What's happening?

I have always loved writing, and writing has always come easily for me. Writing has always been my emotional outlet but somewhere along the way, I lost my touch. Someone once told me, "Don't ever stop writing, ever!"

At that point in life, I had the biggest eye roll moment and I said something in the lines of..."Writing is the way I function so I really don't see myself stop." Lies, lies, big fat lies. I stopped somewhere in the last few years. I stopped writing personal blog post. Although I still do some freelance writing that does not touch any parts of my emotion, it is never the same. Now writing feels like a strage dead-weight I am dragging around.

In the last few years, I have had a baby, who is already four years and a bit more. An amazing little daughter who I feel I let down more than I inspire her. I have also dreamed and lost several dreams along the way. I have now reached adulthood and I have realised this is hard and so I stopped attaching myself to words so they do not drag me down. I stopped attaching myself to words so I did not have to let anyone read what's happening in my life. While I do say loud and clearly of whats happening to me, its always somewhat a rushed whisper that I almost wish for the wind to blow away before someone hears it.

So life has been a bit hard, maybe it is not hard. Maybe it is just how adulthood is but I just never saw it coming. So that is what is happening. So I will keep trying, and trying. And one day, let's hope all the pieces fall into the right places and all this emotions will be a far away distance memory we will just sigh at and be glad its in the past.


Love,
Genisha 

Sleep, my hateful love

I find myself sleeping more hours of the day than I don't. 20 minutes up on my feet has me down for a nap of 20 minutes plus another hour and a half and some more. How dare I even call it a nap anymore? 

Thus, with such a syndrome, it's doubtful I will be very instrumental in moving any mountains around the world, might the mountain be just right beside my bedside or finishing a textbook and gaining some knowledge for my examination around the corner. Life is such. It's a continuous dragging effect of slumber and eating too much and feeling like I have already moved the mountain and climbed it up and down. I am literally drained off all my energy after washing just a plate. Like seriously!

It could be a thyroid problem, I could be a chemotherapy patient, I could have some bad bad horrid blood circulation, I could be pregnant, I could be sleep-walking all night with zombies that I wake up more tired than the night before, I could simply be the most laziest person the world has ever faced, or god help me, I could be studying a little too hard! My defence is, I am just so bloody exhausted so forgiveness goes a long way.

I have my darling gentleman feed me fries and burgers sometimes in the middle of the night because I am so goddamn tired but still famished doing next to nothing, to do any form of mechanisms with my arms. That's how terrible it is. Oh bless that man's big-little heart! And he does the laundry around the house as well, so whenever I change my bed sheets with a new one, I have to search for the pillow covers and matching quilt all over the place to only find them still stranded in the bottom of the dirty laundry basket. What do I get out of his love? A bed full of fresh but mismatched pillow cases and bed spreads to quilt cover and dishes which are yummy but look strangely like how our dog Tommy's meal. God, forgive me, but I almost hate that man as much as I adore him! He obviously hates me, he says, "Oh you are worst than me, a woman should behave like a woman and its not excusable for a woman to ever behave like a man at any time of the day." I hope he one day climbs Mount Everest without so much of a training and come home to a pile of dishes and laundry to do and we will talk about who the throne of laziness belongs to...though, even at that point, it could still scantily belong to me.

With love,

The ultra-lazy one

Letter to my life

Dear life, you need to enter my mind and we need to talk. Don't run away from me because you are scared to tell me what I need to hear, because you don't want to hurt me. Look at me, I am a case of complete ruin, or I will be. You can't just pop over once in a while to say you've missed me and leave when you think I am going to be fine. You can't make me laugh until my mouth is aching and I am coughing and then leave. You can't bluntly suggest that I snack on those KitKat bars I have in my pantry and expect sugar rush to tune me well. No, don't try those orange and super fresh carrots in my fridge. Don't misuse the stress-eater handicap in me into something only for your benefit. You are killing it for me! You can't say I need to get lost, to be found again because excuse me, I am sick of getting lost like for the millionth time. How about you give me directions like a well-functioning GPS and tell me with confidence of where you would like to see me go and not forever ask me to go wherever I want to go because I am a goddamn flower, not a fucking weed. Garden me well and I promise to give you bouquet of flowers every now and then and whenever I can. We are in this shit together, you keep forgetting that and I feel like a shithead for depending too much on you but guess what, I am nothing without you. So stop doing that thing with me that you do, yes, that thing where you sit on that perfectly built swing on an oak tree as you dangle your feet in a mist of cloud and get drunk over a glass of screw driver. With love, your carcass

A bitch-fit throwing lover

If I were to visualise the internals of my brain, it's pretty darn simple. I open up the top half of my skull and in it, I see a brain - of course - and I see a plain white nothingness right in the centre of it all and at the edges of the oval-shaped brain, I see some active redness. The redness are the creativity in me striving to come out and overwhelm the plain whiteness but when, what seems like 92% of my brain is just wilting away, the active redness is starting to turn a shade of pinkish-purple. But, look at me trying, trying very hard to just jumble up a few strings of words.

In the past two months, I have written very few, unlike the typing mechanism I usually am. I have sent a few articles to work and then shortly recalled them back and didn't give them publishing rights. I have been very disappointed with what I have been writing. I am in a state of nothingness, in a state of disappearing. I breathe in and out like a normal person would do, but inside me, there is no flame burning for me. There should be flame burning in everyone.

I am writing now because I need to write. I have to force myself to write. I can't die now. I am overcoming the plain whiteness. I cannot let it defeat me. The only reason why I feel like I am in dark murky water is solely because I haven't been writing and any writer can tell you that is how they feel when they don't write for a long stretch of time. It is not because they don't want to write, if anything, I want to get back to writing so badly but you know, when I am whining all the time about how I feel so depressed, I fail to see myself as an impressive human being and for me to be able to elucidate my emotions, I need to feel all sorts of awesomeness! Besides, no one wants to read about depression.

I have been whining like a major bitch and gentleman has been absurdly amazing in handling me. I have been crying all the time, because that is what I do best. I cry a lot and often. Everyone should cry. I am very emotional. I like to think I am 10 times more emotional than anyone and I like to think it's true. If I am happy, I am 10 times happier than anyone has been and if I am sad, I am 10 times as sad. I feel too much and trust me, I want to be the kind of person who doesn't give a fuck about anything but I am the person who thinks too much and too aloud. If I choose to go silent, people get worried because a loud person like me never stays quiet for too long and if I talk it out, my thoughts and words are not nice. I want to be the person who can just stay calm but I can't be her. If something doesn't go in my way, I throw a bitch-fit. I have always been this person and I will always be her.

You can't blame me either. It's self-preservation of some kind and a defence mechanism. I am a hermit crab with soft insides and hard outer cover. And I think it is because gentleman knows this that's why he is so tolerant of me. It's not his problem that I can't control my emotions but he makes half of my whole problem his and he apologises for me. I know I can do better than just use him however I want to. I have so much teenage angst in me. I had such an easy time growing up unlike most. I didn't get heart breaks, was a good student and good at everything I put my hands in (except maths but even that went fine) and I didn't have body issues like 99.99999% of teenage girls, not that I was fit and slim. I had hair issues because I couldn't tame my fizzy hair but  I just tied it up in a bun and lived life and didn't let it hold me down and over time, my unruly hair suddenly became one of the best features in me. What I am having here, is a post-teenage angst in me.

A few days ago, I decided what I wanted to do with life and I finally felt well and alive. I feel so good right now that I walked to the supermarket yesterday and swung my grocery bags in twirls as I walked with an oomph in every step I took. I even sang songs aloud, whenever I thought I was alone. I feel recovered now but I don't see the bitch-fit throwing person going anywhere because I have a man in my life who loves me even when I am crying and so lost.

With love,

Genisha

I feel like marigold.

An ugly habit has developed in me or maybe, it is a habit that has always been a trait of mine but I never had time to notice until recently. Lately, I have started taking notice of how I clench my jaws tightly all the time and I find the deeper my thoughts are at the moment, the tighter the clench is and whenever I release the tension when I  finally become aware, my jawlines are exhausted. I can only think of how much damage is being done to my teeth...my entire mouth. I have also noticed I tend to take more time brushing the left side of my teeth than the right side. I have taken points and try to spend equal time on each sides, front and insides. I have noticed a lot of things about my oral functioning in these two months. How if I brush my teeth immediately after breakfast, I am more likely to throw up and its disgusting because nothing is digested yet and when vomit mixes with all the brushing-Colgate-plenty-of-germs-and-plaque residues, which if anything, makes me throw up more. Every day is a lesson.

In the number of years I have lived, I have been slowly unveiling myself like a bud of  a plant, from the first signs of a tiny bud to the beginning of flowering where a hint of color petal shows and you are glad of the color species it is, because you were afraid it might be from the species of another - color - alleles. Over time, the flower blooms and you see the shape of the petals and you can touch the softness of it, you can even smell the fragrance it rewards. As expected of the plant, more and more flowers changes the mood of the boring greenness of life and one day, in the fullness of time, the last flower hangs down and dries up. This plant I am talking about is not a seasonal plant and does not go into remission until the next Summer. This plant I am talking about, its root withers and breakdowns and turn into debris and eventually into soil waste. I feel like this annual plant. A hydrangeas can last throughout winter into Spring and blooms again during the warmer days, marigold can't. I feel like marigold.

As a young little girl, I wasn't very ambition - or ambition at all. I was definitely not studious and I wasn't sporty which means I wasn't into sports. If I was good at one thing, it was day-dreaming. I was always a wandering soul, having teachers chasing me around for failing my dictation and spelling exams. Surprisingly, I was better in Mathematics when I was younger than I was in English. I frequently slept in classes in a classy way, making telescopes with my Pets course book and pretending to be looking through the hole, onto the whiteboard when actually both my eyes were closed and totally resting in an entirely different world altogether. Like most lazy students, I was only hyper active during recess. I am a very late bloomer.

As an young adult now, I am discovering my earnest hate for shopping and anything skin tight. I am discovering I don't need to pretend to like everything and everyone but I have to. That it is alright to be afraid and if I don't move my ass, time still passes on but I don't want to move my ass until I am certain it is what I want to do. This is the part in the horror movie where people are screaming for me to run, because the killer is right behind me, what they don't know is that, it is a goddamn movie and the director can make the killer come out of anywhere and there can be more than one killer. I am the girl in the horror movie, someone is directing and so if the rest could just keep quiet while I plan out a strategy to outdo all evil on path, it would be good. Thanks.

P.s: I am watching reruns of Grey's Anatomy and Fringe and obsessed with Game of Thrones, which could partially be the reason why I am stalling and waking up to crumbles of my moral esteem collecting around me. I also have a season of Gossip Girl I haven't watched yet.

Love,
Genisha

Transit of darkness.

When one is suffering from a writer's block, words just refuses to get out and I am having the worst form of it. The words are escaping me, and I feel like a complete illiterate trying to catch up with them. Trust me, I have tried a couple of times to write something but the words gather at the slowest speed and I get frustrated. Even now, I just want to shut this page down, crawl into my bed and watch a movie that shouldn't have been made in the first place. I am trying ways to open my mind; I tried reading but all I have been reading, plays almost zero relevance to the deep-emotional-inspirational articles I really need to immerse myself in.  Polls on who Kardashian-West baby's look take after and a lot of askmen on how to make a lady orgasm and even weird ones like how to fake a male orgasm, won't do much for me at the end of the day but I couldn't stop myself from opening yet another bubble-gum news. And honestly, why would men need to fake an orgasm? That makes everything statistically wrong (Aren't men like some sort of overachievers capable of reaching the toe-curling-head-out-of-space sensation every single time?), unless, of course, in cases when they have been having sex with another woman and then coming back home to another woman as guilty as one can be, but not having the heart to hurt her and he doesn't have enough load and energy. (And yes, I have also been reading up on cheating spouses, because I found myself stumbling upon huffingtonpost's divorce section).

I am in this transitional period of some sort where I feel like a caterpillar in a cocoon. I am changing, slowly, as a individual, as a writer, as a dreamer and as a realist. I am changing into another person, different from whom I am familiar with. It is like a fresh new haircut, you don't like but after a few weeks of growth, you can't stop obsessing about how the layers of the hair is finally falling into place but right now, I am still at the phrase of hating it but I know I will eventually like it or I can always go for yet another haircut to correct all the cuts ruining it. My thoughts are incomprehensible, I can't even hear myself talk and I have lost signals with my inner self and my heart and mind are forks apart, after a narrow road. And everyone knows when you can't feel, listen and know a single thing that is happening in the chambers of the souls, you are just stuck in a rut until for sometime or maybe a long time. I am in a transit of darkness. I feel like a caterpillar about to morph into a butterfly but, a stiff fear of becoming a moth is painfully scary.

Love,
Genisha

Change in taste, a city of wonders

I had always wanted to walk through a flea market ever since I was in Singapore. Today, I went to one and fell in love with all the sunny people and a bunch of useful and useless things stacked together, plenty tables apart. Gentleman knows of my ideal and high expectation of all things that goes through my mind, and tried to warn me of a disappointment but it was exactly what I expected. I cannot wait to go to other markets, especially around the neighbourhood for the rich.

To me, it wasn't at all about the cheap deals, well in tiny parts it was but it was more for the ambience. Those shop keepers are all lounging around, sitting under the sun in their foldable chairs and tables full of wares and stuffs to sell, with their wide-brimmed sun hats and just smiling at everyone. There is no grumpiness or too much of friendliness which is evidential in too much of Melbourne that its suffocating. It was just people, a few dollar coins and raspberry jam filled hot doughnuts, sprinkled with sugar. It was just relaxing and peaceful, everyone there was just out to have a good Sunday and it wasn't all about money-making and money-saving. It was in other words, the perfect way to start off the day.

This weekend has been wickedly amazing for me. Out of spontaneity, gentleman took me to the city at 10pm on a Friday. It was just a drive back home from Ikea, after getting my niece and nephew their birthday present and a on-the-spot kind of decision. I wore pyjamas underneath a black trench coat and gentleman donned a nice shirt and made his hair and we walked to the train station and used our first Myki card (a pass for travelling on public transports) and entered into a whole new world. I loved the city and from there onward, my view on the Australian life is changed forever. It was small arty buildings and nightclubs and young foolish people wearing leggings that deserved to be thrown but I know they actually paid so much for that design. It was lovers and seeing their happiness and it was idiots on the road living their life fully and ladies wearing four inch heels that I would die to own and seeing them
Sashay in their pretty dresses and cute clutches. I felt alive seeing those life within a small estimated land of LED lights and ignored traffic signals. It was also Victorian styled buildings and attention catching buskers. It was seeing the Herald Sun's building and so much more, to me, it was all inches of perfection except that maybe, we paid too much for the terrible quality of sushi and sashimi.

By the time, we finished one side of the city,we were yawning and aching and besides we had decided to come back in the morning but we slept until 11.20am (very unusual for us because by 8, I drag gentleman out of bed for breakfast). We must have been exhausted, we snoozed on the train back home (we have perfected the art of sleeping while traveling) while I secretly giggled at one Chinese man trying to really ace his accent with his fellow Chinese friend and a white man. It was hilarious for a few seconds and then, it started to get annoying, like holy crap, 'I am going to be a poser like him' reality check. He just going on about the girls who hates him (next interest character already, please). Everything about that night was 11/10.

And from that night onwards, the Australia life doesn't seem suffocating. Everything is looking rosey, I am even getting good buys and my stove is finally working with me and my food are not under cooked or burnt and even gentleman has been cooking the yummiest meals for us while I slug it out on the table just thinking of the next step and wondering how impossible it seemed to be, that one person could bring so much happiness to me and how the country changed overnight for me, though perhaps, I should have bought romantic novels at the flea market instead of true crime stories based in Australia. I am this close to shitting in my pants reading it that every little crackling of the book's spine has me all alert and waiting for a man to pop up from somewhere to kill me. Oh god bless me!

P.s. I am trying to start on a series for the blog but I don't know if I am capable of executing it. Help?

With love,
Genisha