Brokelyn.com

This site is so cute, check it out (I learnt that Brooklyn is world’s 5th most expensive place for clothes only today!).
Pity I'm possibly moving away from my favorite borough soon. To guess where?
Lhong Irland.
Okay it's not spelt that way but that's how I like to say it :)

Class of 2012

On the 31st of May, I get to wear a funny hat. Colorful too.

When I Grow Up

My dad actually said "When you grow up, ............." in one of our conversations before I flew back here from a short vacay. Not in a condescending way, but he meant when I begin to work. Because now I don’t you see. Never really had a real job.

And I’ve always felt like I’ve never grown up. Constantly being around people older than me is one of the reasons I feel that way. I skipped two grades in school, and have friends who are mostly older. A youngling wherever I go. 

I’m planning to return Home to work after I graduate from my program this May. This little girl is taking itty bitty steps to finally “growing up”. 

The Art of Saying No

What a nice title for my future book of poems. Ahem. That's if I ever finish writing enough. And if it's good enough for publication.

Why this title? Well. It's hard for me to say no. Such a people pleaser, pfft. Then there are times I lash and speak out. Some people know me by my fierce mouth and others as someone easily walked over by. Which one am I really? Buy my future book to find out. Just kidding. No really :)

I guess I can't even tell myself. I don't even know if I am an introvert or an extrovert. I'd like to think that I'm on a continuum, that nothing is black and white. There will be times I want to be around people, be loud and there will be times when I just don't want to see anyone, preferring to drown in my own solace and thoughts

So erratic you say? Aren't most writers erratic? :)

Real?

Yes.

I need you too.

I had always thought my little sister needed me more than I did her. She is always asking me to be around her - she would want me to sleep beside her, eat next to her, listen to her play the piano, even sit outside the bathroom while she bathes. Knowing she misses me since we only see each other once a year, I would oblige.

Each night we would ‘play’ (talk, laugh, and do other forbidden things like giving her sweets to eat when Mother specifically said not to) and on the days we could not play she would go to bed sad. So when yesterday she told me go to sleep when I wanted to ‘play’ because she was tired, I realized I needed her just as much as she did me.

dervish

der·vish  (dûr'vish)

n.

1. A member of any of various Muslim ascetic orders, some of which perform whirling dances and vigorous chanting as acts of ecstatic devotion.

2. One that possesses abundant, often frenzied energy: "[She] is a dervish of unfocused energy, an accident about to happen"

We are different, and for that we are the same.

She and I couldn't be more different. She prefers Celine Dion and fellow crooners but I cannot stand those kinds of songs. She's rather comfortable with emotions and sappiness (so to speak); I cringe just at the thought of it. She has no problems calling me her 'bestie' openly to those she knows, but I still have difficulty uttering those words for God-knows-what reasons. I love my spicy food but she can't tolerate them. She's tall, I'm short. Even our taste in clothes differ. We have different ways in looking at problems and how to go about solving them. We're also attracted to different kinds of guys: She likes those who are extroverted romantics, I lean towards the silent but strong types. She likes talking over the phone, I prefer texting. She sings like an angel, I sing like Mickey Mouse. The differences go on and on.

But somehow we gel together - a somewhat incompatible but inseparable duo. Perhaps because we accept our differences and make the most of it, not trying to be the same. And for that, we're the same.

Here's to my best friend, whom I've come to *clears throat* love over the many years of our friendship.

Why are you and I so surprised

to find out that this is how and who I really am?

"Magdalene, what are you doing?"

A question I can't should ask myself more.

I don't want to lose sight

of what I already cannot see.