Letters to Santa

Many many years ago, when I was still a little girl, it was always around this time when I would start penning extravagantly long wish lists to Santa – asking for typical childhood desires like puppies, pretty dresses and new toys.

In the midst of material things I wished to own, there would always be one that wasn’t quite so superficial: For my mom and dad to stop fighting. And even though no one ever came right out to tell me that Santa didn’t exist (anymore), I eventually stopped believing in Christmas Magic because that wish never came true.

Now as a parent, I am wondering if I should encourage my kids to write letters to “Santa” so I can slyly find out what their true desires are. Needless to say, the psychic mom in me can almost predict that Josh will have a list containing stuff like Angry Birds Telepods, trips to snowy destinations, and other typical kid stuff. But part of me does wonder… would he ask Santa to make his mommy “less fat”? :mrgreen:

Time to move on…

The day to move draws nearer with each passing day. As much as I never liked this tiny little space, the thought of saying goodbye saddens me.

This place where we made and raised our two boys…
Where we had countless fights in the early days of our marriage…
Where we made up and accepted to “agree to disagree” on the irreconcilable differences…
Where a couple became a family of four…

There’s so many memories here – both good and bad – that makes it hard for me to say goodbye to.

And once again I would like to reiterate the reason why I had wanted a bigger flat from the start. I wanted a place where we could grow our roots and remain for decades.

But you people just never wanted to listen to me. Sigh.

Evolution.

I like running in the rain, holding hands with you.
I like feeling jealous over you.
More importantly, I like it when you get all jealous and protective and tell other guys to back off.
I love staying up with you til dawn, and then sleeping in until dusk.
I like the way you look at me when you pick me up for a date.
I love how you can make me blush.
I like living in today with you, and not thinking about what will happen tomorrow.
I secretly love the fact that you would kiss me deeply even after I throw my guts out after too many drinks.
I masochistically enjoy the uncertainty that I might lose you to someone else.
I loved how real it felt when you broke my heart into a gazillion little pieces. I swear my heart stopped beating for at least a split second.

What a pity being crazy in love has quietly matured into steadfast loyalty and predictable stability.

Or maybe I was the one who screwed it all up.

“And so it is
Just like you said it should be
We’ll both forget the breeze
Most of the time”
~ Damien Rice

Things they would never know.

What we have together – through these supposedly pretty short 4.5 years – no one will ever be able to know it all. The injustices we did to each other, the fights, broken furniture, broken hearts, marathon talks about past, present and future.

It’s pretty much like a dramatic 10 year relationship all crammed into our first two years.

We took it fast and, damn, was everything quick. Quick to rise, quick to fall. Super drama stuff.

But like I said before: If I had to go through all that again just to end up here with you, I would do it again. In a heartbeat.

Even if it meant reliving all the fuck-ups in my life before you. All the pain and emotional turmoil. All that shit that no one should ever need to suffer.

I would do it all again just to be right here, right now. With you, and our children.

Would you?

::

My life, a dark lonely path
until you trod along.
Never will my heart
beat to that same lonely tune again.

You, my light,
my life.
The little flames
of our beautiful children.

Why I love you
I know not.
But best things in life
have no rhyme nor reason.

Deaf ears to naysayers.
You, my love,
and I,
will forever burn as one.

Silly me.

After almost three years, it suddenly hit me that regardless of how often she had said she wanted to meet up with us and do a double date, nothing ever happened because:

a) she actually hated me. My guts, what I robbed from her, etc.
b) she couldn’t bear the sight of us being together.
c) she couldn’t look at him and not feel her heart being tugged by something.
d) it would be awkward to be around two men who knows her naked form.
e) her new man could never match up wit her old man.
f) she just couldn’t bear the thought of seeing what she didn’t want to know.

So many bloody possible reasons why, but yet I had naively believed she didn’t fulfill her word simply because she was truly “too busy”.

Why the hell is it that I don’t feel awkward being around my ex and his current squeeze? I must be weird.

Dreaming of circa 2004

I dreamt of meeting you, for the first time, your long bangs pulled back with a black matte hairband. In reality, you would have been struck out of my qualifying list in an instant, but your eyes… your dreamy mesmerising eyes… they just drew me in.

It was as if you looked right through my soul, and squeezed my heart with your bare hands. Literally, you took my breath away. What was it with those eyes, until today I have yet uncovered the mystery.

When I had least expected it , you reached out for my hand and I felt a jolt shoot through my entire body.

What you had ever given me, despite the heartache and broken shards of beautiful dreams, I would never trade it in for anything in this world.

And if anyone ever asked me if I would do it all over again… I would – in a heartbeat – just to end up here with you again.

Born to be a thief.

For the second time since I’ve moved into this home, I’ve broken into my own home.

Why? Because Hubs had gone to work and I’ve cleverly forgotten to bring my keys out; only realise it when I’m already outside my door.

I recall one time during my teens, when my entire wallet had been stolen together with my keys – it was common in those days to “chain” your keys to your wallet – and I had patiently spent an hour picking the locks on both doors with only a safety pin and a hairpin. My mom was at work and she would have killed me if she found out I had lost my wallet and keys.

Somehow I succeeded with some thoughtful prodding and poking after scrutinising the lock mechanisms. I told no one had known about my successful lock-picking attempt, until today that is.

Imagine, with no prior understanding or practice, I was able to pick the lock of the HDB approved fire-proof wooden door. I must have been born with a gift or something.

As for breaking into my own home, I don’t actually have to pick locks or anything. I usually keep my keys somewhere not far from the door, and it’s only a matter of gaining access to my keys via the windows with the help of whatever happens to be within reach. An umbrella, neighbour’s wooden clothes peg, and that’s about all I need.

Seriously, there may be a career for me in burglary.

Music Therapy

Meatloaf ft. Marion Raven – It’s All Coming Back To Me Now

Coldplay – The Scientist

Damien Rice – The Blower’s Daughter

Third Eye Blind – Deep Inside Of You

http://images.shelled.multiply.com/song/1/7/full/U2FsdGVkX18.lPJHT3iyGz11eLlXtdd6JdUKHPglNDKbPdMP6sEEPw==/Third%20Eye%20Blind%20-%20Deep%20Inside%20Of%20You.mp3?nmid=203724743
When they said the one you love the most is also the one who can hurt you the most, they meant it. And in a sadomasochistic way, I hope I never stop feeling this bittersweet pain.

Gawd, I hate you so much.