Prettier gardens

I am trying to find a sense of sustainability for the center of me. It is a steep, trashy, muddy road. Always find mine sluggish. Quicksand that I miraculously just stand over and not get sucked into the earth. I punish myself sometimes. Reprieve as I go. It is a cycle.

Life turns itself slowly especially with a struggle because you need to learn to leap blindly in faith that you will be okay. It scares the sh*t out of me. Something out of balance although prominently enough inside I know I need to trust myself that life isn’t monotonous, IT IS going somewhere. Only I am so stubborn to notice, acknowledge and move.

Roads need to be paved to be made into highways.

~ momsthetruth ~

It is clearer destination that I see. It is going somewhere. Words spoken are without jagged fences of defensiveness. More like flowers edging the boundaries. I receive them, and help to make the gardens organised. Prettier. With a flow. Rainbow explosions.

Maybe we can build a house in the meadow.

I only hope the garden will flourish. One day it will have an orchard of fruits and horses and cats. One day.

Survive | Reprieve | Infuse | Radiate | Detonate

Edit: Redundancy of sentence.


This drifter

Literally, she is dragging her brain in dirt as she lay her fingers onto the keyboard forming words right now. She is so tired. So tired of catching up with that has been given to her. Tired of trying to catch up because she doesn’t seem to finish. She doesn’t know know where is the finish line. Everything is half-way. Everything has a deadline. And there is no finish line.

She reaches for coffee. Silently wishing it is fresh ground coffee instead of sachet, but she doesn’t have a choice. Everyone else drinks chocolate or tea. Too lazy to prep her own hand-drip. But whenever she makes them, there would be people hounding her for some. Then complain the coffee is too bitter. Of course they are, they are how she likes it – don’t complain, it is her coffee. Meh. On some days her thoughts be like, “Go add sugar. It’ll taste better for you (ungrateful bastard),” while other days, she doesn’t care.

Maybe her ground coffee is finished? She can’t decide. Not bothered to move an inch off the seat to check either.

Everything seems to be… undecided for her. Not really undecided, more like a blurry state of making decisions. She is the wood adrift in the sea. Just float somewhere. Somewhere else, not here, but can someone just pick her up to the beach?

She is tired of weighing like, what’s the best thing to do right now, best solution, best sentence to appease, best time to leave, how what when where why. Especially without a car. It broke yesterday morning on her way to work.

Tonight she is expected to manage, get the kids ready, grab something for potluck and get to her in-Laws by 7.00 tonight. It is stressing the heck out of her. She already feels her emotions pushed around in the family messaging group. She chose best not to respond at all. Her silence has a lasting impression on them. Hence why MIL has kept asking why ‘NOBODY’ has been responding. She doesn’t really give a sh*t about it, really. Her mind gets catapult somewhere else each time, but the constant incoming messages will remain to bite her in her ass.

“Whatever,” she mutters under her breath. Puts her thoughts away. She forces her focus on incoming emails, even though what she reads doesn’t make any sense to her at all.


Well, everything is whatever. And whatever will sort itself soon, by itself.

You’re dismissed, woman.

I wish I could catch up and individually write up The Daily Post Prompts. I can’t manage it. I’m just sorting out my own internal issues. My emotional bag can only fit a certain much. It has, there are just too many conversations, considerations and feel in it to be known with.

Seriously, sometimes I am frustrated with myself. Like how silent I can be when DH is around just because he physically makes me less anxious, worry-wart and calms all my brain agitations.  But how cruel enough to have all frustrations when he’s not around, telling myself that I AM, WILL, SO GOING TO TELL HIM HOW I FEEL ‘RIGHT NOW’ WHEN I SEE HIM and it just all descend into nothingness when he is around.

It absolutely unfolds itself in the sequence of this…

“I’m so telling him right now! NO! I mustn’t. But I need to. NO! NO! MUSTN’T. MUSTN’T, MUSTN’T, MUSTN’T.” Mutiny, this.


Oh woman. Just eat it in. Sh-sh-sh… Just eat them all in. It’s not the right time. Yet. It’s okay. You can do this. Swallow. Quietly. Be still, my heart.


Then I forget what it was; or… I want to tell him, and I don’t know how… The qualms when I do, with only 3% is delivered…


And the 3% that comes out, so professionally approached. Emotionless. And ultimately, how I disgrace myself with me. I’m a piece of sh*t.


This self inflicted notorious farce cycle repeats itself. So violently.

But yesterday was different. My level of self-tolerance was short. I had to endure the bantering from his friend’s wife for her receiving late-payment notification letter from the bank for something that is registered under her name that DH took on – I had nothing to do with. Unwillingly I put on the superhero cape on, stood on the precipice, borderline on my borderlines, and took it on. I was crap. I sent him a message that took so much longer to get through the thick forest.

When finally it did, he responded to my question and tells me their 4WD for forest trail has broken down so they’d be coming home on a tow-truck. He asks me to pick him up at a spot. He gave the time. I got there on time because he has established this thing about having his expectations met vs my short-comings (i.e. lateness) (with ongoing things like traffic jam, no vehicle available, having to stop for gas, my need to have a cigarette first, the cat wants suicide by refusing to move away from the driveway, my lack of motivation, repetitive explanation of things that only got half-sentenced into his head each time I say them where I then begin to shout thinking because my voice is too small and then he thinks I’m so rude to raising my voice to him (WTF hahaha), apart of having to manage 3 kids to handle/argue/negotiate/scream/listen to beforehand).

I waited. They ran 15 minutes late.

It was hot, borderline thirsty, hungry, borderline grumpy. You could still feel the heat even in air-conditioning.

The car radio has been broken for the past few months and the CD has been playing the same series of song for over and over since December 2016. So I shut the CD player down. Sick of it. I meddled with my phone and played on Spotify out loud enough to satisfy myself. With limited headroom decision, I began talking to myself, singing, screaming, going under emotion and above it. I entered my Digistive Zen moment. Restless fat feeling with low libido but ready to scratch some walls from being under serviced. Yes, THAT feeling.

He finally came through, got in the car, and had to ask (Well, I felt like, it was A QUESTION, really), “Why are you playing on Spotify?”

…I mean, he had to ask right; because he has got a functioning radio in his pickup truck, right? Is there no logic to why I chose to Spotify myself? So I should be okay listening to the same thing each time I drive like, EVERY TIME, right? I wasn’t asking him to listen to what I chose to listen in the first place. And every time I make a decision is always the one that leaves no room for him to comment because I am the only decision-maker for it, right – because he is not present. And the rest of the other sinister things I digested in my head just shat through. He had unmoored, unleashed the beast in expressionless me (which I know is even more scarier in the I-have-no-sh!t-clue-of-what-may-happen-after-this category) with just that one question. So do so kindly receive my hospitality, final sentence and load of crap – take it like a man.

But really, to think what it took for me to be able to just say it! All the feelings, endurance, patience, dissatisfaction, worry, unhappiness… I mean, being able to draw out what I stored in my emo bank crap was WONDERFUL! But to think that it all had to be in collaboration with 5 days of water-cut to be able to be out in one sitting is like… I mean, I had to be under that intensity scale to actually be able to literally throw myself up to him! It took so much and so long…

I’m just this maze of sad stuff, isn’t it? Be like…


Yeah woman. You’re dismissed.

Waterless Emotion

Will someone listen to me? This feeling that seems to be complaining. Ungrateful person who has life better than some other less fortunate. 

There has been water cut again. This time has been since Thursday. The same day the kids began their leg of exam. The day I was on medical leave from fever caused undeniably by the humid heat, rain less for the few days. The same day my eldest came home from school and slept 5 hours straight. 

The wait at the clinic has an influx of patients where waiting time is averaged at 1.5 hours. I know so. I went there twice this week.

On Friday our air-conditioner broke. The stand fan did only what it could. And the next day DH tells me he’s going into the forest with some friends. Meh.

He had been working so hard. It’s either I suffer his restlessness or I let him unwind. So I spent the weekend whisking the kids of to his brother’s house. He was away as well. It was comfortable because their area wasn’t affected with the water distruption.

I really felt bad about leaving the house because only my mom and brother was left there. But I couldn’t take it. I was mad somehow.

Struggled with money, I credit all that I could. I’m tired of managing everything myself. But how am I complaining when my mother gets the brunt of it more than  I?  During this eventful waterless again situation, Daddy is off somewhere else. Like sometime last week too, when they found a viper somewhere outside the house that disappeared when the fire department came to help. 

I feel unclean despite being in a house that was cool and with running water for more than 24-hours. My face is no longer smooth. I no longer have a smile like arch on my face as if it’s a permanent downward smile. My heel hurts. If I bathe, I will sweat the moment the water is turned off.

In this heat, tenderness is mood less. I feel so old. No time, and at this point I feel I don’t have the effort to even try for it. My mood is crap. I feel crap. So don’t tell me I have to a b c d e whatevers. 

Can I be in the waters of Maldives? Or in the Italian farm of somewhere? I just need something else.

I need something else. 

Can I cry now?

Ps. My spelling and grammar may cap now too coz this phone’s spellchecker sucks and keep’s changing what I want to deliver and I don’t have the will to recheck what I wrote.

It’s about Dusty

I have been looking for old friends. Looking to feel myself valuable. It gives more meaning for me to find a purpose to reconnect with people who made a difference in school. All while doing that, I keep getting this armpit smell on myself. I’m going like, “Come onnnn…” each time I get a whiff of it. I don’t know where it’s from. It’s not from my armpit. Not kidding.

So Eliot is not well. I called him from the office to have him take his antibiotic. Then it became a string of messages. I told him to get it from the fridge, to take 10ml. It took a while before he replied back, “This medicine is DUSTY”.


Then he sent me a picture of it. It’s the other bottle of fresh antibiotic unmixed, still in a bag, on the table – not from the fridge.

“It’s not mixed for use yet. The one you need is in the fridge. Take it at 10ml.”

This conversation went on for another few minutes. My instruction became repetition for the next few times. ‘This medicine is dusty’ – LOL. Really? LOL.

Dusty Medicine
This was the photo Eliot sent me.

It is at the end of the day. This post had taken 7 hours to finish. I had 1 meeting. 1 lunch. Bought myself this quarter fried chicken that I swore to eat it for tea but apparently I’m bringing it home for dinner. No wonder I’m not losing weight. Well on another hand, my heels and eventually feet, then back to the heel, are in pain. It could just be anything. So I stopped myself from exercising.

Now I need to stop myself, where the armpit smell still remains a mystery. And this is the final sentence from me, today.

The strength that is lost, is really the strength that you will find

As my first marriage crumbled, I lost sight of who I was. Losing a marriage is never about you alone. It breaks you for you to find your own definition.

Ying Ying: Losing him does not matter. It is you who will be found – and cherished.

– The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan

New life was filtered layer by layer. You will learn who your real friends are, the ones worth keeping; and discarding the ones who choose to weaken, harm and destroy you. You will learn that ‘no mercy’ is necessary for yourself. I shutdown pointless relationships and found that people were more interested in finding out what happened. In the end, it was I whom had to relieve their disappointments to my ended marriage. Sad.

Ms Rock held me close to her heart. She brought me out shopping even when I had little money to spend on. We spent hours with coffee and endless conversations. We played free makeup at Sephora and tried on random clothes and shoes that we didn’t have to buy. She helped to make me feel like a little girl again. It’s like hopping onto the pedestrian crossing’s white lines only, leaving painted hand prints all over the walls of wherever I was and getting high over cotton candy and ice cream in the wide open park.

I remember coming home and ask myself, “How can I forget that I love shoes?”

Much later, “How can I forget that my favourite colour is fuchsia?” “How long ago have I put myself in the backburner?” “Did I ever had any intention of regaining myself back?” “Would I have ever realised what I had left behind?”

How could I have forgotten, about me?

I have always loved the shade of bright deep shocking pink. The colour is so nutritious for me and it makes me happy. For every dull day, I will pull that one plain fuchsia scarf and it makes me feel right in all the darkness of black, dark navy blue and gray thingamajig that I wear to work. It just binds and makes it become me.


I have never seen the fuchsia flower before. We don’t have this flower here where I live. It would probably die in the heat. So I’m packing this up into my bucket list – Something to See List.

Photo Credit:

You don’t always get what you want, but you often get what you need.

Strength isn’t given to you. It’s something that you have to build up inside yourself. To do that you have to fearless to ask for help. Fearless enough to accept rejection. Fearless enough to learn to be shameless because being shameless is the only way for you to learn what’s good and what’s bad for yourself. Be fearless to choose and pave your own path. Ultimately, fearless to free-falling.

Truth be told, strength is knowing what to lose and what to keep.

I choose to love myself.