i don't want no fake gucci

it was a reunion dinner of sorts, just us girls catching up two months after project love india. over 'home made' pizzas and siew mais, we reminisce about the good, the bad, the ugly and the hilarious. all that was kolkata, sneha. then opl arrived with the photo album (which i'm now holding hostage) and over the anecdotes and the retelling of stories (which was actually unneccesary cause we were all there), i was reminded of what it is that fills the void that is my life. the open smiles, the candid joy on all of our faces. i wonder how i found the strength to leave all that behind to return to my sunny island of plasticpore.

pages after pages of painting the sick room, english lessons, computer classes, first aid sessions, christmas party, kabadi, playing, talking, dancing, singing, sharing, laughing, hugging, loving.

priceless kodak moments frozen for posterity.

no 1,2,3 say cheese. no stiff smiles. no phoney poses.
not a shred of artifice for you to swipe for with your mastercards.

but what really strikes me is how after a while, it takes quite a bit of effort to pick our faces out from the sea of smiles in the countless group photos that were taken. there is no more us or them, no lines that divide though we come from worlds apart. just hearts that touched and were touched. and as much as they saw us as some savior-type with all our know-hows and gadgets, they too have saved us, with their sincerity and their warmth. welcoming us into their midst, being the sisters we never had, loving us so unconditionally and trusting us so completely. that saved us from the empty, vacuous lives we had probably resigned ourselves to.

they gave us hope.
they gave us a taste of love, stripped of all its trappings.

having experienced the luxury of that simple gift,
how could i possibly settle for your meaningless 'i love you's and your pawnshop promises of "forever after"?

having felt the artless honesty in their sweet embrace and warm gazes,
how could i possibly fall for your contrived compliments and false flatters?

how could i pretend that a 'made in china' cheap knockoff is the real mc coy?
why should i?

thanks opl, for the reminder.

"hopefully"- your hot air is my burst bubble

why do you have to make it so hard? you don't pick up calls, you barely keep in touch but in the rare event that we do speak, you get all excited about meeting up and then you start making plans for dinners and trips and this and that... and then, when it actually comes to making the plans a reality you disappear, and you don't pick up calls. maybe you get a kick out of knowing that someone is trying to reach you. maybe it makes you feel special. maybe it makes you feel wanted. i don't know. what i do know is that it is tiring. it is exasperating. it is irritating. and stml is just not good enough an excuse anymore for not returning missed calls. afterall, it is only basic human courtesy, don't you think?

and since I don't suffer from stml, i remember all the times and all the people you used to complain about. those who have "abandoned" you or not kept in touch with you. have you ever thought that maybe, just maybe, they got tired of dancing a one-man/woman tango? instead of constantly measuring us up on the pal-o-meter to see who's worthy of your friendship and who's not, why don't you stop playing the victim for once and ask yourself, have you been worthy of our friendship? and if the answer is no, it doesn't hurt to appreciate how lucky you are to have friends who are magnanimous or laidback, who can put aside all the hurtful things you say and how you weren't there for them when THEY needed you and yet still be there when you deem them in fashion again. cause seriously, the thing about luck and friends is, appreciate them when you have them cause you never know when you gonna run out.

you know i mean no hurt or malice. i'm just venting cause it does get irritating. and i know i sound like a girl but i AM a girl. and really, IS IT SO BLOODY HARD TO JUST PICK UP YOUR BLOODY PHONE?

remember the satans...

it's been a hypersonic souped up stroll in the garden of eden, the speed of which would probably put sepang to shame. and though the gardens maybe no more and all the lost boys have found their ways home and tinker wouldn't wake up for all the standing ovations in the world, should you happen to revisit neverland in a moment of nostalgia wendy, remember not the crocs and captain hooks and your close shaves with death and madness. but remember peter and his thrist for adventure and the boys and their ingenious toys and the laughter and and the nights of endless summer. remember wanting to stay young forever. remember having no fear. remember who we used to hold dear. remember the promise of friends forever.

a ghost of a smile fleets across her frown as echoes of the bittersweet sonnets of yore serenaded her walk down memory lane.

she has no regrets, no recriminations, no desire of reconstructing her wonder year, only fondness for her chemical romances, brief but unforgettable... with a lifetime guarantee that's renewable...

oh, those were the days my friend,
we thought they'd never end...

garam secukup rasa

why is it that whenever our moms give us cooking lessons, they always end with "garam secukup rasa" (salt as you wish)?
is it a gentle reminder that everything in life is to be taken with a pinch of the salt of reality; every high, every low, while you're up or down below. just a pinch though, just enough. and how much is enough?

"tepuk dada tanya selera"
no exact measurement of how much is too much or too little, it's as you like it. is it a subtle way of telling you that you reap what you sow, you eat what you cook. and you better like what you're eating cause you're the one who cooked it. how silly would it be for the mouth to refuse what the hand is feeding.

isn't it ironic

that the one who breaks your heart is the one you go running to in search of a hug...