Swept off my feet

Just a few months ago, I was whispering 'I miss you' without knowing who 'you' is exactly. There was an indefinite hollow at a small part of my chest. Although it was not affecting life in any way, it was definitely irritating; like an itchy scab waiting to heal.

I spent a lot of time redefining my relationship with God, with my mum, my brother, the first few friends whom knew me as I start my life in KL, the girls of my blood and bones, and the men that sees more of me than a cute flirt with bouncing jugs.

I was content with life. I knew something was missing, but I didn't have ways to search for it, and I refuse to relent into desperation. So I was content.

And today, I have a face to that 'you'. 

He come in ways that I both dreamed of, and would never imagined. His hands are so big that they envelop my neck completely, but they are warm against my skin- constantly keeping my seemingly small fingers firm and safe in his grip. 

He's made of morning dewdrops, and late night stargaze when the only sweet things I could stomach were wondermilk cupcakes; and yet his eyes gleam with so much sincerity, I felt like the world just fade away behind me. Leaving but he and I, in a lost timezone of our own.

He's an ideal that I (and I believe many young others) one day wish to achieve; stability, freedom, and the independence to make a life decision. He's a dream for a girl, and a challenge for a woman- a constant reminder for me to push myself to achieve further and to achieve more.

He smelled of stolen puffs of cigarettes, made of nervous laughter of a young heart, and tasted of a longing of far too long. Lost, but never forgotten among the fabric of moments.

How could one be swept off their feet when one keeps on their toes?

I am made of strong women, those who believe that even when your head and your heart be a-flutter among the clouds, your feet must be firm on solid grounds. Women whom are constantly let down but never lost the beat of life to move forward- for themselves, and for those that matter. 

I am made of careless laughter, seductive glances and tightly closed doors. An old vibrant book hidden among the rest; not really wanting to be found, knowing that I can never be absolutely lost as well. I was content.

But you, you 

who makes the woods in a kitchen smells like freshly baked chocolate cookies, who makes the longue of a house warm and welcoming, who gallantly talks of travels and new worlds, screams unspoken adventures, who are made of soft glitters at night, and the last bit of rain on a cold night in. 

who, despite all that, are able to stand beside me, and held me close; and stay here.

You made me fall in love. 

Between the unseen lines

I like my own room because then I can have it the way I want it. My bed in one corner, to a wall. So I can lean on it and stare at my empty ceilings. Imagine that the whole universe are swimming past my gaze, the way his eyes twinkle when they smile at me.

I like having my never-ending pile of books in bookshelves, sorted between read, un-read and forever sacred. The last pile I'll share only with a chosen few, let them have a peek into my mind, my ideas, my lust, my world.

I like having the option to paint on my wall. To be lost in deep thoughts while the mechanics of my body continue to slowly dip red into blue, and create the most gorgeous hue of velvet. Then be nicely surprised by it, when I drift back into the quiet reality.

I like dressing up for nothings. Trying out new ways to put my hair in and what to match with that one turquoise jeans I own. Looking into the mirror and thinking how nice it would be to have smaller hips, and longer legs. Fairer skin, and thicker hair. 

Then forgetting all about it when I realize I have somewhere to go that evening. To meet him.

I like to plan for parties six months in advance in my head and be happy with the possibilities but grounded enough to know that a lot of things can happen in between the time.

I like to be able to weave beautiful words, between silk and gold and diamonds. Yet I love it morst when there is another some one to share those glitters and glam with.

To touch just the tips of his fingers when he walks on my side. To forever feel like there's always only he and I in a room but laughing at other friends' jokes. To look the other way and flip through colourful clothing in a store yet constantly wondering what he's wondering.

I like loving someone. And I'd love to be loved in return.

But most of all, I like knowing that I can always choose to give my all. 

But that doesn't make him owe me anything in return

Sigh. I miss writing.

These days have been so hard to cope. With the constant pressure at school and the lack of time for my other commitment, the angry voices back home and my own inability to manage financially, its been so hard to just pick up the pieces without breaking even more.

I cried so many times it's embarrassing, and it leaves me feeling even more tired. Not to mention a waste of time.

I do, though, like hearing your voice. The fact that you're constantly happy makes me happy. :) I wish you tell me more about yourself. I'd like to be your friend. ♥  

Love Thyself

I miss my best friends. They're all over the world making a difference now.

Life isn't as long as we'd like it to be, make it count, be happy.

Easier said than done eh? Well, it was like a wake up call. My bestfriend passed on rather unexpectedly, and suddenly, it’s like, does my life makes sense now? Live it like it counts. 

This was quoted from an article by an AIESEC*er Alumnus. This hits me really hard because in the last month, two of my kin had passed away rather suddenly as well- one of them was my grandmother whom I constantly fly home to take care because she could no longer remember me or even my mum (her daughter) at times.

She had been sickly for a while now, bed bound and had started giving in to dementia. She kept mumbling about old memories and talk to you as if she just came back from a game of poker or she was cooking earlier. Due to her erratic mood swings, the caretakers kept changing. Not only are they expensive but it was not easy to find one that would treat grandmother right. Time and time again mum would call me while I was in KL to tell me that she feels really, really sad and angry when my grandmother complains about her caretaker shouting/ mistreating her.

The thing is, you wouldn't know if grandmother were just being irrational or were really mistreated.

She was only 60+ of age, and these times, those ages are supposed to be an adult's golden years. Enough money to spend, children all grown up, and leftover time to indulge in idle activities. But grandmother was made of all those strong, loving, willful women. Like my mother, she was a single parent, with 5 young children in her hands and no education papers to help her in getting better job offers.

She did everything. Everything to make sure my mother and her siblings go through proper education, food on the table and clothes for Christmast once a year.

If you look at her, she had the roughest hand and the most loving touch. The most sun-kissed cheeks and hazy eyes yet the most wonderful voice and the best hug when she sees us coming up the stairs to her house.

Of all the pain a heartbreak could give, the worst comes from seeing my own mother cry. 

Have a good heart, holding on to hurt only hurts you more.

Recently learnt lesson. It's a choice you make everyday to be happy, angry, sad, upset. If someones wronged you, say your peace, move on. Trust me, carry hurt, never really helps you. Something feeling angry feels good, but you gotta make a choice to let go and move on.

Another wise words from the same alumnus.

Lately I realize that I am very unforgiving towards myself. I keep trying to do everything but no matter what, when I reflect what I have by the end of the day- I never achieved enough, or any for that matter.

It isn't because that I enjoy torturing myself but simply because I could not concentrate on the things I were doing. My heart stayed at home -but there's nothing I can do to make things at hime better by being there as well anyway. I kept sleeping too. I slept so much that I couldn't tell the difference between time and days and moments.

I do things slowly but there were hundreds of thousands of things going through my mind that it drains everything out of me every painstaking seconds.

I've seen an article before that people sleep because that is the most basic self-coping mechanism for a human. Like a child, if they are upset or confused, they will stay in their bedrooms and sleep; because it is comforting to them. A sense of escapism.

This journey have been lonely isn't because I have no one to tell, but because I could not get those words out, that I need help. Because it doesn't matter how I think about it, if I ask for help, how can they help?

I have been sick on and off lately and the last doctor told me there's something wrong with my heart. They're working too hard. I think its time I stop being selfish and end up worrying the one person whom I do not want to hurt -my mother.

I think its time I take up my own advice and help myself up.

Let go, and let live. Love thyself.

There were a lot of people and parties hurt during my times of mourning, which I can only blame myself for not managing properly. And even if I have sent out formal apologies to those I think have suffered, I'm sure I missed a number still. If you are reading this I hope you understand.

I am deeply sorry.

*AIESEC is an international leadership organization I am very proud to be part of.