That feeling

That particular feeling when you see someone you love. That feeling when you see them so happy being in love with their significant others. That feeling when you see people so happy being in love. That feeling when you witness the manifestation of this thing called love.

It is slightly different from the feeling that you get when you are in love. Witnessing someone being in love is a special experience. You get to see a different side of this person that you would otherwise not see: the softer, mellow side, the side that is peaceful, and happy, content and yet hungry at the same time. The smiles flow endlessly. The eyes shines brighter than usual. The hands are quick to grab each other.

Some of us got extremely lucky, we find a shoulder to lean on, someone to carry our shopping, someone to share our meals with, someone who peels and cuts fruits, prawns, crab and someone who cooks and cleans for us. And the presence of this person in our lives undeniably makes our lives better, and this is not just because of the acts of services that they do so selflessly for us, but more because they choose to do them for us out of love.

Given the opportunity to glimpse into this is human connection at one of its best forms. You may not be able to articulate what love is, but you know it when you see it. And when you see it, you can’t help but feel… love.

As you can tell, I am in love. This weekend, I have been spending time with friends who are in love, and I find that a very warming experience. It is as if all the things that had happened in the past, our questions, our worries, our frustrations - suddenly do not matter quite so much. Because everything is as they should be. Things happen for a reason and that reason is a damn good reason. 

If this is not happiness, then I don't know what is. x

Getting used to it

A few weeks ago...

This morning: waking up was harder than usual. I like that the weather is getting cooler, and it also means getting up is harder because all I want to do is snuggle in bed. In that split second of deciding whether to get up now or later, I think about why I want to run - because it makes me better. It gets me through the day better, I have less pain on my shoulders (still hasn't gone away), I feel better, I like myself better and therefore, I am better.

Then, I get out of my warm bed. The thought of being a better person is enough to make me forsake physical comfort. A lot of things in life is really about mind over matter.

When I first stated running, I regarded this tug-of-war of the mind as a test of willpower, and now, I think it is just a decision. Do you want to do this, or not? If you do, then do it; if you don't, then don't do it (duh!).

I have so much for respect for people who exercise regularly, those who make time to exercise, those who make time to eat well. I honestly think this is one of the secrets of a good life. I have always known that exercise is important, but for some reason, never important enough to actually do anything about it, until quite recently. It has been an exciting and terrifying journey of reinventions on many fronts, and to me, this is what life is about.

Meanwhile, I will just get used to being a runner.

Two days ago... 

I used to look forward to rest days. Now I wish I can run everyday. #runnerme

an update, finally

sometimes the fact that you are busy deserves its own post, which is what happened yesterday when i obviously picked something out of the thought catalogue and posted it in the post below. and then some idiot just have to conveniently ignore the first line of the post where i linked the original post. i mean it is like, what the fuck. it is obviously not something that i write and in the manner that we all do with posts we like, we link those and call it a day. some people are beyond stupid it has rendered me speechless. and of course to the same people the mere fact that i wrote this paragraph means i regard myself as better than them. go figure.

now, onto the real post. it is the long weekend and boy i am glad that it is here. sometimes life has its own way to make sure that things are exactly as they need to be and it just so happens that i need to rest and i want sometime to spend with my friends and this weekend is the perfect opportunity for such things. in an ideal world, i was organised enough to plan a getaway, or at least a day trip to somewhere with someone. but alas, that did not happen, so this love affair with Sydney has to somewhat continue, and that's okay, you know because Sydney is pretty loveable in its own way.

yesterday i had a conversation re this blog with a friend who told me that she does not do blogs, period. and i asked why and she just said that she's not interested. and this is something new to me, you see, because in case you can't tell, i have always been fascinated with blogs. even when i don't know all these people in real life, it is actually nice to have glimpses of their lives through their blogs. i would not go as far as saying that i know them, i only read the blog and the blog is probably, at best, 5% of their lives and their thoughts that they are willing to share to the world. granted that this 5% is the best 5% that they are willing to share and might have been picked, combed and edited to make things look perfect, but trust me, everyone's lives, to a certain degree, have commonalities in that we all feel boredom and tired and excitement and passion interchangeably throughout the day.

and she said, she wants conversations and that does not surprise me at all. but it did make me made a mental note to actually speak more to her because she is a great conversation partner. she is a great listener, a great talker and so far our interaction has been satisfying. you know, when you talked to someone and you feel satisfied afterwards, for whatever reason - usually because the conversation has been great? well, that's it.

this does make me wonder - how many people in this life actually feel the same way. i know there are people that i want to have conversations with and i usually manage to talk to these people by asking them if they can meet me. i mean, it's not meant to be that hard, no? you kind of come up to them and start talking, or arrange to meet up with them and then, well, talk?

i read somewhere that friendships are formed through unplanned interactions, which somewhat means that people who are in close physical proximity with each other have a higher chance of being friends because they are able to, say, bumped into each other and have a quick conversation, or grab coffee and/or food together, etc. the fact that they are able to spend time in these not-necessarily-planned activities build the bond, and subsequently, they become friends. there is a lot to be said about physical proximity, which is also why friends who live in the same city tend to be closer than those who live on different parts of the world. i used to think that this is all bullshit because friendships are a function of the effort you put in, until i realise that this is actually true because it happened to me. it is not because i don't put enough effort, it is just that certain things are easier, and physical proximity means, well, maintaining friendship is easier.

then again, it may very well be because i am a very physical person, in the sense that i feel most alive when i hug someone. this is somewhat inconvenient because not everyone likes to be hugged, but if you do like hugs as much as i do, can we hug? :D

have a great long weekend and don't sweat the small stuff. be happy.

x

Where Does Love Go When It Dies?

Reposted from the Thought Catalogue

There was a friend you saw every day when you were little. They were the friend with whom you built forts, told scary stories (trying not to fall asleep first), and ran around in the neighborhood until you had to come in for dinner. (Five more minutes, mom, please?) All of the most thrilling, scary, confusing parts of growing up and navigating a world three sizes too big for you seemed manageable with them, almost an adventure. Catching fireflies and wiggling around in sleeping bags, setting up a tent in your backyard, seemed like the stuff of a dangerous safari. You were sure you could catch a lion together, if only provided the proper equipment.

But things happened. You moved away, or they did, or seeing each other just got too hard. Even a simple change of school can do it. Before you know it, you’re an actual adult, and the person who knew you best for such an enormous part of your life — the only person with whom you share such an extraordinary quantity of childhood memories — is gone. You remember the first few months after you two were separated. You recreated all the little things you used to do together, spending hours up in the tree fort by yourself, hoping that you’d be enough to make the magic again. And one day you realize that there was just a certain kind of magic that existed between the two of you, at that time, in that small neighborhood, with those fireflies. It’s not that you’re not enough; it’s just gone.

_____

There was the person who taught you how to love. The person with whom you felt more alive and real and full than you ever imagined possible, who seemed to love even the dark, ugly corners of yourself you were constantly trying to squirrel away. They licked your wounds and told you that you were beautiful. They took you on adventures that didn’t even require you leaving your house. Between the bedroom, the kitchen, and the plush, perfect couch, you existed in a kind of seclusion from everything else in the world. You didn’t need anyone else. You lost entire days kissing, talking, laughing in the car holding hands over the stick shift. You remember the things they showed you, things you were certain that no other human had ever been privy to, things that seemed too beautiful to look at directly. With them, you were some kind of royalty, protected from the ugliness of the world outside.

But things happened. And one night, you found yourselves at the rough, tattered end of a conversation that spanned several hours and had clearly been overdue for weeks. You had both said things that stung, that made you question whether or not this was all some sort of mirage, that you could have imagined such a beautiful interlude out of such a crippling need to feel loved in some way. You can feel the tears welling up and burning the corners of your eyes, but had promised yourself a thousand times before arriving that, no, you would not cry tonight. But you do cry. And they cry. And you hold each other and cry. But in the morning, it’s still over. It’s gone.

_____

There was the friend with whom you came of age. Learning how to kiss, how to sneak a beer, how to run away quickly if you heard an authority figure coming — they made the education seem easy, even comfortable, learning everything by your side. You swapped tips, you grew, you started to figure out life in a way that adulthood would eventually demand. You started to understand what it meant to save money, to make hard choices, to worry about your future. Without realizing you were doing it, the two of you held hands and waved goodbye to the childhood that was clearly fading into your past. Though the future was scary, unclear, and full of all the tedium you knew would wear on your spirit; knowing that someone just like you was taking the step as well made it alright. “Everything is gonna change,” you would whisper at night, staring up at the stars, passing a single bottle between the two of you. “I know,” they would reply. And you knew, just knew, that it would always be the two of you seeing the change together.

But things happened. You had failed to account for the changes that would literally pull you in different directions, that would make you a sort of new person, that would leave one or the other longing to forget about their wild days before adulthood and everything that came with it. From distance, emotional or geographic, the rate at which you come together to share everything dwindles to nothingness. Eventually, it’s been too long to just call them back. Things have become strange, and there’s a certain metallic taste in your mouth when you think of the memories that have nearly evaporated into thin air behind you.

_____

Where do these people go? What do they do? Is there some kind of colony in which they all live together, holding hands and thinking of the time they spent with you? Of course not, that would be ridiculous. People are whole entities with their own struggles and histories and reasons for not calling back, and they can’t spend the rest of their lives thinking about how great it was when you two were together. But it was great, wasn’t it? And the idea that they can go a whole lifetime without ever looking back and feeling that aching, sinking feeling in their stomach, that crippling nostalgia — it’s almost worse than the ending itself. The separation is so much more bearable when you know that you both look back fondly, and would always want to meet for a coffee, should the occasion arise.

Just because you two are no longer the comic book duo that you once were doesn’t mean that you don’t want to see a Christmas card from their new family, or hear about their big move, or find out whatever became of their incredible talent for drawing. This isn’t about a broken heart. A broken heart implies a kind of shattering, a searching the hardwood floor for pieces that might have gotten lost under the couch. Yours isn’t broken, it’s long-since been patched together and, despite the occasional stutter, functions quite well. This is about a heart that aches with memories too big for its fragile little form, that is bursting on all sides from love that longs to be accepted, to at least be vocalized. This is a heart that dies a slow, quiet death from this awful need we have to pretend as though something never existed the second that it is over.

And where does this love go? Because it’s impossible to believe that it simply ceases to be a part of our universe, that it falls into some pinprick-sized black hole and no longer floats amongst us, making the world brighter for its once having existed. Things are better because you caught fireflies in your back yard, because you kissed under a blanket with your hands on their chest, because you drove around in circles in your parents’ car, blasting music. This love must still exist somewhere, transmuting into more love and better love and love for people who haven’t yet felt it. It must be there, because you still remember it.
Maybe we just need to hear that they do, too.

you're too skinny

(at the time of writing) i had just finished eating a big dinner that's ended with two big scoops of green tea ice cream and two deep fried spring-roll-like-mochi. i had a similar dinner a couple of nights ago and it was so good that i had to drag my boyf back to the same place just to have the dessert. in a perfect world, i get to eat dessert first. but this world is not perfect and i could not eat dessert first, so i settled with ... fried chicken (so predictable).

the reason i am telling you the above is more than just immortalising the fact that i consume fried chicken on a very regular basis. it is because i've had enough with people who keep telling me to eat more.

i cannot eat any more than i eat currently before throwing up. there, i said it. and yes, with the amount of running that i currently do, it does mean i am the shape of i am right now, and you know what, i don't fucking care. i feel healthy and i am very likely also healthy, in fact. after spending a lot of time being fat and enduring an endless amount of continuous criticisms along the lines of being fat, i must say it is somewhat rather nice to be on the other side of the equation. that said, i also learn that people will just say whatever they want because they can.

do you know that it is rude to tell people that they are too skinny? it is like coming up to fat people and then telling them "you are fat". i bet that you would not do that ever because you know it is rude. same deal for telling people that "you are too skinny". same deal for telling people "you need to eat more". would you come up to a fat person and tell them that they need to eat less?  you would not dream of doing that in a million years because you know that it is rude. same deal for telling skinny people to fatten up, or anything else along those lines. these things are not funny. they are rude and they are annoying.

i find it appalling that people automatically assume that i have some eating disorder just because i look the way i am. to make matters worse, i am not even that skinny. i am talking about skinny as in anorexic kind of skinny. do you know how offensive this is to the people who are suffering from the said disorder?

it is fucking annoying how two sets of standards apply to fat people versus skinny people. fat people get to complain legitimately about how it is rude that people call them fat to their faces, but the same action do not carry the same legitimacy when it is a skinny person who makes the statement. the statement of fact is this: you are fat. it is true, you know it, i know it, yet i can't say it to you because it is universally accepted that it is rude. the other statement of fact is this: i am skinny. you know it, i know it, yet you can't say it because even when it is not universally accepted that it is rude, it really is rude. 

i am going to end with this: i am NOT anorexic and i do NOT have bullimia. i will, however, throw up when you overfeed me. 

su-per-fi-cial

adj.


1. Of, affecting, or being on or near the surface
2. Concerned with or comprehending only what is apparent or obvious; shallow.
3. Apparent rather than actual or substantial
4. Trivial; insignificant

(thanks to freedictionary)

Why I am superficial

1. I love fashion and I spend too much time thinking about what I wear, what I don't wear and what I would not be seen dead wearing.
2. True story: we were in Melbourne and I was talking about something which I can't even remember, and then we walked into the mall and saw these gorgeous babies and I stopped talking and walking. And right at that moment, I understand the meaning of the phrase breath-taking.
3. I spend far too much time looking at fashion blogs, browsing asos.com, shopbop.com, theiconic.com, net-a-porter.com, theoutnet.com, ebay.com, adding a lot of things into my virtual shopping basket and then closing the browser just before I enter my credit card details.
4. I gravitate my gaze towards good looking people on the street, you know, those who dress well and are well-groomed, and I turn my head a little bit too long and have been in situations whereby I nearly hit a pole or trip on a hole on the street. When I happen to know these people, I tell them that they look great and I like it. Hey, beautiful things are meant to be appreciated, okay.
5. If I could, I would run in high heels. But I can't and as it is, I wear my running shoes almost every day and of course, I bought more runners. I like to look cute, even when I am hot and sweaty.
6. I would suffer for fashion. Maybe not so much physically, but more like, financially.
7. I ask my boyf if I can buy shoes and he knows me too well to say anything else other than yes. I buy shoes not so much to wear then but to look at them occasionally, and mostly to stop thinking about them and move on with my life.
8. I buy fashion books and spend too much time reading them. After I read these books, I always have the urge to declutter and re-organise my closet, to make them look visually more appealing.   
9. I bond with people over fashion. We discuss where to buy clothes, what to wear, what works, what doesn't and of course, shoes. Oh my gawd, shoes. Yeah, I thought you would've figured that out by now.
10. My friends and acquaintances are all gorgeous people. As I have always said, beautiful people hang out together.

See you at Bar Pho later?

The break up pill

I would take the break up pill with two conditions. that upon swallowing the pill:

(1) I get amnesia involving all the memories in relation to the said ex-lover; and
(2) I will not bump into this person ever again for the rest of my life.

The scary thing is that with the advancement in science, all of these things may actually be possible.

As Mark Twain said "love as if you've never been hurt?". With the break up pill, we can now love like we've never been hurt. Literally. Imagine. All the boundaries that we could explore, and how far we can stretch this notion called love.

death in its own right

tonight i am torn between writing something else (that's pretty important) and writing here (that's also important). and as in the case when i can't quite decide what to do, i pick the alternative that would allow me to sleep better at night. except that in this case, i cave in to temptation and pick the easier task out of the two. laziness at nearly 10pm at night is forgivable yes?

i thought i had erased all memories in relation to a particular thing, a particular someone, once upon a time. i thought i had mourned the death of this thing. i thought i had moved on. and i was told (by people who are close to me, so yes, this is very biased) that in a lot of ways i have been. i feel like in a lot of ways i have been, but i have not been tested in this regard. that test happened. it is bound to happen, just like everything else in this life.

in our minds we do not want something we dislike to consume our feelings and our thoughts, but insofar as we are human beings, we are somewhat at the mercy of our own feelings and thoughts. emotions can empower and at the same time, they can cripple. and oh i hate that they can do this, or, what i really should have said, oh i hate how i let them have this kind of impact on me. sometimes, despite the best of intentions, things happened because you let them happen. trying to reconcile this with "everything is as it should be" is a spiral of contradiction. how is it possible that you are in control of your own fate as much as you are not.

maybe there are certain things in this life that are meant to be our own Achilles hell. maybe there are certain things that just happen in this life no matter how hard we want them not to. maybe in certain things, we do not have the luxury of choosing, nor the liberty to not choose. maybe we are helpless and we are too scared to admit it. because admitting it would mean we are surrendering to fate, and who wants that, right? right?

preamble: how we let people go

Running is a good thing for me

People I meet these days generally fall into one of these two camps: those who like running and those who don't. For the record, I would not call myself as someone who likes running, despite doing it consistently over the past few weeks. Just because I do it does not mean I like it. I would say though, that I kind of like it. I like it mostly because it makes me feel better about myself. Maybe this is what feeling healthy is all about.  Ever since I've been running, my shoulders feel better - they are a lot softer now. My skin is more radiant (although I have absolutely no idea how this can be attributed to running, but since I have not changed anything else other than running, it is hard not to associate it with radiant skin). I sleep better; on most nights, I just collapse from exhaustion, and woke up five minutes before my alarm rings.

A side effect of running is that I eat better. This is because I can feel it when I run. I know this sounds so fucking annoying, but it is true. Alcoholic consumption automatically means my running is harder than usual. I am not someone who puts a hawk eye on my time and distance, I am just someone who wants to feel good when I run. Feeling good when running, I've come to realise, is very much associated with what I put in my mouth. My body agrees with protein consumption, in particular, lean protein, but I love my fried chicken a tad too much to replace it with poached chicken.

I don't know how to say this any other way: this is my experience with my running. This is a very personal thing and different things work for different people. Seriously, this is not intended to be "this is how you should do it", this is just me, sharing my story. You're welcome to try out what I've done, but you gotta do so at your own risk.

The comment that I've received most frequently about running is that I should not be doing too much of it. Fine, I get that too much running is not good for you - no, this is not because I have been reading medical research or whatever, this is because I know that too much of anything is never good for you. I personally do not think I am doing too much - heck, I have lazy days in which I do no running, and those days are pretty often. I do try to keep to a routine, but despite the best of intentions, sometimes that just doesn't happen. What I do feel, is like I said above: I feel better when I run. Or maybe I should say, I feel better when I exercise. Yes, I can do other forms of exercise, but my shoulders are pretty fucked at the moment and I am not supposed to be exercising them for a while. So I don't really have much choice here. Besides, I think, it is better that I do running rather than not exercising at all.

I can't believe that I am writing a post about exercising, specifically, explaining why I choose to run regularly. This is coming from someone who hate running, and would come up with every excuse in the book for my lack of participation in anything and everything. Running is a good thing for me, peeps! I am not a crazy runner. I am just someone who is trying to run regularly.

ps. this is a pretty good article.