A different perspective

I wonder what happened to Hammie. He's not on icq anymore, nor is he writing his blog. It's kinda strange I guess ... one always see him around on icq but hardly ever talk to him ... and only in absence does one remember. Hmm.

Did I ever mention that Hammie got me writing blogs? I wasn't very interested in writing initially, till I read some good and interesting blogs ... like xena's. heh. There .. inspirations. But I'll never write as well as them.

Nor am I funny or entertaining. I write because sometimes I'm bored.

Like now. After playing chuzzle for the umpteenth time, I really need a break. I'm seeing cute little fuzzle creatures at the back of my closed eyes, and hearing weird explosions all over the place. Pop .. goes the weasel.

And I ran out of books to read. Just finish The Fifth Elephant a while back. A book a day because the later ones were good. Need to haunt the library soon for more.

I must remember, in future, only to buy wrinkle-free shirts for hubby. A wrinkle-free shirt takes only less than five minutes to iron, but more than fifteen damn minutes otherwise.

Do I sound very lethargic? That is because I am feeling extremely bloated after dinner. Also did yoga this morning, and my thighs feel like lead. Plus all that chuzzle playing makes my brain kinda numb. Feeling extremely fat, foolish and fluffy.

And no, I should not lie in bed anymore for it'll only make it worse.

I think I'm quite deprived in my childhood. I never get to read books like Cat in a Hat ... hmm, where did my pretty bookmark disappear to? ... or many other cute picture children books. Mom didn't believe in too many picture books. She wanted us to read lots of words ... and not be distracted by too many pictures. Strangely she allowed us Tintin though, I think she liked those books, though she should be more wary with those books, since Captain Haddock had so many swear words. :P Mom patiently taught me to read and write and to say the multiple table before I entered school. She wrote words on cards and got us to read. I remembered her hand over mine as she helped me write out letters. I remembered standing and reciting the whole multiple table and feeling extremely clever after that. Studying under her was fun. The only thing she didn't believe in was studying chinese. Being English educated herself, I remembered her saying ... aiyah, Chinese not important one .. nevermind. heh heh. Unfortunately ... and till now I always wondered why, I went on to do Chinese as a first language, and suffered horribly over those years. Life goes on, and I still managed to survive that phrase in life. The saving grace I guess was my Chinese teacher in sec four. Who made the language slightly more enjoyable, so I did not spend those time practising my drawing secretly in my books. I really listened, and made an effort. Well, as much effort as I could in my weaken state. It's amazing how with some work one can always pass.

Perhaps I should have worked harder. But my parents never had any ambition or goals for me. Neither were they anyone I could looked up to. Perhaps it's important for parents to have a positive influence for their kids. PM was telling me her mom wanted them to be this, and her father wanted them to be that. They always knew what they wanted. They had an aim. They were rewarded for good grades. I never was. When I got slightly older, all I felt from them was indifference. As long as they see me studying during exams, which can be easily achieved with a storybook hidden inside a textbook, they were okie. There was no interest or urgency to study. I spent my time killing monsters instead. I never studied. I never worked hard. Till now, I can't seem to work hard either.

And it's easy to fall into a depression never knowing what it is that you really wanted. I guess I should be contented with what I have, for it is not in me to work hard. Perhaps I should pick up something and put in effort to be good at it. And that's where personal satisfaction comes in. But I can't seem to find anything worth doing. And so sometimes life is like a monotone. And you can only admire and sometimes envy the passion your friends have in the things they do.

And at the end of the day, you lie to yourself and paint pretty pictures around you.

Perhaps then, that is all that matters.

I wondered then, if my friends would have envied me for what I have. A loving husband, a beautiful home, and a close family. Not much worries most of the time. A pretty easy life and long holidays. Not that I'm complaining, not at all. But sometimes it just feel a little hollow and frightening. All that I have and need and want is just my dearest hubby. What if ... love fades away? Would that ever happen? What would I have left? Nothing, nothing meaningful left for myself.