Monday, September 22, 2014

Virgin Water Balloon

Today was my very first time filling up water balloons. I was leaving it till the very last minute of work, thinking to myself "pfft, how difficult can it be?". So it began at 5.00 pm today.

*stretches ridiculously mini balloon*

*opens tap*

*places balloon below the running water*

Nothing but floppy, annoying, small balloon trying to avoid getting wet.

This cannot be right, something must be wrong with the balloon. 

*takes another balloon*


*mini balloon dances in contact of water, like it was ticklish and having fits at the same time*

You got to be kidding me. 

*takes another balloon and repeats error*

I'm not really using my brain here. Come on Irene, what is it? 

Ah, that's right, all the balloons must be broken. 

Sunday, February 16, 2014

The Shade

Heart beats fast,
It's one of the Sunday afternoons startled from a nap.
Sweat drips, uncontrolled thoughts,
Emotions swirling like the floor fan.

Heat is stroking my skin, painfully.
The sun beams through the old fashion window,
Heart is anguish, sorrowful,
Mind filled with thoughts of nothing, but him.

Birds chirping, like gossips among lonely ladies.
It is 4.28 in the afternoon, where could love be?
Will it come back, will it fade,
Patience and mercy, come be my shade.

Saturday, February 15, 2014

The Recovery

Okay, so here I am writing about recovering from yet another relationship.

Like what Fergie said in her "Clumsy" song -

You know this ain't the first time
This has happened to me, this love sick thing
I like serious relationships
And a girl like me don't stay single for long
'Cause every time a boyfriend and I break up
My world is crushed and I'm all alone
The love bug crawls right back up
And bites me and I'm back

I never ever, ever ever, ever in my life, ever ever ever thought I would understand a song like  this. Especially after she repeats the lyrics that comes after 16 times. Even some of Joseph Arthur's dark poem would sometimes seem understandable. Now that I get pop, i'm not sure if I'm happy about it.

But, yeah, the recovery.

It's too many a times that I've felt this way. The depressed days, the hallucination (emo imagination), the never-ending tears and questions to God, the wheel of self-comfort and self-loathe. Even talking about it to friends seem pointless. It's a point where they go .. "WHAT, AGAIN? LOL." instead of "are you doing okay?".

I found a few great friends though, one in particular that revealed a silver lining from this, and something that I never heard of about myself. He said:

"Irene, when you love, you always give it all you got. Then it breaks, and you break along. But what is most amazing, is that you always find the strength to pick yourself up, and then fall right back in love again. That's the most special thing about you."

I guess we can look at it two ways, either Irene is just a silly hopeless romantic, or she just really believe in love. I know too many people who got hurt once, and never recover. But recovering is the best part, it's the part where you rest and give yourself time.

Then another friend said something that made me doubt what the first guy said. He said:

"Irene, you are so messed up."

That makes sense too.

I guess this part is always the hardest. But there are parts where I feel alive, like taking my new dog for a walk in the park at night. The weather is breezy, no annoying kids attempting to touch her, or stupid teenage girls making goggly eyes at her and then at her boyfriend (like Ted from Scrubs would say "Why should they be happy?"), and Peaches is just happily running around attacking leaves and sometimes my feet.

The breeze, the silence amidst the busy city.

It's nature telling you to live, it's God saying you'll make it through, and it's me realizing that I will be okay again.

Saturday, October 26, 2013

Pretty dresses, pretty lies.

Here I am, seated in front of my laptop. Clothes are sprawled all over the floor. Folding them as I gather my thoughts.

It started with opening my cupboard door today. Determined by force. Painfully pulling out dresses and flinging them on the floor as I swipe through every hanging piece.

I loved these dresses, I loved these pants. But I see them hanging in my closet every day, waiting for me to put them on and take them out again. It saddens me.

It's a sigh and bye each time I try them on. Putting them back gets more painful each time.

These pretty clothes don't fit me anymore.

I know, I feel like Carrie Bradshaw now. Whining about clothes and life. Except she looks good typing in skimpy attire.

I feel like Michelin and I feel like Sylvia from The Nanny. I feel like I've been the Biggest Gainer.

Ah. Being a girl is not easy.

Sometimes I wonder, why do people let themselves go? Yet at the same time, convinced deep within that they are still doing a-okay despite whatever the photos in people's camera tell them? What are they waiting for, is it a miracle? Or maybe a wake up call.

Would it be too late then?