Sunday, August 12, 2012
Who is Ben?
I swear my memory is not as good as I think it is. It definitely isn't the photographic memory that I once had as a child.
I had a look at a 2007 blog entry of mine and there I wrote a list of inspirations that I was going to blog about.
I chanced upon an idea to write about "Finding Ben". It is most likely "Ben's" real name is not "Ben" and would have been a pseudonym for someone. Somehow I can make no connection who this Ben could be and why he is so significant I meant to pay tribute to his crossing paths with my life that warranted a blog entry about him. The Old Boy's older son is also named Ben but looking at the date where I wrote the above idea, I have yet to meet the Old Boy personally for his family and him to leave an imprint in my life.
So who exactly is Ben?
It is so frustrating for someone like me who forgets so little to be trapped in a mental riddle like this, especially on an insomniac early Sunday morning! I still have to work tomorrow:(
I had a look at a 2007 blog entry of mine and there I wrote a list of inspirations that I was going to blog about.
I chanced upon an idea to write about "Finding Ben". It is most likely "Ben's" real name is not "Ben" and would have been a pseudonym for someone. Somehow I can make no connection who this Ben could be and why he is so significant I meant to pay tribute to his crossing paths with my life that warranted a blog entry about him. The Old Boy's older son is also named Ben but looking at the date where I wrote the above idea, I have yet to meet the Old Boy personally for his family and him to leave an imprint in my life.
So who exactly is Ben?
It is so frustrating for someone like me who forgets so little to be trapped in a mental riddle like this, especially on an insomniac early Sunday morning! I still have to work tomorrow:(
Sunday, August 05, 2012
My Infatuation...
for you is driving me crazy.
You found me interesting
(perhaps not so now).
I find you fascinating.
The more I
know of you
like old whiskey
fonder I grow.
You said I was charming
perhaps when I don't care.
Love struck and sixteen once more
when I felt your aura.
your compassion and sensitivity
you got me thinking
poor little rich girl
meets self-made boy
two individuals with
such vulnerable souls
withered flower
that you brought
back to life
infinite possibilities
I feel young
at heart again
perhaps a lifetime
of adventures ahead
what with the
art and fart
so distracting you
are to me
now I can't put you
out of my mind.
Wine & Alcohol makes the world go round...
Been drinking and enjoying a fair bit of wine since I have got home in Sad Town.
As some of you would know, I haven't been much of a drinker at home in Sad Town although my house has a good selection of wine, hard liquor and beer. DL loves his pre-dinner drinks, especially his red wine to go with his eye fillet or Wagyu steak.
I, for one have an aversion for alcohol with the mere reminder that a glass of wine or alcohol is akin to downing a glass full of sugar. As it is, I am fat enough and need to lose another 5kg to 10kg (which I will aim for 5kg for starters!). Alcohol has now been for awhile, reserved mostly for social season when I am home drinking and bantering with friends back in Singapore or when I am doing my social rounds travelling. If not, I will only be drinking when DL and I are dining at a nice restaurant and it feels just right to match our food with alcohol.
I attributed my abstinence of drinking from having one too a many in my hapless past life of my mid to late twenties. My inability to control my drinking once I get into the mood had led me to a lot of compromising situations that I wish in hindsight would never happen and also the betrayal of my dark and sinister moods. Then there were also the Friday evening drinks at work as a headhunter where I was busy working away at my desk at night accompanied by a glass or two of Sauvignon Blanc. Then I would take a train home much later, feeling lonely, drunk and melancholic...
But what I love most about drinking are the heightened emotions of glassiness I get from it. I almost feel invincible when I get a good buzz and it puts me in a mood to love or at least, infatuate. The great amount of Dutch Courage I accumulated from it makes everything possible, provided I am not in a melancholic mood (that results in a different reaction altogether). Suddenly, some men do appear rather attractive and I am so capable of loving once more.
When I was home in Singapore, I suffered the unfortunate malady of a bad cough, a sore throat and loss of voice for the most part of my trip. Naturally, I avoided most alcohol with a vengeance barring beer, which is a lot more soothing to my throat. I have never drunk so much beer in my life. In fact, I never used to drink beer and the only beers I could stand drinking were Hoegaarden and Crown Lager. I was more a whisky, cocktail and Sauvignon Blanc person.
Strangely, after a long hiatus from excessive drinking, I find myself still not tipsy from continuous consumption of beer. I still find myself holding my liquor well and never once, did I feel like I had a buzz even on the night where Gem a.k.a Mr. Tingles and I kissed. I must have had at least close to ten small cans of Asahi but I was clear as crystal. If anything, I wished I would grow tipsy so that perhaps, I would be a lot bolder and responsive to his advances and less restrained. After all, I have been out of practice for so long and never thought my romantic or sex life would get any spice anymore should I remain at status quo with my relationship with DL.
The only night when I was drunk was the untimely night where Danya and I had our girly catch up at Balaclava on a Tuesday evening three weeks ago. We were having such a great time catching up and me listening to her love stories and latest update about her affair with Mr. Big that we lost sight of how many glasses of whisky drunk neat for me and gin tonic for her. By the time we got home and sobered up, we realised that most of the cash in our wallets have disappeared from our night of merry-making. And it was the ONLY time Gem a.k.a Mr. Tingles rang me to see where I was. I was so drunk and with the live music in the background so loud, I didn't think to ring him back after I hung up on him. Much later, when I sobered up, it was too late. That was my only regret in my trip. I walked home from Danya's house (our last stop post being drunk) at 2a.m and it was then I noted the repeated number of silly drunk sms texts I sent out to Gem "Cum get me..." or something along the lines. I needed to find a hole to bury my face. The next morning, I smsed him to apologise for me being a nuisance. Perhaps he was being gracious to save me from my embarrassment, he said he was not being disturbed at all as he had left the phone in his car.
So here I am, on a Sunday evening recounting my tale and wondering what to write with a small glass of Merlot accompanying me at my desk.
There is something that I have been meaning to write about my recent trip in Singapore but at the moment, I am holding it close to my chest. One part of me feel almost silly (my friends will say to me , "Aiyah P, you never learn. Do you?") and another part of me think that perhaps by penning down in words, it will help me close the case in my head and to record it down in the annals of my history. Still, I would like to do justice to what I am going to write by putting more thought in the selection of my words and slowly savouring my writing, like I do with a nice glass of wine. I don't think I am quite ready yet. We'll see if my mind is lucid and present enough in an hour or two to connect my thoughts to the arrangement of those words.
As some of you would know, I haven't been much of a drinker at home in Sad Town although my house has a good selection of wine, hard liquor and beer. DL loves his pre-dinner drinks, especially his red wine to go with his eye fillet or Wagyu steak.
I, for one have an aversion for alcohol with the mere reminder that a glass of wine or alcohol is akin to downing a glass full of sugar. As it is, I am fat enough and need to lose another 5kg to 10kg (which I will aim for 5kg for starters!). Alcohol has now been for awhile, reserved mostly for social season when I am home drinking and bantering with friends back in Singapore or when I am doing my social rounds travelling. If not, I will only be drinking when DL and I are dining at a nice restaurant and it feels just right to match our food with alcohol.
I attributed my abstinence of drinking from having one too a many in my hapless past life of my mid to late twenties. My inability to control my drinking once I get into the mood had led me to a lot of compromising situations that I wish in hindsight would never happen and also the betrayal of my dark and sinister moods. Then there were also the Friday evening drinks at work as a headhunter where I was busy working away at my desk at night accompanied by a glass or two of Sauvignon Blanc. Then I would take a train home much later, feeling lonely, drunk and melancholic...
But what I love most about drinking are the heightened emotions of glassiness I get from it. I almost feel invincible when I get a good buzz and it puts me in a mood to love or at least, infatuate. The great amount of Dutch Courage I accumulated from it makes everything possible, provided I am not in a melancholic mood (that results in a different reaction altogether). Suddenly, some men do appear rather attractive and I am so capable of loving once more.
When I was home in Singapore, I suffered the unfortunate malady of a bad cough, a sore throat and loss of voice for the most part of my trip. Naturally, I avoided most alcohol with a vengeance barring beer, which is a lot more soothing to my throat. I have never drunk so much beer in my life. In fact, I never used to drink beer and the only beers I could stand drinking were Hoegaarden and Crown Lager. I was more a whisky, cocktail and Sauvignon Blanc person.
Strangely, after a long hiatus from excessive drinking, I find myself still not tipsy from continuous consumption of beer. I still find myself holding my liquor well and never once, did I feel like I had a buzz even on the night where Gem a.k.a Mr. Tingles and I kissed. I must have had at least close to ten small cans of Asahi but I was clear as crystal. If anything, I wished I would grow tipsy so that perhaps, I would be a lot bolder and responsive to his advances and less restrained. After all, I have been out of practice for so long and never thought my romantic or sex life would get any spice anymore should I remain at status quo with my relationship with DL.
The only night when I was drunk was the untimely night where Danya and I had our girly catch up at Balaclava on a Tuesday evening three weeks ago. We were having such a great time catching up and me listening to her love stories and latest update about her affair with Mr. Big that we lost sight of how many glasses of whisky drunk neat for me and gin tonic for her. By the time we got home and sobered up, we realised that most of the cash in our wallets have disappeared from our night of merry-making. And it was the ONLY time Gem a.k.a Mr. Tingles rang me to see where I was. I was so drunk and with the live music in the background so loud, I didn't think to ring him back after I hung up on him. Much later, when I sobered up, it was too late. That was my only regret in my trip. I walked home from Danya's house (our last stop post being drunk) at 2a.m and it was then I noted the repeated number of silly drunk sms texts I sent out to Gem "Cum get me..." or something along the lines. I needed to find a hole to bury my face. The next morning, I smsed him to apologise for me being a nuisance. Perhaps he was being gracious to save me from my embarrassment, he said he was not being disturbed at all as he had left the phone in his car.
So here I am, on a Sunday evening recounting my tale and wondering what to write with a small glass of Merlot accompanying me at my desk.
There is something that I have been meaning to write about my recent trip in Singapore but at the moment, I am holding it close to my chest. One part of me feel almost silly (my friends will say to me , "Aiyah P, you never learn. Do you?") and another part of me think that perhaps by penning down in words, it will help me close the case in my head and to record it down in the annals of my history. Still, I would like to do justice to what I am going to write by putting more thought in the selection of my words and slowly savouring my writing, like I do with a nice glass of wine. I don't think I am quite ready yet. We'll see if my mind is lucid and present enough in an hour or two to connect my thoughts to the arrangement of those words.
Saturday, August 04, 2012
Literature as Life & Life is a Curse...
Remember how I once mention that sometimes fiction imitates life and life imitates fiction? A particular book has an uncanny way of sliding itself into your life in a timely manner, allowing you to relate and play your life before you in words. Or perhaps you have attracted the book your way?
Lately, since my return from Singapore, my thoughts have been fluid. I have been thinking, reading and writing a lot. I feel my dormant soul being enliven and my vibe closer to the heartbeat of the Universe. Whatever and whoever I am thinking about, I will hear from them and receive the answers to the questions in my head.
I believe in the Law of Attraction. I always seemed to have a vortex attracting troubled souls to my life. Hardly do I have a friend without angst and pain. My return home to them to lend a listening ear was always timely. Friends connect to me that way. A few days before my return home to Singapore, Shania felt my homecoming after three years of absence. I was timely. Can you ring me for a chat? she asked the first time we made contact after the three years. We chatted for three hours despite the fact I had lost most of my voice. She needed to hear what I had to say about it. And I spent most of my holidays home with her and being there for her.
Two nights ago, as I was about to log off my computer, Junita waylaid me on my Facebook message. It was one night I could do with my sleep. She was a wreck and suicidal. I never saw that coming from this ex-colleague who is such a bubbly girl with the picture perfect family and growing up in a privileged household of super achievers. Her anxiety levels are running at all time Mt. Everest high. She was tormented by the guilt and her infidel mind. Her heart was squeezing and every 10 minutes, her heart was in pain and she hyperventilating. She was becoming insomniac and she could not stop finding someone to talk to, just like V did the summer I went back and her relationship with Rash was heading to doomsday. I was kept awake all night- if we weren't partying, we would be on the phone after the party. I slept no more than 4 hours and would be awaken by her phone calls. We also tried staying upbeat by listening to Pink Martini's "Hang on Little Tomato"...
****
Junita's call feels almost timely after finally making peace with myself in the final leg of my trip in Singapore regarding the Old Boy. Like a summary of my past life. I get her and know how dark a journey she must be going through. When one has anxiety and depression, it eats into your core and your soul. I never want to be in that cold and sinister place again. Perhaps I never will because I feel less angst and more centred. But still, it took me a long time without medication because I believe in the power of the mind. Trekking up to Everest Base Camp was my way of training my mind and body to quieten my seething soul. I allowed my awareness and intuition to guide me and try to draw lessons in my everyday life.
I remembered my disturbed soul and was reminded of a time in my life where I drank a tad too excessively and allowed the alcohol get the better of me, which betrayed my supposedly charming persona and reared its ugly head. I was manic. The current Junita reminded me of me in my mid to late twenties. Then my pilgramage to Nepal and my trek up the Mt. Everest Base Camp transformed my soul and quieten my mind, only that I seemed to have lost that well of life and vibrancy that had previously characterised my bohemic soul. My healing journey was piecemeal at best...
****
This morning, DL and I went to our usual weekend cafe for breakfast. As usual, he bought the weekend papers. I took the small weekend magazine on Arts and Literature and found this poem. It reflected Junita's current state of being. And I too realise, not too long ago, I, too was in that dark, neurotic place...
(Summer is fiendish and life is a curse, I said in my heart)
It was a cold summer year.
What I remember is the chill on my skin
as you stripped me in fiendish haste,
the raw southerly swelling and parting the curtains of the rented room.
Now, when life begins to leave itself
why is it this figment that clings?
Such a light thing, and yet it will not fall away.
My last curse may be to lose everything but this.
All I know is that each southerly quickens my breath: the dustbag mattress is under my hips
and the words you said and the words you didn't say buzz and snap in my skull.
I can't even care that in the end I will spout them
to some kindly nurse who has your laugh
when all I am is my plastic wristband and my list of medications
and the cardiologist is the only one who
messes with my heart.
- Melinda Smith
Lately, since my return from Singapore, my thoughts have been fluid. I have been thinking, reading and writing a lot. I feel my dormant soul being enliven and my vibe closer to the heartbeat of the Universe. Whatever and whoever I am thinking about, I will hear from them and receive the answers to the questions in my head.
I believe in the Law of Attraction. I always seemed to have a vortex attracting troubled souls to my life. Hardly do I have a friend without angst and pain. My return home to them to lend a listening ear was always timely. Friends connect to me that way. A few days before my return home to Singapore, Shania felt my homecoming after three years of absence. I was timely. Can you ring me for a chat? she asked the first time we made contact after the three years. We chatted for three hours despite the fact I had lost most of my voice. She needed to hear what I had to say about it. And I spent most of my holidays home with her and being there for her.
Two nights ago, as I was about to log off my computer, Junita waylaid me on my Facebook message. It was one night I could do with my sleep. She was a wreck and suicidal. I never saw that coming from this ex-colleague who is such a bubbly girl with the picture perfect family and growing up in a privileged household of super achievers. Her anxiety levels are running at all time Mt. Everest high. She was tormented by the guilt and her infidel mind. Her heart was squeezing and every 10 minutes, her heart was in pain and she hyperventilating. She was becoming insomniac and she could not stop finding someone to talk to, just like V did the summer I went back and her relationship with Rash was heading to doomsday. I was kept awake all night- if we weren't partying, we would be on the phone after the party. I slept no more than 4 hours and would be awaken by her phone calls. We also tried staying upbeat by listening to Pink Martini's "Hang on Little Tomato"...
****
Junita's call feels almost timely after finally making peace with myself in the final leg of my trip in Singapore regarding the Old Boy. Like a summary of my past life. I get her and know how dark a journey she must be going through. When one has anxiety and depression, it eats into your core and your soul. I never want to be in that cold and sinister place again. Perhaps I never will because I feel less angst and more centred. But still, it took me a long time without medication because I believe in the power of the mind. Trekking up to Everest Base Camp was my way of training my mind and body to quieten my seething soul. I allowed my awareness and intuition to guide me and try to draw lessons in my everyday life.
I remembered my disturbed soul and was reminded of a time in my life where I drank a tad too excessively and allowed the alcohol get the better of me, which betrayed my supposedly charming persona and reared its ugly head. I was manic. The current Junita reminded me of me in my mid to late twenties. Then my pilgramage to Nepal and my trek up the Mt. Everest Base Camp transformed my soul and quieten my mind, only that I seemed to have lost that well of life and vibrancy that had previously characterised my bohemic soul. My healing journey was piecemeal at best...
****
This morning, DL and I went to our usual weekend cafe for breakfast. As usual, he bought the weekend papers. I took the small weekend magazine on Arts and Literature and found this poem. It reflected Junita's current state of being. And I too realise, not too long ago, I, too was in that dark, neurotic place...
(Summer is fiendish and life is a curse, I said in my heart)
It was a cold summer year.
What I remember is the chill on my skin
as you stripped me in fiendish haste,
the raw southerly swelling and parting the curtains of the rented room.
Now, when life begins to leave itself
why is it this figment that clings?
Such a light thing, and yet it will not fall away.
My last curse may be to lose everything but this.
All I know is that each southerly quickens my breath: the dustbag mattress is under my hips
and the words you said and the words you didn't say buzz and snap in my skull.
I can't even care that in the end I will spout them
to some kindly nurse who has your laugh
when all I am is my plastic wristband and my list of medications
and the cardiologist is the only one who
messes with my heart.
- Melinda Smith
The theme of my life & thoughts about intimacy...
It's now 2.46am AEST Friday easing into Saturday morning and still I am not in bed. So what's new?
Midnight and the wee hours of the morning are my favourite time of the day. I enjoy the quietness of the household where DL and Rusty are fast asleep and I am surrounded with the solitude of my thoughts. I get to feel the least guilty writing, savouring the words I have arranged to form meaningful sentences of my narration. I am also at my most alert. It would be a shame to waste time sleeping and let the golden moments of my creativity or mindfulness slip me by.
Looking through the archives of my blog site is my way of walking down memory lane.
My friends like Shania, B and Della often commented that I never forget anything and if they were to tell me a secret, it would always remain in my mind even if they regret revealing it to me much later on for whatever reason (mainly out of embarrassment or the need to obliterate and deny their existences completely). That, is true. B used me as a memory bank to help her re-call her own romantic adventures as she has a dimmed memory of her own life, including how she first got hooked up with her husband. She relies upon me to re-call any incidences happening in her life right down to exactly how many men she had gone to bed with. Like a computerised database, I haven't disappointed my friends to date when it came to information extraction.
Except I do forget. Reading my old entries made me realise they are snippets of memories that have long escaped my mind. I forget how poignant and intense some of my joint romantic experiences have been with certain people who had crossed paths in my life.
****
So just before, I decided to have a look through my 2006 posts and there I found gold. This entry encapsulated what it was all about in my quest or rather inclination towards taking a lover. Old Boy previously got me there mind, body and soul. But if I were to re-call further, it was M who embodied the very essence. He truly got me and my soul. He understood my story, "The Respectful Murderer" and the profundity of it. He understood what Jodie meant to Richard in my story and his perverted love for her, which in actual fact, is a beautiful story of love, obsession and respect. M understood Jodie was me and why it mattered why Richard had to kill Jodie and left her to die with her naked body covered up that way...
M understood that I had certain issues about trust and intimacy on certain levels. On one hand, I give so much of myself to lovers betraying my erotic appetite and the other, I gave nothing of myself. Few men has been privy to certain parts of me. I have spent most of affairs fucking instead of making love or even making affection. Meaningful relationships and affairs are what I do crave for. I don't often seek it actively as I am a believer of fate where boys and men will eventually find me (even when I try to dodge or repress any initiative) and then I let the course of events overcome anddictate where this encounter may lead me. I generally have a disinterest in men and not till they have decided to make the first move which will inevitably catch my attention, I would catch their cues and reciprocate accordingly. And once I am interested, I would almost definitely become more forward, perhaps due to my curiosity to understand some of their soul and hasten the union of a meaningful affair since time is never my friend. Before too long, I will need to hop on yet another plane and bus, get moving and I will be gone. Alas, most affairs are short-lived and may have ended before it has begun, be it due to my over forwardness or a case of waning interest from them finding new play. Either way, it was a good indicator that I had found fools' gold and I should move and thank my lucky stars (of not getting into yet another hapless affair) and dispel any ego bruise I have since it is all temporary and I will have a good laugh at myself when I am over it.
Most often, even when a friendship was formed during or post the affair, I still could not bring myself to trust them with the mental burden of self-consciousness of my own body. As you all know, my critical mind has a certain discomfort for physical imperfections.
M got me. The first guy who tried to asphyxiate me. It was a strange sensation when he seized my throat. I swear I was losing my breath and any further tightening of the grip would knock my breath out. Like Richard, he loved Jodie. It was his way of telling me. I have never had anyone so intensely connecting with me at that very moment. A tale not wasted on a very deserving lover because he got me and what intimacy, trust and love were all about and which thematically summed up my sensuality.
Re-reading through the entry made sense to me about M now and why he seems to be always hanging around my life sporadically. Always sincere and keen to find out how my life have been and keeping a slight distance but he is always somewhere around. He still isn't too keen to get married. He has been with the same China girl for at least a good five years now. Every so often, he too asked when I was going to get married.
When we met up in Sydney in June last year, I have let my memory slide. I stop wanting to remember us in Paris (another one of those Friday progressing into Saturday morning ecounter), the pain of his betrayal and the last intense parting shot at the Changi Airport a year later where he sought me out. We had many missed opportunities like a bad drama script that I choose to believe it is Divine Intervention that our relationship were not to be. I am in a different place and mind now (what with having to deal with my emotional scars of the Old Boy and trying to do good and make peace with my relationship with DL) five and a half years on.
Reading the above old entry made sense to me today. Perhaps the sentimental him was hanging on to the intensity of that feeling on that sad New Year's Day of 2006 in the very guest room of my family home. After all, we did have a very special connection, like Richard and Jodie.
Midnight and the wee hours of the morning are my favourite time of the day. I enjoy the quietness of the household where DL and Rusty are fast asleep and I am surrounded with the solitude of my thoughts. I get to feel the least guilty writing, savouring the words I have arranged to form meaningful sentences of my narration. I am also at my most alert. It would be a shame to waste time sleeping and let the golden moments of my creativity or mindfulness slip me by.
Looking through the archives of my blog site is my way of walking down memory lane.
My friends like Shania, B and Della often commented that I never forget anything and if they were to tell me a secret, it would always remain in my mind even if they regret revealing it to me much later on for whatever reason (mainly out of embarrassment or the need to obliterate and deny their existences completely). That, is true. B used me as a memory bank to help her re-call her own romantic adventures as she has a dimmed memory of her own life, including how she first got hooked up with her husband. She relies upon me to re-call any incidences happening in her life right down to exactly how many men she had gone to bed with. Like a computerised database, I haven't disappointed my friends to date when it came to information extraction.
Except I do forget. Reading my old entries made me realise they are snippets of memories that have long escaped my mind. I forget how poignant and intense some of my joint romantic experiences have been with certain people who had crossed paths in my life.
****
So just before, I decided to have a look through my 2006 posts and there I found gold. This entry encapsulated what it was all about in my quest or rather inclination towards taking a lover. Old Boy previously got me there mind, body and soul. But if I were to re-call further, it was M who embodied the very essence. He truly got me and my soul. He understood my story, "The Respectful Murderer" and the profundity of it. He understood what Jodie meant to Richard in my story and his perverted love for her, which in actual fact, is a beautiful story of love, obsession and respect. M understood Jodie was me and why it mattered why Richard had to kill Jodie and left her to die with her naked body covered up that way...
M understood that I had certain issues about trust and intimacy on certain levels. On one hand, I give so much of myself to lovers betraying my erotic appetite and the other, I gave nothing of myself. Few men has been privy to certain parts of me. I have spent most of affairs fucking instead of making love or even making affection. Meaningful relationships and affairs are what I do crave for. I don't often seek it actively as I am a believer of fate where boys and men will eventually find me (even when I try to dodge or repress any initiative) and then I let the course of events overcome anddictate where this encounter may lead me. I generally have a disinterest in men and not till they have decided to make the first move which will inevitably catch my attention, I would catch their cues and reciprocate accordingly. And once I am interested, I would almost definitely become more forward, perhaps due to my curiosity to understand some of their soul and hasten the union of a meaningful affair since time is never my friend. Before too long, I will need to hop on yet another plane and bus, get moving and I will be gone. Alas, most affairs are short-lived and may have ended before it has begun, be it due to my over forwardness or a case of waning interest from them finding new play. Either way, it was a good indicator that I had found fools' gold and I should move and thank my lucky stars (of not getting into yet another hapless affair) and dispel any ego bruise I have since it is all temporary and I will have a good laugh at myself when I am over it.
Most often, even when a friendship was formed during or post the affair, I still could not bring myself to trust them with the mental burden of self-consciousness of my own body. As you all know, my critical mind has a certain discomfort for physical imperfections.
M got me. The first guy who tried to asphyxiate me. It was a strange sensation when he seized my throat. I swear I was losing my breath and any further tightening of the grip would knock my breath out. Like Richard, he loved Jodie. It was his way of telling me. I have never had anyone so intensely connecting with me at that very moment. A tale not wasted on a very deserving lover because he got me and what intimacy, trust and love were all about and which thematically summed up my sensuality.
Re-reading through the entry made sense to me about M now and why he seems to be always hanging around my life sporadically. Always sincere and keen to find out how my life have been and keeping a slight distance but he is always somewhere around. He still isn't too keen to get married. He has been with the same China girl for at least a good five years now. Every so often, he too asked when I was going to get married.
When we met up in Sydney in June last year, I have let my memory slide. I stop wanting to remember us in Paris (another one of those Friday progressing into Saturday morning ecounter), the pain of his betrayal and the last intense parting shot at the Changi Airport a year later where he sought me out. We had many missed opportunities like a bad drama script that I choose to believe it is Divine Intervention that our relationship were not to be. I am in a different place and mind now (what with having to deal with my emotional scars of the Old Boy and trying to do good and make peace with my relationship with DL) five and a half years on.
Reading the above old entry made sense to me today. Perhaps the sentimental him was hanging on to the intensity of that feeling on that sad New Year's Day of 2006 in the very guest room of my family home. After all, we did have a very special connection, like Richard and Jodie.
Back in Sad Town...
my thoughts are restless and I am distracted.
I am procrastinating completing my to-do list for my businesses.
This is really fucked up.
My mind keeps wandering to things or people that I shouldn't be.
You know what my problem is?
I think too much and I am also always a little slow to react or feel at that moment in time.
Then I miss the party and wish I can wind back that freaking clock.
I am procrastinating completing my to-do list for my businesses.
This is really fucked up.
My mind keeps wandering to things or people that I shouldn't be.
You know what my problem is?
I think too much and I am also always a little slow to react or feel at that moment in time.
Then I miss the party and wish I can wind back that freaking clock.
Friday, August 03, 2012
Girls will always be girls...
and I am one of them.
I think my soul is that of a girl. Not quite a lady. Definitely don't feel like a woman. I never feel that I could ever really grow up although my age is catching up.
" P, the cards are showing that you are like a little girl. And you are not having enough fun," Anton the pagan clairvoyant said when I went to him last year. He alluded to my relationship with DL- mostly pragmatic and tensed and hardly romantic.
Anton is right. It is precisely how I felt in my more than a decade long relationship with DL. I almost feel like I am the mother sometimes- constantly worrying about him and feeling trapped in an antagonistic relationship where our goals are not aligned. DL wants a simple life, lacks tenacity and is mostly laid back (some would say. I call it laziness) whilst I, Miss P want to live larger-than-life and live passionately and fully till the day I die. Therein lies our differences that continue to define the banality and growing resentment of our joint lives.
So each time I am home in Singapore, I feel a rejuvenation of my soul. I wish I never had to return back to Sad Town and all things but ironically, I cannot. My mum seems to think Australia is the place for us to be and sometimes in anger, I feel like dumping her a guilt trip on her frail heart to let her know how short-changed I feel about my life here with DL if only she knows what I have to go through and put up in our bitter-sweet relationhip because I have to survive. I couldn't do it alone now that I have invested all the financial hospitality my parents have bestowed upon me on us. I have limited choice but to make my life in Australia work. I still remain hopeful that DL and I may finally see light at the end of this bleak tunnel because I love him enough to put out all my stakes for him and making myself so vulnerable in oh-so-many levels. But some days, I grow tired of trying to lead and having that one step forward, two steps backwards thing going in the progression of our relationship(The other day, I caught up with Coolios who is a buddy of DL and also a good friend of mine. He agreed that DL needs help and needs to see a psychologist/counsellor). I just have to remain positive.
Truth is, I am never ready to grow up and I just want to run far, faraway and embark on many life adventures. I want to feel like I can fall in love carelessly and carefreely again with a boy who can be my partner-in-crime. We can have an intellectual and philosophically lyrical debate about the mysteries of the universe, laugh at ourselves and feel so much love that we cannot stop making sweet love and loving each other.I want to live again and we may even find a cause we are both passionate about so that we can live and breathe our common interests and help change the world in a grand way.
Now that is the real P. A little idealistic but enough to want to make things happen. I always made things happen for me because I believe in the power of the mind.
A bit of a Lolita. I don't think I can ever grow too old in my mind and soul. So I have no real fixed preference type. An older man or a younger man are both highly capable of allowing me to re-capture my youth.
*****
Shania is a bit of a girl like me. We are both never ready to get married. She wants affection and companionship and likes to hang out with her girlfriends.
Being my only non-married good friend from high school with all the time flexibility in the world as a self-employed person, I spent most of my time in Singapore hanging out with her on most nights. I enjoyed her staying over at my place or me lying in her bed (my dress by now would have ridden up to my waist exposing my panties) to talk about love, infatuations, spirituality, intimacy and all the senseless girl talk.
We both hate wearing bras not because we are trying to look seductive because like two young girls, we don't see the need to.
"Why must people wear bras?" she looked at me weirdly the other day and we laughed.
I concurred since we both don't have big boobs and doesn't require extra support. I was also doing out of pragmatism. As it is, the weather in Singapore is hot and humid enough for me. I wasn't about to unnecessary add an extra layer of clothing, which also meant extra laundry and also unnecessary water resources wasted.
But for the aesthetics of the silohuette's sake, I do don a bra when the outfit requires. ( I am also glad I did the day Gem a.k.a Mr. Tingles kissed me at the beach and the strap of my sphagetti strapped top slided off my left shoulder. That outing night while I was getting dressed to go out, I recalled contemplating whether I should "waste" a clean bra by wearing it since the four of us- Shania, Photo, Gem weren't going anywhere nice and was just hanging out at a bar by the beach. I definitely was NOT expecting any action).
Last Saturday, Shania and I accompanied Photo to lunch at the joint that Shania and I went an hour before. Photo asked why I was dressing so sexily in a thin,white cotton singlet with a black sports bra underneath and torn and tattered denim shorts. Perhaps, he was alluding to whom I was trying to seduce.
"What sexy? Can't you see it is such a hot day and we had to walk all the way to lunch before?!" I retorted.
He pointed to my black sports bra under a white translucent top.
"Aiyah. I cannot find a white coloured bra. Can you imagine if it was white? How see through would that be? Besides I don't like wearing a bra if I can help it!"
He laughed and mumbled something along the lines that I was like Shania and that we both don't like wearing bras. (So he has been taking note of her, I privately chuckled in my mind).
I put my hands underneath my breasts and supported them in a comical way.
"See my boobs are small so there is no need!" I laughed.
Now Photo blushed and looked a little embarrassed at my audacity or shamelessness.
He also mentioned that my tummy was sticking out.
I replied nonchalantly that I really need to do something about it but who cares since I wasn't trying to seduce anyone.
I guess Photo is a friend and somehow when a male friend is not someone that I have a romantic attraction to, I forget that they are male and I just see them as I see myself: big kids at heart. They are a-sexual, genderless in my mind. Nothing sexualised , nothing that I can feel overly embarrassed to talk about.
I attributed that to my girls' school education and growing up with straight, male friends like Dancer whom I was accustomed to him looking at my body in tight leotards and tights during dance class.
*****
In 1998, I was given a partial scholarship to go to an all girls college in Pennsylvania for having a good score with my SATs. Alas, my father didn't deem it a "reputable" enough school to send me there.
I would have welcomed that as I went to a good girls' school during high school and wished that my education years would never go co-ed. I know what an all girls' school has done to my healthy self esteem in my pubescent year due to the non-existence of self-consciousness (although I had constant issues of not being thin enough when I was slim, it bore from wanting to seek the "perfect" silohuette for my dance and outfits, not so much for boys) from unnecessary male distraction, my relatively healthy competitive streak and the instillation of focus and discipline in me as a blossoming young lady. But most importantly, I experienced the camaraderie of girly friendships and empowerment of girl power within our classroom setting and the fun we had as girls. And what's even better, we still managed to know boys from neighbouring schools and we always look more fabulous than most girls within a co-ed school.
The sentimental me would love to turn back clock so I will have more girlfriends to hang out with where we indulge in sometimes philosophical discussions (like V and me) but often girly banters about boys and our Alicia Silverstone-esque shopping ( miss the days too where I was given generous pocket money), drinking Jolly Shandy (0.2% alcohol content so don't mess around with us!;p) at the bus stop and thinking that we are so worldly with our designer or branded school bags.
Oh if only there is a time machine to get me back to the mid 1990s, I will be so ready to fly.
Gimme my girlfriends anytime. And then I can say "Heck the boys!";)
I think my soul is that of a girl. Not quite a lady. Definitely don't feel like a woman. I never feel that I could ever really grow up although my age is catching up.
" P, the cards are showing that you are like a little girl. And you are not having enough fun," Anton the pagan clairvoyant said when I went to him last year. He alluded to my relationship with DL- mostly pragmatic and tensed and hardly romantic.
Anton is right. It is precisely how I felt in my more than a decade long relationship with DL. I almost feel like I am the mother sometimes- constantly worrying about him and feeling trapped in an antagonistic relationship where our goals are not aligned. DL wants a simple life, lacks tenacity and is mostly laid back (some would say. I call it laziness) whilst I, Miss P want to live larger-than-life and live passionately and fully till the day I die. Therein lies our differences that continue to define the banality and growing resentment of our joint lives.
So each time I am home in Singapore, I feel a rejuvenation of my soul. I wish I never had to return back to Sad Town and all things but ironically, I cannot. My mum seems to think Australia is the place for us to be and sometimes in anger, I feel like dumping her a guilt trip on her frail heart to let her know how short-changed I feel about my life here with DL if only she knows what I have to go through and put up in our bitter-sweet relationhip because I have to survive. I couldn't do it alone now that I have invested all the financial hospitality my parents have bestowed upon me on us. I have limited choice but to make my life in Australia work. I still remain hopeful that DL and I may finally see light at the end of this bleak tunnel because I love him enough to put out all my stakes for him and making myself so vulnerable in oh-so-many levels. But some days, I grow tired of trying to lead and having that one step forward, two steps backwards thing going in the progression of our relationship(The other day, I caught up with Coolios who is a buddy of DL and also a good friend of mine. He agreed that DL needs help and needs to see a psychologist/counsellor). I just have to remain positive.
Truth is, I am never ready to grow up and I just want to run far, faraway and embark on many life adventures. I want to feel like I can fall in love carelessly and carefreely again with a boy who can be my partner-in-crime. We can have an intellectual and philosophically lyrical debate about the mysteries of the universe, laugh at ourselves and feel so much love that we cannot stop making sweet love and loving each other.I want to live again and we may even find a cause we are both passionate about so that we can live and breathe our common interests and help change the world in a grand way.
Now that is the real P. A little idealistic but enough to want to make things happen. I always made things happen for me because I believe in the power of the mind.
A bit of a Lolita. I don't think I can ever grow too old in my mind and soul. So I have no real fixed preference type. An older man or a younger man are both highly capable of allowing me to re-capture my youth.
*****
Shania is a bit of a girl like me. We are both never ready to get married. She wants affection and companionship and likes to hang out with her girlfriends.
Being my only non-married good friend from high school with all the time flexibility in the world as a self-employed person, I spent most of my time in Singapore hanging out with her on most nights. I enjoyed her staying over at my place or me lying in her bed (my dress by now would have ridden up to my waist exposing my panties) to talk about love, infatuations, spirituality, intimacy and all the senseless girl talk.
We both hate wearing bras not because we are trying to look seductive because like two young girls, we don't see the need to.
"Why must people wear bras?" she looked at me weirdly the other day and we laughed.
I concurred since we both don't have big boobs and doesn't require extra support. I was also doing out of pragmatism. As it is, the weather in Singapore is hot and humid enough for me. I wasn't about to unnecessary add an extra layer of clothing, which also meant extra laundry and also unnecessary water resources wasted.
But for the aesthetics of the silohuette's sake, I do don a bra when the outfit requires. ( I am also glad I did the day Gem a.k.a Mr. Tingles kissed me at the beach and the strap of my sphagetti strapped top slided off my left shoulder. That outing night while I was getting dressed to go out, I recalled contemplating whether I should "waste" a clean bra by wearing it since the four of us- Shania, Photo, Gem weren't going anywhere nice and was just hanging out at a bar by the beach. I definitely was NOT expecting any action).
Last Saturday, Shania and I accompanied Photo to lunch at the joint that Shania and I went an hour before. Photo asked why I was dressing so sexily in a thin,white cotton singlet with a black sports bra underneath and torn and tattered denim shorts. Perhaps, he was alluding to whom I was trying to seduce.
"What sexy? Can't you see it is such a hot day and we had to walk all the way to lunch before?!" I retorted.
He pointed to my black sports bra under a white translucent top.
"Aiyah. I cannot find a white coloured bra. Can you imagine if it was white? How see through would that be? Besides I don't like wearing a bra if I can help it!"
He laughed and mumbled something along the lines that I was like Shania and that we both don't like wearing bras. (So he has been taking note of her, I privately chuckled in my mind).
I put my hands underneath my breasts and supported them in a comical way.
"See my boobs are small so there is no need!" I laughed.
Now Photo blushed and looked a little embarrassed at my audacity or shamelessness.
He also mentioned that my tummy was sticking out.
I replied nonchalantly that I really need to do something about it but who cares since I wasn't trying to seduce anyone.
I guess Photo is a friend and somehow when a male friend is not someone that I have a romantic attraction to, I forget that they are male and I just see them as I see myself: big kids at heart. They are a-sexual, genderless in my mind. Nothing sexualised , nothing that I can feel overly embarrassed to talk about.
I attributed that to my girls' school education and growing up with straight, male friends like Dancer whom I was accustomed to him looking at my body in tight leotards and tights during dance class.
*****
In 1998, I was given a partial scholarship to go to an all girls college in Pennsylvania for having a good score with my SATs. Alas, my father didn't deem it a "reputable" enough school to send me there.
I would have welcomed that as I went to a good girls' school during high school and wished that my education years would never go co-ed. I know what an all girls' school has done to my healthy self esteem in my pubescent year due to the non-existence of self-consciousness (although I had constant issues of not being thin enough when I was slim, it bore from wanting to seek the "perfect" silohuette for my dance and outfits, not so much for boys) from unnecessary male distraction, my relatively healthy competitive streak and the instillation of focus and discipline in me as a blossoming young lady. But most importantly, I experienced the camaraderie of girly friendships and empowerment of girl power within our classroom setting and the fun we had as girls. And what's even better, we still managed to know boys from neighbouring schools and we always look more fabulous than most girls within a co-ed school.
The sentimental me would love to turn back clock so I will have more girlfriends to hang out with where we indulge in sometimes philosophical discussions (like V and me) but often girly banters about boys and our Alicia Silverstone-esque shopping ( miss the days too where I was given generous pocket money), drinking Jolly Shandy (0.2% alcohol content so don't mess around with us!;p) at the bus stop and thinking that we are so worldly with our designer or branded school bags.
Oh if only there is a time machine to get me back to the mid 1990s, I will be so ready to fly.
Gimme my girlfriends anytime. And then I can say "Heck the boys!";)
Thursday, August 02, 2012
Bald Men and Shaven Heads
Since my university days, Daisy noticed that I seemed to be attracted to bald men without realising the pattern.
Everytime I mentioned or pointed out a particular guy that I find cute or attractive, she would remind me that they are all "bald", just like my boyfriend, DL. "You like baldies!" Daisy would tease me. Well, maybe I just have a connection with them. I have thin hair and a balding patch for tying all my hair backwards all the time. I hardly let my hair down, literally.
I knew DL in 2000 before he had a shaven hairdo. His receding hairline and thinning hair in the middle of his crown was getting the better of him. He had to do something about it lest he looked like "Bozo the Clown". I used to pull his leg and said maybe he should keep his hair, dye it white and wear his navy-coloured Kung Fu silk pyjamas outfit and black velvet Chinese loafers that old Chinese men typically wore to do Tai Chi and also he should carry a walking stick so I could take him to our lectures and introduced him as my grandfather. In the Australian summer of 2001/02, he decided to shave his head and had since adopted that hairstyle for more than a decade to date. He looked a lot better without hair.
The Gem is also another bald or rather has a shaven head due to a receding hairline. I do actually find a man with a shaven head rather sexy. I don't know why. Gem is tanned and well-built for a guy. I also have this thing for men in well tailored white shirts. Gem looked particularly stylish in his tailor-made white shirt that is lined with purplish floral prints at the collar and shirt cuffs. I love the metrosexual finishing touches to the shirt that he wore. As you all know, I remember people by the thing they wear and it was this white shirt he wore on the first day I met him and again, three nights ago that defined him in my imagination and memory.
Then there was the Big Boy, a rising (and now prominent) litigation lawyer with thinning hair. It was more than half a decade ago that he propositioned a dirty trip that never came into fruition. The last time I saw him in 2008, it was at a chance meeting at someone's birthday celebrations. He must have just been to court. He was in a nice, well-fitted white shirt and although he has accumulated quite a bit of white hair, he could not look any sexier.
My very first crush for a boy was when I was about five years old. I was in Kindergarten and had to take a school bus to school. The first time I experienced a strange, unexplainable stirring in my heart was on the school bus where I was seated next to a bald boy who was a year older than me. He always brought milk powder with him in a tupperware. I never knew his name.
Perhaps every individual has a defined preference type and if you recall the people whom you have been attracted in your life, you will find a pattern. Like what Daisy has decided, the underlying trait for my pre-dilection of the opposite sex lies in bald or shaven head men. So a bald man I am destined to end up with!;)
Everytime I mentioned or pointed out a particular guy that I find cute or attractive, she would remind me that they are all "bald", just like my boyfriend, DL. "You like baldies!" Daisy would tease me. Well, maybe I just have a connection with them. I have thin hair and a balding patch for tying all my hair backwards all the time. I hardly let my hair down, literally.
I knew DL in 2000 before he had a shaven hairdo. His receding hairline and thinning hair in the middle of his crown was getting the better of him. He had to do something about it lest he looked like "Bozo the Clown". I used to pull his leg and said maybe he should keep his hair, dye it white and wear his navy-coloured Kung Fu silk pyjamas outfit and black velvet Chinese loafers that old Chinese men typically wore to do Tai Chi and also he should carry a walking stick so I could take him to our lectures and introduced him as my grandfather. In the Australian summer of 2001/02, he decided to shave his head and had since adopted that hairstyle for more than a decade to date. He looked a lot better without hair.
The Gem is also another bald or rather has a shaven head due to a receding hairline. I do actually find a man with a shaven head rather sexy. I don't know why. Gem is tanned and well-built for a guy. I also have this thing for men in well tailored white shirts. Gem looked particularly stylish in his tailor-made white shirt that is lined with purplish floral prints at the collar and shirt cuffs. I love the metrosexual finishing touches to the shirt that he wore. As you all know, I remember people by the thing they wear and it was this white shirt he wore on the first day I met him and again, three nights ago that defined him in my imagination and memory.
Then there was the Big Boy, a rising (and now prominent) litigation lawyer with thinning hair. It was more than half a decade ago that he propositioned a dirty trip that never came into fruition. The last time I saw him in 2008, it was at a chance meeting at someone's birthday celebrations. He must have just been to court. He was in a nice, well-fitted white shirt and although he has accumulated quite a bit of white hair, he could not look any sexier.
My very first crush for a boy was when I was about five years old. I was in Kindergarten and had to take a school bus to school. The first time I experienced a strange, unexplainable stirring in my heart was on the school bus where I was seated next to a bald boy who was a year older than me. He always brought milk powder with him in a tupperware. I never knew his name.
Perhaps every individual has a defined preference type and if you recall the people whom you have been attracted in your life, you will find a pattern. Like what Daisy has decided, the underlying trait for my pre-dilection of the opposite sex lies in bald or shaven head men. So a bald man I am destined to end up with!;)
My Love of Art, Paintings & Aesthetics
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| "Six Apparitions of Lenin on the Piano" by Salvatore Dali |
I first set my eyes on the above original painting during my field trip at Le Lourve in Paris with my fashion school. It was a painting that I became mesmerised in. I fell in love with it instantly.
It was in Paris that I discovered Dali and Surrealism properly. As a dilettante, I never paid any real attention to the different art movements that define a time in history. Instead, I go for how I feel and connect to a painting.
I have always been inclined to the Surrealist style of painting that depict a certain darkness in its visual depiction. "Six Apparitions of Lenin on Piano" stopped me in my tracks. I could not take my eyes off that painting. Some of my classmates thought it was scary looking.
There are not many paintings that I love so much that I wanted it. The above painting gave me that rush so much so that I almost feel I had to have it. But of course, if I were to even successfully commit grand theft on it, I better be prepared that I will be watching my back for the rest of my life and finding a safe haven to guard my precious possession so that I could sit and stare at the surreal beauty of it for as long as I live.
When I lived in Paris, I visited Le Lourve, the Pompidou, D'Orsay Museum, the tiny Dali museum in Montmarte. In New York, I went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Gugaheim Museum and many more that I didn't care to remember. But the place I enjoyed the most was the Dali museum where I could spend hours alone marvelling at his works, having a good laugh and enjoying myself so much so that I was sad to go and instead, I backtracked a couple of times to some of Dali's paintings just so I could re-live the pleasurable moment of soaking up in his Art.
Another painting that captured my heart was a painting titled "The Gossip Queens"' by a particular gay ex-nurse artist named Jason something. I found it at the Convent Gallery in the Victorian spa town of Daylesford, a favourite holiday destination for DL, myself and our late Fluffball. I was a poor student when I first set my eyes on it around 2003 and could not afford A$1500 for this painting. The vividness of the colours, the precised painting of the purplish veins of the old ladies' wrists captivated my imagination. It would make a great centrepiece in a high celiling dining or living room on the wall above the mantel piece of a fireplace. When I was in a good financial state as a young headhunter climbing the corporate ladder, I went back to the museum to track down that painting. A week later, they finally found the name of the artist and had to inform me that sadly, the painting was long sold. The artist have other works that I could purchase but no, my heart was set on "The Gossip Queens".
The only painting that I loved in the same league as the above two paintings and had managed to buy is "The Ghosts of the Cathedral". I bought in Havanna, Cuba the year before Paris in 2003, which made this painting out of the three my second love after "The Gossip Queens". It was my last day in Cuba before I flew out to Canada that very night. The night before, I had my wallet stolen and had less than US$100 to my name. My trip had at least one more week to go. Because I loved the painting so much and had to have it, I bargained so hard (which I know I should never insult the artist's work by bringing down its perceived value), the seller had to make several calls on the public phone to the artist and finally relented at USD$30 down from USD$50. I didn't take good care of the rolled up canvas and kept it anywhere I like for a good eight years. The medium was acrylic for "The Ghosts of the Cathedral" and as a result, some parts of the painting is cracked.
Early 2011, we finally bought our own house. I decided it was time to frame it. One's relationship with one's picture framer is absolutely vital. You both must have a similar aesthetics and the framer must have the eye to bring the best out of the artist through his/her artful skill of using the right frame from grain of wood to colour, with or without borders, type of glass, with or withhout glass and down to the precise dimensions required to stretch the canvas and bring about a finished hangable work of art.
I happened to pick one of the most expensive frames in the shop. But the rest just would not do. The framer had to concur with me although he tried to help me reduce the costs by trying different frames and combinations. The bill for the framing came up to A$460 but it was every cent well spent. The frame complimented the painting so well that it has now imortalised its presence on our bedroom wall. I love lying in bed to stare at this hauntingly beautiful picture. Some of my friends and even my mum are a little spooked by the painting in my bedroom. But I love every bit of it. Each time I stare at it, I discover a new expression hitherto not experienced in the face of a particular painted translucent ghost. Like an onion, it seems like there are layers and layers of meanings that unfolds before me. I love a multi-faceted painting like this. I feel like I have definitely struck gold on investing in this piece of art- I never get tired of look at it.
A good framer is definitely a big right arm in my world of art and aesthetics. I happen to also have a love for stylised vintage botanical and bird illustrations. My framer did an awesome job of suggesting and discussing with me the suitable coloured borders and the precised measurements (right down to the millimetre) of how we could bring the best out of each work. And of course, the different glass pane options to minimise discolouration and maximise the preservation of these antique prints. Again the frames costs a hundred times more than the vintage illustrations but they do their job of enhancing such beautiful works of art that grace the limited hanging wall spaces of our tiny townhouse.
I cannot wait for the day where we are much richer and can afford a much bigger house with beautiful high ceilings and more rooms where I can have my own studio to work on my art- fashion designing, sewing, working on immortalising roadkill by using their fur to create one-off couture pieces (as opposed to the animal cruelty of farming animals for the fur trade), spinning of yarn and working on experimenting with vegetable dyes. We will also have a massive sitting room designed to be like a natural history museum where I could bring in the vintage taxidermy of the Alaskan polar bear who died of natural courses and the Bengal tiger who died of old age at a zoo and other animal curiosities that I found in a vintage taxidermy store in the town of Mittagong. And of course, a nice altar piece to house the cedarwood boxes of all my deceased pets so that they would have a nice dwelling place with all their furry friends. We will have an old vintage leather cigar couch to sit on so that DL and I could seek solace in special place in our house where time is suspended and the animals congregate and become alive once more.
I think I will die a rather happy girl.
