The Preamble

You’re standing outside my door, one foot holding it just ajar. I can smell your fragrance. It comes in wafts, faint, then strong, and then it fades away again. I want you to come in. But you're not ready yet. For now, you want to tease. I know that soon you’re going to sweep in and consume me. That you will follow me everywhere. That you will be with me all the time. I know that at some point it may get too much and I’ll wish you would just go away. But for now, you have me in anticipation. Waiting. Wanting.

Hello winter. We meet again.

*Image courtesy deviantart.com

Moving on

A close friend, family I thought, exited my life recently. It was quietly ugly. 

I wasn't prepared for how much it would upset me. Because I had seen the signs for a while. The subtle pull away. The afterthought responses. The lies and half truths. And finally the silence. It hurt. 

What I was also not prepared for was how quickly I was able to make my peace with it. Perhaps because I had seen the signs. 

I’ve been surrounded by disappointment lately, not all of it my own. And it made me think of some of the questions we ask ourselves… Did I trust too easily? Was I too naïve to see the signs? Could I have done something differently, something to prevent this?

While it’s a little grey to me, I’m pretty sure the correct answer is no.

I wouldn’t want to live in a world where I’m constantly suspicious of someone’s words, actions and motives. I don’t want to kill my all of my experiences with unnecessary analysis. And I really don’t want to measure my actions in anticipation of disappointment.

Would I have done things differently with this friend? No. Because there were so many good times I wouldn’t experience, so many funny memories I wouldn’t have, if this friendship hadn’t happened. Am I sad? Yes. 

But I guess priorities change and people change. I just need to move on. And so I will.

Heartbreak, ringside

If you’re looking for the girl

Who smiled brighter than the day

You’re knocking on the wrong door

You came and stole her light away

And she doesn’t live here anymore

If you’re calling for the girl

Who grabbed life by its horns

No one will answer that call

Your lies like a flood doused her flame

Now there’s nothing left at all

Stop searching for the girl

Who so loved to dance

You chased her away forever

She’ll never surrender to a song again

Not today, tomorrow, or ever

Where is the girl

Who was summer and spring

You turned her into thunder

Your carelessness, your phony words

They tore her up asunder

Please forget that girl

Who was full of colour

But who's rainbow you took away

She's now just a ghost of who she was
You left behind only grey.

A Conspiracy of Clothes

The roommate* and I had a spring cleaning moment a few weeks ago. We attacked the cupboards. (Although if it was a battle, I’m really not sure if it was us who won.)


Everything was taken out, with the intention of keeping only the very best and the very worn of our clothes. No more when-i’m-thin-agains. No more this-WAS-my-favourites. No more saving-for-winters. We were ruthless. We each cast a critical eye over the other’s wardrobe, ayeing and naying piece after piece of clothing into give away, throw away and put away piles.


Our cupboards were now neat, organized and full of clothes we would wear (fit into) and look fabulous in.


End of story? Not quite.


As is our sometimes weekend ritual, last Sunday, we decided to brunch out.


So I dove into my now neat and organized cupboard of clothes I would wear (fit into) and look fabulous in. Technically, I should have been able to wear anything I wanted to. And this is when I realised that there is a conspiracy of clothes.


The truth is we don’t wear clothes. Clothes wear us. And they have bloody hormonal mood swings about how and when they want to wear us. If those jeans don’t want to be wearing your hips, say hello to muffin top. If that shirt, that fit like a dream just last week, doesn’t feel like going for brunch, even your military-standard minimizing bra won’t convince those buttons to stay together. Even the damned wrap-around skirt, that would fit both a size 0 and a size 20, won’t fit a size me on a bad day.


And I’m not mistakenly dipping into my when-i’m-thin-agains (yes, I kept some). These clothes are clothes from my can-wear-will-wear-do-wear pile.


And on another day, I just know that these shirts, skirts and their other evil cohorts will just slip on and hug my lady curves like they’re supposed to.


WTF?


*I say roommate but we don’t share a room. We share a house. Housemate sounds frumpy. Roommate sounds more pillowfighty and fun.

Dis, dat and d udder

I know we live in the times of Textese. I get the ROFLs, TTYLs and IDKs. After all, a teeny tiny keypad deserves teeny tiny language (even though there’s predictive text and qwerty keypads). I do get it. It saves time, and has its own, well, graphic charm. I can feel the mirth of an LOL, the wide-eyedness of an OMG and the indignation of a WTF. And I enjoy using all of these.

I saw a very compelling TED.com talk by John McWhorter* (hadn’t heard of him till I saw the talk and still not sure who he really is, but it was a good talk) in favour of SMS/Text-speak as an evolution of language that has brought closer the written and spoken word. And he makes a great point.

I appreciate the cultural and linguistic progressiveness of texting. But it’s for TEXTING and maybe casual instant messaging only. When this language permeates official communication and, sometimes, even speech, I think it’s time to draw the line.

‘I wl b at d site. Pl mt me dere’ – Senior Executive to me. This is an incredibly articulate man, who speaks very well. But this is how he writes all his emails.

Another example is communication in abbreviations, ‘PFA FYR JDs & BSCs’. Again, this is official communication. And it reads like an eye test. 

Another client thinks it’s ok to send smileys and thumbs-ups in lieu of approvals or acknowledgement. 

How about the client who thinks it’s ok to respond to my emailed proposal via whatsapp saying, ‘KEWL’. 

In these days of haste, we seem to have lost the art of penmanship (keymanship?). The well-written proposal has been whittled down to crisp bullet points. Appreciative Thank Yous have made way for the curt ‘tx’. Warm regards have been ‘RE‘placed. Emoticons do what words did.

It’s no wonder that fewer and fewer people read books. There are just too many words in them. Maybe next we can abbreviate the dictionary.

 *In case you want to watch the John McWhorter TEDTalk: http://on.ted.com/McWhorter