Monday, May 25, 2015


It's so strange to think that we are in different time zones!

That as I write this mail, you're probably still asleep.
Or maybe waking up bleary-eyed,
your sleep-blurred mind baffled by the new surroundings. 

Just for a few minutes, though.
After that, you'll be back to being the usual focused and self-possessed you, ready to take on a new city and a new day.

But it is for those few warm, fuzzy, lost minutes, that I long to be near you. Before you snap back into routine. 

Sunday, May 17, 2015

humpty dumpty

Almost all my pets fall off buildings at some point in their lives.

It's like an unspoken agreement between them.
An implicit act of... solidarity? rebellion?
Who knows.
But they all fall down.

What makes this that much more ridiculous is that the majority of these tumblers are cats!
In the spirit of that morbid curiosity, which is touted to be the nemesis of the feline, they venture where they shouldn't, perch on precarious walls, and then proceed to roll off them.

Combined with the other unfortunate fact that I have mostly lived in upper floor apartments, this makes for small episodes of pure horror.

Notice cat is missing, search frantically for cat, fail to find cat, realise cat has fallen off building, find cat (often injured or bloody) at bottom of apartment/lower floor, proceed to nurse cat back to health so that you can slap it silly later on.

There was the one that landed on its feet, injured one of them, then crawled under a car to hide, making it that much more difficult for us to find him.

There was the one that fell five floors and smashed up his face so badly that I screamed when I saw him (he recovered, thank God!)

There was the one that fell off the balcony and rolled into the downstairs apartment, kept us up all night searching, then made us stage a daring rescue mission that involved walking across planks.

There was the one that fell four floors and broke his paw, which had to then be put in a cast for a month.

And then there was the genius who fell one floor down to the garden, hurt his leg and broke a tooth. :/


And they say cats are graceful.

Tuesday, May 12, 2015


I have this weird, almost superstitious notion that wearing lipstick is a subtle but undeniable sign of being an adult woman.

I mean, wearing it in earnest. Not just slathering it on for super dressy occasions or costume parties.
I mean wearing it on a regular basis, to work, to parties and events, maybe even to movies and grocery shopping.

Choosing shades according to complexion, time of day, outfit and occasion.
Making that perfect 'O' with your mouth, then smacking your lips to even it out. Not using your fingers to clumsily wipe away smudges and spills. Doing it with a practiced hand. Like a pro.

I have done quite a bit of growing up these past few years.
Relationship, job, household...

But lipstick, man!
That bitch still eludes me.