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?