I Have A Thing For…

I have a thing for…

Rainy day in Singapore.
Mustard-coloured armchair placed in a corner.
Reading the blog of a published author.
Chubby roses.
Hexagonal-shaped corner, with windows, turned into a reading nook.
Wall-to-wall bookcase.
…and wall-to-wall windows.
Savouring cold bread dipped in pipping hot day old fish curry.
Period house with cracking floor.
Indie tarot decks that come in a tuck box.
Big bookstores and thin paperback.
Wireless gadgets.
Books that can be pocketed.

Coin-operated laudromat.
Soaking the Friday afternoon vibes at work.
Foreign language songs played on repeat.
Singular-use kitchen gadgets.

Those Who Can’t

Some time ago I wrote about how COVID inspired me to support a local bookshop in my notebook. Last week, I revisited the draft, thinking I could polish it a bit and share it here. As I reread my own handwriting, my brain went “Wtf did I write ?!“. The draft was bad. It was so bad that I am not sure whether I can even call it a shitty first draft.

I spent that evening rearranging the paragraphs, smoothing the flow, and fixing the grammar. I removed more than half of the sentences, read it from the bottom up, even translate-read it to Bahasa.

Nothing worked. It was rubbish.

It was close to midnight when I closed the laptop and declared: “writing is hard”.

Writing is hard. That’s not news at all. Maybe that’s why there are so many blogs wtitten about writing. Because as they say:

those who can’t, teach.

I, on the other hand — I recently realized — whined instead. I have pages upon pages of journal entries that can attest it. It being my obsessive-whining about writing, blogging, being tired of both, not writing enough, my handwriting, taking a break from it, wanting to quit, unable to quit, asking tarot cards what should I do about my blogs.

Name any obsession over writing, I am sure I have written a whiney post about it in my journal. My journal is slowly turning into the little black book of my writing life. Which coincidently is black in color, though not really little size wise.

So I made a deal to myself.

I am allowed to whine and continue whining about writing as long as I write. Even if it’s so bad that it doesn’t belong in the shitty first drafts drawer.

Marie Kondo

You know the saying when the student is ready the master will appear? That is how feel when I decide to ignore the clutter that’s piling beside my bed and watch Netflix instead.

The first recommendation for me was Maria Kondo.

Marie Kondo in the beginning 2019 is what Birdbox is at the end of 2018.

I tried to ignore it.

I even told Pri that her Christmas gift is on my travel pile. I will pass it to her someday.

Alright, Marie, I shall do it. Though I still have a lot to learn, I don’t think Marie would appear in my doorstep just yet.

Ps. I would like to think Marie Kondo is the reincarnation of the Goddess Hestia. That way I like her better.

Pps. If she is also your first Netflix recommendation maybe you ought to start as well.

Thoughts OTW to My Friend’s Wedding

I am on the way to Bandung to attend my high-school best friend’s wedding. I still remember how we were 10 years ago and how things have changed ever since.

She, who ignored men altogether that time like they are nonexistence, got a boyfriend. The same guy she is marrying now.

Lots of has happened in between then and now.

I wish I had kept a proper record of my life, 10 years late, I started a blog.

Even though I think only dysfunctional people’s thoughts are fun to read by the public,

Meanwhile but I am only an ordinary girl but I will keep writing.


To leave my mark, share my art, give my offerings to the world.