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| Yesterday as I was heading home from work, I saw a butterfly flapping its wings futilely against the windows in the entrance area of the train station. The station has open doorways but the butterfly was trapped in a corner and seemed disorientated. I stood outside for a while watching to see if it will find its way out. And such is my heart that I couldn't bear to walk away. So I cupped it gently in my hands and took it outside. It flew away with the sweep of the wind that swept through right at the moment I opened my hands. I noticed on my hands an iridescent powdering, minuscule butterfly scales, and as I walked back inside the train station, rubbing the shimmery scales from my hands away, I thought about how we are as small as a butterfly.
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| Halloween is fast approaching and somewhere between my last entry and so much has happened but how could it when it feels as if time just blinked me by.
Tomorrow is Halloween and I'm excited. This will be the first time in the last 4 years when I can actually go out. Previous years have found me at home working on papers or it was a weeknight with an early wake-up the next day. Cheers for Saturday night with a Sunday to sleep-in. I'm digging into my closet for costumes and I'm undecided; a 1920s flapper or a 1960s flower child high on daisies. The latter would mean comfy jeans and shoes, a huge plus for one who spends entire days standing in the classroom. But there's something about the roaring 20s that's so provocative and alluring and I have the perfect vintage dress for it.
And after Halloween I have to really buckle down in my work and studies since it's the last year of my Masters programme. I miss the carefree days when the passing of time drifted by slowly as on a flowery breeze and you spend sunny afternoons in a drowsy daze not caring if tomorrow should come.
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| When I was young, in the throes of those hazy days of first love, I verbally lived those three little words fervently. The idea of loving and being loved in return was intoxicating and that feeling of weightlessness? It's true, you really do float about in a love-induced stupor.
As I grew older and those three little words spoken in youthful fervor went the way of broken promises, the expectations increased. Rather than an innocent declaration, those three little words became weightier, attached with strings, immutable strings that bind like a Mobius strip.
In all the relationships since that first heady rush, I've made a conscious decision not to use those three little words at all with any of the guys I went out with, even with the one who I thought was my heart's duplicate.
Perhaps I should have.
Except those three little words come with a sanctity that is lost in today's vernacular of love and lust; we love and we hate as easily as a coin toss and we throw those three little words around like confetti into the wind. If I ever do say those three little words again, I would want it to stick for good... like superglue.
On the flip side, one can never say those three little words enough to family, friends, and a wee little cat.
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| Is there anything as lovely
as belly button lint?
Nestled ever so bizarrely
when viewed with a squint.
It fuzzes blithely
with a peachy tint.
Tell me, is there anything as lovely
as belly button lint?
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| In my head, "I knew there was a reason why I don't like to buy shiny new clothes"...
... as I watched a splatter of tomato sauce from my lunch dribble down the light-coloured shirt I had decided to wear to work today. My first time wearing that shirt too. Always without fail, like last time with the soya sauce, and then there was the ketchup squirt incident the time before that...
I shouldn't be allowed to wear anything other than burlap sacks and disposable table-clothes.
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