She and I: the writing of

I would like to begin by saying thank you – thank you so so much to all of you who bothered reading She and I and then sharing your thoughts with me. This was something I was not expecting at all, so this has taken me by surprise, and makes me all the more happy that I decided to write that piece.

It was not an easy exercise, it was hard, it was difficult like it was the most difficult thing there was. I wanted to write a piece about my step mother for a year before it finally happened. I locked myself down for the whole weekend and managed to hit publish on Sunday afternoon. So you can imagine how it was rather awkward this morning when I was randomly asked by a familiar stranger: how was your mothers’ day – because I don’t know if she was under the impression that I was a mother (I am not) or that she knew about what really happened during the mother’s day weekend (the writing of She and I). I very nearly blurted out “have you read my blog” but didn’t because, I don’t know, it would make the conversation more awkward?

I think it is rather presumptuous of our society to assume that every person in this planet looks forward to mothers’ day, simply because that assumption conveniently disregards the painful fact that there are people in this planet who do not get on well with their mothers and do the mothers’ day thing out of obligation. If we can all write about all of our experiences, both the good and the bad, then hopefully we can all learn from each other, most importantly, learning from ourselves, about ourselves, what makes us click as individuals. I make a decision, a long time ago, to only publish pieces on this blog that are of a positive nature. I do write about painful stuff, and I do not want anyone in this planet to ever see those, so I just burn them straight away. (Actually, it is more like delete.)

It goes without saying that I have lost count of the drafts that I had written prior to the weekend of writing She and I. But let me just say this: the end result as you see it is nothing like the prior drafts. I don’t wish to ever publish them, and I don’t see them as a waste either; rather, I see them as the necessary steps into creating the final piece, the whole process counts because I get to know myself better. For the longest time I struggle to write it for I always ended up comparing the two mothers that I have, despite my strong refusal to do so a priori. I understand that the concept of relativity can be powerful like that, which is all the more reason for me not to fall into that particular ‘trap’ because my step mother is a remarkable woman to me independent of how my mother is. I do not believe that it is fair to compare the two women in their capacities as mothers because their roles are fundamentally different, and neither one of them can replace the other.

I acknowledge that there are people who do not get on well with their step-mothers (and step parents), and I do not wish to trivialise this issue at all. All that I want to say (and I hope this comes across well in the original piece) is that my step mother means a lot to me; to her, I am good enough. The concept of good enough was a foreign concept to me until I met her, because I am more the perfectionist, which makes me somewhat rather negative because I tend to focus on the things for improvement, which I want to improve on, to fix, to make better, just because I think I can. Truth of the matter is that, it is not about whether I can fix it or not, it is about focusing on what I do already have, right here in front of me, all the good stuff, so that I can start appreciating them, and giving thanks for how lucky I am. If there is any lesson that I can learn in terms of how to live, then this would be it. Because oddly enough, it is when we give that we actually receive.

When the going gets tough as they often do, I try to be this person that my step mother thinks I am. It is not about being remarkable, nor extra ordinary, just simply good enough. Because I don't have to be perfect to be good enough. And when you're good enough, well, you're good enough, for love.

She and I

She and I met through fate. Her presence in my life is a constant reminder to believe that things happen for a reason, and this reason is a good reason, even when it is not always obvious to me at the time. On our very first meeting, our worlds did not collide; I was too sceptical for that. I don't think I liked her straight away. This is not to say that she is not immediately likeable, because she is, but more that I was not easily relate-able. What can I say - I am like that. But I had to admit that I was intrigued by her. My curiosity got the better of me, as it always does, and perhaps to a certain degree, it was desperation, on my part, for something, anything that could be ... better.  When you are pushed against an invisible wall, and you feel like you are slowly and surely being crushed, the helplessness makes you want out, just like that. It wasn't apparent to me at the time, but she ended up being my way out.

Our worlds merge, slowly. In the first few days of spending time with each other, we bonded through food. Obviously nothing has changed over the years: I wanted to eat a lot of things, I was rather incapable of feeding myself, so she kindly fed me (as in provided food for me, as opposed to spoon-feeding me). That became my first impression of her: that she was a giving person. Over the years, I witness an increasing willingness on her part to invest in this relationship where there is no guarantee of positive return: she continues to give, sincerely.

I got to know her and she got to know me. Prior to meeting me (as I later found out), she had heard a lot of things about me, mostly unpleasant, unfortunately, because what can I say, people are like that. Or perhaps, I should have put it as, I was famous like that, but I doubt that I was. I did little to undo that initial knowledge and I am also pretty sure that the first impression I gave her only served to provide evidentiary support of those things people said. Le sigh. I wasn't out to impress her. But I was aching to know if this person was willing to know me despite my shortcomings, my flaws and my weaknesses – and boy, there were (and still are) plenty. Besides, if this thing were to be something that I wanted ever so terribly (and would never admit to in a thousand years) then it only made sense to me that whatever it is that we were about to establish was built on the foundation of trust. Trust is not given freely, my friend, it is earned over time, through hard work and a lot of effort, with constant sprinklings of this thing called love.

The underlying characteristic of a lot of my relationships is that we are separated by distance, the Pacific Ocean to be precise. Needless to say, the physical moments that we shared are limited, and subsequently, physical proximity did (and still does) make everything better. Yet most of the time, it is non-physical. These other moments are equally as compelling, that moment when you close your eyes and you listen to the person's voice on the other end of the line. The moment whereby you know that you have to have this difficult conversation - and we have had a lot of difficult conversations over the years. She finds time for me and in the process made me feel not just important, but more importantly, wanted. I didn't even realise I had all of these issues until I had the opportunity to experience the healing through her kindness.

Because she listens, she teaches me that the mere act of listening can change someone's life for the better. It is almost ironic that the communication that changes people is the ones that involve very little words. A TED talk is almost always inspiring; but when you truly listen, at least for that moment in time, you can make someone feel heard and accepted. She empathises with me; and by doing so, she manages to influence my thoughts and emotions in a positive way. Her simple act of listening is so powerful.  She is a great communicator, she is honest and she is transparent.

She is the person who has shown me how to live. She doesn't have to love me but I feel that she does, constantly, all the time. And as a result, I feel as if I belong. And if anyone of you out there has ever felt the opposite, i.e. not belonged, then you would understand how important it is to feel this way, if only for one moment in time. Because in that moment, everything makes sense, that everything happens as they are supposed to, and that everything is going to be alright.

It was, and still is, a simultaneously emotionally exhausting and fulfilling journey, and has been, by far, one of the most rewarding things I have done in my life. I am so glad that I met her, that I had the chance to establish and grow this relationship with her. She is the one thing that changed my life. Without her, I would not be the person that I am today. She has been my rock, my strength, my counsel.

She is my step mother.

Preamble:

This mothers’ day, I would like to write something about a special someone that has largely been left out on the mothers’ day celebrations: the step mothers.

My parents' divorce still remains, to this day, a subject that is taboo to discuss in the dinner table, although to be completely honest, it depends on who is at the dinner table and what is being eaten, and more importantly, where the dinner is taking place. This is the norm in my family - we just do not talk about the things that are hurtful like this, we do not engage in these kinds of interactions. I personally feel I am somewhat stunted in this department as a result, and for the longest time, I harboured a personal anger that I wasn't able to attribute to anything. When you have been deprived of a family connection that you so much yearned for, it is only normal that you become fucked-up as a result, even when you would not want to admit to it in a thousand years. It is not about a personal denial, or about blaming your parents; it is just a deep refusal to accept that this is what you've got; this is what you've been given, because you were so desperate for something else.

I have always viewed myself as someone who is incredibly lucky, I don't know how I got so lucky, but I realise that in I have been blessed in a lot of ways that I can't even begin to describe. When I think about the moments that change my life, or specifically, the people that change my life, I would list my step mother as the top person on that list.

I had the idea of writing this during last year’s mothers’ day. This is one of those things that I have always wanted to write, and have never been able to, for a myriad of reasons mostly rooted in my fear of other people's reaction. Granted by taking this risk, I acknowledge that there is an impending possibility that unfavourable reactions may occur. All I can say is, to be sceptical of a meaningful step-mother-step-daughter relationship is to entirely misunderstand and undermine the power of love.

Let yourself be known and love with your whole heart, even though there is no guarantee that you’ll be accepted. -fiftycoffees.com

Everybody deserves clean water

 “It's a funny thing about the modern world. You hear girls in the toilets of clubs saying, "Yeah, he fucked off and left me. He didn't love me. He just couldn't deal with love. He was too fucked up to know how to love me." Now, how did that happen? What was it about this unlovable century that convinced us we were, despite everything, eminently lovable as a people, as a species? What made us think that anyone who fails to love us is damaged, lacking, malfunctioning in some way? And particularly if they replace us with a god, or a weeping madonna, or the face of Christ in a ciabatta roll---then we call them crazy. Deluded. Regressive. We are so convinced of the goodness of ourselves, and the goodness of our love, we cannot bear to believe that there might be something more worthy of love than us, more worthy of worship. Greeting cards routinely tell us everybody deserves love. No. Everybody deserves clean water. Not everybody deserves love all the time.” - Zadie Smith

And the opposite version:

It's a funny thing about the modern world. You hear men everywhere saying, "Yeah, she fucked off and left me. She didn't love me. She just couldn't deal with love. She was too fucked up to know how to love me." Now, how did that happen? What was it about this unlovable century that convinced us we were, despite everything, eminently lovable as people, as a species? What made us think that anyone who fails to love us is damaged, lacking, malfunctioning in some way? And particularly if they replace us with a blog, a seemingly rich guy or god forbid, a 'bad' boy who can fuck them like there's no tomorrow---then we call them crazy. Deluded. Regressive. We are so convinced of the goodness of ourselves, and the goodness of our love, we cannot bear to believe that there might be something easier to love than us, something easier to develop. Hollywood, Disney and greeting cards routinely tell us everybody deserves love. No. Everybody deserves clean water. And good sex, yeah, that's pretty high on the list. 

I am done with eating: I want to eat dessert first

I am adapting to a new life, one that started a few weeks ago (at the time of writing). In this relatively new life, I have been cramming more things into my schedule. This is something that I would not recommend under any circumstances, so the mere fact that I did it to myself is somewhat rather baffling to me. The biggest take away from all of these is that time is a precious commodity, but I have not been valuing it like so. Perhaps because I take pleasure in doing something productive with my time. The resultant effect is that I am always running out of time, and I hate running out of time because I feel like I am always rushing. I hate rushing because it takes enjoyment out of whatever it is I am doing. I am not busy. I am just constantly tired and flat out and hungry. Ok, perhaps hungry is not so much attributed to this, since I am hungry all the time, irrespective of how much food I eat. Seriously. I am starting to give up on this whole eating thing. Whether I eat or I don't eat, I am still hungry. No more. I am done.

KIDDING. I love eating. Given that I am often short on time, I just wish that I get to eat what I want to eat when I want it. Every time we go out to a restaurant, I always wish we would just order dessert and skip everything else. Because that's what I really want to eat. But because of some societal acceptability reasons, I have to go through the whole entree and main sequence, before I can get to dessert. This is such a waste of time and not to mention, stomach space. By the time I get the chance to order dessert, I would be so full that I would not feel like eating dessert. It's like, the moment has been lost, the appetite is gone. Because of this, I rarely eat dessert these days. But I love it nonetheless. Perhaps a lot more now than I've ever done before. I have no self control when dessert is around.

Why we put dessert as the last course is one of the things that baffles me to no end. Who decided that the order of things should be entree, main and then dessert. Why can't dessert be first, for once? At least for the people with sweet tooth. Seriously. If we allow ourselves the chance to eat dessert first, then perhaps the world wouldn't be so fat. 

For this reason, sometimes I find it easier to sit down and eat meals with people I actually like. Because the chance of me eating the food I like with these people are higher. It's not so much that we like the same things, but it's more that we are more tolerant of what each other likes. In my younger days, I agreed to a quick catch up with some old acquaintances, with one of them insisting that we ate Thai food. I am allergic to coconut, they ordered curry. It was one of the worst tortures of my life. Never again.

Why is it so hard to just stay true to ourselves, pick one course of action and then leave it to other people to accept that? Especially if our chosen course of action somewhat deviates from societal expectations, like eating dessert first. Or like you gotta get married once you reach a certain age, and once you're married, you have to have children; or something that's more prevalent in Asian society: you have to earn this much money, do this kind of job, amass this much wealth - never mind that it is actually good enough that you do an honest, legit job for a living, or that you are doing something remarkable like saving the world from itself and/or fighting poverty (or at least try to). 

Why do we have to keep on apologising for wanting to do something that is outside of this 'norm'? 

 

We know that we should just life life; make no apology and just bloody own it: this is your life. This is a concept that sounds so simple on paper yet rather difficult to implement in life. How many times do we make decisions because someone else wants us to make that decision? How many times do we do things that we otherwise would not have done just to keep someone (we may or may not love) happy? How often do we do things for this thing called "image", or as some people would put it, "what would other people thing?". Why do we place so much importance on what others think? It is so self-absorbed to assume that others think that much about you, because chance is that they don't. How much do you think about others? You think about yourself all the time because it is human tendency to think about oneself, which is why we are taught to be selfless, you see, as there is a good chance that it doesn't come naturally (yet it can be learned). 

Because sometimes, all that I ever wanted, is to eat dessert first. And it kills me that I can't.

***
I am on Twitter, instagram and another blog. This is probably why I perpetually feel like I am always running out of time.

I like happy babies. And happy kids.

One of my good friends have just had a kid, as in the baby was born like today (at the time of writing). Most of my friends are with a child or two. Me, as another friend put it, I am in no hurry.

Yes, I did say previously that there is no point of being married if you don't procreate, as in, if one day I were to get married, then that is because I wanted to procreate. Turns out that my desires to procreate are like... err... non-existent right now, thus I don't see why I should even consider procreation in the absence of such desires. The worst thing one can do in life is to be a reluctant parent. Or I should have said, one of the worst things I could do in my life is to be a reluctant parent. Biological clock issues asides, an equally important issue is whether one wishes to be a parent or not.

Get this: whenever I come across as a cute photo or a video of a friend's cute baby, it always makes me smile. Without fail, every time. And yes, sometimes, I watch them more than once, in succession. I can't help it, it's cute, it makes smile, sometimes laugh, it makes me feel good, without me actually having to do anything substantial. Happy babies make you happy. Happy babies almost make me want to have a kid. Almost.

Of course these are also true: (1) happy babies are not happy all the time and (2) not all babies are happy. Some babies are happier than others, and some babies are more high maintenance than others (they are all high maintenance). Let's not go down to estimates, numbers and percentages as to what makes up happy babies versus non-happy babies, because that's not the point. The point is this: I only like happy babies.

It is obvious that happy babies are attractive, just like happy people are attractive - you know, happiness is contagious and all that jazz. So if I get to pick the sort of kid that I may end up with, then yeah, okay, I shall give it further consideration. Of course it doesn't work this way. I know that. And people derive this rather odd pleasure of telling me things that I already know just because I am putting forward an impossible alternative. Then again, it is only impossible until it's done. I don't wish to discuss this further, by the way, for fear that I may be labelled as playing God or anything along those lines. Or that designer babies are less of babies than their naturally designed counterparts. Whatever.

What makes babies happy? How much of it is nurture vs nature? I would like to think that happy babies are healthy babies, you know, the ones who are fed on a regular basis, poop on a regular basis (trust me, this is important) and sleep on a regular basis. I hate feeling hungry and I hate being constipated and I am always cranky whenever I don't get enough sleep. So I have a very low expectation of a happy life: if I am fed, have poo-ed and slept enough, then I am happy. [All of these plus a great husband, great friends and other great stuff make for a great life, to me. Other great stuff includes great shoes.]

Those are the physical stuff. The non-physicals are: independence, self-reliance and a good heart; plus a healthy sense of balance. I don't like babies who cling so desperately to their mothers, for example, I like the ones who are comfortable being around people (fair enough if they cry they run to mommy). I like babies who come over for cuddles occasionally, but spend most of their waking hours happily playing away on their own. And if they can share their toys, that would be even better. Wishful thinking? Probably. One can hope.

I am generally pretty honest about my stance on this matter, although this is the first time I have ever written this, ever. There are people who love kids, like all kids. I am not one of those people. If I see a kid who doesn't want to eat, you can bet your money that I will not be spending any time or effort to convince the kid to eat. This is to be differentiated from feeding kids who want to eat, which I have done a few times, thanks to having nephews and nieces. Actually, that's a lie. If they don't want to eat and they're supposed to eat, I ask the mum to change the food, and this usually solves the issue. There is no point forcing the kid to eat something they don't like. Seriously. Too much effort. I opt for the solution that requires less effort for me (okay, perhaps not so much the mum).

Side note: when I was looking for a title for this piece, I wanted to write "I like happy babies. And happy kids. And happy people" before I stopped myself just in time and deleted the last three words. Because I don't really want to write why I like happy people and because it infers that I dislike the opposite. I think, if we were to be honest with ourselves, and we get to pick our moods and the moods of the people in our lives, we all opt for the ones who are happy, who are positive. But life is not like that, we can't be happy all the time and we learn to offer support for our friends when they are not happy, in the hope that they would feel better. Anyway, if you want to comment, you gotta do so via Twitter (it's free!). For less heavy stuff, head over to Project Rum n Raisin, and instagram for some drool-fest.

... in which I conclude that I am superficial

[At the time of writing] I ate too much yesterday. April is definitely the month whereby people I love is celebrating their birthdays so I've been busy taking them out for food. When I go out to eat, I have a tendency to pick the place that serves huge servings of food, because I am one of those people who are perpetually hungry. Post eating, talking and laughing, it would be a given that we left feeling stuffed to the brim, and ... happy. That was bound to happen. We were hungry, we ate, we talked, we laughed, of course we were happy.

But this is not a post about how to be happy, there is a plethora of materials out there on the topic. Whilst I consider myself happy in general and often find myself in the company of some really happy people out there, I do not believe that by simply being happy makes us experts in happiness. I do not know how exactly it all started, you know, all those people claiming to be happiness gurus because they have written somewhere "how to be happy" as if it is one secret of life that you have to discover before you can be actually happy. It doesn't work like that. Happiness is not something you can easily throw your money to in exchange for an ever-lasting version. But perhaps, you can keep on purchasing temporary high-es and you can fool yourself into thinking that you are perpetually happy.

Happiness is a good feeling, and in a life whereby we are all conditioned to feel, given the choice, of course we all want to feel good most of the time. Of course we are all searching for happiness, or chasing happiness or whatever verb you like to choose - we all like to think that we are working extremely hard in the manifestations of our happiness. And for some of us, that thought alone is enough to sustain our happiness; that at least, we are doing something about it.

In their quest for happiness, the people I love are seriously considering finding that other someone to, you know, spend their lives with on a regular basis. This is no easy feat, as some of us may attest to. Yet it is definitely rewarding, so it is definitely worth doing. I was a non-believer previously and neatly scoffed when someone told me that being with someone [who is the right person] is better than being alone. Love can be so painful for those who do not believe. If you were to ask me how I find the right person, the answer is that I don't know; just because I have found someone whom I think is the right person doesn't mean that I know how to find the right person for others. It doesn't give me any expertise or authority on the subject. It only gives me experience, and perspective. I do not know what the formula for success is. I do not know how the universe decides to align all those factors for that union to happen. I do not know what I have done to deserve such good fortune. All I know is that I am very, very lucky.

Nonetheless, this journey of finding the right person is so personal to each individual that it is dangerous trying to generalise one person's perspective, experience and failures. I get that there are general characteristics that are exhibited by the different sexes in this planet, and that said, every person needs to be comprehended based on his/her own individuality. So, first and foremost, get to know this person that you want to be close with. Second, and this often happens as a secondary effect, you would get to know yourself a little bit better.

Case in point is this - I have always known that I am attracted to beautiful people, I mean, who isn't? And while I like to think that I am not that superficial, I am well aware that I can be perceived as someone who is. I can't help the fact that I am friends with beautiful people, because well, okay, my friends are beautiful, at least in my eyes (and that is all that matters to me, as in I don't really care about what other people think about us). Over the years, I have copped quite a mouthful from a number of people who said something along the lines of: are you only friends with beautiful people?

Honestly, is it so wrong that the answer to that question is a yes? I regard my friends are beautiful because they are good people, they are kind, loving, understanding and their presence always makes me feel better. Which is also why they are my friends. The fact that they are physically attractive is just an icing on the cake. I don't know what it is, I always find that people with good hearts tend to be somewhat physically attractive too. Perhaps it is true that inner beauty does shine through. As for the fact that we invest a lot of time into our physical appearance, that is just a hobby.

Physical appearance is a rather odd thing. It can be so offensive without any intention from the part of the individual to do so. I admit that when I every time I go out of the house, I would dress myself in a way that shows respect to the people I am about to meet. As in, I would not go out in my pjs. As in, I would put something decent on so as not to accidentally offend someone in the process. [Side note: whenever I wear my shorts, I always offend a stranger or two, mostly women. Bitch, seriously.]

Like it or not, physical appearance is the first point of judgment. When we are physically attracted to someone (a stranger), we want to get to know them.This is particularly true when you are in the journey of finding a potential life partner; this trend of lack of initial physical attraction is a deal breaker for a lot of people. I get that physically attractive guys have the ability to make their opposite counterparts weak at their knees, so they get an advantage purely thanks to their good genes (and healthy eating and exercise habits). Yet I would like to think that just because a guy is physically attractive, does not automatically make him attractive to me because well, you know people say beauty fades and all that?

So, superficial as I may come across, perhaps I don't place that much of an importance to physical attraction after all. Or perhaps I do, and I am in deep, deep denial. This makes me think about early days of dating with (then) le boyf (now husb). Basically I am shit at remembering a lot of things about my relationship (I suffer from the rosy introspection bias). I almost resorted to asking le husb about this whole physical attraction thing. But then, given that I would be the one asking the question, then I would have thought that he would say yes. I mean, uh, okay, there is always that possibility that he doesn't say yes, and if that were to happen, then I am pretty sure that I would feel really really shit. I can't help it, okay. I am shallow like that.

What I am trying to say is this: I get that physical attraction is a big part of the whole attraction thing, but surely, it is not the only thing that sustains the attraction? Let's face it, we are all edging one second closer to death, and that pretty much means we are subjected to this thing called aging. Last I check, aging is not exactly physically-enhancing. So why do we place so much emphasis on physical attraction.

AND, what does that mean to people who are not physically attractive? Gawd, don't give me this thing about how everyone is beautiful in their own way. There are some people who are not physically attractive and that is a statement of fact, not just on my part but on everyone's part. After all, for every person that you find good looking, you would find at least another one who is not.

Anyone want to help me reconcile this? Other than to tell me that I am completely, totally and abso-fuckin-lutely superficial? I'll be on Twitter. If you don't want to, that's okay, because there is instagram and my other blog, in which I engage in a whole lot more superficial stuff. 

The fourth date milestone

I am the last person in this planet who is remotely qualified to comment on relationships because I can never keep a straight face when stumbling upon relationship advice columns.

Currently, I am exposed to a variety of relationship issues simply due to the fact that I have a good mix of people in my life who are attached with kids, who are not attached but with kids, who are attached with a kid on the way, who are attached with no kids, who are not attached and want to be attached, and who are not attached and do not want to be attached. Each have their own sets of relationship problems, but today I want to talk about the last two groups.

The last two groups of people are the ones who are often the most confused when it comes to relationships. This is not so much because they do not know what they want, they do, and they have articulated it over and over and over again. The confusion stems from the fact that they just do not know how to read other person's behaviour.

There is this universal understanding that by the time it's the fourth date, you have a pretty good feel as to whether you want to be with this person (as in taking it to the next level) or not. I mean, what is the point in asking someone out so many times if you are not even attracted to them, right. So whether you make it to your fifth date is really the key here.

Because in the fifth date, supposedly, you have the are-we-taking-this-to-the-next-level kind of talk, after which you would discover whether you two are in the same page (or not) and then hopefully sort things out from there accordingly.

All of these sounds so juvenile, doesn't it? It is like who has that talk in this day and age? Answer: everyone who is single, apparently*. Because we cannot assume anything any more, and nothing is inferred any more: just because we've been hanging out does not mean we are an item because we never had the agreement, you got it? But it doesn't mean we have to abstain from fucking.

If I can put a word to summarise this, then that would be this: painful. For the most part, I do sympathise with all the singletons out there who want to be attached, who went on 4 dates and subsequently found that the person they had been dating is not interested in them, for reasons that are often related to something that they can control. And because of this, I am of view that if you've found love, well, you are lucky.

And if you haven't, go find out as soon as possible. Don't wait till the fourth date, it's a waste of time. You're either in or you're out. 

*I asked my then-boyfriend (now husband) if we had this talk, and he said yes. And ever since, I have been wracking my brain trying to recall that particular moment. I can only hope that it was a civil conversation. I mean, it must be, right, given that it's not that memorable. Surely, if it was like during one of our fights, then I would have remembered it? I have given up on trying to recall both that conversation and when it happened.

As always, on Twitter for chats, instagram for drool-fest and other random musings on my other blog.