My Boyfriend, the Copy Cat

Here’s an actual excerpt from my Facebook newsfeed. As you can see, my boyfriend (who has changed his name to some Ah Beng name on Facebook) is lovingly mocking my status.

Some people has nothing better to do, tsk tsk :P

facebook excerpt

For those unfamiliar with Bill Compton and Sookie Stackhouse (though I can’t imagine why) – they are main characters in HBO’s vampire series, True Blood.

I started watching the second season of Trueblood last night and was planning to watch more tonight, hence my status. Though it is not far from the truth that Bill would be a perfect companion anyhows ;)

And Bill is definitely a hottie, though I think I’ve covered that topic in detail in this post. But you can read about him all over again, hehe.

However, that doesn’t change the fact that my boyfriend is a copy cat. I should start copyrighting my status, lol.

Air Kathirah + Chendol = New Drink?

One of the things I look forward to during each fasting month is Air Kathirah.

To drink it when breaking fast is like pure heaven. Not only is it sweet, but it is also thirst quenching after such a long day.

For the uninitiated, air kathirah is a like a milk beverage that is sweet and yummy. There are these ingredients in it that I don’t quite know what they are – probably sago seeds? These sago seeds are equivalent to the pearls in bubble tea, just 1/100 the size of a pearl. I’ve tried looking for a photo of this drink but to no avail.

I can’t believe nobody has taken a photo of Air Kathirah. Maybe I will, haha.

But anyways, Air Kathirah is the best thing ever.

So my story about Air Kathirah today adds on to my long history of bimbo tales.

So there I was with FP walking through the Pasar Malam looking for food, drinks and possibly Malay or Indo DVDs. But my main mission was of course to find my beloved Air Kathirah. It has become a personal custom for me to have it every Ramadhan. So we searched and searched.

First there was this stall that sold Air Kathirah in so many flavours that a bubble tea shop will cringe in shame. Blueberry Kathirah, Strawberry Kathirah and so on. I was like.. “WOW, interesting but NO. I must have the original”.

So we walked on.

Then directly across from where I was standing, I saw a sign saying AIR KATHIRAH + CHENDOL.

So I pointed the sign to FP, to which he says, “Chendol sounds good! Let’s go!”

Now here’s where things get complicated all because of Air Kathirah.

When I saw the sign, I honestly thought that it meant that Chendol is mixed with Air Kathirah and therefore a new drink has been created. That was my logic because that is truly the literal meaning of the sign. (I’m a simple girl, you know?)

FP on the other hand, caught the real meaning of the sign – which simply says that they sold both Air Kathirah and Chendol at the stall. Not mixed. They just have both available.

So bearing these opposing thoughts in mind, let me tell you what happened when we got to the stall.

So this is the conversation that occurred between me and the stall aunty:

Me: Can I have one kathirah, and one kathirah + chendol

Aunty: Ok, one kathirah, one chendol

Me: No, one kathirah, one Kathirah + Chendol! (thinking why doesn’t she understand when she has a sign saying kathirah + chendol up! At these moment FP was nudging me saying stuff. I ignored him)

Aunty: (begins putting one packet of Kathirah in a plastic bag)

Me: Um, can I have that in a cup? (to which FP nudged me again saying, “Nevermind.. we can just drink from the plastic”)

Aunty: Sorry we don’t have any more cups. (she then takes one packet Chendol and put it in the plastic also)

Me: Oh ok.. (notices that the Chendol does not seem to be mixed with kathirah) Aunty, is this already mixed with Kathirah?

At this point of time, the aunty did look annoyed. She looked incredibly tired and did I tell you that we can break fast at any minute? And still she had to deal with nonsense from a certain innocent bimbo.

Aunty: We don’t have mixed ones. It’s either Kathirah or Chendol. No mixed! So you still want or don’t want??

Me: Oh (blush blush) yes yes ok

Aunty: So with Chendol or no Chendol?

Me: With. So one Kathirah one Chendol.

After which, FP laughed at me nonstop. But to my defense:

a) The sign was misleading
b) Prior to this stall, I saw air kathirah in so many flavours
c) Who knows, air kathirah mixed with chendol might be yummy after all!

So perhaps we should try mixing eh, Kawan E? :D

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As easy as riding a bicycle?

You know the saying, “It’s just like riding a bicycle, you can never forget it”?

Well it doesn’t apply to me. And it probably never will.

Because I don’t know how to cycle. Surprising isn’t it, coming from someone who can drive a manual car with ease?

Why don’t I know how to cycle? Because when I was a kid, nobody taught me.

Now when I see little girls being taught how to cycle or rollerblade by their daddies, I think of you. Do you think about me too? Or have I been forgotten, like yesterday’s leftovers?

I’ve always prided myself for turning out pretty damn good despite your absence all my life. I got thru school, have never gotten into any serious trouble and I have a stable career.

I’ve never smoked, never drank alcohol and never did drugs. In a nutshell, I went against the stereotype of children with divorced and/or single parents.

But despite having a comfortable life without someone who was supposed to indulge in me and call me his little princess, I’ve always felt something was missing.

You were not there for any of the events in my life. Not when I won second place in a story telling competition. Not I went for Brownie Camp. Not when I went to collect my results for A levels and was scared shitless. No. You weren’t there to hold my hand and you weren’t there to give me a hug afterwards.

You were not there when my heart first got broken and I took a year to get over the boy. You were never there to kiss me good night. Were you even there when I was rushed to the hospital at 6 months old? Did you even remember me then? Were you even there when I was born?

I guess not. You never wanted me.

But of all the things that you weren’t there for, you weren’t there to teach me how to cycle. You were not there to bring me to the park and teach me the basics and laugh when I struggle, or cheer me on when I manage to keep my balance.

This particular thing that you have failed to do has made me feel so handicapped. FP tried to teach me how to cycle some weeks back and he ended up exasperated. And he got mad at me, he lost his patience I didn’t become angry at him when he lost his patience. I blame you.

I blame nobody but you. All around the park that FP and I were in, I see little girls with their fathers. Some teaching them to roller blade, others teaching them to cycle. And I felt this void feeling within me, because I don’t know how that feels. And I will never know. Never understand that father-daughter bond because you chose not to be there.

Ironically, when I focused on my anger on you and the rut you left me in (being scolded by FP), I pushed myself harder onto the bicycle and for a little while there I was balanced and cycling. For perhaps 5 seconds. But it wasn’t exactly cycling.

It happened twice during that one hour. And then it was back to fumbling with the bike.

It was almost cycling, but almost doesn’t count. And when I think of how much emotions and anger that was needed to be a catalyst in a near-successful cycling, I think it’s not really worth it.

So perhaps, I should accept the fact that I will never know how to cycle. I shouldn’t be doing things that ignite a burning anger in me. It’s really not healthy.

As for you, wherever you are: I try so hard not to think about you because why should I bother when you don’t even remember me. But it happens again and again at random times that I least expect it.

As far as I am concerned, I don’t know you and you are nothing but a name next to mine.

And that is why my friends, I will never truly understand the phrase “you’ll never forget how to ride a bicycle”, because frankly I will gladly choose to forget it.

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Songs of Innocence

baby-sha

Found this really nice quote that echoes nothing but honesty:

When I was 5 years old, mum always told me that happiness was the key to life. When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grow up.

I wrote “happy”.

They told me I didn’t understand the assignment.

I told them they didn’t understand life.

How true. Looking at the photo above of an adorable child (which happens to be me) smiling like there’s no worry in the world, you might think her perception of life is the most ideal.

Perhaps it was. Would this little girl know that one day her heart will break? That she will get hurt? That there are people in this world who are envious, evil and manipulative? That her hair, skin, eye sight will not be as perfect as it was on that fine day she stood happily with an umbrella on a car?

Of course she didn’t. She didn’t know that one day she would lose people who love her dearly, in a natural and inevitable way. That one day, she will not be under a sheltered umbrella despite being protected all her life. First by her family who guarded her with their lives and then by a loving boyfriend that makes it his mission to make sure nothing happens to her.

But at that moment, nothing seems to matter to her. Her attention is only spared to posing prettily and smiling unknowingly the prettiest smile there ever was. There’s no words to describe this photo really. There’s an innocence so profound that it goes straight to your soul. The happiness that exudes from her smile is genuine. Nothing fake, nothing sarcastic or smile. Such is the sincerity of a child.

Even today when she’s all grown up, she has not given up on happiness. She only wants to be happy, and that is all that matters.

Happiness is such a simple concept yet it is also the hardest to achieve. Happiness cannot be bought with riches or popularity. It can only be attained when deep inside, you are self-contented and self-satisfied.

I wish I can go through everyday with such a genuine, heartwarming smile without snide and sarcastic thoughts in my head. I wish I have that simple innocence that trusts everyone and have that carefree feeling , without fear of tripping and failing.

I really miss being a child, and perhaps to some extent, I never really grew up. Of course I can’t show my child-like qualities at work or with the family (when I am supposed to be the eldest). But with FP, all walls of insecurity and self-defence is broken and I become my true self. I feel carefree, child-like and playful. The strong bond between FP and I breaks barriers and I feel free to be who I am.

Why?

Because he makes me feel safe and loved.

Just like that little girl, on a car, under an umbrella – many, many years ago.

Identity Crisis

ubin girl

I have an identity crisis.

Because of the way I look and possibly the way I speak (which is by no means my fault), many people have thought that I am not local. And even if they think I were local, they wouldn’t even guess it right. Before I start on anything, please understand that I speak English by default and abt 99.9% of the time.

Ok let’s roll.

Throughout the years, I have most often been mistaken for a pure Chinese and have therefore been spoken to in all dialects of the Chinese language. Thankfully for them, I do understand enough to get by despite not being able to answer back most of the time.

When this happens, I get mistaken for an Atas Chinese girl, who hasn’t been educated by her parents to speak her native language. Which is double the whammy and quite hilarious when I think about it.

But it gets a bit complicated when it comes to Malays. Read on. It maybe jumbled with other experiences. This should show how messed up I am because of this identity crisis.

There are several scenarios that I find myself in and most most of my crises take place in cabs:

When I get in a cab, I will obviously by default speak English. It doesn’t help that my destinations are all quite atas sounding like Alexandra Road, Upper Thomson Road and Woodlands – Don’t stalk me. Alot of cab drivers cannot pre-define what I am. I have gotten in a lot of situations whereby:

They will think I am non-Singaporean. “Are you local?” are “Where are you from?” are questions that have been often asked. They will think that I am a Filipino, Indonesian or Malaysian. Malaysian being the latest assumption. Soon it will be Thailand (You Thai? I Thai toooo!), Vietnamese and Myanmar. Maybe I should think of a fake nationality as a backup, just for fun.

Once it is established that I am indeed Singaporean, they will wonder if I am Malay or Chinese. And more often than not, they will ask. And I will answer them in all honesty and this will make them more in awe of me. I have no idea why. Most of them will tell me, “When you first came in, I thought you were Chinese. Then after that, eh, look like Malay”. But here’s a classic one.

After I told this one cab uncle of my true heritage, he was completely amazed by it. I didn’t know if I should be flattered or freaked out. He kept looking towards me with a “I’ve found real FAIRIES” look on his face, so completely amazed at his precious find. Even when I was paying, he kept looking at me (not in a perverted way) – more of a i-cant-believe-this-pinch-me look.

LOL.

identity

But I do not misuse my pan-asian look. If its an old Malay uncle, I will speak and guide him in Malay. Sometimes old chinese uncles will start speaking to me in malay and are more at ease with me, and I feel good when I do that.

Problems and awkward moments also happen when I pay by credit card. Two such incidences happened before. The first was very long ago. This Malay uncle, assumed I was Chinese all along until the time I chose to pay by credit card. He was so stunned that he did a triple take between my card and my face – not sure whether it’s really my card or I stole if off some Minah – but processed the payment anyway. But as I got off the cab, he kept watching – also in confusion and disbelief.

The second time just happened last Thursday. I was already late for work so I took a cab down. The driver was a Muslim woman wearing a tudong. So I told her where I wanted to go, and she told me that she’s very new so she doesn’t know the way so please guide her. So I did, at every step of the way.

These all happened in English.

So when we reached my office, I paid by credit card (don’t ask why – but I always know my game is up every time I pay by credit card). She processed the payment and wished me a nice day ahead.

Just as I was stepping out, she added, “Selamat Berpuasa”.

Not knowing how to react because I thought she didn’t notice the name on my card, and because I was already late, I didn’t really reply her and fled the cab.

Which makes me feel really bad when I think about it.

She must think I am such a spoilt brat who is not educated in these things and possibly don’t fast.

Oh well, I can’t leave a good impression on everyone now, can I?

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Reaching for the Stars

abstract-desktop-wallpapers-mac-apple-pictures

I did something 2 days ago (technically) that still has me in disbelief today.

While I was sub-consciously seeking new patch of green pasture to frolic about, I did more than just that. I didn’t only reach for the stars, I went straight for the moon.

Which is completely completely crazy if you think about it. But crazy things are good (as are crazy people). Crazy ideas only come at rare moments when your mind is slightly off the tangent. And it is because of this tiny fact that crazy ideas are “so crazy that it might just work”.

So I entertained this little crazy idea without mulling much about it, which is weird considering how I think through everything at least three times before I go forward with it. But with this little mission, I became brave and somewhat confident in going forth to the battlefield.

Perhaps it’s because of a slightly bruised ego (which sometimes is too easily bruised) and a slight rebellion that was going within my mind that I decided to just go for it.

Why not, right?

It wasn’t as if it is a crime to dream big. I have plenty of dreams, still unrealized but I have never given myself any limit to what my dreams should be. It can be as wide and far fetched as my imagination can be. Nobody is going to stop me from dreaming about crazy things that might or might not be ridiculous or impossible.

Who cares really?

Point is, nobody should be faltered by any external influences or feel that they are not good enough to chase all their wonderful and extravagant dreams. Dreams are unlimited as random thoughts are on Tweeter. And it is up to you to grab the more interesting “random thought” – that might not be so random after all – and try to bring it into the realm of reality.

Make that cross. That giant leap that you are often so scared to take because you are afraid you will fall through and end up dead. You know what they say: If you aim for the moon – even if you don’t quite reach it – you will still end up among the stars. Cliche but true.

And who doesn’t want to be a star?

As for me, I took a rocket that comes with a broken brake – that might lead me straight to the moon (hello Man on the Moon!) or have me land among the fluffy clouds that look like cotton candy.

Either way, as long as I am happy, I am going to have the Carpe Diem! attitude and see where it takes me.

Of Me-time & Relaxing Weekends

trees

That has been a wonderful long weekend.

Away from work stress, away from home stress. Away from everything.

It was the break I’ve been wanting to have and one that I have been given, and I am thankful for that.

While it has been with the best company (hehe) that I can ever ask for, it was also rewarding on a personal note.

It has taught me that I should take things easy. Easy come, easy go. It has been so long since I have gone by without thinking hard about something or stressing myself for nothing. Thinking about pleasing everything and everyone without thinking about myself.

I realise that I haven’t done the simple things I loved doing. Like reading leisurely, having a good laugh watching TV and just having a peace of mind. Also, watching my favourite movies over again has become an obsolete joy.

Reading. It’s been a long while since I have read a book every night before bed. Or even during free time throughout the day. All because I get tired out from being busy. These days, on most nights I just read thru Twitter and FML, Facebook on my iTouch before eventually dozing off and waking up to yet another long day.

It’s a vicious cycle. And I plan to curb it because I do love reading and writing and other things that bring endless joy to me. I do miss exploring the adventures contained in a book. It is a form of escapism that makes my imagination go round in circles.Through books I escape reality and most of the time, I take away lessons from the books.

Simple pleasures make me happy and I’ve always placed an importance in Me-time.

Me-time. As selfish as that may sound, it’s not selfish anymore if I am deprived from it. These days, Me-time is like a privilege.

From now on, however busy I am – I shall promise myself that I will set aside some time for myself.

Why? Because I totally deserve it. Nobody is going to apologize for stressing me up or being the cause for my working late or needing my familial attention. So while I succumb myself to all of life’s travesties, I should stick up for myself and spend some time, doing whatever I like.

This past weekend has been nothing but relaxing, peaceful and lovely. Everyday should be just like that because that’s my current idea of perfection.

Enclosed in our private sanctuary, nothing could penetrate in the little world we created. We did things together that brought us both joy and laughter. This weekend has brought us nothing but happiness. And that’s the best kind of world there ever will be.

xoxo.

Flying with Lufthansa Airlines

lufthanza plane

For my second trip to Jakarta, we flew on Lufthansa Airlines – mainly because Singapore Airlines was fully booked for two weeks straight.

I’m especially particular about my flights. I don’t trust budget airlines and have never been on one. My best way to fly is always Singapore Airlines, though I have been on others as well.

So, Lufthansa. A foreign airline (to me at least). Well, well, well.

Did my research, and discovered that it is a German airline. And upon knowing this, I got gleeful because I love Germans (and their football team, hehe) and looked forward to good looking European flight attendants. I actually casted all my worries and doubts aside just because of this little discovery.

But as soon as I got onto the plane, my hopes dissipated fast.

And it only got worse as the flight progressed.

german life vest

First of all, most of the crew were Europeans. But not in the right age group that I imagined. Why I ever imagined that it would be a younger, more attractive crew – I will never know.

Second, the aisles were really narrow and it was quite a chore putting our bags (and other misc. items up the .. cabin cabinet? (is that what it’s called?)

Third, I didn’t get a window seat. I was in the middle of 2 strangers while Toni and my boss were in the row ahead of me. Uncomfortable much? I always prefer to sit by the window because I want to look at clouds hehe. I don’t like siting in the middle of nowhere because I’m slightly claustrophobic.

No, a window seat doesn’t make me claustrophobic because I have the entire sky to my side. Well that’s my logic at least.

So other than these logistical issues, came a rather major issues which made me think about the intellect and tact of foreign airlines.

Ok so normally when we fly, we will place an order with the airline at the point of booking tickets. We will request for seafood, Muslim food etc. This time round, with Lufthansa when we tried to order, we were told that no food will be served during the flight.

That was already a turn off before the flight. And in my head, I was thinking – even budget airlines have food. At least they sell them. Pfft.

But as it turned out, they did serve us food. And that is where the drama began.

Lufthansa Food Tray

So served to us were a sandwich (i think it was turkey bacon or something), a simple fruit salad, German mineral water and a Kit-Kat.

My boss is very particular about Halal food. So because we didn’t know what exactly was in the sandwich and whether or not it’s Halal – we asked.

We were told it was turkey something something sandwich (can’t really recall right now) but I clearly recalled what we were told when we asked if it was Halal.

The (not so hot, not so young) flight attendant gave us a blank look and asked, “Halal? What’s Halal?”

Ok so this one, perhaps I can let go. It is a specialised Muslim term. FINE. So we tried another term. We asked if the food is for Muslims.

Another blank look as if we’ve asked her a ridiculous, time wasting question. And then she said, “Muslim? what’s Muslim? I’m sorry, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I can’t help you.”

Like HELLO?

airline food

It doesn’t matter that you are from a country that probably have very little Muslims and the Muslim culture isn’t really widespread. BUT. But you are in the service line and you have to cater to people from all walks of life. Surely, you’d have to at least know about this?

Besides, you are on a flight from Singapore to Jakarta. There are bound to be people who will have such a request. Even if you have never heard of the terms, at least don’t show it so blatantly. I was appalled and shocked by the exchange, from my middle seat one row behind. Flaberghasted.

So in the end all I had was the Kit-Kat and the fruit salad and some water. Doesn’t matter, we had a nice dinner and Sour Sally waiting for us at the hotel.

But still. Pfft.

Lufthansa Airlines

So that was that. On the flight home, another incident happened. Also involving food.

We were served a beef dish which all of us couldn’t consume. Toni, being a Buddhist – doesn’t take beef.

So we asked the same questions we did. And got slightly better answers though it didn’t amount to anything.

We also asked if they have anything for vegetarians. Which they answered, “You have to order before the flight for such requests” – which got mild mannered Toni very upset. And which brought us to square one, where they told us that NO FOOD WILL BE SERVED.

But we were let down very gently despite our attempt to tell them their service sucks (hey it does) and we were given extra containers of fruit salad.

This was after a MAD, MAD jam on the way to the airport, a crazy RUSH to check in and then a stupid incident on the flight. Which made the evening fanstastically perfect.

But it’s okay, we all went to Swenson’s once we landed because we were obviously starving.

As for my flight preference, the best way to fly is still with Singapore Airlines. Lufthansa? Never heard of it.

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Me? A Domesticated Goddess?

50s housewife

These days, I’ve been getting epiphanys and certain bits of random wisdom in my head. And these sudden thoughts will thrill and shock me both at the same time.

This is mainly because it is often stuff like I never thought of doing and/or becoming. And each time this happens, I find myself growing up just a little.

Very intriguing.

The latest epiphany I had was a few days back and it involves me as a non-working wife in the near future.

Let’s backtrack just a little so that you can know something about a much younger, idealistic, feisty me.

I’ve always believed that women should be out working, making a name for themselves and being financially independent – especially after marriage (with or without children involved). That has been my belief from mid-teens till very recently.

I used to scoff at stories of young girls who marry early and become stay at home wives and stay at home mums. I used to think that they have wasted their entire life, subservient to a domesticated life – depending on their husbands for everything.

Perhaps I have been brought up to be an independent person, who has to stay strong regardless of anything that comes my way. My lack of a father figure when I was growing up caused me to witness my mum working day and night, bringing me up by herself. I grew not to depend on any man financially. I hardly trust them.

Even till today, when I’ve found the perfect guy who entertains all my whims and fancies – I remain financially independent. That is certainly something I can never change about myself.

However, something has changed within me in the past few weeks. It’s crazy but it’s true.

Perhaps I’m growing up, thus having more sense – instead of egoistical ideals thanks to a missing father.

All of a sudden, I find myself wanting to make breakfast every morning for my future husband (FP) – amin –

And I want to be there when he gets home from working overnight. I want to greet him with a warm, happy smile and make him comfortable – free and far away from his stresses at work.

I want to be home when he gets home from work, period.

Then I’ll cook him nice dinners that he will enjoy. I’d have all the time in the world to try out all the recipes from my cook books.

And then I pictured myself baking with our kids, for our kids and surprising him with all sorts of wonderful creations when he gets back. I imagined that each baking session will allow the kids to explore their creativity and the freedom to come up with whatever their heart desires.

When I’m free, I can do ad-hoc projects such as my ribbon roses, or jewelry and bake cakes to both ignite my creativity and at the same time earn extra money on the side.

I’d be the perfect (here we go again), doting wife, that he has always wanted me to be – and that I find myself wanting to become.

Is it crazy for me to be thinking of this? It’s like a 360 degree turn from my previous belief. It still scares me sometimes when I think about it. Suddenly, all the girls whom I have scoffed before for being stay at home mums and wives – are an inspiration. I seriously do not know what is wrong with me. Am I growing up, finally?

He has always told me, right from the start that I can still work after marriage, but once we have children – I should probably stay home. I used to get irritated by the unfairness of this statement, but it does make sense to some extend. I would want to try to be a working mum, but on the other hand – i don’t know. But we shall see.

Though the day that I become a domesticated goddess for a wonderful husband is not that near, and that currently we still have careers to build and money to save up – it is good to know that when the time times, I am ready to take on the role and be where I am supposed to be – with my family.

Perfect Imperfection

happy bunny

I’ve always been a little obsessed in being perfect. It’s not that I am the world’s most perfect person. Like hello? Messy (at certain levels, for certain things) and clumsy (oh, like all the time?) – that’s far from being perfect. What about saying the darndest things that I unwittingly say that makes everybody laugh at me? Well, that’s just excellent.

But I’ve embraced certain flaws of mine and turned them into perfection, for without them I wouldn’t be the wonderful, quirky person that I am. Self-centered too, you may add.

However, other than the quirks I have accepted to be a part of me – I hate any other kind of imperfections that I may develop or find in myself. When this happens, I deal with it really badly. I cannot seem to accept that I might have “imperfections” that wasn’t there before.

Well when you have a mum who obsesses and critics everything about you, you’d probably turn out a little like me. I can never get too dark, put on a little weight, have pimples, doing ANYTHING in a way deemed way wrong – without her getting on my back and harping about it.

I can never, ever please my mum and that’s a fact. And FP once told me that it’s because of this obsession with perfection that I try doubly hard in everything I do. Everything must be done to a certain level of perfection that is in my head. Most of the time, this strive for perfection works and pays off.

But when they don’t, like I have mentioned before – I wouldn’t be able to handle it.

Just yesterday, I discovered something that I couldn’t imagine ever happening to me. It needn’t be anything negative/bad by societal’s standards but to me, it was the world crashing down on me. And all I could think of was, “Mum’s right”. And I just cried and couldn’t stop crying.

FP was right there when it happened. He held me tight and comforted me, telling me that everything will be alright. That we will work something out to make it all better. It’s gonna take some work, but he’s going to help me through it.

So in a moment of a discovery of such an imperfection, came a moment of perfection. FP has always loved me despite all my quirks and imperfections and I am very thankful for that. I am indeed a very lucky girl to have such an understanding boyfriend who stays by my side when everything (in my head) goes terribly wrong. Not only does he stay by my side, he also goes through the fire with me.

Beat that, Chace Crawford.

On a side note, I’d just like to share this quote I’ve found on Perfections. Or Imperfections, rather.

Congratulations! You’re not perfect! It’s ridiculous to want to be perfect anyway. But then, everybody’s ridiculous sometimes, except perfect people. You know what perfect is? Perfect is not eating or drinking or talking or moving a muscle or making even the teensiest mistake. Perfect is never doing anything wrong – which means never doing anything at all. Perfect is boring! So you’re not perfect! Wonderful! Have fun! Eat things that give you bad breath! Trip over your own shoelaces! Laugh! Let somebody else laugh at you! Perfect people never do any of those things. All they do is sit around and sip weak tea and think about how perfect they are. But they’re really not one-hundred-percent perfect anyway. You should see them when they get the hiccups! Phooey! Who needs ‘em? You can drink pickle juice and imitate gorillas and do silly dances and sing stupid songs and wear funny hats and be as imperfect as you please and still be a good person. Good people are hard to find nowadays. And they’re a lot more fun than perfect people any day of the week. ~Stephen Manes, Be a Perfect Person in Just Three Days!

Food for thought, don’t you think?