me right outside the horror chamber. And the time when I griped Lyc's arm so tightly while watching The Third Eye that she swore off watching anything remotely supernatural with me.
As I got flooded by those memories I began to feel sorry for myself for being a Melvin Udall ("as good as it gets") and wrapping up my glass heart in so thick a bubblewrap that I had difficulty feeling for many other things. Regrets are the nastiest little termites that gnaw you empty inside and make you feel like a hollow idiot. Now that I'm way past my 20, scared-free[almost] for the past few years, and having tasted both heart-gripping times and assumed peacefulness I begin to feel strangely tempted to be more adventurous again, to be the girl who screamed her lungs and kidneys and all the little intestines out, strapped in the seat of a roller-coaster gone mad. and complete eerie dimly-lit walks where stuff jumped out at you and dropped right on your head, and hollow screams filled the air.
Coz I rather my life shortened by the scares, then live a long one with a chestful of regrets.
Em.. just one request ? -- for your hand to hold mine, and your chest to bury my head into for all those rides and walks and shows. It's never over comforting to have someone walk thru stuff with you.
Thursday, October 21
To the one who sang the loudest Happy Birthday...
..to himself: Forever '30' dad !! :))
Me and my window seat
If you are local, and flying economy, SQ in-flight service kinda sucks.
But I still love my window seats.
Friday, October 15
P-graph links of the week
Baby Koala Defies Death
*
"I'm ... I'm ...
All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go
I'm standin' here outside your door
I hate to wake you up to say goodbye
But the dawn is breakin', it's early morn
The taxi's waitin', he's blowin' his horn
Already I'm so lonesome I could die
So kiss me and smile for me
Tell me that you'll wait for me
Hold me like you'll never let me go
'Cause I'm leaving on a jet plane
I don't know when I'll be back again
Oh, babe, I hate to go"
- Chantal Kreviazuk: Leaving On A Jet Plane
No, I don't hate to go. Also, I know I would be back next week. But it's indeed early morning and the taxi's coming so I'm going to pack up my mac and zip out of here. Soon.
Laters.
Netscape Popular
Baby Koala Defies Death
*
"I'm ... I'm ...
All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go
I'm standin' here outside your door
I hate to wake you up to say goodbye
But the dawn is breakin', it's early morn
The taxi's waitin', he's blowin' his horn
Already I'm so lonesome I could die
So kiss me and smile for me
Tell me that you'll wait for me
Hold me like you'll never let me go
'Cause I'm leaving on a jet plane
I don't know when I'll be back again
Oh, babe, I hate to go"
- Chantal Kreviazuk: Leaving On A Jet Plane
No, I don't hate to go. Also, I know I would be back next week. But it's indeed early morning and the taxi's coming so I'm going to pack up my mac and zip out of here. Soon.
Laters.
Wednesday, October 13
Geláre
Tuesday dine-in special ! Half price off ! For double add-on to waistline !
Dangerous combination. Never, I repeat, never. go. near Geláre on Tuesdays.
*
If you ever catch the White Chicks, you probably wouldn't listen to Vanessa Carlton's A Thousand Miles the same way again. It's so disgustingly funny and entertaining and full of clichés that it stays with you long after the show's over.
Well, at least for the next twelve hours.
small in size, huge in calories
Tuesday dine-in special ! Half price off ! For double add-on to waistline !
Dangerous combination. Never, I repeat, never. go. near Geláre on Tuesdays.
*
If you ever catch the White Chicks, you probably wouldn't listen to Vanessa Carlton's A Thousand Miles the same way again. It's so disgustingly funny and entertaining and full of clichés that it stays with you long after the show's over.
Well, at least for the next twelve hours.
Tuesday, October 12
You have a hi-hii--high ceiling
*
Dad's back from biz trip and he got us girls (inclu mommy haha) the most glittery HRC tees ... heh ..
I don't care what they say about HRC tees; I am a sucker for them. Love knows no reeassonns.
*
Dad's back from biz trip and he got us girls (inclu mommy haha) the most glittery HRC tees ... heh ..
I don't care what they say about HRC tees; I am a sucker for them. Love knows no reeassonns.
Monday, October 11
Graffiti of boredom
*
It had finally happened. I upped 1.5 jeans sizes in three weeks. I was beginning to lose sight of my feet. No kidding. Shitty shit.
You were speaking a universal language ! Everyone was bored. of something. Some just needed to figure out what.
*
It had finally happened. I upped 1.5 jeans sizes in three weeks. I was beginning to lose sight of my feet. No kidding. Shitty shit.
Thursday, October 7
Under the Sea !
I watched Finding Nemo long after everyone made it their favorite animated show, and its merchandise sold out in toy stores. My favorite character was that little pink octopus, whom I called, well ... the pink octopus (duh) since I didn't know her name, who would squirt black ink whenever she was nervous or scared. Haha. She's cute, that baby.
*
ES was saying, nine out of ten relationships that started with some serious degrees of mistrust, emotional over-reliance, baggage etc from previous relationships didn't last. I didn't know where she quoted her statistics from but five out of five couples I knew with those characteristics always had some helluva roller-coaster relationships. Well at least these peeps couldn't say that their lives were dull. Definitely not for the weak-hearted.
I watched Finding Nemo long after everyone made it their favorite animated show, and its merchandise sold out in toy stores. My favorite character was that little pink octopus, whom I called, well ... the pink octopus (duh) since I didn't know her name, who would squirt black ink whenever she was nervous or scared. Haha. She's cute, that baby.
*
ES was saying, nine out of ten relationships that started with some serious degrees of mistrust, emotional over-reliance, baggage etc from previous relationships didn't last. I didn't know where she quoted her statistics from but five out of five couples I knew with those characteristics always had some helluva roller-coaster relationships. Well at least these peeps couldn't say that their lives were dull. Definitely not for the weak-hearted.
In the dark I saw ...
Or maybe not.
*
You should never miss this: FreeWayBlogger. Scroll your way down.
Or maybe not.
*
You should never miss this: FreeWayBlogger. Scroll your way down.
Monday, October 4
It was Children's Day weekend.
This might be someone else's idea of some childish good fun but it really was nightmare on elm street for me. It took me a lot of willpower not to issue some sinister warnings to whoever. Instead I had a haircut. Now people, you should never have a haircut if you are stressed out by shouting kids. If not you might end up looking eerily like how I do now; with a hairy version of an A-bomb mushroom cloud in place of what used to be half-flowing tresses.
I'm staying in for the next two weeks.
*
Election time !
Even eating out at Billy Bombers gives you a chance to vote for either man. Except that the vote lets you to win a return trip to New York instead of a President for the next four years.
No prizes on who I voted for. Heh heh.
In case you missed the less than engaging presidential debate, you can catch the non-action right here.
Just don't miss this one on your way out.
Being a non kid, this would really be none of my business. Except that kids were running loose on the streets, screaming and shouting and heeling into everything and everyone foolish enough to stand in their way. It was a free-for-all-no-constraint super big playground for them.
This might be someone else's idea of some childish good fun but it really was nightmare on elm street for me. It took me a lot of willpower not to issue some sinister warnings to whoever. Instead I had a haircut. Now people, you should never have a haircut if you are stressed out by shouting kids. If not you might end up looking eerily like how I do now; with a hairy version of an A-bomb mushroom cloud in place of what used to be half-flowing tresses.
I'm staying in for the next two weeks.
*
Election time !
Bush, Kerry or Chupa Chups ?
Even eating out at Billy Bombers gives you a chance to vote for either man. Except that the vote lets you to win a return trip to New York instead of a President for the next four years.
No prizes on who I voted for. Heh heh.
In case you missed the less than engaging presidential debate, you can catch the non-action right here.
Just don't miss this one on your way out.
Friday, October 1
To the kids in all of us
*
Incidentally we had wanted to hold the primary (elementary) school dinner tomorrow- oct 2, right. Date chosen for easy remembrance. It would have worked (the easy remembrance part). See. I still remember. Haha.
Happy Children's Day.
*
Incidentally we had wanted to hold the primary (elementary) school dinner tomorrow- oct 2, right. Date chosen for easy remembrance. It would have worked (the easy remembrance part). See. I still remember. Haha.
You had me at hello
Nothing is simple when you involve another human being. So love isn't simple. Daring to whole-heartedly love and be committed isn't simple. Not puppy kinda love, not crush, not love merely for companionship. But to love him(her) for him. You know, to "love him for the man he wants to be and ... the man he almost is".
*
Yea you know when I have had an overdose of sappy love songs.
That night on Class 95, they played Secret Garden from the Jerry MaGuire OST. You know, the one with inserts from the movie. Since then the song has been on repeat mode in my iTunes. That really pushes the sentimental button in my brain and I thought of how much of a Jerry I am. Liking Dorothy, or in my case, Rafe, and not really knowing if I really really like him. Like being in an emotional limbo. I don't know if it is coz I am commitment-phobic or that I just can't make up my mind anymore. You know when Dorothy told her sister Laurel, "I love him. I do! I love him I love him and I don't care what you think. I love him for the man he wants to be and I love him for the man he almost is. I love him Laurel, I love him. I love him." I am both touched, and envious and jealous all at the same time. Dorothy knew how exactly she felt, why exactly she felt that way, and dared to express it all out. Yea sure, that is reel life. Just like in real life, I can get quite cynical if someone says that to me. Happy for her, yea. But cynical. How long is it going to last ? Does she know that she is now very vulnerable to hurt ? I'm talking about some serious emotional hurt that could very easily paralyze you if you are not careful. With some heart wrenching pain thrown in for a good measure. Like how I had felt when some fcuk did some serious shit to me and left me to die by the pavement. Physically and emotionally. But that is another story.
Nothing is simple when you involve another human being. So love isn't simple. Daring to whole-heartedly love and be committed isn't simple. Not puppy kinda love, not crush, not love merely for companionship. But to love him(her) for him. You know, to "love him for the man he wants to be and ... the man he almost is".
*
Yea you know when I have had an overdose of sappy love songs.
