They didn’t agree on much. In fact, they rarely agreed on everything. They fought all the time. And they challenged each other everyday. But despite their differences, they had one important thing in common. They were crazy about each other.
Then again, I’m crazy on my own.
“I’m scared of everything. I’m scared of what I saw. I’m scared of what I did, of who I am…. and most of all, I’m scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my whole life the way I feel when I’m with you.”
“Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.
Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.
She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.
Buy her another cup of coffee.
Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.
It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.
She has to give it a shot somehow.
Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.
Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.
Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilightseries.
If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.
You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.
You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.
Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.
Or better yet, date a girl who writes.” – Rosemary Urquico
I have no idea what to write anymore. Did I stop being happy between my last post and the one I’m currently writing? I don’t think so, but in any case, I feel like I have nothing to add to choose happiness. I think its such a circular fallacy, because the more you think about being happy, the less happy you are. You become too caught up in the entire notion that you forget to enjoy yourself.
So, I’m going to forget about happy for one moment, and focus instead on appreciation. Inspiring appreciation for the cliched smaller things, which actually, really do count:
The growing friendship between my brother and I. The boy who I used to punch and kick and fight with, who has grown to be such a diligent, disciplined and well-loved young man. I am so proud of him for not giving into his past temptations and working hard to achieve his own goals. In the last few months, he’s inspired me to look after my health, and pushing me to keep a (part time) diet regime. He’s made me to squats and crunches and leg lifts, and he lets me hold his ankles when I do them. He’s tucked me in bed and given me head massages when I’m sick, and cooks me no fat beef nachos when I’m hungry. Heck, he even went clubbing with me (I KNOW RIGHT?). I have no idea when he grew up so fast, but I’m so glad we’re growing up together, and he is comfortable enough to confide in me all the little things we don’t tell our Asian parents. I am proud beyond words and thinking of how far he’s come sometimes makes me a little emotional.
My stomach crunches, and planks and leg lifts. I love them. Whenever I get bored at home, I just lie on the floor and start doing them. HAHA. I love feeling that pain in my stomach area because I know I’m working one muscle or another. But also because I shake so vigoriously when I’m doing my planks, each time I feel like I gotta just keep it up for longer. As sad as it sounds, I sorta like the challenge.
Tucking Piggy in at night. I love her mopey little face and those beautiful dark eyes staring at me each night, when I say good night to her and put her blanket over her. Her soft ears and those little paws that tuck neatly under her head. It melts my heart every time. And the best bit is, she listens when you tell her to stay, and lies still in her blankets because she knows it’ll be cold outside otherwise. I can’t think of anyone who is as loyal to me as my pup is.
I F#CKING LOVE PEANUT BUTTER.
Had the most stressful afternoon.
Ate peanut butter straight from the jar.
I’m so freakin’ happy now (and fat too).
“He shouldn’t be called Wayne Swan, because he’s a goose. He should be called Wayne Goose!” – My Boss
I generally hate banks, and I generally hate dealing with customer service representatives. But I love my banker and I love how I dont need to call a customer service hotline to get help.
I recently signed up for an iSaver account (via email – took like 5 minutes!) so I can start to properly save for NYC. I had stupidly forgotten the withholding tax rules in relation to interest earning accounts, and ended up providing my TFN 2 weeks later.
Anyway so I checked my bank account this morning and figured I’m completely broke (funny how when you earn more you tend to spend more), BUT also noticed I got charged withholding tax. Not cool! I proceeded to contact my banker…
Jess: Hey J, I need you to check my account and confirm that you guys have my TFN because I realised I’ve been charged withholding tax this month!
Banker: OMG. (he literally sent me an SMS that said OMG)
Jess: What? I need to know!
Banker: GIVE ME 5 MINUTES. …. Yes it has been recorded.
Jess: Ok so why am I charged withholding tax? Oh btw can you drive into the city and buy me a mocha please thankyou.
Banker: Yeah sure. Just hold your breath and I’m sure you will get your mocha before you turn blue.
Anyway, they’re fixing the withholding tax, but I didn’t get my mocha. Poo.
It is so nice for someone to recognise and want to read my writings, despite my absence from time to time.
OK, so I have been doing this skin routine for about three weeks now, and I figured I’ll share because it has made me feel like I can accept myself a little more the way I am (very important in the quest of loving oneself).
I really don’t remember when I started using make up, but I was never really one to cake my face any how. In any case, I’ve been putting on my face everyday for at least the last two years. Putting on my face meaning moisturiser, foundation, bronzer. And on really shitty days, eye make up is a must. So in essence, nothing really heavy, just enough to give myself some colour and look somewhat presentable.
Anyway, I came up with this random idea three weeks ago that I’m going to go without make-up for work/rest day (although admittedly Friday afternoon I’m probably doing my makeup at my desk). I’ve changed my routine to only include moisturiser,sunscreen moisturiser (I have a thing for soft skin and double moisturising in winter is a must) and paw paw ointment.
OK, so the first week or so, I was breaking out all over the place! I was getting dry spots, and I swear it had made my skin worse than better. Sad face 1000!!
But, I soldiered on, and three weeks later, I actually feel a massive improvement in my skin elasticity, how soft it is (even when I forget to moisturise at night), and all my break outs are disappearing. That has definitely made me really happy.
I think the part I found hardest to deal with though, would be the psychological aspect. I find my friends wear makeup daily, I see girls who sit on the train applying their make up and they all just look so lovely. There is something about make up that makes you glow, makes your eyes bigger and your brows more defined!
My skin isn’t perfect, and I’ll always have blemishes that no amount of moisturiser can fix. I’ve felt extremely self conscious, and at times, deeply saddened that these impefections are permanent.
But, slowly, I’ve accepted that I need to be absolutely comfortable in my own skin. No amount of make up can change who you are, no matter how beautiful you may think it makes you look. I know it sounds all cliche, and this probably isnt the sort of poetic post you thought you’d find here, but the simple truth is this: when you learn to love yourself, every aspect of who you are, you will start to appreciate your worth. And you will realise that you are beautiful because you are you, not because you’re good at caking your face.
Some day you will die.
Lying on your sick bed,
About to breathe your last,
You will be assailed by every kind of pain.
Your mind will be filled
With fears and anxieties
And you will not know
What to do or where to go.
Only then will you realise
You have not practiced well.
The Skandhas/aggregates
(matter, sensations, conceptions, impulses and consciousness)
And the four elements in you
Will quickly disintegrate,
And your consciousness will be pulled
Wherever your ancient, twisted karma leads it.
Impermanence does not hesitate.
Death will not wait.
You will not be able
To extend your life
Even by a second.
How many thousands more times
Will you have to pass through
The gates of birth and death?
If these words are challenging,
Even insulting
Let them be an encouragement
For you to change.
Practice heroically.
Do not accumulate unnecessary possessions.
Do not give up.
Still your mind,
End wrong perceptions,
Concentrate, and do not run
After the objects of your senses.
Practice diligently.
Be determined not to let days
And months pass by wastefully.
- Zen Master Guishan
